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01zfan · 2 days ago

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bad friend: AITA | s. es

boyfriends besfriend!eunseok x reader | 5.8k words

uhm…a little something i’m working on. i don’t condone cheating in any circumstance UNLESS you’re getting your lick back but most of the times I DON’T CONDONE IT. Also, nothing in this fic reflects either eunseok or sungchan's personalities. all fiction and all fun heh.

contains: cheating on your boyfriend with his bestfriend, sungchan and eunseok are bestfriends they swear, sungchan is a bad boyfriend and arguably a worse friend, eunseok is no better.

Eunseok knew you first. He made sure to stress that. He specified that he knew you long before Sungchan entered the picture.

You were the barista who worked every weekday, standing behind the espresso machine that made Eunseok cortado and rung up the bottled of pressed orange juice that he nursed every morning.

With his computer in the corner closest to the outlets Eunseok knew you first. He talked to you first, he built a rapport with you and got close to you first. He knew about how being a barista was your part time job until you found a something related to what you studied in college, that you lived in the apartment complex ridiculously close to where he lived.

Eunseok blamed the closeness of the cafe to his apartment for the reason you and Sungchan met. He didn’t say it was fate that you were at the cafe on a Saturday, but instead that it was by terrible design of your work schedule and coincidence that Sungchan wanted to tag along so badly. Eunseok said his roommate was awful for wanting to know how he spent his early mornings. Eunseok described it as keeping his lives separate, his safe haven away from his regular life. The balance was disrupted when he came in with Sungchan in tow and saw you perk up behind the counter to greet him. The slowness of the cafe early in the morning allowed you to ask about Sungchan, and his tendency to swoop in and steal things he knew Eunseok wanted made him talk your ear off for hours.

Eunseok didn’t blame you nearly as much as he blamed himself. He didn’t expect you to know that he mostly started coming to the cafe to see you and steal bits of conversation throughout the morning. He didn’t expect you to pay attention to the way he paid attention to you. But that was his method of courting. Months of hopeless pining, and then one day when he could finally get the courage, he’d ask for your number. He swore he was going to do it soon, written on the back of a receipt he’d give to you before leaving the cafe swiftly. Then he would wait for a text back, or find a different cafe entirely if you messaged him that you weren't interested. Eunseok had a plan, an inkling of one, but a plan nonetheless.

The plan was ruined when Sungchan leaned in close to him and asked your name. A simple question, but he knew the infliction of his bestfriend’s voice all the same. He had an interest in you, and Sungchan had a different way of courting. One that didn’t include months of reconnaissance but instead one that manifested to him getting your number before they even left the cafe. Eunseok watched it with his own two eyes. He was looking past his laptop screen in the corner of the cafe locked in on you and Sungchan. Leaning across the bar towards you and telling you his latte was well made.

(Even though he told Eunseok that there was too much milk and the shots were burned. He also said that the pastry was dry, and that the music from the playlist you made was too boring. He also said that there was a better cafe ten minutes away, and Eunseok was wasting his time and money coming to this one.)

Sungchan smiled at you and you ducked your head as you smiled back. Eunseok watched with his own two eyes how you fell head over heels infatuation with Sungchan just from a single compliment. Something Eunseok had been working at for weeks, Sungchan did it in a span of ten minutes right before the morning rush started. He timed it perfectly. Right as customers started coming in he put his phone on the counter, asking you something Eunseok couldn’t hear. Then he saw you steal the fastest glance towards him before you wiped your hands off on your apron and reached for Sungchan’s phone.

Eunseok also made sure to mention that you two had more in common than you and Sungchan ever did. You were both quiet, something Sungchan bothered Eunseok about but loved on you. He would always brag to Eunseok about how quiet you were, how you were so shy anything he did made you look down and smile sweetly. You both had nonconventional interests, ones that Sungchan mocked Eunseok for, so much to the point that you silently let your interests go. The first time you ever came over you looked at Eunseok’s manga collection. Eunseok didn’t miss the way your eyes lit up in familiarity before Sungchan remarked that his roommate was a weeb. Eunseok watched you let go of the manga before you nodded your head and smiled at your boyfriend’s joke. He even brought up the time that Sungchan said jokingly you two would make a good couple. Eunseok counted his lucky stars that his skin was already red from the liquor, and not from the shame of knowing you two would be a better couple.

Sungchan knew it too, Eunseok knew he had to. Sungchan unfortunately knew what Eunseok liked after years of knowing him and living in close quarters practically their entire adult lives. He saw the meek girls his roommate would bring around on the rare occasion. Shy just like him, they gushed over his manga collection and had quiet conversations about their interests. A majority of them were a spitting image of you.

Sungchan had to have known that he was trying to do things right with you, and that’s why Eunseok tried to keep you two far apart. Long before their stark personality difference became a point of contention, Sungchan always had the habit of taking things Eunseok wanted. The toys in the sandbox. The valedictorian spot. The last pan fried dumpling. The bigger room in their shared apartment.

Eunseok had his fair share of taking the things Sungchan wanted, but he made sure to omit that. He also made sure to omit the fact that he never explicitly said he wanted the aforementioned things. Sungchan often cautioned his friend on being so easygoing, that it opened the opportunity for people to take advantage of him. Sungchan prided himself on being attentive, but he could only do so much. How was he supposed to know not to take if Eunseok said nothing about it? Of course he noticed the touching and the stolen glances and Eunseok’s kicked puppy expression, but he is only human. You didn’t stop him from getting your number and Eunseok didn’t do anything about it either.

Sungchan knew that Eunseok was meek. He knew his bestfriend had the tendency to let Sungchan walk over him in the name of diplomacy. But Sungchan would’ve never thought it’d all culminate into what happened apparently a week ago from last night.

You and Sungchan were really happy together at first. Everyone knew it. Opposites attract, he got you out of your shell and you showed him new things. In the beginning, when you two were finding out about eachother, each day was something new. Your giggles filtered through the walls and boomed in the quietest of places. You two went outside dressed the same, hand in hand trying new places together. Eunseok even mentioned in the beginning that you two seemed to make a good couple. He was looking at his game when he said it and it was a quick comment thrown over his shoulder, but it was validation nonetheless.

You two were good for eachother.

Were.

Towards the three month mark there was a bump in the road. Sungchan told Eunseok in confidence that there was hesitancy in your side. The cocked eyebrow in Eunseok’s expression should’ve told Sungchan to stop talking. But he kept going, laying into his grievances of you and your relationship. You were too quiet, too shy. You didn’t like going out, but you were always breathing down Sungchan’s neck when he would enjoy his nights. Sungchan could admit he was being a little dramatic, but when you are drunk two texts seems like your phone is being blown up.

He chalked it up to you two not being matched well. Eunseok chalked it up to that too then. His friend asked him carefully after a beat of silence if Sungchan was going to break up with you. He couldn’t describe the emotion then, but now Sungchan would define it as indignation that bubbled in his chest when he shook his head quickly and said no.

Towards the four month mark, you and Eunseok started to get close. Sungchan believed then that it was another one of your small acts of defiance. When you really broke out of your shell and started bringing up your grievances, he was quick to find an excuse. Those girls that hung around Sungchan were just a part of his much larger friend group, and it wasn’t fair to take Sungchan away from his friends. Even if they had the habit of hanging off of him and calling him their boyfriend when drunk, they were just friends. You were reading too much into it, and you decided to test if you were overthinking things when you got a friend of your own. But it wasn’t your coworkers, wasn’t the strangers you met throughout your day. You didn’t look far to find Eunseok, and it wasn’t long before you were leaving to hang off of his arm when Sungchan was busy.

In the beginning, it was innocent. Atleast Sungchan can have peace of mind that in the beginning when you would take Eunseok to things he didn’t want to go to it was for companionship. Even though you had girl friends that were interested in those things, but Sungchan digressed. He didn’t want to have another fight and be forced to confront the fact that the girls he hung around wanted more than to just be his friend, and that he shamelessly entertained it when he was feeling like it. In the beginning, Eunseok was just your friend and a pawn in your game of chicken. Who would be the first to set the boundary, who would be the first to admit they were in the wrong? Sungchan knew then it wasn’t him, and he still had trouble admitting it now. Even if he was allegedly the one who pushed you right into Eunseok’s arms.

Eunseok didn’t spare the details after the warning. Sungchan couldn’t help but lean in even closer. He ignored the pain in his back as he focused.

The first instance of there being something more was when Sungchan chose his friends over you. The situation was so minor, something as simple as getting lunch with them over going to the store with you. Eunseok was with you during your errands, insisting on paying for your food and meandering through the aisles of a store with you. When you guys were in the game section you grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the games you wanted to look at. Something that was so simple turned into something that had you two ducking your heads and never bringing it up again.

Until it happened again. The guilt was something you only seemed to bare until Sungchan chose someone over you again. This time it was at one of the few parties Sungchan was able to bring you to. He noticed that you were more than willing to go after Eunseok asked if he could tag along. Sungchan should’ve picked up on the signs, how you two had stopped talking for a few days after the lunch he didn’t ask you about. But you visibly perked up, asking Sungchan which outfit you should wear while Eunseok bit his tongue to hold back a suggestion.

Sungchan didn’t even know about the second time. He was admittedly too involved in a game of beer pong and brushing you off the whole night to know what you were doing. He was certain you had found a lawn chair in the backyard and stayed there, looking at your phone and sipping on a beer. He knew now that you were sitting there, waiting for your boyfriend to be done before the knight in shining armor came in. He crouched beside you in the lawn, the same beer in his hand as he offered you the bottled water that was in the other. You looked to Sungchan one last time before you took the water, and thanked Eunseok so sincerely but he only shook his head and said don’t mention it. He was entirely too cool as of late, and now Sungchan knew why. He bet Eunseok didn’t even ask you if you wanted to go somewhere else, he only flicked his head back towards the party that was continuing on inside before you got up from your chair and dusted yourself off.

Sungchan could admit now he remembers you telling him where you were going. He wasn’t paying much attention to your quiet voice as he tried perfecting the bend in his arm to throw the ball into the cup across the table. But he did know he acknowledged you leaving because he thought you’d be right back. He didn’t know you were leaving to sneak upstairs through throngs of people.

The dimly lit bathroom let Eunseok see all of you. The way you pulled him closer, the way you locked the door before looking up to him entirely.

Eunseok described your lips as shiny. The were covered in a thin layer of the gloss that he bought for you on another run to the shop. The cashier told you that you had a good boyfriend and you didn’t deny it, even if the man swiping his card was very much not your boyfriend. Your lips were soft and slow pressing against his, and hesitant until Eunseok looked you deep in your eyes and asked you if this was alright. He could swim in his reflection in your wide eyes as you slowly nodded your head up and down. When he said you could stop him at any time and moved his hand to cradle the back of your neck you went in more sure of yourself. The light pecks Sungchan complained about turned into something more hungry quickly. The hunger made Eunseok’s other hand wander your body quickly, feeling the parts of you only Sungchan had touched. Your mutual hunger made Eunseok lift you up to place you on the edge of the sink, it made you stick your tongue into his mouth as you wrapped your legs around his waist.

“He doesn’t deserve you.”

That was the first time Eunseok ever let the confession slip out. He meant it with everything in him, and it showed that he didn’t regret what he was doing. He would never leave you alone the way Sungchan left you alone, he would never leave you to think that anyone in his life held a candle to you. You didn’t refute his claims either. You only pulled away and nodded again with tears beginning to dot your waterline before you went back in again.

Eunseok only took his hands off of you to take his jacket off. The top layer was entirely too hot as you pushed it off his shoulders. He didn’t care if his jacket fell to the floor of the bathroom, black hides stains and he didn’t want to take his lips off of yours. You two breathed into eachothers mouths to avoid breaking apart entirely, and when his jacket was off you pulled him so close and so fast by his white shirt he had to brace himself by holding the edges of the ceramic sink. He gave you his tongue quickly, laving the top row of your teeth as his hands found your thighs again.

Eunseok had to take a detour just to say how everything about you was just so soft. He couldn’t believe it. A tiny part reserved only for himself he talked about your soft hands, soft lips, soft legs, and soft heart. It wasn’t fair someone as kind as you was pushed to do such terrible things. He lamented that you were so loyal, and Sungchan often said one of the best things about you was that you were too shy to cheat.

But as the tight skirt Sungchan suggested rode up your legs, you weren’t that person anymore. When you nodded as Eunseok wedged his hands between your thighs you weren’t meek. He was enamored by the soft feeling of your thighs closed around his hand, bringing him closer to the fabric of your panties. Eunseok was completely surrounded by you as he dragged his hand against you, the heavy pressure against your cunt made you whine into his mouth. Sungchan and Eunseok could both agree on your sounds being beautiful. Your reactions made him want to continue. He would’ve done it, if your phone didn’t start vibrating from a call on top of the toilet seat. The sound of the vibrations pulled you from Eunseok entirely. Sungchan’s picture taking up your entire screen made you realize the situation you were in.

He had to go through another week of radio silence from you after the party. Eunseok described it as guilt. Even when Eunseok found out Sungchan never found out, you two refused to go back to normal. Even when he continued to choose his friends over you, you were still quiet. The third time Eunseok had to go to you.

Sungchan should’ve seen the signs. He knows that now. He came into their shared living room entirely too heated. Eunseok was already there, his interest piqued as he paused his show. He asked Sungchan what was wrong, and he could only pretend nothing happened for a second before he spilled everything.

“She broke up with me.” Sungchan said.

He opened the fridge just to close it. Leftovers from your takeout sat right next to his, and your tiny reminder of him not to eat it was the first thing he say.

“Did she say why?” Eunseok asked.

Sungchan had to furrow his eyebrows at the sudden tension that was in the room. Why did it feel like Eunseok was asking that question for all the wrong reasons? When Sungchan had been broken up with in the past, the only thing Eunseok offered was a drink and well wishes. Now he had the show completely paused, leaning forward like he was trying to pick up on every word. He should’ve listened to the hairs that raised on the back of his neck, but instead he shook it off. Maybe his friend was trying to be more involved, that had to be it. Eunseok was his friend before he was yours, and he didn’t have it in him to have ulterior motives.

“She said we weren’t a good match.” Sungchan answered.

He was too distracted to see that Eunseok’s expression shifted. The tension dissolved and Eunseok let out the smallest sigh of relief before his sights cut back to the television. Sungchan was too focused on the comfort his friend was giving him. A pat on his back and an it’s okay was enough to convince Sungchan everything really was okay. He wasn’t a bad boyfriend, he just didn’t meet his match. Sungchan went to bed telling Eunseok he was such a great friend.

He had no idea that once he went to bed, Eunseok was on his phone in an instant. Opening up your message history to tell you that Sungchan told him what happened. You told the truth and said you didn’t tell him about what happened at the party, but you lied by saying Eunseok wasn’t one of the reasons. If he truly wasn’t it wouldn’t have been so easy to open your door to him. All Eunseok had to tell you was that your leftovers were still in the fridge, and he could bring it to you and you two could talk. Just talk, both of you specified that.

Sungchan would’ve loved to not know how long you lasted before you folded. But unfortunately, he knew it all. You invited Eunseok into your apartment visibly cleaned up from the crying you did all day, and you took the leftovers before throwing it in your fridge with the rest of your takeout. You didn’t even like the food from the restaurant. You put it in the fridge just to see if Sungchan would be a bother and eat it just like all the other times you left food in his fridge. Sungchan knew that you two started by talking on Eunseok’s couch, mentioning everything but the reason he was there and why you had used tissues balled up on your coffee table. It wasn’t until the movies credits started to roll that you two looked at eachother knowingly.

“He broke my heart.” You said truthfully.

The tears were so obvious. Eunseok was a mediator. He was a thinker down to the bone, always trying to get people to look at the situation objectively. But you crawled closer to him, your head resting over his heart as he put his arm over you. Eunseok gave in immediately, rubbing your shoulder before kissing the crown of your head.

“You deserve better.” Eunseok said.

