#because I will be suffering in class so please have fun for me!

[maudie-duan]

Summary: What starts as a sweet and innocent crush ends with you finally getting your hands on the guys you've been eyeing for months.

Paring: Frat!Harry X (Fem)Reader

Tags: @sassamanda77 @loverofhsandallthings1d @styless-syndrome @carolinaastyles

Word Count: 10K

A/N: This was based on this CONCEPT<- from the wonderful @hesbunnies This a bit of a slow burn but so worth the finish!

Warnings: 18+FLUFF/SMUT(Language, alcohol use, light peer pressure, light public humiliation, size kink, talks of oral sex/ oral sex (m) receiving, brief spit talk, light Dom Frat!Harry behavior, protected sex, hair-pulling...) I think that's it. If I forgot anything, please let me know!

It started as innocent. 

Sweet.

A playground crush, the kind you held like a treasure.

A glimpse from across the room, the cute boy you have that one class with.

Tuesday and Thursday.

All it took was one glance to lock that secret inside. You held it near like you were waiting for a rainy day, the chance to hold out your tongue and pray that tiny gumdrops would fall from the sky. 

That day, you took your seat, setting yourself up for that morning’s lecture, slightly hungover from the night before. You knew that you had dealt with worse, that you could push through it, but that didn’t stop you from forcing your headphones into your ears and putting your head down to rest your cheek against the cool surface of the desk. 

As the song changed, you caught the pitch of the professor’s voice, and you lifted your head just as Harry walked in, barely making it to class on time, the two of you locking eyes immediately. The second you made the connection, his presence stole your focus, the song pouring into your ears ushering him in like it was meant for this very moment, your gaze following as he found a seat. 

When he didn’t look away, neither did you because with a face like that, how could you? 

Especially once you noticed that slight little smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, he had you captivated, and that’s when you realized you were smiling, your eyes darting away as fast as you could, but it was too late because just as your eyes moved away, you caught a glimpse of the smile that little smirk had turned into.

 You knew you were screwed.

So fucking screwed.

It was like once you saw him, you saw him everywhere. 

The campus coffee shop was your favorite place to glimpse him, see him out in the wild, in the untamed setting that didn’t confine you both to a classroom. He had just started working there, a startling site to see the first time you saw him behind the counter. 

That’s where you noticed his dimples for the first time, his green eyes, the rasp in his voice when he called out your drink, and you had to suffer your way to the counter, too shy to meet his eyes, just bold enough to mutter “Thanks,” because him taking your order at the register was all you could handle, and as you pushed through the door, you peeked over your shoulder, Harry’s eyes on you, and you were grateful for the chill of the day, the cold air settling over your flushed face. 

You were already hooked, and you knew it.

The dining hall was fun; those were the times you got to see him come alive. When he was no longer in a role but hanging with his friends, not a care in the world but eating—He was silly, boyish in the way he shoveled food in his mouth as a laugh spilled out, mouth-filled conversations, jokes being passed around, a pat on the back here and there—boys, being boys, but not in the barbaric way you pictured, just having a good time. 

And god, there were so many glances, the stolen glance from across the class, Harry never sitting in one spot, but always in your line of sight somehow, the back of his head, a side profile, sometimes at the end of your row, only capturing a glimpse of him from your peripheral view, and if you dared to sneak a peek, of course, his eyes would catch you, and you would have to play it off like you weren’t seeking those green eyes out.

You swore your eyes were magnets for his, like he was seeking yours, too. This gut-deep feeling, sickly sweet, that churned deep in the boom of your belly, always leaving you wanting more.

The more details you gathered from afar, the more you picked up on his charm, and dammit, it was so effortless, his presence sugary sweet, coating your insides like cotton candy fluff, each sugary layer dissolving on the tip of your tongue, the moment it came in contact because with the charm came the girls, and fuck, there were so many girls vying for his attention, the girls just as consumed by the tattoos and skinny jeans.

You realized this made you no different than the girls huddled close in the library watching him walk by, you snagging fragments of their hushed conversation, the topic of his hidden tattoos, that so and so had hooked up with him last week, and he was even hotter in bed.

The thought instantly consumed you and sent you reeling—adding yet another hopeless layer to dissect.

Luckily for you, your roommate Lena seemed to be hitting it off with one of his best buddies, which gave you an in because that was the first time he gave you a nod of recognition—a sweet little morsel you almost missed because you were so caught up in the words drifting behind you that you barely caught the smile he left you with as he shoved a hand in his pocket and strolled out of the library.

For days, you sat floating on a fluffy pastel daydream, his smile the only thing you could see, and that’s when your looks became intentional, not just a hopeful glance, but a direct line of sight.

For months, you spun the idea of Harry in your mind, each thought starting off sweet, sometimes heating up—a low simmer, a carmelized daydream spinning into thin strands of candied floss, a clouded haze of fluff you were dying to devour. 

And he never let you down because there he was feeding you those tiny morsels, like sucking on a lemon drop—sweet and sour—a treat that took its time to melt in your mouth. A “Hi” here, an “I’ll see you around” there—the art of Lena now dating his friend paying off when you found Harry sitting on your couch one day after class. 

You remembered this because the vision would haunt you for days to come as you felt his eyes follow you to your room. Harry was still in sight when you reached for the door, and as you turned the knob and stepped inside, you stole one last look, his gaze still trained on you, then he disappeared as you entered your room, his curious glance making your heart pound in your chest. 

And when the early evening turned to night. You stayed in your room because you knew you wouldn’t be able to play it cool, and as the noise picked up down the hallway, you laid there in bed, memorizing the way his deep voice echoed in your tiny apartment, and swore one day he would be in your bed.

Another night, you found yourself in the backseat with Harry, him grabbing a ride with his buddy, and Lena, dragging you along, and although you put on a show of not wanting to join, deep down, you knew Harry would be there. 

 This was another memorable night, playing out in your head so fucking clear because you were so nervous. You remembered sliding into the backseat, thinking Lena would be joining you, but then Harry made it a point to give Lena the front seat, and the second he slid in, it was like he stole the oxygen straight from your lungs. 

This was the closest you guys had ever been, only a shallow gap sitting between you both. You felt yourself straightening in your seat, lengthening your spine so you could take a decent breath, a silent intake of air that you held in your lungs as your body went still, your heart hammering in your chest after you muttered a quick “Hey.” 

And there was silence until there was music. 

The car ride was long, and no one wanted to play DJ, so Lena made you plug in your phone. Lena had put you on the spot, exposing you like a gutted fish. At least, that’s what it felt like, so you chose a recent playlist you had just made—later you would learn that this was also the night something shifted between you and Harry.

You kept overthinking every song that came on, a true act of vulnerability as each song came and went, and then there was that one song, the song you had been playing on a loop, the song that made you think of Harry, an upbeat tune with lyrics that made you melt at the idea of him, and out of nowhere, Harry asks:

“What’s the name of this song?” His voice woody as he cleared his throat, the silence taking its toll.

You pretended you didn’t know, even though you felt the title at the tip of your tongue as soon as he asked. Once you swiped open the screen, the title was there. You watched Harry pull out his phone and enter it into his search, adding it to his favorites. Then, he asked if he could look through the list, so you gently handed him your phone, your hand shaky, trying not to unplug the aux it was attached to. 

Giving him your phone was like giving him an extension of yourself, and there it was in his hands.

All you could do was watch, holding your breath until you decided to let it go; you falling back into your seat as he scrolled through the list, the blue light of the screen glowing over his face. You observed a smile ghost over his lips, making your chest tight with excitement, and you had to turn away as you exhaled a weighted breath, the tension tight in your body, your phone in his hands now a tether between you both.

The next time you saw him in class, he sat right next to you.

You were stunned, a slow smile spreading across your face as he dropped his bag onto the table, and you looked up at him. You knew you must have had a strange expression because he asked, “What? Is it not cool if I sit here?” And he smiled, that smile when both dimples show, and you nod your head, his green eyes searching your face, leaving you with nothing to do but smile.

From then on, he sat next to you every Tuesday and Thursday, always something to look forward to, that crush even more persistent the closer you got to him—a low whisper in your ear when he leaned over to crack a joke about something the professor said, or the times his arm would graze yours. Yet, another memory to add to the collection—the first time it happened, you subtly pulled away, his touch sending a jolt up your spine, a running chill over your skin as the tingle remained the longer you kept your focus on the touch. 

On another occasion, when it happened again, you waited to see if he would pull away, but he never did. As you slowly drew your arm away, you held your breath, and the feeling of your skin dragging against his heated you from within, sending a fluttering bloom to the depths of your belly.

Your resolve was starting to waver, and you knew it.

Your face had to be giving you away, the warmth filling your cheeks, burning as you tucked your hands into your lap, and you sat there perfectly still, leaning back into your chair like you were completely unphased by it all. You slowed your breath then, in through your nose, an even slower release, and you wondered how long you could go on like this, the room narrowing, Harry’s close proximity stirring the atmosphere of the room.

You were only aware of him and his every movement.

And when his knee knocked into yours, you bit down on your lower lip, your eyes flicking to his knee, now pressed against yours, and with every ounce of bravery you had, you chanced the smallest of looks at Harry—there he was, smiling the faintest of smiles down at his paper, his pen moving as if nothing was happening, even though your whole body was buzzing with it, and then you did something crazy, something completely out of character. You lean forward, resting your cheek in the palm of your hand, elbow pressing into the desk, and you look him dead in the eye, sending him a playful smirk, and your hand smoothes over his knee, the move undetectable to those around you, but you knew, and you let your hand rest, the bold move sending a spark between your legs, that tension a growing knot in the pit of your stomach. 

What you weren’t expecting was for Harry to grasp hold of your hand, a quick squeeze, and then he was slowly dragging your hand up his inner thigh, stopping right before the crotch of his jeans, but you felt the warmth, the shock running through you like electricity, your head spinning as he flattened your hand against the top of his thigh, the tips of your fingers grazing near the mound between his legs, giving his inner thigh a light squeeze, and Harry pushed out a low laugh, his eyes flicking to yours, and you couldn’t stop the smile rising as you gazed back at him.

That’s when you knew you wanted him, no matter what it took.

Then, the professor was ending the lecture, the class beginning to stir, but neither of you moved, and when people began to stand around you, you gave his thigh one last squeeze, moving your grip deeper, your pinky brushing the inner seam of his jeans, and Harry sucked in a quick breath, a wide smile on his face as his hand grasped hold of yours and he squeezed your hand hard, pulling it away, and he bit down on his lower lip, scooting his chair back.

“Soon…” He whispered.

That was Thursday.

So on Saturday, when Lena asked if you wanted to go to the guy’s house for a little get together, you knew that was your chance; you knew this night would be different because Harry wanted it too. 

“Soon,” He said; the low tone of his voice dripped down your spine like a sugary glaze that you had to live with for almost two whole days with no plan. A single word looming over your candied haze, your mouth going dry at the thought. You kept thinking of that look, him biting down on his lip, the vision caking your mind, and now every passing thought was honeyed with his intentions.

You felt the pull deep in your body, a dull throb between your legs as you stood there, eyeing Harry from across the room, but you didn’t want to look desperate, so you kept yourself busy, thankful that Lena made you guys pregame before you came because it didn’t take long for your drink to start catching up, and it was welcomed because you needed the delusional courage you knew the alcohol would bring.

There were more people than Lena put on. You stood there thinking you would never get your chance with Harry, and it was understandable, but you couldn’t go one more day without a definite green light, without at least the taste of those heart-shaped lips pressed to yours, and you waited, so patient, so calm, so fucking unbothered by the many girls, flitting around, trying to capture his attention. 

How many times was he going to catch your eye and not make a move because you knew without a doubt you weren’t going to be the one? 

You were technically the one who made the first move, so he was going to have to give. So what’s another round of cat and mouse? You thought, taking another drink, Harry still eyeing you at every chance, ignoring the girl talking at him with desperation every time she flipped her hair over her shoulder, then you smiled into your cup, taking one more drink before you turned away, knowing Harry had his eyes on you no matter where you roamed around the room.

You liked this, this subtle power you knew you had over him; you had what he wanted, that much was clear, and when he finally made his way to you, you felt it.

His eyes traveling down your body spoke volumes, that cocky grin lingering as he took your drink from your hand, and he started toward the drinks, that invisible tether back, pulling from within as you felt the longing stretch through your entire body.

This was it,

this was going to happen.

 But how do you get there?

“So you’re not going to talk to me, huh?” Harry asked, handing you a full cup of something red, swishing around in your cup, and when you brought it to your mouth. Harry watched you, waiting for an answer as you shrugged your shoulders, the sweet taste of punch coating your tongue, spurring that cotton candy daydream to life as you gazed into his eyes.

“I was waiting for you to talk to me, sir,” You tell him, nudging his arm as your eyes flit over his top, a sheer material, leaving nothing to the imagination, and when you peep the vailed butterfly at the center of his chest, your eyes dart to his, then back, and you poke a lazy finger into the center of his shirt, and he laughs, taking hold of the tip of your finger. 

Just then, Lena calls your name from across the room, ripping your attention from Harry, and you pull your finger from his grasp, feeling like you just got caught doing something naughty, and even if you weren’t, you knew you wanted to, and your cheeks burned with it.

“You guys…” Lena shouts, “You too, Harry…” and when you look to Harry, he too is like a deer in headlights, pointing to himself like he has no idea what his name is.

“Come play guys…” Harry’s buddy yells, pulling Lena onto his lap, and the shame of your thoughts has you moving, not wanting to draw any more attention to you and Harry.

 What the both of you didn’t know was that they were playing Truth or Dare, and you had that sinking feeling already that you knew you were screwed because you guys weren’t kids anymore, and now there was alcohol involved. 

The first couple of rounds weren’t bad; you chose Dare right off the bat, thinking a bold move would mean they would go easy, and that they did. The dare was to take a shot; that was easy. Harry, on the other hand, was playing it safe; while you chose Dare three times, he chose truth, uttering things from his mouth that made you blush because, of course, each question was loaded.

 Who didn’t like a good dirty secret? 

By the fifth round, it was Harry’s turn again, and when he chose Truth, his buddy interjected and told him he had to choose Dare. When Harry smiled, your stomach dropped because his friend wasn’t budging, and so he took it, eyes flitting past you as they moved to his friend—it just took that split second of attention to rally every nerve in your body because, let’s face it…you were tipsy, teetering on the edge of drunkenness, and so was he. 

You could see it in his glossy green eyes, that lazy smirk that hadn’t left his mouth, the way he kept getting closer, the two of you shoulder to shoulder, even though there was plenty of space on either side of you both, that innocent touch making the room vibrate, buzz with the anticipation of how you wanted this night to end—it had to be with him, it had to be underneath, on top of him, his face between your legs, it didn’t matter, at this point you would even drop to your knees for him

But what do they say? Be careful what you wish for. Because the next thing you know, Harry’s buddy is giving the dare, telling Harry to pick someone to waterfall a can of beer into their mouth, and you’re so caught up in the idea of beer being a shit choice that you don’t even realize everyone is staring at you until you see that cunning smile Harry is giving you, and when your eyes flick to Lena she’s nodding her head, one of those, yeah you looks, then Harry grabs your arm, your whole body heating as your eyes dart around the circle of people staring back at you.

Your legs are stiff as Harry pulls you near, his buddy handing him a cold beer, your gaze trained on the can now in Harry’s hands. It’s all moving so fast, catcalls ringing around you, the energy of everyone picking up, gearing up to watch the show you’re about to put on for them because it’s fight or flight, and you’re sticking to it.

When Harry drops your arm, it’s like lightning tearing through your body, your eyes darting to his as the crisp sound of the tab bursts open, the cream-colored froth spilling over the edge of the can. You both glance down, Harry extending it further away so he doesn’t get any on his boots. Even though you’re not a fan of the taste of beer, you know the ice-cold liquid would cool you down because your body is on fire, heat creeping through you—should you be mortified? You’re not sure, but when Harry’s eyes return to yours, you swallow hard, your heartbeat pounding in your throat. 

You’re willing your nerves not to show as your eyes sweep over Harry’s face. Then he leans in and says, “I’ll go slow…don’t worry…”

You let out a small laugh, your hand finding his wrist as he pushes his hand into your waist, sending a raspy laugh into your ear while the tip of his nose brushes against your earlobe, and it’s dizzying. The only thing keeping you balanced is your grip on his wrist because, holy shit, you’re really going to follow through with it, and just as you tip your head back, Lena yells, “On your knees, bitch—” your eyes go wide, and Harry gives your waist a little squeeze as he pushes you back, opening up space for you to kneel before him.

His smile is teasing, spurring you on, keeping that flame burning within, but little does he know you’re about to make him pay, make him suffer, make him weak—water the seed you planted that day in class—leave him wanting more because isn’t that what this is, and so you play into it, a sly grin playing at the corner of your mouth as you lock eyes.

You release his wrist, then lock your focus on Harry as you begin to kneel, slow and precise, lowering until one knee hits the ground, then the other. You sit back on your heels, only breaking eye contact to place both palms neatly on your thighs, straightening your spine and rising up like the dutiful girl you’re about to become. Once your gaze moves back to Harry, he swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing with the effort, and you know you’ve got him that easily, and you haven’t even opened your mouth.

He steps in front of you then, his smile fading, and he leans over you, his dick inches from your face, and he gathers a handful of your hair with one hand, a makeshift ponytail, adding to the list of unexpected acts, and when he gives your head a gentle nudge, you have to force your eyes away from the obvious bump in his pants because there’s no way this dude isn’t packing some serious heat, and your dying to know, and maybe, just maybe you’ll find out.

You comply when he gives your hair another little tug, your head falling back as your eyes meet his, “Now open that sexy little mouth,” Lena shouts, playing into the bit. She’s like the best wingman without even realizing it, and your lips part, your mouth rounding into an “O,” and you widen your mouth, opening your jaw, and you give Harry one last look before your eyes flit shut.

“That’s so hot,” someone says, and you smile. Harry presses the cold can to your bottom lip, and your heart picks up as the chill runs through your chest, a sudden thrill.

He’s playful at first, a quick glug of beer spilling into your mouth, and the second it spills out, the crisp cold carbonation washes over your tongue like water leaving the stale taste of sour yeast running over your taste buds, cheap beer of course, and you feel your throat seize, overwhelmed, the feeling intensified by your lack of visual clues, then you lap your tongue over your bottom lip licking a stray drop that just hit the surface.

As you open your eyes, you take a moment to straighten your posture, preparing yourself for what’s next. Leaning back again, you feel Harry starting to pour, the can hovering just above your bottom lip. As your mouth widens in anticipation, he carefully lifts the can, his grip on your hair gentle yet firm, slowly guiding your head back. The beer flows steadily, and with each widening of your mouth, your jaw relaxes a bit more. Your gaze is fixed on the stream, and you engage your core muscles to maintain your straight posture. Like a little bird being fed, you take in the first gulp effortlessly. 

There’s a slight strain, but it’s nothing you can’t handle.

Like he promised, his pour was slow, and this time, you let your mouth fill more, thinking it would be easier. Your eyes flicked to Harry, a small grin peeking at the corner of his mouth as the stream got higher—tiny specks of droplets hitting your face as it splashed into your mouth, and you closed your eyes, stretching your spine to guzzle your next mouthful, now weighing down the back of your tongue, and you gulp, a loud gurgle coming from your throat as you hold steady trying not to move any other muscle but your throat, then someone yells, “I bet she’s good at giving blow jobs—” 

Hearing Harry’s raspy laugh, your eyes open, and you look him dead in the eye, opening your mouth as wide as you can, your jaw relaxing into the stretch. That’s when Harry decides to quicken the pour—the beer halfway gone, you hope— and he pulls at your ponytail with his firm grip, inching your head back further; and Harry takes control of the whole situation as panic rises up, your mouth filling faster this time, and you know you have to swallow.

 Then he’s pouring faster.

The new angle of your neck has made the strain harder, stretching the muscles in your neck taut, giving you less control, and you open the back of your throat as liquid spills down, fast, heavy as it gushes past the barrier you were holding, the choke down louder this time, a strained glug as you puff out your cheeks trying not to cough, and your eyes widen flicking to Harry who is biting back his smile, his chin rising as the pour speeds down into your mouth, and when his lips part, you choke down another gulp, eyes never leaving his.

He licks his lips then, and you do it again, just to see his reaction. As he licks his lips, a flying droplet hits your eye, then another, and you have to force your eyes shut, “Dump the rest in her mouth,” some dude says.

“Make her really choke on it!” another adds, and Harry grips the makeshift ponytail hard, and you open your eyes as the can comes down closer to your mouth. Harry tilts the can, emptying it out into your mouth, and you gasp down the beer, liquid spilling out the sides of your mouth, and there you are, squirming under Harry’s hold as you force the liquid down your throat, coughing in a gulp of air, once it’s completely down. 

As quickly as Harry grabbed hold of your hair, he released it, and you sucked in a breath, grasping at your neck with one hand, reaching for Harry with the other, and he pulls you to your feet and past the people flooding your hazy vision, your head spinning as a rush of oxygen fills your lungs, and it feels like your floating on a cloud, every limb on your body numb, heavy, yet weightless because you think you could do anything, yeah, you could do anything.

Then Harry pulls you through a doorway to a bedroom, your whole world coming to a hurried halt, you standing there trying to play catch up with a scene of events that just unfolded. Harry, in perpetual motion, moves way too fast, in a frantic rush, a hasty pace, as he walks over to his desk, grabs hold of a wooden chair, walks back to his door, and he jams the back of the chair under the handle, pulling on the knob to make sure it’s secure. 

And then he just stops, standing there looking at the door, and you don’t know what to do; the reality that you must be in his room setting in, yet Harry is unmoving. Standing there in some sort of contemplation, and you wonder if he forgot that you were here, and when he runs a flustered hand down his face, you listen to him exhale, putting a hand on his hip as he pivots to face you, “That damn lock is broken on my door,” he confesses, his smile suddenly shy.

“Yeah?” you breathe, unsure what to say.

“Yeah…” He says, his green eyes searching your face, and now you were dizzy with the vision of him before you, that shitty beer trying to show its face.

You had no idea what you looked like in that moment; Harry just stood there, rolling his bottom lip between his thumb and index finger, that boyish charm thing he does, another little cork you had picked up on over the months—was he nervous? You couldn’t tell with his furrowed brows, so serious, his tall stature seeming to consume the room because he was all you could focus on. 

“Was it weird that I brought you to my room?” He speaks up, and then he moves past you to turn on a lamp next to his bed.

Your response isn’t quick; it takes until he moves past you again to turn off his overhead light, a change in mood, the atmosphere shifting in a tipsy state, every subtle change amplified, “No…” is what you tell him because it isn’t weird, but getting to this point was overwhelming, 

“We don’t have to do anything…” He says, kicking a boot off, and you follow suit, peering down at your feet as one shoe comes off, then the next.

“But you want to, right?” You ask him, picking up your shoes and placing them by the door, and when you look back, you catch a hint of a smirk peeking at the corner of his mouth, a flutter building, and you bite the edge of your tongue to keep your smile at bay.

“I just wanted to get away from all those people…couldn’t think with all of that noise…” Harry tells you, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“It was so fucking loud…” you agree, eyes roaming his room, your obsessive little mind already at work.

“Yeah…” He says, and when your eyes shift to him, he’s leaning back into his arm, breathing an air of casualness into the room, and you rake your eyes down his body.

You give him a small smile, eyes moving away, “So you couldn’t hear yourself think, huh?” You ask, his room oddly sobering because how many times had you thought about it, wondered what it looked like? Imagined yourself in it, and who cares if you had been a tad bit obsessive? You never forced the idea on anyone or him; it was your sweet little innocent secret to keep, and look at what it got you: a front-row seat to your favorite show, so why not take it? 

“Yeah…a bit overwhelming…” he laughs, his tongue lazily stretching out that last word, his British drawl heavy.

You look over your shoulder, “Overwhelming?” You smile again, matching Harry’s smile, and your eyes dart to his books lined across a shelf. 

“What was there to think about?” you question, dragging a slow finger down the spine of an old book, taking in the faded colors, and you turn just in time to glimpse that cocky grin rising, Harry’s mouth corking to one side, mischievous is all you can think. 

“You—” He says, plain and simple, the word falling out of his mouth like a hopeful gumdrop falling from the sky, something you never imagined happening, and you felt your body buzzing with it, a slow hum vibrating deep in your belly, your pussy waking with it, and you knew this was it—You were going to get what you wanted.

“Tell me more…” You push, moving over to him, and Harry falls back into his other hand, his body now a long, lean line in front of you.

He pushes out a throaty laugh, eyes moving down your body, and you try to relax, let the alcohol work its magic, “I’ve noticed you blush easily…I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Hmm…” you hum.

“They’re a bit naughty…these thoughts—” He starts, sending a pulse straight to your clit as your heart begins to race, and you lean forward, placing a hand on each of his knees, looking him directly in the eyes, and you nod your head for him to continue. 

“You started it, you know…” and this makes you laugh, “When you put your hand on my knee…”

“But did I start it?” You asked, feeling playful, “You’re the one who knocked my knee…” you tell him.

“Okay…I did do that…but you actually started this whole thing?”

“This whole thing?” you repeat, eyes moving to his mouth.

He licks his lips then, well aware of your eyes, “Yeah,” he says, smoothing his lips together, “When you smiled at me…that day in class…I saw you…”

“What? How do you know I was smiling at you? I could have been smiling at anyone…” you lie, trying to sidetrack him, and he was right about the blushing; you could feel the heat rising, your brain stumbling over the fact that he even remembered that.

He rasps out a laugh, leaning up to rest his hands on yours, his face only inches away, and the light catches the glint of his green eyes, leaving you in awe. “No…I saw it…there’s no fooling me, miss.”

“Fooling you?” you ask, smoothing your hands up his legs a few inches, and Harry grabs hold of your wrists, stopping them, his eyes sweeping down to your hands.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed you—” and you force your face forward then, your mouth knocking against his, and you couldn’t help it, that persistent thought of him making you spiral, and when he doesn’t hesitate, you begin to move your mouth.

Harry deepens the kiss as his hands move up to your face, and then your propelling you both into action when you bring a knee to the edge of the bed. Then Harry breaks the kiss, reality hitting like a tidal wave, one big rush of awareness, knocking the air from your lungs, and you realize you should have asked. 

“Is this okay?” He questions, his hot breath fanning over your lips, your face still in his hands.

You laugh, “I probably should be the one asking you, right? sorry…”

“No—I should have asked before I locked you in my room…” He forces, eyes darting over your face, but you’re watching the rise and fall of his chest, both of you winded from the sudden change of possibilities. 

Staring down at his shirt, you say, “I want it…if you want it…” and you give his shirt a longing tug, your whole body aching for him, like even just rubbing your body against his would be enough, yearning like an adolescent dying to be touched for the first time.

“I’ve wanted you so fucking bad—” He tells you, forcing the words into your ear as a hand reaches for the button of your jeans, and it pops open in one swift move, then you lean forward, beginning to push them down, Harry lending his hands as you move in to kiss him.

You pull away then, fighting with the leg of your pants as you watch Harry yank his shirt over his head, the sight momentarily stunning you when you spot the tattoo at the center of his chest that you glimpsed earlier. 

When Harry reaches for his jeans, you stop what you’re doing, “Please…give me the honor…” you joke, your hands moving with a need to the button of his jeans, and your mouth is already watering, excited when you spot the outline of his growing bulge taunting you.

Harry grabs hold of the top of his boxers as you shimmy his pants down his hips, lifting, then helping once they reach his ankles, “Skinny jeans will be the death of me…” He laughs out, ripping his ankle free, and then they’re off, Harry leaning back slightly to adjust himself in his Calvin Kline boxers, so fucking sexy, and your eyes feast on the sight of his abs, the tight muscles bending and flexing, and what a fucking sight to behold. 

But he doesn’t give you much time because he snags the hem of your shirt and pulls it up, standing to lift it over your head, and just as your sucking in a breath, his mouth moves to yours, grabbing you by the waist to shift you onto the bed as you try to drag a quick breath through your nose.

His hands are everywhere—your face, your neck, your stomach, gliding up the curve of your waist, gently cupping a handful of boob, hungry, but you’re just as hungry, gripping and smoothing your hands over his muscles, hands roaming down the plains of his back, grabbing his ass to press him into you. 

It’s all fast, every breath short and desperate, as desperate as you both were to spur this on.

And your legs are spreading, inviting him in, and when you grab his ass again, your shoving him into you, a slow grind into his hard bulge, and you gasp at the relief, the sensation, the air heavy, a narrowing focus that nothing else exists except this, and when Harry takes the lead pressing into you again, you arch your back, lifting your hips up to meet his, until you’re finding a rhythm, Harry just as involved, needy, forcing out moans, each one a low simmer, a slow burn, both your bodies heating with it.

Weak.

That’s what you are weak for him, a heady rush stealing every thought because all you can feel is him, his body, his slow grind between your legs, pressing into you hard, like he too is aching, longing, and it’s one long stroke, his dick so hard that you can make out the head hitting you right at your center, gliding up your panties until you feel the base of his cock, and he groans out your name, stilling his body.

“I’ll fucking come if we keep this up—” he tells you.

And you nod, planting a kiss on his lips, “I want you to fuck me…” you force, grinding your hips into his.

“Is that what you want?” He breathes, pressing a kiss to your neck, his words catching in the shell of your ear.

“So fucking bad…” you laugh, nipping at his shoulder, and he pushes himself up then, crawling back on the bed, the warmth of his body leaving you, making you even needier for him.

Harry reaches into his bedside table and mulls around, the sound of clutter filling the silence, and you draw your knees up, lifting yourself onto your elbows. “Sorry…I only have one condom left…”

And then you laugh, “Damn, I guess we’ll have to make it count...”

With a smile, Harry brings the foiled wrapper to his mouth, tearing it open with his teeth, your heart pounding in your chest as you hold your breath, a sliver of the wrapper holding by a thread at the edge, and you scoot forward on the bed, beating him before his hands can even reach for his boxers.

You look up then, “You have a big dick, don’t you?” you smile, giddy almost, thrilled at the notion of him being inside you.

“I guess to some…yeah…does that make you change your mind?”

He had you from the moment he walked into that class, but he’s about to have to figure out a way to rid himself of you because once you tug down his boxers, your eyes go wide, your hand moving like a magnet to his hard dick springing before you, and you’re already climbing off the bed, his warm dick in your hands, and your down on your knees before he can even say another word.

“I want to do something first,” You tell him, wrapping your hand around the back of his leg to bring him closer.

Harry lets out a breathy laugh and covers his face, letting his head fall back like the sight of you on your knees is too much, and he puffs out a loud sigh, dragging his hands down his face, “I can’t watch…” He tells you, pushing his words to the ceiling with a smile, and he laces his hands behind his head, letting the weight of his neck fall into his hands, and your eyes move down his body, traveling down his flexed stomach until you spot the tattoo, and you laugh, gripping his swelling dick in your hand.

“Oh my god, Harry—” and you peer up at him. He’s probably heard it all before, but it doesn’t stop him from laughing. 

The excitement sends a pulse through his dick, and it bounces in your loose grip, “I can’t look down…I already told you…”

You send your focus to the words inked into his skin, bringing his thick dick to your lips, the head of his cock, perfectly round like every candy-coated daydream you’ve ever had of him—a fucking treat, a lollipop earned, you think, already on your knees for him because those have been the daydreams you wanted to act out, put on a show that would drive him wild for you, but that was you on your knees tonight for him already, when you were that dutiful girl choking down beer for him, now you wanted to choke on him, fill the back of your throat until you were gagging on his big dick.

It started with a bounce against your mouth, the heavy head of his penis rippling across your lips; another bounce and you were lining your bottom lip with the ridge of his head, bounce, bounce, bounce, the weight of him hitting your mouth waking your senses, and then your lips were parting, a warm breath fanning over his dick, and your eyes flick up to Harry, watching him suck in a shallow breath.

“Might as well,” the tattoo says.

 So you open your mouth, flattening your tongue, your hand guiding his head into your mouth, and you open wider as you slowly drag him past the tip of your tongue, and you listen as Harry sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth.

You like this; you like his reaction, and when you close your mouth around him, your tongue flattens against his dick, working his head, your hand moving down his shaft, giving you more of him to take in; a couple of bobs and you hear him rasp out a low moan, throaty like he’s trying to control himself. When you pull him from your mouth, you gasp in a breath, gearing up to take on more, knowing you need to loosen your jaw. Then you’re diving for more, shoving him in further, and Harry forces out, “Oh, God—”

The encouragement provokes you further, ripping his dick from your mouth, and you spit down his shaft, working it down the base—a little extra help; then you’re bobbing your head, your hand moving with your mouth in unison, synchronized as your throat opens for him.

 “Shit—” Harry breathes when you give his head a little extra attention, and he meets your eyes then, your gaze unmoving when you puff out your cheeks and force his dick to the back of your throat and the thick head of his penis hits your gag reflex hard, making your throat close around him, constricting as you force him back further, and you grip the base, readying yourself to do it again, then Harry tears his cock from your mouth, your throat seizing as you choke in a breath. The abrupt movement snatches the air from your lungs, and you gasp in a fast breath.

“I’m sorry—I’m sorry…I didn’t mean for it to be that forceful.” Harry blurts, leaning down to hook a finger under your chin, and you rise to your feet, wiping at the corner of your mouth. 

“Oh my god—” you say, trying to keep a straight face, falling back onto the bed, turning the dramatics up when you clutch your throat. “I could have died—”

“I swear I didn’t mean to—” he tries.

You push yourself up on your elbows, “Now you owe me,” you tell him, feeling the corner of your mouth rise, and you narrow your eyes, bringing your foot up to the middle of his chest when he tries to climb on top of you. 

That’s when Harry realizes you’re joking, and he wraps a hand around your ankle, straightening his torso with a smile, “I know just how to repay you—” he tells you, gently lowering your leg to the bed. 

His large palms come down to the tops of your thighs, giving you a light squeeze before they drag down your skin and hook behind your knees as you watch that smile widen on his face, and with one quick tug, he tugs you to the edge of the bed, a faint gasp leaving your mouth and you bite down on your lower lip, watching as he reaches for your underwear. 

When his fingers hook under the top of your panties, you suck in a quick breath, drawing your tummy in as he starts to pull, and you fall back onto the bed again, bringing your feet up on the edge of the bed to lift your hips as you close your eyes focusing on the way Harry slowly drags the material down your thighs, and you lengthen your leg as he pulls them past your ankles. 

That’s when you lean up, eyes meeting his as he drops to his knees. A flutter of excitement runs between your legs, and your heart races with anticipation. “Since you were such a good girl…” He starts his hands on your waist now, and his thumbs caress the skin of your hip bones, gripping the meat at your sides to drag you closer.

You can’t help but squeeze your leg shut. “You’ll have to open those legs so I can give you your treat, darling. “ and you laugh, his British accent making you giddy, and you press your thighs together harder. 

You speak up then, “I kinda want you to just fuck me…” you tell him, your voice coming off more timid than you’d like, and Harry lets out a laugh, brings his mouth to the top of your knee, and presses a kiss into your skin, making your pussy pulse. 

“But I really—” he says, placing another kiss on the other knee, “want to return the favor—” 

“How about next time?” you answer, your clit starting to ache for his dick to fill you up. 

“You promise?” he asks, resting his chin on your knee, his green eyes almost pleading like a cute little puppy begging for scraps.

And you reach forward, running a hand through his hair, giving it a light tussle, and Harry closes his eyes, relishing the feeling, “Next time…I promise—”

“But right now—” you force, and Harry’s eyes flit open, meeting yours, “I want you to fuck me.”

Harry’s eyes go wide then, his brows lifting, and he swallows hard, his chin digging into the top of your thigh as a playful smirk appears, “Yeah?”

“Please—” you push. 

He reaches for the condom he placed on the bedside table and stands to his feet, his large dick coming back into view, and you clench your thighs tighter, feeling the slickness between them spread every time you move.

You watch him pull the condom from the wrapper, his dick in one hand, slowly smoothing up and down his shaft, his eyes trained on you, “You want or need me to fuck you?”

You choke on a laugh then, your mouth going dry at the sight, and you lick your lips, “Both—” and you smile.

“Mmm…” he hums, concentration etching into his brow, “Take your bra off,” he tells you, and you push yourself up, your hands shaking with adrenaline as your heart picks up, and you unclasp your bra and toss it to the ground. 

This brings a smirk to his face as his eyes flit over your naked body on his bed, “I liked the way you grabbed my hair earlier… that was hot,” you tell him…” and he licks his lips, biting down on his lower lip to control the smile that’s dying to rise.

“Is that how you want it?” he asks, his deep voice humming through your body.

The smiles are gone, a new energy creeping into the room, something heavy and charged with a new demand, “That’s how I want it…” you tell him.

“Scoot up on the bed.” He instructs, making your whole body go numb, the excitement overwhelming your nerves, and as you scoot your way back onto the bed, your legs spread, bringing awareness to your wet pussy as a gust of air rushes over your skin.

When you look back up, Harry is rolling the condom down his dick, stopping once he hits the base, and you both lock eyes, “All fours—” he says.

“Turn around and get on all fours,” and you give him one last look and silently flip over, your heart beating in your chest.

“Good—just like that—face down—” he tells you, “ass up—” he demands as you press your face into the bed, and you extend your arms straight, feeling the edge of the bed under your palms. 

“Are you sure this is what you want?” he asks one more time, “ Is there anything you don’t want to do?”

“No anal…” you tell him, peeking over your shoulder, “I don’t think I could handle that on the first go.” 

Harry laughs then raises his brows, “Noted—” he answers, leaning forward to grab hold of your hips, and just as you plant your cheek to the comforter, he rips you back to the edge of the bed, no warning as your cheek drags across the blanket, and you gasp, the quick motion stealing your breath, and when you lift your cheek from the bed to readjust yourself, there’s a slight burn from the fabric grazing your skin. 

“Changed my mind…I want you on the edge…in case you try and squirm—”

And you swallow, pressing your forehead to the comforter, and lengthen your spine as Harry adjusts your hips, stretching your arms across the bed; no safety of the ledge, just the grasp of the fabric lightly bunching under your palms. 

When Harry presses a knee into the bed, you feel his flattened palm press into your upper back, trying to flatten you more, and you turn your face, trying to stretch further, the tips of your fingers now at the edge of the side, and you close your eyes.

Harry drags a finger down your lengthened spine, then, starting at the base of your neck, a slow drag gliding down your smooth skin, making you curve your back like a cat as a shiver runs down your spine at the very thought of his touch, and you arch your back, letting your ass come down to your heels, completely taken by the sensation shuttering through you. 

And all you hear is the tisk of Harry’s tongue, “Ass up—” Harry commands, jerking your hips back into place, and suddenly you’re scared out of your fucking mind, yet lost in the trance he’s put you in because you are so turned on, even more, turned on by his commands—You’ve never let a guy just take you like this, given him the control.

When you feel the pad of Harry’s thumb smooth over your slick entrance, you let out a soft moan, the feeling making your clit pulse as he spreads the wetness over the lips of your pussy, the cold air mingling with your wet skin and you suck in an audible breath. 

Then Harry dips a finger inside, getting you ready for him, and you feel yourself opening, melding into the bed as his finger dips further, and when he adds the motion of his thumb over your clit, you hold your breath, a slow circle beginning to take way.

“Oh—that—” you breathe, pushing out a heavy breath, a knot already forming deep inside.

“So fucking wet for me—tight,” he coos, the pressure on your clit deepening, and you moan out a loud sigh of satisfaction, raising your ass higher, growing needy for him, and then he slips another finger inside you, a light stretch as he sinks his fingers deeper this time, paving a slick way for his dick to fill you.

Harry dips his fingers one more time and then pulls them away, “Tastes good—” he says, and you lift your head just as he shoves his fingers into his mouth, his lips curving around them, and you have to look away, another shudder moving down your spine at the absence of his hands, and you almost want to beg, but then harry is grabbing hold of your hips again, a knee pushing back into the bed, and your ready, so ready, ass perfectly lifted, spine just how he wants it.

He brushes his thumb over your opening one more time, and he presses your hip into his inner thigh, you spreading slightly to give him more access, and you feel the firm head of his cock streak down your entrance, then again, making you draw in a slow breath, and your whole body tenses as he sinks in a little further, a groan leaving his mouth as the tip pushes past your entrance.

This is happening, his dick inching in more, and you moan out, pushing your forehead into the bed, gripping the blanket under your palms as if they could save you because then he’s pushing into you more, with a little force, your neck lifting to push out a low whimper.

