#i REALLY need this pen i do everything in it and nothing feels the same its baaaad i want it NOWWW sobbingggg

[bagelbraind]

Missing Pen, Seeking Identical

Hi Tumbledr, the other day I lost an amazing 0.4mm pen. I had bought it months ago at a Japanese Bookstore/Stationery store.

It was the Sakura Ballsign iD pen, with the same one piece metal clip & rounded body w/ 2 flat faces, but with a dark & translucent body instead of black or white.

The ink was a “Not-Quite-Black” shade of a dark tan, advertised as a deep dark forest green.

Any help finding a link to one would be immensely appreciated! If its any compensation id be willing to doodle something nice for ya too

[luveline]

Okay, I would love to see an Aaron Hotchner x anemic bombshell!reader (lmao) who gets randomly faint and Aaron freaks <3

“This is oh so difficult,” you say under your breath, a sing-song tone to your voice. You often talk in juxtapositions, unhappy words in silk, cheerful worrying. “This is… stressful.” 

“You don't look stressed,” Spencer says. 

You elbow at him affectionately. “Do I ever? Sweetheart, there's nothing ever so stressful as to wear it on your face. Now come here, you have a pen smudge on your cheek.” 

Hotch could pinch the back of your shirt to stop you, but Spencer holds out a hand to brace you away from him like a disgruntled younger sibling while you laugh and reach for him. 

“Cut it out,” Gideon says. 

“Yes, boss.” 

Hotch turns away from you both to hide his smile. The case is long (as always), difficult (as always), and getting more and more serious as days pass. There hasn't been much time to pause and take stock, and so your playfulness comes at a great time —you need moments of fun like this to stop the weight of the inevitable dragging you down hard.

Your playfulness is unfailing. “So,” you say, quieter now to avoid Gideon’s attention while you lean into Hotch's personal bubble, “what will you make me for dinner?” 

“The same thing I've made you for the last four days.” 

“Ah. Nothing, then.” You tip your head to one side. 

“What?” 

“Nothing. Just feeling kinda weird. I really am hungry, handsome, and you aren't very gentlemanly in letting me starve.” You share a smile. You say everything so particularly, it only serves to endear you to him more and more. It's like… you're just sure of yourself, and in love with the world, and at least a little in love with him. Having you here with him makes the job easier. 

“You're hungry?” he asks, standing up. He expects no answer, nor for you to stand, but you clamber onto your feet quick as anything with wide eyes. 

“I was only–” You pause. 

Hotch can see the moment you lose sight of where you are, that far away gloss to your eyes, the rapid blinking that follows, and your hand thrown out to his too quickly. You grab at his arm roughly and he's crueller in his reaction, grabbing you under the arms with a startled, “Hey.” 

“Is she alright?” Spencer asks, his chair smacking the desk as he stands. 

Your lips pull down into a frown, eyes squeezed closed. He's startled —Hotch didn't even know you could frown outside of a joke. You're feeling that heavy, sudden wrongness that comes with being faint, he'd guess. 

He rides it out with you, holding you tight. After a few moments your eyes peel open, a spark of upset about you that quickly lends to sheepishness. “Oh, sorry,” you say softly. 

“Don't be.” 

You gather your bearings. Hotch moves his hands to a more amicable place on your arms, more to comfort than to hold, while Spencer stands and offers you his bottle of water. 

“She good?” Gideon asks Hotch. 

That perks you up. “I'm always good, sir,” you say, sending a smile at your boss from over your shoulder. “Just flirting with Agent Hotchner.” 

“Did you take your medication?” Hotch asks, cutting the fat of the conversation clean off. 

“Yeah, I never miss it.” 

He is admittedly more concerned about you than one coworker would be for another after a dizzy spell, but you aren't just a coworker. Hotch cups your cheek quickly in his hand to gauge your temperature and deduces from there that it isn't a sickness. 

“You weren't exaggerating about being starved,” he decides. Your iron pills do so much, and you have to do the rest. “Reid, what foods help with anaemia?” 

“Anything rich in iron. Red meat, pork, poultry, dark greens, especially spinach. All kinds of beans,” Spencer reels off. 

“Any of that sounds good to you?” Hotch asks, giving your arm a gentle squeeze. 

You meet his lowbrow with softer eyes, nodding your appreciation. Your lips part to answer him, but you're cut off. “Be quick about it,” Gideon says, glasses slipping down his nose as he turns back to his case file, “we have a lot to do.” 

Hotch buys you a burrito for the iron and a smoothie because you deserve it. You kiss his cheek, and apparently he deserves that for being ‘such a sweetheart’. He doesn't bother pretending he doesn't want it, or the second or third kiss that comes after.

[thebestsetter]

Thinking about (lovesick) Hiori Yo keeping a diary.

His parents have always been emotionally unavaible. For them, Hiori was nothing more nothing less than an experiment, the one destined to be what they've always wanted to be and yet never managed to acomplish: someone who wears the title of being "the best in the world".

He also didn't have much (if any) friends. All his time was dedicated to football practice, so the only people he talked to (aside from his parents) were his teammates. And they were nice, sure, but they were not his friends. They were more like acquaintances. The only one he could really call a friend was one of his teammates, Karasu Tabito, and even so he still didn't feel comfortable enough talking to him about the complex thoughts he had.

Because of that, he's never had anyone to talk with. No one to confide about his feelings and emotions. No one to talk about how he wanted to leave his home house (that place didn't feel like a home). How his parents fucked up his sanity. How he didn't really like football that much.

He couldn't keep all these things inside his head anymore. He needed to pour these feelings out. That's why he decided to start a diary.

Grabbing an old notebook and one of those common blue pens, he started writing. The diary was his most treasured possession. It stayed locked inside his bedside table, being away from all of the prying eyes.

Writing felt good. He wrote about his strained relationship with his parents. About soccer practices. About gaming tips. About pretty much everything.

His thoughts about many different themes were written there. That's why his journal didn't really have a specific theme.

Well, at least in the beggining it didn't have.

Because ever since a month or so, all the pages on his diary began to revolve around a girl. You.

He met you during a rather boring math class. The teacher was rambling on and on about algebrics or whatever, and time seemed to freeze because of how utterly shitty the endless class seemed.

"His explanation sucks, doesn't it?"

He heard a female voice coming from beside him. When he turned to the direction of the sound, he saw the prettiest girl he had ever met.

Her hair framed her face perfectly, it's color matching her eyes in the most beautiful way Yo had ever seen. The smile she had on her face seemed to shine, and Hiori found himself smiling back, too.

"Yeah" he sighed, then looked back at the teacher

"I just wish the old hag would shut up"

"I wish he would just shut up"

They spoke at the same time.

Looking at eachother, they both began to laugh. Hard. Clutching your stomach and tearing up kind of laugh. Snorting like a pig laugh. Wheezing. Hitting the table with your fist to try and stop with the loud laughing, but being phisically incapable of stopping.

"Hiori Yo and (Name) (Lastname). Do you want to share with the class what made you laugh so hard? I'm sure they want to laugh to."

"N-No, mister. We're sorry. We-We'll stop" you answered, still trying to stiffle your laugh

"Do not interrupt my class again, or else I'll send you both to the principal's office"

"Okay sir." Hiori answered, not believing a word the teacher said but still a little scared to have his parents find out he went to the principal's office

"Hiori Yo, huh?" You said "It suits you"

"Thank you, miss (Name) (Lastname)." Hiori smirked "Your name is very pretty. It also suits you"

"Oh, so you think I'm pretty?" You smirked, a mischevious and playful glint on your eyes.

"N-no!" Hiori blushed hard, averting your gaze. His accent got stronger like it always did when he became nervous, and he was quick to correct himself "I-I mean, yes! You're very pretty! B-but I didn't mean to say t-that. Not that you're not pretty! Is just that..."

He was interrupted by the sound of your laugh mixed with the bell signalizing the end of the school day. It's obnoxious sound was such a contrast from your sweet, honey-like melodic laugh.

"Don't worry, I was just teasing you!" You smiled at him, grabbing your backpack and getting up "Well, see you on the next advanced math period, mister Hiori Yo"

You then quickly left, leaving behind a red and speechless Hiori.

He has been obsessed in love with you ever since. He wanted to be with you all of the time, no exceptions. You were just so nice! It seemed like his problems disappeared when you were near. Life seemed brighter, and even his parents noticed the change in his behavior. He was more carefree, happier, lighter.

And never once did he forget to write in his diary. In fact, he wrote about you so much he decided to rip the pages about his parents and other things and make the journal solely based on you.

He wrote about the dates he wanted to go to with you. Wrote about how he wanted to hold hands with you, kiss you till you're both breathless, stargaze with you, game with you. Do basically everything with you.

He detailed how he wanted to confess to you: you would both be in a park, having a picnic, when he would suddenly pull a bouquet from his backpack and put his feelings on the table, making it clear he viewed you as more than a friend. And then you'd laugh and say you like him too, making fun of his strong accent and how much effect you had over him.

Not that he'd mind. As long as your attention was on him, you could humilliate him all you want. He was pathetic.

He even wrote about your wedding, the petunias he wanted to give you and how Hiori (Name) had such a nice ring to it.

He wrote everything in his diary. And that was his fatal flaw.

Because he also wrote about how he wanted to spend his practice time with you. How he wanted to give up on soccer and move in with you to a house on the countryside, just you and him. How he sometimes skipped practices just to go out with you.

"Mom? Dad?"

He would never have thought that, one day, he would forget to lock the diary up. And who would've guessed it would fall in the hands of his parents, who have no idea of privacy.

"Yo, we need to talk about this"

When Hiori saw the notebook in his dad's hand, he swallowed dry. He felt like crying just by imagining what they wanted to discuss about.

Maybe they didn't read it. Yeah, maybe they still respected their son, at least a little bit.

"W-what? How did you..."

"It was on your bed." His mom answered, a stern expression on her face "me and your father came to an agreement after reading it, and..."

"You read it?!" Hiori was furious and sad at the same time. Not surprised, no. He knew they would've done this. "You can't do this! My personal thoughts are in there! It's my diary! You're invading my privacy!"

"Bullshit. Teenagers do not have nor need privacy" his father cut him off "Whatever. What matters is that we read about that (Name) girl. And we've decided..."

No. He can say anything but what he thinks they're bout to say. He can't handle that.

"We don't want you around that girl anymore. She's getting in the way of your football practices. That's why...

We're moving you to a different school."

No...

No.

NO!

"No she's not!" Hiori screamed, pleaded. He wished that for once his parents would listen to him, think about his feelings at least one time. "I love her! I swear I'll do double the practice! Just, please. Please don't do this" his voice was wavering. He was weak. "Please don't keep her away from me. Please."

"We do this cause we know what's best for you. We're your parents. We know you better than yourself." His mom tried to reason.

"No you don't!" Hiori screamed "She's the best thing that has ever happened to me! You can't do this to me! You can't decide these things in my behalf!"

"We're your parents. We can and we did. End of discussion." His dad gritted out, not an ounce of empathy in his face. "And we also decided you're not keeping a diary anymore. We don't want you hiding things from us."

With a swift move, he threw the notebook inside the fireplace.

"NO!" Hiori screamed, running to collect the ashes and try to save the diary, but it was already too late.

In his knees in front of the fire, Hiori cried. The flames were dancing around as if mocking his sadness, laughing at his disgrace.

He stayed there for so long he lost track of time. His parents were no longer in the room, deciding to finally give their son space. But he didn't want space.

He wanted you.

He stayed motionless until the last flame was unstinguished. And when it finally was, so was his hope for a better future. A future without his parents playing with the strings of his life all the time, treating him like a puppet. A future with no pain.

A future with you.

And so, a single page that survived flew and fell in front of him.

He picked it up.

Dear diary,

I think I can make up with my parents. I didn't told her about the whole situation since I don't want to burden her, but from what she heard, (Name) said we just need to talk. And maybe she's right. Maybe they'll like her just as much as I do, and we can be a big happy family. She makes me feel like everything is possible. I'm sure I love her, and I want to spend all my time by her side...

He couldn't read it anymore.

With a scream, Hiori tore the page apart.

~A/N: Sorry anon, idk how to write angst ☹️

Masterlist

[comicaurora]

So based on that last ask with King Arthur is he choosing to fall in love with Gwen even if she has a high chance of falling for Lancealot? If so, it's tragic. Doomed to love another that won't fully love you back.

Does Arthur even just tell Lancenalot to get the hell put of the kingdom some loops?

I think it's more like-

You become aware of your existence somewhere around the age of 3. You were born under mysterious circumstances you don't know the details of. The first time through, you were growing up in a castle. Lately you find you are growing up among peasantry.

Maybe you have brothers. Maybe you have a sister. Maybe you're an only child. Your family is distant either way. They speak welsh. They speak latin. They speak french. They speak english with american attempts at british accents.

The first few times through, there wasn't a sword. Now it's a consistent presence - a shimmering blade stuck in a plain anvil or a large boulder, haunting your hometown or a nearby forest glade. It looks different every time, feels different in your hands. It was made for you.

There are more trials every time. In the first stories the crown was yours from birth. Lately it's been further and further away, behind more tribulations and tournaments and beasts to slay. More guidance from the ageless old man you remember from the earliest days, the welsh days. He's different every time. Everything's different every time. And still nothing changes.

The crown is yours. It's inevitable. And when the crown passes into your hands, it carries the kingdom with it. It's yours now. And it's going to thrive! You hardly need to do anything. Heroes flock to you and pledge themselves as knights, then spend the decades tearing off on wild quests and adventures, getting into the kind of trouble that serendipitously always keeps the kingdom safe. The adventures feel familiar, but never quite play out the same way. Chalices, black knights, fairy women, questing beasts. You rarely see them for yourself. You're too important, after all. You're the kingdom's beating heart.

You have a queen. You don't spend much time with her. It's jarring how much she changes every time. You hate how much it surprises you the times she genuinely loves you; you never really get to enjoy it. The kingdom doesn't run itself, even if just having you around seems to make the forests grow thick and the rivers run clear. Mostly you spend time with her when you're rescuing her from abduction. You very rarely have children together. You miss them.

It didn't used to end in fire, but lately it never ends in anything but, and you never know when it's going to start. You're never home when it starts, but you spend so much time out tending the kingdom or questing anyway. But you always learn too late - treachery. Your knight, your vassal, your bastard child, your lady love. Camelot is burning. You watch your life's work precede you into the grave.

You die. You sleep under the mountain. You dream. It's quiet.

Somewhere in the world, a writer picks up a pen, and you become aware of existence somewhere around the age of 3.

[miirohs]

all yours, all mine [c.l.c]

pairing: Mob Boss!Charles Leclerc x Wife!Reader wc: 1.3k cw: again, slight yandere/possesive tendencies, allusion to abuse an: guys i am feeling uninspired lately,,,, needed to pull everything in me for this one. sigh. its 2 in the morning what am i doing with my life i need to sleep not be up to this bs GODDDDDDD strike me down.

Charles knew you weren’t truly his wife.

He himself had shot his bride to be, too loud and too lecherous to realize how she’d met her end, bragging about killing him for his money in his club.

He thought that’d be the last of it, that their family wouldn’t be brave enough to show face again.

Yet, they became audacious, sending him a woman, a woman who was nothing like the bride he had seen. 

Hell, you didn’t even look the same as the other.

There was no way their family didn’t know by now that he was the one who killed their only daughter, yet he could only imagine this was their attempt at faking normalcy because he’d never seen his bride before, right?

He laughed, in all honesty. 

He could’ve played along, see what would’ve happened, and have been done with you by dinner if he wanted to. But part of him wanted you to show your true colors, to be able to kill the venomous woman hiding behind the veil.

That day never came though.

He was too baffled by the sight of you clinging to their sides, eyes down as you could barely keep up in the shoes slightly too big to be yours.

He pretended not to notice. 

At dinner he questioned you, much to your visible discomfort. He could see the glances you gave the other members of your supposed family, meekly responding back as they glared sharply at your head, only smiling when they noticed his stares. It didn’t take long for him to connect two and two.

It was there and then he’d made the awfully irrational decision to go forward with the marriage. He wanted to pull you out of your shell, see who you really were under the supposed mask you had on in front of everyone.

Your marriage was a grand affair, bosses from all around the globe visiting just to see the ceremony. He had refused to give in to their demands for a smaller wedding, going all out just for you.

And true to his word, he treated you with more respect than he’d ever cared to show anyone else. For him, hours turned into days, and days turned into weeks as he tried to pull you out of your shell.

It was a while before he got the first laugh out of you. He felt like he’d won everything when you gave him small smiles. He did everything to get them out of you. Showering you in lavish gifts, surprising you with expensive dates, it made him feel like he was finally doing something right. 

Seeing your full smile was what truly made it worth it, easing the pain of your time with your former family, if he could even call them that. 

He’d made sure to cut all contact with them, and he knew you were contacting them against his wishes, so he took it into his own hands to make sure they couldn’t bother you for a single cent again. He plotted behind your back and as sorry as he felt for lying to you, he paid for his guilt in consuming you with his neediness, wrapping you tightly from your waking moments almost as if you’d disappear forever if you left his field of vision.

You didn’t question it, but you couldn’t lie and say it didn’t startle you a bit.

He hummed as you gently ran your fingers through his hair, pit forming in your stomach as you heard him mutter in Italian on the phone, pen scratching against the paper of his notepad.

You heard the bare sentences of his conversation, too fast for you to understand, but you thought you had a good idea of what he was planning.

“Dovremo metterli a tacere (We'll have to silence them)-”

A couple heartbeats passed as he listened, your heart clenching almost painfully as you held the cuff of his suit jacket between your thumb and index finger. Maybe he had figured it out, maybe he was already plotting ways to dispose of you for tricking him in such a grievous manner. You hadn’t heard from the family in weeks, and it made you anxious.

“Non sono d'accordo? Bene, uccideteli (they won’t agree? fine, kill them).”

For a moment there, you didn’t see your husband, but the Devil of Monte Carlo.

He didn’t say anything, and you couldn’t bring yourself to, letting your hand slip away from his crown.

“Y/n? What happened?” He frowned, hand rubbing against the small of your back.

You couldn’t bring yourself to say it, words lying on the tip of your tongue as he cocked his head at you.

“It’s nothing.” You moved your hands away from his neck, balling into little fists in your lap.

“It’s not nothing,” He pressed, staring you down firmly despite the gentle tone of his voice. He knew you, almost too well.

“I… i don’t know how to tell you. You’re going to hate me if I do.” Your voice warbled out as he kissed you on the neck, too light and breezy to mean anything serious.

“Try me. You’d be surprised at how well I take things, and I'm not unreasonable.” Another kiss, leading up the column of your neck as you squealed at the feeling of his warm lips on cooled skin.

“Well, uh, i-” He bit down lightly, earning a soft smack from you in the back of the head, “-Char, what are you doing?”

“Trying to cheer you up.” He said, kissing on the spot he’d bit with an incomparable amount of gentleness.

“I just have something to tell you and i-”

“Is it important in any way that actively harms our lives?” He butt in, giving you a curious look.

“No, but-”

“Then I don't care.” He shrugged, placing a kiss on the corner of your mouth. You didn’t even know you could’ve gotten that loud, when you finally spit it out.

“I’m not your real wife, Char. I never was.”

He didn’t say anything, humming against the crown of your head as his hand snuck up your back and held you closer to him.

“Char, please.”

“I knew that, this isn’t new news.”

You held on, mouth gaping slightly.

“You… you knew this whole time, and you-”

“I deliberately didn’t tell you.” He scoffed, pulling your chin down to look at him. “I knew you’d run back to that so-called family that I did if I had told you. You barely trusted me, and it was their fault. So that’s why I'm going to make sure all of them take a nice long vacation.”

You couldn’t really feel the abject horror anymore, melting into sheer relief as you finally looked at him once more.

There was something about the way he looked at you, tantalizing and hypnotized almost.

‘But, aren’t you mad about me…?”

“Oh I was, I was furious.”

His lips ghosted over yours, the hint of a smile somewhere there.

“But they ended up giving me something all the more precious, something I couldn't replace. You know what that is, mon amour?”

You didn’t even have to say it, as he kissed you, lips smooth against your slightly chapped ones. The expensive perfume grew stronger, closer and closer to you as the space between you closed.

“I’ve done some unspeakable things.” He panted quietly against your lips, landing another soft kiss on the other corner. “But nothing as unspeakable as killing your so-called “family” this late in the game. Some part of me wishes i had done it earlier to spare you that grief.”

You didn’t respond but he continued nonetheless, hands wrapped around your waist to bring you closer to him .”Remember that you're mine and I'm all yours. I would do anything for you.”

And the worst part is, somewhere deep down, you knew it to be true. He was always yours, and you were always his. He'd made sure of it, and you weren't entirely complaining.

[isaadore]

EVERYTHING YOU'VE WANTED NICO HISCHIER

pairing nico hischier x reader

SUMMARY you and nico have been close for years, but when his christmas plans begin to spiral out of control, you can't help but wonder if he's missing what's most important right in front of him. word count 1.8k

warnings pure fluff

note my first fic for "a nonsense christmas" event <3 requested by anon 🤍

MAIN MASTERLIST NH13 MASTERLIST EVENT MASTERLIST

YOU'D THINK YOU'D be used to Nico’s holiday over-preparation by now, but each year, he somehow manages to one-up himself. This year, you’re sitting across from him in a cozy, bustling café, watching as snowflakes drift lazily through frosted windows. Nico’s leaning over a notepad filled with scribbled lists of gifts, decorations, and plans for get-togethers, his brow furrowed in the same concentration he usually reserves for games.

You lean in, trying to catch a glimpse of his list. “Is all that really necessary?” you ask, half-amused, half-astounded.

He looks up, a hint of a determined smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I want this Christmas to be special,” he says. It’s a line you’ve heard from him every year, and yet, each time, there’s a part of you that wonders if he means something more.

You smile, watching him go all out for everyone he cares about. Nico has always been the type to give so deeply that he sometimes overdoes it. Being his best friend, you get to see the side of him that no one else does: the quiet moments when he lets go of those expectations he piles onto himself, the way he seeks out solitude after a long day to recharge. You’re not sure when, but over the years, the admiration you felt for his big heart turned into something deeper, something harder to ignore.

“You don’t have to work so hard to make things special, you know?” you say, softening your voice. “People just want to be around you.”

He glances down, smirking as he takes in your words. “Easy for you to say,” he counters, his voice playful but with a touch of sincerity. “I’m not great at just… being there and doing nothing.”

You shake your head, smiling at his stubbornness. “You don’t need to do anything. You’re already enough just as you are.”

His cheeks flush slightly, and he looks back down at his list, but not before you catch the soft smile tugging at his lips. Your heart races a little, but you try to brush it off, focusing on the chatter of people around you and the smell of peppermint drifting in the air.