Sungchan imagined that when the situation sunk in and you realized Eunseok was his friend everything fell into place. His comforting words served their purpose, but you wanted more. He even described the sad look in your eye shifting to lust with a hint of contempt as you looked up to him. Eunseok brought his other arm to your waist. That was soft too.

“I do.” You said quietly, looking to his lips.

The only part Eunseok spared was you leading him to the bed. Sungchan imagined that part vividly though, after a continuation of the makeout session Sungchan rudely interrupted by calling his girlfriend you jumped off the couch to grab Eunseok by the hand. He only wondered if Eunseok got undressed there, if you gave him a show taking off your clothes the same way you’d always do with him. He imagined his friend sitting there dumbfounded as you took off your shirt and bra. He imagined him drooling as your fingers messed with the band of your sleeping shorts.

Eunseok didn’t know what to do with all of you, Sungchan refused to believe that. He was just a good storyteller, crafting a lie filled with the tiny habits Sungchan noticed very early on. The tiny squeaks you make, your affinity to being manhandled into place. Your tiny talk to me’s, because you need someone to talk you through everything. There’s no way Eunseok had it in him to flip you from your back to your stomach, to lift your bottom half and spread your legs apart with his hands as he slotted his body between them. There’s no way he could muster the audacity to lean in close until his front was pressing to your back to whisper he was so mean to you baby right in your ear. His meek friend didn’t have it in him. There was no way.

Sungchan looked on in disbelief at the thought of you whining and nodding hopelessly. You liked being crushed, to feel someone’s frame over yours. Eunseok would’ve superimposed your body as he separated from you, looking down at where he was about to be inside of you. If he fucked you in the dark he would be able to see you glisten, if he was able to get the bedside lamp on he’d see the way you preened and wiggled your ass towards his cock. You’d preemptively grab a pillow to muffle your moans as Eunseok pressed a hand to your lower back. He had to have everything perfect, he had thought about this for too long. Fucking you in missionary would’ve been ideal—he was a romantic after all—but he didn’t think you were ready. So he settled for fucking you in one of Sungchan’s favorite positions, one he raved about when it came to you.

Eunseok slid in slowly. He said it himself, hand on the bible like he was testifying in court. Your hand quickly reached underneath you to feel the rest of his length as he slid in. When his hips kissed yours, and your hand was looking for somewhere else to go, he held it so tight and pressed it to your lower back. You started babbling about wanting him when he slid all the way out to his tip just to go right back in. When he started picking up the pace and clasped a hand around both of your wrists you started talking about love.

Apparently your walls were soft to. Wet and warm and soft, clasping around his cock like you two were made for eachother. He made it his mission to make you forget about anyone else you had in that moment. Eunseok picked up the speed and let go of your wrists just to watch them fall heavy to the mattress. His hands grabbed at your waist to help guide you back. Eunseok put his hands behind his head and watched you do your own thing for a short period of time. He disappeared inside of you, the lewd sounds combining with the muffled whimpers behind the blankets.

When you ran out of energy, like you always did, Eunseok moved his body forward. His front was against your back again, but the layer of sweat kept you glued together. Eunseok applied more and more weight on your body until you collapsed all together, your stomach flat against the mattress while Eunseok somehow wedged deeper inside of you. He was able to take away the covers entirely at this point, and your unbridled moans filled the room. They were pathetic whimpers at this point, cut off words, and the beginning of Eunseok’s name all rolled into one. He nodded and cooed to each one, kissing the side of your face to show he was with you.

“I got you.” Your pussy clenched around his cock again at the rough edge in his voice. “I’m here.”

He eventually had to start swiping your tears away with his thumb. He stayed still inside of you for a long time as you regained yourself. He selfishly wanted to draw out whatever this was, because after tonight you two would actually have to talk about what this was before going any further. So while you helplessly clenched around Eunseok in preparation for your orgasm he kissed you gently, trying to back you away from the edge.

“Seokie.” You babbled.

“Hmm.” His heart jumped at the nickname and how sweet it sounded coming out of your mouth in such a whiny tone.

“Feels good.” You uselessly tried lowering and lifting your hips in an effort to fuck yourself on his cock again. “Please keep going.” You begged.

You begged for more as if the line of drool and your body twitches weren’t enough of an indication. Eunseok still nodded and kissed your cheekbone again as he pulled back his hips to slam into you roughly. That’s what you always liked in the end. Rough and slow, Eunseok’s heavy pants on the sweaty base of your neck as he pressed he head against yours. He was feeling the edge himself as he started rambling off at the mouth.

“You’re so perfect.”

“He doesn’t deserve you.”

“I’d treat you so well.”

“All mine.”

These were all things you agreed with. Nodding against your blanket in between your loud moans and declarations of your own. You told Eunseok he was so much better right before you told him you were about to cum. You told him that your cunt liked him better, that it hit a spot deep inside of you. Sungchan didn’t know you had it in you to say such crude things in bed. He didn’t know you were capable of such intimate pillow talk afterwards. Asking him to stay the night, kissing and cuddling until the two of you fell asleep.

Sungchan knew that there were other times he had seen you. His friend that continued to come home at odd hours in the morning and midday with half-assed explanations was seeing you instead. Fucking you, holding you, talking about Sungchan with you. Even though that night was the only encounter Eunseok talked about explicitly, he knew there was more.

When Sungchan saw that there were other dates marked underneath the conclusion paragraph that’s when he finally pulled away. He looked at the top of the Word document again, blinking hard as he tried to make sense of what he read. But it was right there for him, in big black bold letters, less than an admittance of betrayal but moreso the beginning of a thesis paper.

AITA: ME AND MY BESTFRIEND’S EX-GIRLFRIEND HAD SEX WHEN I WENT TO COMFORT HER ABOUT THEIR BREAKUP.

With his fingers on the trackpad, Sungchan scrolled to the bottom of the document back up to the top. The TL;DR summed up the situation Sungchan read with his own two eyes.

He was still hanging off every word, from the beginning where Eunseok defined the codewords fro your two names down to the scroll blinking on the very last period, silently asking if the writer wanted to continue. The music playing throughout the lobby of this new cafe was more Sungchan’s taste, but he couldn’t hear anything over the blood rushing in his ears.

He felt sick looking at the last edit made timestamp at the top. Less than ten minutes ago, while Sungchan sat right in front of Eunseok talking about his recent breakup. His friends reaction made sense now. The tiny nods to the details Sungchan didn’t remember mentioning before. How involved he was in the conversation, when just a week ago Eunseok seemed like he wanted nothing less than to talk about the relationship. Eunseok’s habit of asking about you first, his eyebrows knit in worry as he asked how you were handling all this. Eunseok taking your side instead of his. Everything made too much sense. The timelines coincided too. Sungchan remembers that stormy night when your location was off and he caught a whiff of you on his bestfriend the next morning. He thought it was the remnants of you taking up his mind, but now he knew it was really you.

Sungchan felt anger replace the bile when he remembered all the times Eunseok lied to him too easily. He was seeing you when Sungchan told him he was at the store, he was sneaking off to see you at parties in secluded rooms when he said he was getting drinks. When Eunseok looked his bestfriend dead in the eyes and said he hadn’t even thought about you, he had seen you the previous night.

Sungchan was played a fool by the one person he believed to be dumber than him. He found solace in the fact that he could walk over his complacent friend, take what Eunseok wanted so desperately to be his. From the time they were kids up until a week ago, it was too easy. Eunseok’s submission was what made their relationship work. Now that Eunseok has turned their dynamic into a pissing contest—one that Sungchan didn’t know he was horrifically losing—he didn’t know what to do.

His first instinct was to smash Eunseok’s laptop on the ground. The cement floor would’ve turned his laptop to smithereens. He could grab his coffee and poor it right over the keyboard. Maybe if he was lucky the thing would produce smoke, maybe even catch fire right before his eyes. Sungchan could also wait until Eunseok emerged from the bathroom, wait until he was unaware of everything and sucker punch him. They could start a brawl between these two tables, absolutely make a mess of this fine establishment.

But then Sungchan thought about how Eunseok would have that smug look on his face. As of a week ago, Eunseok got increasingly better at pushing Sungchan’s buttons, saying comments so slick that it left him confused on how to react. He imagined it now, Eunseok’s calm demeanor before telling him Channie, why are you so quick to anger? Like he already knew how his friend would react if he knew what he was writing for the past hour.

Being predictable is what made Sungchan take a deep breath. He couldn’t behave the way he wanted to, the way Eunseok would expect him to. Also, there was that one time the two of them fought in grade school and Eunseok beat his ass. He’s sure he could take him now, he’s absolutely positive of it. But Sungchan tells himself he goes back to calmly sitting across from Eunseok because he has a plan. He smiles instead of letting his emotions show on his face when Eunseok comes out of the bathroom because he knows what he’s going to do. Sungchan doesn’t know what he’s going to do just yet, but it’s going to wipe the worried look off Eunseok’s face when he leans in close to Sungchan’s scowl.

“Is everything alright, Sungchan?” Eunseok points to Sungchan’s drink. “Is it the coffee?” He asks.

Sungchan shakes his head and takes a sip to prove it’s alright. Eunseok nods his head and goes back to typing. Sungchan nearly chokes on his drink.

“Better than the other cafe, right?” Eunseok asks, looking at his screen.

Sungchan watched his friend look from the document back up to him. He calms the fire in the pit of his stomach as he nods to his friend. Eunseok goes back to the document and Sungchan can see him switch to a different window. He grips the armrest of his sofa, something Eunseok doesn’t notice as he goes back to typing.

“Way better.” Sungchan says.

He messes with the rim of his cup. Another breath in.

“Eunseok.” He says.

Eunseok stops typing to look at Sungchan. The genuine concern on his face makes Sungchan want to lunge over the table.

“What did you ever do with that food left in the fridge.” When Eunseok looks confused Sungchan clears his throat. “From a week ago.” He specifies.

Sungchan watches him register what happened a weak ago. He has the nerve to hesitate and look up to think like he doesn’t already know. Sungchan’s tongue pokes the inside of his cheek as he looks down at his coffee.

“I threw it out. So you wouldn’t have to deal with it.” Eunseok answers after a beat of silence.

Sungchan takes another deep breath in. He looks up to Eunseok with a smile on his face.

“You’re a good friend.” Sungchan says.

He can see the hesitancy in Eunseok’s head nod. Eunseok knows he can see it too.

#01zfan: eunseok #eunseok smut #riize smut

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tbyfandoms · 1 day ago

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I Smell Snow | Joe Burrow x Reader

Pairing: joe burrow x f!reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: the first cincinnati snowfall of the season leads to a night full of magic and love

Warnings: literally a single swear word if you can even call it that

Masterlist/Request Form | Ask/Tell/Request

A/N: my first ever published joe fic! this is literally such a self indulgent fic, I won’t lie. it spawned after I was standing outside and it started snowing and then the next day I watched ‘love actually’. plus couple that with my love for ‘gilmore girls’ quotes and needless to say, this is a big ball of fluff. even if it’s not the best fic, I love it, and I hope you all do as well :) <3

When you step outside into the crisp air, a smile breaks out across your face. The sky is a soft grey, a color you'd otherwise dread if not for the time of year, and the sight alone causes excitement to stir within you.

You've been waiting for this since the moment the temperatures started dropping. The weather is of course unpredictable and you can never truly trust what the weatherman says on the news, but you're sure of it this time. You'd swear up and down you could feel it coming.

It's going to snow.

The click of the handle turning on the patio door tears your eyes away from the sky, and instead of soft grey, your eyes are now met with a soft blue color. The color of your boyfriend's eyes. A color you could get lost in if given the opportunity.

"Hey," you say softly as Joe steps outside and tries to piece together in his head what it is that has your undivided attention out here. He got the pool covered months ago and all the furniture is tucked away into different corners of the patio. He doesn't see any deer or other animals out in the yard either. There's nothing of interest and yet Joe understands that knowing you, it's gotta be something, and the thought alone has him amused.

"Hey, baby. Whatcha doin' out here?" You shrug your shoulders a bit, a tinge of pink coating your cheeks due to something else entirely than the cold.

"I smell snow," you whisper. A phrase you've come to love and use religiously when it is that time of year. You know it might seem stupid to some people, but you genuinely feel like you can always tell when it's going to snow. Weather reporting it or not. It's s silly thing between you and your friends, but somehow you're never wrong.

When you first started dating Joe it was during the spring. The snow had long since melted and the chill in the air was long gone. You've mentioned in passing before your little inside joke, but never once have you said it to him before. Saying it out loud to him has you feeling a little silly, but the look on his face quickly extinguishes it.

Joe's eyes are crinkled at the corners, his smile taking up half his face, and his perfect white teeth are on full display as a deep chuckle escapes him.

"Do you now?" The Bengals quarterback teases as he takes a few more steps towards you. As he does so, you bask in the sight of him. Your boyfriend looks so cute and cosy in his hoodie, sweatpants, and beanie. All Bengals branded, of course. Joe Burrow is nothing if not proud of his city and his team. You feel the same about him and all he's accomplished.

"I do, Burrow. And the minute that first snowflake hits the ground, I'll be telling you I told you so." You nod your head in finality before lightly giggling and turning your head back up to the sky.

Joe gazes fondly at you as he takes in every inch of your body. There you are, this beautiful girl standing before him, not having a care in the world besides knowing whether or not it's going to snow. He thinks you're ridiculous in the most loving way possible, and that's when it hits him. That's what this is; love.

The two of you have only been dating for just under a year, but the Cincinnati resident has never been more sure about anything else in his life (besides maybe football) than he is about how he feels for you. About how seriously he cares for you and wants you in his life for years to come.

Joe Burrow is completely and utterly in love with you.

A sharp intake of breath leaves the man's lips, but it's mixed in with yours as you gasp up at the sky and watch as a single snowflake drifts slowly towards your face. At first it's just one and then suddenly it's dozens of little flakes flurrying around you.

A bemused laugh shakes your body and you nearly squeal at the sight. There's always been something so magical about snow to you. You don't know whether it's the nostalgic child-like wonder and excitement of it all or if it's something else entirely, but you've never quite been able to shake it. You're not sure you'd ever want to, really.

"Joe," you start, awe completely evident in your tone as you lightly flit your eyes to your boyfriend and then back to the sky. "Look at this! It's so pretty, I can't believe I was—"

"I love you." The blonde's confession slices through the air and suddenly it feels like nothing else matters in this moment, not even the snow you were so desperate to see because—

"What?" You question, wondering if you just imagined what Joe had said. Surely you misheard him, but part of you hopes to God you didn't.

"I love the way you care so deeply for everyone. I love the way you support me and my career completely and yet still keep that fierce independence and confidence in yourself and your own career. I love that you don't let anyone or anything get in the way of your dreams, but yet you still stay kind through it all. I love the way you've accepted me and all my stubbornness no matter how irritating it may be at times. I love how smart, funny, beautiful, and a million other adjectives I could continue to list, you are." A laugh slips past your lips and it's in this moment you realize tears have begun to trickle down your cheeks, mingling with the soft snowflakes that have landed there. "But most importantly, I love you, Y/N. Completely and unconditionally, I am in love with you. And I know we haven't been together for that long, but I'm hoping that just maybe you feel the same."

Wasting no time, you practically jump the few feet it takes you to reach your boyfriend and immediately wrap your arms around his neck, his warmth engulfing you instantly as he holds onto you.

"I love you too, Joey," you smile as you pull back and lock eyes with those pale blues from earlier. As the sky begins to darken, you revel in the way his eyes shine as they reflect the patio lights. You'd debate with anyone that Joe's eyes rival the stars themselves. He'd definitely say the same about yours.

A beat passes, the two of you so wrapped in each other's presence and revelations that most definitely have now altered the courses of your lives. The thought of falling so deeply in love with someone the way you have with Joe both terrifies and excites you, and all you know for sure is that you're in this for as long as he'll have you. Something tells you though that that's going to be a very long time, and you wouldn't want it any other way.