It’s everything you pictured the stretch would be, a painful beginning, the delicate skin at your entrance on fire as your walls clench around him, and Harry forces himself deeper, stretching his way until he’s completely inside you, splitting his way past the point of no return, and you gasp out, “Fuck—” louder when he pulls your hips into him, your ass pressed to his pelvis, and Harry groans out, “So fucking tight—” a breathy laugh leaving his mouth as he leans forward to press a kiss into the center of your back, and the new angle has him pushing deeper.

“Mmmm,” you force, pushing your hips into him, trying to move past the pain, and he is so fucking deep, pressing into the pit of your stomach; at least that’s what it feels like because you’ve never been filled like this, every muscle lining the walls inside of your pussy straining against his large mass, and you know what this can be, and when he slowly inches his dick back, you feel the gap he leaves, your body already desperate to be filled again, and he thrusts back inside you, slow and rhythmic, the stretch evening out with every stroke.

“Is that good?” He asks, giving your hips a squeeze, and you drag your forearm down to your forehead and rest your head, trying to focus on every breath in and out, breathing in tandem with his strokes.

“Don’t stop, okay?” you force on an exhale, and you hear the rasp of Harry’s laugh as you slam your eyes shut, his thrust harder this time.

Harry’s grip tightens on your hips, and when he pushes inside you again, it’s one long, slowed thrust, and he drives himself inside you deeper, the pressure hitting your lower belly again, and you moan out, forcing in a sharp breath.

“You like that dick, don’t you?” He asks, but you don’t lift your head; you just nod. Harry pulls back again, and you grip the comforter, gearing up for his next thrust as they begin to pick up.

“I like—” you try as Harry hits that spot again.

“You like what—?” he huffs, pulling all the way out.

“So fucking big…” you tell him, and he shoves his thick cock deep inside you, pushing past your walls as a new layer of stretch burns like a line of fire inside you, and you force yourself up, reaching behind you to force his hips back as a pained moan leaves your mouth.

Harry knocks your hand away, “No—this is what you wanted, right?” he laughs, that dimpled smile beaming down at you, “You’re doing so well…I know you can take me.” and it’s like his words ignite the challenge aching in your bones, that longing for him, all those months of being so fucking patient, pining for this very moment.

And so you seize it, giving him one last look before you plant your hand back down on the bed, and Harry grasps a handful of your hair, just like you asked, slowly pulling your head back as he drives his dick back inside you, and you draw out your moan, the slow thrust in, stirring that knot in your belly.

In and out, slow at first, his grip on your hair light, your neck comfortably positioned as the pleasure begins to roll in, and you push back into him and lower onto your elbows, ready to let your lower half do all the work.

When he pulls back out, you chase his dick back to keep the same pace, rolling your hips back until your ass is flush with his body, and you arch your spine, your hair beginning to pull at your scalp from the new position, and you lift your hips, dropping back down as harry pushed in, the two of you finding a new cadence, spurring each other on as pleasure completely takes over.

“Mmmm—I like that—” he moans as you move up his dick, catching the head of his cock on your entrance; you dip back down, gasping when you hit that spot inside you, and it feels so good, a bittersweet edge as the pain dulls, and you do it again. This time, with more force, and Harry lets you take control, taking more hair into his grip, the reign between you both shortening.

“Those hips are magic—” Harry praises you, and you want more, so you pick up your pace, drawing your hips up, a light swirl at the tip, bringing them back down hard and fast, Harry tugging your head back until you do it again, and again until he’s pulling your hair so tight that every muscle in your neck is straining to catch a decent breath, a new facet of control you’ve never explored taking hold of your whole body, and you give in, Harry plowing his dick in and out of you like the gallop of a horse, your ass bouncing back against him as he tugs your hair, both of your words filthy, flying out of your mouths as you both act out in desperation.

“More—” you cry out.

And he does it, releasing your hair and pushing you to the bed as he grabs your hips and slams into you with such force that you yell out his name, the whole room spinning as you drop your cheek to the bed, and you tuck a hand between your legs, spreading until you reach your clit

That’s all it takes, your fingers moving between your legs, Harry’s hard thrusts in and out of you, and as you feel your orgasm about to mount, you dip your back, arching your ass out as far as you can, sending his dick deeper inside you, and you come, a hard tremble ripping through your body, so hard that it steals your words, your body going slack, a hard gasp in, your lungs seizing with the effort, and your whole body shudders, your walls clamping around his dick as Harry slams one last thrust into you and his entire body stills, arching around you as he comes, his sweaty torso, sticking to your skin as you fall into the bed, and the world goes silent around you both.

“It’s a shame you only had one condom,” You laugh, your body shaky as you stir back to life, and Harry plants a lazy kiss on your shoulder as he pushes himself up, his dick pulling out of you, leaving you hollow, and you cross your arms under your cheek, and lay there.

“Are you already wanting more?” and you lift your head and watch that charming little smile turn up at the corners of his mouth, drawing you in as you lay here in the sticky sweet aftermath of every candied daydream you’ve ever had of him, and it’s better, better than you could have ever envisioned, and when you lower your cheek back down to your arm, the air is light, your head clouding into that cotton candy haze, and your lost in him, lost in the feeling, and you know you’ll be forever wanting more because if that was just a tiny little morsel you want more and then you tell him:

“I have more condoms at my place…”

A/N: Well, that was a bit of a rollercoaster...what did you think??

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[hannie-dul-set]

fire and brimstone (and you’re a moth made of gasoline) — TWO.

SYNOPSIS. having fought tooth and nail out of high school, university, and law school, only to end up working for a law firm that basically serves as a clean up dog after the biggest organized crime group in the district, you thought you couldn’t get any lower than this. 

the bar is in hell, and yet you’ve managed to limbo six feet beneath that. alternatively— na jaemin is the personification of hell, and your very existence just makes him even worse than he already is. 

PAIRING. na jaemin x female! reader. GENRE. gang! au, lawyer! au, office! au, comedy, drama, romance, very light angst, this is a sitcom, hate to love(?), a somewhat questionable power dynamic, asshole! jaemin (my beloved…my kryptonite…) but he’s also an idiot, jaemin has an eye contact thing, inspired by the manhwas “weak hero” and “study group.” WARNINGS. an abundance of criminal activity (including but not limited to organized crime, fraud, blackmail, DUIs, unethical and illegal occupational practices, etc.), blood and violence, suggestive themes, eventual non explicit sex, jaemin with a tattoo, legal inaccuracies because i am not familiar with south korean laws, so i’m just using my own country’s as reference. also because this is just a stupid thirst fic. who gives a damn. WORD COUNT. 7.6k.

NOTE. i tagged this as hate to love. i meant it. na jaemin is an objectively shitty person and i’ve given myself the herculean task of trying to redeem him (if ever) HAHAHHAHAHAHA. also, i tried to cut as many corners as i could in the trial scene. don’t expect it to be accurate. anyway, hope this chapter is fun! please let me know what you think! CHAPTER THREE.

YOU DIDN’T THINK YOU’D EVER FEEL THIS KIND OF DREAD ON A MONDAY AGAIN. The usual dread borne out of starting yet another week as a capitalist slave is given. It’s nothing special. But the dread you feel today as you drive to Yeongdeungpo Police Station (yet again, to the point that you’re starting to feel like an inmate yourself) is a dread that you haven’t felt in a long ass while.

Specifically, eight years ago. You’re like a broken record at this point, but it doesn’t stop you from continually cursing Na Jaemin in your mind as you stomp through the echoing halls of the station. Officer Jung is leading the way yet again to the visitation room, all while suffering from the brunt of your temper.

“He didn’t decline your request today,” he starts, attempting to make conversation.

No fucking shit, you reply in your head. “Thank you for the patience, officer,” you vocalize with a constipated smile. 

It seems like Officer Jung managed to catch the eye roll you didn’t intend for him to see. He gives you one polite smile and doesn’t make any more attempts after that, speaking only once you’ve reached the visitation room to unlock it and wish you luck with a nod. 

You thank him, sucking in a deep breath as you force your joints to start creaking. Luck. The door clicks behind you. You damn need more than luck to get through this meeting and this entire case. You need the very devil’s mercy and cooperation.

“Good day, Na Jaemin-ssi.”

But the devil isn’t a merciful man. You swallow down a lump in your throat and force out a smile.

“How have you been?”

He stares you down with the weight of a thousand suns, stabbing you right in the gut with a pain enough to incite a wave of nauseous vomit. “Get on with it,” he rasps. “I don’t think you got Mark on my ass just for some stupid fucking small talk. Hurry up and get on with it.”

Your smile twitches. This guy has never learned how to speak nicely.

*‎

(You’ve established that your new seatmate is Na Jaemin. Yet that’s all you’ve come to know about him up until the bell rings to signal lunch time.

Carefully sneaking out of your seat, you peer down to see that he’s still deep asleep. You huff. Wow. Four classes have gone by, and this guy slept through it all. And none of the teachers even called him out— only going as far as sending a look of resigned acknowledgement at your direction, sometimes even relief. Sometimes fear.

Anyhow, that first half of your day was enough to answer why Natty gave you that warning earlier: that the seat you chose was the worst one possible— next to the very embodiment of trouble, even if you don’t know the details just yet.

Despite not knowing much, you’re already blaming him for the fact that you’re eating lunch alone. 

The heat from the stew broth pricks at the skin of your lips as you scan around the cafeteria. You notice a few familiar faces scattered around, all sitting either in pairs or in groups in their respective seats and tables. You even lock eyes with Natty at some point, who simply averts your gaze with guilt ridden twitch as she turns head to her friend, someone you don’t recognize was in your class. 

Seems like you were doomed from the moment you sat your ass down on that seat. Fuck’s sake. Whoever this Na Jaemin guy is, you don’t like him already. You decide to temper your annoyed steps with some ice cream from the snack bar, seeing that there’s still a couple of minutes left before the afternoon bell. You pick up an extra snack as well— a melon bread wrapped in green tinted plastic. Something to pick at from under your desk as you go through your afternoon classes. You grab a can of pink peach soda to drink on the way back.

Upon returning to your classroom, the first thing you notice is the fact that no one else is here when there’s only five minutes left before lunch.

The second thing you notice— 

“Hey, you.”

There is, in fact, someone here.

Na Jaemin had sat up from the cross-armed, sleep-ridden slump he’d been in all morning. He’s awake. Now that his face isn’t buried, you finally have something to match the name.

“Why the hell didn’t you wake me up?”

There’s a distinct scowl on his face as he sets his phone down on his desk, shoulders slacked and sitting with his legs apart, which pushed your seat away to the very edge of your desk space. 

You feel a twitch in your brow. The annoyance prompts your feet to move close, triggers your mouth to open and speak back. “What?” you start. “There’s—there’s a bell that—”

“I was fucking asleep, you dumb fuck.” Na Jaemin cuts you off, and you flinch. “You think I’d hear a damned bell when I’m knocked the fuck out?” 

A gut feeling kicks in, forcing you to preemptively stop, look down, and choke down the remnants of your words into a stifling silence. You try to take a peek at Na Jaemin’s expression, but the sound of a tongue clicking in annoyance and the reeling back of a chair forces your eyes to continue staring at the classroom floor, feeling your entire body reverberating with the loud sound of your heartbeat as Na Jaemin’s presence loom closer. 

“I asked you a fucking question.”

“S—sorry,” you sputter out. “I’ll…I’ll wake you tomorrow.”

For a brief moment, you manage to take a quick glance at na Jaemin’s face, standing right before you.

And the sheer disdain and annoyance in his eyes makes you instantly regret that very decision.

“Useless.” You flinch back down and  hear him release a huff as he snatches the half-drunk peach soda from your hands. Your feet are nailed to the ground, and Na Jaemin proceeds to down the remnants of the drink before tossing the empty can back to you, shoving past you as the bell rings— and you hear a fumble of apologies from outside the door as Na Jaemin saunters out of the classroom.

Finally looking up, you see your classmates crowding outside the classroom, some slowly trickling in upon noticing that the coast is clear. 

You don’t think you’re wrong to assume that they’d seen everything that happened in the room. You don’t think you noticed wrong either that they’re deliberately refusing to acknowledge it.

All of them make it to their seats. No one tries to talk to you after that, but that’s not the topmost thing that you’re troubled with.

You promised to wake Na Jaemin up for lunch tomorrow. You might have just become his personal alarm clock.)

*‎

In retrospect, that was a completely void agreement. God, it pisses you off thinking just how much of a doormat you were. Still are, considering you’re barely keeping it together sitting in front of Na Jaemin when you’re supposed to be the authoritative figure here. It pisses you off even more knowing that he doesn’t even remember you. 

His impatient taps on the wooden table echo and bounce off the walls of the visitation room. 

“Na Jaemin-ssi,” you inhale sharply. “Your hearing is this Thursday, two days from now. I’ve already made the necessary preparations for your defense, and—”

“So, you’re finally getting me out?”

Can this son of a bitch let you fucking speak? “Hopefully,” you promptly answer. “I’m confident in the case I’ve prepared. However, there’s…something I need you to do in order to ensure that the judge will rule in our favor, Na Jaemin-ssi.”

Here we go. You gotta tread this carefully. Very carefully, because you know damn well that Na Jaemin doesn’t like being ordered around. 

“It is very likely that the prosecution will call you to the witness stand. You have every power to invoke your right against self-incrimination. But in our case, allowing yourself to be cross-examined by the prosecution would actually be favorable for us as a testament to your innocence, so long as you stick to the script.” It’s hard to get a hint of how well he’s receiving this because you’re too scared shitless to look him straight in the face. All you can do is hope he’s actually listening and not picking his ears as you continue to prattle on. “You just have to agree to Atty. Jung Sungchan’s line of questioning— even the fact that you fought the witnesses. However, you have to say that you didn’t start the fight. You don’t remember how the fight started. And you sustained significant injuries yourself.”

Na Jaemin got out of that altercation with just a few bruises and scratches, but the doctor Mark Lee referred you to was able to turn that into a couple broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder. He agreed to attest to the medical report on the stand as well.

The only missing piece you really need right now is Na Jaemin’s testimony and cooperation. 

His lack of response does not bode well for you. The room swallows you up in its cold and eerie silence. “Do you…follow…Na Jaemin-ssi…?” you try to prod out a response. And you get a response, all right.

Just not the kind of response you’d been praying for.

“Are you saying that I have to go up there, pretend I took a beating from those sissy fucks, and act all pathetic and pitiful like a little bitch?”

There’s an angry kick against the table. You suck down a breath when you feel the wooden edge jam against your ribcage.

“Who the hell do you think you are to tell me what to do?”

Your eyes squeeze shut, ignoring the sharp pain on your torso because that’s the least of your problems right now. Why…why does he have to be so goddamn difficult? Fuck’s sake. “Na Jaemin-ssi,” you exhale. “I’m not—I’m not telling you to do all those things. I’m just saying that the only way we could see your full acquittal is if we prove that Yoon Naksung and his party were also at fault.”

“We? That’s your damn job, attorney. You want me to do your fucking job for you?” 

This is different from when he was trying to deliberately push your buttons last time.

He’s mad. He’s really freaking mad.

“Get out. Get the fuck out.”

You know a warning when you hear one. You waste no time gathering yourself and speed walking out the door— half out of fear, mostly out of angered frustration because holy fuck. This is a mess. You’re so fucking screwed. Sure, you managed to get Hong Hyunjae, and Ma Gildong to cooperate with you. Sure, you managed to get a doctor to fake his medical exam. But all that would be useless if your bastard of a client decides to run his mouth and brag about just how much he wrecked those idiots’ asses.

Say, you don’t force him to testify. Once the witnesses come out and follow the script you made, the judge might still compel Na Jaemin to take the stand to confirm things. If he says anything to the contrary, you’re as good as screwed. At best, you’d lose the case. At worst, you’d be charged with contempt of court, and you can kiss your license goodbye.

That’s how your meeting ends— with a looming sense of dread that follows you out the doorway.

You exit the visitation room as if you’d just gotten your life ripped out from your own hands. It doesn’t go under Officer Jung’s notice, who’d been waiting by the door. 

“JJS is always handling the tough cases,” he remarks.

You grunt. “Give us a call when you wanna get silly with your gun and try shooting at random civilians.”

Thank god he doesn’t attempt any more small talk, nor does he follow you out. You’re way too exhausted right now— mostly emotionally and psychologically, and you’ve almost broken yourself down to simply just admit defeat and abandon this motherfucker’s ass. He can continue being a bitch in jail for all you care. You’re done. You’re so fucking done. You decide that you don’t give a shit anymore and give Mark a call right outside the station.

Four rings. Then he picks up. “Hey,” you immediately start. “What will you do if I fail to release your dog?”

Mark Lee never even got the chance to greet you back when you tossed this question at him. “Hmm,” he ponders, leaving a gap for a quiet pause. “That’s not something I’ve even considered, attorney. I really value our relationship thus far.”

You don’t even give him a response before ending the call. Your arm falls limp on your side. Fuck. You’re so dead.

Either in the hands of Mark Lee, or Na Jaemin, should you continue trying to push him. You’ve only ever seen the lengths of the latter’s violence. You don’t intend on finding out just how much of a psycho the former is. So death by Na Jaemin, it is.

You bring your phone up and call Mark again and ask for another meeting with your client tomorrow. He says he’s always happy to oblige.

*‎

(At some point, after a whole week of being Na Jaemin’s alarm clock, you started to wonder— why the hell do you have to keep doing this?

Lunch bells. Dismissals. Having to leave the classroom for gym or for some other special class. He expects you to wake him up or else you’d get your fucking ass kicked, and even when you do wake him up, he gives you a nasty ass look as if he’s about to kick your ass, until you promptly squeak out that class has ended, or whatever your teachers’ instructed you to do that day.

It’s only after seven days of this bullshit that you realize that you don’t owe him. You’re under no obligation whatsoever to keep being his alarm lackey or answer to him in any way shape or form. He’s just a guy. He’s just a student, just like you. And you bet that he’s probably just bluffing. 

All he’s ever done is snatch your drink from you. He hasn’t even laid a hand on you.

So just as you march back to the classroom after having your lunch at the cafeteria— alone, because getting involved with Na Jaemin has ruined all your chances of making any friends— you decide that it’s finally time to put your foot down and tell him that you’re not his slave. You’re not doing this crap anymore.

Yet your newfound sense of will-power is promptly deflated when you slide open the classroom door and see that your seatmate isn’t snoozing in his usual spot.

In fact, no one is seated in their seats. Your brows furrow in confusion upon noticing that all your classmates are crowding the windows on the other side of the room, all pressing up the glass, gawking and gasping at the same thing.

“Is that Park Gunho from Class 9?”

“Yeah, dude. I heard him talking shit about Na Jaemin the other day, and— oh! Ouch. That’s gotta hurt.”

“Holy shit, is that blood?”

“Where the hell are the teachers?”

You managed to squeeze in between two of your classmates, looking through the glass and right at the crowded spectacle in the courtyard— just in time to watch Na Jaemin land a crunchy punch into Gunho’s nose that has you wincing, even when the fight is happening from several feet away. 

At this point, the other guy is barely standing on his feet. Practically limping when your demon of a seatmate twists his arm behind, only to shove a kick into his back, sending him straight to the dusty ground. You watch as Na Jaemin stomps a foot into the poor guy’s knuckle’s. You can’t hear Park Gunho from here, but you can feel his choked up yelp penetrating into your skin and shuddering into your bones. Holy shit. This guy is a fucking monster. And you almost just offered yourself up to him like an idiot.

The worst part about it is the fact that Na Jaemin looks like he’s having the time of his life. There’s this crazed look on his face as he walks up to Gunho who’s trying to lip away— only to be yanked by the hair and slammed back into the ground— pinned down by Na Jaemin’s foot as the latter huffs out a grin, and says something that fails to reach your ears.

Needless to say, you’re horrified. This could have been you. 

Na Jaemin seems to have heard your thoughts because right at that moment, he snaps his head up, pinstruck gaze shooting through the windows of your classroom— looking directly at you.

Your blood runs cold. You gulp.

Someone draws the curtains back down. “Fuck, you don’t think he say our faces, do you?” You feel yourself stumble back, and with lightheaded steps, you guide yourself to your assigned seat, and start praying to whatever’s up there that Na Jaemin did not recognize you from down there. 

Much to your relief, he doesn’t return upon the right of the afternoon bell. He comes back between fifth and sixth period, looking like he’s in the best mood he’s ever been throughout your first week here, and it drives an even deeper pit of dread in your stomach.

The classroom grows colder as he comes nearer to your desk. He haphazardly draws the chair next to you back, you flinch, and he sets himself down with satisfied huff, right before assuming his usual position— arms crossed on the desk, serving as his pillow for the rest of the class day. “Oi,” he muffles out to the only person he could be talking to right now— you. There’s still blood on his uniform sleeve. You start to feel nauseous. “Wake me when the bell rings.”

You thought that that fight between him and Park Gunho was the worst thing you’ll ever witness in Ganghak.

Turns out, things would just get worse from here).

*‎

“All rise! The court is now in session. The Honorable Judge Bae Joohyun, presiding.”

It takes all the strength in your body to get up and not fall over from a mere gust of wind from the courtroom’s ventilation system. You’re exhausted. You haven’t gotten any sleep last night from the crippling anxiety of what’s waiting for you today. It took everything in your power to just look presentable for today’s trial. 

You’re a shell of a human being— that much is obvious considering you’re one step behind when Judge Bae instructs everyone to be seated. 

“We are here on the case of Yoon Naksung, Hong Hyunjae, and Ma Gildong versus Na Jaemin. Is the prosecution ready to proceed?”

“Yes, your honor.”

“Is the defense ready to proceed?”

“Yes, your honor.” No, you’re fucking not. You did in fact manage to meet with Na Jaemin one last time yesterday, and you barely managed to acquiesce something of an agreement out of him— most likely because he was threatened by Mark. But you’re not sure if that threat was strong enough for him to actually cooperate with you today.

“Very well. Prosecution, you may make your opening statement.”

Speaking of the bastard, you notice from the corner of your eye Na Jaemin’s unabashed yawn while Jung Sungchan introduces himself and his clients. God. This is a sickening set up— him sitting directly to your right. It’s like this day was designed specifically to make you feel like you’re back in that hell. More than anything, you just want this over and done with. 

“Thank you. May I request the defense to make your opening statement.”

As you make your way to the designated podium, you cross paths with Jung Sungchan. He shoots you an over confident grin and walks past you with his nose high. You chew down a string of swears and curses. Every single man you’ve been dealing with as of late is determined to ruin your life. You hope they all run out of toilet paper every time they have to shit in a public restroom. You hope their zippers get caught every time they have to zip up their pants.

“Your Honor, ladies and gentlemen, the opposing counsel, a pleasant morning.” At this point, your soul is still completely detached from your body. Your mouth is practically moving all by itself as you do your introduction. “The prosecution argues that my client, Na Jaemin, is guilty for disturbing the peace and three counts of physical injury against Yoon Naksung, Hong Hyunjae, and Ma Gildong.” As you say this, your eyes and your eyebags trail across the prosecution’s table, locking eyes with the latter two as you scan past them. “We acknowledge that our party has done some injury to the witnesses. There is a fault in that. However, it is a well understood doctrine that two faults don’t make a right.”

If your client can’t cooperate to save his own ass, those two better do.

They’re smarter than Na Jaemin. They know what’d come for them if they don’t. 

“Your honor, the witnesses have acted in pari delicto, sustaining equally grave injuries against my client, and therefore have no right to seek legal relief. A verdict of guilt against my client would be a grave mockery to our justice system when the ones seeking justice are equally at fault. We hope that you will see the wisdom in our defense. Thank you very much.”

The moment you return to your seat and Jung Sungchan is called first to make their case, your brain continues moving in autopilot. You’re so tired. You’re so damn tired. You know that you should be setting Na Jaemin straight right now, but you can’t find it in yourself to even talk to him without bursting a blood vessel. Jung Sungchan continues to present their evidence— affidavits from his witnesses, a janky recording of Na Jaemin and the other three leaving a bar located right on the cusp of Yeongdeungpo and Mapo, separately where they’d allegedly first bumped into each other, and the same exiting the frame. 

Eventually, he calls Na Jaemin to the witness stand. The air refuses to enter your lungs as the bailiff leads him up the courtroom. You’ve re-oriented him with what he has to do yesterday. You close your eyes, press your palms together underneath the table, and mutter out pleas and manifestations that your instructions managed to get through his thick skull, that an angel would somehow possess him today and prevent him from screwing you over.

But you haven’t done enough good deeds in your lifetime to be granted this one wish.

Jung Sungchan asks him if he admits to being the person who caused Yoon Naksung and the rests’ injuries.

Na Jaemin responds with a shit eating grin saying, “Yeah, I fucking did it.” 

Your face contorts in horror. Your eyes fly wide open, blood draining from your cheeks. Oh, fuck. Oh, fucking hell, please no. Your demon sent client looks like he wanted to elicit his kind of reaction from you— smiling at you from the witness stand, and you feel your nails dig into your clenched palms, biting into the thin skin of your flesh.

To make matters worse, he doubles down. He’s determined to kill you right here and now. “That guy nearly pissed himself when I socked him in the—”

“Your honor!”

This is a stupid fucking move to make, but you’re panicking. And that very panic easily seeps out of your skin and burrows into the notice of your opponent from the other table. Jung Sungchan’s eyes are both sparking incredulously and victoriously at this pretty blatant concession. To think your own client would fuck you over. You’re about to cry. You’re fuming. You’re dying from embarrassment.

“I’d— I’d like to request a short recess to meet with my client.”

Judge Bae narrows her eyes at you. “Overruled.” Yeah, you didn’t expect that to be granted. Fucking hell. You sink back into your seat in defeat, the dread that had once only been creeping up to you now completely swallowing you whole. “Counsel, please continue with your questioning.

No, it’s okay. This is fine, you think to yourself. You still have your witnesses. You’re not totally screwed yet. Maybe that would be enough to dismiss this damned case. Maybe that would be enough to let you walk away scot free.

“Ahem,” Jung Sungchan clears his throat. “Na Jaemin-ssi. Can you tell us the events that unfolded after the four of you left the bar?”

Silence.

“Na Jaemin-ssi…?”

“I don’t feel like answering.”

You let out a muffled noise as you bury your face in your hands. Your face is burning. Not only is he trying to screw you over, he wants to mortify you in front of everyone here.

“Defendant.” Judge Bae Joohyun has decided to intervene. “Are you…invoking your right against self incrimination?”

You almost let out an anguished cry and slam your forehead against the table when Na Jaemin responds with a, “Sure.”

The bailiff escorts him back to your table, and he’s all smiles when he sits down. Is he happy now that he’s thrown a big ass fucking wrench in your plans? Does he not give a fuck that he might get incarcerated as long as he sees you miserable? What a sadomasochistic psychopath, you hope he burns in hell.

“You don’t look too good, attorney,” you hear him chipper from beside you. 

Your head snaps to the side. You hear a crash from inside your ears.

For the first time, you look this son of a bitch dead in the eye— and you might not have a mirror, but you don’t think you’re looking at him pretty pleasantly. In fact, you can feel your own self going lightheaded from the sheer animosity darting through blood vessels in your brain.

Jung Sungchan calls Ma Gildong to the stand, and you turn your head back to the front. Sure, the bastard next to you might have thrown a wrench into your plans, but you still have a few working cogs left— and they better fucking work properly. You think you still have that same, manic look in your eyes when you meet Gildong’s gaze from across the courtroom because he visibly gulps and clears his throat.

Jung Sungchan starts questioning him, and he does just as well as you hoped (unlike the last guy). That rookie attorney gets caught off guard when his client answers with a stuttering, “I—I don’t remember,” in response to Jung Sungchan’s request to recount who started the fight that night. “It all happened suddenly. It was hard to tell exactly who.”

“Witness Ma Gildog,” the judge intercepts once again. “In the affidavit you submitted, you stated that the defendant was the one who started the altercation without warning. What is the meaning of this?”

Ma Gildong looks at you. You look him dead in the eye and he promptly looks away with a hard swallow.

“I…I only wrote that because Naksung hyung told me to.”

Fuck yes.

“We—were were all drunk when it happened. It was hard to tell who started the fight. I didn’t even want to pursue this case, he—he was just pissed that that guy got more punches in.”

“What?! What the hell are you talking about?!”

“Order!”

You watch as the bailiff tries to settle Yoon Naksung down. You stifle down a smile. This whole trial wouldn’t have been necessary if he had only been as cooperative as the other two. God, you wouldn’t have needed to deal with this headache either. 

You hear Judge Bae set down the gavel.  “There seems to be some unresolved issues with the prosecution side,” she starts with a sigh. “In this case, let us have a short recess. We will reconvene after thirty minutes.”

Thirty minutes. That’s just fucking perfect.

“Recess? Are we having a snack break, attorne—”

“Please allow us to use one of your conference rooms.” You quickly shoot up and cut off Na Jaemin, a polite stance directed at the bailiff near you. “That would be alright, right?”

The way the bailiff looks at you makes you come to the conclusion that you don’t look exactly sane right now. Nevertheless, he humors you and leads both you and Na Jaemin to one of the available conference rooms in the district court. It’s hard to grasp the fact he is being very docile right now, lazily looking around with cuffed hands before him as he trails beside you, under the watchful eye of the court sheriff.

A door is opened before you. The moment the bailiff allows you and your client and closes the door behind, you swivel your heels, grab Na Jaemin by the fucking collar, and ram him against the wall with a loud rattle.

Your years and years of disdain for this guy just came to a breaking point today.

You’ve had fucking enough of his difficult attitude.

“Listen.” Your voice comes off as a hiss more than anything. You hear the sound of his handcuffs clatter when you shove him harder against the wall. You feel your nails dig into your palms through the collar of his shirt. You’re beyond livid. “I am trying my god damned best to get you out of here, Na Jaemin-ssi. You’re the last person I want to help. You’re the last person I could give a shit about, but here I fucking I am— fighting tooth and nail for you, for christ’s sake. I literally had to build up a defense out of nothing just to clear you from incarceration. All I asked is for you to not throw a fit, to follow my damned script, to sit still and still pretty for the rest of this stupid trial, and you couldn’t even fucking do that?”

Much to your surprise, Na Jaemin looks pretty much caught off guard. Not intimidated by any means, but he does keep his mouth shut, repeatedly blinking his somewhat widened eyes at you— the only other expression you’ve ever seen from him other than a scowl and that bastardized grin of his.

Another beat of silence. Your upper lip twitches into a snarl. “Useless fuck.” 

You roughly let go of him with a grunt and roll back your shoulders, facing your back to him and release a sigh. Whew. That felt so fucking good. 

Without another word, you take quick strides out the conference room, greeting the bailiff outside with a sweet and refreshed smile, maintaining that same air as you return back to the courtroom, an uncharacteristically cooperative Na Jaemin in tow.

The trial resumes. He doesn’t do anything stupid again after that because you’ve decided to completely remove him from the equation. Ma Gildong and Hong Hyunjae submitted new affidavits as evidence. Jung Sungchan and Yoon Naksung are red-faced and look like they’re sitting on burners from hell— even more so when it’s finally your turn to present your case, speaking before the court with a now clear head and your cards in place. When you call Dr. Qian Kun to the stand to attest to Na Jaemin’s physical exam result, the prosecution table is practically deflated in defeat by then.

You return to the defendant’s table. Your shoulders haven’t felt this light in weeks. Even lighter when the court finishes deliberation, and Judge Bae announces the final verdict.

“In light of the criminal charges against Na Jaemin—”

You inhale sharply.

“The court finds insufficient evidence to declare his guilt beyond reasonable doubt.”

Yes. Yes. Fuck, yes.

“Now, the civil liabilities attached to this case— the witnesses’ participation in the aforementioned offenses creates a unique situation. When both parties are at equal fault or in pari delicto, neither the courts nor law will grant relief to the parties. Although the defendant, Na Jaemin, had indeed inflicted less serious physical injuries against the witnesses, the witnesses have inflicted the same upon the defendant.”

Oh, fuck yeah.

“This court hereby dismisses the case without prejudice for want of prosecution. Court is adjourned.”

There is no one happier in this court than you right now. You lock eyes with Jung Sungchan from across the room. You stick your tongue out because you don’t give a damn anymore.

You’re free. You don’t have to deal with Na Jaemin ever again. You’re fucking free.

*‎

Well, you spoke too soon.

“What...what are you doing here…?”

Four days later, you see the very bastard sitting on your chair at the JSS office. He’s swiveling around, stopping the turn with a foot down to look at you. “Oh,” he starts. “Took you fucking long enough.”

Seriously. What have you done to deserve this? Nevermind, you’ve done a lot of things to deserve ten years worth of bad karma, but that’s neither here nor there. You’d just gotten back from a meeting with one of your clients— a normal client: a sweet, old lady who was drafting her last will and testament to make sure none of her nutjob sobs get even a percentage from her estate. 

The meeting ran longer than expected because the lady kept trying to ask you if you’re single and would be interested to meet one of her nephews. So, you’d just returned back to the office at 6 p.m., most of your co-workers having clocked out already, only to be bitch slapped in the face with this psycho again, not even a week since you’ve last seen him.

You ignore him, eyes flitting up to the direction of your boss’s office. The light is still on. You grit your teeth. This son a bitch’s entry was permitted by the other son of a bitch. If he’s miserable, he should keep his misery to himself.

“Hey, attorney. I’m tryna talk to you.”

“Y—yes?” you choke out, taking a step back when Na Jaemin rises to his feet. God damn it. Your outburst mid-trial was an isolated case as a result of your pent up emotions. You can’t be brave anymore— and he notices.

There’s a slight raise in his brow when you flinch back, a barely visible smile playing on his face. It’s almost like this bastard can smell fear, and you’re completely lathered in it. “You were pretty gutsy enough to swear at my face and shove me around the other day,” he says, voice low. “What happened to all that spunk, attorney?”

You bite down the swear at the tip of your tongue. “I sincerely apologize for my inappropriate behavior that day.” You’re doing your damn best to keep your head down, but it’s increasingly difficult when this guy is trying to get all up in your space. “Any—anyhow. What business do you have with JSS, Na Jaemin-ssi?”

A flip switches. Na Jaemin suddenly looks very annoyed.

“Ugh. Right,” he grunts, digging into his inner jacket pockets like it’s a chore before pulling out an envelope. A really thick envelope. Your eyes widen. He hands it over to you. “The boss wanted to give his extra thanks.”

Extra thanks for risking your life to release one of his mutts. Holy shit. You say nothing as you take the envelope from his hands, the weight of the paper bills pulling you down heavier than they’re supposed to be. You clear your throat and stuff it into the bag you’ve yet to set down on your desk. “Why didn’t he come in person?”

“He’s out on business,” Na Jaemin flatly replies. Then, there’s a twinge on his tongue when he follows it up, “Why? You want to see him that badly?”

The fuck? That very through slips through expression for a second. Na Jaemin clocks this. 

A grin takes over his expression. He releases a bare laugh when he walks past you with a hand on your shoulder. “I gotta hand it to you. You’re pretty damn good at pulling shit out of your ass out of nothing.” 

Your breath hitches when you feel a firm squeeze. Na Jaemin releases you with a hum and a pat and finally starts fucking leaving.

“See you around, attorney.”

When you’ve confirmed that the psycho has finally left, you immediately lunge for your chair and release a long and hefty breath.

Jesus fucking christ. How many times do you have to tell these Nalkeutta bastards that you never want to see their faces again? Not enough, apparently. Because the next day, Mark Lee makes a visit to your office again. He greets you a good morning and you quietly tell him to leave you alone and never talk to you again. He laughs and disappears into Doyoung’s office for the next two hours, before stopping by at your desk again to inquire about your desk nameplate preferences.

“Do you prefer acrylic or marble?” he asks, peeking out from behind your desktop computer.

“Gold,” you soullessly respond. “Avenir font. Engraved. Heavy enough to knock a man unconscious with one blow.”

“Very particular.” Your eyes flit up to see his pleasant smile, and it just ruins your day further. It gets worse when Kim Doyoung follows not long after him. “Oh, Mr. Kim,” Mark greets. “I was just about to head out.”

“Yes, allow me to accompany you down to the lobby, Mr. Lee,” Doyoung chimes in. You look up at him as he leers down at you, noticing that you are, in fact, here. “Congratulations on yet another winning case, attorney.”

He’s five days late. “Thank you. Are you gonna give me my own office yet?”

“You know very well JSS isn’t in the position to grant you that.”

Very expected response, but you’re annoyed anyway. They finally leave you alone so you can mentally curse them once you die from overwork and overexertion. Indeed, you know very well that JSS isn’t in the best spot right now. Your firm’s reputation has been slowly nosediving lately— fully getting tanked recently because of your latest acquittal of Na Jaemin.

The general public has been questioning your integrity as a law firm. That much is fucking expected when you’re partnered with the biggest crime organization in the district. It’s not that this partnership is a recent thing. But with the establishment of a new law firm within your territory, the GP now has a point of comparison to notice just how many obvious criminals JSS has helped to subvert the rule of law.

These articles and nasty forum posts have been the source of Kim Doyoung’s stress as of late. During the next few weeks, you watch his mood sour and sour by the day after every meeting with the higher-ups.

The source of the problem is obvious, but it’s not like JSS can just cut ties with Nalkeutta to clean its name. In fact, it would the dumbest move ever, practically industry suicide considering Mark Lee and his company is your highest paying client. Not only that. All of the firm’s employees practically have immunity from the hefty protection fees all Yeongdeungpo residents have to pay weekly just to pay the streets. And you don’t want to make an enemy out of Nalkeutta either by cutting them off. Your firm is caught in between rock and a hard place with no easy way out.

“I think the boss has started to grow white hairs lately,” Jungwoo tells you over coffee in the breakroom. 

“Why…are you looking at his hair?” you ask, almost worriedly. Jungwoo simply shrugs and you two watch as Kim Doyoung stomps into the breakroom in a fit again to angrily snatch a glass and nearly rip the fridge open for the pitcher of lemon water you started to make every morning, overpouring into the glass before chugging it clean and slamming the glass down on the counter.

He didn’t even ask for permission. What a monster.

Anyhow, you could give less of a shit about JSS’s steadily dwindling reputation. This ain’t your problem to fix. It’s your higher up’s problem. It’s Kim Doyoung’s problem, and— quite frankly— the peak of your week is seeing his grumbling swears every time he stomps out of another admin meeting, watching him scratch at the growing grey hairs at the back of his head through his private office like it’s your own personal TV show. 

It’s such a great sight to see. Added to the fact that you haven’t received a call from Nalkeutta lately, whether it be for consultations or just simple blotter charges, they haven’t been bothering you at all. In short, you’ve been having the best two weeks of your life. 

It comes to a peak when Kim Doyoung calls you to his office one day, prompting the assumption that JSS’s reputation situation has become way, way worse to the point that the firm needs the help of its rank and file employees like you to settle the matter. 

“Damn, good luck. Let me know what’s up,” Jungwoo sends you off.

Honestly, you’re looking forward to having a front row seat to Kim Doyoung’s meltdown, if things have gotten as bad as you think. Your knuckles tap against the wooden entrance to his office, and you’re filled with a longing envy when he tells you to come in because damn— must be nice to have an office of his own. Why does he always have a stick up his ass when he’s got his own 150 square feet kingdom where he can do whatever he wants?

“Come in.”

Muct to your surprise, however, Kim Doyoung looks well rested today.

The moment you step in, you notice that his usual constipated expression is nowhere to be found on his face. In fact, his skin is perfectly clear. His white button up is crisp and tidy. His glasses are shining. His hair is neat and styled— as though it hasn’t been run through a million times today.

Whoa. What the hell? Who is this? Who is this man in front of you?

“How has your work been, attorney?” he starts, elbows on the desk, chin resting on interlocked fingers. 

You tentatively make your way closer to his desk, slightly unnerved at this sudden disposition switch. “The same as usual.”

“That’s good to hear,” he hums. He’s humming. Kim Doyoung is humming. What? He sets his fingers on a folded piece of paper that’s been sitting on his desk, promptly pushing it forward to you. “Read this.” You’re beyond creeped out. You have no idea what’s going on, but you follow instructions anyway, inching a step closer to peel the paper from the glass surface of his desk, and unfold it in your hands. 

He wants you to read it. So, you do.

The moment your eyes register the heading, your neck cranes, squinting. “Sir,” you say, holding the paper down. “Are you sure you gave me the correct sheet?”

“Yes, yes,” he affirms, waving a hand in the air. “Please continue reading.”

You do. You read the heading once again. LETTER OF RESIGNATION, in bold and all caps. Followed by today’s date. Followed by your fucking name.