Nico breaks the silence. “So, what’s the plan?” he asks, tapping his pen against the list.

“Apparently, you have it all covered,” you tease, but inside, a part of you wonders if this year might be different. If there might finally be room for the feelings you’ve kept hidden for so long. “But maybe ease up on the holiday party planning? You know, just enjoy being around people.”

He smirks again, shifting in his seat, and you swear there’s a hint of something in his gaze when he looks back up. “What about you? Don’t you want something a little extra?”

The question is innocent enough, but it catches you off guard. “Me? I guess… I just want things to feel real. Not forced,” you reply honestly. It’s not the full truth, but close enough. Nico knows you well enough to read between the lines, but if he senses the unspoken feelings, he doesn’t let on.

“You always make things sound so simple,” he says, his voice quieter. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m just making it all too complicated.”

You sip your coffee, choosing your next words carefully. “Sometimes. But it’s okay to let things happen on their own.”

He chuckles, running a hand through his hair, clearly a bit self-conscious. “Not exactly my strong suit,” he admits. “Guess that’s why I’m always making lists.”

As the afternoon wears on, the café around you fills with laughter and cheerful chatter, and yet, every now and then, Nico glances up, his gaze lingering on you just a beat too long. It’s these moments that stay with you, the feeling that he’s close but still somehow just out of reach. You’ve been friends forever, childhood best friends with enough shared history to write novels, and yet… here you are, still feeling the thrill of every accidental brush of his hand.

When it’s time to leave, you pull on your coat and wrap your scarf around your neck, bracing yourself for the chilly walk home. Just as you’re about to say goodbye, Nico pauses, glancing back over his shoulder like he’s been holding something back.

“Hey, I’ve got the tree up at home, but it’s still bare,” he says, almost shyly. “Think you could help me decorate it?”

You try to hide your excitement and nod casually. “Of course. Can’t let you take on all the work alone.”

His place is quiet and warm when you get there, the faint scent of pine filling the room. Boxes of ornaments are scattered around, each one holding memories from past Christmases. You pull out a few decorations, laughing as you remember the year he bought a massive Santa figurine and insisted on displaying it proudly, despite your protests that it was overkill.

He chuckles, his eyes softening as he watches you. “Guess I have a habit of going overboard.”

“Maybe just a little,” you reply, nudging him gently.

At one point, Nico pulls out a small, handmade ornament, a little snowflake you recognize immediately. You gave it to him when you were kids, and you’d nearly forgotten about it. A little embarrassed, you watch as he hangs it carefully, a fond smile on his face.

“Didn’t know you still had that,” you murmur.

“Of course. It’s always been one of my favourites,” he replies, his voice sincere.

You fall into a comfortable rhythm, working together in that easy way you always have. You lose track of time, your arms brushing now and then as you reach for ornaments or adjust the lights, each accidental touch leaving you a bit breathless. Eventually, you step back to admire your work, the tree aglow with soft lights casting a warm ambiance.

“Thanks for staying to help,” he says, his voice soft, gaze lingering on you. “I don’t know why, but this year feels… different.”

You nod, feeling a subtle shift in the air between you. “Maybe because it’s just us. It feels more… real somehow.”

He hesitates like he’s weighing his words. “Maybe that’s all I needed, just to be with the people who matter most.” His words hang in the air, full of unspoken meaning. You wonder if he realizes what he’s implying, but before you can respond, he lets out a soft laugh, as if trying to shake off the tension. “But don’t tell the team I said that.”

Your heart flutters, and you smile, the tension fading but still there, humming beneath the surface. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

He meets your gaze, and for a moment, everything else fades: the tree, the lights, the ornaments scattered around. It’s just him and you, standing close in the quiet. Nico shifts, looking away as if gathering his thoughts. “You know… for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here.”

You nod, feeling the weight of the moment. “Me too.”

You both stand there, taking in the sight of the glowing tree, the lights casting soft shadows that dance across the room. The warmth in the air is almost tangible, settling between you in a way that feels heavy and electric. You glance over at Nico, finding him already looking at you with an expression that’s softer, and more vulnerable than you’ve seen before.

He takes a small step closer, his gaze never leaving yours, and for a second, you forget to breathe. His hand reaches up, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, his fingers grazing your cheek gently. Your heart began to race. The touch lingers, warm and grounding, and you feel his thumb lightly trace along your jaw as if he’s memorizing every detail.

“Nico…” you whisper, his name catching on your breath, barely audible.

His gaze deepens, the soft determination you’ve come to know so well flickering in his eyes. “I don’t know why it took me this long,” he murmurs, voice low, almost as if he’s speaking more to himself than to you. “But I think… maybe you always knew.”

There’s a raw honesty in his voice that leaves you feeling exposed like he’s stripped away every wall you’ve put up. You nod, the words slipping out before you can stop them. “I think I did. But I was scared… scared of ruining what we have.”

He leans in closer, his eyes searching yours with a look that’s both questioning and certain like he’s seeking permission while already knowing the answer. His hand holds your cheek, his thumb brushing softly along your skin, and you feel your heart pounding. The world around you began fading into the background.

“Guess there’s only one way to find out,” he says, his voice barely a whisper, each word sending a thrill through you.

Then, slowly, almost as if testing the waters, he leans in and presses his lips to yours. The kiss is soft at first, a tentative brush, but the warmth and familiarity between you quickly deepen it. His hand slips around to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as he melts into the kiss, his lips moving against yours with a gentle yet undeniable intensity.

You wrap your arms around him, your fingers tangling in the fabric of his sweater, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your touch. The kiss grows deeper, both of you giving in to the years of unspoken feelings and all the moments you held back. There’s a warmth that spreads through you, a feeling of home, and for the first time, you allow yourself to believe that this is real, that he wants this as much as you do.

When you finally pull away, you’re both breathless, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he gazes down at you. His hand lingers on your cheek, his thumb brushing softly over your skin, and his eyes are filled with a warmth that makes you feel like the only person in the world.

He lets out a quiet, almost nervous laugh, glancing away briefly before looking back at you with a hint of that familiar shyness. “Guess I don’t need to plan so much anymore, huh?” he murmurs, his voice a mix of relief and happiness.

You smile, reaching up to rest your hand over his. “Maybe just one more plan, for us.”

He nods, his hand slipping down to entwine with yours, and you feel his thumb rubbing gently over your knuckles. The world outside is quiet, the glow of the tree casting a soft light around you. As you stand there together, you realize that this, right here with him, is exactly where you've always wanted to be on Christmas.

‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎MAIN MASTERLIST ✷ EVENT MASTERLIST

[webslingingslasher]

hi j! what are cherry and peter doing right now??

comfortable silence.

peter's studying for an upcoming test and you're honed in on your current romance read. the main lead is cute, but nothing can top your peter parker fantasies.

'cherry?'

you finish your paragraph before looking at him, he's smiling a little too hard. 'you're so pretty.' you softly grin, feeling your lips curve up. 'and so is your handwriting.'

your eyebrows furrow at the odd compliment, you'll still accept it. 'thank you, lover.' peter clicks his pen a few times before finally coming clean. 'can you do me a favor? a really giant favor?'

you look down at your book and count the pages until the next chapter, you inwardly sigh and mentally commit before you bargain with him. peter's taught you there's give and take with love.

'can it wait three pages?' peter nods once, 'it can wait.' you give him a thumbs up and read a little faster for him, shutting the book with a satisfied smile once you reach chapter sixteen.

'what's the favor?'

peter turns back around, he looks guilty. he feels bad for asking. he holds up a blank piece of paper, you look at him for more context. 'we're allowed to use a cheat sheet for the test, one page only, front and back. i was wondering if you could do it for me?'

you pull a face, 'i don't know anything about what you're studying.' peter smiles and scrambles to pick up his notebook. 'no, no, i have it all highlighted. i just want you to copy it, i can't write that small and have it be legible.'

the task seems much more daunting than you expected. 'how much is there?' peter flips through the pages and lets out a deep breath, 'um, not much. just... basically everything?'

'oh boy.' peter took your boyfriend virginity and your real virginity, you can make a cheat sheet for him. it seems equal. 'pass it over, let me look at it.' once you have it in your hands you skim the highlighted areas, it would take some time and a dedication to splitting the sections to make it easier to read. you're already thinking of layouts.

'can i use my glitter pens?'

'absolutely.' the job just got easier. you nod confidently and agree to the ask. 'i can do that for you, petey. can i take it with me or do you need your book?'

peter rubs his lips together, he's staring at the holy grail that is super advanced something chemistry. he doesn't want you to take it but he's asking you for a favor so he's not sure how or if he can form the word no.

you do it for him. you're winning all the girlfriend awards today.

'nevermind, we'll keep it here.' peter visibly relaxes. 'but i need some markers, we're about to get real arts and crafty up in this bitch.' peter starts digging in his desk drawers, a box of markers tossed on the bed and a random textbook to follow as a makeshift table.

'i bet no one else's girlfriend is making their boyfriend's cheat sheet.' you start at the beginning and ask for more supplies. 'i need a ruler and a pencil. and the same color highlighters you used. oh, and that pen i like.'

peter's already collecting the tools, looking around his room for your bag. 'are your glitter pens in your bag?' you forgot you had them with you, the entire pencil case would be a savor right now. 'yes, but i left it downstairs.'

to peter, you're doing the biggest favor he's ever asked. he's willing to hunt and gather the supplies you need to make his life easier. 'on it. stay here and look pretty.' he's moving quick, you call out to him as he passes through the door. 'can you bring the whole thing, please?'

he doesn't respond but he comes right back up, pink bag in hand. 'where they at?' you point at the big pocket, your cherry printed pencil bag is handed over. (a gift from peter.)

'anything else? you want a coke, or a snack, or something?' you shake your head and start a header title for the first section, you're locked in. 'i'm okay.'

you highlight the title, there's another want brewing in your mind. 'actually...' peter perks right up, 'yes?' you pucker and tap your lips, your boyfriend is at your side and leaning down in seconds. three soft pecks, each one feels like an 'i love you.'

'you're sure there's nothing else you need?' he feels bad, it's a big ask. you've caught on and you're pushing him away gently. 'do you want me to do this or not?' peter nods quick and takes a large step back. 'i do, i just feel bad.'

'well, don't. and while i'm working on this you better keep revising, because you're going to bed at a decent time tonight, mister. and because you know how much i love the sound of your keyboard when you type.'

it's true, you've fallen asleep to the quiet clicking more than a few times.

peter bites back a smile. 'yes, ma'am.' you blow a kiss, 'good boy.'

peter revised, went to bed on time, and smugly showed off your work the following tuesday in class. 'see how organized this is, isn't my girl the best?'

peter passed with flying colors, he swears it's because of your cheat sheet and color coding. you tell him not to discredit his brain, he tells you not to discredit your work.

you compromise and accept the passing score with him because he swears it was built on teamwork. you think it's so you'll make him another the next time he asks.

and next time you'll be prepared with glitter glue. 

[lostfracturess]

remedies and reasons | ch. 03

pairing — professor geto x law student reader

summary — this wasn’t supposed to happen. not that miserable internship at the law firm you hated, not him becoming your doctor, and definitely not that drunken night at the bar. but he helped, and god, you needed a friend. and he did too. except it's never just friendship with him, is it? it could be perfect—messy, complicated, but perfect. if only his heart wasn’t already taken.

word count — 11.8 k

warnings — 18+ ONLY. contains explicit sexual content, age difference (10 years), doctor-patient relationship, smoking, alcohol use, mature themes, and depictions of illness. reader discretion is advised.

author's note — hey everyone! i'm back with a new chapter, and i know it's been a while. this time, we're diving back into suguru's head to explore his conflicting feelings. as always, this story is a spin-off of symptoms and causes, starting after chapter 12, but it can be read as a standalone. this chapter takes place during the events of chapter 14, where things were pretty intense, so get ready for suguru's perspective on those events, plus some extra bonding time with a certain law student.

series masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

(note: r&r reader)

What a strange fucking day.

The coffee from the hospital cafeteria tasted like burnt rubber, leaving a bitter aftertaste that matched my state perfectly. Everything felt slightly out of sorts, like the world had shifted two inches to the left while I wasn't looking, and I was the only one who noticed.

I'd put on mismatched socks this morning, didn't notice until I was already at work. Stepped in a puddle that somehow soaked through my supposedly waterproof shoes. Small things, really. Inconsequential. But they piled up like evidence that I wasn't quite myself lately.

And on top of that, my mind kept drifting back to the sports bar, to easy laughter and surprisingly good conversation. To someone who actually managed to make me forget about work for a few hours. It was... nice. Different. Unsettling. Probably why I let things get carried away. 

What the hell had gotten into me?

I wasn't the type to hook up in bar bathrooms. I didn't do reckless. I was the responsible one, always cleaning up other people's messes — usually Satoru's. 

Yet here I was, distracted and unfocused because of a law student who somehow got under my skin without me even realizing it. Frustrating. That's what it was.

I stared at the ruined samples in front of me, the third batch I'd had to throw out this morning. A stupid beginner's mistake — mixing the reagents in the wrong order like some first-year med student. The solution had turned an ugly shade of red instead of the pale blue it was supposed to be, completely useless now.

I slammed the test tube rack down harder than necessary, making the glass containers rattle. A few drops of the failed experiment splashed onto my lab coat. Perfect. Just perfect.

I glanced at Satoru across the lab bench. He'd been staring at the same equation for twenty minutes now, his leg bouncing that infuriating rhythm that made me want to stab him with my pen. The same nervous energy that had been radiating off him all morning. Neither of us was really focused on work it seemed.

"You going to tell me what's wrong, or do I have to guess?" I finally asked, perhaps partly to distract myself from my own thoughts.

He blinked, as if just remembering I was there. "Nothing's wrong."

"Really? Because you've been glaring at that formula for like an hour."

"Maybe I just enjoy looking at my own handwriting. It's pretty, isn't it? Unlike yours."

"At least the nurses can read my prescriptions without three callbacks."

"That was one time." He spun in his chair to face me. "And the pharmacy figured it out eventually."

I need a cigarette.

No, I need several cigarettes.

I was about to retort when a soft knock echoed through the lab. We both turned toward the door, and suddenly all my annoyance vanished. It was her.

Standing there in the doorway, clutching a folder to her chest, looking almost nervous. Her eyes darted between Satoru and me, and I could see the moment she registered the awkwardness of the situation.

She was wearing a crisp blazer, her hair pulled back neatly — every inch the professional law intern. Maybe it was the confused sleep deprivation talking, but I swore I caught a hint of pink creeping across her cheeks when our eyes briefly met before she looked away.

"Oh," she said. "I didn't expect to find you both here."

Satoru straightened up, his demeanor shifting instantly to doctor mode. "Everything okay? Is it your medication?"

"No, no," she quickly assured him. "Actually, I'm here about the... um, the legal consultation from the other day?" She held up the folder. "Mr. Higurama asked me to get both your signatures on these forms."

"More paperwork?" Satoru groaned theatrically. "They really love their forms at that firm, don't they? I bet they have forms for their forms."

She laughed — not the bold, uninhibited laugh from the bar, but something smaller, more contained. Professional. It was strange seeing her like this, all sharp edges and formal wear, when just days ago we'd been trading stories over beer and darts.

"Well," she said, stepping fully into the lab, "we do love forms, yes." Her eyes landed on the mess of failed experiments on our benches, the chaos of scribbles on the whiteboard. I just now realized how utterly chaotic the whole lab was. "Bad time?"

"No," I said, maybe too quickly. "Just a rough morning in the lab."

"Rough morning?" Satoru raised an eyebrow. "This is the first time I've seen him mess up this experiment since university. Usually he's annoyingly perfect."

I shot him a look that promised murder. Or at least severe bodily harm.

She glanced between us, a hint of unease, her fingers tightening on the folder as she took a small step back. "Should I come back later? When there's less...chaos?"

"No, it's fine," I said, reaching for the folder. Our fingers brushed as she handed it over, and I found myself wondering if she was still thinking about that night too. Probably not. She was just here doing her job.

I opened the folder, scanning the documents inside. More forms about professional conduct and boundaries. The irony wasn't lost on me.

"These need both our signatures?" I asked.

She nodded. "Mr. Higurama was very specific about that."

I grabbed a pen and signed where indicated, then passed the folder to Satoru. As he signed, I caught her stifling a yawn.

"Long night?" I asked.

"Just law student things," she replied with a tired smile. "Coffee and case studies until 3 AM."

"Sounds familiar," I said, thinking of my own sleepless night, though for very different reasons. "Though I prefer my all-nighters with better coffee than whatever they serve at that firm."

"Our coffee is not that bad actually—"

Before she could finish, Satoru thrust the folder at her. "Here," he said. "All signed and ready to go back to the fun police." He glanced at his phone, then suddenly stood up. "Speaking of which, I need to go. Got a... thing."

A thing? I raised an eyebrow at him, but he was already halfway to the door. "Don't mess up any more experiments, Suguru," he called over his shoulder, and then he was gone, leaving us alone in the now quiet space.

She stood there, folder clutched to her chest, looking unsure. "Is Dr. Gojo okay? He seems a bit on edge."

"Not more than usual, I guess."

"So that failed experiment over there?" She gestured past me with her finger.

I glanced at my failed experiment, which had now turned an alarming shade of green that definitely wasn't in any textbook I'd ever read. Either I'd just discovered a new chemical compound, or I was about to violate several safety protocols. Possibly both.

"Observant. They teach you that in law school?"

"No, that's just natural talent," she said, some of that bar night ease creeping back into her voice. "Though I have to say, watching things change color isn't usually part of my job description."

"Consider it a bonus lesson in chemistry." Before I could overthink it, I heard myself asking, "Have you had lunch yet?"

She hesitated, shifting the folder in her arms. "I should probably get these back to Mr. Higurama—" Just then, the folder slipped from her grasp, papers scattering across the lab floor. "Oh god," she muttered, immediately dropping to her knees to gather them.

In her haste to collect the papers, she bumped into the lab bench. The rack of test tubes rattled precariously. I lunged forward, managing to catch the rack just as it started to tip, but not before one of the tubes spilled its contents onto the counter.

"I'm so sorry!" She scrambled to her feet, papers clutched messily to her chest, her cheeks now bright red. "I swear I wasn't trying to sabotage your experiments. Though they were already ruined anyway—not that that makes it better! I just meant—"

I watched her frantically trying to collect the papers, a small smile tugging at my lips despite the chaos. "I'll pay," I offered, cutting off her rambling. "Besides, we should probably get going, that failed experiment's probably going to turn purple next and who knows what happens then."

She paused mid-reach for another paper, looking up at me with wide eyes. "Are you threatening me with your failed experiment to get me to have lunch with you?"

"Is it working?"

She glanced at the door where Satoru had disappeared, then back at me, fidgeting with the crumpled papers in her arms. "You know what? Yeah. If you really want to—I mean, after I almost destroyed your lab—"

"Well, you're certainly making my morning more interesting."

She tried to smooth out the crumpled papers, only managing to wrinkle them more. "Oh, I mean—Is that a good thing? Because I can't tell if you're complimenting me or—"

"Come on, Attorney, let's get you away from any breakable objects," I said, already shrugging off my lab coat and heading for the door. "I know a good place and trust me after that, you'll never defend that law firm sludge again."

─────── ౨ৎ ───────

(note: r&r reader)

The café was tucked away in a narrow alley, the kind of place you'd walk right past unless you knew what you were looking for. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of freshly ground coffee beans and something sweet baking in the back.

She looked around, taking in the worn leather chairs and mismatched mugs, the walls lined with old medical textbooks and vintage anatomy charts. "So this is where all the doctors hide out?"

"Best kept secret in the hospital district," I said, leading her to a small table by the window. "Though I'm pretty sure I'm violating some sacred code by bringing a lawyer here."

The owner, an elderly man who'd been serving coffee to sleep-deprived medical staff for longer than I'd been alive, brought over two cups without us having to order. The coffee was served in glass cups, the dark liquid nearly black, with a perfect crema on top.

"What is this?" she asked, leaning forward to inspect the cup.

"Just trust me."

She raised an eyebrow. "The last time a doctor told me to 'just trust them,' I ended up with a prescription that made me sleep for sixteen hours straight."

"Satoru's work, I assume?"

"Maybe."

I watched as she lifted the cup, inhaling. Her eyes widened slightly. "Oh."

"Try it," I said, finding myself oddly invested in her reaction.

She took a careful sip, and I couldn't help but smile as her expression changed — surprise, then joy, then something close to awe.

"Holy shit," she whispered, staring at the cup like it held the secrets of the universe.

"Better than the law firm sludge?"

"Okay, fine, you win." She took another sip, closing her eyes. "What is this?"

"Family secret, apparently. The owner won't tell anyone, not even me." I picked up my own cup. "Though I have my theories."

"Care to share?"

"Doctor-patient confidentiality."

She kicked me lightly under the table. "I'm not your patient."

"No," I agreed, the words carrying more weight than I'd intended. "You're not."

She looked away, suddenly very interested in the anatomy chart on the wall, a slight flush creeping up her neck. I caught myself enjoying her reaction more than I probably should.

"You know," I said, breaking the silence, "you still haven't shown me your paintings."

Her eyes snapped back to mine. "What?"

"At the bar, you promised to show me your work someday." I took another sip of coffee. "Unless that was just the alcohol talking."

"I did not promise anything," she protested, but her fingers fidgeted with the handle of her cup. "And I don't really show my work to people."

I leaned back in my chair, studying her. "Not even to doctors who hold your hand during MRI scans?"

"Especially not to doctors who do such unethical things, Dr. Geto." But there was a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

"I seem to recall you saying my hands were very good or something."

Her cheeks flushed pink, and she fumbled with her coffee cup, nearly sending it sloshing over the rim. "I did not say that."

"No? Must have been another patient then."

"Can we please pretend I never said anything about your hands?" She shifted in her seat, clearly flustered. "Or anything else that happened that day?"

"Show me your paintings and I might consider selective amnesia."

"Are you actually blackmailing me with my own embarrassing moments?" She leaned forward slightly. "I should sue you for violation of doctor-patient confidentiality."

"Please don't. I have enough lawyers breathing down my neck as it is."

"Oh, I know." Her lips twitched into a smile. "Your case files take up an entire cabinet at the firm."

"Now who's the unethical one?" I couldn't help but smile. "Pretty sure those files are supposed to be confidential."

"See the positive." The corner of her mouth quirked up, and she propped her chin on her hand. Her sleeve slid down slightly. "I can help you. Though my rates are quite steep—one painting viewing equals one legal consultation."

"Brutal negotiation tactics. They're teaching you well at that firm."

She bit her lip, fighting back a grin. The gesture was distracting in a way I didn't want to examine too closely. Then, she wrapped her hands around her cup, leaning forward slightly. "Speaking of teaching, how's that research project going?"