Joe reaches up and cups your cheek in his palm, his thumb swiping over your cheekbone and brushing away a few snowflakes that have settled there. It doesn't take long for him to lean in. Dying to connect his lips with yours and craving the way you taste.

His lips mold perfectly with yours, the way they have for all these months and the way you're sure they will for months to come. As the first Cincinnati snow of the season continues to fall, you smile into Joe's mouth as you feel the flakes begin to melt between you. The warmth of your lips fighting off any of the cold trying to reach you.

You're sure you'll feel the effects of ice cold water seeping into your skin later, but right now all you can focus on is the man before you and how happy you are to have found him.

Joe pulls back and you nearly giggle at the sight of him. The tip of his nose and his cheeks are a bright pink, and you're sure if he wasn't wearing his hat that his ears would appear the same. Even though he looks like the happiest man alive right now, you can tell he's cold. Although you can admire the snow for how it looks and how it makes you feel inside, it doesn't always make you feel the greatest on the outside, especially after a long period of time.

You decide now is a good a time as any to head back inside. You're confident the first fall of snow lived up to all the hype and then some.

"C'mon, let's go inside and warm up. I think I've had enough of the snow...for now," you chuckle.

"Thank God," Joe breathes out before bringing his hands up and rubbing them together, trying to create some warmth between them. "I know you love this stuff, but I won't lie, I'm freezing my ass off."

The two of you laugh as Joe leads you back inside through the patio door. The familiar click of the door handle echoes behind you and you hum in satisfaction as the cold gets shut out and the warmth of Joe's house welcomes you with open arms.

"Hey, freezing or not, you have to admit the snow is pretty magical." Joe watches as you begin to take off your jacket, a bit of snow that clung to you falling to the ground. Some of it is still in your hair, slowly melting away, but the sight of it makes his heart swell. The snow glistens, almost sparkles, and all it does is add to your beauty in his eyes. You're so blissfully unaware of it all too, and it only makes Joe fall for you that much more.

"I think I'm gonna have to agree with you on that one, sweetheart," he replies, genuinely believing it.

Magic snow powers or not, Joe adored seeing you in awe like that tonight. He can't wait for many more instances like it, and who knows? Maybe during next year's first snowfall, he might be on one knee, confessing his love for you in a different way.

#joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow x y/n #joe burrow x you #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow fan fic

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sombaf · 1 day ago

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The silence before the storm was always the most dangerous. Lena had learned that early in life—boardrooms, labs, and now, in the heart of her office at L-Corp, standing across from Kara Danvers. Correction: Kara Zor-El. Supergirl. Her wife. Or at least, her soon-to-be ex-wife.

The tension in the room might as well have been a grenade, pin pulled, seconds from detonating.

“You filed for divorce,” Kara said, her voice low, tight.

“Yes.” Lena kept her arms crossed, her face calm. She had practiced this—practiced detachment, practiced not letting Kara look at her with those wide blue eyes and make her doubt her decision.

“You actually filed for divorce.” Kara’s voice cracked, disbelief and anger curling together into something sharp. “Lena, how could you—?”

“How could I?” Lena’s voice rose sharply, her mask fracturing. She pushed off the desk, closing the distance between them in two quick strides. “Don’t you dare stand there and act surprised, Kara! How could you?”

Kara recoiled slightly, her eyes narrowing, her jaw tightening. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to hurt you!”

“And yet, you did.” Lena’s voice was cold, cutting. “Every single day you lied to me. Every moment you pretended to trust me while keeping the biggest part of yourself hidden. Did you think I wouldn’t find out eventually? Or was I just supposed to live my entire life being the idiot who didn’t know her wife was Supergirl?”

“I wasn’t trying to make you feel like an idiot!” Kara’s hands curled into fists, trembling at her sides. “I was trying to protect you, Lena! Don’t you understand that?”

“No, Kara.” Lena stepped closer, her voice like ice. “I don’t understand, because that’s not protection. That’s control. You decided for me. You decided I didn’t need to know. That I wasn’t worthy of the truth.”

“That’s not—” Kara’s voice faltered, her shoulders sagging. She looked at Lena, her eyes pleading now. “That’s not why I didn’t tell you. I was scared.”

Lena barked out a hollow laugh, shaking her head. “Of me? Kara, I loved you. I trusted you completely. I would have died for you, and you were scared of me?”

“I was scared of losing you!” Kara shouted, her voice raw, reverberating through the office. Her fists slammed against her thighs, and Lena could see the way her fingers twitched, like she wanted to punch something—anything.

For a moment, they stared at each other, the tension in the room so thick it felt like the air itself might shatter. Then Kara reached into her jacket and pulled out the manila envelope.

Lena recognized it instantly.

“I can’t believe this is what you want,” Kara said, her voice low, shaking. She slammed the envelope onto the desk with a crack that echoed through the room. The wood splintered beneath it, a jagged fault line spreading across the surface.

Lena flinched but didn’t step back. She refused to let Kara intimidate her, even unintentionally.

“You want your divorce so badly?” Kara spat. “Fine. Take it.”

The desk groaned ominously, the split widening. For a moment, neither of them moved, their heavy breathing the only sound in the room.

Lena’s lips parted, words teetering on the edge of escape, but nothing came. Kara’s chest heaved, her fists still clenched at her sides, and for the first time, Lena felt the full weight of Kara’s anger—not just the anger at her, but the anger Kara carried toward herself. Lena’s body tensed, her hands curling into fists at her sides. She told herself to step back, to stay in control, but the pull of Kara—of her fury, her presence—was impossible to resist. Even now, with anger still simmering in her veins, Lena hated how much she wanted her.

And god help her, Kara had never looked more breathtaking.

Lena’s composure cracked completely. She hated herself for noticing the way Kara’s chest heaved, her lips parted in anger. Oh lord, why does she have to look like that? The thought scraped against her resolve, shattering it entirely.

She surged forward, grabbing Kara’s shirt and yanking her down into a kiss. It was messy, frantic, their teeth clashing before their mouths found a rhythm, before their anger melted into something else entirely.

For a moment, Kara froze, her mind racing. She didn’t deserve this—didn’t deserve Lena’s touch, her anger, her love—but Rao, she couldn’t stop herself. Her hands found Lena’s waist, pulling her closer as if drawn by a force she couldn’t resist. Lena could feel the heat radiating off her skin—something warm, almost electric, like sunlight trapped beneath Kara’s clothes.

“This doesn’t mean—” Lena gasped between kisses, but Kara cut her off, her lips capturing Lena’s again, stealing the breath from her lungs. She tasted faintly sweet, like honey and something unplaceable—something not of this Earth.

“Don’t talk,” Kara murmured, her voice low and rough, her hands sliding up Lena’s back. “Just—don’t.”

Lena didn’t argue. Her fingers fisted in Kara’s collar, pulling her closer, the fabric taut beneath her hands. Kara’s strength was dizzying, a palpable force beneath her touch. When Kara lifted her onto the desk—splintered wood and all—Lena felt a fleeting rush of safety, absurd in its contrast to the chaos between them.

The papers were crushed beneath them, forgotten, as Kara pressed forward, her hands everywhere—Lena’s hips, her thighs, her waist. The touch of her fingers was firm, grounding, but never too much, as if Kara was still afraid of breaking her.

“Kara,” Lena breathed, her voice shaky, her hands threading through Kara’s hair. Her fingertips grazed the soft waves, tugging just enough to make Kara groan low in her throat—a sound that sent heat pooling low in Lena’s stomach.

It was intoxicating, the way Kara’s control slipped in moments like this. The way she kissed Lena like she was both holding her together and tearing her apart.

“You drive me insane,” Kara muttered against Lena’s lips, her voice low and husky. The scent of her—clean, crisp, with a faintly alien warmth that Lena couldn’t name—wrapped around her like a cocoon.

“Good,” Lena whispered back, her nails dragging down Kara’s back through her shirt. The fabric bunched under her hands as she scratched lightly, just enough to make Kara shudder. “Now shut up and kiss me.”

Kara obliged, leaning in again, her lips searing, her hands gripping the edge of the desk to steady herself. The desk groaned under their combined weight, but neither of them cared.

It wasn’t forgiveness—not yet. It wasn’t a resolution to the anger and hurt that still lingered between them. But it was something—something raw and real and theirs.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were panting, their foreheads pressed together. Kara’s hands were trembling where they rested on Lena’s thighs, and Lena’s lips were red and swollen from the force of their kisses. Her heart thundered in her chest, her body still thrumming with the aftershock of Kara’s touch.

“I hate you,” Lena whispered, her voice trembling, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

“I love you,” Kara replied, her voice just as shaky, her gaze searching Lena’s face.

Lena let out a choked laugh, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re infuriating.”

For a moment, they just stared at each other, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between them.

But the tension that had suffocated them for weeks now felt… lighter. Not gone, but no longer insurmountable.

“Let’s talk,” Kara said softly, her voice breaking the silence.

Lena nodded, her hands still clinging to Kara’s shirt. “Okay. But not here.”

Kara smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair out of Lena’s face. “Anywhere you want.”

And for the first time in a long while, Lena thought they might actually be able to fix this. Together.

#supercorp #kara x lena #supergirl fanfic #supergirl #kara danvers #ao3 writers #fanfiction #wlw fiction #femslash #wife #divorce

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covenofagatha · 6 hours ago

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A dance with death (and her wife) (Part 2)

A look into Agatha and Rio's home life, and you are reeling from having The Witch and Lady Death in your motel room

Word count: 4200

Warnings: mentions of murder, manipulativeness, light gaslighting

The same morning you get called to Westview, Agatha Harkness wakes up to find her wife, Rio Vidal, staring at her.

“If you were going to kill me, how would you do it?” Rio asks, and Agatha raises an eyebrow.

“Good morning to you, too,” she groans, propping herself up on her elbows to get a better look at Rio, who is lounging in the chair in the corner. “How long have you been watching me sleep?”

Rio shrugs. “You make it sound like I’m some serial killer who’s about to murder you.” Her eyes widen conspiratorially and Agatha snorts before plopping back down.

“She’s getting here today, you know,” Agatha says and she can hear Rio’s breath hitch.

She leans forward in the chair. “When do you think she’ll come see me?” The eagerness is evident in her voice, and Agatha knows how she feels.

“Once we pull off our little ‘Welcome to Westview’ stunt tonight? I bet no time at all,” Agatha answers.

Rio grins, seemingly satisfied with the answer, and picks up the skeleton mask sitting on the dresser. She fiddles with the strings and holds it up to her face. “I wouldn’t be surprised if that Miami director books the appointment himself. Do police detectives usually include a business card to their wife’s therapy practice in their information file to the FBI?”

“Better hope he doesn’t just pull her off the case,” Agatha remarks, ignoring the question, and finally gets up out of bed and walks past the bouquet of purple azaleas on the vanity. “He’s pretty serious when it comes to protecting her. Especially after…”

“No,” Rio cuts her off and Agatha looks at her wife in surprise. Rio puts her mask down, stands up, and walks over so she’s face-to-face with the older woman. She reaches a hand out to put it gently around Agatha’s throat, who doesn’t even flinch. Rio smirks and drags her hand downward so it’s resting over her heart. “We’re finally getting what we want. Do you know how long we’ve been waiting for this? For her? I’m not letting her go.”

Agatha tilts her head to the side, thinking for a second. “If I were going to kill you, I’d fill a syringe with air and inject it into your bloodstream under your toenail. The death would mimic a heart attack and the track mark would be almost impossible to find. I’d tell the authorities that you were under so much stress as a therapist that it eventually took a toll on your body,” she says slowly, clinically even, watching Rio’s hazel eyes get dark.

She hums and looks down at Agatha’s lips. “You really know how to make a lady swoon.” Rio gives her a quick peck and leaves the room so her wife can get ready for work.

On her way to the kitchen, Rio steps into the spare room in the hallway and takes a deep breath, feeling the tension seeping from her muscles. The table in the middle of the room is covered in vials, all Agatha’s doing. They don’t call her The Witch for nothing, Rio thinks. She picks up her own dagger and twirls it between her practiced fingers while she admires the handiwork on the left side of the room.

From ceiling to floor, the wall is completely covered with you. Every single case file you’ve profiled for, pictures of you from now all the way back to your childhood, transcripts from Quantico and college. Rio’s favorite photo hangs front and center, the one of the scar you got from dealing with the Scarlet Killer, all rough and jagged.

Rio would’ve made it prettier.

Patience, she reminds herself.

The trap has been laid. All that’s left to do is wait.

***

You turn the entire motel room upside down, scourging for anything else the killers may have left behind: a camera or a listening device, or maybe even a clue.

Nothing.

And then you kick yourself for touching everything because now you can’t even test for prints. Plus, it’s a motel room so you’re not sure you’d be able to narrow it down.

The phone is in your hand dialing Tony back before you can think. He doesn’t answer and you slam it down on the bed in frustration.

They were here. The Witch and Lady Death were in your room.

You draw the blinds and deadbolt the door, making a mental note to ask the front desk to change the locks. How did they get in? How did they know you were going to get food?

A cold feeling sinks into your bones. They must be watching you.

And what’s to stop them from coming back? This time though, when you’re in the room?

Anyone could be next. Agatha’s words echo around in your head and you didn’t realize just how true they are until now.

You don’t realize you’re hyperventilating until you feel dizzy and gag. Then you run to the bathroom and puke into the toilet. Wiping a hand across your sweaty forehead, your mind spins with what to do.

You could call the police, but you don’t think they would do any good, especially after you’ve tampered with evidence. There were no cameras in this motel, you had already checked.

Pacing back and forth, head in your hands, you try and try and try to think of what to do.

And finally you think of something.

You punch in the number and hold the phone up to your ear.

It rings three times and then there’s a click.

“Dr. Rio Vidal’s office, if this is an emergency please hang up the phone and call 911. If not, this is Dr. Vidal, how can I help you?”

You take a shaky breath and press your fingers to your forehead to stave off the incoming headache. “Um, yes, hi, I was calling to see if I could make an appointment? The sooner, the better.”

There’s shuffling and then tapping of keys on a computer. “What’s your name?” When you say it, you hear a sharp inhale and then a cough. “Sorry about that. How does 1 pm tomorrow sound?”

You blink. You didn’t realize you’d be able to get in that fast, but you suppose in a small town like Westview, not many people are going to therapy. “Yeah, that would be great. I’ll see you tomorrow then. Thank you.”

“Bye, Agent Y/L/N,” she says. You frown. You never told her you were an agent. But you figure it’s been announced that you’re coming, so you brush it off.

You take a quick shower and then get into bed, trying to relax and maybe get some sleep. You promised Tony you’d get five hours a night, but you’ll be lucky if you even get one.

At every groan and creak, you jump and grab your gun, sitting up completely alert. It’s always the wind or a tree branch or the building settling.

You lay under the sheets, hand gripped around your weapon, and you don’t sleep a wink.

When you get to the station the next morning, the first person you see is Agatha. She looks up at you, takes in your new outfit, and smiles brightly.

The killers replaced all your clothes so you had no choice but to wear the new ones until you’re able to go shopping. You wouldn’t be surprised if they laced the fabric with something and you end up dead before lunch, but it’s snowing today and you had nothing else to wear.

“Have a good first night in Westview?” She asks and you cautiously glance around the room.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” You ask urgently, voice low. Concern flits onto her face and she nods and stands up. She pulls you into the evidence locker. “They were at my motel last night,” you hiss.

Agatha’s hand flies to her mouth. “The killers? Are you sure?”

You nod furiously. “I had left to get food and when I came back, the door was open and they had packed my suitcase with all new stuff—” You motion down at your body and she checks you out again. “—and perfume and then they circled ‘lovers’ on a sticky note I had to tell me their relationship and they left the flower on my table!”

“Slow down,” Agatha says and you realize you’ve been talking so fast that you haven’t taken a breath. She puts her hands on your shoulders. “Did you see them? Did they come back?”

“No, not yet at least. I don’t understand, if they wanted to kill me, why not just wait until I was there? Or asleep?”