The paper wrinkles in your grasp. Haha. You don’t remember writing a resignation letter. “Sir,” you start again, voice coming off as a weak wheeze. “There must be some kind of mistake.”

“There’s no mistake,” Doyoung confirms, spinning a pen between his fingers before pushing it forward to you in the same manner as he did with the resignation letter in your hands— your resignation letter. The letter that says you’ve found better prospects elsewhere and sincerely value the experience and growth you’ve had with this firm. What the fuck is this bullshit? You don’t fucking understand. “Would you please affix your signature at the bottom, attorney? I didn’t have your e-signature. That’s why I had to call you out today.” 

Your stomach drops to the very depths of your gut. “You can’t just fucking do this,” you say with gritted teeth. Kim Doyoung readjusts his glasses and responds with a sigh.

“Attorney,” he starts. “You’re well aware of the problem our firm has been facing as of late, correct?” You nod. He continues. “It’s a difficult situation. However, Nalkeutta and JSS have managed to reach an amicable compromise.”

Oh no. Oh, god, do. He can’t do this to you. He can’t fucking do this to you.

“Starting today, you will no longer be JSS’s Junior Associate. You will be working as a private lawyer for Nalkeutta Security Company.”

“You fucking sold me out!”

“I did not ‘sell you out’. Think of it as a promotion.”

Your mouth is hanging open. Your blood is boiling to the point of evaporation. The resignation is a crumpled mess at this point. You slam it back down on his desk. “I can’t even get my fucking severance pay if I sign this damn thing!”

“I’m sure the benefits you’ll receive at Nalkeutta would outweigh any amount of a severance pay that JSS can offer you,” your boss— former boss— flatly replies. “Now. Please sign the letter.”

Your head is spinning. You’re nauseous as fuck. It’s not like you can just run away. Mark Lee would have your fucking head. Sure, you hate working under Kim Doyoung, but at least it made you feel like an actual lawyer, serving only as an occasional cleanup dog for that damned wretched company. With this, you’re not just dipping your toes into organized crime. You’d be fucking drowning in it.

“Sign right there— yes. Perfect. Thank you for your cooperation, attorney. It was a pleasure working with you.”

Nalkkeutta has officially ensnared you in its burning jaws, and you’ve got no way of getting out unscathed.

fire and brimstone (and you’re a moth made of gasoline). © hannie-dul-set, 2025.

[jamilelucato]

the punchline effect (fred weasley)

Pairing: Fred Weasley x [y/n] Warnings: This story leans more towards those above the age of 16 or a PG-13 rating. While there's no explicit sex, the themes and some of the dialogue suggest a level of maturity beyond a general PG rating. Summary: In the chaotic world of Hogwarts' seventh year, Fred Weasley's bad jokes become an unexpected distraction for the studious [y/n]. What begins as a test of patience evolves into something deeper as laughter intertwines with longing. Amidst the mayhem of magic and mischief, can they find a genuine connection, proving that sometimes the best punchlines lead to the most unexpected love stories? About [y/n]: I don't place her in any house, so you're absolutely free to choose. But outside of that, she's written as a girl (18-ish) and I think (I'm not 100% sure) I have mentioned she's white, or that she turns very pale (in shock, or something). Words: Almost 9k. A/N: I had a lot of fun writing this! I missed Fred, truly. This one was absolutely just for me. But if you liked it, please leave a comment!

The class wasn’t exactly quiet. They teetered on the edge of acceptable behaviour, holding it together solely because the handful of students up front had decided to pretend they cared. The rest were swapping gossip, chucking crumpled parchment like Quaffles, and giggling in a way that would make a banshee jealous.

Professor Flitwick was fully aware, of course. But there was only so much a man under four feet tall could do when every time he tried to scold someone, they immediately transformed into cherubic little angels. And whenever he reached for an airborne note, it mysteriously ceased to exist. The man was clever. The students, unfortunately, were cleverer.

To be fair, no one really expected much from seventh-years at this point. The entire faculty had collectively resigned themselves to the fact that these kids were emotionally, mentally, and spiritually done. Frankly, if anyone snapped and hexed the ceiling, they’d probably just let it slide.

Which made it exactly the right moment for Fred Weasley to strike up a conversation with [y/n]. He leaned in, red hair gloriously unruly, smirk already forming. “Can I tell you a joke?”

They didn’t sit together by chance. No, this was most of the Professors’ grand experiment: seat the most notorious troublemaker next to the school’s most reliable nerd, and maybe her good influence would rub off. It was the academic equivalent of putting a cat next to a bath and hoping it would become a fish. George, the slightly younger twin, was exiled to the other side of the room by direct order of the Headmaster. Nevertheless, separating the Weasley twins was like cutting a Niffler in half and expecting it to stop nicking your silverware.

[y/n] sighed, long-suffering. She knew Fred. She knew that tone. Likewise, she knew that whatever came next was going to be deeply, profoundly stupid. And yet, here she was — the only one in the class not actively contributing to the unravelling of society — and, against her better judgment, slightly curious.

“Go on, then,” she muttered, finally turning to look at him.

Fred’s eyes sparkled. 

“What’s the difference between a snowman and a snowwoman?” He leaned a little closer. 

There was a pause — five, six seconds of mental preparation — during which [y/n] considered pretending she didn’t hear him and diving face-first into her textbook. She also considered dying of secondhand embarrassment. But ultimately, she resigned herself to her fate.

“I don’t know,” she said flatly. “What?”

Fred grinned. “Snowballs.”

Exactly as predicted: idiotic.

She rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t detach. Fred stifled a laugh — poorly — just as Flitwick turned his tiny, deadly stare in his direction.

It wasn’t the first joke she’d heard from him. But this one had somehow done something. It was unclear what, exactly. Nothing obvious had shifted. The air was still thick with whispered gossip, Fred was still grinning like a boy who’d never known shame, and [y/n] was still trying to care about whatever Flitwick was scribbling on the board.

And yet — something had changed.

What it was, no one could say. Not yet.

While most Gryffindors complained bitterly about every single minute spent in the dungeons with Professor Snape, [y/n] had a particular vendetta against Transfiguration. Or rather, against Professor McGonagall herself.

It wasn’t that McGonagall had ever said anything cruel. That would’ve been easier. No, it was the look — that quiet, cat-like assessment that suggested she knew [y/n] could do better, but had already made peace with the fact that she probably wouldn’t. It was judgment and disappointment, wrapped in tartan and pinned together with a brooch.

Was it personal? Likely not. Did it feel personal? Absolutely.

Still, as Hogwarts kept pairing its brightest students with its biggest troublemakers in a grand attempt at character development, [y/n] had once again found herself seated next to Fred Weasley. The idea, no doubt, was that her bookishness might tame him, and his chaotic energy might “bring her out of her shell.”

Utter rot.

She didn’t need Fred Weasley to drag her out of anything. She was social. Just… not in McGonagall’s class. In that room, her entire personality narrowed to “avoid eye contact and copy everything from the board like your life depends on it.”

Unfortunately, Fred had not received the memo. Or he had, and shredded it for fun.

“How you doing?” he asked, with the kind of faux innocence that could only mean trouble.

She didn’t turn. Didn’t blink. Just channelled every ounce of her nerdy energy into ignoring him.

He tried again.“What’s six inches long and has two nuts at the end?”

Her quill froze. Her eyes widened to the size of saucers, and her expression dropped every other function but pure disbelief.

She turned to him slowly, like someone preparing to confront a boggart. “What did you just—? I can’t believe you— Why would you—?”

“Oi, can you let me finish?” he whispered, grinning. “Oops, that was… that was not the dirty joke.” He chuckled at his own brilliance. “I’ll start over. What’s six inches long and has two nuts at the end?”

“Stop saying that,” she hissed, now more horrified than outraged.

“Relax! It’s an Almond Joy,” he said smugly. “Honestly, the things going through your mind. Merlin.” He shook his head in mock disapproval.

“I don’t even know what an Almond Joy—”

She never got to finish. Her voice had risen — just enough to carry across the classroom.

“What’s going on there?”

Professor McGonagall was approaching, her robes billowing like an oncoming storm.

“Professor, I’m trying to pay attention, but she keeps—” One glare. That was all it took. Fred’s sentence withered on his tongue.

“It was nothing, Professor,” [y/n] said quickly, shrinking in her seat.

McGonagall lingered for a second, just long enough to make them both squirm, before returning to the blackboard.

[y/n] lowered her head and scrambled to look productive. Her handwriting was now panic-shaped.

“Blimey,” Fred leaned in again, his voice low and maddeningly amused. “Are you afraid of her?”

“No,” [y/n] muttered.

“Hm.” He crossed his arms and said nothing more. For once.

But even in the silence, [y/n] could feel him smiling.

This time — alright, fine — it was slightly [y/n]’s fault.

They weren’t even in class. She could’ve not come looking for him.

But then Samara handed her two Sickles for a bet. Then Ursula added six Knuts to the pile, and suddenly [y/n] was standing on the pitch with a pocket full of wizarding money and two friends staring at her like puppies left outside Honeydukes.

“Pleeeease!” they said.

It was an official Hogwarts Quidditch match — and as such, you could not miss the unmistakable presence of Fred and George Weasley, standing at the edge of the stands with an old wooden box and expressions that practically screamed entrepreneurial mischief.

As tradition dictated, if Gryffindor wasn’t playing, then the Gryffindor Beaters were definitely running the bets. And the turnout was impressive — even a few Professors had wandered suspiciously close to the betting box, dropping coins and pretending not to see anything.

“Ah, a customer,” George grinned when she approached. “Can you assist this fine young witch, brother?”

At this point, honestly, it had to be deliberate.

He turned to her with the wooden box, and as he flipped it open, [y/n] saw a scrap of parchment taped to the inside lid — names, numbers, and teams. She swallowed and held out the coins.

“Yeah, well,” she blinked. “Two Sickles from Samyra — for Hufflepuff. And six Knuts from Ursula — against Hufflepuff.”

“You’re not betting?” Fred asked, already taking the coins and scribbling down the numbers.

“Nope,” she said, flatly. Please Merlin, let that be the end of it.

But of course not. He looked up with that very specific brand of Weasley mischief — crooked smile, dangerous glint in his eye, and that posture that meant he was about to be the worst.

“Can I tell you a joke?”

“No,” she replied instantly, already turning on her heel.

But before she could escape, he gently touched her arm — not enough to stop her, but just enough to make her pause. She turned back, arms crossed, expression set to absolutely not in the mood.

“Please,” he said, already laughing. Which was never, ever a good sign.

She sighed like someone accepting their fate. “Fine. Go on,” after all, they weren’t in class, and she could, now, kick him in the shins depending on how terrible the joke was.

He took a second to compose himself, which only made her more suspicious.

“Are you a Slytherin?” he asked, voice low and weirdly serious.

She stared at him. Then down at her scarf. Then back at him. Deadpan.

He pretended not to notice the absurdity of the question.

“Because…” he took one last breath, “I really want to slither into your Chamber of Secrets.”

She immediately placed her hands to her face, in a full, dramatic palm drag. From hairline to chin, like she was trying to reset her entire operating system. It was the worst — a tragedy of a dirty joke. Or pick-up line, rather.

Was that a pick-up line?

She didn’t answer. She didn’t look at him. She simply turned and walked away before her brain had the chance to process anything further.

But if you’d been paying attention — and I do hope you have — you might’ve noticed that she hadn’t rolled her eyes. Not once.

That was new.

At this point, it’s probably worth saying again: no, [y/n] and Fred Weasley were not friends. Or, at least, they hadn’t been when the school year started. Now… well, now it was harder to define what they were.

Fred was popular — the kind of boy everyone knew, or at least recognised by reputation. [y/n] had known who he was long before he ever looked in her direction. But apparently, he had known her silhouette from across the Great Hall for some time now.

It was a Saturday in Hogsmeade. Normally, [y/n] didn’t care much for the trip — not since third year when the novelty wore off. But now, with N.E.W.Ts looming and her Hogwarts days numbered, every corridor and crooked alley seemed to shine a little brighter. Like the whole place knew it was her last chance to love it properly.

That morning, she’d gone with Ursula. Samara had mysteriously vanished with vague talk of “plans” and “being mysterious,” which usually meant snogging someone behind Honeydukes. So it was just the two of them, arms full of sugar quills and chocolate frogs, wandering toward the joke shop.

Zonko’s was packed, as usual. Not that she or Ursula had any business there — they weren’t exactly prank-pulling types. But there was something oddly comforting about wandering the aisles and pretending to care about exploding sweets or belching powder. Like it was part of the Hogwarts package, and skipping it now would be sacrilege.

Besides, the place was warm, smelled like cinnamon and fireworks, and Ursula was dragging her by the wrist with the determination of someone on a mission.

“Just five minutes,” Ursula had said, which of course meant until one of them got distracted or bumped into someone embarrassing.

It turned out to be both.

Without quite realising, [y/n] found herself gently steered toward the shelves of potions, where the bottles gleamed like promises and mistakes. There were the usual suspects — Nosebleed Nougat, Perpetual Itch Powder, and, of course, the potions: brightly coloured, questionably legal, and temptingly labelled with things like Instant Obsession or Regret in a Vial.

She picked up the Hate Potion and raised an eyebrow. “Side effects may include irritability, brooding, and chronic eyeliner use,” she read.

Then came the Love Potion, all glimmer and pink swirls. She turned it in her hands, inspecting the label. People always went on about magical benefits, but no one ever mentioned what happened if you were allergic. Or if the magic decided it wanted something back.

She was just about to put it back when—

“Feeling desperate, [y/n]?”

The voice was a smirk wearing a human costume. She didn’t even need to look to know who it was.

She very nearly groaned. Or broke the bottle. Or both.

“Oh, hi, Fred!” Ursula greeted the redhead with a friendly grin. [y/n] couldn’t say the same.

“Hello, Weasley.”

“Looking for a good potion, girls?” he asked, lounging like he owned the place. Which, judging by the amount of stuff he probably bought there over the years, he might as well have.

“Not really,” Ursula replied, abandoning the potion she’d been fiddling with. “But hey — you’d know. Where do they keep the plush puffskeins now? You’re basically their number one customer.”

Fred looked mildly offended, but only for dramatic effect. “Near the back, between the dancing fangs and the hiccup powder.”

With a wink, Ursula left, no hesitation, clearly happy to abandon her friend and go off searching for adorable, overpriced puffskeins.

As soon as she was out of earshot, [y/n] turned to him, arms folded, eyebrow raised in amusement. “And you? What are you looking for, exactly?”

Fred grinned, the corners of his mouth curling up like he’d just thought of something outrageous.

“Always looking for trouble,” he said smoothly, like it was a well-practised line. “But when I spotted you here, I stopped looking. Thought I’d found something better. Also… I’ve got another joke.”

[y/n] sighed theatrically but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at her lips. “Go on, then. Let’s get it over with.”

She had learned early on that resistance was futile. One look at his ridiculous, lopsided grin—his puppy-that-fell-out-of-a-moving-cart face—and any no would crumple into a yes before it even left her mouth.

Fred cleared his throat with the gravity of a performer about to hit the punchline.

“Are your legs tired?”

She blinked. That one caught her off guard.

“A little, actually,” she answered honestly, forgetting that she was being set up. “But I haven’t had nearly enough of Hogsmeade yet. I’ll be walking loads today.”

His eyes gleamed with mischief as he quickly adjusted course. “Well, if they do get tired, let me know,” he said, tone low and maddeningly cheeky. “Because as long as I’ve got a face, you can always sit on it.”

For a split second, silence hung in the air like a suspended spell—and then [y/n] absolutely lost it.

A laugh burst out of her so violently that she doubled over, one hand clutching her stomach, the other grasping the shelf for support. It wasn’t a dainty chuckle; it was a full-bodied, gasp-for-air, shoulder-shaking sort of laugh—the kind that turned heads and drew stares.

Fred stood there, blinking, slightly stunned. He’d told a hundred of these lines—maybe more—and, typically, he got groans, eye-rolls, or in the case of his brother George, outright heckling. But laughter? Real, honest, undignified laughter?

That was new.

And she wasn’t laughing with the joke—she was laughing at it. At him. And oddly, instead of feeling mortified… he felt rather proud.

He started laughing too.

“You—where—where do you find these?” she gasped, wiping her eyes.

Fred lifted both hands. “I admit nothing.”

She narrowed her eyes, still grinning. “You definitely read them somewhere. Come on. Spill.”

He hesitated. His ears went red.

“Fred,” she said warningly, “if you don’t tell me, I’ll assume it’s your own original material. And then I will cry.”

He winced. “Fine. I found a book.”

“You should write to the author and let them know they’re a menace to society.” She leaned against the shelf, catching her breath. “Good Merlin, Weasley. That was absurd. Completely mental. What’s the name of the book?”

Fred’s laugh faltered. His throat clicked audibly as he swallowed, and his Adam’s apple bobbed like it was trying to escape. His cheeks flushed so deeply they were nearly the same shade as his hair.

“What’s the name?” she repeated, still giggling, not yet clocking the shift in his expression.

He exhaled slowly. “101 Pick-Up Lines for People Who Like to Laugh,” he said. And then, after a pause: “…Over the Age of 18.”

Oh.

[y/n] straightened ever so slightly, eyebrows lifting. She tried very hard not to read too much into the title.

“Well, they won’t make anyone laugh,” she said, aiming for casual but not quite pulling it off. “Besides, who’s meant to enjoy the laughing—the one telling the joke or the poor soul forced to hear it?”

Fred’s smile faltered slightly. The pink in his cheeks began to fade as he studied her expression, looking for any hint of mockery. But she was still cordial, still calm, still… kind. Which, somehow, worsened it.

“We should all enjoy laughing,” he replied, voice a bit more serious now, less performative. “I suppose it’s for the one who reads the joke, right?” His shoulders dropped a fraction, relaxing into the moment.

“I haven’t got a clue. You’re the one with the book,” she replied. Then, after a pause, she smiled—not wide, not teasing, but something soft, something that barely touched the corners of her mouth and still said everything. “Though… I must admit, I ended up laughing.”

“At me,” Fred said quickly, a little too quickly, his voice jumping an octave higher with defensiveness. “Not at the joke.”

It should’ve stung. But somehow, it didn’t.

Around them, Zonko’s remained its usual mess of spinning trinkets and prank-infused chaos, but for a heartbeat—or maybe a little longer—it all blurred into the background. It was just two nearly grown kids standing far too close in a shop they’d probably never browse together again.

“Hm.” She tilted her head slightly, a tone light but final. “I should go rescue Ursula before she marries a puffskein.”

“Already too late,” Fred said, following her gaze toward the back of the shop. “She’s registered three of them under her last name. Ceremony’s at noon.”

“Oh no,” [y/n] giggled, lingering just a second longer than necessary. Then she nodded once, like she’d decided something, and turned to leave. “See you around, Weasley.”

And just like that, she was off, disappearing between shelves of enchanted stink pellets and screaming yo-yos. Fred stood there a moment longer, staring at the spot she’d been, one hand fiddling with the edge of his sleeve.

He still had the book in his pocket. But suddenly, it didn’t feel all that useful any more.

It wasn’t exactly warm, but after what felt like endless days of snow, the sun had finally come out to make a bit of an appearance. Most students with free classes had migrated to the fields surrounding the school, especially the clock tower courtyard. [y/n] was one of them, basking in the rare moment of sunshine.

She sat alone, her body stretched out on a multicolored, plaid towel she’d thrown onto the grass, eyes shut against the harsh brightness of the sun. She was perfectly content, just listening to the distant chatter of students and the wind rustling the leaves in the trees.

Then, unexpectedly, she felt the familiar weight of someone sitting down on her towel, the fabric shifting beneath her. The change in balance was subtle, but unmistakable. She knew exactly who it was, even with her eyes still closed.

“Hot day?” His voice—deep, casual, and annoyingly charming—cut through the ambient noise.

[y/n] opened just one eye, peeking up at Fred Weasley, who was grinning like he knew something she didn’t.

“Not as hot as you?” she shot back, the words practically tumbling out, expecting yet another one of his ridiculous jokes.

Fred’s smile widened, and he gave a small, pleased nod. “You’re getting the hang of it.”

She smirked and closed the eye she had opened. “You’re rubbing off on me.”

The moment the words left her mouth, she realized what she’d said, and it made her laugh—a quiet, breathy giggle that only came out as a puff of air through her nose. If only the Professors could hear them now…

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, the kind where you didn’t have to say anything to enjoy the company. The sun bathed them both in a warm glow, the sound of students and distant laughter creating a peaceful backdrop. [y/n] kept her eyes closed, but she could hear his calm breathing beside her, steady and unhurried.

“No jokes for me today?” she broke the silence, her voice low and teasing. 

Fred shifted on the towel, his legs readjusting as he stretched out a bit more. She cracked open her eyes just in time to see him lay down, his head resting on the towel, even though she herself wasn’t with her head down. 

“I donated the book to my brother,” he said, almost offhandedly.

“George?” she asked, the first Weasley name that popped into her head.

“Ron, actually,” he corrected, a hint of amusement in his voice. “I think he’ll need it.”

“Is your little brother an aspiring comedian?” [y/n] couldn’t help but ask, eyebrow raised in curiosity.

Fred laughed, the sound rich and warm. 

“No,” he said, the word almost too ridiculous to be taken seriously.

“Then what’s he going to need it for?” she continued, genuinely curious now. “To embarrass himself?”

Fred chuckled again, the laugh almost surprised, as if he wasn’t expecting her to know so much about the Weasley family. “He doesn’t need any help with that department,” Fred replied, still laughing softly.

“So what’s he going to do with this classic piece of wizarding literature?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.

Fred gave a nonchalant shrug, but she could tell he was amused by her genuine, almost naive curiosity.

Since her question had gone unanswered, [y/n] let it drift away and decided to test another current instead.

“I heard you and your twin want to start your own joke shop,” she said lightly, as if it didn’t matter either way. “Is that true?”

Fred turned his head to look at her. The sunlight caught in his lashes. “We hope so,” he replied, at last. “I don’t really think of us as academics, you know?”

“But you guys are smart,” she said, the words escaping before she could think twice. The moment they left her lips, she regretted it—not because they weren’t true, but because she already knew what he’d say next.

“How’d you know?”

Right on cue.

She bit the inside corner of her mouth, cornered by her honesty. “Well, we’re partners in most subjects and… you catch up. That’s more than most.”

“We don’t get good grades, though,” Fred tilted his head slightly, brow raised. 

“Right,” she nodded. “But grades aren’t everything.”

“They are to you,” he said, gently—not accusing, just perceptive.

She paused, drawing in a long breath, then letting it out slowly.

“No, not really,” she admitted, her voice quieter now. “I thought they were, or maybe I just wanted them to be. Now…” She trailed off, searching for the right words. “Now, I wish I knew what I wanted to do with my life, like you and George.”

Fred didn’t interrupt.

“I’m just lost,” she said finally, pressing her lips together in a tight line before looking back up at the sky.

Fred didn’t offer a solution. He just lay there beside her on the chequered towel, quiet. The sun warmed her skin, but it was the closeness of him—his steady presence, the quiet understanding in his eyes—that made her feel less like she was drifting.

After a long moment, he spoke. “If it helps… even with a plan, everything still feels uncertain. We’re just pretending we know what we’re doing.”

She turned her head, finally meeting his eyes again. “You’re pretending?”

“All the time,” he said with a lopsided smile. “I just happen to be superb at it.”

She smiled—small, but real. It crept up slowly, tugging at her lips before she could stop it. And that was simply it. There was no need to say more.

Still, rather than let it drift too far into the future category (an area she wasn’t ready to unpack on a weekday afternoon), she nudged him playfully with her shoulder and asked, “Don’t you have any other jokes for me? I know you can conjure one with your mind.”

He turned his head toward the clouds again, lips twitching, voice mock-thoughtful. “Actually… you just made me remember one.”

“Please, go ahead,” she said, laying her head on the towel as well, next to his.

Honestly, she couldn’t believe she was the one begging for a Fred Weasley joke. Of all the things she thought she’d become by seventh year, “enthusiastic dirty-joke-enabler” hadn’t made the list.

“Do you have telekinetic powers?” he asked, his tone casual—too casual.

[y/n] narrowed her eyes suspiciously and turned her head to look at him. Fred turned toward her too, face close enough that she could see the faint freckles across his nose and the sunlight catching in his lashes. He looked like he was on the edge of laughing—and maybe on the edge of bailing out.

“I don’t know if I can do it,” he chuckled nervously.

“What? No! Come on!” [y/n] opened her mouth. “I’m curious now!”

He exhaled in surrender, still chuckling. “Just remember—you asked for it.”

“Go on,” she nodded solemnly.

Fred cleared his throat like a performer warming up for a very questionable debut.

“Because you just lifted one of my body parts without touching it.”

There was a full second of silence—then she gasped in outrage.

“NO!” [y/n] shoved him hard in the arm—hm, strong forearm, her brain noted—and scrambled back an inch on the towel, looking both mortified and scandalised. “Fred Weasley! We’re lying next to each other in public! That’s absolutely foul!”

Fred doubled over in laughter, clutching his stomach. “You asked for it!”

“I was expecting a pun!” she wailed, face red, but her eyes sparkled. “A clever pun, not—you know—perversion!”

He was still laughing, and she was too, despite herself.

She flopped back down with a groan, shielding her face with her arm. “I can’t believe I encouraged you.”

He peeked at her from the side. “You’re smiling.”

“I’m scarred,” she corrected.

“You’re grinning.”

“Only because I’m plotting revenge.”

Fred grinned at the sky again, satisfied. “That’s fair.”

The sun was still bright overhead, but the moment between them felt quieter now, the kind of quiet that comes when two people have laughed a little too loudly and are left with only the warmth of each other’s presence.

Neither of them said anything else. But neither of them moved.

And maybe that said more than anything ever could.

It was Quidditch match day again. The air buzzed with anticipation, banners flapped wildly in the wind, and students filled the stands in their house colours. However, that day there was no one orchestrating the underground betting ring or smugly redistributing galleons post-match. That was because the Weasley twins were both on the pitch, flying high on their broomsticks, darting through the air as they desperately tried to block Bludgers coming from all directions.

And somehow, despite knowing absolutely nothing about sports, [y/n] found herself once again in the stands, right in the thick of it.

“You’re drooling,” Ursula said dryly beside her, clearly enjoying herself. She was now very well-versed in her friend’s current obsession—mainly because [y/n] wouldn’t shut up about it.

“Piss off,” [y/n] replied without looking away from the field, showing a finger at her friend. Her eyes were locked on Fred, who had just zoomed across the pitch to block a Bludger headed straight for Harry Potter.

Gryffindor won—of course they did. Half the school seemed to be rooting for them. The crowd exploded into cheers as Harry caught the Snitch, and the players landed, brooms now in hand rather than between their legs. [y/n] left the stands, suddenly unsure what to do with herself.

Why was she going down there? Why was she following the surge of students onto the pitch like a Quidditch groupie?

Because she had a reason. Sort of.

Blending in with the crowd, she made her way closer, dodging hugs, backslaps, and the odd flying elbow. Fred was laughing, flushed from the match, surrounded by fans and teammates—but even in the sea of people, his eyes flicked toward her like he’d been expecting it.

When the crowd finally began to thin out, she jumped in front of him with a grin that could only mean trouble.

“I’ve got a joke for you,” she said, eyes sparkling.

Fred raised an eyebrow, grinning like a boy who’d just been handed a gift he wasn’t sure he deserved. “Oh, yeah?”

She nodded, taking a breath like she was about to cast a complicated spell.

“Do you know if I could become a broom?” she asked innocently, though the corners of her mouth were already twitching.

He tilted his head, very parrot-like. “Er… can’t say I do.”

“Because I’d love to stay between your legs for an hour or two.”

The moment the words left her mouth, she burst into laughter—half from nerves, half from sheer pride in herself. Her hand flew to her face as a blush bloomed furiously across her cheeks.

Fred blinked, clearly caught off guard. And then—he roared with laughter, clutching his side like she’d physically winded him.

“Bloody hell!” he wheezed between breaths. “You did not just say that!”

She turned away in mock shame, still giggling.

He leaned closer, voice low and full of that wicked, teasing tone she’d come to know too well. “If that was your way of joking, you just put every line I’ve ever used to shame.”

She peeked at him through her fingers. “Yeah, well. I learn from the best.”

Fred grinned, eyes crinkling. “I’ll need a full recovery before I can match that energy. Give me a day or two. Or three.”

“Or forever,” she said, rolling her eyes, though her smile stayed stubbornly in place.

Their gazes lingered a second too long.

She rolled her eyes, but her smile held stubbornly, like it didn’t care if it gave everything away.

Their gazes lingered—just a moment too long to be casual. Just long enough to feel like something was changing. Around them, the pitch still buzzed with leftover chaos—shouts, chants, streamers tangled in the breeze. But in the bubble of that glance, it all faded into the background.

“Oi! Kiss already!” George shouted from a few metres away, his voice booming over the noise and absolutely on brand.

The remaining players and fans burst into laughter.

And just like that, [y/n] folded inward, embarrassment blooming red-hot across her face. Without thinking, she ducked into Fred’s chest, hiding herself from the entire universe. He smelled like cut grass, sweat, and something oddly warm, like worn cotton and adrenaline. And weirdly… she didn’t mind. She didn’t pull away.

Fred didn’t flinch or tease—he just wrapped his arms around her and let her hide there, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Dumbass,” Fred muttered fondly, patting his twin on the head as George passed by, clearly proud of the chaos he’d caused.

Then Fred lowered his voice, leaning just enough for her to hear over the fading noise.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

She turned her head, cheek pulling away from his chest just enough to meet his gaze. His eyes were sincere, still glinting with laughter, but quiet now. Waiting.

“Blimey, yes, please,” she breathed, a nervous giggle escaping her lips, fluttering like trapped butterflies.

Fred steered her through the thinning crowd with an easy confidence. His left hand clasped hers firmly, and before they knew it, they’d gone from a gentle stroll to a proper dash, legs pumping like they were kids again. Giggles bubbled up between them, that daft, happy sound only teenagers – or those utterly smitten – could manage.

Breathless and flushed, they found themselves a good distance from the echoing cheers of the Quidditch pitch. [y/n] watched, a touch of wonder in her eyes, as Fred’s gaze swept around, his mind clearly flicking through mental blueprints. He’d located a hidden area, a spot promising that much-desired privacy. And it had almost all four walls; one side was more of a charming archway. Still, it would absolutely do.

But it would serve the purpose of the moment.

Another tug on her hand – barely a moment of looseness this time – and he was guiding her towards the nook he knew from the legendary Marauder's Map (a perk from his less-than-angelic youth). Without so much as “Can I?” — as if he needed it at that point — he released her hand to cup her face, both palms warm against her skin, tilting her chin up to bridge their height difference.

A proper Weasley grin was playing on his lips as he finally leaned in for a kiss. [y/n] vaguely registered the fact that she was probably grinning herself, but that thought quickly faded into the background noise of pure sensation. The taste of him, the sheer pleasure of their lips meeting, the soft brush of his breath against her cheek. His lips, surprisingly cool at first, were then incredibly sweet, like a lick of Honeydukes best. Little details started to bloom in her awareness: the way she had to lean up slightly, the gentle caress of his fingers moving from her cheek to her nape, then tangling in her hair.

Given Fred’s reputation as the school’s prankster, this wasn’t exactly the snog she’d mentally rehearsed. Not that it was a bad thing, not at all! It was brilliant, actually, the kind of kiss that surely had fireworks popping off somewhere unseen. And judging by the way neither of them could stay away for more than a snatched breath, both were in complete agreement. They kept coming back for more, a silent conversation of lips and tongues.

Truth be told, his repertoire of dodgy jokes had led [y/n] to expect something a bit more… naughty. A bit spicier. This kiss, however, was pure, unadulterated romance, worthy of a movie — but a PG-rated one.

After so many dirty jokes, it was a bit of a surprise.   

But she wasn’t about to complain. Not one bit. She simply melted into him, her hands finding a comfortable spot on his shoulders, fingers twirling through the glorious, untamed mess of his red hair.    

Time seemed to blur and fade. Dear reader, between us, it was a good half an hour. They kept pulling each other in, with a proper longing hung in the air, a silent yearning for something more than just a kiss. Cor blimey.    

Eventually, though, the moment had to wind down, and they found themselves chuckling again, like a pair of right idiots. And that was sort of it.  For that day.

Perched on her bed, [y/n] was doing her best to hide the monumental disappointment bubbling inside as she answered Ursula’s interrogation.

“And how long has it been, exactly?” Ursula asked, referring to how many days had passed since the kiss [y/n] and Fred Weasley shared.

“Four days,” [y/n] replied, perhaps a tad too quickly. “Give or take,” she added, attempting a casualness that felt about as convincing as a Niffler denying a magpie.

As if she hadn’t been counting the hours, marking them off on an invisible calendar.

“Hm,” Ursula pursed her lips, stretching them out.  “A bit of a long time, that,” she declared, sounding like a right scientist analysing a particularly baffling test tube.

“A long time!” [y/n] exclaimed, indignation momentarily overriding her attempts at nonchalance. Then, she bared her teeth in a grimace that was more “agggh” than a smile, before returning to her best uncaring expression. “Not that I'm bothered, mind you.”

“You have nothing,” Ursula observed, like a post-it reminder.

“We have nothing,”[y/n] echoed, confirming the dire situation.

“Still, you’d think he'd have said something,” Ursula mused, tilting her head. “Has he even spoken to you?”

The question sent another wave of frustration through [y/n], who mentally flicked through the last few days, desperately searching for any sign of Fred acknowledging her existence beyond the bare minimum in their shared classes.

“He did… sort of. He went a bit like this,” she demonstrated, raising her eyebrows and giving a sort of half-hearted upturn of the lips that barely qualified as a smile. It wasn’t a great impression of Fred, admittedly, but it conveyed his lack of effort. “And then he said, ‘What up?’ Who says that?”

Ursula, witnessing her friend's building fury, had to agree, it was a bit rubbish.

“No cheeky jokes?”

“Not a single one,” [y/n] confirmed, her tone still laced with disbelief.

“Shocking,” Ursula declared, shaking her head in mock disapproval.

Defeated, [y/n] flopped back onto the bed, sinking into the mattress.

“You were just another conquest,” Ursula offered, her tone taking on a slightly mournful note.

“Just another…” [y/n] started to agree, to wallow in the disappointment, but then she stopped herself.

She refused to let Fred Weasley off scot-free. If he’d wanted her to fall for him, well, now he had a girl properly smitten, and he’d better deal with it. Because if not, Merlin’s beard…

“This is not how it’s going to be,” [y/n] announced, suddenly leaping out of bed with a newfound determination. It was nearly eleven at night; everyone should be tucked up in bed (or at least pretending to be for curfew).

“What are you going to do?” Ursula asked, a hint of concern in her voice.

“I’m going to get what he owes me,” the girl stated, her eyes gleaming with purpose.

“And what exactly does he owe you?” Ursula asked, thoroughly bewildered, as if she’d missed a crucial plot twist. [y/n]’s sudden change of mood had left her slightly behind.

[y/n]’s expression hardened. “A punchline.”

It was not some sudden descent into full-blown stalker territory that had [y/n] knowing Fred’s whereabouts, mind you. Absolutely not. In fact, the cheeky git himself had let slip, the day before that disastrous Quidditch match that led to all this kerfuffle, that every Wednesday night he and his twin would sneak off to Hogsmeade.

“Where d’you reckon we get half our brilliant prank ingredients from?” he’d grinned, that familiar Weasley smirk plastered across his face. Zonko’s, naturally.

Well, now the tables had turned, hadn’t they?

Being a seventh-year, [y/n] and plenty of others were clued in on the secret passage to Hogsmeade. Still,[y/n] hadn’t exactly been using the clandestine route, not even for a bit of off-season shopping. But Fred must have been on his way back from the village just as she was legging it down the stairs and along the corridors to intercept him.

Reaching the hidden entrance, [y/n] stopped just shy of it, bathed in the rather dramatic light of a solitary chandelier halfway down the corridor.

She looked almost spectral, despite the fact her night robe was a rather fetching shade somewhere between purple and wine. A proper nightgown it was, tied snugly just under her bust. Not exactly see-through, but light enough. Still, no need to fret on that front, as she had her trusty pajama shorts and vest top underneath.

Leaning against the cool stone wall, she waited, patience wearing thin. Just as she was about to give up, she heard muffled noises, and her heart gave a little flutter. Did she actually have the nerve to go through with this?

Swallowing hard, she held her breath until he and his brother emerged from the passage, chuckling away with bags in their hands and that unmistakable waft of butterbeer clinging to them.

“Want to hear a joke, Weasley?” she called out, perhaps a tad too theatrically.

There were two Weasleys, however, both looking utterly bewildered at the ghostly figure illuminated in the dim light.

“Fred Weasley,” she clarified, clearing her throat and making it crystal clear which ginger menace she was after.

George didn’t hesitate for a second. He swiftly relieved Fred of the bags he was carrying and scarpered, a look on his face that suggested he either knew exactly what was going on — or at least, would soon understand; Fred would certainly tell him later. [y/n] could have sworn she even saw the corner of his mouth twitch in amusement.

And then George was gone, vanishing with surprising speed, that [y/n] felt hazardous. But Fred, the remaining Weasley, didn’t look scared. More…confused.

He didn’t look guilty, either.

“Well,” he said, voice low and slightly hoarse, like he’d forgotten how to use it. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. He took one cautious step in her direction — but there were still a solid five feet between them. A deliberate distance. “I want to hear the joke.”

[y/n], who was still mentally processing George’s Olympic-level retreat, blinked at him.

“Go on,” Fred coaxed. “Tell it.”

She didn't actually have a joke thoroughly prepared, not one bit. She was going to have to pull one out of thin air, cobble something together from the chaos in her brain because she refused to look like an idiot.

“Are you my homework?” she asked, miraculously managing to keep her voice steady.

Fred raised a single brow — and not the amused kind.

And suddenly, she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. He didn’t look amused. He didn’t look irritated. Fred just looked tired. Not the kind of tired that came from sneaking around with your twin in the middle of the night — no, this was deeper.

Realising this, she took a deep breath, all hope draining away. Resigned to her fate, she delivered the punchline, ready to turn tail and run:

“Because I should definitely be doing you.”

But she didn’t run.

Couldn’t. Not with his eyes on hers like that — fixed and unreadable, and yet… He wanted to laugh! Oh, it was written all over him: the way his mouth twitched at the corners, the faint scrunch of his nose, like he was physically restraining the chuckle. And yet — he didn’t.

And that’s what got her. That right there. The rational part.

Why was he being rational?

“What?” she asked, blinking, part bewildered, part boiling. “Say something, for Merlin’s sake.”

Still, he said nothing. He looked just as dazed as he had when he’d first spotted her in the corridor.

“Brilliant,” she muttered, a smile curling bitterly at her lips. “Leave me hanging, Weasley. Snog me in the middle of nowhere and then act like it was some shared hallucination.”

She laughed — sharply, dryly — and then, to her horror, kept going. “Better yet, don’t talk to me at all. I’ll do the honours for you, yeah?” She mimicked his voice — that low, cheeky drawl he used in the back of Potions class. “What up?”

She took a step toward him. Then another. Neither of them noticed the space between them shrinking — there was too much tension fizzing in the air, humming like a misfired spell.

Fred stuffed his hand into his front pocket — a small, nervous gesture she might’ve missed if she weren’t watching him like he held all the answers to her unfinished diary entries.

“I’ll tell you what’s up, Fred Weasley,” she declared, jabbing a finger in his direction with each word like she was reciting a particularly aggressive haiku. “I need to know where we went wrong. Was I just another name on the list? Another laugh between broomsticks?” She inhaled sharply. “If so, fine. Not ideal, but fine. I can handle that. But if you’re ignoring me because—”

Don’t say it, her brain whispered.

“Because I’m a terrible kisser,” she pushed on, her voice wobbling only a little, “then just tell me. Honestly. That’s all I’m asking for. I mean, if you were a terrible kisser, I’d have said something. Kindly, obviously. Maybe even offered a second chance. For improvement purposes.”

She was rambling now, properly spiralling, but she didn’t want to dare give him a chance to speak. 

“If my kiss didn’t set off your fireworks — pun intended — then fine. I’ll resume my day, quietly and gracefully. But, you know, we could keep with the dirty jokes, they are relatively funny, they’ve grown on me — pun not intended — and I…”

She trailed off only when she saw it — the tilt of his eyes, the almost-smile.

It wasn’t full-blown, not quite. But it was there, hovering.