I groaned, running a hand through my hair. "Can we not? I'd rather hear about your law stuff."

"Oh god no," she groaned in return, slumping back in her chair. "Let's not talk about that either."

"That bad, huh?"

"You have no idea. Just endless stacks of papers and Chad being... well, Chad."

"Chad?" I raised an eyebrow.

"This awful intern who thinks he owns the place because his dad's some stupid partner. Like, today he tried to take credit for my research on the Yamamoto case, which, by the way, I spent three nights working on. And then he had the nerve to correct my citations in front of everyone, except he was wrong. He was completely wrong, and everyone knew it, but nobody said anything because, you know, his dad and everything—" 

She stopped abruptly, her eyes widening as if just realizing she'd been rambling again. Her hands fluttered nervously around her coffee cup. "Sorry, I'm talking too much, aren't I?"

"No," I said, surprising myself with how much I meant it. "I like hearing you talk."

Her eyes met mine, startled. "You do?"

"Yeah. It's... refreshing, I mean hearing about anything that's not related to someone's blood and lab work." I traced the rim of my cup with my finger. "Is this Chad giving you trouble? Because I could always stop by the firm, maybe have a word with him."

She let out a startled laugh, then immediately looked embarrassed by how loud it was. A few other people glanced our way, making her shrink slightly in her seat.

"What, are you offering to intimidate him for me?"

"I can be quite intimidating when I want to be."

"That's a weird thing to say about oneself."

"You say way more weird things." I glanced at my watch and couldn't help but sigh. "Speaking of intimidating, I've got a class of overconfident med students waiting."

"Oh." She looked up. "Right, of course."

I should leave it at that. Get up, go back to work, stop whatever this is before it gets complicated. I have enough on my plate with the research, with Satoru acting weird, with everything else. The last thing I need is to get involved with—

My hand brushed against the crumpled paper in my coat pocket. That flyer some art student had thrust into my hands this morning at the campus entrance, just like they did to everyone else rushing past. 

"Actually, there's this art exhibition next weekend at the city gallery."

What the hell am I doing?

She blinked at me, her coffee cup frozen halfway to her mouth. "Are you... are you asking me to go to an art exhibition?"

This is stupid. I don't even like art exhibitions. They're crowded and pretentious, and I have better things to do with my weekend. Like work. Or sleep. Or literally anything else. I'm really not quite myself lately.

"I mean, if you want to. I don't understand much about art, but—" I rubbed the back of my neck. "If you show me what to look for, I'm sure I'll like it."

That sounded so lame. Why am I even doing this?

"You mean that?" she asked. "Because you don't have to pretend to be interested in art just because I—"

"I want to," I cut her off. "Besides, maybe you can explain to me why people pay millions for paintings of soup cans."

She laughed, that genuine, unguarded sound from the bar, and I was glad I hadn't thrown the flyer away. "Those are Warhol, and they're actually a commentary on mass production and consumer culture in—" She stopped herself, cheeks flushing. "And I'm doing it again."

"Saturday at 6?" I asked.

"Yeah," she said softly. "Saturday at 6 sounds good."

As I stood to leave, the absurdity of the situation hit me. Here I was, voluntarily signing up for an afternoon of art appreciation. What was wrong with me? 

The closest thing to art in my apartment is that anatomy poster Satoru got me as a joke last Christmas. If he ever found out about this, I'd never hear the end of it. But somehow, I couldn't bring myself to care.

It wasn't until I was back in my office at the university, staring at a stack of research papers, that I realized something strange — I hadn't smoked since morning. My usual lunchtime cigarette break had come and gone without me even noticing. 

My pack sat untouched in my coat pocket. I pulled it out now, turning it over in my hands, and somehow I found myself oddly looking forward to learning about soup cans.

─────── ౨ৎ ───────

(note: s&c reader)

The lecture went fine. It always did.

Talk about neurons, synapses, action potentials. Watch sleepy med students pretend to take notes while secretly checking their phones. Answer the same questions I'd answered a hundred times before. Rinse and repeat.

Now, hours later, I was back in the lab. The chaos from this morning had been methodically cleaned away. New solutions mixed, properly this time. Everything in its place, color-coded and labeled with my precise handwriting.

The lab was quiet at this hour. Just the soft hum of equipment and the occasional footsteps in the hallway outside. It was peaceful, in its own way. Or maybe just lonely.

I checked my watch — 5:47 PM. I should probably head home, but then what? Watch some mindless TV show? Read another research paper? Order takeout that would sit in my fridge until it went bad? God, when did my life become this predictable?

The solution in front of me turned the correct shade of blue this time. Finally. I made a note in my lab book, but my mind wandered. About Satoru's strange behavior. About her. About how she looked at Satoru like he hung the moon and stars just for her.

I pushed away from the bench so forcefully my chair squeaked against the floor. My hands were already reaching for my cigarettes before I made it to the window. The night air was cool against my face as I lit up, inhaling deeply.

This was exactly what I didn't need to think about. Not now. Not ever. Focus on the research. On the failed experiments. On anything else but the ache that threatened to consume me whenever I let my mind wander in her direction.

The cigarette burned down too quickly. I lit another one immediately. What kind of person fell for their best friend's girlfriend? What kind of friend was I to even—

No. Stop that train of thought right there.

The smoke curled up into the night sky, hoping it would carry with it all the things I couldn't let myself feel. All the words I couldn't say. All the moments I'd had to watch them together, pretending my heart wasn't being torn to shreds. I'm pathetic.

I exhaled another cloud of smoke into the night air. Maybe that was why I asked about the art exhibition. God knew I could use the distraction. From the research, from Satoru, from her.

And she — there was something in her eyes. That familiar look of someone drowning in circumstances they couldn't control. She needed a break too, probably more than she admitted. Maybe this Chad was partly responsible. Speaking of Chad—

I tapped my cigarette against the windowsill. It wouldn't be hard to figure out his real name. Law firms kept records of their interns, and with his father being a partner. One quick search in the hospital database and I could probably find something interesting in his medical history. Everyone had secrets. Maybe something embarrassing. Something that would make him think twice about—

What the hell am I thinking? I stubbed out my cigarette, leaving a black smear. Great. Now I'm contemplating abusing my position to dig up dirt on some spoiled law intern. Real professional, Suguru. Really living up to that ethical conduct seminar.

Though the thought of his smug face when he tried to take credit for her work—

No. Absolutely not. I'm better than that.

I lit another cigarette, trying to ignore how satisfying the idea was. I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling. Saturday at 6.

At least that was something to look forward to. Something normal. Well, as normal as anything could be when you were a neurosurgeon voluntarily going to an art exhibition with a law student who was also your patient, technically. What did people even wear to art exhibitions?

My pen tapped against the lab book as my phone buzzed.

[2:34 PM] s&c reader: Need any help in the lab today? I can come in if you want.

[2:35 PM] Me: Just boring prep work left. Take the day off.

Three dots appeared, then disappeared. Then appeared again.

[2:37 PM] s&c reader: You sure? I can help with the prep too.

[2:37 PM] Me: Rest. Doctor's orders.

[2:40 PM] s&c reader: I hate when you say that.

I found myself smiling at my phone, picturing her frustrated face as she typed that. She was probably pouting right now, hunched over her textbooks in the library, annoyed that I'd pulled rank. That stubborn set of her jaw when she tried not to admit defeat. Just like him.

The smile faded as quickly as it had come. I immediately set my phone down and took a deep breath. I should be thinking about the research. About tumor markers and treatment protocols. Not about my student who was probably still in the library despite my orders to rest.

No. Not about her at all.

I glanced at my phone again, fighting the urge to text her back. Focus, I told myself. Work. Don't do anything stupid. God, this day really couldn't get any more fucking frustrating. 

─────── ౨ৎ ───────

(note: s&c reader)

The lab was quiet.

I'd been at this for hours, my eyes straining in the bright light of the laminar flow hood, my back aching from hunching over the bench. The familiar chemical smell of ethanol lingered in my nostrils from the endless rounds of sterilizing equipment. 

I straightened up, rolling my shoulders in a futile attempt to ease the knots. A glance at the clock told me it was late, far later than I'd intended to stay. 

The steady hum of the cell incubator behind me had become white noise hours ago, punctuated only by the occasional click of the temperature regulator. I was exhausted, ready to call it a night. But I couldn't leave, not yet.

There was still work to be done, still samples to process. The micropipette tips rattled in their box as I reached for another one, the sound sharp in the empty lab. My stomach rumbled in response. 

I sighed, tugging the elastic from my hair and running my fingers through the dark strands before twisting them back into a loose knot. A few pieces escaped, falling around my face as I looked over to the window, staring out at the darkening sky. 

The sun had already dipped below the horizon, the last streaks of orange fading into deep purple. The campus was quiet, most of the other staff and students long gone for the day.

My stomach growled again, reminding me that I hadn't eaten since lunch as I returned to work. I weighed my options—power through these last samples and face my empty fridge at home, or brave the vending machine downstairs for stale coffee and a questionable sandwich—

Then I heard the door open behind me. I didn't turn, couldn't turn, my hands still buried in the fragile work, the pipette cool in my gloved fingers. But then I heard her voice, and my heart stopped.

"Suguru?"

God, how I wanted to turn to her, to drink in the sight of her. But I couldn't, not yet.

"Hey," I replied, my gaze still fixed on the vials before me. "Didn't expect you here today. Sorry, the fun part's already over." I completed the transfer, then turned to face her, a easy smile on my lips. But the smile died as soon as I saw her face.

I didn't respond immediately, too startled by her appearance. Even in the dim light, it was impossible to miss.

She looked small, fragile in a way I had never seen before. Her eyes were red and swollen, her cheeks pale. She had been crying, that much was clear. She hugged herself tightly, as if she was trying to physically hold the pieces of herself together. 

Seeing her like that, so broken, tore at something deep inside me, something I hated, something fierce and aching.

"What happened?" 

The question was inevitable. But I already knew. There was only one thing, one person, that could make my pretty girl cry.

Her eyes were fixed on the floor, but I could see the tears welling up, threatening to spill over. "Can we work on something?" she finally asked, her voice small. "Please."

I hesitated, torn between the need to comfort her and the knowledge that it wasn't my place. "Do you want to talk about it?" I offered, even though I knew the answer before she even shook her head.

"No," she choked out. "I can't. I need—I need to focus on something else. Anything else. Or I think I'll fall apart."

I understood that feeling all too well. The need to lose yourself in work, to bury yourself in the familiar of the lab until the rest of the world faded away. But I hated that she felt it too, hated that he had driven her to this point. Hated him, with a fury that burned white-hot in my veins.

And the worst part was that I knew there was more, more that he was hiding from her. More lies, more secrets, more ways he was hurting her without her even knowing. And it made me want to scream, to rage, to tear him apart with my bare hands for daring to hurt her like this.

But I couldn't. All I could do was be here for her, in whatever way she needed me. 

"Please, Suguru." Her voice was pleading, desperate. "Can we just work?"

I hesitated for a moment longer, my gaze lingering on her face, taking in the vulnerability etched there. The urge to pull her into my arms, to hold her until the pain faded away, was almost overwhelming. But I knew I couldn't cross that line, not now, not like this.

Finally, I nodded and peeled off my gloves, setting them aside. I reached for her, gently undoing the tight knot of her crossed arms. Her hands were like ice in mine, trembling and fragile. I took one hand in both of mine, wishing I could take away her pain.

"What do you want to work on?" I asked softly, my thumb tracing soothing circles on the back of her hand.

"The nanoparticles," she said, her voice a little steadier. "We still need to narrow down the potential materials and targeting ligands, right?"

"Yeah," I said, forcing a smile. "Anything you want."

Anything for you. 

The words echoed in my mind, a bitter reminder of the truth I could never speak aloud. I loved her, had loved her for longer than I cared to admit, but she was with Satoru. And no matter how much it hurt to see her like this, to know that he was the one who had caused her pain, I couldn't let my own feelings get in the way.

So I pushed them down, buried them deep, and focused on the work. On being the friend she needed, the partner she could rely on. Even if it meant ignoring the part of me that screamed for something more. Even if it meant watching her break, again and again, and being powerless to stop it.

We worked in silence for a while, the familiar routine of the lab providing distraction. For her. For me. She focused intently on the task at hand, her brow furrowed as she carefully prepared the samples. Like everything she did, with unwavering precicion.

I watched her out of the corner of my eye, my heart aching at the tension in her shoulders, the tightness around her eyes. 

Time seemed to slip away as we lost ourselves in the work, the outside world fading away. I caught myself stealing glances at her, watching how her hair fell forward when she leaned over the samples. Every little gesture a knife to my heart. 

These moments were the hardest — seeing her so close, yet having to maintain this careful distance. Watching her push herself to exhaustion, knowing I couldn't hold her, couldn't comfort her the way I desperately wanted to.

I averted my gaze and glanced at the clock, just now realizing how late it had gotten.

"Hey," I said softly, breaking the silence. "It's nearly midnight. We should probably call it a day."

She looked up, blinking as if coming out of a trance. "Oh, no I have to finsish this first." She looked over to me and my stern gaze must have silenced her objections.

I hesitated for a moment, then reached out and touched her arm gently, ignoring the way my skin burned at the contact. "Come on. I want to show you something."

She followed reluctantly as I led her to the far corner of the lab, where our old microscope sat — the one we rarely used anymore since getting the newer models. I pulled out a worn slide from the cabinet.

"Remember this?" I asked, setting up the microscope. "From your first week here?"

She leaned in to look, and I had to force myself to step back. "Oh god, my first attempt at cell staining. It's horrible."

"Actually," I said, adjusting the focus, "look at this part here." I pointed to a small cluster of cells. "See how you managed to isolate that specific population? Most students take months to get that kind of precision. You did it on your first try."

She was quiet for a moment, studying the slide. A look I adored so much. And for a moment, the pain and hurt seemed to fade away. 

"You've got instincts that can't be taught," I continued. "That's why you're going to crack this nanoparticle puzzle too."

"You really think so?"

"I know so." I pulled out another slide. "Here, look at your work from last month. See how far you've come?"

She studied it for a moment, then shook her head. "It's still not perfect, the staining could be cleaner, the resolution better. I should be doing better by now."

"You're being too hard on yourself." Always chasing perfection, just like him. "You can't expect to master everything in a few months. Even Satoru took years to—" I caught myself, watching her shoulders tense at his name. Wrong thing to say. "What I mean is, you're already exceeding everyone's expectations. Except maybe your own."

She fell quiet, turning back to the microscope. I watched as she adjusted the focus. Finally, she straightened up from the microscope, turning to face me, and there it was — that spark in her eyes I'd grown to love, the one that made my heart stutter every time.

"We should try adjusting the polymer composition," she said suddenly. "Maybe if we modified the surface charge—"

I smiled, relief flooding through me at seeing that spark return. "Whatever you want to try. I'm right here with you. But tomorrow, okay? After a bit of sleep."

"Thank you," she said softly, leaning back in her chair and stretching her arms above her head. A small yawn escaped her. "Sorry for taking up so much of your time. You must have been here for hours."

"No, not at all," I lied, watching as she rolled her shoulders to work out the stiffness. In truth, I'd been at the lab since dawn, but she didn't need to know that.

I swallowed hard, my heart suddenly racing. "You know I'm always here for you. No matter what."

We remained silent for a moment, the weight of everything unsaid crowded in my throat — how much I cared, how seeing her hurt made me want to tear the world apart, how every smile she gave me was torture.

"Come on," I said finally, breaking the spell before I could do something stupid. "Let's get out of here. I think we both need some sleep."

─────── ౨ৎ ───────

(note: s&c reader)

Cold autumn air burned in my lungs as I pushed myself harder, feet pounding against the leaf-strewn path. A thick blanket of mist hung low between the trees on my usual morning run, though nothing about this morning felt usual.

I hadn't slept. How could I?

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her face. The way she looked so small, so broken. The tears she tried to hide. The trembling in her hands as we worked. The memory of those words made me stumble, my running shoes skidding on wet leaves, made my chest tight with something painful.

I picked up my pace, as if I could somehow outrun the guilt of my own thoughts. Because every time I saw her like this, a treacherous part of me whispered, I would never make you cry. I would never give you reason to doubt yourself. I would cherish every brilliant, imperfect moment.

Damn it.

I'm a terrible friend. To both of them.

The park was almost empty at this hour — just a few other early risers and their dogs. A jogger passed, giving me a brief nod. It was my routine, something that usually helped clear my head, but not today. Not when I couldn't stop thinking about how she looked last night, working herself to escape whatever he'd done this time.

What kind of man watches the woman he loves hurt like this and does nothing? Someone so passionate, so full of life, slowly dimming because he can't get his shit together—

Stop it. Stop thinking about her like that.

I stopped abruptly, hands on my knees, breathing hard. A cloud of vapor formed with each exhale, disappearing into the cold morning air. My t-shirt was soaked with sweat despite the chill.

This isn't my business. I've told myself this a hundred times. Their relationship, their problems — none of it concerns me. I'm just her professor. Her research partner. Just his friend. But friends don't let friends destroy the people they claim to love.

And I can't keep pretending I don't see what's happening. Can't keep watching her slowly break apart while he—

Before I knew what I was doing, I was heading back to my car. To hell with my day off. To hell with staying out of it. I've watched this play out for too long, kept my mouth shut for too long. Sorry, Satoru. But we need to talk.

I stormed through the university hallways, my footsteps thundering off the walls, still in my damp training clothes that clung uncomfortably to my skin. The lab door was ahead, and through the window I could see him.

Satoru was sitting in his chair, staring blankly at the whiteboard where incoherent scribbles were scattered, just like yesterday.

In two strides, I crossed the room and grabbed the back of his chair, spinning it around to face me. He looked awful — pale, unshaven, his hair a mess. The sharp scent of coffee couldn't mask something else on his breath. His eyes were bloodshot. I didn't care.

"What the hell did you say to her?" I snapped.

Satoru didn't even seem surprised by my presence. "Wow, that's a pretty broad question, don't you think?"

"Cut the bullshit, Satoru. You know exactly what I'm talking about."

He glanced up then, one eyebrow arched, that infuriatingly casual look I'd seen a thousand times before. "Damn, Suguru. Who pissed in your cornflakes this morning?"

Something snapped inside me. Before I could think better of it, I was there, hands gripping the arms of his chair, caging him in. Close enough to see the muscle working in his jaw. "I'm gonna ask you this one time and one time only. What happened between you two?"

"Wow, you're really close." He glanced pointedly at the narrow space between us, but I caught the way his fingers tightened on the armrest. "We had a disagreement, that's all," he added, his tone dismissive.

"A disagreement?" The laugh that escaped me was harsh. I pushed away from his chair, turning so I wouldn't have to look at him. My hand scraped roughly across my face, trying my best not to take a hit on him. "She was in tears, Satoru. She could barely get the words out."

He didn't answer. Just straightened up, brushed imaginary dirt from his lab coat. Then he was on his feet, moving past me to the whiteboard as if I wasn't even there. As if we weren't having this conversation.

He picked up a marker, adding to the chaos of scribbles already there — equations that went nowhere, diagrams that made no sense.

"God, would you just—" I ran a hand through my hair in frustration. "You can't just ignore this, Satoru."

His knuckles went white around the marker. For a second, I thought he might actually turn around and hit me.

"How long are you gonna keep doing this to her?" I pressed. "Until she breaks completely?"

"You think I'm not aware of that," he muttered, still facing the board.

"Then fucking stop. If you can't treat her right, just let her go."

That got him. He spun around, eyes hard. "Oh, you'd love that, wouldn't you?"

I blinked, taken aback. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Satoru laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Come on, Suguru. Don't act like you haven't been waiting for this. Waiting for your chance."

"That's not—" The words stuck in my throat. "This isn't about me."

"No?" He took a step closer. "Then what is it about? Why do you care so much?"

"Because she deserves better than this. And you know it."

"Better? You mean like you?" His lips curled into something cruel. "Too bad she's not yours to care about, huh? Even though you think you'd be so much better for her than me." He tilted his head, eyes cold. "Funny, isn't it? She doesn't want you, even knowing how bad I am for her. What does that say about you?"

The words hit like a physical blow, each word a serrated edge twisting in my gut. It took everything in me not to grab him by the throat. "You're being a dick."

"And you're being a lying piece of shit. When were you gonna tell me?" His voice dropped dangerously low. "About how you feel about her?"

"This isn't about me," I repeated through gritted teeth. "This is about what you're doing to her."

"You don't know anything about us."

I stepped closer, close enough to see the shadows under his eyes. "What happens when she finds out the truth, huh? When you're passed out in some hospital bed? That how you want her to learn about it?"

Something flickered in his eyes — pain, maybe guilt — but it was gone in an instant.

"Stay out of it," he said, his voice cold. "Just... stay out of it."

He turned back to the board. I watched him, this man I'd known my whole life, suddenly feeling like a stranger.

"What happened to you?" I asked quietly.

He didn't turn around. "Yeah," he said, his voice heavy. "Guess we'd all like to know, wouldn't we?"

I watched him scribble new, illogical equations on the whiteboard, this stranger wearing my best friend's face, and for a moment I saw echoes of who we used to be.

Late nights in the university library, surrounded by towers of medical textbooks. Satoru falling asleep on his notes, drooling on diagrams of the nervous system while I threw paper balls at his head to wake him up. The way we'd quiz each other until sunrise, high on caffeine and the shared dream of becoming surgeons.

Our residency years, which were nothing but brutal and endless. Sleeping in on-call rooms, stealing each other's coffee, covering for each other when we were dead on our feet. Learning to navigate the maze of hospital politics together. 

The rush of our first successful surgeries, the crushing weight of our first losses.

Even when things got bad, when the pressure started getting to him, when the pills became more than just a way to stay focused during exam season, he never shut me out completely. He'd show up at my door at 3 AM, shaking and sweating, and I'd let him in without a word. We'd sit in silence until the sun came up, until he could breathe again.

I was there through all of it. The interventions, the relapses, the promises to get clean. The nights when he'd call me, voice slurred, talking about how he didn't know how to go on. I'd talk him down, drive across town to pick him up from whatever hole he'd crawled into. 

We were brothers in everything but blood.

But now—

Now he stood there, shoulders rigid, adding meaningless equations to an already chaotic board. The gap between us felt wider than the few feet of lab floor. When did that happen? When did we stop being able to tell each other everything?

Was it when she came into our lives? When he fell in love with her? When I—

No. It was before that. The distance had been growing for a while, so gradually I hardly noticed. Like watching someone drift away on an outgoing tide, too slow to notice until they're already too far to reach.

The marker squeaked against the whiteboard. The sound grated on my nerves, like everything about him did these days. His secrets, his dismissive attitude, the way he kept everyone at arm's length while slowly self-destructing.