“Maybe they didn’t want to kill you,” Agatha suggests. “Maybe they just wanted to send you a message or something. It’s pretty big news that we have a profiler from the FBI here to help stop them.”

You frown. “So they wanted to let me know they’re not scared of me?”

She shrugs. “Maybe, maybe not. Who knows what they’re thinking. But the most important thing is that you’re okay. We can send over some officers later to test for evidence, if you want.”

“It’s no use, I tore the place apart last night,” you say, shaking your head at your own stupidity. She squeezes your shoulders.

“Hey, don’t worry. Like you said, if they wanted you dead, you’d be dead. Let’s go out there and work on catching them so you and everyone else in Westview can sleep easy, yeah?”

You nod, feeling a little better but then you pause. “Agatha, are you afraid?”

Something flickers in her eyes before it's quickly replaced by humor. “I think they know better than to break into the home of a decorated detective such as myself,” she says haughtily and you can’t help but to laugh. She chuckles too, but then something in her face changes.

Before you can ask what’s wrong, she leans in and sniffs up your neck. You freeze and find all the air in your lungs gone.

“New perfume?” She mutters.

You had put it on this morning without even thinking about it as your usual had also been taken. Thanatos. The Greek personification of death.

Or as Freud defined it, a person’s urge to die.

“Yeah,” you stutter. Agatha finally pulls back and her blue eyes are dilated. You find your gaze dropping down to her mouth again and you want to feel her lips on yours.

“You said they packed your suitcase with all new stuff,” she says in a hushed voice and your heartbeat picks up. “Did they give you that too?”

“Yes,” you whisper, and instead of looking disgusted, like you thought she would, she looks excited.

She leans back in and presses her face into your neck and are you imagining her lips ghosting against your skin or is that really happening? It feels like your entire body is on fire.

They trail up, light as a feather against your jugular vein, and she’s at your chin when the door slams open and you jump back. She winks and then she’s turning on her heel and walking out. It’s an officer, trying to book evidence, looking very confused.

“Making friends, Miami?” He jokes and your face flushes before you quickly leave the room before finding Agatha and the rest of the detectives back in the room with the case information.

You tirelessly pour over every single detail for the next few hours to no avail. You toss out theories but Agatha always finds something that doesn’t add up and you’re always back to square one.

But then it’s time for your therapy appointment, so you drop your pen down to the table and gather the pages of your chicken scratch to throw in your bag.

“I have to head out,” you say hastily and Agatha glances up.

“Hot date, superstar?” She teases and the memory of her mouth on your neck burns through you.

You shake your head. “Just uh, going to the doctor.”

She raises an eyebrow daringly and smirks. “Have fun.”

You give her a tight smile and then you’re in your car driving to the office. There’s people walking on the street on your route and you can’t help but wonder which of them might be the next victim.

It’s always been hard to not get too attached to the people in the towns you work at. Looking at them, knowing tomorrow they might not be alive, it takes a toll on you.

That’s part of the reason you get so attached. The waiting, the not knowing. It eats away at you.

Dr. Vidal’s office is tucked away in the corner of a string of workspaces in a building, and you feel something weird in your stomach as you walk up the steps. For the third time in the past 24 hours, your scar sears with a pain you haven’t felt since right after. You have to stop and breathe deeply before opening the door.

A woman sits at the front desk typing on her computer. She barely even looks at you and you stand at the desk for a moment before clearing your throat.

“Um, hi, I have an appointment for one? I’m Y/N,” you say and it’s like she’s finally realized someone’s standing there.

She hums in acknowledgement and scrolls until she finds your name and clicks. “The doctor will be with you shortly.”

You tap the desk and go sit down, wiping your palms on your pants. It’s only a few minutes before a door opens and your name is called.

Walking into the room, the first thing you notice is the thick smell of nature. And then you see plants everywhere. Bookshelves line the walls, full with books and pots of every type of plant and flower you’ve ever seen. Your eyes narrow, but you don’t see anything purple.

And then you see Dr. Vidal sitting behind a large desk. You tentatively take a seat in one of the chairs across from her, squirming under her intense gaze. She’s an attractive woman, hair pulled back into a tight bun and brown eyes that seem to stare into your soul. There’s not a hair out of place on her desk; everything is meticulously organized and right where she needs it.

You clear your throat. “Big plant lover?” You say, and it’s an incredibly awkward way to make a first impression. You’ve never been good at therapy, or with uncomfortable silences.

But she doesn’t seem to care, finds it almost amusing. Her tongue pushes against the inside of her cheek and she settles forward. “So, what brings you to therapy?”

You don’t even know where to start. “I just got to town, and um, oh – I’m a profiler, by the way, for the FBI. I’m here working on the case with The Witch and Lady Death.”

“Lady Death?” Dr. Vidal asks, giving you an intrigued look.

“Oh, we figured out that there’s actually two killers. That’s what I nicknamed the other one, because apparently she’s been seen with the bottom half of a skeleton mask on her face. Wait, this is all confidential right?”

“Of course,” she assures you, voice smooth as honey. “Anything you say here doesn’t leave this room unless you threaten to hurt yourself or someone else. So, you’re here about the case?”

You nod, playing with the hem of your sweater. “Yeah, you could say that. I sort of have some obsessive tendencies when it comes to cases like these, and I just wanted to get ahead of them before I spiraled again.”

“What does a spiral look like for you?”

Chewing on your nail, your gut twists and you can feel Wanda’s knife jabbing into you. “I stop eating, stop sleeping. The work consumes me, I can’t take a break. I don’t want to take a break. There’s just this overwhelming need to catch the killer and I won’t stop – I can’t stop – until I find them. It can be dangerous.”

She nods and writes something down in her notebook. “Why did you become a profiler?”

“To help people,” you answer immediately. “I like reading the killers, figuring out what they’re thinking, getting inside their heads and beating them at their own game.”

“When did you start knowing you wanted to do this? Why not just become a detective or something?”

This one takes a bit longer to think about. “I don’t know, I just remember being a kid and wanting to…” You trail off, suddenly feeling confused. “I’m sorry, I don’t really know what I was going to say.” Something is weird, wrong even. What were you thinking of?

“No, don’t apologize,” Dr. Vidal says, laying her hands on the desk with wide eyes. “You wanted to what as a kid? What happened that made you want to think like a killer?”

A dull ache starts to throb against your skull the harder you try and think about it. “I don’t know,” you repeat, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I’m not thinking like a killer, I’m figuring out the way their brain works. So I can catch them.”

She leans back and crosses her arms. “What do you feel when you think like them?”

“What does this have to do with–” But you’re cut off by a blinding burst of pain and then glimpses of something you can’t quite explain flash through your mind.

Snow.

Trees.

A clearing in the woods.

Red birds flutter from the branches, startled by something.

You hear your name and the images are gone. Dr. Vidal is watching you closely, breathing heavily. “What was that?”

Shaking your head, you try to make sense of what just happened. Memories or hallucinations? “Um, sorry, I don’t know. What was the question?”

Her eyes are dark and they remind you of Agatha’s in the evidence locker. How she had leaned down and smelled the perfume you were wearing. You shift in your chair.

“I was asking what your coping mechanisms are for when you start to feel yourself spiraling,” she says, and you’re still a little foggy, but you’re pretty sure that’s not what she asked.

You think you might be going crazy. “My boss back in Miami was pretty good about recognizing when I needed to take a step back. I’m trying to not get too involved and make sure I’m eating and staying hydrated and sleeping enough. And I’m here, so I think this should help.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Dr. Vidal says with a smile. “If you ever start to feel too drawn in, take three deep breaths and then do the 5-4-3-2-1 technique. Are you familiar?”

You almost roll your eyes. That’s exactly what they told you to do during your mandated therapy. Name five things you can see, four things you can touch, three things you can hear, two things you can smell, and one thing you can taste. It was meant to ground you and reduce your anxiety.

“Yeah, I’ve tried it a few times, but it didn’t really work for me,” you admit and she waves dismissively.

She quickly scribbles something down and rips out a chunk of paper, sliding it across to you. “This is my cell,” she says. “Call me anytime, day or night, if you ever need to talk. Sometimes that’s the best way to calm down. I know you’re new here, but do you have anyone else, maybe someone you’ve been working with that you could talk to if you need to?”

“There’s this one woman I work with that’s pretty nice. She’s the main detective on the case, so I think I could reach out if I really needed to,” you say and she looks pleased.

“Detective Harkness?” Dr. Vidal asks.

In a small town, people are bound to be familiar with each other. “Um, yeah, do you know her?”

She smirks. “Very well. She’s quite attractive, don’t you think?”

The question catches you off-guard. Is everyone in this place weird? “I mean, sure, of course. Are you allowed to say that?”

“Well, she’s my wife so I would hope so.”

Your mouth drops open. Her lips on your skin, ghosting along your neck, filling you with heat and a need for more. “Oh, I’m so sorry for saying that, I had no idea, obviously. We just work together.”

“Don’t be, doll. I’m sure the two of you would make quite the pair,” Dr. Vidal says, and you ignore the possible unprofessionalism at the pet name. She doesn’t seem offended at all, only fascinated.

You shift in your seat again while trying to figure out what to say. “Well–” you start, but she cuts you off.

“Let me guess, she’s been flirting?”

Fuck. What do you even say? Is Dr. Vidal going to be mad, say she can’t treat you anymore? It’s not your fault, you hadn’t done anything.

She scoffs. “You’re such a pretty young thing, I can’t blame her. You’ll have to come over for dinner with us some night.”

“Um, is that allowed?” You ask, blinking slowly. You have absolutely no idea what is going on. Is your therapist suggesting a threesome with you and her wife and woman you’re working with?

“Getting a meal with your support system? Why wouldn’t it be?” When she phrases it like that, it’s hard to find an error with her logic.

You shrug. It would be nice to be able to talk freely about things. And you’re sure Agatha has told her about the case already. “Yeah, okay.”

“Is there anything else you want to talk about?”

The question weighs on your mind as you chew on your lip and debate whether or not to tell her about the images you just saw. You don’t remember ever being in those woods. “Do patients ever, I don’t know, see things while they talk to you? Like false memories or something?”

This gets her attention. “What did you see?”

“Snow, and woods, and a flock of birds. I don’t know, it felt familiar but I’ve never…” You try to put it into words, but you don’t know how.

“What happens when you try to follow that memory?” She asks and you close your eyes, but there’s nothing.

“I–I can’t. There was like a pain in my head when you asked about what made me want to think like a killer, and then I saw it, but it’s not happening now.” You sound defeated, a testament to your frustration.

Dr. Vidal frowns. “Do you know what repressed memories are? And I never asked you that.”

It’s like the floor tilts under you and you stare blankly at her. You can only focus on the latter part. “No, you did, I remember…” You start to breathe heavily, panic rising in your chest, and she comes over to rub at your back. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s possible you’re feeling a little overwhelmed by all this. I think you need to go home and get some rest. Did you sleep last night?”

It makes sense to you now. You didn’t sleep at all, your brain is just playing tricks on you. “No.”

She nods. “Go home. Take a nap. Let’s book a follow up, though. See if we can get to the bottom of those images.”

You choose to come back in three days in the afternoon again and then you drive back to the motel. Your exhaustion suddenly weighs a ton and all you have to do is stumble in your room, collapse on the bed, and you pass out.

The snow crunches underneath your boots as you trode through it. Branches claw at your legs through your pants and the wind whips your cheeks.

It’s cold, but you can’t feel it.

Where are you going? You don’t know, but your legs do. They take you through the woods into the clearing.

You stand alone for a few minutes and then you hear someone – something? – approaching.

A purple wolf.

You crouch down to your knees and it saunters up to you. One eye is a piercing blue, the other is hazel.

So familiar, yet otherworldly. You don’t understand.

It opens its mouth to say something, and you’re leaning in to make sure you hear it, when –

Your phone rings and it jolts you awake in a cold sweat. You roll over in bed to find you’ve been asleep for hours. You reach for your phone when you realize that you’re completely naked.

How did that happen?

When you were younger, you know you had problems with sleep-walking, but you would always keep your clothes on. You file that away to talk to Dr. Vidal about next time.

“Hello?” You say groggily, not even checking who’s on the other line.

“It’s Agatha,” the voice says and it’s like a bucket of cold water gets thrown on you. “There’s been another murder.”

#agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha x reader #agatha harkness x reader #agatha x you #agatha harkness x you #agatha all along #agatha x rio #agathario x reader #agathario #rio vidal x agatha harkness #rio vidal x reader #rio x reader

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annebd · 22 hours ago

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winter warmers, day 17: public sex/hot cocoa ~2700 words. this fic is based loosely off the pics and my tags on this post.

“Final grades are already submitted, mate. The time for bribery has come and gone.”

“Very funny, Daniel.” Max places the cup of hot cocoa on Daniel’s desk. A little bit of the whipped cream has sputtered out of the hole at the top. He swipes at it and licks the foam off his finger. He watches Daniel watching him. “Extra whipped cream and a sprinkle of cinnamon, like you like it. And anyway, it’s not a bribe because you are not my teacher anymore. That’s the point."

Max slouches off his backpack and dumps it in a heap on the floor in front of the threadbare armchair next to Daniel’s desk. He throws off his jacket, too- slings it over the back of the chair- before slumping to sit, his legs spread wide. He’s spent the better part of the semester in this exact position, big blue eyes staring raptly at Daniel across the desk, counting down the minutes until this moment. Now it’s Daniel’s turn to stare.

“Max…” he warns.

The door to Daniel’s tiny, cramped office is wide open, but it’s quiet. It’s late into the evening on the last day of the semester. The university is almost entirely deserted by now. All of the students abandoned campus the moment they finished their last exams over the week, and the professors have all gone home for the day, leaving their TAs to put together the final touches on grading for the end of the semester.

Daniel’s office is at the end of a long corridor in the dingy, mostly unused section of the English department. There’s a janitor’s closet next door that contains nothing more than a single mop and a broken plastic bucket. The empty office across the hall has a bigger desk than his and an actually functioning window, but when Daniel asked if he could move over there instead, his advisor had thrown around words like “seniority” and “tenure” and “paying his dues.” So he’s been stuck in this shoe closet for the past two years, while a perfectly good office lies empty just a few steps away. He likes to complain to Max about it when he’s feeling particularly resentful about some university bullshit or other. Max just likes to listen to him talk.

The office is, as usual, empty. As is the janitor’s closet. As is every other office or storage room down the hallway, all the way to the elevator bank, where the lone lightbulb is flickering intermittently, casting dancing shadows along the wall. They’re alone in the building for now. No one else is around.

Max tells Daniel this.

“No one else, huh?” Daniel leans back in his own chair, matches Max’s slouching posture. He takes a sip of the cocoa. Savors it. Takes another. “And what exactly am I supposed to do with that information?”

“You know what, Daniel. You are not my teacher anymore. This stupid class is over. No more Beowulf, thank god. And now I can have you. You said.”

“You can have me?” Daniel cuts himself off. “Jesus, Max. That’s definitely one way to phrase it.”

“Always you and your phrasing. I still am upset about when you took points off my essay for that, by the way.”

Daniel laughs.

Max doesn’t. He glances at the open door, which offers a clear view down the hallway. Still empty. Not so much as a faint footstep click-clacking in the distance.

He stands and turns Daniel’s swivel chair outwards a little so that he has enough space to kneel down in front of him.   “Max,” Daniel warns him again, but his voice is softer this time. He’s not protesting. He’s looking down at Max, who’s already sliding his hands up and down the soft, worn denim encasing Daniel’s thighs.

“You have to say yes. You already said we could, but you have to say you want this now.” Max sits back onto his heels, and immediately feels colder being even six inches further away from Daniel. “Will you say yes, for me? Say that I can have you?”

Daniel runs a hand across his stubbled cheek, lets it cover his mouth for a moment. Max watches the light catch on his gold rings and dance across the wall. Daniel pulls off his glasses (an affectation, he’d once told Max. His prescription is so weak that he can get by fine without them, but they help sell the look. PhD student in English Lit, rather than tatted bogan) and looks at Max with wide eyes. Max looks back.