Mouth still half-open, [y/n] froze like the sentence hadn’t quite finished leaving her lips. She glanced from Fred to the room, as if retracing her steps, searching for something she’d missed.

“You talk too much, you know that?” Fred said casually, hand still buried in his pocket.

She frowned. “I didn’t use to.”

That earned a real smile from him — quick, unguarded, boyish.

“No, you didn’t,” he agreed. “But then some genius professor had the bright idea of sitting the quiet ones next to the troublemakers. You know, to ‘balance each other out’.” He chuckled under his breath, gaze flicking away. “Seems it worked.”

“Oh, it did,” she shot back. “Now I’m the one who won’t shut up, and you’re quiet as a—”

“Uhm,” his brows perked up. “I think there was a joke in that book about flies.”

“What was it like?” she asked curiously, then scolded herself, scowling. “Well, I don’t want to know it,” she snapped. “Stop deflecting! Are you going to answer any of my actual questions?”

“They were more like wild guesses,” he said, smirking.

He had that look — smug, maddeningly attractive, and about five seconds from saying something entirely inappropriate.

“Stop smiling like that,” she muttered, crossing her arms. “Honestly. It’s infuriating.”

“I’ll be serious then,” he said, drawing in a breath. And he was — all the mischief softened, replaced by something sincere.

“I didn’t like kissing you,” he paused. Dramatically. “I loved it.”

She blinked.

“But then,” he continued, “I got scared. Because the thoughts running through my head — during and after that kiss — were… a bit intense. And frankly, they’d been lurking long before we even kissed. Since the moment you laughed at one of my ridiculous pickup lines, something… grew.”

She arched an eyebrow.

“Pun very much intended,” he informed, just like she had, before. Then he went on, “The lust definitely grew — along with, well… other things.”

Her eyes widened, and she asked, with a kind of horrified curiosity, “During the kiss?”

Fred had the nerve to grin, cheeks turning a shade of pink. “Also right now.”

“But we’re fighting…”

He leaned in slightly. “And I’ve never seen you look so hot.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he said, deadpan. “It’s making me want to keep arguing.”

“But I still don’t get it,” she pressed, exasperated. “And no, I’m not dragging this out for vanity’s sake, to keep looking hot. I genuinely hope to understand. If you were so… enthusiastic about me”—she waved vaguely toward his trousers—“then why did you ghost me?”

Fred let out a strange sort of laugh — rough and awkward, like it scraped up the back of his throat on the way out. He placed a hand gently on her shoulder, his face softening like he was about to deliver news of a lost pet.

“Because you’re a virgin,” he said, voice full of tragic respect. He even tilted his head forward a bit, as though observing a moment of silence. “I was trying to be decent. Give you time.”

She stared at his hand. Then at his pitying, chaste little face.

And burst out laughing. Not a giggle — a full-on guffaw that echoed off the stone corridor, wild and unstoppable.

“I’m not a—” she tried, choking on a sob of laughter.

Fred looked wounded.

“I’m not a virgin, you absolute melon,” she wheezed, wiping at her eyes, still grinning like mad.

“But…” his eyebrows crashed together. “You blush every time I make a more sexual joke.”

“Yes, because you say those things in class,” she snapped, still giggling. “With Professor Flitwick like two feet away.”

“Oh,” he said, blinking.

They stood in silence for a moment. [y/n] was catching her breath from laughing so hard, while Fred was… well, recovering whatever shred of ego he had left — after all, he’d called her a virgin when she wasn’t, and had apparently sworn himself to celibacy for no reason at all.

The castle stayed quiet, but the air had turned colder as the hour crept on.

“So,” she finally said, relaxing her shoulders, her voice calmer now, almost casual, “was that kiss of yours the PG version?”

Fred looked at her, head tilted.

“What would you have done,” she went on, “if you’d known I wasn’t… chaste?”

He didn’t quite smile, but something flickered in his eyes. Amusement? Memory? Something just shy of dangerous.

“Why do you want to know?”

She gave a little shrug. “I don’t think I hate you anymore. Not now that things are cleared up — the confusion, the vanishing act, the… sexual urges.”

“I never explained my sexual urges to you,” he said, frowning slightly.

“Oh no?” she asked, dragging one finger in a casual path over his chest, then up his neck. Half-pointing, half-caressing. “So what was that Chamber of Secrets line about, then?”

He bit back a chuckle. “I don’t want to fuck you in the Chamber of Secrets.”

“That wasn’t the line,” she smirked. “You said you wanted to sneak in and crawl to me.”

“It wasn’t crawling either,” he stepped closer — close enough now that he had to tilt his head all the way down to meet her eyes.

“You're giving me a hard time, Fred Weasley,” she said, narrowing her eyes playfully. “What’s a girl gotta do around here to earn a big reward?”

He exhaled slowly, as if the words had physically affected him.

“I think you’ve had enough puns for one night.”

She smiled — slow and wicked.

“Oh, but you know what I haven’t had enough of yet?”

Fred’s eyes searched hers, scanning for any sign of hesitation. There was none.

The half-light made her look ethereal — like she belonged to this strange hour of the castle, somewhere between dream and trouble. Her lips were parted, breath shallow but certain. Fred brought one hand to her jaw, his thumb brushing over her cheek like he was memorizing the shape of her. Then, slower still, he dipped his head.

The kiss wasn’t rushed. It didn’t slam into her like the last time, like something impatient. It unfolded. A murmur of heat passed between their lips as they met, warm and unhurried, the kind of kiss that asked, Are you sure? and answered, Yes, I am.

His other hand came to rest on her waist, drawing her into him. She responded with fingers curling into his shirt, tugging slightly — asking for more. Their bodies fell into place as if they'd done this a hundred times before. As if they were always meant to fit this way.

Fred pulled back for a breath, their foreheads touching. He didn’t say anything, just looked at her like she was the beginning of a very good secret. And then he kissed her again — deeper this time, more urgent. His hands were moving now, one threading into her hair, the other pressing her closer until there was no air between them, just heat and want and years of almosts.

She gasped against his mouth when he backed her into the cold stone wall, and he laughed softly — not mocking, just amazed.

“I really didn’t plan to kiss you against a wall,” he whispered.

She tugged him forward by the collar. “Shut up, Weasley.”

They kissed again, and again, the world shrinking to the echo of their breaths in the corridor. She felt his fingertips graze beneath the hem of her shirt, just a brush, not daring more than the skin at her waist. But it made her shiver all the same. And Fred noticed.

“You’re cold,” he murmured against her lips.

“No,” she replied. “I’m on fire.”

He smiled, eyes half-lidded. “Good.”

They stayed pressed together like that for a while, as the castle held its breath around them — two people caught between recklessness and reverence, between the thrill of wanting and the sweetness of being wanted back.

[joaosnovia]

Hiiiii I’ve been waiting sooo long to request from u I looooove ur writing <33

So hear me out luv a Hector Fort long fic (please make it long 8k+) where he’s a popular student and reader is like an unpopular middle class student and she’s kinda bullied for that but Hector starts dating her cuz he loves her but all his friends and people in school start calling her a gold digger and Hector keeps defending her so one day he gifts her a necklace like an expensive one right but she needs money cuz her mom needs meds and her fam aren’t doing well but somehow the popular girl in school that has a crush on Hector finds out and tells him so he thinks reader is actually with him for the money so he fights with her and break up and then later he finds out that she suffered and he regret it when he found her working 2 part time and became always absent in school and got sent to principal cuz she sleeps in class cuz she’s tired from working and make the endings fluffy but please make it angsty like I wanna cry I wanna bawl my lil eyes and heart out (I’m a sucker for angst I litt read sad books all the time)

If you are able to write this I thank u in advance darling <33

Have a great weekend and stay healthy and safe 💙

❦ - unpopular.

summary:: the req.

warnings:: angst but yk that.

writers note:: this took way too long to write but tbf this got requested ages ago and i’d write like once a week but it’s lowkey fun! also there’s a baby ref in this

w/c:: 9k

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp @universefcb @mariejuli @nngkay

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

montserrat academy smelled like money.

not literally, but in that subtle way: clean, polished hallways that echoed too much, perfume lingering in the air even after people had left, crisp uniforms that never seemed to wrinkle, shoes that didn’t scuff, phones without a single crack.

you didn’t belong there. not really.

you’d gotten in on merit, a scholarship, long nights of studying, beating the odds kind of story. your mom cried when you got the acceptance email. your little brother made a paper crown and called you ‘genius queen’ for a week.

but being in didn’t mean being part of.

you sat alone a lot. not because you were a loner, but because lunch tables filled up fast with people who didn’t look twice at you. your clothes weren’t trendy, your shoes were always the same beat-up pair of sneakers, and your accent still carried bits of the neighborhood you came from.

and the others… they noticed.

they didn’t push you or laugh in your face or throw your books across the floor like in those dramatic high school movies. no, it was quieter than that.

it was looking through you when you spoke in class. it was changing the subject when you joined the conversation. it was the way camila once complimented your thrifted bag, and everyone laughed like she’d told a joke.

you weren’t hated. just forgotten. misplaced. tolerated.

but you didn’t come to be liked.

you came to escape.

from the thin walls of your apartment, where you could hear your mom coughing through the night. from the grocery lists that had more crossed-out items than bought ones. from the part-time job you worked after school and on weekends, where your uniform smelled like espresso and burnt toast.

you told yourself that montserrat academy was a ladder.

get good grades. get out. get a future.

so you kept your head down. kept your notebooks full. tuned out the whispers.

until him.

héctor fort didn’t exist in your world. not really. he was the kind of student who was the school. son of someone important. name whispered like legacy. always surrounded. always laughing. not in a loud, obnoxious way, but in that warm, boy next door in a netflix teen show kind of way.

he played football, well. people wore his number on hoodies, not because they were on the team, but because he was the team. he was in all the sports day photos. he was in the group project that won nationals. he was even in the school tour pamphlet they handed to new families.

and he was everywhere.

in the mornings, leaning against his locker. during lunch, surrounded by people who hung on his every word. after class, headphones around his neck, bouncing a ball against his knee like he couldn’t sit still.

you noticed him because everyone did.

he noticed you, and that was the part you didn’t understand.

it started in october.

you were sitting behind the library, your favorite spot, shaded, quiet, full of soft rustling trees and the hum of faraway conversations you didn’t have to join. you liked being alone there. liked how the sun hit your notebook just right, how your soup thermos kept your hands warm.

you were rereading a chapter for literature class when footsteps crunched the leaves.

you didn’t look up right away. people didn’t usually come back here. but then you heard it, the unmistakable, too calm voice:

‘hey.’

you looked up.

héctor.

you blinked, then instinctively checked behind you, half-expecting him to be talking to someone else.

but there was no one.

just you.

‘is this spot taken?’ he asked, nodding toward the patch of grass near you.

you blinked again. ‘uh… no. it’s not.’

he sat. like it was normal. like it was nothing.

you waited for the joke. for someone to pop out with a camera. you waited to wake up.

but he didn’t say anything else. just pulled out a book, your book, actually. same edition, same dog-eared corner you had in yours. and opened it to where the next chapter started.

silence settled.

you told yourself not to read into it. maybe it was a coincidence. maybe he just liked the quiet too.

the next day, he was there again.

and the next.

by friday, he nodded at you like it was a routine. you didn’t even question it anymore. just shifted your bag to give him space and went back to your reading.

you still didn’t talk much. sometimes he’d point out a line in the book and mumble something about it being clever. sometimes you’d make a quiet joke and he’d laugh softly, like he was trying not to make it a big deal.

it wasn’t flirtation. not yet.

it was something else. something slower. something quieter.

and you didn’t understand it. didn’t know why he was choosing this spot when he had all the tables in the courtyard waiting for him. why he started borrowing your highlighters and returning them with smiley faces drawn on the caps. why he lingered a little longer after the bell rang.

but you didn’t ask.

because it felt… safe. and safe wasn’t something you had very often.

one wednesday, he showed up with two drinks.

‘one’s for you,’ he said, handing you a plastic cup with condensation beading down the sides.

you took it cautiously. ‘what is it?’

‘iced cinnamon oat latte,’ he said. ‘the guy at your café said it’s your usual.’

you stared at him.

he just shrugged, a little too casual. ‘i went there this morning. wanted to see if the pastries were as good as you always say.’

you blinked.

‘you went out of your way just to—’

‘they’re mid, by the way,’ he interrupted, sipping his own drink. ‘but this? this is good.’

you smiled, small and stunned.

and he smiled back, like he’d been waiting to see it.

you didn’t know what this was yet.

it wasn’t a relationship. wasn’t friendship, even, not quite.

but it was something. something soft. something beginning.

and even if you didn’t trust it yet… you were starting to hope.

you didn’t plan on him becoming part of your routine.

he just did.

it was subtle at first. like sunlight stretching across your bedroom floor, there before you really noticed, warm before you could name it. héctor started showing up behind the library before you even got there. sometimes with coffee. sometimes with an apple he’d take one bite out of, then forget to finish. always with that calm sort of presence. that ease you envied.

you learned little things.

he bit the inside of his cheek when he was thinking. he had messy handwriting and made his t’s too tall. he hated when people wasted food. he played with his necklace when he was bored. he smiled with one side of his mouth first, like the other had to catch up.

and he asked questions.

soft, curious ones.

‘what do you wanna do after this?’

you looked up from your book.

‘after school, i mean,’ he added. ‘like… life. what’s the plan?’

you shrugged. ‘go to uni. get a job. something stable. maybe sleep more than four hours a night.’

he laughed gently, but his eyes softened.

‘you don’t wanna dream big?’

you looked down. fiddled with the corner of your page.

‘i think surviving is dreaming big,’ you murmured.

he didn’t say anything right away. just nodded, slow, like he got it.

your classmates started noticing before you did.

you could feel the shift. the way people’s eyes followed you when you passed. the way conversations dropped to whispers when you walked into a room. it was subtle, at first. but it grew.

you weren’t invisible anymore. and it didn’t feel like a compliment.

camila started looking at you like you were a stray cat tracking dirt across her marble floors.

‘you and fort,’ she said one day in the hallway, voice sticky sweet, ‘are you, like… a thing?’

you blinked. ‘we’re friends.’

she laughed like that was the funniest thing in the world.

‘right. just checking.’

you didn’t tell héctor. you didn’t want him to feel like he had to defend you. not when things were still… undefined. you didn’t know what he called you when you weren’t around.

but then he asked.

‘do people ever give you shit?’ he said one afternoon, tossing a leaf in the air and catching it.

you paused. ‘what?’

‘about us hanging out.’

you looked at him, quiet.

he sighed. ‘it’s just, someone said something earlier and it pissed me off. they don’t know you. they don’t get it.’

‘get what?’

he blinked. caught your gaze. then shrugged.

‘you’re cool,’ he said simply. ‘you’re real. i like being around you.’

your heart did something weird and fluttery. you hated how easily he made you want to believe him.

‘well,’ you said, trying to keep your voice level, ‘i’m not really used to people liking me for… anything, so. that’s new.’

he looked at you for a second longer than he needed to.

‘they’re idiots if they don’t.’

your shifts at the café got longer. your manager asked you to cover weekends, and you said yes because your mom’s meds weren’t getting cheaper, and you didn’t know how to say no to survival.

you were tired all the time. your eyes stung during lectures. your back hurt from being on your feet too long.

and one friday, héctor showed up at closing.

you didn’t even look up at first, you were too busy restocking sugar packets.

‘hey, stranger.’

your head jerked toward the voice.

him. in sweats. hair damp from practice. a little out of breath like he’d rushed.

‘what are you doing here?’ you asked, blinking.

‘thought you might need company.’

you blinked again. ‘i… i have to mop.’

he grinned. ‘i’m great with mops.’

he wasn’t. he nearly slipped. twice. but he stayed. made you laugh. and when you locked up at the end of the night, he walked you to the bus stop, hands in his hoodie pockets, shoulders brushing yours.

‘thanks,’ you said softly.

he looked at you.

‘for what?’

‘showing up.’

he didn’t answer.

just nudged your hand with his, like he was asking a question without saying anything.

you let your pinky hook around his.

not quite holding hands. not quite nothing, either.

the next week, he brought you a sandwich during break.

‘you didn’t eat at lunch,’ he said, not even looking up from his phone.

you blinked. ‘how’d you—?’

‘you had your sad soup face,’ he shrugged. ‘figured you were tired of leftovers.’

you stared at the sandwich. it had your favorite cheese. the kind you only got when it was on sale.

‘you didn’t have to—’

‘i know,’ he said, finally glancing at you. ‘but i wanted to.’

and that… that was the beginning of the end.

because wanting you?

that was dangerous.

and you were starting to want him back.

by the time december rolled around, everything felt different.

you still woke up early. still packed your brother’s lunch. still worked weekends, still walked to school half-asleep with a thermos in your hands and a hoodie pulled over your ears.

but something in your chest had shifted.

it was the way you checked your phone before anything else, looking for a good morning text with a dumb emoji that never matched the mood. it was the way you stopped bringing soup because héctor always showed up with something better. it was the way his hoodie lived in your backpack now, just in case you needed it.

it was the way he’d learned to say your name like it was something soft.

and the way you stopped flinching when he did.

it was slow, so slow. every step of whatever this was. like he was giving you space to run, even though you didn’t want to anymore.

you hadn’t called it love yet.

not out loud.

but sometimes, when he leaned his head on your shoulder behind the library, when he handed you a drink with your name spelled right and a heart beside it, when he tied your shoe without saying a word and then stood up like it was nothing, you thought, maybe.

maybe.

the first time he asked you to come over, you panicked a little.

‘just a few of us,’ he said, fiddling with the ring on his finger. ‘nothing fancy. we’re watching the barça match. i’ll save you a spot on the couch.’

you hesitated.

you knew what his friends thought of you. knew the names they didn’t say to your face. knew you weren’t the kind of girl they invited to anything.

but you showed up anyway.

your jeans were the only pair you owned without a hole. your hair was in its neatest braid. you brought a bag of chips that cost more than they should have, but you didn’t want to come empty handed.

his house was everything you expected, clean, modern, a little too big for a family of three. his mom smiled politely, offered you juice. his friends barely looked at you.

except camila.

she smiled with teeth. leaned too close to héctor. made comments that danced on the edge of insults, just sharp enough to sting.

but héctor didn’t let you drift.

he kept his knee pressed against yours. he explained the game when you looked confused. he handed you a blanket when it got cold, and when the match ended and his friends were getting ready to leave, he pulled you aside.

‘you okay?’ he asked.

you nodded. too quickly.

he watched you.

‘you don’t have to pretend around me,’ he said, voice low. ‘i notice things too.’

you bit your lip.

‘i’m fine,’ you said. ‘they just… think you could do better.’

his brows pinched, jaw tightening.

‘no,’ he said. ‘they don’t get you. big difference.’

you looked up at him.

he stepped closer.

‘you’re the best part of my day,’ he whispered. ‘they can choke on their opinions.’

you laughed. you couldn’t help it. it burst out, messy and real.

and he looked so pleased with himself.

christmas break was colder than usual.

you worked doubles. your mom’s medicine ran out and insurance wouldn’t cover the new one. the heating in your apartment went out for three days, and you slept in the same bed as your brother, layered in sweatshirts.

you didn’t tell héctor. he was spending the holidays in menorca with his cousins, sending you photos of the beach and dumb santa filters on his face.

you didn’t want to ruin that with your problems.

he texted you the night before new year’s.

hey. can i see you tomorrow? like… actually see you?

you said yes, of course.

he showed up at your building at noon, wearing that navy jacket you liked, a bag in one hand and a little grin tugging at his mouth.

you met him outside, hair still damp from your rushed shower, shoes half-tied.

‘i brought snacks,’ he said. ‘and something else.’

you raised a brow.

he held up a small velvet box.

your stomach dipped.

‘don’t freak out,’ he said quickly. ‘it’s not, like, a thing. i just saw it and thought of you. that’s all.’

you opened it slowly.

inside was a necklace, gold, delicate, a tiny star on a fine chain. barely there, but still beautiful. something that caught the light just right.

‘héctor…’

‘you don’t have to wear it,’ he said, rubbing the back of his neck. ‘i just… you look up at the sky so much, and it made me think of you. that’s dumb, right?’

you shook your head.

‘no. it’s not dumb.’

he reached out, slow.

‘can i…?’

you nodded.

he fastened it around your neck, his fingers brushing your skin. you held your breath.

and when he stepped back to look at you, his eyes softened.

‘perfect,’ he said.

you didn’t cry. not then.

but something shifted inside you. something quiet and seismic.

you wore the necklace every day after that.

under your uniform, tucked into your sweater at work. even to sleep. you touched it when you were anxious. let your fingers find the tiny star when you missed him.

you felt… seen.

loved, maybe.

but nothing good stays untouched for long.

camila noticed the necklace two days after school started again.

‘cute,’ she said, twisting her lip. ‘real gold?’

you didn’t answer.

she smirked.

‘must be nice, having a boyfriend with a black card. you’re really playing the long game, huh?’

you froze.

‘what’s that supposed to mean?’

she shrugged. ‘just saying. not everyone gets a promotion from barista to princess without putting in work.’

you walked away before your hands could shake.

you didn’t tell héctor.

again.

but you should’ve.

because you were about to need him more than ever.

the first time he said it, i love you, it wasn’t planned.

no candles, no build-up, no carefully picked moment.

it was raining. you were curled up on his bed, wearing his hoodie, socks mismatched. you were both tired, he had practice all morning, you had two shifts back to back, and your eyes kept fluttering shut during the movie playing in the background.

he turned toward you, head on his arm, eyes soft.

you didn’t even notice right away. not until he said it again, this time quieter. slower. more certain.

‘i love you.’

your breath caught.

he didn’t rush to fill the silence. he didn’t take it back or explain it away. just watched you with that look. the one that made you feel like the world wasn’t spinning so fast. like maybe you could stop running and rest for a minute.

you didn’t say it back right away.

you blinked, heart thudding in your chest, and whispered, ‘why?’

he smiled, small, real, almost sad.

‘because you still show up, even when everything tries to tell you not to.’

your throat burned. your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie. your eyes stung.

and when you finally said it, i love you too, his shoulders dropped like he’d been holding that breath for weeks.

he didn’t kiss you. not right away.

he just pulled you closer. held you like you were something breakable and sacred at the same time.

like he knew you hadn’t been held like that in a long time.

after that, things got easier.

he called you more. waited outside the café when your shifts ran late. sent you dumb tiktoks and notes in your locker. sometimes he showed up at your place with dinner, stuff your mom liked, stuff your brother would actually eat.

he never made it a big deal.

never made you feel small about needing help.

never made it feel like charity.

just said, you’d do the same for me.

you fell for him a little more every time he said stuff like that.

he called you star girl sometimes. said the necklace made you look like you were born under something magic.

you rolled your eyes at him, but you never took it off.

not even once.

one night, after your shift, you both sat in his car in the parking lot. your feet were killing you, your voice was hoarse, and your eyes burned from staying open too long.

he reached over, took your hand.

‘come away with me this summer,’ he said.

you blinked. ‘what?’

‘somewhere quiet. no pressure. no uniforms. just you and me and maybe the sea.’

you laughed. ‘and how would we afford that?’

‘i’ll figure it out.’

‘you say that like it’s easy.’

he looked at you, serious now. steady.

‘i say it like i want you there. and when i want something, i make it happen.’

you looked away.

no one had ever made room for you like that before. not in plans. not in futures.

you squeezed his hand.

‘okay,’ you whispered. ‘just you and me and the sea.’

he smiled, wide. like you’d given him the world.

you started dreaming again.

tiny dreams.

less tired. more time. a quiet apartment with bookshelves. a degree with your name on it. dinner that wasn’t just toast or soup. a boy with brown eyes and soft hands waiting at the end of every day.

you let yourself believe you could have that.

you let yourself feel safe.

loved.

wanted.

just long enough for it to really hurt when it was taken away.

you noticed the change before it happened.

it started in the eyes. the way he looked at you.

less soft. less sure. less warm.

just for a moment, maybe two. but you felt it. deep, right between your ribs.

you brushed it off at first.

maybe he was tired. school, training, everything piling up. you told yourself you were being paranoid. that old voice in your head, the one that used to whisper they don’t stay, was lying again.

but then the texts got shorter. the calls went unanswered. the lunch spot behind the library sat cold and empty for three days in a row.

and then… the whispering started again.

it was different this time. sharper. louder. less subtle.

someone knew.

you caught it in the hallway.

‘heard she sold the necklace.’

‘seriously? damn. i knew she was in it for the money.’

‘poor thing’s gotta pay rent somehow, i guess.’

your blood ran cold.

you didn’t say anything. didn’t ask. didn’t confront.

you waited for him to bring it up.

but he didn’t.

not until the fourth night you waited for him after your shift, in the freezing cold, with your fingers numb and your chest tight and your backpack too heavy.

his car pulled up late.

he didn’t smile when he saw you.

you slid into the seat, heart already racing. he didn’t kiss your cheek. he didn’t say hey, star girl.

he just drove. quiet. stiff. hands clenched on the wheel.

you didn’t ask until you were two turns away from your apartment.

‘did something happen?’

he didn’t answer right away.

just exhaled. sharp. through his nose.

and then—

‘i heard you pawned it.’

your heart dropped.

‘what?’

‘the necklace.’

your voice cracked. ‘what are you talking about?’

‘camila said—’

‘camila?’ you cut in. ‘you’re listening to camila?’

his jaw tightened. ‘she showed me. a friend of hers works at the shop downtown. said you came in last week.’

your mouth went dry.

you opened it. closed it. opened it again.

because it was true. you had gone. but not to sell it. not to pawn it. you wanted to ask if they could hold it. just in case. if things got worse.

you didn’t do it. you couldn’t.

you still wore it. every day. tucked under your uniform. over your heart.

‘i didn’t sell it,’ you whispered.

he didn’t look at you.

‘you really think i’m using you?’ your voice trembled.

‘i don’t know what to think right now.’

‘you think i’m a gold digger?’

he winced at the word, but didn’t deny it.

you blinked, tears building fast, throat closing.

‘i helped pay for my mom’s medication last week,’ you said, voice barely a breath. ‘we ran out. the insurance wouldn’t cover the new one. she was in pain, héctor. i didn’t tell you because i didn’t wanna make you feel like you had to fix it. because i know you’re not a bank. you’re a person. the person i—’

your voice cracked.

‘—i loved.’

his face crumpled for half a second. but he turned away. again.

‘you should’ve told me,’ he said quietly.

you laughed, a bitter, wet sound.

‘and you should’ve believed me.’

silence.

you looked out the window. hand pressed flat over your chest, where the necklace sat, cold against your skin.

‘pull over,’ you whispered.

‘what?’

‘pull over.’

he did.

you stepped out. shut the door before he could say anything else. started walking.

and he let you go.

you didn’t cry when you got home.

you didn’t cry when your mom asked if you were okay, or when your brother offered you the last piece of bread from dinner.

you cried when you got to your room. when you closed the door. when you sat on your floor, in the dark, and finally unclasped the necklace and held it in your hand.

it glowed a little in the streetlight from your window.

a gift. a promise. a lie?

you didn’t know anymore.

you stopped answering his texts.

you couldn’t look at him in the halls. didn’t go behind the library. didn’t walk past his locker.

he tried. once.

‘can we talk?’

you shook your head. didn’t trust your voice.

he nodded. stepped back.

but he looked wrecked.

and you hated that part of you still wanted to run to him. still wanted him to take it back. to say he was sorry. to say i believe you.

but he didn’t.

not yet.

so you stayed quiet.

and tired.

and alone.

the first night he didn’t come to find you, you couldn’t breathe.

he didn’t text you. didn’t leave a voicemail. didn’t even try to look for you after school. you spent the whole night trying to tell yourself it wasn’t personal. maybe he needed time. maybe he was too ashamed. maybe he just didn’t know what to say.

but the silence echoed. louder than any apology. louder than anything he could’ve said.

you tried to distract yourself. books, homework, scrolling through your phone as if it could ease the ache gnawing at your chest. but nothing worked. nothing could fill the space he left behind.

you found yourself wishing you’d never said it. wishing you could take back those words, the ones that shatteredeverything. wishing that maybe, just maybe, if you had just stayed quiet, everything would’ve been okay.

but you couldn’t go back.

and in the silence, it became real. this wasn’t a misunderstanding. this wasn’t just a fight. this was something bigger. something that felt too heavy to carry.

the pain, his pain, stuck to your ribs. suffocated you. not from the words he said, but from the words he didn’t say.

he never even tried to fix it.

the next day, he didn’t try to find you. he didn’t come to your locker, didn’t sit beside you in class. he walked past you in the hallway, his gaze drifting somewhere else, anywhere but toward you.

it stung. the cold indifference. the way he looked like you weren’t even worth a glance anymore. like you were just another girl he used to care about.

he didn't apologize. he didn’t even see you.

he just, walked away.

and you hated yourself for still feeling something.

you tried to keep your distance. tried to push him out of your thoughts. out of your heart. but no matter how many times you told yourself you were better off, you couldn’t shake the image of his eyes. the way they softened when they looked at you. the way he’d whispered “i love you” like he’d meant it.

but that was before.

now, all you had were the remnants of the promises he’d made.

the necklace. the plans. the quiet moments. the love you thought you had.

and it hurt. oh god, it hurt more than you thought anything could.

you kept walking. kept working. kept pretending that it was okay, that you were okay. but every step felt like a betrayal of the love you had given him. the love you’d believed in.

that night, after another shift, you barely made it home before your mom noticed.

‘you look terrible,’ she said. ‘how’s your day?’

you didn’t answer right away. just slid off your jacket and put it on the chair. sat down at the kitchen table.

‘work’s fine,’ you said, your voice shaking despite the effort to sound normal. ‘it’s fine.’

but she wasn’t fooled.

she sat across from you, her eyes narrowing. ‘you know you can talk to me, right?’

you nodded. but the words were stuck in your throat. the words that needed to come out wouldn’t.

because they weren’t just about a fight.

it was about everything.

you stayed quiet. stared down at the table, where the unfinished bowl of soup from earlier sat cold.

‘does he love you, honey?’ she asked, her voice soft, gentle. like she already knew.

the question hit you like a punch to the gut. does he?

you thought you knew the answer.

you thought he did.

but now? it felt like that love had been a fragile illusion.

‘i don’t know,’ you whispered, voice breaking. ‘i really thought he did, mom. i really did.’

the next day, he still didn’t talk to you.

but she did.

camila. the girl who had spread the rumors. the one who’d whispered about you being a gold digger. the one who had poisoned his mind with lies.

she smiled at you like nothing had happened. like she hadn’t been the one to rip the love you had apart with her venomous words.

‘hey,’ she said sweetly, leaning against the lockers like she owned the space. ‘still hanging around him? thought you’d know by now. boys like him don’t stay with girls like you. they never do.’

you didn’t respond. couldn’t.

your stomach twisted, but you didn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing you break.

you could feel her eyes on you as you walked away, but you didn’t turn around. you didn’t let her win.

by the time the final bell rang, the weight of the day crushed down on you. the world felt like it was closing in. your chest ached with every breath, your heart heavy, suffocating in the grief you couldn’t shake.

when you got to your locker to grab your things, you found something unexpected.

a small envelope, tucked into the corner of your books.

your hands shook as you opened it. and there, inside, was a note.

it wasn’t from him.

it wasn’t even signed.

just words, scrawled quickly. desperate.

he's sorry. he doesn’t know what to do. he needs you.

you stared at it. your vision blurred, and the sting in your chest deepened.

he needs you. but where was he? where was his apology? where was the man who promised to never leave?

he hadn’t even fought for you.

and the truth cut deeper than anything else.

he was still the same. still too afraid to face the mess he’d made. too scared to fix what was broken between you.

he had let you walk away. had let her win. let her voice drown out his love for you.

you couldn’t stay anymore.

not for him. not for this.

you folded the note carefully and shoved it into your bag. you walked out of the school, the weight of everything pressing on your chest, and didn’t look back.

that night, after another endless shift, you found him waiting for you. he was standing at the end of the street, hands shoved deep in his pockets. eyes wide, searching.

you didn’t stop.

you couldn’t.

and when you walked past him, you heard his voice crack.

‘i love you.’

you didn’t turn around. didn’t say anything. didn’t stop walking.

because love wasn’t enough anymore.

he didn’t sleep that night. couldn’t.

his phone was on his desk, buzzing with texts from friends, but he didn’t care. nothing mattered except the silence between you two. that’s all he could hear now. nothing but the deafening silence, thick with everything he hadn’t said, everything he should’ve said.

he thought about all the moments he could’ve fixed it. all the times he could’ve walked up to you and held you, apologized, and told you the truth. but no. he let his pride get in the way. let his insecurities shape his decisions. and now he was paying for it.

he sat up in his bed, staring at the wall, replaying the fight. hearing your voice break when you said, “you think I’m a gold digger?” like a knife to his chest. he couldn’t shake it.

he thought about all the things you must’ve gone through. about your mom needing medicine. about the struggles you were fighting on your own. and he had been too selfish to see it. too blind to see that you weren’t asking for anything from him except love.

the doorbell rang early in the morning, dragging him from his thoughts. he wasn’t surprised when he saw his mom standing there, her arms crossed, her face full of concern.

‘you look like shit,’ she said bluntly, walking in without waiting for an invitation. ‘what happened?’

‘i fucked up,’ he muttered, running a hand through his messy hair. ‘big time.’

‘what’d you do?’ she asked, her voice softer now.

he shook his head, not sure he could explain it. not sure he could tell her that he’d messed up the best thing in his life, that he’d pushed away the only person who had ever really cared about him, really cared.

‘i hurt her,’ he said simply. ‘i hurt the one person who was real with me. and now she’s gone.’

his mom sighed and sat down beside him. ‘i don’t know what you want me to say, Hector. but you can’t change it unless you show her you care. unless you prove that you’re willing to fight for her. words are cheap, son. you’ve got to show her you mean it.’

he swallowed thickly. ‘but what if she doesn’t want to fight for me anymore? what if she’s just... done with me?’

‘then you’ll live with that,’ she said, looking him dead in the eye. ‘but you’ve got to at least try. she’s not a game you can just walk away from. she’s a person. and you’ve got to show her that you see her as that. if you love her, you’ll fight for her, no matter what.’

he nodded, but the weight of the reality set in. could he fix this? or had he already ruined everything beyond repair?

the next day at school was just as empty as the night before. he walked through the halls, trying to act like everything was fine. but every glance, every whisper, reminded him of the mess he’d made. his friends were quieter around him, his old group of popular kids acting like nothing had happened. but he knew better. they weren’t the ones he was fighting for.

he wasn’t even sure they cared about him anymore.

and then he saw you.

you weren’t looking at him. you never looked at him anymore.

you were with your friends, sitting by the lockers, talking quietly, like you didn’t even notice him across the hallway. and he couldn’t help but watch. watch how you smiled at them. how easy it seemed for you to laugh with them, like the last few weeks hadn’t existed. like you hadn’t been in love with him.

but he knew. He knew the truth, and it ate him alive.

his phone buzzed in his pocket. a text from his best friend: ‘yo, you good?’

he didn’t answer.

he couldn’t.

he knew if he answered, it’d be a lie. because he wasn’t good. he wasn’t even close to good.

he was broken. and it was all his fault.

you had to leave early that day. your mom had called, telling you she couldn’t pick up her prescription, and the pharmacy wouldn’t hold it any longer.

you didn’t want to be there. didn’t want to be anywhere near that school, near him. near the empty spaces where his words used to live.

the walk home was long. longer than it usually felt. with each step, you felt the weight of everything. everything that had happened, everything that was falling apart, and everything you had tried so hard to hold together.

and as you walked, you realized something: you missed him. you missed him so fucking much.

you hated yourself for it. because he hadn’t fought for you. he hadn’t cared enough to look for you. to hold you and make it right.

and yet, you were still here, still aching for him, still wondering if things could go back to the way they were before everything fell apart.

the whole situation made you sick. it made you feel small and foolish.

you needed to take a breath. you needed to move on. but every time you told yourself that, you could still feel him. feel his presence, his touch, his words, lingering like a ghost you couldn’t shake.

he didn’t wait long after you left.

he caught up with you on your way home. when you saw him in the distance, you stopped in your tracks, trying to pretend you didn’t feel the same pang in your chest as he got closer.

he was panting, out of breath, his eyes wild like he’d been searching for you for hours.

‘please... talk to me,’ he begged. ‘i can’t just let you walk away from me. not like this.’

you swallowed hard, eyes burning. ‘you already did. you walked away first.’

his hand reached for yours, but you pulled back, too hurt to let him in.

‘i didn’t mean it,’ he said, voice raw, desperate. ‘please. i’m so fucking sorry. you have no idea how much i regret listening to them. to camila... to everyone. i’ve been an idiot. i was scared, okay? i didn’t think someone like you would ever love someone like me. i thought—’

‘you thought what?’ you interrupted, voice trembling. ‘that i was just after your money? that i was just another girl who wanted a piece of your life?’

he winced at the accusation, guilt washing over his face.

‘i’m sorry. i didn’t think. i should’ve trusted you. but i was just so scared that i wasn’t good enough for you. i was scared of losing everything, and i let that fear take over. i let it make me do things i’m not proud of.’

you stood there, feeling like you were holding onto something that was slipping through your fingers.

‘you shouldn’t have been scared,’ you whispered. ‘you should’ve trusted me.’

he nodded, tears gathering in his eyes. ‘i know. i was stupid. but please... please don’t walk away from me. i love you. and i can’t lose you.’

for the first time in days, you met his eyes, and for the first time in days, you felt the faintest trace of something, maybe hope. maybe, just maybe, he still meant it.

but for now, it wasn’t enough.

he didn’t text you after that night.

you didn’t text him either.

and the world stayed still for a while.

it wasn’t silence the way it had been before, cold and final. this was different. quieter, softer. like the space between two people holding their breath, unsure if they’re falling apart or falling back together.

you were tired. tired in a way that sleep couldn’t fix. tired of hoping, of second-guessing, of giving and not knowing what you’d get back.

you still showed up to school. you still worked both jobs. still helped your mom with everything she needed. still carried the weight of a life no one at school ever saw.

and he noticed.

he saw the way your uniform wrinkled more now, like you didn’t have time to care. he saw the dark circles under your eyes. saw the way you zoned out in class, like your body was there but your mind wasn’t. he saw all of it. and it killed him.

because he knew that pain. knew he had a part in it.

and even worse, he knew you wouldn’t let him help anymore.

it was a week after he’d found you on that street when you saw each other again. not just passing glances or accidental run ins. this time, it was real.

you were sitting in the back of the library, curled into a hoodie three sizes too big, your head in your arms, notebook half-filled with messy equations and tired handwriting.

you didn’t hear him approach.

‘you’re gonna burn out,’ he said quietly.

you looked up, blinking slowly. ‘already have.’

he sat down across from you like it was the most natural thing in the world. no drama. no begging. just silence and the low hum of pages turning around you.

‘i’m not here to fix anything,’ he said after a beat. ‘i know i don’t have the right. but i just wanted to sit with you. if you’ll let me.’

you didn’t answer right away.

you should’ve said no. told him to leave. told him that he lost his chance.

but the truth was, you missed him. and you were tired of pretending that you didn’t.

so you shrugged.

‘it’s a free country.’

and he smiled. just barely. just enough to let hope breathe again.

you didn’t talk much that afternoon. he watched you scribble notes. you watched him flip through a textbook he wasn’t really reading. every so often, your knees would bump under the table, and neither of you pulled away.

it was stupid how natural it still felt. how easy it was to fall back into rhythm, even with all the cracks between you.

but neither of you brought up the fight.

not yet.

it was too soon. the wound was still fresh. and you both knew that healing would take more than one soft moment in the library.

still... it was a start.

later that week, he found you in the cafeteria, sitting alone, a half eaten sandwich beside your notebook. your head was resting against your hand, eyes barely open.

he didn’t say anything. just slid into the seat beside you and offered his water bottle.

you took it without a word, too tired to argue, too drained to push him away again.

‘you’re not sleeping,’ he said gently.

you gave him a look. ‘gee, wonder why.’

he looked down, ashamed. ‘i deserve that.’

‘you deserve worse,’ you muttered, but your voice lacked the venom it once had.

he nodded. ‘i know.’

a pause.

and then, softly, too soft:

‘i don’t expect you to forgive me. not yet. maybe not ever. but i just want to show up. for you. however you’ll let me.’

you stared at him for a long moment. longer than you meant to.