"Do you remember," I found myself saying, "that night in our second year of residency? When that kid crashed on my table?"

His hand stilled on the board.

"I was a mess afterward. Convinced I'd missed something, that it was my fault. You came to my place and we sat on the floor until morning, going over every detail of the surgery until I finally believed that I couldn't have saved him."

He didn't turn around, but I saw his shoulders tense.

"What happened to us, Satoru?"

The marker dropped from his hand, clattering against the metal tray. The sound echoed in the quiet lab.

"I don't know" he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper, "I'm tired of it all."

We stood there, two people who had once finished each other's sentences, now unable to find the right words. Silence stretched, thick and suffocating, filled with twenty years of shared history that suddenly felt meaningless.

I wanted to grab him, shake him, make him see what he was doing to himself. To her. To us. But I stayed where I was, the distance between us feeling more insuperable by the second. 

This strange, hollow feeling in my chest — was this what growing apart felt like? This gradual realization that the person standing before me, had become someone I didn't recognize?

But the details were still there—the slight crook in his nose from that basketball accident in high school with him, laughing it off even as blood dripped onto his jersey—the white line across his knuckles from that fight behind the gym, my own fists aching as I pulled him away—the small scar above his eyebrow from when we tried to climb that tree in sixth grade, both of us sworn to secrecy, telling our parents we fell off our bikes. 

Every mark told a story I could recite in my sleep, yet somehow, they all added up to someone I didn't know anymore. Like looking at a familiar photograph that had been subtly altered — all the pieces were there, but the picture was wrong.

My best friend, my brother, the person who knew me better than anyone — when did he become such a stranger? When did our comfortable silences turn into this suffocating void? 

The thought sat like lead in my stomach, bitter and cold, as I realized that sometimes knowing every scar on someone's skin doesn't mean you know what's beneath it anymore.

─────── ౨ৎ ───────

(note: s&c and r&r reader)

Days blurred together in a haze of surgeries and lectures. 

I went through the motions, my hands steady as ever in the operating room, my voice clear during presentations. To anyone watching, I was the picture of professional composure. But inside? I don't know.

I thought I was doing a decent job of holding it together until one of my students approached me after a practically grueling morning lecture. The young man clutched a stack of papers, a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead.

"Dr. Geto, about my thesis proposal—"

I cut him off with a wave of my hand, not even looking up from gathering my materials. "Email me to request thesis mentorship. I'll review your proposal and get back to you."

"Oh... you're, ehm, already my thesis advisor. We had an appointment scheduled for today."

I froze, finally looking at the student—really looking at him. Recognition dawned slowly, followed by a wave of shame. Takada Jun, one of my most promising students. We'd met twice a month since the semester began. Damn it.

"You're right," I said. "Sorry, can we reschedule?"

I was better than this. More professional than this. But lately, everything felt like it was slipping through my fingers.

The research lab was closed for the week—a "cooling off period," Yaga had called it. I knew what it really meant. We were all too volatile, too raw from recent events to work together effectively. So I went home early, something I never did.

My apartment felt emptier than usual, the silence pressing in from all sides. I tried reading, but the words swam before my eyes. I attempted to eat, but everything tasted like ash. Even my usual evening cigarette was bitter and harsh in my lungs.

My thoughts kept drifting to Satoru, wondering what he was doing, not if he was using, only what cocktail of pills he'd chosen this time. The math was easy enough—one to stay awake, two to fall asleep, three to numb the edges, repeat as needed. I'd seen it too many times before.

I crushed out my cigarette, watching the ember die. I reached for another only to find an empty pack. Figured. I should go buy more, knew I'd need them if I let myself think about her, about them. But I didn't want to leave the apartment, couldn't put on real clothes.

My only glimpse of light was the art exhibition on Saturday. The thought of it made something in my chest loosen, just slightly. I pulled out my phone, staring at our last exchange of messages before typing out a new one.

[6:45 PM] Me: Should I pick you up for the exhibition?

Her response came quickly.

[6:47 PM] Attorney: Let's meet there. I might be running late from a study group.

[6:47 PM] Me: Sounds good.

I hesitated, then added.

[6:48 PM] Me: Looking forward to it.

[6:49 PM] Attorney: Me too :)

A small smile tugged at my lips. For a brief, ridiculous moment, I wondered if I should bring flowers. The thought made me pause, my hand reaching automatically for my cigarettes before remembering the empty pack. What the hell was I doing?

This was wrong on so many levels.  She was my patient. Well, technically Satoru's patient. And young—god, she was so young. And I was... what? A mess of a man carrying a torch for someone I could never have, trying to fill that void with someone else? I was not sure.

My mind kept drifting back to that night at the bar. The way she felt pressed against me in that dimly lit bathroom, her skin warm under my touch. The soft sounds she made when I slipped my fingers inside her—God, I shouldn't be thinking about this.

This was getting pathetic. Still. Saturday couldn't come fast enough.

─────── ౨ৎ ───────

(note: r&r reader)

I was late. Damn it, I was so late.

The emergency surgery had gone longer than expected—a complex arteriovenous malformation that refused to behave. By the time I closed, my hands were cramping and my neck was stiff from hours of hunching over the microscope. But the patient would live, and that's what mattered.

Still, as I rushed through the hospital parking lot, yanking off my scrub cap and shoving it in my pocket, I couldn't help but check my watch again. Two hours late. Shit. I'd texted her updates throughout, but still. Two hours.

The art exhibition was being held in some converted warehouse space downtown. Even from outside, I could see the warm light spilling onto the street through the large windows, hear the soft sound of voices and clinking glasses. I paused at the entrance, trying to catch my breath and compose myself.

That's when I spotted it—a small splash of red on my shirt sleeve, barely visible but unmistakably blood. Perfect. Because showing up late wasn't bad enough, I had to show up looking like I'd just walked off a crime scene.

I quickly shrugged my jacket back on, tugging the sleeves down to cover the stain. It would have to do.

She was standing alone near a large abstract painting, wine glass in hand, studying the canvas. Even in a room full of people, she seemed somehow apart from it all. The sight of her there all by herself felt like fingers wrapping around my heart.

"I am so, so sorry," I said as I approached, placing my hand on her lower back.

She turned, and the smile that lit up her face made my stomach flip. How could she look at me like that when I'd kept her waiting for two hours?

"Hey, you made it!" She didn't sound angry at all. If anything, she seemed genuinely happy to see me. It only made the guilt weigh heavier in my chest.

"I'm really sorry," I repeated, because apparently that's all I could say. "The surgery took longer than expected. There were complications and—"

"Did you save them?"

I blinked, caught off guard by the directness of her question. "Yes."

"Then stop apologizing." She took a sip of her wine, her eyes twinkling. "Besides, fashionably late is totally in right now."

"Two hours isn't fashionably late, it's just rude."

"It's your job," she said simply. "Saving lives tends to take priority over art exhibitions."

I watched her for a second longer, unsure how to react. "Have you been here alone this whole time?"

"Yeah, but it's fine," she said, waving off my concern. "I've actually had time to explore everything properly. Plus, the wine is decent."

Guilt twisted in my stomach. I pictured her wandering these halls alone, checking her phone for my updates, making awkward small talk with strangers. For two hours.

"I really am—"

"If you apologize one more time, I swear I’ll spill this wine on your jacket. And you know me—I don’t need much of an excuse to be clumsy." Before I could respond, her eyes narrowed, focusing on something near my collar. "Is that?"

I followed her gaze to where my jacket had shifted, revealing the telltale red stain. Damn it. I quickly tried to adjust my jacket, but she caught my arm, stopping me.

"Sorry," I muttered. "I'm a mess. I should have gone home to change first, but I didn't want to be any later than I already was."

"Hey," she said, leaning in conspiratorially, "if anyone asks, we'll just tell them it's paint. I mean, we are at an art exhibition. Who's going to look too closely?"

Despite myself, I laughed. "You'd make a terrible witness in court, you know that?"

"Good thing I'm going to be a lawyer then, not a witness." She grinned. "Come on, I want to show you my favorite pieces. And maybe we can find you a painting with enough red in it to stand near. You know, for cover."

I let her lead me through the gallery, and I found myself placing my hand on the small of her back. It was an unconscious gesture, one I immediately second-guessed, but she leaned into the touch slightly. So I let my hand stay where it was.

"You're not still feeling guilty about being late, are you?" she asked suddenly, glancing up at me.

"Maybe a little."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, stop it. Although—" She pretended to think for a moment. "You could make it up to me by buying me another glass of wine."

"Done," I said immediately. "Although maybe I shouldn't be encouraging drinking."

"Oh, now you're being a doctor again?"

"Force of habit."

She laughed, the sound warm and genuine, wrapping around me like summer rain. Dangerous, how easily I could get used to that sound. She led me further through the gallery, linking her arm through mine, chattering away about everything and nothing. 

It was fascinating how much she knew—not just about the art itself, but about the whole scene. She'd point to a painting and launch into stories about the artist's infamous feuds with gallery owners, or how someone's entire series was inspired by a bad breakup with another artist three rooms over. 

She knew every bit of gossip, every drama. Which curator was sleeping with which artist, which pieces were painted during mental breakdowns, which collections were secretly commentary on messy divorces. She made the plain white walls of the gallery come alive with her stories.

"Oh, and that guy over there?" She nodded discretely towards a man in an expensive-looking suit. "He's actually—"

I caught myself staring at her again, watching the way her eyes lit up as she spoke, the subtle changes in her expression as she moved from one story to the next. The way she'd lower her voice when sharing particularly bits of details, leaning closer to me like we were sharing secrets.

It was strange. I never knew that art was so... fun. Her excitement was contagious, and I found myself being pulled into her world without resistance.

"You're not even looking at the painting anymore," she accused, catching me staring at her instead of the canvas she was discussing.

"Sorry," I said, trying to focus on the painting she'd been discussing. "You were saying something about the use of negative space?"

She launched back into her explanation, describing techniques and influences I barely understood. But there was something captivating about her, the way she could find something fascinating in every piece, even the ones she claimed to hate.

I couldn't help myself. I had to ask.

"Why law?"

She blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. "What?"

"You're clearly passionate about art. You know all these techniques, all this history. Why aren't you studying art instead of law?"

Her smile faltered slightly. "We've had this conversation before, remember? Stability, good career, making my parents proud—"

"But that's what your parents want. What do you want?"

She was quiet for a moment, her fingers playing with the stem of her wine glass. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft, almost resigned. "It's not that simple."

"It could be."

She looked up at me then, something flashing in her eyes that might have been anger. "Says the successful neurosurgeon who followed his passion."

"That's different—"

"Is it?" She took a sip of wine and pulled her arm away from mine, the loss of contact unexpectedly cruel. "You chose medicine because you loved it, right? Because you couldn't imagine doing anything else?"

I thought about Satoru, about following his lead into neurosurgery, about all the complicated reasons behind my choices. "It's... not that simple either."

"Exactly." She gave me a knowing look. "Life rarely is."

We stood there in silence for a moment, both lost in thought. Around us, the gallery filled with the white noise of clinking glasses and polite laughter.

"I'm sorry," I began. "I shouldn't have said that."

She shook her head, loose strands of hair catching the light. "No, it's... you're not wrong to ask. It's just complicated." She paused, staring into her wine glass. My parents worked so hard to put me through school. Dad worked double shifts at the factory, Mom cleaned houses on weekends. They saved every penny they could."

"They were so proud when I got into law school," she continued, her voice softer now. "You should have seen their faces. Dad actually cried—I'd never seen him cry before. They threw this little party in our apartment, invited all the neighbors. Mom made this huge spread of food even though I know they couldn't really afford it."

She smiled at the memory, but there was something bittersweet in it. "They see law school as this—this ticket to a better life, you know? This chance for their daughter to have everything they couldn't give themselves. How could I tell them I'd rather spend my days covered in paint?"

"They sound like good parents."

"The best," she agreed. "That's why it's so hard. Every time I think about changing paths, I remember how much they've sacrificed. The hours they worked, the things they went without. Dad's still picking up extra shifts to help with my expenses, even though I tell him not to."

She turned to look at a nearby painting, but I could tell she wasn't really seeing it. "Sometimes I calculate how much they've invested in my education, down to the last yen. It feels like a responsibility, you know." A pause. "So I'm—acting. Playing dress-up in these fancy suits, pretending to care about corporate law and international trade agreements. But it's okay."

Her story settled like lead in my stomach. Here I was, someone who'd never had to watch his parents sacrifice anything, presuming to give advice about following dreams. And suddenly, I felt almost ashamed of my own privilege. 

I grew up never wanting for anything. My parents had well-paying jobs and valued education above all else. Private tutors, college prep courses, academic summer programs—they spared no expense in paving my path to success.

When I decided to go into medicine, my biggest concern had been whether I was doing it for myself or just following Satoru's lead. Not whether I could afford it. Not whether it would drain my family's savings.

I'd never had to work during university. Never had to count pennies for textbooks. Never had to weigh the cost of pursuing my dreams against my family's needs. The academic world had been my playground, every door already half-open. I feel so dump.

Sure, medical school had been demanding. The long hours of study, the grueling residency, the constant pressure to excel—but I'd never had to wonder if I could afford to chase my passion. Never had to choose between my dreams and my family's financial stability.

I lived in a nice apartment, drove a decent car, could afford my vices without a second thought. And here she was, brilliant and passionate, having to bury her dreams because she couldn't bear to waste her parents' years of hard work.

Looking at her now, in this gallery surrounded by art she understood so deeply, I could see the weight of those unrealized dreams in the way she held herself. In how her eyes lingered on each painting a bit too long, like she was trying to capture a piece of what could have been.

"I hope you get to paint someday," I said finally, the words feeling inadequate. "The way you want to. Not just alone in your apartment, but really paint. Show your work. Be the artist you clearly are inside."

She looked up at me, surprise flickering across her face. Then her gaze dropped to her wine glass, her fingers tightening around the stem. A strand of hair fell forward, and she pushed it back with unsure fingers.

"I mean it," I continued, resisting the urge to brush that stubborn strand of hair back myself. "Besides, who says you can't have both? Practice law until you're stable enough to pursue art. Or find a way to combine them—art law is a thing, isn't it?"

"You're awfully supportive, for someone who barely knows me," she said quietly, the words half-muffled by her wine glass.

"Is that such a bad thing?"

She shook her head, blinking rapidly. "No, I just... I'm not used to people understanding. Everyone else just talks about being practical, about growing up and facing reality. Like art is somehow childish."

The last words came out bitter, and without thinking, I reached out to touch her chin, tilting her face up to meet my gaze. Her skin was warm under my fingers, and I could feel her pulse flutter at the contact.

"Art isn't childish," I said firmly. "Neither is wanting to pursue something that you're passionate about. That's actually pretty brave."

Something shifted in her expression then, a softness I hadn't seen before. We stood there for a moment, her eyes locked with mine. That's when I finally realized I was still cupping her chin, my thumb absently brushing against her skin. I quickly dropped my hand.

"I really want to see them." The words slipped out before I could stop them. "Your paintings, I mean." 

It felt too intimate, too presumptuous. Like I was asking to see more than just her art, but something deeper, more personal. But she just smiled, a real smile this time, reaching up to tuck that persistent strand of hair behind her ear.

"Okay," she said. "If you promise not to judge too harshly."

"I already know they're great," I said softly, surprising myself with how much I meant it. "I don't know much about art, but I know they're great because you painted them." Then my phone buzzed in my pocket. My heart nearly stopped when I saw the caller ID.

I took an instinctive step back from her. "I'm sorry, I need to take this," I said, already bringing the phone to my ear. "Hello?"

There was silence on the other end, just soft breathing that I knew too well. Then, "Suguru?"

Something in her voice made my chest tighten. She sounded—lost. Different from her usual self. Gone was that fierce confidence, that spark that made her so much like Satoru. Instead, she sounded small, fragile.

"Hey," I said softly. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, I just—" A pause. "I don't even know why I'm calling."

Someone laughed loudly behind me. She must have heard it through the phone because she hesitated. "Sorry, are you out somewheret? I don't want to—"

"No, no," I said quickly, probably too quickly. "It's fine. Really. Talk to me. What's going on?"

I was painfully aware of the her standing nearby, pretending to study a painting while obviously trying not to listen. I caught her eye briefly, gesturing that I needed a moment. She nodded, with an understanding in her eyes that somehow made it worse.

I quickly made my way to the entrance where the coats hung, seeking somewhere quieter. She was quiet for so long I thought she might have hung up. Then, in a small voice that didn't sound like her at all, "Is he okay?"

I didn't need to ask who she meant.

"He's okay," I said, even though I wasn't really convincing either of us. "You know Satoru. He's managing."

A soft laugh, maybe a sob. "That could mean anything with him."

"No, really. He's okay," I lied. "I'm keeping an eye on him."

A pause then, "I'm being stupid, aren't I?"

"No," I said. "You're not being stupid. You're in love." The words hurt to say, but they were true. "That's never stupid."

Another shaky breath. "I shouldn't have called. You're out, and I'm here just—"

"Hey, do you need me?" I cut in. "I can bring you something. Coffee? Food? Those terrible convenience store onigiri you pretend not to like?"

That got a real laugh, albeit a watery one. "No, I'm... I'm actually at Maki's. She dragged me out. Said I needed to stop rotting in my apartment."

"Good. That's... that's good." I ran a hand through my hair, not quite believing her. I knew her too well by now, knew she was probably curled up alone in her apartment, just as I knew she knew I was lying about Satoru being okay. Strange, how we'd both gotten so comfortable with these little deceptions. "But the offer stands. Anytime."

"Thank you, Suguru." Her voice was softer now.

"Yeah," was all I could manage. I closed my eyes, pressing the phone harder against my ear as if I could somehow keep her there longer.  Each second of silence felt like another chance to say something, anything, to make this right. But what could I say? That I was sorry? That I missed her? That I thought about her every damn day?

"I should let you get back," she said. "To wherever you are. Sorry for—"

"Don't apologize. Not to me. Never to me."

I took a deep breath, briefly pulling the phone away from my ear because I couldn't trust my voice not to say what I desperately wanted to. Don't go. Stay on the line. Let me fix this. But I had no right to ask that of her. Not anymore. Maybe never did.

After we hung up, I stood there in the gallery's entrance, frozen. Around me, couples laughed and gathered their coats, heading out into the night. The door kept opening and closing, letting in bursts of cold air inside, reminding me I needed to move, needed to go back.

When I finally made my way back to her, she was studying the same stormy seascape from earlier. She didn't turn around immediately, giving me a moment to compose myself. Maybe it was some sort of kindness on her part.

She didn't ask about the call. Didn't question my sudden disappearance or the tension I knew was in every fiber of my being. Instead, she just glanced at me with a small smile that somehow made everything both better and worse, and said, "I think we've seen everything. Should we head out?"

The relief nearly knocked me sideways. "You sure? There's still the upper floor—"

"Please," she said. "I've been here for hours. I could probably give tours at this point."

I watched her gather her things, struck by how carefully she was moving around the weight of what had just happened. Like she understood something about me that I hadn't expected her to grasp. 

"You're awfully understanding, you know that?"

She looked up at me. "Something we have in common, it seems."

We walked to the exit in silence. I helped her into her coat, her fingers brushing mine as she adjusted her collar. Outside, the night air was sharp with the bite of early autumn. She pulled her coat tighter around herself.

"I can call you a taxi," I offered.

"Actually," she said, "I think I'll walk." She looked up at the sky, where a few stubborn stars managed to shine through Tokyo's light pollution. "It's not far, and it's a nice night."

"Not a chance," I said, already pulling out my phone. "It's late."

"I'm a big girl, you know. I can handle myself."

"I'm sure you can," I replied, already dialing the taxi company. "But humor your doctor, will you?"

She rolled her eyes but didn't protest further. While we waited for the taxi, she stood close enough that I could smell her perfume, something light and floral, while I tried to ignore the guilt for leaving the exhibition early, guilt for being late, guilt for enjoying myself despite everything else.

"Thank you," I said suddenly. "For tonight."

"No problem, doc," she said with a warm smile. "Next time, maybe we can finish looking at the art."

"Next time," I echoed, like a promise I wasn't sure I should be making. The taxi pulled up, its yellow light cutting through the darkness. I opened the door for her. 

She turned before getting in, looking back over her shoulder. "Oh, and Suguru?" The use of my first name sent an unexpected shiver down my spine. "Don't overthink everything tonight, okay?"

I watched the taxi disappear into the flow of traffic, its red taillights blending with all the other lights of the city. Only then did I pull out my cigarettes, lighting one with slightly shaking hands. The night felt colder without her presence.

I took a long drag, watching the smoke disappear into the night air, then started walking in the opposite direction, no real destination in mind, just a vague hope that if I walked long enough, the conflicting feelings churning inside me might fade away. 

The city lights blurred around me, and somewhere in the distance, I could hear the last trains of the night rumbling through their stations.

Next time, she'd said. 

God help me, but I was already looking forward to it.

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

author's note — hello again! i hope you enjoyed this chapter from suguru's pov. i'm sorry for the lack of updates lately, university life and low motivation can be a real challenge. but i'd love to hear your thoughts, so feel free to leave a comment or send in a message. i love to read them <3

& i hope his pov didn’t break your heart too much, especially with his and satoru’s spiraling friendship. also, this chapter ties back to ch 14 of symptoms and causes, for those who are following along.

pls consider subscribing to the story on ao3 or turning on notifications for my blog for furute updates (i've given up on taglists, to be honest).

and as always, thanks for reading, and i wish you all the best, whether you're reading this in the middle of the day or late at night :))

© lostfracturess. do not repost, translate, or modify my work.