“Yes,” he says. “All right? I’m saying yes. You can have me.”

“Okay,” Max agrees and pushes Daniel’s grey sweater up so that he can lean in and suck a bruise into the center of his chest. He pulls back to look at it. His own mark on Daniel’s skin. Daniel has told him about some of his tattoos, and he’s seen some, of course, but he knows that there are others yet to be discovered. He’ll find every last one with his eyes and then his tongue. For now, he’ll add a few more of his own.

Daniel groans when Max sets his teeth against Daniel’s nipple. “Fuck, babe. Not even a kiss first? Right to the nipple play, huh?”

Max pulls back. Daniel’s right: they should kiss. He lets the sweater fall out of his hands and pulls Daniel by the back of the knees so that he slides lower in the chair. Max pushes into the space between Daniel’s spread legs so that they’re chest to chest.

Daniel looks soft like this, vulnerable, as he looks up to where Max hovers slightly taller than him. Max is used to Daniel taking up so much space: big laugh, big personality, big hair. But here, underneath Max’s hands, he’s small. His baggy sweaters hide a narrow waist, tapering to bony hips- delicate wrists extending to long, nail-bitten fingers. Max wants to cover him completely, hide him from the world, keep him for himself. That wouldn’t be fair, though. The world would be so much smaller without Daniel in it.

He cups his hand around Daniel’s cheek, his beard prickling ticklishly against Max’s palm.

“Hi,” Daniel says, quietly.

“Hello, Daniel,” Max says and then leans in for a kiss. It’s softer than he’s expecting, given the stubble situation. Daniel’s lips are warm against his, and they press together for just a moment before Max pulls away to look at him. He never gets tired of looking at Daniel.

He moves back in, harder this time, Daniel’s mouth opening for his, and he licks his way inside. He sucks on Daniel’s tongue, where the taste of cocoa and cinnamon is still lingering. Daniel kisses back- biting, bruising kisses that send a shock of pleasure direct to Max’s cock. He could spend hours here, days, years, just feeling the pressure of Daniel’s mouth on his.

But he has plans that extend beyond just a few heated kisses.

He has wanted this since the very first day of the semester, when he walked into that stupid Brit Lit classroom with his stupid copy of Beowulf and saw the hottest person he’s ever seen in his life sitting cross legged on the desk upfront, waving him in and telling him to grab a seat, that they’re just getting started.

He’d sat in the closest seat to the front, dead center, and spent the next three months contributing minimally to the in-class discussions that Daniel led, and instead, daydreamed about bending him over the lectern and fucking him until he cried. He did fine on exams, wrote marginally passable essays (phrasing issues aside), but couldn’t be bothered to contribute to the inanity of the conversations around him when he could spend that time imagining the taste of Daniel’s golden honey skin if he licked him all the way from his collarbone to his cock.

Soon enough, he’d started showing up to Daniel’s office hours twice a week, and then inviting himself to sit in the office whenever he knew Daniel would be there. He’d plop himself in the armchair and tap away at his homework for other classes (“the ones that matter, Daniel”) while Daniel worked on grading essays and occasionally tapped away at the doc that will eventually become his thesis.

And in that time, Max’s fantasies turned from the desk in the lecture hall to the desk right here in this cramped office. He’s spent many an afternoon sitting in the ratty armchair and watching Daniel work, while picturing doing exactly what he’s doing now: pressing his lips against Daniel’s and sliding his hand underneath his sweater to pinch a nipple, drawing out a low moan.

Daniel had always said no. Not until the semester was over; not while he was still in a position of power over Max.

And now they’re here. The semester is done, Daniel is no longer his TA, and Max can live out every last one of his fantasies.

Without breaking the kiss, he grabs Daniel around the waist and levers him up and out of the chair so that he can spin him around to sit on the edge of his desk. He leans around Daniel’s side to close the lid of his laptop and set it on the chair, which frees up the space he needs to lay him out flat on his back and start pulling at his clothes.

“Off,” he says, and shoves the hem of the sweater up so that Daniel will remove it completely. He reaches down to take off Daniel’s boots and then unzips his jeans and pulls them off. Between the two of them it’s quick work until Daniel is naked, save for his socks and the gold chain around his neck. He’s on his back with his ass at the edge of the desk and his thighs already falling open for Max to fit perfectly between.

Max takes a moment to appreciate the sight in front of him. Daniel’s tan is still a perfect golden, even now in the startling cold of mid-December. He’s lithe, deceptively muscled for how slender he is, further camouflaged by the baggy sweaters and hoodies he’s usually draped in. But like this, all of him on full display for Max’s pleasure, he’s a perfect specimen of toned muscle.

There are more tattoos even than Max expected- his thighs especially are a quilt of color. Max ignores them for now. There will be plenty of time for them to become more intimately acquainted later. For now, Max has other issues to attend to- like licking that stripe across Daniel’s torso. Collarbone to cock, and then back again.

He must stare for a hair too long, because Daniel starts to curl in on himself, shy in a way that Max has never seen him before. That can’t stand. Max leans down to kiss him again, pressing his hardening cock, still trapped inside his jeans, against Daniel’s, which forces his legs wide again. He wraps them around Max’s back and tugs him in closer.

They kiss lazily for a while until Max is so hard that the press of his cock against his zipper is a physical ache. He unzips and pulls himself out, immediately thrusting into the hollow where Daniel’s hip meets his thigh, precome slicking the way.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” he says, no beating around the bush.

He makes quick work of sliding on a condom and then slicking his cock and Daniel’s hole with a tiny packet of lube, both of which he’d tucked into his pocket earlier this evening.

He pushes in and feels the warmth of Daniel surrounding his cock. Daniel’s eyes widen and he gasps when Max bottoms out. He’s not huge, but his cock is thick, and he can feel Daniel’s hole fluttering around him to accommodate his girth. He moves slowly, letting him get used to the stretch.

“Fuck, Max,” Daniel chokes out as Max thrusts in to the hilt again. “More, please.”

“So polite for me. Of course, Daniel. I’ll give you everything you want.” And he does. For long minutes, he focuses on nothing more than the connection between their bodies, Daniel’s entirely naked and Max’s still fully clothed. He’s insane with the sensation, the knowledge that Daniel is giving himself over to Max so completely, letting Max take care of him.

He’s on the verge of coming when Max feels Daniel still beneath him for a moment, his gaze focused over Max’s shoulder. “Max, the door.”

“Yes. It’s still open. Anyone could walk past and see us. They could see you all spread out for me. For my cock. They could hear you, too, of course. Because you’re being very loud with your moans, Daniel.” He pushes in deep, makes sure to stroke firmly across Daniel’s prostate. He waits for him to moan and then does it again. “Just like that.”

Daniel shudders and clenches down around Max’s cock. It’s Max’s turn to moan out loud. He can feel Daniel starting to tremble beneath him. He reaches for Daniel’s cock and starts jerking him roughly.

“Now, Daniel,” he says. “Come for me now. Please.”

Daniel closes his eyes and pulls Max down over him, presses their mouths together. He licks across Max’s teeth as he comes. Max follows immediately behind, filling the condom and wishing they could do this bare. Imagines the feeling of filling Daniel instead, spurting deep inside him. He groans again as his hips kick up reflexively. He adds that to the mental tally for next time. There will absolutely need to be a next time.

They take their time cleaning up. Max grabbed a stack of napkins when he brought Daniel’s hot cocoa earlier. They don’t make for the most glamorous post-fuck clean up, but they’ll do.

When their clothes are back in place and they look mostly presentable again, Max tugs teasingly at the chain around Daniel’s neck, pulls him in for a kiss.

“Thank you for waiting for me,” Daniel tells him softly.

Then, he grins big for a second. “Oh, and for the cocoa, too. Delish, mate.”

Max just rolls his eyes. “You’re welcome. For both. Now, come. I need to take you home and fuck you some more. On a big bed, where I can take my time.”

He waits for Daniel to gather his things and turn out the lights in the office. He’ll finish his last bit of grading over the weekend, he tells Max.

They walk down the hall to the elevator, Max with one hand wrapped around Daniel’s hip and a thumb tucked through his belt loop.

As they near the elevator bank, they both freeze. Just a few doors down from Daniel’s office, they see light streaming out from Dr. Lambiase’s office, light that definitely hadn’t been there when Max showed up earlier.

They turn to look at each other, their eyes huge. Slowly, they walk towards the open door and freeze again when a familiar voice calls out from a familiar face. “Evening, boys. I thought I was already done for the day, but I had to come all the way back to campus to grab a couple of folders before break. You two all done for the evening?”

Neither of them says anything. Dr. Lambiase raises an eyebrow at them.

Max nudges Daniel to answer; he’s the TA. Not Dr. Lambiase’s TA, of course, but still. Max is just a student.

Daniel hurries to spit out, “Yeah, yep, we’re all done. Max just had a couple questions from the final exam, but we’re all good now, so we’re gonna go, have a good night, see you later.” He waves, prompts Max to do the same, and then speedwalks them down the rest of the hallway, where they wait in silence for the elevator to arrive.

“Oh my god,” Daniel says as soon as the elevator doors close. “Oh my god!”

“Well,” Max intones. “I guess we can check that one off the fantasy list, then?”

They look at each other silently for a second and then collapse into each other in a pile of giggles. Yeah, Max is definitely going to cross that one off the list.

#winterwarmers2024 #my fic #maxiel #how in the name of sanity is this nearly pushing 3k words?#when i started doing winterwarmers this month #i assumed that each of the fics would be like 500 words at most #this is insanity #also gp was definitely not supposed to make an appearance in this #but then i was like #maybe maybe maybe #😈

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vitalverstappen · 1 day ago

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Bigger Isn't Always Better - P. Gasly

summary: getting a Christmas tree was supposed to be simple, but luckily both you and Pierre's minds are stuck in the gutter

pairing: Pierre Gasly x girlfriend!reader

warnings: a lot of innuendos guys, like a lot. i was listening to a nonsense christmas while writing this

word count: 2.1k

masterlist

Getting the tree had been a fiasco in itself. You had driven an hour to the tree farm, spent hours walking around, trying to pick the best one, chopped it down, drove it back home, and lugged it up a flight of stairs, only for it to be too tall.

As you stood in the living room, staring up at the tree that now loomed over you like some kind of giant, it felt like every single step had led to this moment of inevitable defeat. The tree was so tall that it nearly brushed the ceiling.

“Well, this is great” you muttered, pacing around the tree and eyeing the absurdly high branches. “We really outdid ourselves this time, didn’t we?”

Pierre, who had been standing by the door watching you fume, grinned, clearly taking pleasure in your frustration. “Hey, at least we tried to get the perfect tree,” he said with a shrug, as if the effort was worth something.

You spun around to face him, raising an eyebrow. “Tried? It’s looking like you in the mornings. ‘Tried’ is not the word I’d use.”

Pierre took a slow step toward the tree, examining it as if it were some kind of puzzle to solve. “I mean, it’s still a good tree. We can just… trim the top a little. It’s not the end of the world.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “Trim the top? You want me to cut the top off the tree after we spent all day getting it here? That’s gonna look ridiculous.”

He let out a soft laugh, enjoying pushing your buttons. “It’s just a little trimming. It’ll make it fit. Plus, you know what they say - bigger isn’t always better.” He smirked at you as if he had just won the argument.

You felt your eye twitch at his smugness. “I don’t care what they say,” you shot back. “We’re not getting rid of the classic tree shape.”

“Yeah, you always liked it a little bushy.” He joked, the smirk still plastered on his face.

If looks could kill, Pierre would be dead with the one you gave him in response.

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, no cutting the top. But we could… cut the trunk? It’ll still keep the tree shape.”

Your eyebrows raised slightly as the suggestion settled in. “Are you gonna do it?”

Pierre paused, his smile now long gone as he considered your question. “I mean… I could.” He walked closer to the tree, inspecting the trunk like a lumberjack sizing up his next challenge. “It’s just a matter of cutting a few inches off the bottom. The tree will still be straight, I promise.”

You folded your arms, eyeing him skeptically. “I don’t know, Pierre. Last time you ‘fixed’ something like this, we ended up with half a bookshelf.”

He gave you an exaggerated pout. “That was one time. And it worked out and became a gorgeous nightstand, didn’t it?” His grin returned, more mischievous than ever.

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “Fine, but if this tree ends up crooked or falling over by Christmas morning, I’m blaming you.”

“Deal. But I’m confident it’ll be fine. I’ve got this under control.” He said before turning back to you. “But could you help me get this back outside?”

You blinked, unsure you’d heard him correctly. “What?”

Pierre gave you a shrug, clearly enjoying your confusion. “Well, if I’m cutting the trunk, it might be easier to do it outside. Less mess, you know?”

“You realize this is a two-person job, right?” you sighed, already moving toward the tree. “Because I am not carrying this thing by myself.”

Pierre’s eyes sparkled with the challenge. “Exactly. We’ll make it a team effort. Besides, how hard can it be?”

Famous last words, but you grabbed the end of the tree’s base anyway. Pierre started on the other side, his face set with a grin of determination. Together, you carefully maneuvered the tree through the living room, sidestepping furniture and trying not to bash the branches against the walls.

The thought of bringing it through the garage crossed your mind, but it was hard enough getting it up the stairs of the garage, you couldn’t imagine trying to get it down them.

But by the time you reached the front door, sweat was starting to bead on your forehead, and the tree was definitely looking like it might be more trouble than it was worth. Still, there was no turning back now. You’d made it this far.

You pushed the door open, and Pierre started pulling the tree through, only for it to get stuck in the door halfway through.

“I knew it,” you muttered. “It’s too big.”

Pierre, undeterred, pulled harder. “Come on, it’s just a little tight.”

“Just how you like it, huh?” you quipped back as you continued to shove the tree.

With one final push, the tree finally slipped free, the branches brushing against the outside of the house as it tumbled down the steps. You both stared down at it for a moment, panting from the effort, before Pierre turned to you with a knowing smirk.

“See? Piece of cake.”

“Yeah, if you call nearly killing us with a Christmas tree ‘a piece of cake,’” you said, wiping your brow.

“Oh come on, we’ve had rougher times” Pierre said, patting your bum as he walked to the garage to grab the saw.

As he walked back to the tree, you followed reluctantly. The enormous thing was now resting awkwardly on the front lawn, its branches splayed out in all directions. The tree, which had seemed so majestic inside, now looked comically large next to the house. It was impossible to ignore how ridiculous the situation had become.

“So,” you began, eyeing the trunk again, “how exactly are you planning on cutting this thing?”

Pierre didn’t seem the least bit fazed by the towering tree. “Simple, it’ll just lose a few inches on the bottom,” he said, walking over to the trunk with the saw in hand.

“As long as you’re not the one losing a few inches” you remarked, your eyes scanning your boyfriend’s body.

Pierre chuckled, shaking his head as he got into position. “Let’s just get this done, and we can move onto the good stuff.”

With a deep breath, Pierre set the saw against the tree’s trunk and started to cut. The sound of the teeth grinding through the wood made you cringe a bit, but it was too late to stop now.

Minutes later, the trunk was a few inches shorter, and the tree now stood a little less… intimidating. You both stepped back to survey the results.

“Well, that wasn’t so bad,” Pierre said, wiping his hands on his pants. “Though you’re usually the one with sticky stuff on your hands.”

Your hand playfully slapped his bicep as a smile formed on your lips. “Shut up, Gasly,” you took a deep breath. “But I admit, it looks better. But if this thing falls over in the middle of the night, I’m never letting you live it down.”

Pierre smiled, brushing off the warning. “I’ve got it under control. This thing’s not going anywhere.”

As you made your way back inside, dragging the tree carefully behind you, you realized the adventure wasn’t over yet. There were still lights to hang, the ornaments to place, and the inevitable arguments about where to put each decoration.