‘you can sit,’ you said finally, nodding at the chair across from you. ‘but that’s all. don’t expect anything more.’

he nodded. and he stayed.

and just like that, he became part of your orbit again.

not your boyfriend. not your enemy. just… there.

he started walking you to your classes, just a few steps behind, never pushing. he offered you his jacket when it rained. he kept his distance when you needed space. and sometimes, he didn’t say anything at all.

but he was there.

and that meant something.

not everything. not yet. but something.

because you were still healing.

and healing doesn’t happen in grand gestures or perfect apologies.

sometimes, it’s just someone showing up. again and again. until the silence doesn’t feel so heavy anymore.

he knew he had no right to ask for more.

he was lucky you even let him sit beside you. lucky you didn’t spit his name like poison anymore. lucky you didn’t flinch when his hand brushed yours by accident.

he was still tiptoeing around your pain. still watching you fold into yourself every time the world got too loud. still noticing the little things, how you wore the same three hoodies on rotation, how you never touched the food in the cafeteria anymore, how your phone always had a message draft open but never sent.

you were hanging on by threads. and he hated that he used to be one of them, and then chose to cut himself loose.

so he didn’t push. he didn’t beg. he stayed in the quiet with you.

and he noticed things again. like how you never showed up to first period anymore. how you’d started asking to borrow pens because you kept forgetting your own. how your eyes glazed over in the middle of conversations, like your brain just... shut off sometimes.

he asked around, lowkey. your teachers were frustrated. your friends were worried. the front office said you’d been absent a lot.

he didn’t ask why. he already knew.

he figured it out when he passed by the corner store one night, walking home after practice, and saw you inside, half asleep behind the counter, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, eyes barely open. it was past ten.

his heart sank.

he stood there outside the glass door for a while, just watching you ring up a woman’s groceries, nodding politely, smiling weakly. it wasn’t your real smile. it was your i don’t have the energy to exist smile. and he felt like shit for knowing it.

when he finally came in, the bell above the door jingled, and you didn’t even look up.

‘i’m clocking out soon,’ you mumbled, automatically, voice tired and soft.

‘not here to shop,’ he said gently.

your head jerked up like you’d been shocked. and your eyes met his. and you just blinked, like your brain was short-circuiting.

‘why are you here,’ you asked, voice flat.

‘i was walking home,’ he said. ‘and saw you.’

you didn’t answer. just turned back to the register, scanned a pack of gum for a teenager with headphones in.

‘do you always work this late?’ he asked quietly.

you didn’t look at him. didn’t need to.

‘someone has to pay the bills.’

he nodded slowly, like the guilt in his stomach hadn’t just quadrupled.

‘i didn’t know.’

‘you didn’t ask,’ you said simply.

and that hurt worse than if you’d yelled.

when your shift ended, you didn’t expect him to still be there. but he was, leaning against the wall near the exit, arms crossed, eyes soft.

‘you really don’t have to do this,’ you muttered, walking past him.

‘i know,’ he said, falling into step beside you. ‘but i want to.’

you sighed, too tired to argue. and so the two of you walked in silence. your backpack looked heavier than usual. maybe it was. maybe you were just too drained to hide it anymore.

he offered to carry it halfway through.

you said no.

but when your steps started to slow and you winced mid stride, he reached over and took it anyway.

you didn’t stop him.

the walk to your building was quiet, but not uncomfortable. just slow. heavy. like everything between you was still being rebuilt, brick by broken brick.

he paused at your doorstep, holding the bag out to you.

‘i meant it, you know,’ he said.

you looked up.

‘meant what.’

‘when i said i’d show up. no matter what.’

your fingers brushed his when you took the bag back. you didn’t pull away this time.

‘okay,’ you whispered.

just that.

but for him, it was enough to keep going.

because maybe this wasn’t the end. maybe you were still letting him in. inch by inch. breath by breath.

and if there was still space for him, no matter how small, he was gonna stay.

every time.

until you believed he meant it. until you believed you were worth it.

and maybe, just maybe, you’d let him love you again. this time without fear. without conditions. just love.

quiet, steady, and real.

you didn’t mean to fall asleep at school again.

you tried. really. but your eyes had started burning halfway through third period, and your head had gotten heavy, and the warmth of the classroom mixed with the low buzz of the teacher’s voice just… pulled you under. you didn’t even feel it happen.

you woke up to the principal’s voice.

he was standing over you, your name tight in his mouth, like he’d said it more than once. your classmates were staring. the room was too quiet. your face was warm with embarrassment, but your limbs were heavier than shame.

you mumbled an apology and tried to blink yourself back to life, but your head still felt like it was filled with fog. your teacher looked guilty. the principal looked frustrated. and you just felt small.

he asked you to come with him.

you didn’t say anything. you just stood.

you sat across from him in his office, hands in your lap, hoodie sleeves tugged down past your knuckles. you’d been here before. when your absences started stacking. when your grades slipped. when someone reported that you were always nodding off, always running late, always “not quite here.”

he didn’t yell. he wasn’t cruel. he just sighed.

‘this isn’t sustainable,’ he said gently. ‘you’re clearly overwhelmed. your teachers are worried. you’ve changed, and not in the way we like seeing.’

you nodded slowly, unable to argue. because it was true.

‘is everything okay at home?’ he asked.

you hesitated, then nodded again. even though the truth was, not really. but what could he do? what could anyone do?

‘i’m just tired,’ you whispered. ‘that’s all.’

his frown deepened.

you left with a warning and a pass to go lie down in the nurse’s office. you didn’t go. you just sat on the steps outside the building, elbows on your knees, forehead resting on your arms.

you didn’t cry.

not because it didn’t hurt.

but because you didn’t even have the energy to.

hector found you like that.

he was supposed to be at practice. he left early. said he had a stomach ache. he didn’t. he just had a feeling. a gut-wrenching, aching sort of feeling that he needed to find you.

he spotted you from across the quad, folded up into yourself, hair falling forward, body still.

his chest cracked open.

he crossed the space between you like it was instinct. like his legs moved before his brain could catch up.

he sat beside you without asking.

you didn’t look up.

‘i heard,’ he said softly. ‘what happened.’

your voice was barely there. ‘did the whole school?’

‘doesn’t matter.’

you exhaled shakily, but didn’t speak.

‘you wanna talk about it?’

you shook your head.

so he didn’t push.

you sat like that for a while, him beside you, you folded in two, the sky slowly shifting above.

then, out of nowhere, you whispered, ‘i’m trying.’

he turned to you.

‘i know.’

‘i’m trying so hard, hector. and i just… i’m so tired of trying. and still getting nowhere.’

his throat tightened. ‘i see you. i see all of it.’

‘no you don’t,’ you said, finally looking at him, eyes rimmed red. ‘no one does. they all think i’m lazy, or ungrateful, or not trying hard enough. but i’m doing everything. i’m keeping my mom alive, and i’m paying rent, and i’m working every shift they give me, and i’m still failing everything and—’

your voice cracked.

‘—and i don’t know what else to do.’

he didn’t hesitate. he pulled you into him, arms wrapping around you like he’d wanted to since the first moment he messed up.

and you didn’t fight it.

you just sank into him, into the warmth of him, into the steady heartbeat under his hoodie. and for the first time in weeks, you let yourself fall.

‘i’m so sorry,’ he whispered into your hair. ‘for every second you had to feel alone.’

you didn’t say anything.

but your fingers curled into the fabric of his sleeve like you didn’t want to let go.

he didn’t leave your side after that.

not for a second.

he helped you with your homework that night. sat beside you on the floor of your living room while your mom rested in the next room. he watched you write your essays, helped quiz you for math, brought you coffee even though you told him not to.

he didn’t care.

he was there.

he texted you in the morning to make sure you woke up. met you outside your first class with breakfast in a paper bag. walked you to work after school. waited outside until your shift ended.

you kept telling him you didn’t need saving.

he kept telling you he wasn’t trying to save you. he just wanted to love you right this time.

and little by little, piece by piece, you started to believe him.

because love doesn’t always come in grand gestures or perfect words.

sometimes it shows up late, with shaking hands and tired hearts.

sometimes it’s soft and quiet and steady.

sometimes, it’s him, carrying your backpack without asking, walking you home in the rain, whispering that he’s proud of you when you finish your homework even though your eyes won’t stay open.

sometimes, love is just showing up.

and this time, he was here to stay.

[cafelattaes]

beat you at your own game | hrj

summary: y/n has a crush on renjun, who's not that great with people. despite his standoffish nature, she makes an effort to be friendly. but things take a twist when she starts to ignore him.

pairing: renjun x fem!reader

genre: college au, fluff, angst

word count: 3.5k

huang renjun, how exactly would you describe him? well, for starters, he can be a bit cranky. he's all about having his own space, not a fan of dragging things out, and gets things done in a flash. he’s also straightforward and not afraid to speak his mind. people have mixed feelings about him because of it. but oddly enough, it only adds to his charm, making people naturally drawn to him, much to his 'i'd-rather-not' demeanor.

needless to say, you just had to develop a crush on someone who’s the total opposite of you. you’re a people-pleaser; you’d much rather say things that would please others than express your genuine thoughts. confrontations make you uncomfortable, and you lean towards making excuses for those who hurt you on purpose. you also always try to avoid conflicts as much as you can and resort to suffering in silence instead. you're trying to change these aspects of yourself, but since you grew up having these traits, breaking free can be a bit hard. still, you're working on it.

you never intended to let renjun know about your feelings, but your friends were determined to embarrass you whenever he was around, constantly teasing you. it didn't help that despite not being close to renjun and his group, some of them were friends with your close friends, so they eventually joined in poking fun at your crush. one day, you decided to dismiss their incessant teasing and initiated a friendly conversation with renjun. at first, he responded out of courtesy. you weren't stupid though; you could tell that renjun was clearly fed up with his friends and wanted nothing to do with their antics.

he began to dislike being associated with you, offering only short responses and not acknowledging your presence more than necessary. you didn’t pay it much mind, since getting close to him wasn't your original goal. your aim was to ease the awkwardness and shed the embarrassment that accompanied your interactions. you happened to share some classes with renjun, coincidentally, those were the ones where both your friends weren't around. sitting next to him became a default habit, as he was the only familiar face in those particular classes.

one morning, you found yourself running late for your 8am class, prompting you to dash before your professor arrived. you accidentally collided with renjun, who happened to be holding an iced coffee. to your horror, more than half of the drink ended up spilling onto his shirt.

“oh my god, renjun, i’m so sorry!” you looked at him in fear, and it took everything in him to remain calm.

“why are you running around a busy hallway?”

“i’m really, really sorry. i’m late for my first class and i didn’t think i’d bump into anyone.” renjun let out an annoyed sigh.

“whatever.”

“wait!” you started rummaging through your bag to bring out some alcohol and wipes. “do you need them?”

“no, thank you.” he tried to walk past you, but you caught his arm.

“what about the stain?”

“i have a spare shirt. can you let me go now? i thought you said you were late.”

“shoot, you’re right. i’m sorry again, i promise i’ll make it up to you!” you shouted as you ran.

“please don’t,” he grumbled.

later on, you found renjun at the library working on your assignments. you sat quietly next to him and began doing your own. he didn’t spare you a look and just carried on with his work. you spent a few hours completing them, and both of you got it done at the same time. as you got up to gather your things, you spoke to the boy beside you.

“renjun, do you have anything to do after this?”

“no.”

“there’s this new diner that just opened up nearby. do you want to check it out? my friends have prior commitments, and i wanted to make it up to you for spilling your coffee earlier.” you already knew he was going to refuse, but it wouldn’t hurt to still ask.

“sorry, i’ll have to pass. i need to get home quickly.” you nodded in understanding and smiled at him.

“no biggie. take care on your way home!”

“thanks,” he simply said before leaving.

“so, what's the deal with you and y/n?" jaemin asked in a teasing tone. "any progress? are you going out already?” renjun scowled.

“shut up. i want her to back off, honestly.”

“you want everyone to back off.” jaemin pointed out.

“yeah, but most especially y/n.”

jaemin's eyebrows knitted together. “uh, why do you sound so annoyed with her?”

“because she's annoying. i turned her down multiple times, but she can’t take a hint. nothing’s worse than someone who forces themselves on others.”

“relax, man. aren't you being a bit harsh? you’ll see that she’s nice if you give her a chance.”

“what exactly is nice about her being fixated on me? this is mostly your fault, you know. if you guys weren’t such busybodies, she wouldn’t be so pushy.”

you quietly slipped away, making sure they hadn't noticed you. a single tear rolled down your cheek before you could stop it. it wasn't every day you heard someone openly express their dislike for you, and coming from the person you were supposed to like, it stung even more. you never meant to force yourself into renjun's space or push for a connection that clearly wasn't there. maybe it was time to face reality and let go of your feelings for him. it would be better for both of you in the long run to avoid any more awkward moments and misunderstandings.

renjun had grown accustomed to spotting you in your regular seat during your shared class. however, he was met with surprise when he noticed you had moved to a vacant seat considerably distant from your usual spot next to him. he was a bit confused at first, but chose not to dwell on it. he also noted that you didn't notice his entrance into the room, as you were engrossed in some task.

you continued to maintain a distance in your next classes with renjun. he was uncertain if you were oblivious to his presence or deliberately avoiding acknowledgement, given the lack of glances his way. he found it a bit strange that you refrained from initiating any form of interaction, but he didn’t mind. he thought he felt better. at least, for now.

however, renjun was not expecting your odd behavior to persist. it brought another surprise when you ignored him again the following day. even when your eyes accidentally locked for a second, you quickly averted your gaze. renjun wasn’t sure if you really didn’t see him or were just pretending not to. you weren’t wearing your glasses, and your eyesight wasn't the best. but even if you did ignore him on purpose, he didn’t mind… or did he?

it’s been a while since you stopped talking to renjun. at first, he thought he felt a sense of relief, thinking it gave him some space. but after a week, he was confused about why you suddenly stopped. the following week, he could feel his stomach churning seeing you leave class, secretly hoping you’d look back. then, the week after that, he felt a wave of anger because there were more than a few times he bumped into you purposely to get you to talk to him, but you did not utter any word other than a quiet apology. now, nearly a month later, he started to feel dejected because no matter what he did, you always acted like he wasn't even there. renjun wasn’t sure what he did wrong to make you so determined in avoiding him completely.

“renjun’s going through 5 stages of grief,” jaemin said with a smirk.

“what are you talking about?” haechan looked at him in confusion.

“y/n’s been ignoring him for a month.”

“WHAT? WHY?” jaemin shrugged.

“no idea. we’re not close enough for me to ask.”

“what about jeno?”

“he doesn’t want to pry.”

“maybe she got tired of renjun’s grumpy attitude,” chenle piped up.

“could be,” jaemin turned to the boy in question. “look at him, he’s miserable.”

“shut up,” renjun muttered in discontent.

“stop provoking him. it’s his first heartbreak,” chenle taunted, making renjun roll his eyes at their ridiculousness.

“you know you could just talk to her right? ask what’s going on?”

“if she wanted to talk, she would’ve reached out to me by now,” renjun said flatly. his friends could only shake their heads in disapproval.

“don’t be stupid.”

“and i’m begging all of you to mind your own business.”

“if you keep this up, you’ll end up in a situation you can’t fix.”

haechan nodded vigorously. “yeah, don't say we didn't warn you!”

you kept quiet about what you had overheard from renjun in the last month, choosing not to share the details with your friends. you figured they would eventually notice renjun's absence from your life, and when they finally asked you about it, you dismissed their probing questions. you casually informed them that your crush on him had simply faded after getting to know him better. you were quite good at making believable lies, they were convinced by it and dropped the topic quickly.

unexpectedly, renjun sought you out in an empty classroom to confront you about your sudden disconnection. you looked like a deer caught in headlights when you realized who had just entered, walking in long and quick strides to your direction. in your mind, you were already conjuring up excuses to explain yourself.

“why are you ignoring me?” his question broke the silence, leaving you with no room to escape.

so much for attempting to evade this confrontation.

you took a moment to gather your thoughts, unsure how to respond. you tried to conceal your distress as renjun stared down at you while waiting for you to talk. it seemed like he was determined to stand his ground, expecting you to tell him the truth. with a frustrated sigh, you finally spoke up.

“i’m just staying out of your way,” you said after a moment of silence.

“yeah, so why?” his voice was demanding, it ticked you off a little.

you questioned why you were initially afraid of renjun confronting you and why you bothered coming up with excuses. after all, it wasn't his place to interrogate you when you were simply doing what he seemed to want from the start.

“i don’t know why you’re asking. isn’t that what you want? you should be happy.” you began to gather your things so you can leave, but you heard him speak again.

“i never told you to avoid me. if you have a problem with me, just say it.”

“you're right, you never told me directly. you just told other people.”

“what are you talking about?” you turned to face him.

“renjun, i don’t get you. you push me away, you're openly annoyed by me, and you tell everyone you want me gone. now that i’m doing exactly that, you’re still upset with me? what’s your problem?”

renjun ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident. “stop speaking in riddles and just tell me what's going on."

“fine. last month, i was passing by the library and i overheard you talking to your friends. you were complaining about how i couldn't take a hint and how you wanted me to leave you alone.” renjun looked a bit puzzled at first. when you were about to walk away, his eyes widened in realization.

“no, y/n, i’m so sorry. i didn't really mean what i-“ you shook your head lightly.

“don’t be. you were completely right, and i’m not even angry about it. i just don’t want to do anything with you anymore.”

“please, listen," renjun said, his voice urgent. "i blurted out those things in the heat of the moment. i regret it, especially now that i know you heard what i said… it's just- it’s not how i really feel about you."

“it’s okay, renjun. i didn’t tell you all of this to get an apology. i’m only telling you why i’m doing what i’m doing, like you asked, and to make it clear that i’m done.” as you turned to leave, renjun stepped in front of you, blocking your path.

“hear me out, alright? i was being overly sensitive back then. my friends were pushing my buttons, and i didn't know how to handle it so i lashed out. i treated you unfairly and you didn’t deserve any of that. a month without you made me realize a few things. i had to confront what i really want and face some truths i'd been avoiding."

he paused, studying your face before continuing. “i miss spending time with you, y/n. and... well, i realized i've got feelings for you, more than i thought. it never crossed my mind that you'd actually distance yourself and it hit me hard. the idea of losing you if you choose to walk away made me lose my mind.”

your heart raced as he spoke, and his confession stirred up a mix of emotions. your confusion lingered, but you decided to reason through it, pushing aside the sincerity in his eyes as you gave him a skeptical look.

“are you… getting your feelings confused with something else? did you consider that maybe your mind is playing tricks on you and making you think you like me because you're used to others chasing after you?”

renjun winced, trying to ignore the implied criticism. it was a struggle for him to open up about his feelings, only for the girl he liked to question it and suggest that he couldn't understand his own emotions.

“i wouldn't be here asking why you've been avoiding me and opening up like this if i hadn't thought it through." he said quietly. "it might be hard to believe right now, but if you give me a chance, i can prove it to you."

“i don’t think this is a good idea,” you said, watching his face fall. he felt lost, trying to find the right words to convince you. taking a deep breath, he gently placed his hands on your shoulders, meeting your eyes.

“please, just give me a chance to make things right. i feel like i've wasted so much time.” the desperation in his voice was clear. still skeptical, you removed his hands as they fell down to your arms.

“i’ll think about it,” you said, turning to walk away, leaving a lingering sense of uncertainty in the air.

renjun’s friends had been observing him for a few days, and he’s become unusually quiet. they contemplated asking him what’s wrong, but they wanted to give him some space. it was glaringly obvious that something was bothering him, and he didn’t want to talk about it. jeno couldn't help but express his concern.

"renjun, you've been awfully quiet lately. everything alright?"

"yeah, i'm fine. just dealing with some stuff." jeno and jaemin exchanged knowing glances.

"we're here whenever you're ready to talk." jaemin assured, patting his back.

he had been feeling down since your conversation days ago. your words had been weighing on his mind and creating an internal turmoil. the fact that you continued to ignored him in all your classes didn't offer much comfort. renjun couldn't help but cast a longing look in your direction whenever he saw you. he wondered if there was a way to make things right, or if he had to live with the consequences of his past actions.

meanwhile, his confession has been replaying in your mind. the idea of him reciprocating your feelings caught you off guard; it was something you never saw coming. after some contemplation, it became apparent to you that renjun really felt apologetic and was filled with remorse. could it be that he genuinely likes you? even if that was the case, you're still unsure whether it's the right move to start something with him.

maybe i should stop overthinking this.

you took a deep breath before releasing a loud sigh, unaware that the boy who had been occupying your thoughts, stood right in front of you.

“y/n,” you looked up to see renjun. you waited for him to speak, but it seemed like he was having a mental struggle, debating whether to say what was on his mind. he mustered up the courage to ask if you were willing to give him a chance. staring at him with an unreadable expression, he didn't know how to interpret the situation. was it a bad time to talk?

“why?” you finally asked. although renjun was hesitant, he answered.

“i was wondering if you already thought about what i said? i mean… i can wait if you need more time.”

“if i say no, are you going to leave me alone?” your heart sank a little when his face fell.

he took a moment before responding. his voice barely above a whisper. “if that’s what you want... i guess i would have to."

“renjun,” you said, causing him to look up.

“yeah?”

“let’s give it a try.” his expression became hopeful.

“really?”

“yes," you nodded. "you said you liked me back, i'm choosing to believe that for now. just... don't let me down."

“i won’t," he promised, a smile slowly spreading across his face.

before you could react, renjun pulled you into a warm embrace. you found yourself returning the hug, allowing yourself to relax in his arms.

"thank you for giving me a chance," he murmured, his words muffled against your hair but filled with sincerity.

“i’m happy for them, really," giselle said, eyeing you and renjun across the room. "but watching those two make heart eyes at each other is sickening."

chenle snorted. "this is nothing. you should see renjun at the dorm."

the group's attention snapped to him. "oh?" karina prompted.

“let's just say personal space is not in his vocabulary anymore."

“huh… i would've expected y/n to be the clingy one."

“yeah, no. but i guess it makes sense, considering how he acted before."

giselle and karina exchanged amused glances, intrigued by the dynamic between you and renjun.

"amazing what a change of heart can do," jaemin mused.

karina nodded, a hint of approval in her voice. "guess he learned his lesson."

the group watched you and renjun for a moment longer, a mix of amusement and fondness in their expressions. it was clear that renjun had undergone a significant change in the way he acts toward you, transforming his initial aloofness to this new, affectionate version of himself.

“i have the dorm to myself this weekend.” renjun said, a hint of mischief in his eyes.

you raised an eyebrow. “and what exactly are you suggesting?”

“you know…” he trailed off, his look suggestive.

“i’m studying for finals," you replied flatly.

“exactly. i find myself more productive when i’m with you.”

“right. because we get so much done when we study together."

“don't you want my hugs and kisses?” he pouted.

“not when i’m trying to pass my classes.”

“i'll behave, i promise.”

“you always say that. i don’t believe you anymore.” renjun's pout deepened. cute.

“maybe i wouldn't be so clingy if you paid more attention to me. you’re always busy, you don’t have time for your boyfriend.”

“renjun, unlike you, i have to put in extra effort to get good grades. i’m not as smart as you are.”

“excuses.” he mumbled.

you rolled your eyes, but couldn't help smiling. “you’re so adorable,” you cooed, giving him a quick peck. “i never imagined you to be the clingy type.”

“baby, there's a lot of things you don’t know about me.” he said, his voice lowering.

“oh? like what?”

he leaned in close. “like how great i am with my hands."

your eyebrows shot up. "is that so?"

“yeah. apparently, i give one heck of a shoulder massage,” he finished with a grin.

you burst out laughing at his endearing silliness. the sound of your laughter made renjun pause. he watched you, a soft smile spreading across his face. suddenly, he felt an overwhelming surge of happiness. taking your hand gently in his, he pressed a kiss to your fingertips, capturing your attention and prompting you to look at him.

"you make me feel the happiest," he said softly. "i love you."

your heart skipped a beat, the euphoria of hearing those three words from him for the first time washing over you. it hit you then - this unexpected journey with renjun had led you somewhere you never imagined. he, too, held the key to your happiness.

“i love you too," you whispered back.

you closed the distance between you two and your lips met his. as he wrapped an arm around your waist, you let yourself fall to his embrace, deepening the kiss.

renjun was met with the realization that while you fell for him first, he descended later, but with an intensity that surpassed a thousand falls.

[gaywineauntsstuff]

Listen the ‘Bruce brought dick in to stop him killing Zucco” is fun

You know what’s more fun

The fact that Dick Grayson is the fundamental opposite of Jokers one bad day

Because he was 9 and insane

Jokers “all it takes is one bad day” meet Dick Grayson also terminally insane but in the opposite direction.

(“I had a bad day not a fan, it’s illegal now”

“Chum murder is already illegal”

“Yeah in the eyes of the law, but who follows that! I’ve decided it’s illegal for people to have bad days”

“You have to follow laws Dick. You have to”

“Says the man getting shot at by the cops bc he dresses as a giant bat monster and fights crime using ancient martial arts”

“Hnnng”

“Anyway it’s illegal now, people suffering I have decided and I’m adorable so what I say goes!”

Bruce pinching bridge of nose “Dick you can’t save everyone and change every person you meets life”

“How about! No!”

“Di-“

“Great talk Bruce! Bye bye now!”)

Like when I say Dick Grayson was the crazy Robin I don’t mean he was aggressive or cruel

No I mean this man would not be out of place in Lewis Carol’s Alice in wonderland.

He’d see all the insane shit in Gotham and go ‘that makes perfect sense’ and continue on his merry way

Like he’s the type of kid who when he’s mad at Bruce for sidelining him on a fight against the joker (and making him fight Harley)

Will pull out a chessboard, grab Harley Quinn and go “I win, you get arkhamed you win we fight”

“Kid-“

“I have a gymnastics competition coming up and I wanna show up this douche in my class- you are not breaking my legs before then. Sit down. Play chess”

“Shit kid why didncha say so”

Why does he wanna fight the Joker who will objectively injure him far more throughly

“Well it’s simple math, I grew up in a circus, I like clowns, he is the biggest disgrace to clownery I’ve ever seen bet he didn’t even go to clown college. Doesn’t even have any iconic makeup, he just has toxic waste skin?? Like not even eye makeup or a red nose?? If you wanna do thematic crime do it right? Anyway it’s my legal obligation to try at any given moment to reck the embarrassment to all things goofy and funs shit.”

—————

Bruce looking for his 9 year old ward who was kidnapped as Robin

Dick hanging upside down on semi sentient vine gesturing wildly at poison Ivy who is nodding empathically

“And the water here is not normal!! Like how do you grow plants! I used to have to take care of plants all the time and now if I water them they rot! Like right in front of me!!? And I feel so bad but?? It’s water?? Please drink it?? Mr plant”

“Oh yeah it’s because of all the toxic ace chemicals in the water, you have to triple filter it. Honestly Robin I’m disappointed, your plants should be drinking the same water as you”

“ they do tho!”

“You…drink… Gotham tap water? Batman lets you drink Gotham tap water?”

“Well no… he always tells me to use the filter but I like the tap water!! Sometimes it’s fun colors and spicy”

“oh… oh that explains so much about you..”

“No he just came like that.”

“Oh HI B I was asking miss Dr.ivy why my plants keep dying”

“Robin don’t consort with villains”

“Miss Dr. Ivy you’re a doctor right”

Poison Ivy who is violently amused “PHD not MD but yeah I am”

“So you’re smart”

“Yeasss”

“Cool!…. What does consort mean?”

————-

Annoys the riddler by going with the most out of pocket technically true answer

Think “a sparrow with a shotgun”

———-

Makes the Jokers goons laugh, louder than the joker. Even while under threats of death by sufficiently wacky murder plot

———-

[theprettynosferatu]

CONTENT WARNING. NO, FOR REAL, READ THIS FIRST.

This story contains strong themes and graphic non-consensual sex. If you feel they might affect you adversely, skip this one.

Andrea is being tormented in college by a bigoted popular girl. Her daddy has always helped her... maybe he can help her get some justice...

CW: Incest, non-con, SA, orientation play (F-straight to bi)

I - No Expiration Date

She felt ridiculous. She probably looked ridiculous too, sitting against the wall, grabbing her knees, almost shaking, all in the middle of the hallway. Most made a point to not look at her, rushing to their classes, their dorms or wherever the hell they needed to be with such haste. Well, Andrea knew they only rushed because of her, to give themselves a plausible excuse to avoid doing the right thing and checking up on the poor, weird girl hyperventilating on the ground.

The worst part was that Andrea knew she shouldn’t let it get to her. If anything, it was Kate that should be ashamed of herself, not Andrea- fuck, to say such things in these days was almost quaint in its ignorance, and if Andrea chose to make a stink, grounds for expulsion. Would it be considered a hate crime? Maybe. But going up to the dean or whoever like a poor little victim felt so… humiliating. Perhaps more so than Kate’s constant, whispered words and stories. And some idiots actually listened to her! 

Andrea supposed that was the big perk of having a rich, connected daddy. Even the most moronic and bigoted statements found an audience eager to please, if only for the unspoken promise of future gifts, recommendations, networking opportunities. Shit, even the dean might sweep the whole thing under the rug just to please her family. Andrea could feel the rage building up inside her chest, making her almost sick. Part of it was the stench of injustice that surrounded the whole deal. But most of her anger was directed at herself. It wasn’t as if any of this was new to her: she had come out in highschool. Every insult and every joke and every slur had been thrown at her a thousand times over already. 

But… college was supposed to be different. Even the teachers that saw the abuse in her younger years had told her so. It will get better. You’ll get out of here, and in college all this will be a distant memory. That hope had kept her going even as everyone forgot her name and simply called her “The Dyke” her entire senior year. But those were kids. Kate was a fucking adult. And yet, bigotry seemed to have no expiration date.

Fuck. The bullying wasn’t even fucking accurate! Andrea had been openly bi for years, but apparently the nuances of sexual orientation were irrelevant when it came to making one person the butt of every facile joke, a stepping stone to get some sweet, addicting attention. And Kate loved nothing more than attention. Good, bad, who cared? As long as the spotlight was on her, whatever hole she had in what she called a soul was temporarily filled. Fucking go to therapy, you cunt! Did daddy not hug you enough? Used dollars as a substitute for affection? Boo-hoo. It didn’t justify a goddamn thing.  

Andrea took a deep breath and managed to get up. Her Social Psych lecture was about to start, and Andrea knew she would skip it, even if she tried to fool herself for a moment, to force her legs to walk towards the classroom. Step by step, she headed for her dorm room. Fuck. Another absence. Kate was even fucking up her academic life. But what could Andrea do? Go to the professor and explain that, sorry, I couldn’t make it because the rich girl made fun of me?

She threw herself on the bed with punishing force. A miniature form of self-harm, she figured. Sometimes she hated majoring in psychology: that little voice that analyzed her actions almost made her feel like she was performing her suffering, rather than feeling it fully. And that distancing might also be a defense mechanism. Well, shit. How does one turn their brain off?

Andrea felt a pang in her chest, a familiar longing for home. Sure, it wasn’t a perfect place and money was always tight. Sure, her mother had vanished when she was barely one year old. Sure, the old place was in dire need of repairs and an update. But it was home. Of course, she knew she was lying to herself by omission. She was trying not to think of the one person that made it a home, and inevitably, in trying to suppress the idea, it came to her twice as strong. Daddy. Her father was her home, and it made her feel childish, helpless, as if she was ten and running to him whenever things went poorly. That her mind still went to him filled her with shame.

Oh, bullshit. You know damn well why you don’t want to think about him.

She couldn’t tell when it had happened, exactly. It had been something slow, growing inside her, indirectly pushing her subconscious. If she looked back at her dating history, a pattern emerged, one hidden at the time but blindingly obvious in retrospect: similar to dad, similar to dad… and then, when an errant comment by a friend (“All I’m saying is, like, for an old guy… you’re dad is kinda hot”) opened her eyes, she swerved in an attempt to escape her feelings. Different from dad, different from dad… The problem with “different from dad” was, of course, that those guys were, well, different from her dad. 

The summer before college had been the worst. She did her best to be home as little as possible.

Before she knew it, twin emotions were boiling over inside her. The first made her feel sick to her stomach, made her muscles tense up, made her breathing shallow and quick, as if she was about to leap and bite some animal’s neck. It was rage, pure and shining, clad with the garment of a righteous need for justice. It isn’t fair. It isn’t fucking fair. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. That fucking bitch. She needs to suffer. She needs to be punished. She needs to fucking learn some humility. And at the same time, the second feeling snuck up on her, traveling in the shadow of the first, mingling with it until they became one, like snakes mating. Dad. She needs to suffer, dad. Make her suffer for me. Please. Please, daddy. Do this for me and I’ll… 

Andrea snapped back to reality, horrified. She moved her hand from between her legs, not even knowing when she had started playing with herself. Fuck, she was soaked. Shame almost brought her to tears, until Kate’s sneering face popped back in her mind. She had endured enough for one day. She had earned a little bit of fantasy. Just that. It wasn’t as if she’d ever do anything about… well, anything. But she could imagine, couldn’t she? She wasn’t that much of a coward- she could dare to imagine Kate, and dad, and… 

Fuck it. Who cared if it was wrong. She needed release.

Andrea let her hand go back between her legs.

II - The Call

Mike found himself staring at his phone. His morning coffee had gotten cold, but he took a sip anyway, almost as an automatic action. He couldn’t stop playing the conversation back in his head over and over.

“Dad, I’m on my way. I need your help. I… I’ll explain…”

“Andrea, are you okay? What happened?”

“I… I’ll be there in about an hour. I kinda… I don’t want to talk over the phone. Dad, I… nevermind. We’ll talk when I get there.”

And that had been it. No clues, no hint, nothing to guide him except the tone in his daughter’s voice. She was scared, and she was suffering, and that was all that he needed to know. Whatever it was that was harming her girl, he’d move Heaven and Earth to make it better. That much he knew, deep in his heart. Still, he couldn’t stop picturing the worst possible scenarios.

He tried to remain calm. Sexual assault on college campuses is… 

Mike pushed the thought away.  

Restrictions on reproductive rights have…

Snippets of news stories slapped him. The world could be a terrifying place for a young woman. But that was why they had chosen a college close to home. So Andrea could always come to him if she needed help. And she clearly needed help. Stay focused, old man. She needs you to be strong. Don’t let her see you panic. 

He needed to be strong for her. That was all he always wanted to be, more than anything: a rock, a place of stability, a North Star for the one thing that mattered in his life. They had faced the world together. They had survived poverty together. They had endured the pain of an absent mother and wife together. They had managed a retrograde high school that tormented Andrea together. She had saved his life as much as he had fostered hers. Without his girl, Mike wasn’t sure where he would be- perhaps underground. She had been the reason to dig deep, to find strength, to endure, always. 

Don’t let her see you panic.

Don’t let her see you looking at her.

He shook the intrusive thought off. Andrea needed him, not his fucked up neuroses, not the secret shame the last months of living together had awakened in him.

One hour stretched into a year, and Mike practically leaped out the door as soon as he heard the car pulling over. The first thing he noticed was his daughter’s panicked face, and that alone was enough to make his heart feel like it was about to burst out of his chest. The second thing he noticed was the other girl, passed out in the passenger’s seat. Andrea rushed into his arms, and he held her tight, trying to will some degree of peace into her mind. First things first.

“Are you okay?”, he asked.

“Yes, I’m… I’m fine.”, Andrea sobbed.

Good. Now to do what he did best: fix things.

“Ok, so, your friend…”

“She’s not my friend.”

“What did she take? Did you take anything? Look, I’m not… I won’t get mad, I just need to know what she may have taken… is it just booze? No, couldn’t be… Benzos? Or… Christ, I don’t know what you guys take these days in college…”

“Dad! She didn’t take anything!”

“Are you sure? Maybe she went into some bathroom and did something… okay. First things. We need to call an ambulance…”

“Dad, please! Listen to me! I’ll explain everything. But we need to get her inside before anyone sees-”

“Andrea, this girl is passed out! She needs medical attention! Who knows what-”

“I know what she took because I gave it to her, okay? She’s just asleep! And she should be asleep for… maybe another couple of hours. Daddy, please… I swear I’ll explain. Just help me get her into the house, okay?”

Mike felt dumbfounded. The idea that his Andrea had roofied some other girl was so distant from his image of her, from the girl he had raised, that the contradiction felt impossible to resolve. It was a paralyzing feeling, one he couldn’t entirely put into words. All he knew was he didnt like it one bit. He was a man of action. He needed to do things, more than ponder feelings. And the thing to do, if only to escape that horrid sensation, was to get the poor girl out of the car.

They dragged Kate into the house, and laid her down on Andrea’s bed- a task that, Mike noticed, his daughter undertook with less care than he would have liked. Back in the living room, he looked at his daughter and put on his best stern face. Stern was good. It hid other ideas that came into his mind when he looked directly at Andrea.

“Explain.”

Andrea broke down in tears.

“Daddy, that girl… Kate.. she’s… she’s making my life Hell! She tortures me every day, makes fun of me, spreads rumors about me… people think… I don’t even know what they think about me anymore. So I can’t make any friends. Just like high school. It’s the same damn thing! And they all said… you said college would be different! But it’s not! Maybe it’s my fault. Maybe I’m just… I don’t know. Broken. Maybe people can smell I’m weird, or weak, or… and they know they can abuse me and mock me and… It’s not fair! And I didn’t know what to do, I wasn’t thinking straight… I just put a couple of pills in her tea, and… I freaked out. I needed to feel safe, and I feel safe here… with you.”

Mike took it all in. He had to admit the sight of his precious daughter in such despair was enough to pierce any ideas of being tough he might have. And yes, it wasn’t fair. The world wasn’t fair at all. Andrea was beautiful, smart, creative… but there would always be those people who couldn’t understand someone being different, loving who they loved, being their authentic self. He got the anger. He got the frustration. He hated that Andrea had been driven to this point. But there was a big thing to address.

“Honey… I know… but you can’t just… just… kidnap someone!”

Andrea couldn’t help herself. She ran into her father’s arms, and hugged him tight.

“Daddy… I didn’t know what to do. I…”

She went silent. Mike couldn’t find the words to console her, to lecture her, to say anything at all. All he could do was feel the warmth of her body pressed against him, intuit her soft curves, take in the smell of her shampoo, her skin. It was intoxicating, and for once he let himself feel… whatever it was he was feeling. He let himself enjoy the moment, and even the sleeping girl in the bedroom seemed to fade away from his consciousness. They simply lingered, holding each other, taking it all in.

Such a moment couldn’t last. It shouldn’t last. Mike forced himself to speak, to say… whatever he could muster.

“What… I don’t know what you expect me to do…”

He felt Andrea’s hands on his back holding him tighter. He felt her warm breath on his ear, sending shivers down his spine as she whispered before the words even registered in his brain.

“Daddy… please… fuck her for me. Fucking rape the cunt… show her her place. Daddy… break her with your cock. For me.”

III - Persuasion 

Andrea couldn’t tell exactly what happened to her, what shifted within herself in that embrace, what dam had finally broken in her mind. Even as her father pushed her away with a horrified look on his face, she could see him- almost as if for the first time. A veil that had been dulling her sight for so, so long had finally vanished. Yes, she saw everything so clearly now, with such simple purity, devoid of fear or shame or silly excuses. It was a bizarre sensation, to finally be able to accept without doubt or hesitation the truth, so long buried.

She wanted to fuck him.

He wanted to fuck her.

So obvious. So simple. So powerful. Andrea wasn’t going to run away from it anymore. And she could see, under the mask of horror worn by her father, beneath the shock in his eyes, something else. Stirring. 

Suddenly, Andrea felt powerful. Immense. Sexy. In control. The fact that she had become one with her secret desires and he hadn’t brought a predatory joy to her chest… and something else, both an anger and a need. In her heart she could see not just what her father was but what he could be, what he could become, what he needed to be. She could almost smell it- the strong, conquering Man suffocated by the dull veneer of morality and social norms. Yes, she felt powerful- but she didn’t need to be strong. She needed to be taken by him. She needed to bring the beast forth, somehow. To make him see himself as she saw him. To make him see her as she wanted to be seen.

She smiled inside, even as her father almost recoiled from her. It was all a game, now. One she intended to win.

In the blink of an eye her entire demeanor, her posture, the way she looked at her father shifted. For a second she was the perfect picture of innocence, of a young woman in need of rescue.

“Daddy… please… I need your help. Won’t you help your little girl? I promise I’ll be good. I’ll be so… so good to you, Daddy. I’ll be your good little girl. Your obedient… slutty… little daughter”, she smiled as she took one step towards her father, her body now swaying like a cat slowly approaching its prey. She took a moment to delight in the confusion in her father’s eyes, the tension increasing almost to a breaking point.