[angelsleepinggurl]

𝐢'𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐥𝐬

cw: fingering in a library

.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧

it’s pathetic to say but books seem to be the only friend you’ve been capable of making at high school. it doesn’t bother you as much as it used to, who would want to befriend lying, back-stabbing, drama-causing bitches? you simply didn’t have time to deal with that anyway. the only thing in mind is your dream school, waiting for you arms outstretched and all. you find yourself in the library yet again, past school hours, deciding to hole yourself up in the silent room until closing hours, then studying more in the comfort of your own room. exciting friday evening!

frustrated, you puff as you get stumped by another question. today simply isn’t your day and you can’t understand why not. everything seems to be going the same. unless-

your thoughts are interrupted by a familiar figure strolling over to you, sporting the usual bedhead and that infuriatingly lazy smirk. of course.

kuroo tetsurou drags the chair out from beside you and sits on it backwards, as if that was somehow charming. what, is this supposed to be sexy? "hey, princess," he drawls, looking at you through his raven-black hair, his voice slow and syrupy. you respond with nothing more than a glare and a pointed nod toward the 'silence in the library' sign above your head. "no one follows that stupid rule," he says, deadpan. you roll your eyes and pointedly shift in your seat, turning your back to him. "aw, don’t be like that," he purrs, his tone almost teasing but as lazy as ever. there's something catlike about the way kuroo moves and talks like he’s never in a rush. every word seems deliberate, almost annoyingly slow. "i just wanna have a little fun," he whispers, leaning in, his face far too close for comfort.

you can practically feel the smugness radiating off him. and of course, he’d choose now to be a distraction. an unfamiliar hand circles the flesh around your knee, the owner of that hand grins at you, chin resting in his hand. you slap it away, not tolerating any of his nonsense. “fine.” he says in surrender, arms lifting off. “i won’t get up to anything. you would sigh in relief but you know better than that. “but can i just…” the same sneaky hand back on your exposed leg, thumb gently rubbing circles on the soft skin. “keep it here. to keep you company. and mostly because i can.” this makes you loosen up.

right. your autonomy has been stripped from you.

you turn to face your books properly, deciding to delve into your material again, maybe this time you’d focus better. “good girl, see that wasn’t so hard.”

silence envelops the both of you as it’s meant to be, and it’s fine. he really isn’t bothering you, the problem is your sensitivity. you’ve realised that your fogged-up mind was due to your lack of release. a kuroo being here, his hand shifting higher and higher, every occasional grope being tighter than the last has you subconsciously squeezing your legs together. you’re hoping he won’t notice, especially as you keep switching legs to cross and avoiding squeezing your thighs together but soon it's evident on your face and how you’ve not picked up your pen after 5 whole minutes. you’re sitting staring holes into your maths book, hoping you don’t make as much of a twitch to give him the wrong signal. a signal on which he picks up.

“don’t stop because of me, really. i’m just here to watch you work is all.” you can’t even snap back at him as you’re focusing on no sounds slipping past your lips. “but,” he says carefully, leaning close. if you need to ever ‘let lose’ you know who to come to. i mean I'm not a study expert like you, but i do know… that if you’re not in the right headspace, then it’s hard to remember what you’ve learnt. i may know a few ways to help unwind. say the word and i’m yours.”

“ohh.” it’s quiet when you succumb to him, allowing this. but you can’t help it, you feel pent up and your mind isn’t thinking clearly.

“i’ll take that.”

you’re gonna hate yourself for this.

“make it quick.” you snap, readjusting your sitting angle to allow room for his hand.

“oh honey, i don’t rush my work.” he informs you, eyes locking with yours as he looks up.

great.

“what if we-”

“get caught?” he finishes, tearing his gaze away from your legs and to you. “don’t worry, i know that one of your big concerns, that won’t happen. unless you can’t keep your mouth shut.” with a slow hand, he lifts the fabric of your skirt, cold air rushing further up your legs. “you really are a soaker. look at that.” he exclaims, the only time his eyes seem to widen as he soaks in the sight of your drenched cunt, wetting your panties.

usually, you would feel a flush of embarrassment but the need the need to come is stronger. cautiously, kuroo slips his fingers down the undergarment, the gentle pads of his fingers reaching your clit. you sigh softly as with gentle rubs he soothes your stress. you place your hands around his arm, which seems to be working its magic as you’re finding it difficult to sit still in your chair. you see him wanting to tease you about your inability to stop squirming, which he bites back upon seeing your targeted stern look. you’re actively pushing down moans in the silent library, the only sound is chairs shuffling, pages rustling and pens rolling. not the sound of a girl having her pussy played with when anyone could come in and spot the two students in the act, getting them expelled.

but it’s all too thrilling. maybe for kuroo more than you. he doesn't notify you when his fingers slip from your sensitive bud and down into your throbbing cunt. you instinctively squeeze your thighs together, the sensations getting stronger and making it harder for you to control yourself. it’s almost as if kuroo is chasing the high himself, the way his fingers pump and curl so rhythmically, fingertips brushing against your g-spot every so often. “shh baby, we don’t wanna get caught now do we?” purrs in your ear, clearly enjoy how flustered he’s making you and how powerful you make him feel. you close your eyes and drop your head back, rather than focusing on not riding his fingers subtly. “don’t need to hold back on my account, you can ride em if you wanna.” kuroo’s laser-sharp focus and attentivity to subtle details like that almost freak you out. as if he’s almost watching. “come on princess ik you want it.” he says with a smile, that you can feel on your cheek. pressed against it and feeling defeated as his smug grin boasts itself in your face. you almost have half a mind to push him off and leave, but in that way, you don’t get satisfied, you don’t release, you don’t win. “there’s a good girl.” he hums as you give into your corporeal desires, and start rolling your hips towards him. you hate you admit it, but he is damn good. he knows how to work those fingers.

your hair falls in front of your face again as you lean it forward, feeling the pressure build-up within you faster than usual, your sweet release seems to be approaching much more hurriedly. £fuck I'm close I'm gonna come.” you pant out breathlessly, still aware to keep your voice down.

“i know, i know, i can tell. i’ll make you come real soon.” his lips attach to your jaw as he kisses along it. £fuck you’re tight.” he states, removing his lips from you and focusing on speeding up and working his fingers faster, thrusting harder. now the chair is squeaking against the floor and your heart is racing, from fear, excitement and pure bliss of all the sensations blurred into one. kuroo places a large hand over your mouth, covering it firmly as he feels your high approaching. it takes a few more seconds before you’re squealing muffled squeals into his palm, closing your eyes and pointing your toes. “ cumming all over my finger like that, didn’t take you for a messy girl.” his fingers are drenched in your arousal and neediness. dripping in pure out as he peels his hand away slowly. drinking in the sight of your puffed-out state, trying desperately to silently catch your breath in the library. your composure is lost as you place your hand on the edge of your chair to keep yourself upright, hair slightly sticking to your face and legs still in the air as you come down. “messy girl,” he coos. “this is no way to leave the school, don’t want your cum ruining the carpet now do we, open wide.” you follow his instructions without a second thought, your mouth opening wide on command as his fingers invade it. you suck without being told to, your tongue swirling around his digits as you look up at him with your larger doe eyes.

“there’s a good girl. hey fun idea, wanna take this to the table? i can think fo a couple ways to make you cum faster.” you deadpan at his suggestion. your face does not even crinkle in the slightest to show the least bit of amusement.

“was that supposed to be funny? that’s no funny. please leave now, you’re disrupting our silence.”

“the only thing disturbing the silence was your loud ass pussy, but whatever you say princess.” he shrugs,

⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲

(please send a dm or comment on my the pinned blog to join.)

taglist: @slutkoo

𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫…

[hannie-roses]

Love in the line of fire

Pairing: Seungmin x fem¡reader

Synopsis: Y/N never expected her quiet, life to be turned upside down by Seungmin, the most frustrating guy she’s ever met. With his sharp tongue, annoying sarcasm, and habit of always being right, Seungmin seems determined to get under her skin.The two can’t seem to spend a moment in each other’s presence without clashing. But as circumstances force them to work together with a shared project. Y/N begins to see seungmin in a different light. Beneath his biting remarks are moments of surprising vulnerability and kindness that confuse her a weird kindness. And maybe, just maybe, the reason she can’t stop thinking about him isn’t because she hates him — but because her heart is starting to betray her.

Genre: Romance, Enemies-to-Lovers, smut, hardcore degradation¡

Etc: Emotional growth, misunderstandings, vulnerability, and the fine line between love and hate. MINORS DNI

Word count: 15k

Y/N tapped her pen against the edge of her notebook, glancing toward the clock and praying for the lecture to end. Just as the professor launched into another tangent, the seat beside her creaked, and she didn’t have to look to know who it was. Seungmin. Of course. He always had a way of showing up when she least wanted him around. Without a word, he slid into the chair like he owned the place, tossing his bag to the floor with that same careless confidence she found maddening. “Still pretending to not care?” he muttered under his breath, barely glancing her way. Y/N exhaled through her nose, gripping her pen tighter. “Do you ever shut up?” she whispered sharply. Seungmin leaned back in his chair with a lazy shrug. “Not when you’re this fun to mess with.”

Seungmin’s grin didn’t waver, but his eyes darkened, sharp and unyielding. “Wow, someone’s feeling bold today,” he shot back smoothly. “Must be exhausting trying that hard to stay relevant when no one actually cares.” He leaned closer, voice dropping just enough to sting. “If you spent half as much effort on your grades as you do on these weak comebacks, maybe you wouldn’t be clinging to a B-minus like it’s a lifeline.” Y/N’s jaw clenched, but the smug glint in Seungmin’s eyes told her he knew exactly how deep he’d cut and that he was enjoying every second of it.

The collective groan from the class did nothing to calm Y/N’s nerves. She tapped her pen nervously on the desk, praying—please, not Seungmin. But, of course, life wasn’t that kind.

“Y/N and Seungmin,” the professor read aloud.

Her heart sank like a stone.

“No way,” Y/N muttered under her breath, but the professor’s sharp glance silenced any further protest.

“You two will coordinate where and when you meet,” he continued, oblivious to the glares she and Seungmin exchanged. “And given the size of the project, you’ll need a consistent place to work. Off-campus is probably best.”

Seungmin leaned over, grinning like a cat that just cornered a mouse. “Guess I’ll be seeing a lot of you for the next two weeks. Your place works, right?”

“No,” Y/N hissed, her voice low and tense.

“Unless you plan on coming over to my place every day, I suggest you rethink that,” Seungmin said smugly. “I have roommates, remember? Way too loud for serious work.”

“And you think I want you at my house?” Y/N shot back, her pulse pounding.

“Not really,” he replied, flashing a smirk. “But it’s that or fail. Your call.”

She clenched her jaw so tight it hurt. Before she could snap back, the professor interrupted. “Enough. Either work together, or get comfortable with an F.”

As the bell rang, Y/N grabbed her things and stormed out, but Seungmin followed right on her heels. “This’ll be fun,” he said, far too cheerful for her liking.

“Fun?” she spat. “The only fun part will be when these two weeks are over.”

“Aw, come on. It’s not that bad,” he teased. “Two weeks, your place, no distractions. What could go wrong?”

“Everything,” Y/N muttered, marching ahead—but Seungmin’s voice trailed after her, smug and infuriating as ever.

“Careful, Y/N. I might grow on you.”

She whipped around, glaring at him. “In your dreams, Seungmin.”

“Plenty of room for that in two weeks,” he said with a wink, leaving her fuming as he strolled off, whistling like this was all a game.

Y/N stared after him, heart pounding with frustration—and something else she wasn’t ready to name. Two weeks of Seungmin in her house? This was going to be a nightmare.

That evening, Y/N sat on her couch, scrolling mindlessly through her phone, hoping to find some miracle excuse to cancel this nightmare of a project. But just as she began to delude herself into thinking she could fake being sick for two weeks, her phone buzzed. A new message. From him.

Seungmin: Be there at 7. Try not to cry about it.

Her fingers twitched over the keyboard. She wanted to tell him to go to hell—or, better yet, to find a different partner—but the professor’s warning echoed in her mind: Failing. Forty percent. No excuses. With a growl of frustration, she threw her phone down and glared at the ceiling.

Her front door rang at exactly 7:00. Of course. Punctual and annoying, as always. She stomped to the door, wrenching it open to find Seungmin leaning against the frame, duffel bag slung over one shoulder and a grin plastered on his stupidly perfect face.

“You’re right on time,” Y/N muttered, arms crossed.

“Impressed?” he asked, stepping inside like he owned the place. “I aim to please.”

“No, you aim to annoy,” she shot back, closing the door a little harder than necessary.

“Close enough,” he said, kicking off his shoes and scanning her living room. “Cozy. I like it. So, where’s the workspace?”

“In the dining room,” she muttered, leading him to the table she had already set up with books, notebooks, and a few pens. “And keep your stuff over there. Don’t touch anything else.”

Seungmin dropped his duffel onto the floor with an exaggerated sigh. “Bossy, bossy. We’re going to have so much fun.”

“Yeah, can’t wait,” Y/N said flatly, flipping open the book they had to analyze. “Let’s get this over with.”

He pulled out a chair and sat across from her, leaning back with that smug expression she already hated. “So, what’s the plan, partner? Or are you just winging this?”

“We split it in half. I handle character analysis, you do themes,” she said without looking up.

“Yawn,” Seungmin responded, drumming his fingers on the table. “How about we both do everything? It’ll be easier if we bounce ideas off each other.”

“That’s your definition of ‘easier?’” she scoffed.

“Yup. I get to show off how much smarter I am. You get to keep up if you can.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed. “I swear, Seungmin, if you make one more cocky comment—”

He leaned forward, cutting her off with that same infuriating grin. “Relax, Y/N. You’ll survive. Probably.”

“Oh my God, I already regret this,” she groaned, dragging a hand down her face.

Seungmin pulled the book toward him, skimming the first page. “What are we working on first, genius?”

Y/N shot him a glare but decided to pick her battles. “Fine. We’ll start with the protagonist’s flaws.”

“Perfect,” he said, smirking as he tapped the book. “Flaws are my specialty.”

She gave him a deadpan look. “Yeah. That, I believe.”

For the next hour, they bickered over every minor detail—whether the protagonist’s decision was reckless or necessary, whether the author’s message was subtle or obvious. Every suggestion Y/N made, Seungmin found a way to challenge. Every time she pushed back, his smug grin only grew.

“You like being difficult, don’t you?” Y/N snapped after another argument about a minor character’s importance.

“Not my fault you’re wrong,” Seungmin replied, effortlessly flipping the page.

“You are unbearable,” she muttered, scribbling in her notebook with enough force to rip through the paper.

“And yet,” Seungmin said, not missing a beat, “here we are. Stuck together. For two whole weeks.”

Y/N glared at him, determined to ignore the little flicker of heat that surged in her chest. She hated him. Absolutely hated him.

So why was she starting to think that two weeks might not be long enough?

Seungmins POV:

Seungmin leaned back in his chair, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, his sharp gaze locked on Y/N. She was hunched over her notebook, scribbling furiously like the fate of the world depended on it. And honestly? Watching her spiral into frustration was the most entertaining part of his day.

He twirled his pen between his fingers, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce. There was something almost addictive about pushing Y/N—like winding up a spring just to see how far it would snap. Most people couldn’t keep up with him, but she gave as good as she got. And that? That was rare.

“So,” he said slowly, voice laced with mock interest, “are we really going to sit here and act like your little analysis makes any sense?”

Her pen stopped mid-sentence. She lifted her head, fixing him with that deadly, narrowed stare that said she was two seconds away from throwing the book at his face.

“You’re joking,” she said flatly, but the dangerous edge in her voice said otherwise.

He tilted his head, flashing her a grin that had irritated more people than he could count. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

Y/N leaned back, arms crossed tightly over her chest, radiating annoyance. “If being insufferable were a career, you’d be CEO.”

He laughed, low and smug, as if her insult was the funniest thing he’d heard all day. “If that’s the best you’ve got, these two weeks are going to drag.”

“They already are,” she shot back, the venom in her voice making his grin widen.

God, she made this too easy. The way she bristled at every word, as if her whole mission in life was to prove him wrong—it was almost impressive. Almost.

“Look,” he said, leaning forward just enough to make her shift uncomfortably. “We can sit here and argue all night if you want, but at the end of the day? I’m still going to be right. Might as well save yourself the trouble.”

Her jaw clenched so hard he could practically hear her grinding her teeth. “The only thing worse than working with you is that you actually believe you’re always right.”

“Not always,” he said with a cocky shrug. “Just when it matters.”

She let out a frustrated groan, muttering something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like an insult. He didn’t care—if anything, it only made his grin grow. He drummed his pen against the table, letting the rhythmic tap fill the tense silence. Two weeks. She’s stuck with me.

And the way she glared at him, as if every second spent in his presence was a personal offense? Yeah, this was going to be the most entertaining project of his life.

“Let’s just finish this,” she grumbled, flipping the book open with a huff.

“Oh no,” Seungmin said, settling into his chair with a lazy smirk. “This? We’re just getting started.”

Seungmin leaned his elbows on the table, chin resting on his hand, watching Y/N pretend he didn’t exist. Her pen scratched furiously across the page, her jaw tight with irritation. She was probably imagining setting him on fire. If looks could kill, he’d already be six feet under.

The thought made him grin.

This wasn’t just any school project—this was two weeks of uninterrupted, front-row tickets to every scowl, eye roll, and exasperated sigh she had in her arsenal. And for some reason, knowing he could irritate her with so little effort made the whole ordeal worth it.

But the silence between them was too tempting, too perfect to leave untouched. He tapped his pen on the edge of her notebook, just enough to make her pause. “So,” he said, voice light and teasing, “how long are you going to pretend that ignoring me will make me disappear?”

Y/N’s head snapped up, her eyes blazing with a mix of hatred and exhaustion. “If I concentrate hard enough, maybe the universe will do me a favor.”

He smirked, leaning closer until their faces were inches apart. “Hate to break it to you, but I’m not going anywhere. You, me, this project? We’re in it for the long haul.”

Seungmin could already feel the headache forming behind his eyes, and it had Y/N’s name written all over it. She sat across from him, muttering under her breath as she flipped through pages, acting like she could outwork him through sheer willpower. He watched her, amused, as she bit the inside of her cheek—her tell whenever she was pissed but trying to keep it together.

God, she’s so predictable. Every time she tried to ignore him, it was like dangling a challenge in front of him. And if there was one thing Seungmin didn’t do, it was let a challenge go unanswered. Two weeks. He had two whole weeks to get under her skin, and he’d be damned if he didn’t make the most of it.

She thinks she can just steamroll me? Cute.

He tapped his fingers rhythmically on the edge of the table, each little sound like a ticking bomb waiting to go off. Y/N’s eyes flicked toward his hand, then away, as if acknowledging him would only make it worse.

“Come on,” he thought, watching her squirm. Take the bait, Y/N. You know you want to.

And right on cue, she slammed her pen down with just enough force to make it bounce. “Can you not?” she snapped, her voice strained with that particular kind of irritation reserved just for him.

He grinned, enjoying the way her frustration simmered right beneath the surface, begging to spill over. She makes this too easy.

“Sorry,” he said, not sorry at all. “Didn’t know focus was such a fragile thing for you.”

Y/N shot him a glare so sharp it could’ve sliced through steel. And just like that, there it was—that fire he knew all too well. The one that made this project more than just an annoying grade—it made it entertainment.

Admit it, Y/N. You love this game as much as I do.

“Look,” she said, her voice tight and clipped, “the sooner we finish this, the sooner we don’t have yo be around eachother.”

Seungmin leaned back in his chair, pretending to think it over. “Tempting,” he said lazily, “but where’s the fun in that?”

She let out a breath, long and heavy, like she was two seconds away from strangling him. And for a split second, he wondered what it would feel like to really push her past her limit—what it would take to see her lose that tightly controlled composure completely.

Careful, Seungmin. Too far, and she’ll actually murder you.

Still, the idea made him smirk. “Two weeks,” he reminded her, voice low and smooth. “Better get comfortable. We’re just getting started.”

Y/N let out a frustrated groan, rubbing her temples like dealing with him was a full-time job. And Seungmin? He was loving every second of it.

This is going to be fun.

Day 5

Y/n POV:

Y/N sat on the edge of her bed, chewing the inside of her cheek as Seungmin lounged across the floor of her room, flipping through his notes like he owned the place. She hated how comfortable he looked, leaning back against her bed frame, one leg stretched out, the other bent just enough to tap his stupid pen against his knee. Every movement he made was irritatingly relaxed, as if this project wasn’t suffocating her sanity more with each passing day.

It had been five days. Five long days of Seungmin’s sarcasm, smug smirks, and infuriating comments. Five days of biting her tongue to keep from losing it completely. She should’ve been ready to scream by now. Should’ve been counting down the hours until they could submit the project and be done with each other. And yet…

Her heart did this weird little flutter every time he smirked at her. And that was new.

She clutched her notebook a little tighter, glaring at it as if the page was responsible for the uncomfortable sensation growing in her chest. It made no sense. None. She hated him—or at least, she thought she did. So why, in the middle of an otherwise perfectly normal afternoon, did her heart stutter when he absentmindedly ran a hand through his hair? Why did the sound of him quietly clearing his throat make her stomach twist?

This was bad. Really bad.

“You know,” Seungmin said, breaking the silence without even glancing at her, “if you keep frowning like that, your face might get stuck.”

Her head snapped up, ready to fire back, but the words caught in her throat. Instead, all she could focus on was the way his lips curved—just slightly, like he knew exactly how close she was to throwing something at him.

But instead of the familiar anger bubbling to the surface, something else stirred inside her. Something softer. Something that made her feel unsteady, like the floor wasn’t quite where it should be.

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to look away, pretending to scribble down nonsense in her notebook. What the hell is wrong with me? This was Seungmin. Annoying, arrogant, thinks-he-knows-everything Seungmin. The same guy who had spent the last five days driving her to the edge of her patience. There was no logical reason for her chest to feel tight just because he was sitting a few feet away from her.

“Y/N?” His voice was smooth, with just the right amount of smugness to set her on edge. She hated how much she noticed that now. “You zoning out on me? Wow. Guess I’m more interesting than I thought.”

She clenched her jaw, willing the heat rising to her cheeks to go away. “In your dreams, Seungmin.”

He chuckled, and that stupid sound made her stomach flip. Oh my God. Get it together.

Forcing herself to stay composed, she scrawled something—anything—on the paper in front of her, just to avoid looking at him. But it didn’t help. She could still feel him there, his presence filling the room like he belonged.

And the worst part? A small, traitorous part of her didn’t mind it.

Day 5 – Later That Night

By the time the sun set, the air between them felt heavier. Y/N could still hear Seungmin’s voice echoing in her head, every sarcastic comment, every smug laugh lingering far longer than it should. She hated that he lived rent-free in her mind, yet here she was, sitting across from him in her own room, pretending she wasn’t hyper-aware of every time he breathed.

Seungmin stretched his legs out further, toes brushing her ankle beneath the table, and she jolted at the unexpected contact. It wasn’t like he kicked her—just a graze. Nothing. But it sent sparks racing up her leg. What the hell was that? She tucked her feet beneath her chair, desperate to create some distance between them, but the damage was already done.

No. Nope. Don’t do this, Y/N. You do not catch feelings for Seungmin.

He glanced up from his laptop, one eyebrow raised. “You okay over there? Or is this the part where you malfunction?”

She shot him a withering look, trying to smother the warmth rising to her cheeks. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

But her voice lacked its usual bite, and Seungmin noticed. Of course, he noticed. That smug grin crept back onto his face, slow and deliberate, like he knew something she didn’t. And for the first time, she felt completely out of her depth.

“Relax,” he said, his voice low, almost playful. “I’m not that irresistible, you know.”