Once the tree was nestled in its stand, and looking less like it was going to put a hole in your ceiling, you and Pierre carried down the boxes of tree decorations from the attic.

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road,” Pierre said, placing the last box down in the living room.

“I don’t think this disaster movie can get any worse,” you muttered, rubbing your temples

He opened the first box, revealing the lights, which were tangled in a mess. The smile on his face faltered for a second before reappearing. “I swear these were in perfect condition last year,” he muttered, trying to untangle them while attempting to look entirely unbothered.

“Yeah, instead they look like how we were last night.” You laughed as you walked into the kitchen, leaning against the counter.

Pierre’s eyes twinkled as he glanced up at you. “Okay, but you loved that mess. At least, that’s how you sounded.” He pulled the lights apart with exaggerated care, his smirk only growing.

It took a few more minutes of Pierre wrestling with the lights to get them completely untangled. Once he did, the two of you worked in tandem wrapping the tree with the incandescent glow. As you did though, your boyfriend somehow managed to get the entire string tangled around himself. You couldn’t help but laugh as he stood there, looking like a Christmas decoration in his own right, with the lights wrapped around his ankles, arms, and one around his neck.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you said, struggling to stifle your laughter. “It’s like looking in a mirror.”

“I mean I was gonna use the garland to be festive, but if you’d prefer the lights, I guess I can make that work,” he winked

You shook your head as you helped unravel Pierre. “I think we should just stick with tape.”

Pierre’s smirk never wavered as you untangled him from the lights, and after a few minutes of carefully removing the mess, you both returned to your task. The tree was quickly adorned with lights, and the vision was finally coming to life.

The two of you slowly worked through the box of ornaments, placing each one carefully on the branches. If you were with any other person in the world, the moment would have been almost peaceful. But you were with Pierre, and anything that man did was far from peaceful.

The sound of glass and plastic hitting the carpet filled your ears as your back was facing Pierre. You took a deep breath before you turned around to look at your boyfriend, and two ornament balls on the ground. Thankfully, they were still in one piece, but Pierre’s eyes widened as he looked up at you.

“That wasn’t supposed to happen…” he began, a sheepish grin on his face.

A chuckle escaped you as you sighed, thankful that the ornaments were still intact. “I just can’t believe that your balls finally dropped.”

Pierre stared at you for a moment, his grin slowly shifting into mock offense. “Oh, you did not just go there.”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking as you crossed your arms. “Oh, I did”

He let out a laugh, shaking his head. “I should’ve known.” He bent down to pick up the ornaments, carefully placing them back on the tree.

“Just be careful,” you said, watching him with amusement. “If you break one of my favorite ornaments, I’ll never let you hear the end of it.”

Pierre gave you a sincere smile. “I’ll be gentle, don’t worry.”

You gave him a knowing look in response. “We both know that’s a load of shit.”

You both continued decorating, the teasing somehow making the moment more enjoyable than you could’ve imagined. As you added the final touches, Pierre took a step back to survey the tree.

“Mon cheri, I have to admit, it looks pretty good,” he said, a satisfied grin on his face.

“I know you do,” you replied, a smirk dancing on your lips as you took the spot next to him.

Pierre pulled you in, his lips brushing against yours in a light, teasing kiss. As you leaned in again, he pulled away, a smirk on his face.

“So,” he began, his arm getting tighter around your waist. “You think you’ve been naughty or nice this year?”

You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Nice, obviously,” you teased, leaning into him.

Pierre leaned closer to you as well, his mouth only centimeters from your ear as he spoke, his voice slightly raspier than before. “Are you sure about that, mon amour?”

You felt a shiver run down your spine as his breath tickled your ear, the playful tension between you growing. You pulled back slightly, meeting his eyes, and smirked.

“Why don’t you decide then?” you teased, a flicker of mischief in your eyes.

Pierre’s grin widened at the challenge, his eyes darkening with amusement. Without a word, he threw his shirt off and scooped you up in his arms, purposefully resting one hand on your ass as he carried you. You knew exactly where this was going, and you had been anticipating it all day. A laugh escaped you as your body pressed against his chest, feeling the warmth radiate from him.

“You’re unbelievable” you said, but the words were more playful than reproachable. You leaned into him, feeling the steady beat of his heart under his bare skin.

Pierre chuckled as he made his way into the bedroom, “Oh, you have no idea.”

Maybe you didn’t have a clue, but you did know you were ready to be his Vixen.

80 notes · View notes

jainitor · 17 hours ago

Text

False Alarm

!Kang Haerin x Reader!

"Getting blamed for pulling the fire alarm and almost getting suspended? Annoying. Getting paired with the actual culprit for a project? Fucking mint. Falling for them— wait what?!"

Tags: Enemies to lovers, Highschool au, wedding booth, happy ending, overachiever kang haerin, SLIGHT academic rivalry, idk

Warnings: cursing, Haerin is a nonchalant dreadhead, meddling friends, bad pacing, rushed ending IDFK I JUST WANT TO GET THIS SHIT OUT OF MY DRAFTS😭🙏🙏, this is so long for no reason, but I was too lazy to shorten it😝😝👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

words: 8k(I think)

You pace back and forth, your sneakers scuffing against the dull classroom tiles. The ceiling fan hums faintly above, but it does little to ease the stiff air. The clock ticks loudly, grating against your nerves. But the real culprit isn’t the clock—or the room. It’s Haerin.

She’s sat on the teacher’s desk, one leg crossed over the other, her arms resting casually on her lap. Her sharp, cat-like eyes follow your every move, unreadable. You try to ignore the way her gaze makes your skin crawl—or how it quickens your pulse—but it’s impossible.

“Stop pacing,” she finally says,

You whirl around to face her, exasperated. “Stop locking doors!”

“I didn’t lock it on purpose.”

“Right. And I didn’t follow you because I thought you were up to something sketchy.”

Her head tilts slightly, eyes narrowing with quiet amusement. She hums softly, the sound brushing against your nerves. “You’ve got a pretty vivid imagination for someone who’s terrible at sneaking around.”

Your face burns. “I wasn’t sneaking!”

“You tripped over a chair in the hallway,”

“I was investigating.” you counter, defensive.

“Sure you were.”

The room feels like it’s shrinking, the tension pressing in on you. Maybe it’s the way her gaze locks onto yours, steady and just a bit too intense. You shift your weight, crossing your arms over your chest—not because it makes you look tougher, but because it feels like the only thing holding you together right now.

She doesn’t look away. Not once.

“Why do you care so much?” she asks eventually, breaking the silence.

The question catches you off guard, and for a split second, your bravado falters.

Why do you care?

You open your mouth to respond but realize you don’t actually have an answer—or at least not one you’re ready to say aloud. Flustered, you wave your arms in frustration. “Because you’re suspicious.”

Haerin raises a single eyebrow, “Suspicious enough for you to follow me for—what, 40 minutes?”

“Forty-five,” you mutter under your breath before you can stop yourself.

Her lips twitch, and then—just barely—you hear it. A laugh. It’s quiet, light, and so brief that for a moment, you’re not even sure you imagined it. It throws you off balance,

And you hate how much it surprises you.

How much it almost makes you smile.

You clear your throat, trying to regain control of the situation. “Are you gonna tell me why you’re even here?” you ask, leaning against the door. You attempt to look relaxed—cool, even—but you’re painfully aware of how stiff and awkward you must appear.

Haerin regards you with an air of detachment, her expression betraying nothing. Then she shrugs. “No.”

“That’s suspicious.”

“That’s none of your business.”

The silence between you crackles with tension. Neither of you moves. You shift your weight from one foot to the other, but her posture remains perfect, completely unbothered.

Finally, she stands, brushing past you with infuriating ease. Her arm grazes yours, and the faint scent of her shampoo lingers—clean, sharp, unmistakably her.

You freeze.

She doesn’t even glance back as she reaches for the door handle. “Let me know when you’re done playing detective,” she says casually

The door creaks open without resistance.

It was never locked.

You stare after her, dumbfounded. Your shoulders slump as frustration bubbles in your chest.

“Damn you, Kang Haerin,” you mutter, the words too quiet to reach her as she disappears into the hallway.

Damn you for being so pretty.

The thought slips out unbidden, and you run a hand over your face, groaning softly.

Liking someone who almost got you suspended wasn’t exactly the highlight of your senior year, but here you were.

You didn’t even know when it all started.

Or maybe you did, and that was the worst part.

Let's go back a few months.

“L/N, it’s the first week of your senior year, and you’re already in my office.” The principal’s voice carries that mix of disappointment and irritation that makes your stomach twist. He leans back in his chair, exhaling heavily as though the weight of your alleged crimes is just too much for him to bear.

“Not exactly the note we want to start on, is it?”

Detention. For a month.

And it wasn’t even your fault.

The whole mess started when you got lost—an innocent enough situation, right? You were wandering the hallways, clutching a crumpled schedule, trying to find your history class in this architectural monstrosity they call a school. Then, chaos erupted.

Someone—some GENIUS—pulled the fire alarm. Students poured into the hallways like water bursting through a dam, everyone shouting and shoving. In the middle of the commotion, a voice rang out: “It was her!”

And just like that, you were the scapegoat.

By the time you were dragged into the principal’s office, you’d barely had time to process what was happening.

“Principal Kim, I didn’t do it!” you’d pleaded, gripping the edge of the chair so hard your knuckles turned white. “I can’t afford to lose my scholarship over this—it wasn’t me!”

He’d pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly weighing whether he cared enough to believe you.

After a long pause, he sighed. “I’ll give you detention instead of suspension. But, L/N, if there’s another incident, my hands are tied.”

Fast-forward, You storm out of the office, phone in hand, thumbs flying across the screen as you rant in your group chat. Rage boils under your skin, making your fingers tremble as you type. You’re so focused on venting that you don’t even notice the person in your path until you crash into them—hard.

A metallic clatter echoes on the tile floor.

You look up, already muttering an apology, and freeze.

It’s her.

The girl who pulled the fire alarm.

“You!” you blurted, pointing an accusatory finger.

She stares at you for at least five seconds before tilting her head, her expression calm, almost detached.

"Do I know you?" she asks,

Your blood pressure skyrockets. “You know exactly who I am! I’m the one who got blamed for your little stunt!”

Her brow furrows slightly, like she’s genuinely confused—or maybe just a really good actress. For a split second, doubt flickers in your mind.

Was it her?

But then you see it.

The half-finished graffiti on the wall behind her. A vibrant swirl of colors, interrupted mid-spray.

It's definitely her.

“Do you realize how much trouble you caused me?”

“Do you realize how loud you’re being?”

Her calm demeanor only fuels your anger and before you know it, you’ve snatched the spray can from her hand.

She finally reacts—a surprised yelp, quickly changed to a glare. “What the hell’s your problem?”

“My problem?” you snap, voice rising. “LISTEN YOU CRETINOUS BLUNDERBUSS, I ALMOST got suspended because of you! And if I get suspended, I’ll have a record. If I have a record, I can kiss my dream college goodbye. If I don’t go to my dream college, I won’t get into any college. And if I don’t go to college, I’ll end up broke, homeless, and probably dead in a ditch—”

You stop, chest heaving. Maybe a little dramatic, but who cares? You're frustrated.

She raises an eyebrow, completely unfazed. “You done?”

Your hands clench around the spray can. “I hate you,” You sputter, too stunned to even form a coherent insult.

“You know, I’d run if I were you.”

You blink. “Run from wha—”

“Student!”

Your body goes rigid. That voice—it’s a teacher.

You whip around, dread pooling in your chest. Sure enough, a teacher stands at the end of the hall, their stern gaze locking onto you.

You, with a spray can in hand, standing in front of the vandalized wall like a walking, talking confession.

“Stay right there!”

You do not stay right there. Your brain short-circuits. You’re running before you can think, adrenaline kicking in.

You tear around a corner, heart pounding so hard you swear it’s trying to escape. The girl’s ahead of you, her jacket flapping behind her as she darts into the girls’ bathroom. You hesitate for half a second before diving in after her.

You stumble inside, gasping for air, bracing yourself against the sink. “What the hell?!”

She’s by the mirror, calmly washing her hands like she’s got all the time in the world.

“I warned you,” she says, not even glancing your way.

“You warned me?!” You stare at her, incredulous. “You—ugh!”

She grabs a paper towel, dabbing her hands dry with infuriating nonchalance. The dripping faucet is the only sound in the tense silence that follows.

You gesture wildly to the graffiti on the walls. “Let me guess—this is your handiwork too?”

She doesn’t answer, just tosses the paper towel into the trash and heads for the door.

“I could report you,” you snap, desperation creeping into your tone.

She pauses, one hand on the doorframe. For a moment, you think you’ve gotten through to her.

Then she looks over her shoulder, her expression cool and detached. “Go ahead.”

Her words are like a punch to the gut.

And then she’s gone, leaving you standing in the stinky dingy bathroom with nothing but your anger and the faint scent of paint lingering in the air.

Who the hell does she think she is?

“Kang Haerin. Top student, perfect grades, a shelf full of awards, always getting called up at recognitions."

You slump back in your seat at the cafeteria table, staring at the picture on Ryujin’s phone like it’s going to change if you just squint hard enough. But nope—it’s the same as it was five minutes ago.

She's pretty.

"Are you sure she was the one who pulled the fire alarm?” Hyunjin pipes up, snatching one of Ryujin’s fries before she can swat his hand away.

“Yeah… I mean, with that kind of reputation, it does sound crazy,” you admit, your voice trailing off. Your eyes linger on the screen. The photo is a little blurry, but it’s enough.

Long, sleek black hair.

Straight bangs that frame her face perfectly.

And those stupid cat-like eyes.

Too pretty.

It’s her. It has to be her.

“Uh-huh.” Hyunjin gives you a skeptical look, biting into the stolen fry. “Maybe you should stop skipping your meds, Y/N. You’re starting to sound like a conspiracy theorist.”

You glare at him, swatting weakly in his direction. “Shut up. It really is her.” Your voice is firm, but there’s a small crack of doubt that you hate hearing.

Across the table, Ryujin snatches her phone back, narrowing her eyes at Hyunjin. “Can you not?” She punctuates her words by smacking his hand when he reaches for another fry.

“I believe you,” she says, offering a small shrug “I mean, Kang is… mysterious. Who knows what she’s hiding under all that? She could totally have a rebellious side.”

“Thank you!” you groan, practically collapsing forward onto the table. It’s the first time anyone has taken you seriously since this whole mess started.

Ryujin nods, shoving another fry into her mouth with a look of satisfaction. “People always act like the quiet ones are angels, but those are the ones you gotta watch out for. You ever see those crime documentaries? It’s always the straight-A students who turn out to be arsonists or something.”

Hyunjin snickers. “Okay, but setting a fire alarm off is a little different from being an arsonist.”

“Exactly!” you snap, slapping the table for emphasis. A little too hard, judging by the sting in your palm. “She’s too perfect. Nobody’s that perfect without hiding something.”

“Or,” Hyunjin says, smirking, “you’re just mad you got detention and need someone to blame.”

You open your mouth to retort, but Ryujin beats you to it, jabbing a fry in his direction. “Shut it, Hyunjin. You weren’t there."

"And yesterday? She didn’t even flinch when I called her out. Just stared at me like I was crazy. Who does that?” you huff

“Someone who’s got nerves of steel, apparently,” Hyunjin says, leaning back and lacing his fingers behind his head.

“Or someone who knows you can’t prove it.”

The comment hits harder than you want to admit. Because it’s true. You’ve got nothing. Not a shred of evidence that anyone’s going to take seriously. Straight-A Kang Haerin, the school’s golden girl, secretly pulling fire alarms and vandalizing walls? It sounds ridiculous. Even you know that.

so you decided to let it go...for now.

or not.

It's been days since that whole thing went down, and you're still stuck in detention. Of course. Ever since then, there's been this weird tension between you and Haerin. Every time you pass each other in the hall, it turns into a silent showdown of eye contact. First one to look away loses. Which, honestly, feels a little...gay? Anyway, she wins most of the time, but whatever—it's not like you're keeping score.