“I… what are you…”, managed to mumble Mike. Oh, it was so pathetic it became cute.

“Daddy… you think I haven’t noticed the way you look at me recently? It must be so, so hard for you… to see your little girl all grown up, and you all alone… that’s not fair, is it?”, said Andrea as she closed the distance with her now paralyzed father. Oh, this was too much fun. “You have been a bad daddy in your mind, haven’t you? That sounds so painful! Knowing it’s soooo wrong to think about your little girl like that… having to pretend you don’t want to… Fuck. Your. Daughter. Oh daddy, don’t blush! Surprised to hear such naughty words coming from my cute mouth? Or… do you like me having such a potty mouth?”

Andrea, in a swift motion ran her hand over her father’s crotch. Yes. She could feel it. So hard. So warm. She was right. He was breaking.

“Feels like your daddy cock likes me talking like a dirty slut! Don’t be ashamed! I love to imagine your cock getting so hard for me… I love to know I can make it so, so happy… And only using my words! Just talking like the hopeless little fucking whore I am… for you… just knowing you can use my tight holes whenever you want… however you want… and I’ll take it like a good girl! I am your good girl, daddy. You made me, after all… you own me… you can own every inch of my slutty, smooth body…”

Suddenly, she took a step back, her eyes almost in tears. She was the very picture of anguish, of despair, of vulnerability. Mike opened his mouth to speak, but he found no words came to him. He just watched, fighting his need to hug her, to protect her, to tell her he would make everything right again.

“Daddy… I’m so sorry… I don’t know what got into me. I just feel so confused, so disoriented, and… I don’t know. It’s like I have all these feelings inside me and they get all mixed up and I can’t really tell what I feel anymore, and it hurts so much. It hurts, Daddy. And that girl… Kate… I can’t tell you how much she’s hurt me, how she has been messing with my mind and making me so miserable… and… and I guess, I’m not sure, just… I thought you could help me, Daddy. You always could help me. You always could make me feel like everything would be okay, that I wasn’t a freak, or…”

“Honey, you are not a freak! You know this. You’ve been so brave, so strong, so true to yourself, even when everyone gave you grief over it!” He couldn’t help himself anymore. He held his sweet girl in his arms.

“But I… I did a bad thing, Daddy. I brought Kate here… I couldn’t think of anything else to do to make her stop, to make her leave me alone…”

“I know. And yes, you did a… wrong thing. But that doesn’t make you a monster, or evil or anything like that, okay? We’ll… I’ll find a way… I’ll help you. I’ll… fix it, somehow.”

“Will you rape her for me? Will you punish her with your cock for hurting your little girl? I’ll be so, so good for you if you do it, daddy… I’ll be the bestest daughter ever for you!”

Mike tried to pull away before he was interrupted by the sensation of warm, soft lips on his own. Time stopped. He felt dizzy, trapped in the feeling, the scent of skin, the rush of adrenaline in his chest. He panicked as he realized he didn’t stop it in time. He didn’t stop it as time stretched. He wasn’t stopping it even as the thoughts flooded his mind. It took Mike every ounce of willpower to push his daughter away.

Oh, it was so fun to see her Daddy so confused, so aroused, so disoriented. But Kate would wake up soon. Andrea needed to land the killing blow on whatever resistance her dear dad had left.

“I’m sorry Daddy… it’s just that I love you so, so much…” One slow, seductive step towards him. “I was bad, Daddy. I shouldn’t have done that, right? Does that make me a bad girl? A bad daughter?” Another step. So close now. “I’m so, so sorry for being bad, Daddy. I’m sorry I made your cock all hard for me and teased you and used all those dirty, dirty words. Will you punish me, Daddy? Will you make me good again, show me my place? I think you should. I think you should take your cock, and-”

One final step, and Mike snapped. For the first time in his life, he slapped his daughter. Horror set on his face, and it became a mixture of bewilderment and fire when he noticed Andrea’s reaction. She was smiling.

“Mmmmh… so strong, Daddy. Do it again. Punish me. Show me you own me. Make me your bitch!”

It was over for Mike. Something primal, something awful had taken hold of him. 

His hand on her neck. Hers rubbing his cock over his pants. Her soft moans. Kisses that turned into bites. His own mumbled, jumbled words. Little cunt. Evil fucking bitch. Her words, playing off his. Your little cunt. Your good little girl. Her face against the wall. Her movements, grinding her ass against him. Her hands on his chest, pushing him back. 

So many lines crossed. Mike knew, deep down, he had broken something inside himself. Or maybe she had broken it in him. It didn’t matter. He looked down at the beautiful, perfect woman kneeling and smiling. He saw his daughter, yes, but his eyes were now different. The barrier that kept the idea of “daughter” and “sex” apart simply didn’t exist anymore. He felt adrift, caught by a whirlwind he couldn’t stop- one he didn’t want to stop. 

Victory. It looked like victory. Victory over herself, over her old fears. Victory over his attempts at doing the “right thing”. Further victory to come, as well. And it didn’t hurt that the cock that made her was a rather large one, veiny and beautiful. He tried to keep herself in check. She knew exactly what to do, which went against everything her body was screaming for her to do. No matter how much she needed to feel that cock deep inside her pussy, no matter how much she longed to taste his cum on her tongue, she would have to wait. She couldn’t risk some post nut clarity throwing further objections to her plan. She kept her mind on Kate as she licked, kissed, loved his member. She was alert, ready to stop before he went over the edge. She did let one hand slide between her legs- just a treat, and a bit of a show for Daddy. She took him deep in her throat, deeper than anyone she’d ever blown. He deserved it. He was her one true love. 

She did manage to stop herself when she felt him getting close, heard his moans getting stronger.

She stood up and simply, gently, gave his Daddy her soaked hand for him to smell. It was a promise of the pleasures to come… if he did as she asked, as she needed him to. She could see it in his eyes. He had been unleashed. Andrea smiled, and with a moan sucked her fingers clean, keeping her green eyes fixed on her Daddy’s gaze.

Punishment would finally come to the one that had wronged her.

IV - Melody of Madness

Slowly, Kate started to regain her consciousness. It was a gradual thing, messy, disoriented. The first thing she noticed was a scent- the kind of smell that tells one they’re no longer home, but in a place inhabited for years by some unknown Other. Her body felt heavy, sluggish, weighed down. She wasn’t afraid, not at that point. She was too out of it to register such an emotion.

Only when her vision cleared a bit and her body started to feel more like her own did the true horror begin. She tried to remain calm. Okay, Kate. Just… try to figure things out. You’re in a bedroom. A girl’s room, judging by the decor. Shit, did you get wasted again? Wait, no… a room, yes, but not a dorm room. Bigger than the dorms. Oh, fuck. Did I party in town? Did I black out and some random girl decided to help me?

A part of her screamed. Assuming that this was just another regrettable morning after too much liquor was only a pleasant delusion, and she knew it. As painful as it might be, she would have to face another possibility. What was the last thing she remembered? She was getting up, ready for class… then she was picking up her morning coffee… a bitter taste, more than usual, and then… nothing. 

Kate needed to get out. Wherever she was, it was not where she wanted to be, that much she knew. She’d have time to figure things out later. First, get out of bed, and then…

She couldn’t. She was bound to the bed by improvised ropes made of sheets. Her legs were open, held in place. She noticed the way the air felt on her skin. She was in her underwear. This final fact froze her for half a minute- thirty seconds that felt like an eternity. 

Finally, she screamed.

“Shut the fuck up, or things will get very, very messy for you. And I don’t want to ruin my sheets, thank you very much.”

The voice was calm. Cold, yet expressing a hint of anticipation. And it was a voice Kate would never have expected to hear in that place, not in a million years.

“Andrea?”

“Oh, I’m ‘Andrea’ today? Are you sure you don’t mean to call me one of your usual nicknames? No ‘dyke’? No ‘carpet muncher’? No ‘cunt licker’? Isn’t it interesting, how something as simple as a little bit of metal and a few sheets are enough to teach you manners?”

Metal? Kate lifted her head as much as she could. There was Andrea, holding a knife. Shit. Shit. Shit. That little, insignificant bitch! And what was it with the outfit? Black lingerie, full face of make-up, devilishly sharp stiletto heels… Kate had never seen the stupid dyke looking anything like a real woman. Huh. So she had curves hidden under her usual baggy hoodies. Good for her. But she was still a fucking loser, and Kate knew how to handle losers.

“What the fuck are you doing, you crazy bitch? Let me go, now! What the hell are you thinking? People will hear…”

“Oh, don’t make a sound. I don’t want my father to…”

“Really? You brought me to your own home? You really are that stupid, huh? Let’s see what your dad thinks of his dyke daughter when she sees what you’ve done! Help! Sir, please! In your daughter’s room!”

Steps stomping outside. A man entered the room. Finally. Victory! Now the crazy dyke would get what was coming to her, and Kate would have a brand new story to bury the little cunt’s reputation even further. Maybe even hold the possibility of jail over her head.

“Andrea! What the hell is this? What are you doing?”, the man said, suitably shocked.

“Daddy! I’m so sorry! I… I just…”

“Didn’t I tell you to let me know as soon as she woke up?”

“You did. Sorry, Daddy. I’ve been a naughty little girl… will you punish me later?”

“Later, yes. Now we have work to do, don’t we, baby girl?”

“Yes we do, Daddy!” she chirped before giving in to a long, deep kiss with the man.

What. The. Fuck.

“Oh, I’m sorry!”, laughed Andrea. “Did you think he would help you? Kate, Kate… Ignorant as always. For one, I’m not a dyke, I’m bi- not that you care, but I figured a little education can’t hurt. And another thing about me: I have the bestest Daddy in the whole world! And my Daddy would do anything for me, because I’m his perfect, slutty good girl… and he’s very, very good at training good girls! Well, maybe ‘training’ isn’t the right word. How about… ‘breaking’? You know, like a horse! And we’ll make you such a good, good girl!”

Panic set in.

“Crazy! You’re both fucking crazy!”

Kate squirmed, a scream dying in her throat as Andrea crawled on the bed, swaying like a terrible feline, giving her dad a marvelous show. She lightly touched the inside of Kate’s thighs as she made her way up… before flashing the knife in front of the poor captive’s eyes.

“If I were you”, cooed Andrea, “I’d be very, very still for this part.”

Kated hated that her body seemed to instinctively do as the fucking dyke told. She froze, every muscle locked tight. She closed her eyes, and prayed to no deity in particular. Please. Please. Make it stop.

Kate shuddered as she felt something cold barely grazing her, almost between her legs. Terrible images flashed inside her mind. I might die here. A second later, she felt air caressing her private areas. She opened her eyes, only to see Andrea’s mad smile as she held the remains of Kate’s panties in her hand, skillfully cut off her body. 

“Not the sexiest of panties, I must say. I’m a bit disappointed! But…” Andrea brought the panties to her nose and took a deep, gratifying sniff. “There’s something alluring there. Oh! You’ve never had the pleasure of smelling a nice cunt, have you? No, you’re so very, very straight… you’d never do that, right? Well, you’ve been missing out. Time to fix that.”

Andrea carefully, almost lovingly, tied the panties around Kate’s face. Every breath now was an assault, a reminder of how powerless she was. A humiliation.

“Better get used to it, you stuck-up slut. You’ll be tasting the real thing soon enough. But…” Andrea leaped off the bound body of her foe. “What am I thinking? You’re straight! So, I take it you’d enjoy a big, hard cock more than my… dyke attentions, won’t you? Well, how about some Daddy cock? Won’t you love that? I know you will.”

Andrea skipped, child-like to her father. He was watching the scene before him, almost panting. A beast ready to be unleashed.

“Look!” chirped Andrea. “He’s so, so hard for you already! You should be flattered! Well, no point delaying the inevitable, I say. Ready to feel this big cock ramming into that tight pussy, you bitch?”

“No… no, please, don’t… I’ll… I’m sorry for… for everything! Please, please, please…”

“A little late for that, you evil cunt! Now get ready to be used like the fucking cumrag you are!”

Kate tensed up and shut her eyes hard enough to make them hurt. She braced herself for pain, for agony. She tried to somehow make her mind escape somewhere, anywhere else. Wasn’t that something that happened in these situations? Some sort of protective dissociation? And yet her mind was nailed in place, as stuck to the bed as her body. She waited, shaking… and nothing happened.

“How rude of me!”, mocked Andrea. “I almost made my daddy take that pussy dry! That would hurt a lot! I could help with that situation, you know… but you’re not a filthy pervert like me, that likes cock and pussy alike… so… I have to say, I’m a bit conflicted! Wouldn’t want to make you a dyke against your will! But you can choose. Dry or dyke? Huh? Too shy to speak now, you cunt? Answer me! Dyke. Or. Dry.”

Kate couldn’t believe her ears. An image of the knife flashed in her mind. Fear took hold. Feel of pain, primal, deep. The promise of less pain seemed like an imperative, and her mouth spoke before she could stop it.

“Dyke…” she mumbled.

“Sorry? I couldn’t quite hear that”, saud Andrea.

“Dyke! Dyke! Dyke, goddamn you!”

“She’s out! She’s loud! She’s proud! Welcome to the club, sister! Now relax and let me introduce you to a brand new world…”

It felt gross. It felt odd. Kate tried to reframe it. It’s just lubrication. It’s just making it easier for later. It means nothing. It’s just a tongue. It’s just…

Andrea was good. Extremely so. She took pride in her oral skills and was using all her talents, all her tricks on Kate. Not because she wanted the little bitch to feel good: simply because she knew that pleasure would make her suffer as much as the pain to come. Every involuntary thrust of Kate’s hips, every muffled moan that escaped her lips was a step towards conquest… and Andrea felt like a warlord, like a terrible goddess exacting just revenge…

“Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?” she giggled. “But we can’t have you cumming like that… not when dear Daddy has been so, so patient!”

Fear crept from beneath the disgust Kate felt with herself. A part of her had enjoyed it, and she hated herself for it. Her body was starting to betray her, and that, more than anything, was terrifying. But now the pain would come. She knew that for a fact.

“Daddy, my sweet, sweet Daddy… break the cunt”, said Andrea.

“Please… don’t…” managed to mutter Kate.

It was in vain.

It did hurt. The man was a beast, savage, thrusting into Kate without the slightest care for her pleasure or comfort, using her body like an object to take out all his messed up frustrations, his fantasies, whatever was mixed up in the storm inside his brain. Kate whimpered and yelped and tried not to scream. And in her ear, a warm breath, whispering to her constantly.

“Good girl… won’t you cry for me? Like you made me cry so many times? You fucking slut… don’t fight it… you know what you are, deep down… don’t you miss my sweet tongue on your cunt? Relax… let it happen… you deserve this… and I’ve earned it… your pain… and what you will be for me later… when the pain is gone…”

Part of her mind was aware enough to realize Andrea was rubbing herself right beside her. But most of her mind was focused on the sensation between her legs, the burning, the feeling she was being torn apart… and something worse, slowly creeping its way into the strange mixture assaulting her consciousness. Andrea saw it immediately.

“It’s better now, isn’t it? You can feel it… it’s okay. You don’t have to lie. Not to me. We are sisters now, after all. I, made by the cock that is remaking you! It’s so… poetic, isn’t it? You are a slut. You’ve always been a slut, deep down… all you needed was someone to prove to you that a slut is all you need to be. All you deserve to be. No more queen bee at college for you! And I know you will be such a good little girl for Daddy…”

“Fuck… fuck you…”

“Oh, you’ll get to do that too! Want a taste?”

Andrea started slowly, kissing Kate’s neck, nibbling it, giving her victim goosebumps. Then she delicately removed her bra, and lips met sensitive skin. Kate’s nipples, hard against her will, were assaulted by kisses, suction, skillful licks. Andrea toyed with Kate, varying the pressure, the speed of her tongue, inserting playful little bites into the game. Measuring. Learning. Deciphering every preference, every weak point. To Kate’s horror, the pain was starting to feel duller, as if coming from far away. The pleasure, on the other hand, was sharper, demanding, a hungry thing coming from her own traitorous body. It was hard to think. Hard to keep any single idea in frame inside her mind. Too many stimuli, coming from too many places, attacking different parts of her idea of self. She felt as if she was drowning in sensation.

Andrea made her way down, slowly, as her father’s thrusts became a bit slower. Stamina wasn’t infinite, but she was quite confident that together they could get the job done. Together, they could do anything. It took a bit of careful positioning, but soon the tip of her tongue was able to tease the little cunt’s clit and even give her dear Daddy a little extra lick when he pulled his beautiful cock out, only to ram it into Kate again. Oh, if only this moment could last forever. Father and daughter locked eyes for a moment, in something that felt like a twisted perversion of love. It was time to move on to the next step.

Kate couldn’t stop squirming. Couldn’t stop moaning. Couldn’t stop her fucking body from reacting to the big cock inside her, the tongue playing her pussy like a violin, her own shame turned into a corruption of pleasure, disgust with herself that swirled and shifted and somehow enhanced the feelings that were eroding her sanity. And then, it snuck up on her.

Kate came, harder than ever in her life. Any pretense was undone at that moment. Her body was too honest. But the fucked up father and daughter team didn’t stop. No, they paused for only a second or two before resuming their work. It was too much. Kate shook as she came again. And again. And again.

She was exhausted. Too exhausted to fight anymore. Too confused to protest anything Andrea said. Her words just permeated, unfiltered, into Kate’s mind.

“...tell you? You can be such a good little whore… and we can be Daddy’s sluts together! Don’t you think he deserves it? His cock made you cum so much… your pain gave it so much pleasure… it owns you now. And you’ll love it, I know you will. We’ll make you love it so, so much, until you forget what a fucking bitch you were before…”

Kate didn’t even notice when the restraints were removed. There were stronger ones in place now, and she could feel them. Inside her head. She had been defeated. She had been conquered. She had surrendered.

“On all fours”, Daddy said. He didn’t have to say it twice. Kate complied. 

“Word on campus is that your little ass is the one hole you’ve been saving up for someone special! Well, I say you’ve met someone very special! So now Daddy will take the last bit of you and you’ll finally be entirely his! Isn’t that exciting? But… what about your poor fellow slut? I mean, I gave you pleasure too! I say I deserve a treat. So… you get pain for Daddy and he gets to watch you eat a pussy for the first time! What a show it will be! And we’ll make it a show, won’t we, sis?”

Yes. Whatever Andrea said. It was easier to comply. Easier to obey. Easier to just accept. It would hurt. Good. If her pain was what they wanted, they would have it. She would have sex with another girl. Good. If they wanted her to dyke out, she would. 

Kate’s screams sent vibrations through Andrea’s pussy, only making Kate’s inexperienced attempts at eating her out so much more delicious. Andrea felt like a queen, being serviced as she deserved. Mike was a beast, finally letting out something that had been suppressed in shame for far too long. Kate let her body take over, turning even pain into something else, something like purpose, or atonement. In a single day, all three had changed. Forever.

The tight, virgin ass, paired with the spectacle of this girl pleasuring his sweet little girl sent Mike over the edge. He barely managed to pull out before cumming with an intensity that shocked even himself. Kate’s back was soaked, and some drops had even landed on his own daughter’s breasts. 

Andrea licked her lips.

“Kate… sis… why don’t we clean each other up for Daddy?”

V - Epilogue

Mike woke up to the sensation of tongues on his cock, as was the norm. He let himself relax and sink into pleasure. To think that half a year ago, the idea of even looking at his daughter had felt revolting! How silly he had been. They loved each other. They made each other their best versions of themselves. Their most perverted versions. 

And Kate… how lovely it had all been. Sure, it had taken a little while for her to fully enter the family, but now she and her adoptive sister were inseparable. They went shopping for slutty outfits, they did their camshows together to make Daddy money… they had even made out in front of the Dean when they announced they were dropping out of college to be full-time whores. It was tender, in a way. Kate’s addiction to pain and humiliation had come as a bit of a surprise, but a welcome one- especially by Andrea, who had started to explore her sadistic side more and more.

Of course, they both adored Daddy. They were always ready, always willing to please him. After far too many years of gray, dull effort and solitude, Mike felt happy. He let himself enjoy that fact.

After he came, the girls licked each other clean, moaning as they savored their Daddy’s cum. With bright smiles, they leaped on the bed with Mike.

“Good morning, Daddy!” they said in unison.

Did you enjoy this story? You can get access to the full library and support my work at patreon.com/prettynosferatu

Every bit helps!

[wishfulsketching]

So. That was Arcane. As a whole.

Best episode of the season was episode 7. I might be a bit biased thanks to Silco and Vander living it up as their older selves but also, Ekko is truly the mvp of the show.

I hmm. Well. Victor. I see what was going on there. I see the vision. I loved lot of it. I had the sudden realizations of "that's Victor, right" before it happened....dude looked more like Jesus than ever before too. But uhh. Hmm. Hmm. There is like a chapter missing between s1 and s2 with Victor. Or more like mid season 2 chapter. Love my boy still. I did not care for his Machine Herald look. I liked the idea of the face being split. It hmm. I feel like they said, instead of showed, a lot with Victor this season.

My controversial opinion: Isha was unnecessary. The black rose mage stuff was unnecessary. Same end result could've been achieved with other means. Vi was just there to experience things and be sad. Jinx can't have shit and should suffer all the time, I guess.

BUT

Nice

My man was a positive voice for Jinx. Uhhh in a way. Kinda made her go suicidal but like, he was trying. He is always trying. Even after death. Maybe after his hallucination talk people will understand that Silco wasn't just a evil dude with evil things to do, he was as trapped as everyone else in Zaun and wanted to break free.

Tho, I doubt it. The main enemy in Arcane is the class divide. In my eyes.

I do love the exploration of Hextech and how using magic in a technological way can be super dangerous and fuck shit up. I wanted to see that. And I did see that in season 1, when Jayce realizes how dangerous the hextech weapons are! Exploring the time loop and how abstract magic is, was great! I just.

I love this show. Very much. Season 1, no notes. It's made for me.

Season 2 seems like a people pleaser. And I am pleased! Yet I also wanted something different.

I am still happy because I got my vindication. Zaundads is canon, fuck yeah! No man looks at another man like that and is not in love with them!

I loved that they kept that Vander still tried to kill Silco. Silco went "yea ok that ass too good to quit. What is little murder between lovers, anyway. Come here bby"

Only thing. Silco should've interacted with Jinx in the alternative timeline. A simple "you look beautiful" when she has her entrance or "hey here's snack have fun building whatever you guys are building. Don't make too much noise, your father and I need to get up early tomorrow ok bye bye my perfect little genius"

[jenosjarofjam]

Now, you're stuck with me forever

Alpha jeno x Omega fem!reader

-Rivals/enemies to lovers

Requested ✔️ @no-romance-for-me-please

Word count: 2k+word.

Warning: smut,abo stuff, a lot I mean a lot of slick, squirting, knotting, cussing, biting/marking, mention of scent, nicknames(princess, good girl, etc...)

An note! This is like my first one shot and abo so hopefully this is not too bad🤞.(I took some prompts idea from Tumblr.)I didn't really dive deep into the rival/enemies part.

Playlist: collide-Justine Skye, Best lover-BiBi

You took the same class with Jeno, both of you were the top 10 students in the whole uni. You vividly remember the first year you met Jeno, Jeno always sat next to you, taunting you when he got higher grades. On the other hand, you studied extra hard because of it, surprisingly Jeno still got a higher grade than you. This went on for months, until the professor decided to pair both of you up for a huge project, now you have no choice but work with him. You guys started texting each other, deadline of the project was approaching, you agreed on letting Jeno into your place to help on the project, another led to another, now he crashes into your place whenever he wants

9:34 a.m

Jeno: Can I come over I’m bored……

Y/n : Since when did you started asking?

Jeno:I’m just trying to be nice rn, I’ll bring you food.

Y/n:awwwwwwwwww are you showing affection to me rn?

Jeno: I want to wrap my hands around your throat, and choke you until the life in your eyes die down.

Y/n: kinky ;)

Jeno: stfu, u freak

Jeno was sitting on the couch, finalising the project while you ate your food. The presence of him was distracting you , you seem to be confused about the reason… but hey no one’s complaining when there’s free food.

You noticed the sun peeking through the curtains, sun ray hitting Jeno’s face, highlighting his features. He’s skin glowed under the sun, his eyes shimmered hazel, his nose- “Hey! Are you even listening to me?Hello? Earth to Y/n?” A voice abrupted your thoughts, you realised you have been unconsciously starring at him, your face blushed in embarrassment about being caught. “Were you starring at me?” He cocked his eyebrow in disbelief, “no- no way why would I be starring at you! You’re.. ugly.” Well that was a lie….. “You’re avoiding eye contac with me? Why’s that?” He grins in enjoyment watching you suffer. “No. NO why would I do that.” “Maybe because you’re into me?” He said poking fun at you. “ wha-what no no no…” “well, you’re looking at me like you want to murder me but also like…you want me.” He smirked, seeing your widened eyes. "*cough* umm I'm gonna go uhh get some water." You said, as you quickly walked to the kitchen. You let out a sigh, feeling like you lost your breathe just the moment before. You felt... feverish, oddly... horny.

You went back talking with Jeno, it still doesn't help the fact that you're thinking about getting pounded by a particular person. The uncomfortable stickiness between your thighs was borderline painful, you tried to ease the pain by crossing your legs...it didn't work. You spaced out looking into Jeno's eyes. "Hey... You should take a rest, you seem tired today," "Yeah..um yeah sorry I'll uh go to my room and get some rest, call me when you need anything." You responded, feeling the awkward tension in the room rise up. Little did you know, your scent was flaring up like crazy, the mix of raspberry jam and cherry blossom was putting off Jeno, the sweet smell of slick was oozing out of your panties, making it awfully hard for Jeno to keep his instincts and not to fuck you senselessly. You scurried off to your room, feeling overwhelmed to the brim. You started researching about random heats, trying to find the reason the sudden neediness. You came across an article about spontaneous heats.

Spontaneous heats-Though rare, there is a phenomenon called Spontaneous Heat, which is when an Omega goes into heat outside of their cycle. The rare cases where it happens include meeting one's perfect match (at which point both heat and rut begin almost immediately)

No way Lee Jeno was destined to be your mate, but you can’t deny he is dreadfully hot, but you definitely didn’t stand a chance to be with him.

All these mix signals are just throwing you over the edge.In spite of that, all you should be worrying right now is about the fact that you’re craving the feeling of Jeno’s dick sliding in and out of you.

You had to find a way to relief the pain, ignoring the fact Jeno is probably outside your room playing video games, you slipped your hand under your panties, stimulating your clit. You bite down on your pillow, trying to muffle your moans.

Jeno was standing outside your room, the scent of a sweet aroma slipping through the door crack is driving him insane. The sound of muffled moans , made it obvious you were touching yourself. The thought of marking you, letting everyone know you’re his. The desire to breed you, filling up your pussy with his cum. How pretty you’ll look when he fucks you until you’re senseless . He feels his body burning, blood rushing to his cock, he couldn’t get you off his mind the entire day, he was just craving to fuck you all day long . Jeno couldn’t hold it anymore, he knew damn way he wanted you, all the pretending was driving him mad.

As you were approaching your high, you closed your eyes and focused on the climax. Yougot so lost in the pleasure, you didn’t even notice that someone was standing in front of your doorway.

"Always so needy for me, having fun without me huh?" You quickly cover yourself, your face burned up in embarrassment, you stared at Jeno and his very prominent erection, the size of his bulge was huge , the sheer thought of it already makes you mouth water, you wondered how it’ll feel in your hand,or even in your tight pussy. “What you looking at?” Jeno interrupts your line of thoughts, but it doesn’t make it better. He's low raspy voice sends chills down your spine. He slowly walks to your bed, kneeling down and staring into your doe-eyes, you quickly turned your head away from his stare, he quickly leans closer, closer to the point you feel his breathe against yours " I asked you y/n, what are you looking at?”. Jeno realises how stupid this is, and pulls away, before you pull him by the collar, his lips crashes into yours, the hunger you both crave for each other is finally getting satisfied, his hands naturally went around your waist as he pulls you closer, goosebumps swarming every part of your body. He pulls away "do you want me to stop?” he asked, trying to reassure you wanted this. You hurriedly answered, longing for more “just the opposite, please” He pushes you on to the bed, now you’re under him.

“Submit yourself,” he demanded, “jeno-” “What did you call me?” he abruptly shouted, making you jolt from the unexpected behaviour. “I’m sorry, al-alpha.” he slowly pulled down your flimsy shorts along with your pink panties, the cold hands made you squirm away from his touch. He quickly put his hands on your hips and pull you in, “Let me take care of you, let me make you feel good, let me make you mine,” he whispers into your ears before he forcefully lifts your head up, now you’re staring at him. He’s eyes filled with lust, the dark orbs felt like they were burning holes in yours. He takes off his shirt, his toned abs, arms bulging with veins, looks just like a wet dream in sight. He spreads your legs further apart, slotting his head between your legs. He started licking your hole, not letting a single drop of slick going to waste, before adding two fingers into your leaking hole, slick dripping to his chin, his nose bumping onto your clit adding the extra sensation, making you moan like crazy. “Fuck, you taste so sweet, taste like mine,”he mumbled, the sound of slurping echoes in your ear, your hand naturally find its way down to his head, you grip firmly on his hair, tugging it slightly letting him know your getting close to your climax. The high he brought you was like shockswaves crashing into you, you arch your back gripping harder onto his hair, you let a breathy gasp as you came all over his face.

“I’m not done with you, yet." His eyes darkened as you reached your hands towards him, freeing his cock out of his confinement, it spring out hitting his abdomen. It was huge, far from the ones you've taken before. He slowly lift your legs up, pushing the tip in you, the stretch was painfully good, you unconsciously clenched around him making him groan, your slick coating his dick making it easier for him to fit. He gave you time to adjust to his length then he slowly thrusted into you. “Fuck- take it like a good omega that you are.” The new feeling of adrenaline came rushing in, your eyes rolled back when he hit the spot that made you see stars. He lets out a low breathy grunt , your creamy velvety walls sucking him in deeper, the tight fit making you feel every inch of him, every single veins dragging in and out of your pussy. He started thrusting in a merciless rhythm, he grabbed your jaw and kissed you roughly, his tongue swirled against yours, the passionate kiss turned into a messy make-out session. His warm lips taking over you, pussy gushing over his dick. "Alpha, I'm close-" you choked out "please, fill me up please.", you feel like time slowed, each thrust felt so sensitive, so good, you feel your vision blurring, the knot in your stomach snapped, you let a long lewd moan as you cum on Jeno's dick. Jeno kept thrusting, ignoring your whines. "Hmm, too much?? Too much for my omega? You were begging for it, you were begging me to fill you up right?? Good girl's keep their promises baby." The sensitivity was too much, you feel your eyes tearing up, you kept clenching on his girth, forming a creamy white ring around the base of his cock.

Jeno used his strength and flip you around, his big hands holding onto your hips, “ass up princess.” You obeyed, feeling a sharp slap on your butt, he swify pushes back in with a one quick thrust. "Plea-se knot- in me al-pha, please, wanna be full of your pups." You pleaded, the thought of being by each other's side everyday, carrying his child, was the best fucking dream ever. "Fuck- You want me to knock you up- huh? Such a slut, such a slut for me. Fuck I'm cumming." He grunted. Jeno grabbed your hair pulling it aside, exposing your bare neck and collarbones, Jeno put his nose on your neck, inhaling your sweet aroma. "Can I mark you- princess, wanna make you mine-" He asked, waiting to get a permission to forever mark you his. "Mark me please, alpha mark me!" Jeno licked the side of your neck, and bit down on it, he licked the blood that was oozing out of the mark. You screamed in pain, but the idea of being his was enough for you to bare the pain. Jeno kept thrusting in you, you feel like your were about to pass out, a new feeling rushed in, not like your typical orgasm. Your now breathy moans echoed the room along with the slapping sound of the skin, you screamed in pleasure as you squirted all over his abs. "S-shit , that was so hot, I'm so close princess." He growled, liquid dripping down your thighs. His thrusts became more sloppy, the raspy low grunts was starting to become smoky moans. You feel his dick twitched in you. He held you closer, gripping onto you harder. With a final push, his knot inflamed, hot white cum covering your walls, you whimpered from the knot's pain. The feeling was way too addictive that you can barely feel the pain now. Jeno lays on you for a few seconds, you can feel his warm breathe against your neck. It took a few seconds for him to recover from his orgasm, he finally broke the silence

"How are you feeling?" He asked genuinely, "Tired and confused...I thought you never liked me..." "Idiot, why would I not like you." "No shit Sherlock, you acted like you hated my guts." You argued

"Well now you're stuck with me forever."

[whispersleo]

Sorry, Your Honor, ‘But Have You Seen Her Lore?’ Is A Valid Defense

My friend just sent me the speedpaint. I want a freaking iPad now uuugggghhh, it was sooo fun to use, I hate my life. Anyway, here ya go. I always redraw the nose like a million times in every drawing LOLOLOL I can never get it right on the first try! I think it turned out pretty decent for drawing her from memory. Whatever, this is the only thing I got done after a whole day at uni, my classes were useless af.

But can we talk more about Caterina Dellamorte?

I want to devour this woman’s mind in the same way I long to consume Illario’s. To reach 70 years like a crow—and worse yet, to bear the title of First Talon—is profoundly awe-inspiring, even terrifying. Rook is singular because I would’ve soiled myself merely sharing a room with her. I crave to know who this formidable woman was before she lost her FIVE children and SIX grandchildren.

Do you think the scent of flowers lost all meaning for her after so many funerals? How much grief can a mother endure before her heart grows numb to it? It’s horrific, it’s tragic—and yet she stands there, unbroken. I can do nothing but revere her.

I want to believe she was as passionate as her grandchildren, as bleeding-hearted as Lucanis, as fiercely alive as any of them before everything was torn from her—because that makes it all the more agonizing. Amidst this endless mourning, which surely lost all meaning somewhere in the recesses of her mind, did she cling to faith as a woman of devotion? Or did it, in the end, estrange her? Is that why Illario and Lucanis are such "bad" believers? Did such suffering draw her closer to the Maker’s teachings, or force her to recoil?

I am convinced she was hardened to the point where only one purpose remained: to ensure the survival of her grandchildren, her last living kin. And she succeeded, by the way! Yes, child abuse is wrong (says the victim, lol), but I can’t bring myself to judge this woman by her circumstances. She did what she believed necessary, and in the end, they both survived—in one way or another. She forged two master assassins who serve the world better alive than dead.

So why, Caterina? Why tear apart the last family you had left in this world? Instead of teaching unity, instead of bequeathing your more-than-capable grandchildren the title as something shared—why make them doubt each other? Is your favoritism deliberate, or just another of your fatal miscalculations?

I have my own headcanons, of course—that Illario resembles his mother too much, and his mother, in turn, bore the face of the man Caterina once loved so fiercely she built a family with him. But this is just me trying to force logic into the void.

Why craft a perfect team, a fusion of a master assassin’s finest talents split between your two grandchildren, only to turn it into a battle for supremacy? Was it this same blindness that led to the slaughter of nearly your entire bloodline? Or is this the scar tissue of too much grief, calcified into cruelty?

I could spend entire lifetimes turning this woman over in my mind and still never voice every thought I truly harbor about her. I can’t help but press the weight of my own traumas into these musings—yet I also believe that’s precisely what draws me to her with such violent force. She’s fascinating. She’s excruciating. I adore Caterina Dellamorte, and let NONE of my fanfics convince you otherwise!

And please, for the love of god, never take Lucanis or Illario’s internal monologues as gospel in my storytelling. This character is devastatingly intricate. Profoundly layered. A tragedy unto herself.

[marragurl]

Ok so like…. Who makes Ratio’s statues? 

Because every possible explanation just opens up a whole new can of worms. 

I’ve been trying to go through as much info about him as I can, including his character stories, but I can’t find anything??? 

So I’m just left stewing in the dark, which usually leads to my humor coming into play. 

So like… are the statues of Ratio’s own making??

Because that would insinuate that he takes the time out of his busy life to constantly make new statues of just himself, including the multiple plaster heads. And if it’s not him physically and it is a manifestation of his Imaginary powers, he’s still making them right??? 

So he still chooses the poses! 

Why??? 

What is his thought process??? 

Physically made or Imaginary Powers made, it’s still his choice on what the statue should look like right???

And if it’s not a conscious decision, then WHAT DO THE JOJO AND CUTESY POSES MEAN

IS JOJO’S BIZARRE ADVENTURES FUCKING CANON IN HSR??

IS IT A SHOW THAT EXISTS??

ARE YOU TELLING ME ARAKI FUCKING EXISTS IN HSR??

AND RATIO IS A FAN?????? 

DON’T TELL ME IT’S JUST A FUN REFERENCE BY THE HSR TEAM, YEA IT’S META TO US BUT IT’S CANON TO THE REST OF THE UNIVERSE THAT RATIO HAS A STATUE OF HIMSELF DOING A JOJO POSE

On the other hand, if it’s not Ratio himself making them… who is it????

Is Ratio commissioning some artists?? Multiple artists? Only one?!?!? 

Is it some weird form of extra credit for his students???

(Student A: Hey wanna hang out tonight? 

Student B: Can’t. Gotta finish up this statue of Dr. Ratio examining his codex by Friday if I wanna get a passing grade in the class

Student A: You can sculpt???

Student B crying with 100 tabs of ‘how to sculpt’ videos and wikiHows pulled up and no sleep: I’m trying my best here Sharon)

Is he like those Renaissance time rich people who basically paid for their favorite artist’s livelihood in order to just make nice art in return??? Is there now a really well-off sculptor somewhere in the universe who is just constantly being paid by THE Dr. Ratio to make stone statues of the man??? Does the artist just put that down in their tax returns?? 

(back at it again with Topaz suffering from Ratiorine’s antics, she’s the one in charge of Ratio’s Sculptor’s taxes)

THAT STILL DOESN’T ANSWER THE STATUE POSE QUESTIONS

DID THE ARTIST ADD IN THE JOJO POSE AND HEART POSE AS A GAG??? AND SURVIVE RATIO SEEING THEM?? 

WORSE- DID RATIO COMMISSION THE POSES??? WHAT WAS THAT CONVERSATION EVEN LIKE??? DID HE HAVE TO POSE?? DOES THE ARTIST JUST HAVE AN ENTIRE SCRAPBOOK OF RATIO DOING DIFFERENT POSES FOR CONSTANT REFERENCE?

FUCK IT, DID AVENTURINE GET IN CONTACT WITH THE ARTIST AND PAY EVEN MORE MONEY FOR THE CUTESY POSES??

(Whole new thought process, the artist is making statues of Ratio for both Ratio AND Aventurine, and all the cute statues are actually commissions by Aventurine for his little Dr. Ratio idol crush shrine. There’s a constant slapstick comedy routine of Aventurine trying to hide them anytime Ratio comes over to his place and barely getting away with it. Does he ever come clean when they start dating? Do they start dating because Ratio finds the statues? Fuck it, if Ratio is the one making the statues and not an artist, does he teach Aventurine how to sculpt?? Does it become like something they do together to spend time?? Ok damn wait that’s kinda cute wait-)

WAIT ADDING ON TO THAT- DOES THAT MEAN FOLLOWING THIS THOUGHT PROCESS THAT AVENTURINE IS THE JOJO FAN???? HE’S A FUCKING JOTARO STAN???

(wait- brisk MC who’s rude to everyone but soft on those he cares about and has the muscles of a Greek god and eventually goes into academia, oh my fucking god Aventurine has a type)

PLEASE

I NEED TO KNOW WHERE ARE THESE STATUES COMING FROM

EVERYONE SEEMS TO KNOW ABOUT THEM, THEY AREN’T A SECRET

IS HIS HOUSE JUST FULL OF STATUES???

DOES HE HAVE A WHOLE-ASS GRECO-ROMAN-STYLE GARDEN FULL OF HIS OWN STATUES???

DOES THE ARTIST SEE A STATUE DISAPPEAR FROM THE GARDEN AND IMMEDIATELY KNOW RATIO USED HIS TECHNIQUE TO SLAM ONE DOWN BREAKING IT AND JUST GO “fucking hell man, I was just about to go on break! Now I need to start a new one!”

IS IT A HOBBY?? HOW THE FUCK DID HE GET INTO SCULPTING AS A HOBBY WITH HIS SCHEDULE???

ARE THEY GIFTS?? 

FROM WHO, STUDENTS??? ADMIRERS? FUCK IT, AVENTURINE???