Her heart stuttered. The teasing in his voice was meant to annoy her—it was supposed to drive her crazy. But now, all it did was send her pulse racing. And the worst part? He could probably hear it.

She rolled her eyes, trying to hide the crack forming in her composure. “God, you’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he murmured, leaning back against her bedframe, “here we are.”

There was something dangerous about the way he looked at her then—like he wasn’t just trying to get under her skin anymore. No, this felt different. Like he was testing the waters, waiting to see what would happen if he pushed just a little further.

Y/N clenched her jaw, forcing herself to look anywhere but at him. But the silence between them had shifted. It wasn’t the usual battle of snarky comments and irritation—it felt thicker, heavier. Like tension wound too tight, ready to snap at the slightest provocation.

And God help her, part of her wanted it to snap.

Seungmin cleared his throat, pulling her from her spiraling thoughts. “We’re getting nowhere with this,” he said, closing his laptop with a soft click. “Let’s take a break.”

She blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “What? Now?”

“Yeah. I’m hungry.” He stood, stretching his arms above his head, the hem of his shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of skin.

Her gaze flickered—just for a second—and she cursed herself internally for even noticing. Get it together, Y/N.

“Come on,” he said, smirking as if he caught her looking. “You’ve gotta eat, too. Or is brooding your new diet plan?”

“I don’t brood,” she muttered, standing reluctantly.

“Sure you don’t.” He grabbed his jacket, slinging it over one shoulder. “You coming, or are you just gonna sit here and think about me all night?”

Her jaw dropped, and for a moment, all she could do was stare at him, heat flooding her face.

“Oh my God,” she whispered. “You’re unbelievable.”

He shot her a wink—an actual wink—and headed for the door.

And against every ounce of logic and reason she had left, Y/N found herself following him.

What am I doing?

Later That Night – Y/N’s Thoughts

What the hell is wrong with me?

Y/N trailed a few steps behind Seungmin as they made their way down the dimly lit street. The cool night air kissed her skin, but it did nothing to chill the chaos swirling in her head. She was supposed to hate him—despise him with every fiber of her being. Yet here she was, walking next to the human equivalent of a headache, heart thumping against her ribs like it had no idea they were supposed to be enemies.

He’s a nightmare. A smug, know-it-all pain in the ass. I hate him. I do. I’ve always hated him. So why the hell do I keep looking at his stupid smile like it’s some kind of rare eclipse?

She risked a glance at him. He was walking easily beside her, hands stuffed into his pockets, his usual cocky energy radiating off him like he didn’t have a care in the world. The streetlights caught the angles of his jaw, and for one fleeting second, she wondered how someone so irritating could look so—

Nope. Nope. Abort mission. I did not just think that.

Her eyes shot forward again, face heating with the kind of embarrassment that felt physical. God, if there’s a hell, I deserve front-row seats for this.

Why did her heart do that annoying little flutter every time he so much as breathed in her direction? Why couldn’t she stop wondering what his hair would feel like if she ran her hands through it? And why—why—did it feel weirdly comfortable being next to him? Like maybe, if she wasn’t so busy hating him, she could—

No. No, no, no. This is Seungmin. Arrogant, rude, irritating Seungmin. You are not allowed to feel anything for him. You’re supposed to roll your eyes, not… not want to kiss him.

That thought hit her like a slap, and she nearly stumbled over her own feet. What the hell? No. No way. I did not just think that.

But now that the thought was there, it was impossible to unthink it. The idea of kissing him hovered at the edges of her mind, taunting her. And the worst part? Some small, deeply buried part of her didn’t hate it.

This can’t be happening. I’m losing it. It’s only been five days, and I’m already losing my damn mind.

Seungmin glanced back at her, his lips quirking up in a grin that made her stomach flip. “You good back there, or do I need to carry you?”

She shot him a glare that was half-hearted at best. There it is. That smug, cocky look that makes me want to throw him into traffic. So why does it also make my chest feel weird?

“Shut up,” she muttered, shoving her hands deeper into her jacket pockets.

He chuckled softly—just enough to make her pulse stutter—and turned back around, still leading the way.

Two weeks of this. Two whole weeks of being alone with him, stuck together in my room, breathing the same air. How am I supposed to survive that when five days already feel like this?

She bit the inside of her cheek, desperate to stop the thoughts before they spiraled further. But it was too late. They were there now, sitting in her mind like uninvited guests, whispering things she didn’t want to admit.

What if I don’t hate him as much as I thought?

And the scariest part? She wasn’t sure if she wanted the feelings to stop.

The quiet hum of the city filled the air around them, but all Y/N could focus on was the warmth radiating off Seungmin as they walked side by side. He’s infuriating, she thought, clenching her fists inside her pockets to keep from reaching out and shoving him—or worse, touching him. And yet, there’s something about him that’s so… captivating.

She could feel the weight of their proximity. With every step, the space between them felt charged, like the air before a storm. Each time he laughed at something that wasn’t even funny, her heart responded in ways that left her unsettled. Why was her body betraying her? It made no sense! I should be focused on the project. I should be annoyed! But instead, I’m caught up in this stupid, stupid distraction.

As they reached a small café, Y/N hesitated at the entrance, suddenly questioning everything. Why am I even here? Seungmin had a way of breaking down her defenses, and it terrified her.

“Are you coming or what?” he called over his shoulder, his voice laced with amusement.

Rolling her eyes, she followed him inside, trying to ignore the way her pulse quickened at the sight of him ordering. He moved with an ease that made it seem like he belonged anywhere he went, and part of her resented how much she admired that. Why can’t I be as effortlessly cool?

“Your usual?” he asked, turning to face her, that mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Yeah. I think I can manage to order for myself, thanks,” she shot back, crossing her arms defensively.

He shrugged, a playful smirk stretching across his lips. “Just checking. Wouldn’t want you to starve, especially since you seem to be so preoccupied with… whatever is going on in that head of yours.”

Ugh. Why does he have to be so infuriatingly perceptive?

The barista called their names, and they took their drinks to a small table outside, the cool breeze playing with her hair as she sat down. Seungmin leaned back, eyes scanning the street as if he owned it. He’s so casual, so sure of himself. What is it about him?

“Penny for your thoughts?” he asked suddenly, snapping her from her reverie.

She was taken aback, heat creeping into her cheeks. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t. I’m just bored.” His nonchalance was maddening. “And besides, it’s either that or watch you brood.”

Brood? She was not brooding! But she couldn’t deny the truth in his words. She was on the verge of an emotional meltdown, and he was somehow the cause. How was that even fair?

“Fine,” she said, voice tight. “I was just wondering why you’re so annoyingly confident all the time.”

His eyebrows shot up, surprise flickering across his face before he laughed. “Annoyingly confident? I like that. But seriously, why wouldn’t I be? Life’s too short to spend it pretending you don’t matter.”

His words hung in the air, and Y/N found herself searching his eyes, looking for any sign of insincerity. But there was none. He looked genuine—almost earnest. It made her heart race again, this time with something she didn’t want to name.

“I just don’t get it,” she muttered, leaning forward. “How can you just… be so open? You act like everything’s a joke.”

“Because it is,” he said simply, a grin playing on his lips. “What’s the point of taking life too seriously? All it does is stress you out.”

So easy for you to say, she thought bitterly, but she couldn’t help but be intrigued. Maybe there was something to his carefree attitude. It was like he found joy in the chaos, while she was stuck in her own head, overthinking every little detail.

“Okay, Mr. Wise Guy,” she said, a challenge lacing her voice. “What do you do when things get tough?”

Seungmin’s expression shifted, a brief flash of something deeper crossing his face. “You adapt. You find a way to make it work. Or you move on. It’s that simple.”

For a moment, Y/N felt her defenses wavering. There was something in his tone, a raw honesty that made her want to lean in closer. But before she could respond, he shifted topics, breaking the tension. “But enough about my wisdom—I need to know what’s going on in that frowning little head of yours.”

“Nothing,” she insisted, her heart racing as she tried to deflect. “I’m just thinking about the project.”

“Sure you are,” he said, teasingly rolling his eyes. “You know, I can see through your lies.”

She let out an exasperated sigh, frustration mixing with an unexpected thrill. “You really think you know me that well?”

“I’m getting there,” he replied, leaning back in his chair, that smug grin returning. “Just give it time.”

Why does that make my heart race?

With every teasing remark and playful jab, Y/N found herself drawn deeper into the tangled web of their strange relationship. This back-and-forth was exhausting, but exhilarating. She wanted to fight it. She wanted to shove it down, to pretend it didn’t exist. But the longer they spent together, the harder it became to ignore the spark that crackled between them.

What if he was right? What if life really was too short to overthink everything?

And just like that, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the stars began to twinkle overhead, Y/N realized she had a choice to make: keep pushing him away or lean into the storm brewing between them.

Day 7 – Seungmin’s POV

Seven days in and I was beginning to wonder if hell had frozen over. It was day seven of the project, and Y/N still acted like she wanted to rip my head off, but I could sense a shift in the atmosphere. Maybe it was the way her eyes lingered on me a fraction too long, or how her lips curved into an involuntary smile whenever I cracked one of my usual jokes. It was infuriating, really. The more I tried to get under her skin, the more she seemed to react in ways that made my heart race—and not just because she was a walking tornado of annoyance.

Today was supposed to be just another tedious afternoon spent holed up in her room, but there was something different in the air. She paced back and forth, hair cascading over her shoulders like a waterfall, the tension in her body nearly palpable. Every step she took seemed to echo in my mind, pulling my focus back to her time and again.

I was supposed to be working on our project, but all I could think about was how those jeans hugged her hips just right. How her eyes sparkled with fire whenever I teased her, and how her laughter, despite all my efforts to annoy her, could cut through the tension like a hot knife through butter. It was a disaster waiting to happen, and I was the one holding the match.

“Seungmin, can you focus for once?” she snapped, breaking through my thoughts.

I looked up, feigning innocence. “I am focused. Just contemplating the complexities of our groundbreaking project.”

She rolled her eyes, arms crossed over her chest. “Right. Because this is groundbreaking.”

And there it was—that irritation that ignited something primal in me. The way her eyebrows knitted together, the tilt of her head. It was infuriating how even when she was pissed, I found her captivating. I hated that I was starting to notice her like this. I hated that I wanted to tease her, push her buttons, and yet I felt drawn in, as if she were a magnet and I was the metal.

“Are you going to stand there all day, or are we going to get something done?” She snapped, the sharpness in her voice only amplifying the warmth pooling in my gut.

“Patience is a virtue, you know,” I shot back, leaning back in my chair, trying to keep my posture relaxed. But the truth was, I felt anything but relaxed. Her frustration was electric, and each moment she spent within my orbit pulled me in deeper.

But it wasn’t just the banter that got to me. No, it was the way my body betrayed me in her presence. The moment she turned to walk back to her desk, I caught a glimpse of the curve of her waist and—damn it—my thoughts spiraled into inappropriate territory. It was like flipping a switch. All of a sudden, my body responded without my permission, a heat rising that I couldn’t ignore.

What the hell?

“Seungmin?”

Her voice pulled me back to reality. I glanced up, trying to hide the evidence of my body’s traitorous response. Act normal. Act cool. “What?” I snapped, perhaps a bit too harshly, but I needed to redirect this energy before it became too obvious.

“I asked if you could stop daydreaming for five minutes and help me with this section,” she said, exasperation lacing her tone.

“Yeah, sure. Just give me a sec.” I leaned forward, attempting to distract myself with the notes sprawled on the table, but my mind was still clouded with thoughts of her. Just focus on the project, Seungmin. You can’t afford to think about her like that.

As she leaned over the table to highlight a point, my breath hitched. The way she focused, the determination in her eyes—it made my heart race for all the wrong reasons. I tried to swallow, but it felt like there was a knot lodged in my throat. I was painfully aware of how close she was, the faint scent of her shampoo weaving around me, intoxicating and maddening all at once.

“Did you hear a word I said?” she asked, her voice pulling me back to reality once more.

“Uh, yeah,” I said, feigning confidence. “You were talking about… um… that thing. The thing we need to figure out.”

She narrowed her eyes at me, a flicker of disbelief crossing her face. “Right. Because that totally helps.”

I couldn’t help but smirk. “Hey, I’m just here for the moral support.”

“Your moral support is useless,” she shot back, the heat in her gaze making it harder to ignore the tension simmering beneath the surface.

And just like that, I felt it again. The pull, the longing, and the undeniable physical reaction that threatened to break through my facade. Damn it. I shifted in my seat, desperately trying to find a distraction.

“Maybe you should get your head out of the clouds,” she said, her voice tinged with that familiar frustration. But even as she scolded me, there was something else there—a hint of something softer that I couldn’t quite place.

What is this?

I leaned back, arms crossed, trying to maintain a façade of indifference. “I’m just saying, I’m here for you. Someone has to keep you grounded.”

“Grounded? Please,” she scoffed, but her eyes flickered with something that looked suspiciously like amusement. “You’re just as much of a distraction.”

A cocky grin crept onto my face. “I prefer to think of myself as motivational.”

We stared at each other, the banter charged with a tension that buzzed between us, electric and full of unspoken words. I could feel the walls we’d built crumbling, piece by piece, and it terrified me. What was happening?

I cleared my throat, forcing my gaze to the notes sprawled on the table. “Let’s just finish this before I—”

“Before you what? Lose your mind?” she teased, and I caught a glimpse of that fierce spark I’d grown to love.

“Before I have to deal with whatever this is,” I muttered, motioning vaguely between us.

Y/N’s expression shifted, a mixture of surprise and curiosity flashing across her features. “What do you mean?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Because if I did, I’d have to admit that there was something building between us that felt dangerously close to something more than just a rivalry. And that was a risk I wasn’t ready to take.

“Just—let’s focus on the project,” I said, avoiding her gaze.

But the tension remained, lingering in the air, and I knew that as much as I tried to bury it, the line between hate and something deeper was getting blurrier with every moment spent together. And the worst part? I wasn’t sure I wanted to keep it buried any longer.

Day 12 – Y/N's House

It had started off normal enough. They had found a rhythm by now-working through the project with sharp jabs, teasing remarks, and just enough cooperation to keep things civil. For once, it seemed like they might get through the day without an argument. Y/N sat cross- legged on her bed, flipping through their notes, while Seungmin leaned against her desk, scrolling on his laptop.

"Look, if we just divide this section evenly, we'll be done faster," Y/N said, not even looking up.

Seungmin gave a small snort, the corner of his mouth tugging into that familiar smirk. "You mean I do the real work while you fill in the blanks?"

She shot him a glare. "I'm contributing just as much as you."

"Oh, is that what we're calling it?" he teased, closing his laptop with a soft click. "Because it looks to me like you're slacking.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “I swear, you’re impossible.”

He chuckled under his breath and took a step closer, that cocky gleam in his eyes. It wasn’t new—this back-and-forth had become their routine. But today, something about the air between them felt heavier, crackling with unspoken tension.

She stood to put the notes back on her desk, brushing past him without a second thought. That was her first mistake.

The second was not expecting the sudden shift.

Before she could react, Seungmin’s hand shot out, grabbing her wrist. In one fluid motion, he pinned her against the wall, his body pressing into hers, close enough that she could feel the rise and fall of his chest.

The breath rushed out of her lungs as her back hit the cool surface. “What the hell, Seungmin?” she gasped, but her voice was shaky—betraying the strange rush of excitement blooming in her chest.

His gaze locked onto hers, darker than usual, and she could feel the heat radiating off him. “I’ve had just about enough of you driving me crazy,” he muttered, voice low and rough, as if the words had been building inside him for days.

Her heart pounded against her ribcage, and suddenly, the small space between them felt too hot, too overwhelming. “You’re insane,” she whispered, but there was no bite to her words.

“Maybe.” His eyes flicked down to her lips, and for a moment, the world around them disappeared. It was just the two of them—this impossible tension pulling them closer, tighter.

She could feel his breath on her skin, the subtle graze of his fingers still wrapped around her wrist, and every nerve in her body screamed at her to push him away. But instead, she stayed frozen, trapped between the cold wall and the burning weight of him.

“Say you hate me,” he whispered, the words a challenge, a dare.

Y/N’s pulse thrummed wildly, her breath coming out shallow. “I—”

But the words never made it out.

Seungmin leaned in, closing the distance, his mouth brushing against hers—not quite a kiss, more like a warning. Her heart stuttered, and for a split second, she thought she might break apart from the sheer force of it.

And then, without thinking, she kissed him.

It was messy, urgent, like they were both trying to make sense of something they didn’t understand. His hand slid from her wrist to her waist, fingers digging into her skin as if anchoring himself. She grabbed at his shirt, pulling him closer, needing more.

The kiss deepened, and everything else faded—every argument, every insult, every bitter word exchanged over the past few weeks. None of it mattered now. The only thing that mattered was the way he tasted—like something dangerous and addicting all at once.

He pressed her harder against the wall, a low growl escaping his throat as he tilted her head back, giving himself better access. His lips trailed along her jaw, down to the soft curve of her neck, and Y/N bit her lip to stifle the sound threatening to escape her.

“Seungmin…” Her voice was barely a whisper, and it sent a shiver down his spine.

“Say you hate me,” he murmured against her skin, the words more desperate this time.

“I hate you,” she breathed, but the way she clung to him told a different story entirely.

Seungmin’s laugh was low and breathless. “Liar.”

And then he kissed her again—harder, deeper, as if this was something they both knew they couldn’t take back.

Day 12 – Y/N’s House (Continued)

Y/N’s mind spun, and every rational thought slipped away as Seungmin kissed her like he’d been waiting years to do it. His hands gripped her waist tightly, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. She gasped against his mouth, her fingers tangled in his hair, and every time she tried to steady herself, his touch undid her all over again.

His lips dragged along her jaw, hot and relentless, down to the hollow of her throat. Her heart raced, each touch sending sparks through her, making it harder to tell where frustration ended and desire began. The words were already on the tip of her tongue—words that had been their lifeline, their defense against whatever this feeling was.

“I hate you,” she whispered, breathless, as his mouth brushed her collarbone.

Seungmin gave a low chuckle, the sound vibrating against her skin. “You’re really going to keep that up?” he murmured, his voice thick with amusement and something darker. His teeth grazed her neck, and she shivered.

“Yes,” she gasped, even as her hands slid beneath the hem of his shirt, fingertips exploring the warm skin beneath. “I hate you.”

“Liar,” he whispered, lips ghosting over hers again, teasingly light.

She hated how much she needed more—how her body leaned into him, desperate for the heat of his kiss, the weight of him pressing her against the wall. Every kiss, every touch felt like both a challenge and a surrender, and it was driving her insane.

He shifted, pinning her wrists above her head, and the action sent a dangerous thrill rushing through her. “You’re still so stubborn,” he said softly, his lips barely brushing her ear. “Even now, when you’re the one pulling me closer.”

Y/N’s breath hitched. She could feel every inch of him against her—his body firm and hot, his breath ragged as he struggled to maintain control. But it was slipping, fast.

She kissed him again, rough and desperate, biting his bottom lip as if to punish him for being right. He groaned into her mouth, and the sound shot through her, making her knees weak.

“I hate you,” she whispered again between kisses, the words shaky, betraying how untrue they were.

“Sure you do,” Seungmin murmured, and there was a cocky grin in his voice now. His grip tightened slightly, his hips pressing into hers, and the friction made her gasp. “Say it all you want, Y/N. But we both know you don’t mean it.”

His words made her feel unsteady, vulnerable, and that only made her kiss him harder. Seungmin laughed into her mouth, low and wicked, clearly enjoying her frustration as much as the way her body responded to him.

“You can keep lying,” he whispered against her lips, “but I’m going to make you admit the truth eventually.”

Y/N’s breath came in short, shallow bursts. This was dangerous—whatever this was between them, it felt like playing with fire. But she didn’t want to stop. Not now. Not when everything about this felt so maddeningly, addictively right.

And Seungmin knew it too.

Seungmin’s breath was ragged, his self-control slipping by the second. The way Y/N kissed him—furious and needy—only made it worse. She wasn’t holding back, and neither was he. Every time she bit his lip or dragged her nails along his skin, it sent a jolt of heat straight through him.

This was bad. Very bad.

His hands slid down to her hips, gripping hard, as if holding on to her would somehow anchor him. But the moment her body shifted against his, brushing against him in just the right way, a curse slipped from his lips.

He tried to pull back—just an inch, just enough to breathe—but Y/N followed, pressing closer, as if daring him to lose control. Her scent, the soft warmth of her skin, the way she looked up at him with that defiant glint in her eye—it was all too much.

Focus. Don’t lose it. Don’t let her see.

But it was already happening. His body betrayed him, heat pooling low in his stomach, his pulse hammering as he became painfully aware of how close they were. And Y/N felt it too.

She stilled, her breath hitching, and her gaze flicked downward, the slightest hint of realization dawning in her eyes.

Seungmin clenched his jaw, a mix of frustration and desire tightening in his chest. He could already feel the smug comment forming on her tongue.

But she surprised him.

“I hate you,” she whispered, her lips brushing his, soft but deliberate.

It was infuriating how much those words—so empty, so obviously false—made him want her more. He leaned in, his voice low and rough. “Keep saying it,” he dared, his fingers digging into her hips. “See what happens.”

Her eyes sparkled with mischief, a wicked little smile playing on her lips. “I hate you,” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper, teasing, taunting.

Seungmin groaned, his forehead resting against hers as he fought to keep himself in check. The tension between them was unbearable, and every second he spent holding back only made him want to give in that much more.

She shifted again—just slightly, but enough to send another wave of heat through him—and he let out a shaky breath. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he muttered, almost to himself.

Y/N’s grin grew, sensing his struggle. “Good,” she whispered.

His hands gripped her tighter, his breath hot against her skin. He knew he should step away, cool off, regain control before things went too far. But the way she looked at him, daring him to do something about it, made it impossible to think straight.

“Careful,” he warned, his voice dark with unspoken intent. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“And you’re losing,” she shot back, her lips brushing his again, just enough to drive him wild.

Seungmin’s grip on her hips faltered, and in that moment, all his walls came crashing down.

Seungmin’s breathing was uneven, his chest rising and falling as his fingers curled into the fabric of Y/N’s shirt. For a moment, he hesitated, as if waiting for her to pull away. But she didn’t. Instead, she looked at him with a mix of defiance and something softer—something she wouldn’t dare say out loud.

His lips brushed against hers again, slower this time, as his hands slid beneath the hem of her shirt. Her skin felt warm under his touch, and the way she shivered made his pulse race. He tugged the fabric upward, breaking the kiss just long enough to pull it over her head. It hit the floor in a forgotten heap.

Y/N leaned back against the wall, her eyes dark with something dangerously close to surrender. But she wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. Not entirely.