Today seems like another regular day of Haerin being her usual know-it-all self. That is, until you suddenly speak up.

“What’s the point of giving people ‘equal chances’ when they’re starting from completely different places?” you ask, your voice sharper than you intended.

Haerin blinked, caught off guard, but quickly regained her composure. “Because without a system of clear rules, any attempt at equality becomes chaotic. How do you decide who gets what without creating even more inequality in the process?”

You lean back in your chair, forcing yourself to sound relaxed. “Easy. You focus on the people who’ve been left out the most—actually listen to them and adjust the system to fit their needs.”

“Adjust the system?” Haerin repeats, her voice smooth but with a faint edge of disbelief. “That’s a nice thought, but in the real world, people in power don’t just hand over control. Change has to come from within the system.”

You can’t stop yourself from scoffing. “Within the system? Right. Because the people who created the problem are totally the ones who’ll fix it.”

Her lips twitch, like she’s holding back a smirk. “So, what’s your plan? Let people just figure it out themselves?”

“Pretty much,” you shoot back, “It’s not about swooping in to ‘fix’ things for them-”

Haerin’s eyes narrow just slightly, but her voice stays annoyingly calm. “That assumes everyone has the resources or education to organize themselves effectively. Not everyone’s equipped to lead change. That’s why structured solutions work better.”

You don’t miss the implication—like she’s saying you wouldn’t be equipped to handle it. You bristle, your words coming out sharper than intended. “Wow, sounds like someone doesn’t trust people to think for themselves. That must be nice, deciding what’s best for everyone else from your perfect little bubble.”

Her eyes flash, and for a moment, you think you’ve hit a nerve. “Better than standing on the sidelines, throwing ideas around with no plan to back them up. Guess some of us prefer action over aimless complaining.”

Your classmates exchange looks, some clearly entertained by the impromptu showdown. “Action, huh? Like pulling fire-"

The teacher finally sighs, holding up a hand. “Enough, you two. This isn’t a competition.”

You shut up, mostly because you don’t want a month of detention turning into two.

“Now,” the teacher continues, “since you’re both so enthusiastic about participating, you’ll have the perfect opportunity to work together.”

Your stomach sinks.

“For the upcoming group project, Kang and L/N, you’ll be partners.”

Are you fucking serious?

just as you thought detention for a month couldnt be worse.

YOU just made it worse

you sigh as you slumped back in your seat, you take a glimpse at haerin brows furrowing as you see her...holding back a smile?

Weird.

Haerin kept her face neutral when the professor called out your names as partners, but inside? She was buzzing.

You were different. No one ever challenged her in class—most people either agreed with her or kept quiet. But you? You stood up and fired back without hesitation, and you surpringly made sense. You weren’t just smart; you were sharp. Every argument you made earlier was solid, like you’d thought about it for hours instead of coming up with it on the spot And the way your eyebrows scrunched when she pushed back with her own point? That was unfairly adorable. Not that she’d ever admit it out loud. She wouldn’t even admit it to herself—not fully.

She told herself it was annoying. You were annoying. But it didn’t feel annoying. It felt… like you were getting under her skin in a way no one else ever had. And the really frustrating part? She didn’t hate it.

She liked it.

She liked you.

She wasn’t sure when it started. Maybe it was the day you stormed up to her, finger pointed and accusing her of pulling the fire alarm. Sure, she might’ve pulled it, but was it her fault you got blamed? Not at all.

She should’ve been defending herself or at least rolling her eyes at you, but all she could focus on was how your hair fell perfectly into your face while you were ranting. Or the way your voice got higher when you were mad. And your eyes. Even when you were glaring at her like she was your mortal enemy, there was something soft about them, like you weren’t capable of actually hating anyone.

She hated that she noticed all of that.

And she really hated that she didn’t hate it at all.

-A month ago-

"You know her?" Haerin asked casually, though her voice was just a little too steady as she looked over at Danielle.

Danielle, ever the social butterfly, didn’t even need to ask who Haerin meant. She tilted her head toward your table and squinted. "Which one? Ryujin? Oh! She’s the guitari—"

"No," Haerin interrupted quickly. "The one holding her phone."

Danielle’s eyes narrowed as she tried to place you. Just then, you slapped the table, the sharp sound cutting through the room. A few heads turned briefly before everyone went back to their conversations.

"Ohhh," Danielle said, finally making the connection. "Y/N. L/N Y/N. She’s the new transfer, senior, SUPER pretty, Super kind—" Danielle rambled, sipping from her orange juice.

'Super kind? Yeah, sure.' Haerin thought.

But the super pretty part? Yeah… she wasn’t about to argue with that. Not even a little bit

"Why? Why do you ask?" Danielle asked, turning her full attention to Haerin. Her head tilted slightly, and her eyebrows knitted together in curiosity. Then, as if struck by lightning, her eyes widened.

"Wait a second. Don’t tell me you like her."

At that, the whole table froze.

Hanni stopped mid-game on her Nintendo, her head snapping up. Minji put her phone down entirely,

"Haerin likes who?!" Hyein chimed in, leaning forward, her eyes sparkling with interest.

“No one,” Haerin said quickly, groaning as she pinched the bridge of her nose. “I ran into her yesterday. I just… wondered why I hadn’t seen her before.”

The table stayed quiet for a second, then erupted in disbelief.

"Yeah, okay," Minji said, smirking.

"Sure sure," Hanni muttered, clearly unconvinced.

Hyein just went, “Ooooh,” dragging it out long enough for Haerin to want to crawl under the table.

"Are you cert-"

"Shut up."

Working with you wasn’t THAT bad. Haerin wouldn’t say it out loud—obviously—but you were a lot more organized and reliable than she’d expected. No slacking off, no ghosting. Honestly, you made the whole project way easier than she’d thought it would be.

Somehow, you’d both slipped into a routine. After class, meet up, work on the project, exchange a few sarcastic remarks, rinse and repeat. It worked. Eventually, you agreed—reluctantly—to swap numbers 'for better communication.' Not that Haerin hesitated. If anything, she grabbed your phone and typed her contact in like it was no big deal. Suspiciously fast.

Somewhere along the way, the bickering shifted. It wasn’t annoying anymore—it was… kind of fun? Almost normal? Maybe even nice??? Everytime she teases you, everytime you call her out, there was this flicker in her eyes. Amusement, maybe? Whatever it was, it made you forget to be annoyed.

And then there was her calmness. Like, even when you got frustrated and started spiraling. Her soft, steady voice was like a hand pulling you back from the edge.

Not that you’d ever admit that either.

You didn’t want to think about it too hard. But you also couldn’t help noticing these little things about her: the way she tapped her pen when she was thinking, or how she hummed quietly while fixing her notes. Stuff you wouldn’t have picked up on before.

Weird.

Haerin knocks on your door three times.

Three. Times.

She knocked on YOUR door.

Why was she at your house again?

Haerin's phone buzzed as your text lit up her screen. She clicked the notification immediately, her lips pursing as she read your message.

"Sorry can't meet up today, I'm sick."

Haerin raises an eyebrow, her fingers hovering over the keys as she types a reply.

haerin: No you're not.

y/n: Yes, I am.

haerin: What sickness do you have? A mental one?

She leans back in her chair, barely suppressing a laugh at her own comeback. You stare at the message for a moment, eyebrows furrowing.

y/n: SEVERE COLD, HAERIN.

haerin: You're probably faking it 🙄

y/n: WHY WOULD I FAKE HAVING A SEVERE COLD?

haerin: Idk, so you wouldn't work on the project, ig...

Your eyes widen. Typing out a response as you scroll through the project files on your laptop.

y/n: WE'RE LITERALLY ALMOST FINISHED.

haerin: What's your address?

You blink at the message.

y/n: Why? So you can bomb my house?

haerin: So I can come over and see if you're actually sick.

You smirk, flipping over onto your bed with a dramatic sigh.

y/n: You just want to see me... omg, are you worried about me? ❤💜😋

You laugh as you send it, but your heart skips a beat as you wait for her reply. Haerin’s fingers freeze for a second, the playful edge in her expression faltering. She inhales, trying to cover up the slight warmth that creeps up her neck.

Haerin: Worried ur face, what's your address? I'm coming over -_-

You laugh at her response, shaking your head as you type back.

Y/N: You idiot, do you not know severe cold is contagious?

Haerin: And?

Y/N: YOU'RE GONNA GET INFECTED BY ME????

Haerin’s fingers types back, repeating your sarcastic tone earlier.

Haerin: Omg, are you worried about me? ❤💜😋

Y/N: Yeah, if you get sick too, who's gonna finish the project? 🥺💔

She stares at her screen for a moment, her expression softening despite herself. She types quickly, trying to cover up the sudden warmth in her chest.

Haerin: Just send the address.

You grin, sending a pinned location.

And that’s how Haerin ends up standing in front of your door. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, balancing a plastic bag with a small container inside in one hand and her laptop tucked under her arm.

When you open the door, Haerin’s breath hitches for just a moment as she takes you in: the messy bun perched high on your head, the oversized pajama top slipping slightly off one shoulder, revealing the curve of your collarbone, and black shorts that hang loosely on your frame. Your nose is red probably from sneezing, but your eyes, tired as they are, still carry that spark she’s always noticed. The way the light catches on the little stray hairs framing your face, the faint glisten of chapstick on your lips

What flavor is it? Cherry? Mint? She clamps down on the thought immediately. No no stop gay thoughts

"You actually came?" you say with a hoarse cough, your voice scratchy but still teasing.

She nods subtly, unable to tear her eyes away. There’s something disarming about seeing you like this—unguarded, cozy, real. You catch her staring, and she quickly looks away, her cheeks heating.

She pretends to inspect the plastic bag in her hand, as though it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

“Come in, weirdo,” you say, snickering, stepping aside and pushing the door wider.

Haerin steps in, her gaze darting around.

The place is clean—just as she expected—but noticeably quiet.

"You live alone?”

You close the door behind her with a shrug. “Yeah.”

Her eyebrows lift slightly. “Oh.”

"Where are your parents?"

“They died,” you add, deadpan.

Haerin freezes mid-step, her face falling. “I’m so—”

“Kidding!” You burst into laughter, which quickly turns into a series of harsh coughs. “They live across the country.”

Haerin’s jaw tightens as she smacks your shoulder lightly. “That’s not funny.”

“It’s hilarious,” you wheeze between coughs.

She rolls her eyes though there was a hint of worry as she toes off her shoes, setting the bag on the table.

“What’s that?” you ask, sniffling as you flop back onto the couch and burrito yourself in a blanket.

“Samgye-tang,” she mumbles, awkwardly standing in the middle of your living room, laptop still tucked under her arm.

“For what?”

“For you.” The words slip out before she can stop them. She fumbles. “It’s… uh, good for colds. I Googled it.”

You chuckle, your voice raspy. “How sweet.”

“Anyways,” she mutters, trying to mask the flustered tone as she pulls out her laptop, “we need to finish the project.”

You laugh at how quickly she switches topics. “How swift.”

“Ahh, let’s start,” she whines, failing to hide her smile as she plops onto the couch beside you.

Before opening her laptop, she pulls something from her pocket: a white face mask.

“I’m kinda offended,” you say as she slips it on.

“Don’t wanna get infected.” came her muffled voice through the white mask.

You rolled your eyes, slumping deeper into your blanket cocoon. “I thought you said ‘and?’”

Haerin didn’t answer. Instead, she just smirked, her eyes narrowing playfully, and flipped open her laptop. The hum of the device filled the air as she pulled up the project files.

Time flies and the once stillness of your house is now filled with the faint hum of Bruno Major’s Nothing playing in the background. The comforting melody wove through the air, blending with the soft clink of your spoon against the bowl as you sipped the soup Haerin had brought.

The soup was warm, richer than anything you would’ve bothered to make for yourself. It coated your throat, easing the lingering scratchiness from earlier. It was good—surprisingly good. And she’d bought it for you.

The thought made you pause, your spoon hovering mid-air.

When did this happen?

When did you and Haerin get this close?

Just months ago, she’d been the girl who pulled the fire alarm as a stupid joke(?), leaving you to take the blame. You still remember the awkward shuffle to detention every day for a whole month. You hated her then.

But now...

Now, she was here. In your house. On your couch.

Her laptop sat abandoned beside her, her head resting against your shoulder, her breaths slow and even.

She was asleep.

on your shoulder.

You turned your head slightly, careful not to wake her, and caught a glimpse of her face. With her mask pushed below her chin, her lips were slightly parted, her usually sharp features softened by the glow of the lamp. Her hair framed her face like she was the main character in some cheesy movie scene.

Your shoulder should’ve been aching by now, but it wasn’t.

Instead, there was a strange warmth blooming in your chest.

You stared at her, the quiet intimacy of the moment wrapping around you like the blanket you were cocooned in. The realization crept in slowly, uninvited but impossible to ignore.

When did you stop hating her?

No—when did you start liking her?

Your heart gave an unsteady thud, loud enough that you were half-convinced she’d wake up and hear it. You looked away, setting the now-empty bowl on the coffee table, trying to stop the thoughts in your head.

This doesn’t mean anything, you told yourself. She’s just here because of the project.

But that didn’t explain the soup. Or the way her head fit so naturally against your shoulder. Or why, for the first time in a long time, you didn’t want to push her away.

Because even as you turned back to the glowing laptop screen, the weight of her head on your shoulder grounded you in a way that felt... nice.

Too nice.

You couldn’t stop yourself from glancing at her again. Just one more time. Her lashes cast faint shadows on her cheeks, and her lips twitched ever so slightly, like she was dreaming.

And for the first time in a while, you weren’t annoyed with her. You weren’t frustrated or rolling your eyes.

Instead, you felt something else entirely.

"This is seriously gross. I hope they get kicked out," Hyein fake-gagged, pretending to shove her finger down her throat.

"Call me delusional, but I've NEVER seen Haerin smile that much in one day," Hanni whispers, leaning over her textbook.

“Right?” Ryujin chimed in, flipping a page of her notebook like she wasn’t dropping a bombshell. “Can’t believe they’re not together yet.”

“They’re not?” Hyein and Hanni’s heads whipped around so fast you’d think they’d snapped their necks. Their voices rang out louder than intended, drawing a sharp glare from the librarian across the room.

"You guys didn't know?" Ryujin raises a brow.

"No!" Hyein and Hanni hiss in unison, which earns them another sharp glare from the librarian across the room. They duck their heads, covering their mouth.

Minji, equally scandalized, glances over at the two of you. "Wait, so... why not?"

Ryujin shrugs like she couldn’t care less, though her smirk says otherwise. "Beats me. Guess no one’s got the guts to confess."

“They’ve got to be, like, this close to confessing, though,” Hanni whispered, holding her thumb and forefinger a millimeter apart.

“Not happening,” Ryujin replied without looking up from her notes. “Y/n’s definitely not confessing first. She’d die before admitting she likes someone.”

From their point of view, it looked more like a cozy date than a group study session. Haerin had insisted on sitting apart from the others, claiming the group was "too distracting." Her excuse for picking you instead? “You’re less distracting.” The irony wasn’t lost on anyone.

At your table, Haerin was mid-rant about the superiority of tomatoes over avocados, her words spilling out like a flood. You weren’t even sure how the conversation had started, but she’d gone from mildly passionate to full-on Eminem-speed enthusiasm. The right earbud of her headphones in your ear, the left in hers, the music was playing "flaming hot cheetos" by clairo. this is so gay, omg wait.

And you? You were absolutely useless. All you could do was nod along, every word she said melting into background noise as your focus stayed glued to her. The way her lips curved into a smile every time she made a point. The way she'd playfully hit you when you occasionally tease her. The little crease in her brow when she was trying to organize her thoughts. The warmth in her voice when she was really, truly excited about something.

She was so... Haerin. There was no one else like her. She was warm but guarded, quiet but opinionated, reserved until she wasn’t. And, as much as you hated to admit it, you were a goner.