DOES THE ARTIST BEING COMMISSIONED EVEN HAVE A LIFE OUTSIDE OF THE RATIO STATUES??? DO THEY EVEN HAVE THE ABILITY TO SCULPT ANYTHING OTHER THAN RATIO AT THIS POINT??? HAVE THEY SEEN ANY OTHER BEING OUTSIDE OF THEIR STUDIO AND THE HUNDREDS OF RATIO STATUES???

PLEASE I NEED SOMEONE TO ANSWER ME

[mixtapedoh]

and it was all yellow | y.j.

welcome back to SVTU ! lost your way? refer to our campus map for directions.

pairing: yoon jeonghan x gn!reader with guest appearances from c. seungcheol, h. joshua, w. junhui, and more !

word count: ~5.9k genre: neighbors to friends to lovers warnings: language, intermittent Lore Dumping™ (i have to kick us off into svtu somehow), jeonghan is a little shit, light suggestive themes (heavily lampshaded and perhaps only occuring twice?)

☄. *. ⋆

olive's notes: these individual headcanon sets are going to be very ~stream of consciousness~, so bear with me, here. second, cheol and jeonghan are brothers (and there's a secret third brother i'll introduce eventually, don't you worry), also, thank you for stopping by <3. now here's the content you signed up for.

☄. *. ⋆

now playing... ılı.lıllılı.ıllı. ... ⌜ angel baby — troye sivan ⌟

AND IT WAS ALL YELLOW ☄. *. ⋆

— it all started when jeonghan realized that jun was loaded.

now, don't get him wrong. it wasn't as though he had befriended jun because jeonghan had been looking for someone rich and easily persuaded. it's not like jeonghan used his ineffable charm to win over the quasi-cryptid that was wen junhui because of jun's apparent legacy funds.

not that jeonghan couldn't have done — he clearly had the persuasion and cunning to do it — he just didn't. jeonghan wasn't in need of someone else's money. please. he was very capable of taking care of himself, thank you very much, he was just also, however, very good at knowing things.

especially those things that could be used to his advantage.

— and well... wen junhui was loaded. wealthy as shit. a classic trust fund baby. a walking dollar sign that just so happened to share classes with jeonghan every year since he started SVTU as a political science major (of arts, of course. he hadn't taken latin in high school to not absolutely crush the romance languages in uni).

— you see, SVTU had this fun little program for long-suffering students interested in the government and manipulating it to their will wherein if you took merger courses — lectures that ate up a hell of a lot of your time and money but gave substantial credit hours that counted for both applied and allied course credit — you could get a jump start on your degree, be offered more opportunities for internship, and explore a subject's "many facets" through "multiple lenses."

to jeonghan, it meant working faster and harder so that he might graduate early and get into the actual politics of pol sci quicker — at a more “genius” and “revolutionary” age.

(half of politics, after all, was being appealing enough to make headlines. there wasn’t time to waste, in the long run.)

to wen junhui it had to mean something different — after all, jun was a pre-law student with a completely different career path from the other party involved (though jeonghan had considered law at one point in time — something he’s not above admitting though certainly not pining after). merger courses for him likely meant an expedited process to law school. but that was truly beside the point. an aside.

— what mattered in the end, was that jeonghan and jun had more than enough shared merger courses to go around, and in the process of things, had gone from strangers to acquaintances, then study partners (blame it on the fact that jun — the altruistic leaning bastard he was — actually tutored in his free time. willingly. as in, not a joke.) to committed group project members, and eventually to that nebulous thing called friendship.

ask them both when that final stage commenced and you’d get varying responses — jeonghan always far more generous than jun in such regards, but almost annoyingly so, like he wanted to be the one leaning more on the ridiculous.

— yes, it was quite a ways into their friendship when jeonghan learned that wen junhui, his sweet jun, was loaded. like, living alone off of campus in his own two bedroom apartment on the wealthy side of the city that prospered from the University Living Aesthetic™, loaded. as in, so loaded he could have easily found more than enough willing bodies to become roommates with him and help pay for the exorbitant expenses but simply decided against it because he hadn’t, and i quote “thought about it before.”

“never thought about it? jun. how much does this place cost?”

and jun had to think for a minute. genuinely think about how much he paid in monthly rent. “i suppose for a month’s rent i pay around… [REDACTED].”

and jeonghan was no stranger to dramatics, to be sure, but anyone else would have gaped the same as him. “[REDACTED]??”

"[REDACTED]."

"...shit."

— yes, jeonghan finding out that jun was loaded, living in a (rather well kept) apartment with an empty room, no roommates, and an assortment of (dying) houseplants that needed care, was truly the beginning of it all.

— after all, while the chaos settled in a year after the fact when he and joshua would finally move in with jun because of circumstances that aren't truly relevant to the here and now, all true origins start a little before dramatic changes. there's always a gentle precursor, something soft that sets the stage. rumblings of change are necessary forefathers to the strength of revolution; jeonghan learning that jun was a walking line of credit with property to his name and a work ethic that would make any professor blush was necessary groundwork for the events that would follow.

and goddamn, if things didn't follow.

— but i suppose, if we're back tracking all the way to jeonghan and shua moving in with jun on one very ill timed sunday (jun had an exam in his special topics in deviance, crime, & the law course the next day), we are also brushing up against jeonghan meeting you.

another precursor to the chaos that would follow. another tremor that would shake the ground and cause things to tumble.

— you also lived in the terraces on 17th and attended svtu. you lived on the same floor as jun — two apartments down from his, no less — and his first week there, you showed jeonghan the campus shuttle routes that passed right outside the complex (he'd come to learn that the domino route was the one you took most often, as it led right to the heart of the university, but the pinwheel route was also a convenient option for evening courses).

— you and jeonghan weren't friends right away. no, you were always a friendly face around the complex and a decent conversationalist when stuck in the elevator together, but it wasn't as though you and jeonghan became fast friends. you were just neighbors for a while; just another person grabbing mail on monday afternoons, stopping at the in-residence coffee shop on bleak wednesday mornings, ordering pizza on saturday evenings and giving joshua a slice after he weaponizes his big, brown eyes.

— and then came The Series of Fire Alarm Mishaps.

— you see, at some point in the middle of the semester, someone new moved into the apartment building, in the same hall as you and jeonghan. at first, you barely even noticed the change, and then they started cooking.

— which wouldn't have been a problem. if they had been good at it.

the first few times the (incredibly loud and not unreasonably sensitive) fire alarms from down the hall had gone off, it had been unfortunate - a mild nuisance that disrupted what jeonghan had been doing, and nothing more. but then, the first few times became multiple, and from multiple, came a pattern. every other day, at least twice, the fire alarm next door would go off. and it would always be at different times - breakfast, the afternoon, early evening, even sometimes at 1:28 in the morning. the fire alarm would sound, and while it would mostly be no longer than a minute or two, it was still enough to be irritating.

you and jeonghan talked about it every time you saw each other in passing, or just so happened to be taking the same shuttle to campus (which happened quite often, anymore, since jeonghan enrolled in an extra course to help him graduate all the sooner). your neighbor and that damn fire alarm. your neighbor and their inability to cook, yet unnecessary dedication to the craft. you both joked about the inevitability of them actually burning the apartment down.

— and then, one day, the fire alarm went off at 2:19, waking jeonghan up out of a dead sleep (he hadn't meant to fall asleep at his desk, and his neck would pay for it all the next day). he heard it, and immediately decided to ignore it, knowing it would stop soon.

but then it didn't.

at about 3.5 minutes of non-stop alarms, jeonghan was annoyed enough that he left his room and staggered into the kitchen for some water, where shua and jun were already waiting around, likely with the same idea (though it was clear that shua hadn't ever fallen asleep, and perhaps jun was in the same boat, though he'd changed into sweats and a light t-shirt).

at about 6 minutes, jeonghan opened the door to see if anyone else was, well... concerned.

and at 13 minutes, he was standing outside in the brisk autumn air, agreeing with jun as he whispered that if there wasn't an actual fire but just their talentless neighbor attempting to cook in the middle of the night, he was going to kill the bastard himself.

— and there, in the middle of all this stupidity — sleepily rocking back and forth from one foot to another — and on the other side of him, was you.

— and, well, when you offered to buy him and the rest of his roommates coffee at the convenience store that was just down the street, not far, he couldn't do much beyond say yes. what was he going to do? decline your offer?

and so all four of you walked to the convenience store and aimlessly wound your way through the almost neon colored aisles. jeonghan used the opportunity to stick to you like glue and get you to open up — about yourself and your roommates, both of whom had gone home for two weeks for (separate) family vacations (not that you were jealous. clearly the superior option was to stay at the apartment, embroiled in course work and standing outside at 2:00 am because of some loser neighbor who can't cook a singular meal without burning the building to the ground, and yet refuses to have anything delivered).

— in the end, the fire hadn't been bigger than something contained in the pan ("thank god," you had said, shaking your hands in lackluster triumph, "i have a physics exam next week. i need those notes more than you know"), but at only 4 months of having a new neighbor, someone new moved in within 2 weeks at most. and, after being neighbors for almost 7 months, you and jeonghan were decidedly friends.

after all, you bought him a triangular gimbap, ice cream, and convenience store coffee. jun had slipped away with just a banana milk (which he promptly paid back the next day), and shua nearly bought out the whole store once the two of you got to talking about the best midnight (and hours after) snacks lining the walls. at the least, he was indebted to you, which could only be solved by more trips to the convenience store with more mindless conversation, and more time for the both of you to endear yourself to the other.

and the way jeonghan saw it, friendship at that point was inevitable. especially when, at the start of the next semester, you and jeonghan both had an early morning class and used the domino route to get to class via campus shuttle.

(and sure, jun had an early class, too, and drove himself to campus everyday, meaning jeonghan could have easily just gotten a ride, but he didn't. for no particular reason, really, he just never did; but one frost bitten morning after a snowstorm, when jeonghan was waiting at the shuttle stop and you stood beside him, bundled up in a thick winter coat and rubbing the tips of your fingers to keep them warm, you turned to him, the cord of the wired headphones the both of you always shared swaying from the movement (a streak of yellow against all this white, the sun in the middle of stark winter), and smiled, "i'm glad you're here with me." and maybe — just maybe — that was reason enough.)

— and thus, for reasons above explained, in the end, it all started with jeonghan learning jun was loaded. if it weren't for that simple knowledge, he wouldn't be anywhere near where he currently stood.

— which was the open doorway of jun's apartment, garbage in hand, falling in love with you.

"what?"

and you at least had the presence of mind to be flustered by it.

jeonghan could laugh, really. "is that my jacket?"

it totally was, and perhaps the way you fiddled with the sleeve of it and scoffed awkwardly, refusing to meet his eyes, was the true giveaway that you knew it most certainly was. "i don't know, is it?"

you were met with smug silence, so of course, you'd elaborate.

"i thought it belonged to my ex. i just chose what looked the warmest. it's storming out there — you might want something more than a sweatshirt if you're taking that all the way to cans." you gestured to the garbage bag — a detail jeonghan had almost forgotten at the sight of you in his clothing.

"you think your ex would have bought that?"

of course he wasn't going to take your bait in changing the subject. that would make things easy. you rolled your eyes, spinning your key ring and making it jingle. "hoseok has great style. it's just different from yours."

"and that jacket is more my style than his."

"it is," you conceded. under jeonghan's gaze you stuck one half of the jacket out, towards him. "do you want it now? you'll need it out there."

"i don't think i will. not when i'll have your sunny presence to warm me."

and for a split second your eyes narrowed. you had just come in from the storm — that much was plain to see from the wet of the jacket to the reusable grocery bag in your hand, full of pantry odds and ends. there was no need to go back out, and you and jeonghan both knew it. and not to mention that the invitation (thinly veiled) was unattractive — stay inside where it was warm or brave the stormy weather once more, all for a garbage run?

"race you to the elevator."

— and see, the truth of the fact was, it wasn't as though you made it difficult to fall in love with you (though even if you had, jeonghan would have liked the challenge, perhaps. there's fun in plenty of things). you were generous, a good conversationalist, you bitched about people with jeonghan but still tried to see the best in them, you were knowledgeable about the most random yet oddly applicable things, and for all of his teasing, you put up with him. perhaps enjoyed him.

— it certainly confused seungcheol, to say the least (but don't such things always confuse brothers).

"as someone who's had a lifetime to cherish your personality, there has to be something wrong with this y/n if they're willingly spending time with you. i'm trying to save my soul, putting up with you on the daily. they have no excuse."

"if i'm going to respond to that, you'll have to give me five minutes to run first."

and it ended with jeonghan quickly pushing away from the table, trying to duck out of seungcheol's grasp; but of course, the older brother and president of the boxing club would get him anyway, and through laughter, attempt to knock some humility into jeonghan (it wouldn't stick).

— but no need to focus on all of that, now. after all, this deep into the semester, jeonghan was busy enough without Crippling Thoughts of Romance.

— the worst damage you wrought thus far was making him choke that day you wandered into karaoke club and he was in the middle of a duet joshuji had managed to cajole him into doing on the spot (you swore up and down that you didn't know he was even in the club to begin with, but something about your flustered behavior and shua's glee at the whole affair made him consider otherwise); while it had been a (minor, he claimed) blow to his pride, it was easily pushed aside. jihoon, the bastard, might bring it up on occasion — the one (1) time angel voice yoon jeonghan chokes, and it's all on camera — but other than that, jeonghan? cool as a cucumber.

the last thing he'd do is be awkward around a crush. jeonghan was cool; jeonghan was suave; jeonghan was speaking in the third person because joshuji had been on a self-love bender a few months back and had said daily affirmations into the mirror every morning, and after finding out and teasing him relentlessly for it, jeonghan unfortunately picked up the habit.

AND IT WAS ALL YELLOW (CONT.) ☄. *. ⋆

— and now that we've gotten this far, i suppose it's time we bring up Jeonghan Habits™ because there were many, the closer you and jeonghan got to each other, strings of fate drawing you ever nearer, joining you at the hip.

— for one, it seemed that ever since that first unfortunately timed run to the convenience store at hours after-midnight, jeonghan felt comfortable just showing up at all odd hours of the evening, all messy hair and too-big hooded sweatshirts (most stolen from seungcheol, he'd reveal to you one day when you were confused as to just when jeonghan had picked up a love of coton de tulear puppy conventions — enough to get a commemoriative sweatshirt, no less), with the oh-so-enticing offer of going to grab a snack.

he even called it a date, once, when you were wrapped up in three blankets and your fuzzy house slippers, weakly try to convince him to just rummage through you're cupboards instead

"you're so cold you're going to cancel our date? and here i thought we had something real."

(you'd been so flustered by the whole exchange you simply ended up going to the with him, hoping that the act of Just Doing It would buy you time against his rapid fire machine gun comebacks — probably exactly what the fucker had planned in his 4d chessboard of a brain — and jeonghan took the opportunity to file away in his mind the cute expression that crossed your face in the split second that the words hit you fully in the chest and you floundered, wide-eyed into recovery)

— another, of course, was his habit of casually leaving things at your place whenever the two of you hung out; the first few times he left something — his jacket, a pair of sunglasses, necklaces that you don't ever quite recall him taking off to begin with — you promptly returned it with the naive belief that it was a one-off mistake not like to happen again. but it just kept happening, and so eventually, you just stopped returning.

if it were important, jeonghan would have texted you about it — he texted you about all kinds of random things, anyway, his lost socks would be no more strange than texts of ootds or how particularly sparkly his eyes looked that day.

and he never did...

until you started to wear the things he left, of course.

'should i get two of these?' the text came in while you were walking to your next class, taking your sweet time since the weather had cleared up nicely and the campus shuttles were running smoothly — not a single one hand been late all week, a sure change from usual. a moment later your phone chimed again, and jeonghan had sent a picture of a silver ring with a greek key styling. it was cool enough, and fit in nicely with jeonghan's usual style of accessory (not that you were particularly knowledgeable of such things... haha.)

'sure, but why 2?'

'so you can have one of your own instead of stealing it.'

'???!?'

'look at your outfit right now. you're wearing MY necklace. it's been missing for weeks.'

'YOU LEFT IT AT *MY* APARTMENT??????'

'you still have necklaces of your own; didn't have to be mine.'

'😑'

'so what's your ring size?'

'stfu'

— in your defense, you didn't think it was an issue, borrowing the things he'd randomly leave at your apartment. it had started off innocuously enough — seonghwa and momo (your roommates, bless them) needed you to go grab a few last minute ingredients for dinner (they were the ones cooking, so charitably you offered to do the grunt work) and when you couldn't find your own sunglasses, there were jeonghan's, just sitting on your dresser and waiting to be used.

and after that, well... jeonghan had nice style, okay? you were not immune to convenient and accessible clothing. if jeonghan wasn't so forgetful of his own articles of clothing, it wouldn't be the case that you steal his favorite sunglasses and borrow his usual rings and get a little too caught up in the way his cologne lingers on his jackets and night shirts, a smell all-too comforting and somehow tempting...

— you attempted to give the necklace back later that week when you and jeonghan met up to take the domino route to university, but he just shrugged it off and told you that you might as well keep it. he already bought himself another.

and besides. it looked good on you.

— and as for the last of Jeonghan's Habits™ (certified and trademarked, of course, everything jeonghan did was protected by common law)... well... the discovery of this one came later, at a time you weren't expecting it, and so perhaps that explains why it makes you as flustered as it does.

— see, it's of no surprise that yoon jeonghan is clingy in a very positive sense.

being friends with jeonghan is always being kept in the loop, having an ongoing dialogue about most everything, doing lot of Things together and always knowing that if there's something you're even thinking of doing, jeonghan has already cleared his schedule in anticipation of going to do said thing alongside you.

— what surprised you, but really shouldn't have (so perhaps the right word is simply astonished, flustered, made giddy by the realization of), was that he was also very cuddly. and very hard to be talked out of, no less.

— and like, okay, sure, it was kind of hypocritical of you to be taken aback when you'd been indulging jeonghan of his affinity for physical touch for quite some time, now.

the surprise hugs whenever he caught you waiting for the campus shuttle or simply Minding Your Own Business, his inclination towards taking your hand to make you walk a little faster when the two of you were going convenience store diving (yes, again), the quite literal poking and prodding whenever he was attempting to get you to change your mind and agree with his worst impulses... it was all pretty damning, in retrospect. but it never really fazed you: jeonghan's cuddly sort of behavior.

though you had gotten a smug kind of glee whenever you initiated contact and jeonghan's cheeks would warm to a beautiful shade of pink before he'd counter his own seeming embarrassment with a comment like "aaahhhh y/n, you're so familiar, what would others think if they saw you?"

randomly touch jeonghan's forearm, whether to pull him closer for some reason or another or just to softly massage the skin while you absentmindedly scrolled on your phone (instagram scrolling was sacred time you and jeonghan shared — then you didn't have to send him the reel with your comments, you could just tap him on the shoulder and show him). they way jeonghan would get all shy at the touch — like maybe he felt some of those butterflies that perpetually fluttered about in your stomach whenever he was around — was all the satisfaction you could ever need.

— so yes, you were quite used to clingy jeonghan. but cuddly? you had never quite strayed into full cuddle territory... until you did.

— that fateful night, you had lovingly been given notice via a very abrupt group text that you would not be able to return to your apartment for the evening (someone was going to have company over, doing... things that familiar company do) and when you had told jeonghan of your plans to join seonghwa in his trip to the computer rooms at crescent hub (they were open 24 hours and while it was based on reservation, you were almost always able to get a seat), he offered you come to his apartment instead.

either that, or i guess you could spend your time watching the gaming club host whatever tournament they had going on — apparently jun was planning to be gone for Quite Some Time (as a senior member of the club) and shua was there... for moral support? that part was unclear, to be quite honest, but it wasn't as though shua ever needed a reason to be Busy and Outgoing, so it didn't quite matter much, in the end.

"why aren't you at crescent hub with your roommates, then?"

"and encourage them? ah... don't make me look soft."

and you're sure that the way you roll your eyes can be heard through the phone.

"i had an assignment to finish." / "you had work to finish."

"but! it's all been submitted now."

"then i'll meet you."

— after all, it's not like you were a stranger to jun's apartment — you'd hung out there plenty of times as your bond with jeonghan deepened and your friendship to shua and jun grew — and they did have a rather comfy couch... you were almost certain jeonghan's offer implied and unspoken 'you can at least get some comfortable sleep on our vertiable cloud of a couch when i'm done prying at the finer details as to just who momo decided to bring home.'

you both, after all, had a deep-seeded delight for gossip.

— and when you got there, it was exactly what you expected: jeonghan had seemingly raided the pantry finding ingredients so the two of you could make dakdoritang — excepting the carrot, of course.

despite his seeming love for convenience store runs and general lazy attitude toward preparing his own meals, cooking together seemed to be something jeonghan enjoyed lately — or at least, that's what you surmised. to you, it seemed that one day jeonghan woke up and chose cooking as a new hobby.

if you were to ask jeonghan, he would brush it off, of course, probably saying something about his mom visiting and praising jun's affinity for cooking and there was no way jeonghan could let the bastard win — but really all it had taken was one (1) absentminded hand on his chest from you and a "hannie, can you pass me the garlic cloves?" for him to make cooking with you a new personality trait of his. go figure.

— and so the two of you made your stew while debating which movie you should watch when you were done. you ended up compromising on some drama that you'd seen people claim was so bad it was good, and it really was. the cringe,,,, the mutual yelling at the tv,,,,,,, threatening the lives of fictional characters,,,,,,, talking over whole dialogue scenes because you had a brilliant rewrite in mind and jeonghan simply couldn't resist the way you looked when there was an earnestness in your eyes and an opinion on your lips,,,,

it was quite late, indeed, before you even knew it. and when you switched the tv to a music video you really wanted to show jeonghan, the autoplay sort of took over, and your mind sort of shut down... drifted off to sleep.

— you woke up at some point in the early morning; the sound of the lock clicking and the door opening wasn't the sound you were used to, in your apartment two doors down, and it was just enough to snap you awake momentarily, still half in dream yet with one foot in reality.

it was just shua and jun, and they whispered an apology before padding off to their respective rooms (jun his own, shua his shared room with hannie), clearly worn out from their gaming activities.

— but that little push to semi-wakefulness was just enough for you to take stock of where you were, and you noticed belatedly that jeonghan had never left to go back to his room. you were both sleeping on the couch, legs intertwined; jeonghan was resting his head on your shoulder and your hands were reaching out, as if almost to give him a subconscious hug.

— the embarrassment ran through your nervous system almost instantly, and when you made to slowly and gently move your limbs so you were less... interwoven, jeonghan stirred and, still sleeping, pulled you back towards him. perhaps even closer than before.

you couldn't help yourself. a giggle escaped you; perhaps half nerves, mostly endearment. jeonghan stirred again and the sound and you covered your mouth, not wanting to wake him.

he stilled soon enough, and before drifting off again, you kissed him on the forehead.

— when you fully woke up the next morning, jeonghan had already began his day, but he didn't even try to hide the fact that the both of you had unwittingly unlocked a new feature in this friendship of yours. he sort of just... took the night prior as a confirmation that cuddling was on the list of approved actions and refused to let go of you, after.

not that it bothered you, of course.

it just seemed that the butterflies in your stomach were given wild energy at this new development; all your strategies for calming them suddenly ineffective.

AND IT WAS ALL YELLOW (CONT.) ☄. *. ⋆

— so.

if you had asked jeonghan at any point in his life if he were good at manipulating, his answer would be an unequivocable yes.

deceit? of course.

scheming? obviously.

lying? naturally.

blackmailing? most assuredly.

gaslighting, gatekeeping, girlbossing? undoubtedly.

changing criteria? yes.

moving goalposts? clearly.

hiding the apparent? well...

— see, the thing is... you get so good at the others that concealing the obvious isn't exactly necessary. everyone might know to be wary of the scheming, cheating, self-serving yoon jeonghan, but it didn't change the fact that he was so astute at the rest of it, image didn't exactly matter.

and besides, why save face when it was so fun to see people accuse him of what they were all very aware?

— so yes, jeonghan was quite skilled at all manner of deception. the one facet he was not so adept in was hiding his feelings toward the matter.

— thus, it should be no surprise that everyone and their mother knew jeonghan had a crush.

and it was only getting worse.

— don't ask jun when he put the dots together — he was more emotionally intellectual than he let on most of the time — and don't ask joshuji when either — that fucker had this quirk where he joked about something before it had real honest basis, but in some way only attributed to the gift of clairvoyance, he always seemed to be right. if you were to ask joshua, he'd likely recall the first time he had looked at jeonghan and wiggled his eyebrows and call that he knew then (he didn't; at least, not really).

— as for s.coups... well, don't ever ask cheol anything about jeonghan. he'd rather die than give it to you straight.

please. when he could embarrass jeonghan? seungcheol lives for that shit.

after all, what else are older brothers for?

— so yes, it was obvious to those close to him that jeonghan was in the long-suffering limbo of Having A Thing For Your Best Friend But Not Acting On It, and it had been apparent for months.

— after all, it felt like centuries ago that joshua had offered to play matchmaker for jeonghan and you — the veritable apple of his eye — and set the two of you up on a date.

it had been some lazy morning and jun nearly spit out his breakfast.

"you'd both love it! i'd get jihoon to play something romantic on the violin; well, maybe recorder—"

cue jun choking once more.

"and you could be there waiting in full suit and tie."

"with couples rings waiting in the bread basket." and joshua's eyes went comically and maniacally wide at jun's inclusion.

"ah, cheol would crash any date like that."

"but then y/n could get his blessing!"

— at some point, jun was at his wits end.

in his defense, it was him who had to see the two of you be all sweet and love-struck all the time, giggling and teasing each other on his couch in his apartment while all he's trying to do is eat a sorry excuse of a subway sandwich (eat fresh.) before jetting off to his internship again.

if you had to see that shit while eating soggy bread you'd be annoyed, too.

one more "aigoooo" while jeonghan squishes your cheeks, and you bat him away with a roll of your eyes and jun would take a knife out of the block behind him.

— especially when jeonghan started calling you "angel" at every chance he got. had jun's eye twitching, it did. never had he regretted getting roommates until jeonghan fell in love.

one day jun learned that the phrase "get a room" made at least one of you self conscious enough to at least tone it down, and he never stopped weaponizing it, since.

— of course, overtime jun's protests became background noise, but once, when your roommates and jeonghan's all went to the museum of fine arts together to celebrate the end of finals week (it was free admission so long as you had your svtu activities card), jun had deadpanned his new favorite phrase in the middle of the outdoor conversation area. jeonghan had turned to you grinning, like it was the excuse he'd been waiting for all day, and after a lighthearted "shall we?" you grabbed his hand and the two of you pranced off to explore the sculpture terrace.

jeonghan had raised an eyebrow at your choice of exhibit, but you pulled him over to a sculpture of a human figure with black wings and flashed a smile: “it’s not a private room, but i think it works.”

“if you’d prefer it, i’m sure there’s a custodial closet we could go to instead. i bet there's one right outside, even.”

you snorted. “and if i did kiss you? what would you do then?"

— you stunned him into silence. him. yoon jeonghan. 

— right as he was about to recover and shoot back some smartass comment, you laughed — the sound clear and playful, bright and radiating with warmth — and then you wandered to where they showcased student work.

— umm... uhhh... WHATTHEFUCKWEREYOUDOING WHATTHEFUCKWASGOINGONNNNNN

“angel.”

you hummed absentmindedly, only half hearing jeonghan through the internal screaming reverberating in your skull.

“y/nnnnnnnnnnnnnnn…”

he was closer now, if you focused, you were sure you could feel him, inching closer, right behind you, just to your right…

— he kissed your cheek: half on the corner of your lips, half on the soft of your skin.

— you couldn’t help yourself. you turned.

“if you were bold enough to kiss me here, i’d kiss you back. then i’d be scandalized, ‘how forward!’”

your mouth opened: in shock, in delight, in laughter, in a heavenly mix of the three. jeonghan just stood there, all self-satisfied grin.

“you could waste your time finding a comeback, or you could be forward.”

“i think i have time for both.”

☄. *. ⋆

end of file .

SVT (sophrosyne; virtù; truth) University hopes you've enjoyed your stay !

[medkitting]

how to stop being miserable while studying (from a guy in five ap’s who is suffering at the moment)

- MAKE EVERYTHING YOU DO INTO A CHECKLIST. EVERYTHING. i cannot stress how much less overwhelming it makes projects and assignments. divide each assignment into its own steps and make a checklist of each of them. extra dopamine every time you cross out a little box!! yaaay

- have something else to do while you study. i always found pomodoro timers insanely boring, so instead i’ve been logging onto roblox grow a garden and checking it every 20 minutes. more fun. just have something else running in the background, especially if you’re someone who works better with split attention.

- if you’re taking soul-sucking notes, PLEASE try color coding them after your favorite character. i’ve started using a teal pen on all my assignments and it genuinely helps my motivation and enjoyment.

- if you’re having an extra bad focus day, reward yourself for small stuff. every time you get a task done, eat a piece of candy. if it’s an extra, EXTRA bad focus day, try a smaller piece of candy or a chip for every question you get done. this works for me 90% of the time

- BRAG ABOUT IT. if you have socials you’re active on, BRAG ABOUT WHAT YOU’RE DOING. it definitely gave me an ego boost that helped me study more.

- offer to give people your notes/study tools. it feels good to help people!!! yay!! we are all friends here!!

- feel some sort of strong emotion towards it. i’ve heard a lot of people romanticizing studying, but i personally like to frame it as an act of spite and hatred. i am a warrior who will defeat this class. i am a GLADIATOR.

- can’t bring yourself to study, like you PHYSICALLY can’t because your motivation is so low you might as well be a rock? listen to videos or podcasts about your topic on repeat while you do something you enjoy. i know people on here hate stuff like that, active recall is everything blah blah, but if you can’t get out of bed you can at least do this. you might at least pick up one or two things.

- don’t do it the night before. get it done early if possible so that you can stop worrying about it!!

- pretend you are a mad scientist. or play pretend about it in some way. give yourself a little story to add some flavor.

- lastly: good luck!!! yaaaaay

[lunarriviera]

How do i watch dmbj/the lost tomb? In order...they are so many....are they remakes...i know zhu yilong was in one...? I see different actors every time....Pls help if you watched it.

oh ho ho have i watched it. i have watched it alright. not only have i watched it but just yesterday i made my UNDERGRADS watch it (okay just one clip of xiao yuliang, bc i was teaching them about wirework) (bc i also made them watch house of flying daggers, yes it was my favorite day in film class: wuxia day!). NB however that surprisingly little of this is actually wirework—it's just xiao yuliang flipping himself around like a little pancake, bc that's what he DOES.

[yes this guy is huang junjie, not xiao yuliang; but they both play the same character, xiaoge. yes we all know it makes no sense. shhhhh just roll with it, don’t fight it, it’ll be easier if you just accept that your favorite characters will never ever be played by the same actors, except for all the times when they are. why? because of c-ent. go home, c-ent, you’re drunk. also because it’s funnier this way.]

FORTUNATELY you don’t need me to explain bc smarter people than i have already made beautiful guides to watching dmbj. the main thing to remember is that you literally can’t do it wrong bc the entire franchise is, as we say in the american south, a dog’s breakfast. everything is made up and the points don’t matter. you can start with any of the dramas and it still won’t make sense, but that’s okay because that’s what fandom wikis and tumblr and all of us are for.

it’s all because of this guy, 南派三叔 = nanpai sanshu = npss, whose real name is 徐磊, Xu Lei. he never finishes anything he starts unless they force him to, probably by threatening to take away his alcohol. so if you read any of the novels, please don’t expect them to have endings, because half the time they just sort of. stop. (i’m still upset about sha hai. i will always be upset about sha hai. i'm in THERAPY about sha hai.) (and i suppose you could in theory read the novels, in order, first, before watching the dramas? i know exactly one (1) person who did this but they have an exquisitely nerdy doctorate and i really don’t advise it for the faint of heart, you’re gonna suffer through a lot of fart jokes and really super gross insects. sadly i know this because i too have read the novels, because i also have a doctorate and apparently way too much fucking time on my hands. which is why it’s 1 am and i’m answering another ask instead of grading the last half dozen papers on antigone and the popol vuh, okay where were we.) RIGHT, so—definitely read @foxofninetales’s wonderful guide to “possible entry points to dmbj” (or @laireshi’s guide to the novels, if those still interest you.) @laireshi also has an excellent guide to starting with ultimate note, which i think is a fine drama to start with! the cast is great. (just be prepared for a cliffhanger) (which can be resolved, anomalously, by reading the novel). @thelaithlyworm also has a good guide here, and @dramas-vs-novels has a guide to all the major characters. and you will love all of the characters, very quickly, with a degree of intensity that can and probably should alarm you. you will especially love the iron triangle. these idiots. them. yes.

so you can try to be logical about it!…OR you can do what i did, which was, knowing absolutely fucking nothing, just faceplant into reboot (because ofc i was obsessed with zhu yilong, who was my gateway drug, just like 99% of western dmbj rookies who fell in love with guardian), and then stare in horror as dmbj devoured my brain over the next two years and i couldn’t think about anything or anyone but xiaoge. you know. like that. isn’t fandom great.

just think, someday soon you’ll even be able to appreciate this absolutely idiotic in-joke. there are about a squillion more where this one came from, too.

but the main thing is, nonny: whatever you do, have fun! lost tomb is completely unhinged and that’s the best thing about it. it is also, as i repeatedly warn my students, the star wars of china, and you will never ever reach the end of its vast expanses. not least because npss keeps starting and not finishing things.

(but none of them are really…remakes…exactly? they're all mostly maddeningly different and cover different parts of the story, with a few…bizarre, difficult-to-describe…overlaps, and a few parts which don't fit anywhere, e.g. misty creed/conjuring curse.…you'll see.)

[popcornforone]

ARE YOU NOT EDUCATED?!

A Mr Ben Fan Fic (with some surprises)

At the time of writing this after creating & editing a first draft of this fic, it’s just gone past midnight into Monday 24th March. The last week we were spoilt for Pedro content & when we get our man looking that good for so many days it’s hard to stop the creative juices going. So yesterday after I posted something on Saturday which took off, I decided to write a fic about it, & well once again Mr Ben is our suffering man for this.

Synopsis:- after the release of Gladiator 2 it’s all the kids at school can talk about so Ben asks you to come & sit in on one of his enthusiastic classes

Word count:- 8200

Warnings:-DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18! Oral sex 69, size mentioned, lots of innuendo, swearing, colleagues to lovers, unrequited love, age gap, alluding to more sex, teasing, fantasy’s, role play.

Thanks as always for stopping by & having a read peoples. It’s always really appreciated that you read these. Yea I know I was meant to slow down with the fics but I just can’t stop writing at the moment.

Monday second period, your free lesson, no kids, no interruptions, time to play catch up. You were halfway through grading a stack of essays when a familiar, slightly exasperated voice broke your concentration.

“Please tell me you’re free third period on Wednesday.” You glanced up from your desk to see Mr. Ben standing in your doorway, leaning against the frame with the world-weary look of a man who had just fought a long & exhausting battle except, instead of a battlefield, it was probably the high school hallway. His dark curls were slightly disheveled, & he was gripping his flask probably filled with strong coffee like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

“Uh…” You hesitated, already sensing whatever he was about to ask would be a lot. “Why?”

He sighed & stepped fully into the room, rubbing a hand down his face. “I need another teacher to monitor my lesson because my students have lost their minds. Every single one of them has apparently watched Gladiator 2 this weekend at the cinema, which, by the way, they are not old enough to see they are underage, & now they’re convinced they’re living in ancient Rome.”

You bite back a laugh. “Oh no.” You hadn’t had this issue yet, maybe your students knew to not bring it up with you. Where as they all see Ben as a much more fun teacher who would have probably seen the film this weekend. He had, you’d actually gone with him & a couple of other friends as a large group to see it. You did sit next to Ben & share popcorn with him while you fawned over Paul & Pedro on the big screen.

“Oh yes,” he said, dropping dramatically into the chair across from your desk. “I tried to start a lesson on the fall of the Republic, thinking it would at least make them read, & one of them actually stood up and shouted, ‘The Senate is corrupt!’”

You covered your mouth, trying not to laugh. “That’s… impressive?”

“It’s insufferable.” He gestured vaguely, looking at you like he was already regretting every life choice that had led him here. “They keep calling me ‘General,’ they refuse to sit unless it’s in some kind of weird, dramatic gladiator pose, & one kid actually tried to fight another kid with a ruler because he said he ‘had to earn his freedom.’”

At that, you couldn’t hold back your laughter anymore. “Okay, yeah. That’s a disaster.”

“Exactly!” He pointed at you like you finally got it. “So now I need backup. Someone to keep them from forming an actual underground fighting ring while I try to salvage my lesson.” He tilted his head slightly, giving you an exaggerated pleading look. “Please? For the good of the Republic?” Those eyes love to be big & pleading. So brown. So smouldering.

You rolled your eyes, still smiling. “Fine. I’ll help.”

Ben let out a dramatic sigh of relief. “Thank you. You are a true ally to Rome.” He winked.

You smirked. “Just promise me you’re not going to encourage them.” There was a pause. A very suspicious pause.

“…Define ‘encourage.’”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Ben.”

He stood there with a sheepish look, already backing toward the door. “See you Wednesday!” With his coffee in hand he made his exit, leaving you with the distinct feeling that whatever was about to happen in his classroom later this week was going to be absolutely unhinged.

You weren’t trying to look nice today. Not exactly. It’s just that… well, if you were going to spend a whole period sitting in the back of Ben’s classroom, watching him flail through whatever chaos his students had planned, there was no harm in making sure you looked presentable. So what if you spent an extra few minutes on your hair? Or picked a shirt that you knew looked good on you? That was just… professionalism. Totally normal. Absolutely not because of the way Mr. Ben somehow managed to make a button-down & rolled-up sleeves look ridiculously attractive every single day.

Nope. Not at all.

By the time third period rolled around, you were a nervous ball of energy for lots of reasons. You were already seated at the back of his classroom, casually checking your phone as you waited for him to arrive. The desks were empty for now, but you could practically feel the energy that was about to hit. Those kids were going to walk in like they were entering the Colosseum, & you were just here to keep them from actually killing each other & help Ben out in anyway you could.

Then, the door opened. In walked Ben. In a tunic!

Not just any tunic, a white Roman-style tunic with a fitted waist, draped fabric, & a damn leather strap slung over one shoulder like he’d just stepped off the set of the movie. Like he was actually Pedro Pascal.

Your brain short-circuited. He was still wearing his usual work shoes, & he had a coffee in one hand, but somehow, he still looked like he belonged on an ancient battlefield instead of a public high school classroom. Your fingers tightened around your phone as you stared, way too hard, at the ridiculous yet unfairly good-looking sight in front of you. You can feel the butterflies in your stomach.

Ben, completely oblivious to the effect he was having, blew out a breath & ran a hand through his dark curls. “Okay, before you say anything, just know that I tried to resist.”

You blinked, mouth slightly open. “Resist… what, exactly?”

He motioned vaguely at himself. “This. The whole… outfit.” Your brain was still buffering. “But then,” he continued, sighing dramatically, “I realized that if I don’t lean into it, they’re just going to push harder. So, I figured, fine. Let’s embrace the chaos. If they want a gladiator, I’ll give them a gladiator.”

Oh, you were so in trouble. You’ve had a thing for Ben for a while but this was now unlocking a fantasy you didn’t know you had. The white tunic, the knees on display, his hair all messy. It was going to make you a hot mess especially if he was going to use his strict teacher voice at the kids, that always made something brew inside your loins.

You swallowed, forcing your voice to stay even. “Uh-huh. & you think this is going to help?” Ben shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee like he wasn’t currently dressed like every history nerd’s fantasy.

“Honestly? I have no idea. But if we’re going down, we’re going down in style.”

You nodded slowly, crossing your legs to keep yourself from fidgeting. “Right. Totally. Very… strategic of you.”

He shot you a grin. “Glad you think so. You ready?”

Absolutely not. But before you could respond, the first wave of students started trickling in, & as soon as they saw him, all hell broke loose.

“GENERAL BENEDICTUS HAS ARRIVED!” One of them screeched, the madness began.

Ben barely had time to set his coffee down before the classroom erupted into full-blown hysteria.

“GENERAL BENEDICTUS HAS ARRIVED! Roma! Roma! Roma!”

Half the class immediately slammed their fists over their hearts in some kind of dramatic salute, while the other half started chanting. Ben sighed, rubbing his temples like a man who had seen too much.

“Guys, we talked about this. No cult-like behavior before noon.”