“Still hate me?” he whispered, his voice low and edged with amusement as his fingertips traced the curve of her waist.

“More than ever,” she shot back, though the breathlessness in her voice made it clear how thin her resolve had become.

Seungmin smirked, leaning in closer, his lips brushing the hollow of her throat. “Liar.” His hands wandered, slow and deliberate, as if teasing her—testing her patience.

Y/N clenched her jaw, determined not to give him the upper hand. But every touch, every kiss made it harder to think, harder to hold on to the walls she’d built between them.

When his fingers found the button of her jeans, her heart stuttered. He paused, giving her one last chance to stop this, to walk away. But instead of pushing him back, she reached up, her hands sliding through his hair, tugging him down into another kiss.

That was all the confirmation Seungmin needed. His lips curved into a grin against hers as he made quick work of the button and zipper, dragging the denim down her legs with a teasing slowness that made her squirm.

“You’re really bad at hating me,” he whispered, his voice thick with satisfaction.

Y/N let out a shaky laugh, her hands tugging at his shirt in response. “And you talk way too much.”

He chuckled, the sound low and husky as he pulled off his own shirt, tossing it aside carelessly. His gaze swept over her, heated and unguarded, and for the first time, there was no hint of mockery in his expression. Just want. Raw and undeniable.

Y/N swallowed hard, suddenly unsure of where hatred ended and desire began—or if there had ever been a difference at all.

Seungmin pushed Y/N against the wall, his body pressed tightly against hers. "You're so stubborn," he growled, his eyes burning with desire. "But I know you can't resist me."

Seungmin held her firmly in place. He began to kiss her neck, his lips and tongue leaving a trail of fire on her skin.

"I hate you," she said, but her voice was shaky and breathless. Seungmin chuckled against her skin. "No, you don't," he said, his voice low and husky. "You hate that you want me so badly."

He began to run his hands over her body, his touch sending sparks of pleasure through her. He cupped her breasts and squeezed them gently, eliciting a soft moan from Y/N.

"You're so responsive," he whispered, his lips grazing her ear. "I love the way your body reacts to me."

He continued to tease her, his fingers tracing the curves of her body and finding all the spots that made her shiver with desire. Y/N tried to hold back, but she couldn't help but arch into his touch, craving more of his attention.

"You're mine," Seungmin said, his voice filled with possessiveness. "And I'm going to make you feel so good."

He lifted her up and wrapped her legs around his waist, pressing her against the wall once again. He looked into her eyes, his gaze filled with lust and determination.

"Admit it," he said, his voice low and commanding. "Admit that you want me as much as I want you."

“Fine I want you..” she said barley above a whisper.

Seungmin's hands roamed over Y/N's body as he held her against the wall, his touch becoming more and more intense. He captured her lips in a passionate kiss, his tongue exploring her mouth hungrily.

Y/N responded eagerly, her body pressed tightly against his as she surrendered to the moment. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer as their kiss deepened.

Seungmin's hands slid down to her hips, gripping them tightly as he began to grind against her. Y/N moaned into the kiss, the friction between them sending waves of pleasure through her body.

"You're so wet for me," Seungmin growled, breaking the kiss to nibble on her earlobe. "I can feel it."

Y/N blushed at his words, but she couldn't deny the truth. She was completely aroused by him, and she wanted more.

Seungmin began to kiss his way down her neck, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses as he went. He reached her breasts and took one of her nipples into his mouth, sucking and teasing it with his tongue.

Y/N gasped and arched her back, her fingers tangling in Seungmin's hair as he continued to pleasure her. "Oh god," she moaned, her voice filled with need.

Seungmin continued to kiss and suck on Y/N's breasts, his hands roaming over her body as he did so. He could feel her growing more and more aroused, her body trembling with need.

He slid one hand down to her inner thigh, his fingers tracing gentle circles on her sensitive skin. Y/N gasped as he got closer and closer to her core, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

"You're so wet," Seungmin said again, his voice thick with desire. "I can't wait to feel you."

He slid his hand between her legs, his fingers finding her slick folds. Y/N let out a low moan as he began to rub her clit in slow, teasing circles.

"Oh god, yes," she gasped, her head falling back against the wall. "More."

Seungmin grinned and began to move his fingers faster, applying more pressure to her clit.

I'm sorry for the misunderstanding, I will try again.

Seungmin continued to tease Y/N's clit, bringing her to the edge but not quite letting her come. She was panting and writhing against him, desperate for release.

"Please," she gasped, her voice filled with need. "I need more."

Seungmin grinned and slid his fingers inside her, curling them up to hit her g-spot. Y/N cried out, her body arching off the wall as he began to pump his fingers in and out of her.

"You're so tight," he growled, his eyes locked on hers. "I can't wait to feel you wrapped around my cock."

He continued to finger her, his thumb rubbing her clit in time with his movements. Y/N was completely lost in the pleasure, her body aching for more.

Finally, Seungmin pulled his fingers out of her and lifted her up, wrapping her legs around his waist. He positioned himself at her entrance, the head of his cock just barely touching her.

"Are you ready for me?" he asked, his voice low and rough.

Seungmin looked into Y/N's eyes, his gaze filled with desire and dominance. "You're mine," he said again, his voice possessive. "And I'm going to take you now."

With that, he pushed into her, filling her completely in one smooth thrust. Y/N gasped, her body stretching to accommodate his size.

"Oh god, you're so big," she moaned, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

Seungmin began to move, thrusting into her with a slow, steady rhythm. He was hitting all the right spots, and Y/N could feel herself getting closer and closer to the edge again.

"You feel so good," he groaned, his hands gripping her hips tightly. "I love the way you take my cock."

Y/N couldn't speak, she was too lost in the pleasure. All she could do was hold on to Seungmin as he fucked her against the wall, driving her wild with his powerful thrusts.

As Seungmin continued to thrust into Y/N, he couldn't help but notice the way she was looking at him. There was something different in her eyes, something he had never seen before.

It was a mixture of desire and vulnerability, and it made his heart skip a beat. He had always seen her as an enemy, someone he was constantly competing with and trying to one-up. But in this moment, as he held her in his arms and felt her body responding to his touch, he saw her in a new light.

He leaned in and kissed her, his lips claiming hers in a fierce, possessive kiss. Y/N responded eagerly, her arms wrapping around his neck as she kissed him back.

For a moment, all the animosity between them was forgotten. In that moment, they were just two people lost in the heat of passion, driven by desire and a strange sense of connection.

Seungmin broke the kiss and looked at Y/N, his eyes filled with a mixture of lust and something else he couldn't quite name. "I hate you," he said, his voice low and hoarse. "But I also can't get enough of you."

Seungmin began to thrust into Y/N harder and faster, his hips snapping against hers with a bruising force. He could feel her body responding to his roughness, her moans growing louder and more desperate.

"You like it rough, don't you?" he growled in her ear, his voice low and commanding. "You like it when I take control and use you like this."

Y/N nodded, her eyes glazed over with pleasure. "Yes," she gasped, her voice barely above a whisper. "I love it when you're rough with me."

Seungmin chuckled and nipped at her earlobe. "You're such a little slut," he said, his words sending a shiver down her spine. "Begging for my cock like this. You're so pathetic."

Y/N moaned at his words, her body clenching around him. She loved it when he degraded her, it made her feel so dirty and used.

"Please," she gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders. "Please, I need more."

Seungmin smirked and grabbed her hair, pulling her head back so that he could look into her eyes. "More what?" he asked, his voice dripping with dominance. "Tell me what you want."

Y/N looked up at Seungmin, her eyes filled with desire and submission. "I want you to use me," she said, her voice trembling with need. "I want you to fuck me so hard I can't walk. I want you to make me yours."

Seungmin's eyes darkened with lust at her words. He loved seeing her like this, so desperate and willing to submit to him.

"You're mine," he growled, his grip on her hair tightening. "And I'll do whatever I want with you. I'll use you until you're begging me to stop."

He began to pound into her harder than ever before, his hips slamming against hers with brutal force. Y/N cried out, her body shaking with pleasure as he fucked her mercilessly.

"You like that, don't you?" he panted, his breath hot against her ear. "You like it when I use your body like a toy. You're just a hole for me to fill, nothing more."

Seungmin continued to pound into Y/N, his thrusts becoming more and more erratic as he approached his own release. He could feel her body tensing up, signaling that she was close too.

"Come for me," he growled, his voice low and demanding. "I want to feel you come around my cock."

Y/N cried out as her orgasm washed over her, her body convulsing with pleasure. Seungmin followed shortly after, pulling out and spilling on her stomach.

They stayed like that for a moment, both panting and trembling from the intensity of their orgasms. Finally, Seungmin set her down on the ground, both of them still struggling to catch their breath.

He looked at her, his expression softening slightly. "You're incredible," he said, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and tenderness.

Day 13 – Y/N’s House

The sunlight streamed through the window, casting a warm glow across the room. Y/N stirred, blinking against the brightness, and a flood of memories rushed back to her from the night before. She felt a rush of warmth at the thought of Seungmin, the way he had looked at her, the heat of his skin against hers. It was strange how everything felt different now, how a single night could shift the dynamics of their so-called “hate.”

Turning slightly, she found Seungmin still asleep beside her, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. For a moment, she just watched him, a mixture of confusion and warmth swirling in her chest. There was something almost peaceful about him, and it made her smile despite the chaos of emotions bubbling just beneath the surface.

But they had a project to finish, and the reality of their situation hit her like a splash of cold water. They were supposed to be working together, and time was running out. With a reluctant sigh, she slid out of bed, careful not to wake him.

As she gathered her clothes from the floor, her heart raced. The memory of last night—the heated kisses, the way they had shed their defenses—was fresh and vivid. It felt surreal to have crossed that line with him, yet a part of her felt exhilarated.

After getting dressed, Y/N made her way to the kitchen, needing a moment to collect her thoughts. She poured herself a cup of coffee, the rich aroma filling the space, grounding her in the present. How were they supposed to go back to the project after what had happened?

A soft voice broke her thoughts. “You’re up early.”

She turned to see Seungmin leaning against the doorframe, tousled hair and sleepy eyes. He looked relaxed, and the sight of him sent another rush of warmth through her.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she admitted, trying to sound casual. “We have a project to finish, remember?”

Seungmin smirked, that familiar glint of mischief in his eyes. “Right, the project. Not the best way to get things done, huh?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, her heart racing at his teasing tone. “I didn’t hear you complaining last night.”

“Touché,” he replied, stepping closer. “So, what’s the plan? We can’t have another ‘distraction’ if we want to actually get this done.”

She couldn’t help but laugh, the tension between them suddenly palpable again. “Agreed. Let’s focus on the project—no more distractions.”

“Sure, sure,” he said, leaning against the counter, his gaze fixed on her. “But can you blame me? You’re hard to resist.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat at his words. This wasn’t just about the project anymore; they were navigating uncharted territory, and the stakes felt higher than ever.

“Fine,” she said, breaking the gaze to focus on the task at hand. “Let’s just get started.”

“Okay, but you have to admit this will be way more fun now,” he said, moving closer, his arm brushing against hers.

“Fun? You call this fun?” she challenged, raising an eyebrow but unable to suppress a smile.

Seungmin stepped back slightly, his expression shifting to something more serious. “I meant it. Working together now feels… different. Good different.”

The sincerity in his voice made her heart race again. Y/N swallowed hard, nodding as she felt the weight of his gaze. “Yeah, it does.”

With that unspoken agreement lingering in the air, they set to work, but the undercurrents of their new dynamic kept pulling them closer.

Day 15 – Y/N’s House final day working together

Two weeks had passed since their unexpected night together, and as they sat at Y/N’s dining table surrounded by textbooks, papers, and half-empty coffee mugs, something had shifted between them. The tension that once crackled in the air had begun to simmer down, replaced by a comfortable camaraderie that neither of them had anticipated.

“Okay, so if we present this section like this, it’ll really emphasize our main argument,” Y/N said, tapping her pen against the paper. She glanced up at Seungmin, who was leaning back in his chair with a contemplative look on his face.

“Yeah, that makes sense. But what if we add some visuals? You know, to make it more engaging?” His eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, a side of him that she was starting to appreciate more and more.

“Visuals?” She raised an eyebrow, pretending to be skeptical. “Look at you, getting all creative on me. Who knew you had it in you?”

“Don’t act surprised,” he shot back playfully. “I’m full of surprises.”

Y/N laughed, feeling the warmth of their easy banter wrap around them like a comforting blanket. The more they worked together, the more she found herself appreciating his sharp wit and unexpected insights. It was refreshing—almost intoxicating—in a way she hadn’t expected.

They spent the next hour flipping through articles and compiling their findings, the project taking shape as they built off each other’s ideas. The conversation flowed naturally, filled with light teasing and genuine laughter. It was a stark contrast to the arguments that had marked the beginning of their partnership.

“Okay, how about we meet up tomorrow to finalize everything?” Y/N suggested, leaning back in her chair. “I think we’re almost there.”

“Sure, but only if you promise to bring those cookies you made last week,” Seungmin replied, a playful smirk on his lips.

“Ugh, fine. But you have to promise not to eat them all before we even start working,” she shot back, shaking her head.

“I make no promises,” he teased, winking at her.

The playful banter felt effortless, and Y/N found herself savoring these moments more than she had anticipated. As they wrapped up their work for the day, Seungmin stood up, stretching his arms overhead.

“Wow, I didn’t think this project would actually turn out to be fun,” he admitted, looking at her with a genuine smile.

Y/N felt a flutter in her chest at the sight. “It’s not so bad when you stop being such a jerk.”

“Hey, I can’t help it if I’m naturally charming,” he replied, grinning as he leaned against the table, his proximity making her heart race.

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “Right, charming. Just don’t let it get to your head.”

“Too late,” he said, leaning in slightly. “But seriously, I’m glad we’re doing this together.”

There was a sincerity in his voice that made her pause. The weight of their history—the arguments, the hatred that had once defined them—felt lighter in that moment. Maybe they were finally crossing into something new, something better.

“Me too,” Y/N replied softly, meeting his gaze. The air around them thickened with an unspoken understanding, a connection that went beyond their project.

As they cleaned up, Y/N felt a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, they could turn this partnership into something even more meaningful. As Seungmin gathered his things, she couldn’t help but wonder where this new path might lead them.

A Few Months Later – A Cozy Coffee Shop

The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee enveloped Y/N as she stepped into the quaint coffee shop nestled on the corner of their college campus. It was a chilly autumn afternoon, and the café was warm and inviting, filled with the soft hum of chatter and the clinking of cups. Y/N loved this place; it had become a regular hangout for her and Seungmin since their relationship had blossomed from a bickering partnership into something much more tender.

Today, the café was adorned with twinkling fairy lights and seasonal decorations, giving it a cozy ambiance that felt perfect for what was about to unfold. Y/N spotted Seungmin at their usual table by the window, engrossed in a book, his brow furrowed in concentration. A playful smile spread across her face as she approached him, his presence always stirring butterflies in her stomach.

“Hey, bookworm,” she teased, leaning over his shoulder to peek at the pages. “Found any good plots to steal for our own story?”

He looked up, his serious expression breaking into a grin. “Only the plot twist where I finally confess my undying love for you.”

Y/N felt her heart skip a beat, laughter bubbling up in her chest. “Is that so? You might need a little more practice with that line.”

“Maybe I just need the right moment,” he replied, his eyes locking onto hers with a depth that made her pulse quicken.

They shared a comfortable silence for a moment, the warmth of their connection wrapping around them like a soft blanket. The weeks spent together had transformed their relationship from casual friends into something deeper, something thrilling. Y/N had come to cherish these moments—quiet, intimate, filled with laughter and lingering gazes.

As the barista approached with their drinks, Y/N could feel the electric tension hanging in the air, a palpable anticipation that hinted at something monumental about to happen. She took a sip of her caramel macchiato, savoring the sweet flavor as she watched Seungmin.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice steady but edged with nervous energy. “I’ve been thinking a lot about us lately.”

Her heart raced at the seriousness in his tone. “Yeah? What about us?”

He hesitated, running a hand through his hair, and she could see the gears turning in his mind. “You know how we started off as rivals? Just two stubborn people who couldn’t stand each other?”

Y/N nodded, a soft chuckle escaping her lips at the memory of their fiery arguments. “I remember. You were insufferable.”

“True,” he admitted, smirking. “But it’s wild to think that after all the bickering, you became someone I can’t imagine my life without.”

Her breath caught in her throat, the weight of his words settling over her like a warm embrace. “Seungmin…”

“I’ve fought it for so long, thinking it would complicate everything,” he continued, his gaze never wavering. “But I can’t hide it anymore. I’ve fallen for you, Y/N. I want to be more than just partners or friends. I want to be with you, all of you.”

Y/N’s heart soared, an exhilarating mix of relief and joy flooding her senses. “You really mean that?” she asked, searching his eyes for sincerity.

“Absolutely,” he replied, his voice soft but resolute. “You make me want to be a better person, and I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel this way.”

The warmth blossoming in her chest felt like sunshine breaking through the clouds. “I feel the same way. I’ve liked you for a while now, but I didn’t know how to say it.”

A wide smile spread across his face, the relief in his expression contagious. “So we’re really doing this?”

“Definitely,” she said, feeling the corners of her mouth lift in a smile that matched his.

Seungmin leaned in closer, their breaths mingling as he whispered, “Then how about we celebrate with a kiss?”

Y/N’s heart raced as she nodded, the thrill of anticipation coursing through her. Their lips met softly at first, a tentative exploration, but it quickly ignited into something deeper and more passionate. The world around them faded, the café’s warmth wrapping around them as they melted into each other, the kiss filled with everything they had held back until now.

When they finally pulled away, both breathless and smiling, the connection between them felt stronger than ever. “Wow,” Y/N breathed, her heart racing.

“Wow, indeed,” he echoed, his voice low and filled with emotion. “This feels right, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” she agreed, feeling a rush of warmth. “I can’t believe we waited this long.”

Seungmin chuckled, his fingers brushing against hers as he held her gaze. “Well, now that we’ve cleared that up, I’m looking forward to all the moments we’re going to create together.”

As they sat in the cozy café, surrounded by the laughter of others, Y/N felt a sense of excitement for the future. The journey they had embarked on was just beginning, and the possibilities seemed endless.

“Let’s make a pact,” she said suddenly, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “No more fighting, only adventures.”

“Deal,” he replied, a playful grin spreading across his face. “But I can’t promise I won’t challenge you to a debate or two.”

“Fine, but I’ll win every time,” Y/N countered, her heart light with laughter.

As the sun began to set outside, casting a warm glow through the café’s windows, Y/N knew that this was just the beginning of their story. With every laugh, every kiss, and every moment shared, they would write a tale that was uniquely theirs—one filled with love, adventure, and the promise of many more memories to come.

[mandarinmoons]

That was kind of hot - Spencer Reid

Even though Spencer Reid was only a friend he was nothing short of a gentleman with you.

He would open doors, pull out the chair for you, you weren’t surprised if at one point he would sacrifice his jacket so that you could walk over a puddle.

Whenever you were alone with Penelope she always made sure to bring up the way Spencer behaved towards you.

“I don’t get why it’s such a big deal, Pen.”

“Really? The man brings you coffee nearly every morning.”

“Didn’t you once gush about how he brought you a croissant?”

“Yes but that was just one time. Boy wonder is at your desk practically every morning with half a bakery in his hands.”

You just couldn’t understand what Penelope was getting at. To you Spencer just seemed to be a polite and respectful man who would do the same to anyone, meanwhile Penelope was sure that Spencer had different intentions. Whether or not that was true you couldn’t bring yourself to think that way. He was too good of a friend to you and even if you yourself did have any sort of feelings for him other than friendship, you couldn’t bring yourself to potentially ruin it.

Penelope’s words came to mind after one night though. You and Spencer were late at work after Hotch had asked you both to help sort out some case files that had gotten mixed up, and by some he meant about 20 folders. Luckily because of Spencer’s eidetic memory the task time was cut in half and you didn’t have to spend too much time gathering up paper cuts.

After about an hour everything was finished and you and Spencer put the files back in the proper storage. 

“Oh thank god we’re done. My eyes were about to fall asleep.”

“As if you were the one who put in the most work.”

“Hey, watch your tone now Mr. Genius or next time I won’t help you out.”

“Like I’d need your help,” Spencer shot you a sly smile which made you push him playfully and he mimicked your actions. He pushed you slightly against your shoulder and you made contact with a bookshelf. The bookshelf moved a bit which caused a stack of books to fall off from the top shelf. Before the books hit the ground or had a chance to fall on top of you, Spencer was quick to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you into him.

You looked at the mess of literature at your feet with big eyes before looking up at Spencer and seeing him look back with equally concerned eyes.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to.”

“I-It’s okay um, I’m alright.”

“Are you sure?”

You nodded and Spencer caressed your side before pulling you along gently, “Come on, let’s go home. I’ll drive you.”

As you both walked to Spencer’s car and sat in the passenger's side, you glanced over at Spencer as he was focused on the road ahead of him. It was visible that his hold on the steering wheel was tense and he was still annoyed with himself for being so careless with you.

You put your hand on top of his and Spencer took it in his hand and ran his thumb over the back of your hand. You made eye contact for a second and you gave him a small smile signaling that you were alright. He returned the smile and gave your hand a small squeeze as a thank you for the reassurance. The ride continued on in silence, but the thoughts in your head made sure to keep your mind anything but quiet as one thought kept running through over and over again, “That was kind of hot.”

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[world-of-aus]

The Arrangement - Chapter 2

Pairing: Mobboss!Bucky x Reader

Chapter Warnings: Feels, Angsty Dialogue.

Author's Note: Any and all writing errors are my own. Chapter 2 is here and I hope it is portraying enough story for you all! I haven't done a series in a hot minute so I am trying to get my bearings and make this content enjoyable for all you that are excited for this. I hope this chapter is good for you all. As always Happy Readings.

“Sign here.” 

You look at the open spot next to Bucky’s name, his signature already signed and sealed. Flashes of your sister appear in your mind as you reach a shaky hand towards the awaiting pen. 

Were you really going to do this, could you stoop to your sisters level and just take what was right in front of you? 

Your signature glides across the paper signed and sealed, you’d blame it on the stars. 

There’s sincerity in Winnies eyes as she looks at the two of you, “it’s done, welcome to the family sweetheart, we’ll celebrate the two of you properly at the reception in a week’s time.” 

You manage to pull a smile on, albeit shaky as the room congratulates the two of you, his hand still resting on your lower back. Your dad must notice the uneasiness in your eyes, “it really was a pleasure to do business with you as always and we look forward to bringing two families together the day of the wedding,” he directs to the Barnes family, “y/n sweetheart are you ready to go,” he questions his eyes on you now “surely your mom is going stir crazy waiting for us to get back.” 