"Yeah- Wow. Y/N is GONE," Minji whispers, pointing in your direction.

"Awwh, shes looking at Haerin like she’s the only person on earth," Hyein mutters, earning a snort from Hanni.

"You know what we need to do?" Hyein suddenly perks up, her grin nothing short of mischievous. "We should bet on who confesses first."

"10,000 won on Y/N," Minji declares immediately, pulling a crumpled bill out of her pocket and slapping it onto the table. "No way Haerin makes the first move."

"I'm in," Danielle says, jolting awake from what everyone thought was a nap. She stretches lazily and plucks out her own contribution.

"Hold up. Isn’t this, like... morally questionable?" Hanni asks, though she’s already digging through her bag.

"Okay, but since when were you morally anything, Hanni?" Hyein quips, raising an eyebrow. Hanni gasps, clutching her bag like she’s been deeply wronged, before casually tossing in her money.

The group splits quickly—Hyein, Minji, and Ryujin bet on you, while Hanni and Danielle side with Haerin.

"Okay hear me out," Hanni leans in conspiratorially, her tone serious. "Haerin’s shy, yeah, but i feel like she's the type to make a surprise move when no one’s expecting it."

“Haerin? A surprise confession?” Minji deadpanned, her tone dripping with skepticism. “Y/N’s been pining for weeks. They’ll crack first.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night” Hanni retorted. "I have faith in Haerin’s game bro.”

The debate continues in hushed whispers, the occasional glare from the librarian barely slowing them down. Eventually, Hyein claps her hands together, her grin wider than ever.

“WAIT, What if neither of them confesses?” Ryujin said, leaning back in her chair.

"Okay, so if neither of them confesses by the end of the week, we *make* it happen." hyein says

“Meddling feels kinda wrong, though,” Danielle said, frowning slightly. “Doesn’t it?”

“You’re already betting on them,” Minji pointed out. “May as well go all in.”

"Exactly," Hyein says, the gleam in her eyes downright devious. "They’re both gay oblivious disasters. Someone’s gotta give them a little push."

The group nodded in agreement, the stakes set. They whispered plans and strategies, the quiet library filling with the sound of low murmurs and barely stifled laughter as they decided whose side to take and what meddling might be necessary.

Across the room, you and Haerin were oblivious, still locked in your bubble. Her rant about tomatoes had derailed into a tangent about guacamole, and you hadn’t stopped smiling once.

“You’re not even listening, are you?” Her voice broke through your internal spiral.

“Huh?” You blinked, heart stuttering when you realized she was looking right at you, her head tilted slightly in mock suspicion.

“I said,” she leaned in closer, the scent of her shampoo soft but overwhelming in this moment, “you’re just nodding to everything I say.”

“I… agree with you?” you tried, hoping your smile wasn’t as obvious as it felt.

She laughed—a soft, melodic sound that made your chest ache.

“So, Valentine’s is coming up…” Her voice dropped a notch, softer now, almost hesitant.

Your heart skipped a beat. She let the sentence hang there, unfinished. Hope flickered in your chest, reckless and eager. Was this it? Was she—?

“…If you would like to help me with our booth?” she finished, though something in her voice wavered, like it wasn’t what she’d really meant to say.

Oh.

The flicker of hope sputtered, dimming.

“Hahaha…pleaseee...We’re friends, right?” Haerin laughed, but it was tight, strained. Her eyes broke away first, dropping to the textbook in front of her like it had all the answers she couldn’t find in this moment.

Her thoughts were spinning wildly, one plea looping on repeat. Please don’t say we are. Please don’t say we are. She just needed a sign—something to confirm that this wasn’t all in her head.

“Yeah, we are.” You nodded, forcing a smile, feeling the words land heavy on your tongue. "I'll help"

No, we aren’t.

But you said it anyway, and Haerin swallowed the ache that came with it.

She wished it were different. She wished you’d called her bluff.

You were perched at your desk, half-heartedly flipping through your notebook while trying to focus on your chemistry homework. "Focus, Y/N," you muttered, rubbing your temple. It was supposed to be a free day—a rare reprieve during the school festival, when most students were outside enjoying the chaos of booths and events. So why were you stuck inside, pretending to be productive?

Oh, right, because the last thing you needed was to run into her.

The mere thought made you groan, slumping further into your seat. It wasn’t like you were avoiding her—okay, maybe you were—but could anyone blame you? It was only a few weeks ago that you convinced yourself she’d friend-zoned you, and ever since, you’d been determined to distance yourself before your feelings spiraled further out of control.

You sighed, flipping a page. “This is fine,” you whispered, as if convincing yourself. After all, who needed cotton candy and cheap prizes when you had stoichiometry and self-loathing?

"Y/N!" A sudden pat on your shoulder startled you. You turned to see your seatmate, who gestured toward the door.

There, standing with unsettlingly grins, were Hanni and… Minji?

"Y/N L/N?" Hanni called out.

"Yeah?" you replied cautiously. That was all the confirmation they needed. In an instant, they were heading straight for you.

"Come with us," Minji said, not waiting for a response as she helped you up.

“Wait—what’s going on?” you asked, but Hanni was already tying a blindfold over your eyes.

"Am I getting kidnapped?” you muttered as Minji tugged you out of the classroom.

Several minutes of stumbling through hallways, bumping into walls, and almost tripping down the stairs later, they finally guided you into another room.

You heard hurried shuffling and faint whispers before everything went eerily quiet.

Wait… was this their booth?

Your mind flickered back to something Minji had mentioned yesterday about a wedding booth, and unease crept up your spine. Before you could say anything, wedding music suddenly blasted through the room.

"EVERYONE PLEASE TAKE YOUR SEATS, THE CEREMONY IS ABOUT TO BEGIN!!" Ryujin’s unmistakable voice echoed through a microphone, and the room erupted in cheers and laughter.

"Hold up—" you started, but Hanni and Minji were already leading you onto what felt like a raised platform. A veil was suddenly placed over your head, and you could only stand there, bewildered.

"Today, we are gathered here at this most sacred… uh, classroom corner… to witness the union of these two lovely individuals!" Ryujin’s voice rang out again, brimming with mock seriousness.

Laughter and cheers filled the room again, but one pair of eyes wasn’t laughing.

"You may now remove your blindfolds!" Ryujin announced dramatically.

Your hands fumbled behind your head, untying the knot. As the cloth slipped from your face, you blinked, your vision adjusting to the light

What the hell?

Hyein leaned against the booth’s table, lazily sipping on a soda while sneaking glances at Haerin. Perfect timing. Right on cue, she spotted Minji and Hanni practically manhandling you down the hallway. You, blindfolded, were stumbling and muttering protests while they cackled like maniacs.

“Oh. My. GOD!” Hyein gasped dramatically, slamming her soda can down on the table.

Haerin looked up, “What?”

“Do you SEE that?!” Hyein pointed, her eyes wide. “Minji and Hanni are—oh my gosh—they’re dragging Y/N! AND she's blindfolded!”

Haerin’s brows furrowed, her gaze immediately snapping to you being dragged down the corridor. “Why are they—”

“No idea,” Hyein interrupted, grabbing Haerin’s arm with a gasp that was so over-the-top it bordered on comical. “But we havee to follow them. What if they’re kidnapping Y/N?!”

"Why are you speaking like tha—"

“Come ON!” Hyein didn’t give her time to finish, already tugging her along.

"Dude?"

And there he was—Hyunjin. In a suit. Or, more accurately, some half-baked attempt at one. He stood in front of the makeshift wedding booth, the blindfold finally off, wearing an expression that screamed he'd rather be anywhere else.

Your eyes widened. “Uh… what is this?”

Hyunjin tugged at the collar of his ill-fitting costume. “Wedding booth,” he said flatly. “Don’t look at me—I got roped into this. Apparently, someone actually paid for it, so just… play along.”

10 minutes ago...

Hyunjin groaned dramatically as Minji and Hanni hauled him through the hallway, his sneakers dragging against the tiled floor. "I’m on Y/N’s side. Why am I even helping you guys?"

"Just shut up," Minji snapped, yanking his arm harder. Hyunjin stumbled over something on the floor—probably an abandoned textbook, or maybe just his own pride.

"Minji, you’re on Y/N’s side too, you traitor—ow!" He gasped in mock betrayal as she gave him a little shove.

"The bet is off," Hanni groaned, throwing her hands in the air. "It’ll be the apocalypse before they confess to each other. We’ve given them so many chances."

“Exactly,” Hyunjin grumbles. “Why are we still doing this then?”

“Because we’re desperate,” Minji retorts, dragging him forward. “Now quit whining.”

"Fine, whatever, but is the blindfold really necessary?" Hyunjin wiggled his eyebrows, trying to peek under the fabric tied snugly over his eyes.

"Yes," Minji said firmly, steering him to the right. "Watch your step."

They stopped outside a classroom door, and Hyunjin immediately perked up at the sound of Ryujin’s voice.

"Jin! Good, you’re here." Ryujin slapped a bundle of fabric to his chest. "Here, put this on."

"What's this?" Hyunjin asked, holding the mysterious item at arm’s length.

"It’s a costume, obviously," Ryujin said, barely hiding her amusement. "Hurry up! They already went to fetch her."

Hyunjin groaned again, "Can I at least take off the blindfold?"

"No."

“What… is this?” Haerin asked,

“OhHh my god,” Hyein whispered, nudging her. “It’s a wedding booth! Look, they’re marrying Y/N and Hyunjin. Isn’t that, like, sooo cute?”

Haerin’s jaw tightened as she stared at the setup, something twisting in her chest. “It’s… stupid,” she muttered.

“Dearly beloved,” Ryujin began, her voice overly solemn, “we are gathered here today to witness the union of Y/N and Hyunjin in holy—uh—festival matrimony.”

The room filled with laughter as Ryujin continued, but Haerin stood frozen near the doorway.

It's just a booth.

A stupid booth. She repeated the thought like a mantra, but it did little to supress the sharp ache in her chest. Her fists tightened at her sides.

"Now, Hyunjin, do you take Y/N to be your unlawfully wedded wife in sickness and in health, in poverty and in wealth, and be true to her in all things until death alone shall part you?" Ryujin said, trying way too hard to sound like a pastor. She squinted at Hyunjin, her expression screaming, just go along with it, dude.

"I do," Hyunjin sighed, finally giving in.

Ryujin nodded and turned to you, clipboard in hand. "And Y/N, do you take Hyunjin to be your unlawfully wedded husband in sickness and in health, in poverty and in wealth, and be true to him in all things until death alone shall part you?"

You hesitated, glancing at the amused faces around you. "I guess…?"

From the sidelines, Hyein smirked and nudged Haerin. “They’re actually doing it. You’re just gonna stand there and let Y/N and Hyunjin get fake-married?”

Haerin’s chest tightened. Her breath hitched, sharp and uneven. “It’s just a booth, Hyein,” she muttered, more to herself than anyone else.

Yeah, Haerin. Just a booth.

But if it was just a booth, why did this feel like someone had pulled the ground out from under her?

Why did it feel… real?

"Then by the power vested in me—”

Hanni nudged Ryujin. “Dude, you forgot the thing.”

“Right,” Ryujin cleared her throat, adjusting her glasses for effect. “Before we proceed, if anyone has objections to this union, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Haerin froze. Her mind was suddenly everywhere and nowhere. Did she even have the right to object? It was a school festival. A dumb booth for laughs. But watching you stand there with Hyunjin (WITH A MAN.)—it made her stomach twist like she’d swallowed barbed wire.

“Haerin,” Hyein whispered, her voice low and teasing. “You’re just gonna let this happen?”

“I—” Haerin’s voice caught in her throat, sticking like gum.

Ryujin glanced up, sensing the hesitation. “Any objections?” she repeated, louder this time, her words hanging in the air like a challenge.

You turned your head, searching for her in the crowd. Your eyes locked onto hers, and for one fleeting second, you silently pleaded. You wished—no, hoped—she’d say something. Anything.

But she didn’t.

Haerin stood there, lips pressed shut, heart pounding like it was trying to make up for her silence.

The pause dragged on, and with it, everyone’s expectations crumbled.

Ryujin sighed. “Alright then. Let’s proceed.”

“By the power vested in me, by solid, liquid, and gas—”

“Ryujin, stop,” Hanni groaned.

“Fine. I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

“You may now kiss—”

“I OBJECT!”

The words burst out before Haerin even realized what she was saying. Her hand shot up on instinct—like it always did in class. But this time, for the first time, she didn’t have the answer. She didn’t know what to say next.

Everyone froze. The air seemed to thicken as all eyes turned to her. Hyein stifled a laugh behind her soda straw while Ryujin’s jaw dropped in mock disbelief. Minji, Danielle, and Hanni exchanged victorious smirks, clearly pleased their plan had worked.

Haerin stood stiffly, her chest tight and her fists clenched at her sides. Her heart raced as she realized the weight of what she’d just done.

Okay, what now?

What was she supposed to say next?

This wasn’t part of the plan—except there was no plan.

Her eyes found you.

And suddenly, she knew.

Without a word, Haerin marched toward the altar, her resolve as sharp as the gasp that rippled through the crowd. She grabbed your wrist, her grip firm but not rough, and pulled you out of the classroom.

Oh, right, because the last thing you needed was to run into her.

You sighed, flipping a page. “This is fine,” you whispered, as if convincing yourself. After all, who needed cotton candy and cheap prizes when you had stoichiometry and self-loathing?

"Y/N!" A sudden pat on your shoulder startled you. You turned to see your seatmate, who gestured toward the door.

There, standing with unsettlingly grins, were Hanni and… Minji?

"Y/N L/N?" Hanni called out.

"Yeah?" you replied cautiously. That was all the confirmation they needed. In an instant, they were heading straight for you.

"Come with us," Minji said, not waiting for a response as she helped you up.

“Wait—what’s going on?” you asked, but Hanni was already tying a blindfold over your eyes.

"Am I getting kidnapped?” you muttered as Minji tugged you out of the classroom.

Several minutes of stumbling through hallways, bumping into walls, and almost tripping down the stairs later, they finally guided you into another room.

You heard hurried shuffling and faint whispers before everything went eerily quiet.

Wait… was this their booth?

"EVERYONE PLEASE TAKE YOUR SEATS, THE CEREMONY IS ABOUT TO BEGIN!!" Ryujin’s unmistakable voice echoed through a microphone, and the room erupted in cheers and laughter.

"Hold up—" you started, but Hanni and Minji were already leading you onto what felt like a raised platform. A veil was suddenly placed over your head, and you could only stand there, bewildered.

"Today, we are gathered here at this most sacred… uh, classroom corner… to witness the union of these two lovely individuals!" Ryujin’s voice rang out again, brimming with mock seriousness.

Laughter and cheers filled the room again, but one pair of eyes wasn’t laughing.

"You may now remove your blindfolds!" Ryujin announced dramatically.

Your hands fumbled behind your head, untying the knot. As the cloth slipped from your face, you blinked, your vision adjusting to the light

What the hell?

“Oh. My. GOD!” Hyein gasped dramatically, slamming her soda can down on the table.

Haerin looked up, “What?”

“Do you SEE that?!” Hyein pointed, her eyes wide. “Minji and Hanni are—oh my gosh—they’re dragging Y/N! AND she's blindfolded!”

Haerin’s brows furrowed, her gaze immediately snapping to you being dragged down the corridor. “Why are they—”

“No idea,” Hyein interrupted, grabbing Haerin’s arm with a gasp that was so over-the-top it bordered on comical. “But we HAVE to follow them. What if they’re kidnapping Y/N?!”

"Why are you speaking like tha—"

“Come ON!” Hyein didn’t give her time to finish, already tugging her along.

"Dude?"

Your eyes widened. “Uh… what is this?”

Hyunjin tugged at the collar of his ill-fitting costume, offering a sheepish smile. “Wedding booth,” he said flatly. “Don’t look at me—I got roped into this. Apparently, someone actually paid for it, so just… play along, I guess?”