You, meanwhile, were still recovering from the sheer visual impact of him in that tunic, so you barely managed to stifle a laugh. A group of students suddenly realised you were there. Your little chuckle instantly recognisable. A few whispers started going around.

“Miss is in awe of your presence, General,” one of them announced solemnly.

You immediately choked on air. “That is not what’s happening, I’m merely here to observe” not that any child really paid attention to that statement. Neither did Ben, the absolute menace, he grinned as he addressed you staying in character.

“You hear that? You’re in awe.”

You shot him a sharp look, refusing to acknowledge the warmth creeping up your neck. “I’m in awe of how you still have a job.” That only made him laugh as he reached for his glasses, sliding them on in one smooth motion before ruffling his curls, because apparently, he needed to make this harder for you. Those thick frames make you feel so unnecessary. You swore he did it just to be annoying. Or worse, just to test you. Because now, with the slightly messy hair & those glasses slipping down his nose, he looked less like a ridiculous history teacher playing dress-up & more like some unfairly attractive historian who had just come back from excavating Pompeii. It was too much. You needed help. You needed divine intervention. You needed to not think about attractive mr ben is normally let alone right now.

But instead, you’ve got a classroom of unruly students, whispering like this was some kind of romance subplot in their imaginary Roman drama.

One kid leaned over to another and muttered, “The Empress is struggling to contain her feelings.”

Ben clapped his hands together. “Alright, that’s enough. Everyone focus, it’s time to learn.” Damn that strict voice made the heat rise even more.

Silence. Blank stares. One kid yawned. Another pulled out their phone. Ben sighed. “Oh, so now you’re quiet?”

One of the students shrugged. “It’s just, you know… we were expecting something a little more…” He gestured vaguely. “Inspirational.”

Ben arched an eyebrow. “You want inspiration?”

“Yeah! Like, something that moves us. Like Maximus or Lucius did.”

A slow, devious smirk crept across Ben’s face. without warning, he turned, swept his arm dramatically across the room & launched into a deep, commanding voice:

“What we do in life… echoes in eternity.”

You are trying so hard to play a poker face but it’s failing. This is not good for your own imagination.

The class lost their minds. Gasps. Cheering. Someone actually stood up & yelled, “HONOUR TO GENERAL BENEDICTUS!”

You? You just sat there, gripping your chair so tightly your knuckles went white, because of course the one time you had to monitor his class was the day he decided to be the most attractive man on Earth. Ben had no idea of the effect he was having on you.

The classroom was buzzing. The students were practically vibrating with excitement, fully buying into whatever delusions of grandeur General Benedictus had inflicted upon them. Ben, clearly thriving on the attention, paced at the front of the room like he was about to lead an army into battle. You, meanwhile, were still trying to recover from that damn what we do in life echoes in eternity moment. You were not recovering well.

“Alright, soldiers of Rome,” Ben called out, clapping his hands together. “Since you all think you’re gladiators now, let’s see if you’ve actually learned anything.”

Once again Silence. The students, so loud just a second ago, suddenly looked anywhere but at him, textbook signs of kids who definitely didn’t do the assigned reading. Ben let out a long, dramatic sigh. Then, with a slow turn & a sharp flick of his wrist, he pointed straight at them.

“ARE YOU NOT EDUCATED?”

The students erupted in laughter. Someone pounded their desk. Another kid actually fell out of their chair. This was the most chaotic & most engaged you had ever seen a class.

But You on the inside, You were so done.

“Oh my god,” you muttered under your breath, pressing your fingers to your temples. Ben just smirked. Smirked! Like he knew exactly what he was doing & was loving every second of it. If he wanted to be that dramatic, then he’d better start actually teaching something.

“So,” he continued, rolling his shoulders back. Such big broad shoulders that you had tried to rest your head on in the cinema when this outfit was on the screen almost dropping hints to him that he could be your general “Let’s try this again. Who can tell me what the phrase strength & honor meant in the context of Roman military culture?”

Silence. More averted gazes. You sighed. Classic kids.

Ben, still ever the optimist, scanned the room, waiting for someone to answer. When no one did, he huffed & turned toward you.

“My lady?”

Your brain crashed.

Like, full system shutdown. Because first of all… my lady?!

Second of all, he had said it so smoothly, like it was the most normal thing in the world, like it wasn’t a one-way ticket to your complete& total flustered demise. Like he had been Acacius trying to seduce his wife in the film. Heat flooded your face instantly. You were absolutely sure, that you had just turned the exact shade of a ripe tomato.

“W-what?” you croaked, barely processing the question.

Ben raised an eyebrow, clearly amused at your sudden inability to function. “Strength & honor. What did it mean?”

Oh. Right. The actual lesson. You’d completely forgotten this was actually happening.

You cleared your throat, trying to will yourself back to sanity. “Uh, it was a motto used by Roman soldiers. It represented their loyalty to Rome & their personal code of ethics, courage, discipline, self-sacrifice.”

Ben grinned, snapping his fingers. “Exactly! See? At least someone did the reading.”

The students barely reacted, still caught up in the fact that their history teacher had just called you my lady.

You could feel them staring at you. Whispering. Giggling. Just to make it worse, one kid whispered, “The General & his Empress… a forbidden love.” But it was near you & loud enough that you could hear it.

You wanted to die.Ben, oblivious as ever, just sighed dramatically. “Can we please focus?”You were never going to live this down.

Ben then actually started teaching, everything still chaotic but getting calmer. A bit like the senate in Rome. You were so close to regaining control of yourself. Sure, you were still vaguely overheating from the my lady incident, but at least Ben had moved on. At least the students were somewhat engaged again.

“Alright, let’s talk about the structure of a Roman legion. Who can tell me how it was organized?” Ben asked the class. Dead silence. The students just stared at him, their newfound obsession with gladiators clearly not extending to actual military formations. Ben groaned. “Seriously? Nothing?”Still nothing.

You sighed, pushing back your chair as you stood up. “Okay, come on. You all know at least something about this.” The moment you moved to the front of the classroom, the energy shifted. You had co taught in the past but usually he was in a blue shirt & you hadn’t put as much effort into your look as you had today.

A low murmur ran through the students. Smirks. Whispering. Your stomach dropped. You had just hand-delivered them a golden opportunity to make things worse.

Ben, still completely unaware, just gestured toward you. “See? She believes in you. Show her that her faith is not misplaced.”

One of the kids leaned forward, grinning. “Ohhh, she believes in you, General.”

A chorus of ooohs swept through the room.You froze.

Ben turned to you, frowning in confusion. “Wait, what?”

More snickers. Another kid stage-whispered, “Our Empress stands beside her General at last.” You could feel your soul leaving your body. It’s hard enough to get kids to respect you at school but now, this would spread like the plague.

Ben blinked at the class, then looked back at you. Really looked at you. & after many years of being colleagues & friends finally, it happened. You saw the exact moment realization dawned on his face. The slightly widened eyes. The way his breath hitched just barely. The slow, dawning comprehension that maybe, just maybe, this was affecting you a little more than it should. Your lips parted slightly, your whole body tense, praying he wouldn’t say anything. Instead, being Ben, the hapless fool he is, made it worse. His mouth curved into a slow, dangerous smirk.

“Oh,” he said, voice dropping just enough to be dangerous. “I see.”

No, you don’t see anything, shut up shut up shut up.

Before you could form a single coherent thought, he turned back to the class, hands on his hips like he was thoroughly enjoying this. “Alright, settle down,” he said, his usual easy confidence returning. “The Empress & I are here to teach, not provide entertainment.”

Laughter. Absolute chaos. Someone actually clapped. You were done. Absolutely, completely done. worst of all? Ben knew it now. You could see the amusement in his stupidly handsome face. The awareness. You were so screwed.

Eventually bell finally rang, cutting through the chaos like a lifeline. You had survived just. Ben was in his element in lots of ways. Students grabbed their things, still whispering & giggling as they filed out. One of them actually had the nerve to pause by the door, hand over their heart, & declare, “Strength & honour, General. & … best of luck with your Empress.”

Ben barely held back a laugh. “Out.” You said sternly. The kid grinned & bolted before you could put them in detention for sassiness. just like that, the classroom was empty. Except for you & him. You exhaled, pressing a hand to your forehead. “Well. That was…”

Ben leaned against his desk, smirking. “Educational?”

You gave him a deadpan look. “I was going to say insufferable. But sure. Let’s go with educational.”

He chuckled, arms folding over his chest, the fabric of that damn tunic pulling across his broad manly shoulders in a way that was deeply unfair.

“Hey,” he said, tilting his head at you. “You survived.”

“Barely.” You scoffed. You turned to grab your things, determined to get out of this room before your body temperature spiked again. But then, because the universe clearly hated you, Ben spoke again.

“You know,” he mused, “for someone who came here to keep my class in order, you seemed pretty entertained.” You froze. Slowly, so slowly, you turned back to him, carefully schooling your face into neutrality.

“I was entertained,” you admitted, tilting your head. “Your theatrics were… impressive.”

Ben let out a low, amused hum. “Uh-huh.” He was looking at you now, not just with the usual casual charm, but with something… else. Something you couldn’t quite place. Before you could think too hard about it, you added, because clearly, you hadn’t suffered enough yet:

“Plus, you did look the part.” The words left your mouth before you could stop them.

Silence. Tension that the sharpest Roman blade would find hard to cut. Ben’s eyebrows lifted slightly, that slow smirk returning like he knew exactly what you meant.

“Oh?”

Oh no. Abort. Abort! Your brain thinks but your heart is leaping with joy.

“I mean…”You waved vaguely at his tunic, grasping for literally any escape. “The outfit. It worked.��� Again the wrong but right thing to say. Ben watched you, eyes flicking over your face, his smirk deepening.something had shifted. The teasing was still there, but underneath it, there was something quieter. Something sharper. Like he was actually seeing you. For the first time today, maybe for the first time ever, you weren’t sure you could handle it. Your own little crush no one knew about had been fine for you to secretly have on Ben but now you could see it his eyes… he knew.

You cleared your throat, grabbing your bag. “Anyway, I should go.” Ben was still watching you, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. As you reached the door, he called out,his voice lower, softer:

“You really think I looked the part?” You didn’t dare turn around. Instead, you just threw a look over your shoulder, as casually as possible:

“Don’t let it go to your head, General.”

“Of course not…” there was a slight pause before you left & then you heard him say those two words “…my lady”

You left quickly back to your own class room, before he could see the ridiculous, completely flustered smile that had taken over your face.

You had almost recovered. Almost. How you taught period four you had no idea at all but you got through it. You were desperately trying to focus on your actual job, shoving any & all thoughts of General Benedictus out of your mind, & those rather stunning knees.

Ben was already in the teachers’ lounge when you walked in at lunch time, back in his usual teaching look, blue shirt lose tie. Not your favourite though he only wears that on parents evening.

Because the universe loved to torment you today, he was mid-conversation with another staff member, loudly recounting his lesson. You hesitated at the door, debating if you should just turn around & starve, but it was too late. You were already here. You could do this. You’d just grab your lunch, not make eye contact, & pretend like Ben hadn’t spent an entire period unknowingly ruining your life. Easy… or so you think.

You headed straight for the fridge, determined to keep your head down, however Ben’s smooth voice carried across the room. Always music to your ears.

“I mean, I knew they’d be excited about Gladiator 2,” he was saying, “but I did not expect full-scale reenactments.”

The other teacher, a geography guy from down the hall chuckled. “Yeah, I heard one of the kids say something about General Benedictus?”

Ben groaned. “Oh, that.”You stiffened, pretending to be very interested in your lunchbox. “They started calling me that the second I walked in,” Ben continued. “I figured if I didn’t lean into it, they’d only get worse.”

The other teacher laughed. “Well, they’re definitely invested. I overheard a couple of them still talking about it after class.”

Ben smirked, shaking his head. “Yeah? What were they saying?” Your heart started to race.

The geography teacher grinned, grabbing his coffee. “Something about ‘the General and his lady.’” You choked on absolutely nothing. Ben froze. You both knew by the end of the day the whole highs school would know. You are both doomed.

The other teacher frowned, looking over, not putting two & two together . “You okay?”

You cleared your throat, way too quickly. “Yeah! Fine! Totally fine!” Ben turned his head toward you so fast you were surprised he didn’t get whiplash. Slowly, his lips curled into a smirk. The menace of the man.

“Oh,” he said, voice way too entertained. “So you did hear all that.” You hated him. But you also wanted him.

Desperately trying to play it cool, you shrugged & grabbed your drink. “Hard not to, considering you’re basically broadcasting it to the entire room.”

Ben hummed, still smirking. “Huh. & here I thought you weren’t that entertained by my theatrics.”

Any bit of resolve & restrain from you was falling, crumbling like the Roman Empire.

The geography teacher, completely oblivious to the war happening between you two, just laughed. “Man, those kids are gonna be talking about this for weeks.”

Ben shot you one last look, smug, amused, interested, before turning back to him. “Yeah,” he said, lips quirking. “Something tells me this isn’t over.” You practically sprinted out of the room with your lunch. Because, judging by the way Ben had just looked at you, you had a very bad feeling he was absolutely right. There was nothing you could do to stop this plague of the general & his empress being the school gossip.

You barely managed to hold yourself together until you were out of the teachers’ lounge. The second the door swung shut behind you, you let out a sharp, frustrated breath. You didn’t know your heart could pump that hard & fast. Every nerve on edge. You stormed down the hallway, gripping your lunch like it had personally offended you. You weren’t even thinking about where you were going, just that you needed out. Away from the smirking menace that was Ben. Away from the way he’d looked at you, like he was considering something he never had before.

Your feet carried you straight to his classroom. Of course they did. It was auto pilot. On Wednesdays you & Ben always have a little catch up at lunch in his class before the afternoon lessons. You shoved the door open, dropped your lunch on a desk, & pressed your hands against the cool surface, trying to breathe. You needed a minute. Just one minute to collect yourself. To not think of that smug handsome face.

The door swung open behind you.

You knew who it was before he even spoke.

“Wow,” Ben said, voice far too amused as he leaned against the doorframe. “Didn’t realize my classroom was your personal melodrama retreat.”

You squeezed your eyes shut. “Oh god, just leave it for 5 minutes please”

Ben stepped inside, letting the door fall shut behind him. You felt him approach before you even turned.

“I mean, you did run out of there pretty fast,” he continued, his tone light but aware. “Almost like you were trying to avoid something.”

You whipped around, pointing at him. “Oh, don’t you dare…”

He raised his hands in mock innocence. “What? I’m just making an observation.”

You scoffed, grabbed you lunch & went to walk past him to head to anywhere he wouldn’t be. But Ben, of course, moved with you. He turned just enough to stay in your space, his smirk deepening as he watched you try to put distance between you.

“C’mon,” he drawled, voice dangerously smooth. “Tell me the truth. You were a little entertained today.” He was close enough you could hear his voice reverberate. Sounding so soothing. Ben leaned in slightly. “Also…” His voice dropped just a bit. Just enough to really ruin you. “You did say I looked the part.”

You whirled on him, eyes flashing. “I hate you.”

He grinned. “No, you don’t.” The tension was suffocating now.

Something tight & hot crackled in the space between you, heavy enough to steal your breath. You swallowed hard, pulse hammering as you forced yourself to hold his gaze. “You…” Your voice came out shakier than intended. “You are the most insufferable man I have ever met.” Ben tilted his head, studying you. His smirk faltered for just a second. His eyes flicked to your lips. that was when you knew. He wasn’t just teasing anymore. He felt more .He wanted you flustered. He wanted this tension. He wanted you.

Your breath hitched.

Ben exhaled slowly, his voice turning low—thoughtful.

“…Huh.”

You swallowed. “What?”

Ben’s tongue flicked over his bottom lip, his gaze burning now. “Just thinking,” he murmured. “Maybe the kids were onto something.”Your stomach flipped. Because suddenly, you were the one being studied. You were the one making him pause.The tension was too much.You needed to get out.

Now!

Without another word, you spun on your heel, practically running for the door. Ben didn’t stop you. But as you yanked the door open, his voice followed you, soft, teasing, and way too damn smug.

“Speak later, my lady.” You slammed the door shut behind you. Ben on the other side of the door just smiled. Feeling his own butterflies. Wondering how his heart had never felt this way about you before.

You had never been so happy to see the end of the school day. Back home, no kids, no gossip, no Ben or General Benedictus. You had done everything in your power to shake off the day. You’d taken a shower. You’d put on comfy pajamas. You’d made tea, curled up on your couch, & sworn to yourself that you weren’t going to think about him.

Yet Here you were, staring at your phone. Almost like you were manifesting it as you opened your messages, right there, was his name on your screen. New message to read.

Ben: So. About today.

You blinked.Oh, hell no.

You couldnt help it though. You were typing back before you could stop yourself.

You: No.

Three dots appeared almost instantly.

Ben: What do you mean, “no”???

You groaned, flopping back against your couch. Of course he was doing this. Of course he wasn’t letting it go.

Another message popped up.

Ben: C’mon, admit it. You had fun today.

You hesitated.Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, torn between ignoring him &…well …Being honest. Because you had fun. You did. You always did with him. Even when he was an idiot. He was your friend, your idiot & you wanted him to be more than a friend. Even when he was making you want to tear your hair out. You needed him more than air especially, when he was making your stomach flip with nothing but a smirk a

& a well-placed my lady. You exhaled sharply, shaking your head before finally typing back.

You: It was tolerable.

Ben’s reply was instant.

Ben: Tolerable?? Wow. Okay. I see how it is.

You smirked, suddenly very pleased with yourself.

You: Glad we’re on the same page.

A pause. Three dots… & then

Ben: …And what page is that, exactly?

Your breath hitched. Because that… that was flirting. The menace. The smug handsome menace. You bit your lip, heart hammering as you stared at the screen, trying to figure out how to respond

…Another message.

Ben: Because personally, I think we’re on a very interesting page.

You froze.Your pulse roared.Oh.Oh. Not that he could see you getting flustered, but you felt like he could. Ben was not just teasing anymore. He was doing this on purpose. Your stomach flipped, for a split second, you considered throwing your phone across the room, changing your number & running away. But that was to irrational. Instead, you took a steadying breath &typed back, pulse racing.

You: And what kind of page would that be, General?

This time, his reply took a little longer. when it finally appeared, your entire body burned.

Ben: Wouldn’t you like to know, my lady?

Oh, you were so in trouble.

You had barely slept. Which was entirely Ben’s fault. When you did eventually get some

Sleep, your dreams were filled with him wearing that costume, smiling like the cat with all the cream & also adjusting his glasses in the sexiest way. After that conversation last night, especially the teasing, the my lady, you had spent hours replaying every little moment from yesterday, overthinking everything.

Now on Thursday you were sitting at your desk, nursing a coffee like it was the only thing keeping you alive, desperately trying to pretend like you weren’t waiting for him to show up. Because of course he was going to show up. He was Ben. Even without his information he liked to pop in each morning to see how his friend was… now the tension & unspoken words meant more than friends was very much on the cards. when the door finally opened, & he stepped inside you felt the flutter of your heart. Yeah. You were so screwed. Because Ben wasn’t just Ben today. He was smug Ben. Ben with a purpose. & this Ben, well he was wearing your favorite tie.

You froze. It wasn’t parents evening, this was a deliberate choice for you… for his empress eyes only. Ben smirked, strolling in with zero shame, his hands tucked in his pockets like he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Morning,” he said casually. God that voice was so enchanting. Your eyes flicked to the tie. Then back to his way too pleased face.

“You’re wearing that on purpose,” you accused.

Ben tilted his head, all faux innocence. “Wearing what?”

You glared. “The tie.”

Ben glanced down at himself like he’d just now noticed. “Oh. Huh. I guess I am.”

You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Well it’s still a nice tie” he shrugged at your words. “your impossible somethings you know that”

Ben chuckled, stepping closer. “You said that yesterday too. Starting to think it’s your pet name for me.”

Your face burned. Like you had been a naughty student being told off by her favourite teacher.

Before you could snap at him, he pulled something from behind his back, a coffee. Your favorite coffee. He placed it on your desk with a smirk. “Peace offering.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, suspicious. “Why?”

Ben shrugged, his voice dipping into something softer,something almost sincere.

“Because I was kind of an ass yesterday, it was kinda fun though,” he admitted. “& because…” His lips twitched. “I don’t want my lady holding a grudge.”

You hated how much that stupid nickname made your stomach flip. You sighed, glancing at the coffee. “You’re so lucky I need caffeine.”

Ben chuckled. “I know.”

Yours in your mug had gone cold so because you were weak, you took a sip. It was so good. You let out a little moan, this was when Ben moved closer. Close enough that the air shifted. Close enough that you could smell him, his stupid cologne, the faint scent of coffee on his breath. Close enough that your heart stumbled, because suddenly, it didn’t feel like teasing anymore. It felt like something else. Something bigger. Something dangerous. Something desired.

You swallowed hard, setting the cup down with slightly shaky hands. “You should…”You cleared your throat your voice trembling & betraying you. “You should go before class starts.” Ben didn’t move. His gaze flicked down, to your lips, which you didn’t realise were pouting.Then back up. Slow. Intentional. & so very hot. Your breath hitched.

finally, Ben exhaled, stepping back with a knowing smirk.”See you later, my lady.”

He left you staring as he walked out, trying to comprehend its all, gripping your desk, completely ruined.

The day had been torture. Ever since Ben waltzed into your classroom that morning, smirking, wearing that tie, giving you your coffee, he’d been everywhere. Usually this is nice but after the recent developments of the last couple of days this was suddenly impossible. Walking past your door at just the right moment. Flashing you a look during lunch. Brushing just a little too close in the hallway. Every single time, it sent your brain straight into dangerously unprofessional territory. With that & kids from all year groups asking you about his infamous history lesson, You’d barely made it through the day.

Just before the final bell, you found yourself back in his classroom. Alone. The excuse had been flimsy at best, something about checking on a lesson plan, making sure tomorrow’s class was set, but the truth? You had caved. Because avoiding him clearly wasn’t working. Neither was pretending you didn’t want him just as badly as he wanted you.

You stood near his desk, fingers tapping against the edge, when the door opened behind you. You didn’t even have to turn around. You knew who it was.

Ben’s voice was low, teasing. “Couldn’t stay away, huh?”

You let out a sharp breath, turning to face him. “You are”

“I know,” he smirked. “Impossible.” You glared, but your own eyes danced at him betraying you. Ben took another step closer. “Admit it,” he murmured, tilting his head. “You’ve been thinking about it all day.”

You swallowed. “Thinking about what?”

Ben’s gaze dropped, to your lips. Your stomach flipped.

“This,” he murmured.

His large hand cupped your face, your eyes locked, warmth filled you veins as your lips parted & then he kissed you.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t hesitant. It was everything he had been holding back. His hands found your waist, pulling you against him, & god, he kissed like he meant it. Like he had been dying to do this. Like he had no intention of stopping anytime soon. Your fingers curled into his shirt, your body melting into him, holy hell…this hot & it was happening. After all the teasing. After all the tension. It was bloody happening.

Crash!

The door swung open. A chorus of outrageous teenage gasps filled the room.

“Ohhh my god!”

“Called it! Called it!”

“THE GENERAL & HIS LADY.”

You ripped yourself away from Ben, mortified, while he just groaned, rubbing his face.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. You turned to face the students, who were, at this point, losing their minds.

One of them dramatically clutched their chest. “Sir, I feel betrayed.”

Another wagged their finger at you both. “So that’s why she was in the back of the class yesterday, she wasn’t just observing; she was admiring.”

Ben let out a deep sigh. “Alright, that’s enough. You all have classes to get to” It did nothing.

One kid just grinned at you. “Miss, was the lesson that entertaining?”You wanted to die.

Ben turned to you, clearly biting back a smile. “You did say you were entertained.” You digged him in the ribs, Hard.

The kids absolutely lost it, Ben just laughed, because now, neither of you had any chance of pretending this wasn’t real. You didn’t want to. You were ecstatic Ben felt the same way as you.

Some of the kids dispersed & left the door & you saw this as your moment to leave too. You had made it maybe three steps out of Ben’s classroom before a very firm hand wrapped around your wrist, tugging you right back inside.

The door now shut. Just you & your man. The kids all off to their lessons their little display they had witnessed now private.

Ben wasted no time & pressed up against the desk, staring up at a very smug, very smirking Ben. You exhaled sharply, trying to ignore the way your entire body thrummed at the closeness.

“Running away?” he asked, voice way too amused.

You glared. “You’re insufferable.”

Ben just hummed. “& yet, here you are.”

Your pulse roared. Because he was right. You were here. & you weren’t running. Not anymore.

“I’ve always been here Ben, it’s always been you” you run your hand through his hair.

Ben studied you, his smirk softening just a bit.

“So,” he murmured, voice dipping into something dangerous, “are we going to talk about what just happened?” You swallowed hard.

“Well,” you managed, trying to sound casual, “we did just get caught making out in your classroom, so…” you face can’t hide your delight.

Ben groaned, closing his eyes. “Don’t remind me.”

You grinned. “Oh, we will never be allowed to live this down.”

His eyes flicked open, burning now. “That so?”

Your stomach flipped. “Mhm.”

Ben tilted his head, watching you closely. “Y’know,” he mused, voice dropping just enough to ruin you, “I actually kept the costume.”Your breath hitched. Oh, that was dangerous information. Your lips parted slightly, your brain immediately spiraling into places it shouldn’t…

Ben noticed. He always notices even when he thought he didn’t.

His smirk deepened. “Oh, you like that, huh?”You refused to give him the satisfaction of an answer. But your face, the way it burned, the way your gaze flickered just slightly, betrayed you.

Ben grinned. “Wow,” he teased, “& here I thought you were all prim and proper”

“I am into roleplay,” you cut in flatly, surprising even yourself. Ben froze. You saw it, the slight stumble, the way his pupils dilated. His tongue gliding over his bottom lip.

“Ohhh,” he murmured, stepping closer—too close. “You’re going to be so much fun.” Your breath caught.

Before you could think, before you could stop yourself, you leaned in slightly, just enough to whisper, “Isn’t that right, Benedictus ?” Ben froze solid. For the first time all day, he was the one caught off guard. His jaw tensed. His fingers twitched against your hip. His entire body stilled as something hotter, something darker, flashed in his eyes. Suddenly, you were the one in control.

Ben inhaled sharply, his gaze flicking over your face. “You’re playing a very dangerous game, my lady.”

You smirked. “Am I?”

Ben exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “You have no idea what you just started.”Your heart pounded. Then just as he leaned in, just as you swore he was about to ruin you completely.

A knock.

You both jumped back as the door creaked open slightly.

“Uh, sir?”

You turned, only to see one of the students from earlier, barely holding back a shit-eating grin.

“We forgot our books,” they said, clearly lying, their eyes flicking between the two of you.

Ben sighed, rubbing his temples. “Jesus Christ.”

The student just smirked. “You’re welcome.” They bolted, laughing way too hard as they ran down the hall. Ben groaned. You just grinned, grabbing your bag & heading for the door. But just before you stepped out, you leaned in one last time, letting your lips brush his ear.

“Strength & honor, Benedictus .” Leaving Ben standing there, stunned, breathless, & completely ruined. This was so not over. Not by a long shot.

One thing lead to another & it was soon Friday night. You were sat on Ben sofa, an occurrence that happened from time to time as friends. It’s usually at this time in the evening you either ask for a pillow & blanket so you can crash at his or he puts the two of you in a uber so he can make sure you get back to yours safely before taking the exact same uber back to his. He was always a gentleman to his lady, he had never truly realised it until earlier in the week.

What at the start of the week had been a friendship had tonight ended up with the two of you at a nice steak house, longing glances over wine, hand strokes, moments where silence was all the was needed, & kisses tasting better then the delicious meal you had eaten. This was more than friends. You sat in the sofa trembling a little, wondering where Ben was he had been gone a while. Had he gone to bed & forgotten about you sat on his sofa?

“My lady” you hear bounce off the walls breaking the silence.

“My gen…” you don’t complete the sentence as you turn your head to his direction. The room is now filled with your laughter. There he is. Back in his Roman costume. The white glistening, the cape swishing, the hair messed up. He’s showing off his broad shoulders & Tiny waist. Those knees, oooh they made your own go weak. He look’s ridiculous & exquisite at the same time. The smirk on his face twitching. Clearly he is glad this has an impression on you.

“Tell me, if we were the general & his wife, how would I court you?” He asks. “Would I bring you flowers, would I bring you wine, would…”

“Your favourite tie, bringing me coffee & your sexy glasses is all I’ve ever needed Benedictus” you interrupt & slowly get off the sofa making your way across to him. You hesitate at first to touch him but then see the want in his eyes so your hands glide over his shoulder. You let out a deep sigh, inhaling his scent. Always arousing.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“cos your much older & way out of my league”

You say looking down stroking the soft material. He then grabs under your chin & lifts it. The eye contact intense, his words from the soul.

“I may be slow at picking up signs, but if you’d let me know much sooner, we could have been addressing this along time ago” his thumb trails over your lips. You stand on your top toes to make sure those lips connect with his. Deep, powerful & emotional, like this kiss has been built up for years, which in your head it has. His hands were caressing your neck as the kiss got steamier before one of them slid to your back & slowly started work on the zip on your dress.

“Maybe this needs to happen somewhere more grand for a general” you say, breathy already. Radiating arousal at his touch as the zip reaches your lower back.

“Only the best for my lady” he says before he scoops you up into his arms & carry’s you to the bed you have long dream or of occupying.

Ben lays you down gently on the bed, his hands never leaving your body, as if afraid this might all vanish if he let go. You reach up, fingers immediately finding the soft folds of his cape, tugging at it slowly until it slips from his shoulders & you discard it onto the floor. Your eyes trail over him, the absurdity of the costume, the way he somehow manages to make it sexy. The chest plate is next, & as you unclip it, your knuckles brush against warm skin & tense muscle beneath. Ben watches you, breath heavy, lips parted, not saying a word. His gaze is hungry. Focused. Mush like a general about to conquer what’s rightfully his.

“Tell me,” you whisper as you reach for the fabric at his waist, “did they make underwear in ancient Rome?”

Ben huffs a soft laugh, tilting your chin with his finger. “For you? I’m going historically accurate.” & sure enough, when the final layer drops, he’s gloriously, completely bare beneath.

Your breath catches. You’ve seen him before, glimpses, tight shirts, damp post gym moments, but nothing prepared you for this. He’s all power & heat & perfectly ruined restraint, & somehow, still smirking like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

You sit up, sliding your dress off your shoulders & letting it pool around your waist before you shimmy it the rest of the way down. You’re in your underwear, but not for long. Ben takes over, unclasping your bra with skillful fingers before tossing it aside. He kisses down your shoulder, your collarbone, reverent, teasing, & hot as sin.

“Now,” he says lowly, voice rough & dark against your ear. “How do you want this?” Its commanding. He’s into this.

You bite your lip, emboldened by the haze between you. “I want to taste you.”

Ben’s breath catches. His hands flex at your hips. “Yeah?” he murmurs.

You nod, grinning as you push him back onto the pillows & crawl up his body, straddling his chest for a moment, teasing, before shifting lower. At the same time, he tugs you gently forward, guiding you with that same maddening patience he always has, only this time, it’s deliciously wicked.

Before long, you’re both shifting into place, mouths hungry, bodies aligned in that perfect, obscene symmetry. You moan against him the moment he slides his tongue over you slowly, expert, so Ben. He groans, hips jerking as you take him in your mouth in return.

It’s messy, hot, overwhelming. It’s worship & ruin & everything you’ve both been holding back. He tastes like salt & skin, & you make a mental note to thank the Roman gods for whatever twist of fate led to this exact moment. Just before the edge starts to creep in, before your entire body threatens to break from the pressure of it all, Ben pulls back just long enough to murmur, breathless against your thigh:

“Still entertained, my lady?” You just moan your answer because words? Useless now… & will be for the rest of the night.

Saturday morning & Ben’s bedroom was a mess. The sheets were tangled & smelled of you. His gladiator costume was somewhere on the floor, a discarded relic of the absolute sin that had taken place. You were still breathless. Your body was boneless, melted into the mattress, your skin still buzzing from everything he’d done to you the night before & this morning. Ben, equally wrecked, lay beside you, one arm draped lazily across your stomach. Neither of you spoke. Not yet. Still in a sexual haze of lust. Because neither of you had fully recovered. But the silence wasn’t awkward. It was warm & comforting. You look at your man, watching his magnificent chest rise & fall. Noticing every drip of sweat. He’s perfect. He’s your kind of perfect.

Your fingers lazily traced along his forearm, & Ben hummed, a low, deep sound that sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. Arousing you instantly. You turned your head, finding him already watching you. Smirking. The Smug bastard.

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered, voice hoarse from… well… Everything.

Ben chuckled. “& impossible” he added that made you laugh “yet…” His hand slid along your waist, pulling you even closer. “Here you are.”

Your lips twitched. He wasn’t wrong. You exhaled, tilting your head just enough to kiss him, slow, lazy, thorough. Ben sighed into it, his fingers pressing into your hip, his body shifting just enough to remind you, that He wasn’t done with you yet. His erection is already starting to form again.

When you finally pulled away, he gave you that look. The one that had ruined you in the first place. The one that meant trouble.

“Y’know,” he murmured, his nose brushing against yours, “I think that was my best history lesson yet.”

You huffed a laugh. “Is that so?”

“Mhm.” His fingers trailed absently along your thigh. “& you, make an excellent student.”

Clearly the role play of him coming home after a grand battle was now making him have even more of a teacher fantasy. You were only going to encourage it. You smirked. “Think I deserve extra credit?” Ben grinned, flipping you onto your back with zero effort, settling right between your legs.

“Oh, my lady,” he murmured, voice wicked & full of promise.”I think you deserve everything.”

Then he showed you exactly what he meant.

Again.

& again.

& again.

Making sure you really were entertained.

[skzthelomlhehe]

"Is my skin that ugly?" College students vocalracha x F/reader of colour

Total masterlist Tag Reqs:@arestoucries

Heeyy pookieeess~ earlier I was taking a nap and had a dream lolz~ this is just gonna be a short and sweet fluff sorta angsty little oneshot based off of that dream. This is for all the brown girlies like me and the darker girlies who feel insecure about their skin.

Just so you know, you're all beautiful regardless of colour, body shape or anything for the matter. You're all extremely gorgeous in your own ways. Please don't let anyone say otherwise, my love ❤️ be a little kinder to yourself, yeah?

Also this is gonna be gender neutral so to all the dark boy pookies out there, y'all are extremely handsome as well ❤️

Hope you guys enjoy!

Genre: a little fluff a little angst, roommate vocalracha

Warnings: mention of racism, violence.

Synopsis: you're a person of colour who is a transfer student in a prestigious Korean University. You got here on a great merit but unfortunately have to face a lot of racism due to your skin. You seek your roommates' comfort and later find out they... Took care of the problem.

It was a long day at uni. You were drained. More so emotionally. Having to deal with nasty glares and snickers because you were of color was tough. You've always known that Korea was a racist country but... The emotional damage you suffer is something you didn't expect.

You walked in to your shared apartment. Jeongin and Seungmin were on the dining table laughing about something. Usually you'd join in on the fun but today... It was different story. You were extremely homesick, missed eating your childhood comfort meal, the bullying was starting to really get to you.

You always thought you were capable of brushing it off but maybe that wasn't the case. Not today at least. You threw your back on the couch, flopping down on the soft mattress of it. You leaned back, your palms covered your face as you let out a deep sigh.

The two boys, visibly worried, walked up to you. "What's up, Y/N-ah?" Jeongin asked, concerned. "I bet college works too much for this kid heh" Seungmin chimed in, trying to joke and lighten the mood.

Jeongin and Seungmin chuckled but soon flinched to a serious reality when they heard you sniffle. They looked at you and realised you were crying.

Jeongin tried to hold your hands apart, revealing your face which now flooded with tears. "Y/N?? Why are you crying??" He asked. Seungmin looked equally worried. Guilt filling his gaze.

You weren't the type who would cry that easily, especially not in front of others. But today, for some reason, it was too hard to hold back. "Be honest guys... Is my skin that ugly...?" You sobbed.

Both the guys looked at you surprised. Their demeanor changing instantly. "What?? Why would you even say that??" Seungming queried. From his eyes it looked like he was starting to get mad.

You looked down, still sobbing. "There's these... These people in my class who... Who keep bullying me because I'm of colour and... I always brushed it off but... I can't anymore..." You bent down, crying even harder now.

Jeongin kneeled down, looking up at you. "Who was it?" He asked. His voice stern and cold. The look in his eyes equally terrifying as if he was ready to kill. You looked up at Seungmin who was standing next to you, his fists clenched and eyes equally raging.

You tried to brush it off saying it'll all be over once you graduate anyway. Knowing how overprotective they were of you... There's no saying what they could do.

The two men realised you were shaken up. Noticing it, their gazes turned softer. "Come on, Y/N-ah... Please tell us..." Jeongin looked at you with puppy eyes, still kneeling down.

Seungmin sat next to you, pulling you in for a hug, while your head rest on his chest, his hand rested on your head gently patting you, "Please tell us everything that happened, Y/N-ah... We just want to be there for you. You're not ugly. You're the most good looking person we've met. You're so unique... So adorable... So attractive. How could you say that?" He whispered.

Jeongin got up as well, sitting next to you and patting your back. "Go on, Y/N-ah" he whispered.

You finally gave in, spilling everything. How people would give you nasty glances and snicker at you in a disgusting manner. How they would call you racist slurs. Sometimes even throw your things away and drop food or juice on you.

In the meantime, Jeongin prepared some warm milk for you to calm down. After a while of venting you finally felt better.

"thanks for listening, guys... I really don't know why I got so sensitive..." You gripped the glass of milk in your hand.

The two reassured you, "come on. It's ok to feel vulnerable at times. It's okay to cry. You've been holding on to it for so long. You deserved to let it out. Just because you cried doesn't mean you're sensitive okay?" Seungmin said. His voice ever so warm and comforting.

"and you're absolutely NOT ugly. You're very very very attractive. You're so kind and smart, you're so hardworking and it's always so good to be around you. Those idiots don't know shit. Don't think about them, yeah?" Jeongin chimed in.

Although it was tough changing your perception about yourself, it definitely felt nice to be told you're not ugly. It felt so comforting to be loved and cherished.

You yawned, making the two chuckle for some reason. You looked at them dumb founded, "what?" You shot at them. "It's nothing haha let's go to bed shall we?" Jeongin laughed.

The three of you head to bed. And that was one of the best sleep you'd had for a long while.

Weekend rolled by. You took your time relaxing at home, giving your parents a call and telling them about it. They encouraged you as well. You were starting to feel better already.

And soon, Monday came by in the blink of an eye. Even after all the encouragement, you felt hesitant to go. But you pushed through and went anyway.

The atmosphere was weird. People were looking at you, yes but this time it was nasty glances. They looked... Scared?

"yah! Y/N-ah! Come here!" Seungmin called out. You smiled seeing him and Jeongin waiting for you in one of the benches.

You went over to them, sitting down beside them. "Good morning." Jeongin smiled, "sorry we left early. We had some work."

"yeah good morning. Also no it's fine." You replied "But what's going on though? Why's the atmosphere so weird?" You asked, confused, raising an eyebrow.

Seungmin and Jeongin looked at each other and smirked. "You'll find out soon enough~" seungmin smiled at you slyly. It just made you feel even more weird.

The professor came in shortly after, his face grim. Since you were sitting on the front raw, he could see you when he walked in and his face went white pale the moment his eyes laid on yours.

He looked away, clearing his throat. "Class, I have an announcement to make." He spoke out.

You were even more confused. What happened?

Moments after, the professor spoke again. Apparently the group of people who had been harassing you were expelled for harassment of peers and many more charges. Once expelled, they were found beaten to a pulp in the cafeteria where they first started physically assaulting you.

You looked at the two boys who were snickering the entire time. You were stunned. Jaw almost dropping.

"wh-what did you guys do...?" You asked. Your eyes open wide. Your face visibly confused. "Oh it's nothing~ we just gave them a little nudge~" jeongin giggled. "Oh and we also 'politely' warned the professors who turned a blind eye to you that if you or anyone else every got harrassment, it would turn a bit bitter for them~" seungmin chimed in.

You were genuinely confused, should you be laughing or should you be terrified? Regardless, you felt an overwhelming sense of warmth. You knew they had your back and you couldn't be happier.

"always remember, Y/N-ah..." Jeongin whispered, "You're actually fucking stunning." Both of them finished.

Fin~

Just gonna say this once more, all of you are extremely extremely attractive so don't let anyone else make you think otherwise!! All you need is a good heart and mwah! Love you pookies~ bye byeeee