You snap out of your revere eyes zoning in on your father, your lips part to speak but Bucky beats you to it, “actually Mr. Y/l/n if it’s alright with you I’d like to take y/n out to lunch,” he pulls you closer into his side, “she and I have some catching up to do.” 

You did? 

You did. 

You can feel his eyes on you as you scan the menu, a menu you don’t even need to look over – you always managed to get the same thing every time you came here though it had been some time since the two of you had been here together. You can vividly remember when this was your place, it was quickly replaced by a newer, not so hole in the wall Diner that had become their place. 

It had been replaced just as quickly as you had. 

“Is this what’s become of us?” You bring the menu down slightly to meet his stormy cerulean eyes, brow raised in question he continues, “we’ve become strangers to one another.”  

You bring the menu down placing it upon the table, hands crossing above it, “Strangers,” you question “is that what you think we are? I was certain we were more.” 

“It’s what we’ve become. I don’t see you anymore, we don’t hang out, you’re not around, I feel like I barely know who you are, you’ve become a shell of my best friend.”  

And whose fault is that? 

Anger simmers in your chest as you look at the man before you, “you must forgive me,” you grit, “but like you, I have a job to do, I promised my father I’d live up to the family name just as you promised your father, and up until yesterday I’ve been helping my sister plan your wedding, every last detail, I’ve barely had time for myself so please give me some grace, there’s only so much of myself I can give.” 

Only so much hurt I can take. 

You catch the subtle shake of his head, “what happened to us?” 

My sister. 

“We grew up James.”  

You catch the tick in his jaw, “oh so it’s James now? I’m no longer Bucky, Buck, Bee.” 

You sigh shaking your head, “Bucky please.” 

“No y/n,  what happened to us, you can’t tell me nothing has changed its -” 

“You chose her,” you almost yell, “you chose my sister, I was all but discarded by you and your family without another thought the night you decided to end our contract because and I quote ‘I can’t do that to your sister’. You scoff, but he could do it to you, “Rebecca was the only one who cared what happened to me after you made it abundantly clear that it was my sister you loved. I was embarrassed,” you continue, “I was hurt, I thought I had everything I could ever want only to have it all torn away.” You tilt your head to the sky willing away the tears, you would shed no more for the man before you. “I needed time, and even that I couldn’t get because I was planning YOUR wedding to MY sister, a wedding that should have been mine. So forgive me for skipping out on our visits, family dinners, Diner hangouts, I just couldn’t Bucky, I couldn’t because every time I was reminded of what no longer was mine.” 

You didn’t think it possible to ever get the man before you speechless but you had managed. Your waitress pops in then a cheery smile on her lips as she asks the two of you if you’re ready to order. You meet her eyes rattling off your usual, you look back at Bucky who still seems frozen, “I’ll have the same thing.” he manages. Before she can skip away you say, “can we get this to go please.” 

“Of course doll, I’ll get it out in a jiffy, have your ticket out front!” 

You move to exit the side of the booth you took, the weight of what you got off your chest crushing you once more. Bucky’s reaching for you, there’s a pleading look in his eyes, “please don’t go, sit down, talk to me.” 

You shake your head, softly removing the hold he has on you, “I’ve said enough for one evening Bucky, I need time, please.” 

And he lets you go, just like he let you go that night, you don’t know what hurts more. 

He’s sat at his father’s old desk, the one that has become his since his old man passed. His eyes are trained on a single contract the one you thought had been discarded, his name and your name signed and sealed at the bottom, this one was much older though years in the making like the two of you. He remembers the night your parents took the two of you aside, sat you down and had the conversation with you.  

He thinks how the two of you then hadn’t hesitated to sign your names. He thought it was just two best friends doing a job, stepping up to the plate for their family.  

Had you really loved him that long? 

How could he have not seen it. 

There’s a soft knock on the office door, his mother enters slowly a tired smile on her lips. “My boy, what are you still doing up, it’s late.” 

“How long?” 

Winnifred looks at her son in question, “how long what James?” 

“How long did she love me for?” 

His mother lets out a quiet noise as she moves over to her son, her arm landing on his shoulder rubbing his clothed skin. “I think she’s loved you for longer than she even knows, there’s always been an adoration in her eyes for you, she’d have done just about anything for you.” 

Bucky shakes his head, “Why didn’t I see it, why couldn’t I tell?” 

Winnie laughs now, hand squeezing “oh my boy, you Barnes men are always a little slow.” He laughs but there’s no actual amusement behind it, “you let me discard this contract like nothing that night, why? Why didn’t you stop me?” 

His mother sighs, “we all saw how encompassed you had become with her sister, and while it gradually occurred, we all saw it, the one who saw it most was y/n. Before you came to us yourself, she had come to me first, she held me to a promise that should you ask for the contract to be reconsidered to please do so.” She smiles sadly, “she just wanted you to be happy, even if it wasn’t with her, but I know that night, she was hoping it would be.” 

“Why,” he breathes, “why didn’t you stop me?” 

“We believed this is what you wanted son.” 

He’s shaking his head more vigorously now, “I thought all this time she didn’t feel the same, I never saw the signs, I never -” he's like a lost boy meeting his mother's eyes for the first time, “what do I do ma?” 

“You do what you should have done then, choose her.” 

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[thatdeadaquarius]

Have some more language brainrot for your brainrot

Writer reader getting kind of insecure that even if they write something nobody will understand it, so when Al haithem askes you if he can keep a draft or two just for analyzing, there's hesitant agreement but ultimately you tell him to please burn the documents once he's done. They're too awkward to look at now...

Only he doesn't burn them, in fact he ends up recruiting several people close to the creator with knowledge of olden speak to analyze them. A funeral parlor consultant well known for his historical knowledge, a 500 year old shrine maiden who owns and runs her own publishing house, and a bard who somehow butted his way in on the project. None of them could resist the opportunity to witness the creator's sacred scriptures with their own eyes.

Needless to say, the papers ended up being fought over and have been making their rounds around your acolytes. It started with Ei, who insisted that as an archon she also should see the creator's work with her own eyes. Then once Ningguang found out, she ordered they be handed over to a team of literary analysts in order to be properly handled and deciphered. Things got really messy quick, but have luckily come to a halt as none of the acolytes want the creator to know their random writings are being fought over.

Especially when it comes to the creator's sullen additute. Their acolytes first have to convince their holiness that their inability to read and understand the creator's writing shouldn't prevent you from doing what you love. In fact... could they convince you to write some more?

WRITER OR READER WITH TALENTS HAS MY WHOLE HEART LIKE-

On one hand, same 💀 id be terrified for my all time fav skrunklies to see my bs

But at the same time i rlly wanna show them goddamit- THANK U FOR THE BRAIN FOOD IM RUNNING LAPS AROUND MY HOUSE THINKING ABT THIS-

Sun: Gender Neutral Reader (they/them), Writer!Reader

Planet: Language Shenanigans

Orbit: Scenario

Stars: Alhaitham mostly, some of Kaveh, mentions of other Sumeru characters

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: Insecure about craft/writing, anxious first pov (not serious),

& Trigger Warnings: Mild Negative self-talk, insecure perspective/reader “you”, possible anxiety depiction.

You were not a very confident writer.

This had been an avoidable feeling ever since you picked up a pen for the first time and were asked to write a story for school.

You were always anxious turning in essays, letting friends proofread them, anything that would expose your writing to more eyes, because you’d learned the hard way early on that as you get older and better at something, the stuff from the beginning… starts to look a lot different than you remember.

things you used to be proud of after having completed them in the moment, were something you struggled not to rip to shreds a year or two after you re-found it.

If it weren’t for other writers advising holding onto old work so you can see your progress over time, you’d have probably literally nothing older than one year on your ao3, wattpad, etc…

So when you had the fortunate luck (no it is not unfortunately, you are very happy to be here tbh) to fall headfirst into your video game you’ve been obsessed with lately,

You were not planning on showing them any of your writing.

Why would you, after all? You’ve got the weapons, the artifacts, everything they need to be more powerful. Why would you show them a silly little story you wrote? Fanfic or otherwise, not that theyll recognize any characters besides themselves, but still.

Alhaitham, bc ofc it was alhaitham, cocky, deviously aware bastard he is, caught you writing in your spare time first.

You’d gotten your hands on an old journal (if made you feel better than something completely new, a nice worn leather journal, sold at a secondhand shop from an old adventurer) and had started to write what you could remember about some of your ideas you’d had drafts for in your old world

After initially walking in on you writing in the House of Daena (it was the closest you could get to lofi girl, god u missed her lmao), you nearly jumped a foot in the air bc Haitham’s a nosy bitch and leaned over your shoulder and scared the absolute shit out of you, mans goes from asking politely, to begging you to let him read some of your writing over the course of 3 weeks (a month really)

Finally, after this 6 ft (about 180cm) man leans down one day (you’re sitting writing again), and gives you the most insanely good?? puppy dog eyes??? you’ve ever seen on a man???

you give in, revise a draft about 5 times in a row, lose sleep bc ur having a breakdown about alhaitham judging ur writing the night before you give him his copy-

and hand over a small short story for him to read. you specifically leave a little note not to judge you so hard for Haitham bc u werent used to people reading ur work/let alone someone as highly academic as him, ESPECIALLY since your speech is already so much more archaic than his/all of Teyvats-

His stupid green eyes with diamonds look into your soul (are they sparkling??) and he braces your shoulders after you give him his copy,

“Mine Greatest Guide, you hath deemed this one worthy of thy trust of your creations personally, I would be a fool to gaze upon it in jest. To take this work as anything less than a masterpiece in its infant stages.”

…you just leave him to it, and are nearly running out of there (u managed to be calm enough to just speedwalk),

and you make a point to not ask what he thought about it, or even bring it up at all

you’re kind of hoping he forgot tbh… and so nothing happens!

◇

Nothing happens… for 2 weeks after you gave Haitham a copy of your short story.

You still don’t know Alhaitham’s opinion when you see the advertisement, a sign saying something about, a new book? By YOU???

You nearly start a mob because the shopkeeper insisted you sign some copies, but you only signed a few before too many people overwhelmed you, and seeing it was that same draft- !! Oh god, you’d been agonizing over the spelling errors you’d missed when you gave it to Alhaitham, and now it’s just out there???

(luckily it seems the reviews are positive, but dammit you’ve been rereading ur story u gave him for days, and now ur positive it’s shit-)

You make a break for it, and are literally running (more like speed-walking after a while, since u got further away) thru Sumeru City:

you pass by the open patio of a restaurant, the scholars are heatedly discussing ur characterization-

you pass by Dehya, Candace, and Dunyazard, the merc is waving around a copy of ur book, the other two women look excited abt the conversation-

oh my god-

Nahida is relaxing in one of the many little gazebos thruout Sumeru, while Wanderer seems to be reading your story to her-

You fucking track down Alhaitham’s house like a bloodhound.

You are banging the infamous gay roommates’ front door, panting til ur throat burns raw.

“Yes, yes, alright, greetings to you too! I was simply visiting the Acting Grand Sage Alhaitham, tis why I’m here- Greatest Lord?!”

Kaveh is nearly jumps a foot in the air at the sight of you, but recovers, (you’re still not tho lmao)

and invites you in bc apparently, Alhaitham’s been meaning to talk to you about your draft you gave him!

Oh yeah, you’ve got some words to give Haitham after giving him that damn draft privately-

But when he sees you, the fucker just- smiles??

Like he’s done nothing wrong???

You’re about to tear into him when he speaks first to tell you the good news!

He grabs your hands at the table and gets down on one knee, ohhhh no.

Alhaitham is giving you those damn begging puppy dog eyes again.

“My Greatest Lord, Giver of Power, and Guide to All, your exquisite story has entranced all of Teyvat, might I please insist you write a sequel? It is an excellent literary piece to analyze… or perhaps, even better, share other stories you’ve written??”

…

….Motherfucker.

☆

Hello I’m alive! I just took a longer-than-usual break between posts from those last 2 mammoth pieces about gifts,

1: bc they were a lot to write in between writing other stuff like fanfics im already working on lol 2: I got busy with holidays and trying to apply to jobs!

Not that I’m still not doing that.. but you get what I mean!

Safe Travels Anon,

That being said, as you’ve probably noticed, I’ve made a kofi! so if you ever liked my writing (hot mess it is) and want to show me some love, feel free to leave a tip! :]

Iced coffee?? :0

💀♒

☆

♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche

[babushkatty]

Tranquil SAGAU - Part 6

-> Part 1

-> Part 5

With Dvalin gone, you were left basically homeless. Not that it was much of an issue, not really. The forests had been very kind to you -- you could easily live the life of a hermit if you so wished, without having to worry about food, water, shelter or animal attacks.

But it would also be horribly lonely. No compassionate silence, no background noise and buzz of other people scurrying around and going about their day without minding you, no one to speak to if you ever felt the need to.

You liked being alone, but you were still human and humans were social animals.

Soooooo, you promptly asked Crepus about working in his Winery in exchange for accommodations, because 'one that asks, does not stray'... or something like that anyways. Your sister always made her life that much harder because she outright refused to ask for help even when hopelessly lost or overwhelmed, so there must be something to the saying at least.

"You don't have to work to earn your keep, (Name). I'd be more than happy to house you as my guest for however long you want!" is what Crepus 'Sunshine Personified' Ragnvindr responded with.

Crepus used Puppy Eyes, it was super effective!

You laid defeated, a puddle of cuteness overload once again wishing for sunglasses to protect yourself from the blinding smiles and imaginary wagging tails.

Crepus was horrible for your heart.

Still, you would go insane if left with nothing to do for days at a time, so you went to turn the Ragnvindr library upside down with Crepus' blessing, a bunch of notebooks, a bunch of pens and a delusion that you'd do any actual studying in there.

This was Teyvat, but this wasn't Genshin Impact -- a library wouldn't have interesting lore, it'd have dry history and even drier geography, accompanied by boring economics and even more boring politics (which was a damn shame too, politics were so interesting when written right).

You never quite had a head for those, prefering subjects with more practical applications that could be practiced instead of having to be beaten into your thick skull until you memorized it just long enough to write the exam.

Though for some ungodly reason you still remembered that onions were actually leaves. It was one of the very few things you remembered from school, actually.

Probably the trauma speaking.

Still, you did find some interesting books - a diary speaking of the Decarabian rule, for example.

Today, I don my very own Windblume.

I can only hope Lord Decarabian never learns of its' significance.

.　 . • ☆ . ° . • ° : . * ₊ ° . ☆

The winds are particularly harsh today.

I am afraid, but I smile and play my lyre as if nothing were happening at all, like I always do.

Sometimes, I forget if what I do is to reasure the people or to delude myself that everything is as it should be...

Then again, does it matter when the result remains the same?

.　 . • ☆ . ° . • ° : . * ₊ ° . ☆

The people are growing restless.

Their yearning for freedom gave birth to a small wind spirit that seems fond of my playing. It is an adorable being, even if it has yet to communicate with us.

It remind me of a newborn puppy.

.　 . • ☆ . ° . • ° : . * ₊ ° . ☆

The people are planning a rebellion.

I want to help, but how can I? I am no soldier, my strength lays with the pen and the lyre, not with the sword.

Ragnvindr told me there was no need for more warriors, that I was doing enough by keeping the morale up with my performances... I am hesistant to believe him.

.　 . • ☆ . ° . • ° : . * ₊ ° . ☆

The little spirit has spoken for the first time today.

It said that it knew the song I was playing, despite it being a new piece I was in the midst of creating, and sang along to lyrics I had yet to write.

It was strange, but it made me happy nonetheless.

Perhaps I was strange too, for feeling that way.

.　 . • ☆ . ° . • ° : . * ₊ ° . ☆

You had a suspicion on who the author of the diary was by that point. Maybe Crepus would be open to giving this diary to Venti, instead of it gathering dust on the shelf?

Idly, you wondered how it had survived so long, but figured Ragnvindr and his descendants took good care of it.

I met Ragnvindr today.

Something compelled me to share my worries with him, even though I knew he had enough weight on his shoulders and I ought not to add more.

"If you cannot trust in yourself, then trust in me and my trust in you instead" he told me.

It helped.

.　 . • ☆ . ° . • ° : . * ₊ ° . ☆

Meetings regarding the rebellion are more and more frequent. Ragnvindr, alongside a man named Amos, have convinced the Gunnhildr clan to participate against all odds.

I can understand their hesitance. Should we fail to kill Lord Decarabian, their legacy would be no more.

I admire their bravery.

.　 . • ☆ . ° . • ° : . * ₊ ° . ☆

The wind has long since realized change is imminent, even when Lord Decarabian himself has not - the little spirit said so.

King of Gales indeed, even the wind has rebelled against him.

.　 . • ☆ . ° . • ° : . * ₊ ° . ☆

Ragnvindr speaks of a bad premonition.

In truth, my heart is uneasy as well, but how can I share those feelings with anyone but myself? It is not the time to bother others with my issues -- it is time to reassure everyone, to rouse their spirit and not to let fear take root even as they stand against a God. It is my duty as a bard and as a fellow rebel.

The Windblume feels particularly heavy as I write this.

I fear I will not live to see tomorrow's sunset, but I fear for my dearest friends and for Mondstadt even more.

.　 . • ☆ . ° . • ° : . * ₊ ° . ☆

My little spirit friend is still without a name.

I know it does not bother them, they are the wind itself after all, but I would still like to give them a name others can remember them by.

A name that they can remember me by once I pass on, selfish as it is to bind an immortal to a memory.

But I am selfish, even if Ragnvindr may see me as a paragon of virtue. I am a human and to be human is to be flawed. I am not ashamed of it, even if I often feel guilty for it.

Perhaps it will be the very last thing I achieve in this life of mine.

It is hard to name them.

I've thought of many names up until now.

Caelus. Liberius. Aella. Calliope. Achill. Carmine. Hilarius. Hanne. Zephyrinus. Dieter. Sascha. Scilla. Paulus. Notus. Veronica. Agna. Vergil.

Those are just a few of the ones I discarded.

None fit.

I can only hope the right name reveals itself when it is time.

.　 . • ☆ . ° . • ° : . * ₊ ° . ☆

That was the last entry.

You closed the diary and carefully put it aside.

☆(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ* ✨ Author Note✨

It was not supposed to be mostly nameless bard POV via old diary.

It really wasn't.

Mans literally kidnapped the chapter entirely against my will while I was half asleep yesterday and attempting to write at nearly midnight and I was powerless to stop it, on god.

But hey, at least we got potential Venti bonding set up for the future?

I was planning for more fluff, but I also have no outline for this, so my chapters have a chance of getting kidnapped at any time.

✨BY THE WAY!!!!✨

The charm of spontaneous writing, I guess?

If you have something you want to happen - for example we're in the library right now, so maybe you want a book about a specific tidbit to appear - do let me know, maybe I'll write it in!

I had 2 tests and 1 retake yesterday and holy shit i got through all of them and tomorrow is last day of uni then it's ✨HOLIDAYS✨

✨Taglist✨

@game-savvy @chaoticfivesworld @mmeatt @avalordream @ymechi @andromeda-gay @naynayaa @undecidingfate @thedevioussmirk @tumb3ld0wn @balaur-bondoc @yi-chii @yarabutterfly @nervouseaglelover @vexingpraedyth @indelible-colouring-markers @whitefantasy21-blog @kapitankarate

[photmath]

Blue Scribbles | Trent Alexander-Arnold

Pairing: Trent Alexander-Arnold x Female Reader

Summary: Trent and you have always bumped heads, but after seeing him kiss a girl, you begin to feel something you shouldn't.

Word Count: 8.0k

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, little angst reader is drunk briefly, jerkface Trent, vomitting, loose-editing

Note: Not my best work but might as well free up space in my wips. Just a whole lot of nothing but Dominik cameos, sorrry.

“Trent, are you bringing anyone to the party?” Harvey asks, flipping through his notepad to jot down the number of guests.

Trent nods his head mindlessly, head still tucked down as he scrolls through his phone, “Yeah, just put down two.”

“Girls?” Dominik blurts. “Gonna have them meet at the same time?”

Trent looks up at his friend, a smug expression unfolding on his lips as he looks at the rest of the group. All six pairs of eyes await his answer. His eyes circle back to you, his smirk growing wider, “Something like that.”

You dart your eyes away. You don’t care who Trent brings to the party, it just bothered you that after looking at the entire group of six at the table, he stopped and stared at you to confirm his number of guests. It shouldn’t have made you feel anything, but it left you feeling bitter.

Harvey nudges your elbow, “And what about you?”

“Just me,” you murmur. Trent snorts from across the table and you look up at him, he sends you back a wink. “Say what you have to say.”

He shrugs, placing his phone face down on the table, “Nothin.’”

“Don’t start,” Veronica rubs her temple.

“Are you going to tell those two girls, who by the way, are bestfriends, that you’re fucking the both of them?” you remark, ignoring Veronica’s plea. The rest of the group groans, Jude gasping.

“You’re doing what?” His eyebrows wide.

Trent clenches his jaw, the smug expression he wore moments ago disappearing, “I’m not fucking either.”

“Yeah right,” you huff, closing your laptop and slipping it into your bag.

“Where are you going,” Tara sits up, grabbing a hold of your wrist.

“I’m going home.”

“It’s dark out, you can’t walk alone.”

“It’s not that late,” you reply, throwing your backpack over your shoulder. The sun had already set and the apartment was not that far away, although sure, it would’ve been safer to walk with someone.

You don’t notice Trent trailing behind you until the door swings open, him scurrying behind you, “Did you really have to say that so loud?”

“It’s not like we all didn’t know.”

Jude not knowing was his own fault, he was too airheaded at times to remember gossip.

He grabs a hold of your wrist and you spin around to face him. He shoves his hands into his black hoodie, “I’m not having sex with either of them.”

You shut your eyes close, “I don't need to know that.”

“Yeah, well you talk like you know everything,” he exasperates.

Huffing, you pull your jacket tighter to your chest, “Okay, fine. You aren’t fucking either of them.”

Trent purses his lips, “I’ll walk with you.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, come on,” he walks past you, bumping into your shoulder.

Trent is not someone who you consider yourself close to. He was a part of the friend group, but he was also your academic rival. The two of you bumped heads constantly in class, always on opposite sides in debate, and fighting over the better grade in biology. No amount of “forced-bonding”—as Veronica described it—stopped the bickering. Since you met him four years ago, nothing has changed and that didn't seem to be changing soon either.

Trent suddenly shuffles around in his backpack, tsking to himself as he looks back at you, “Do you have a pen I could borrow? We have that paper due tomorrow and you know, we have to write it out.”

You roll your eyes, swinging your bag around to your chest. You’re careful to make sure you don’t slip off the sidewalk but Trent stays close to the side closest to the road, him bumping into your shoulder to move you further away.

“Sorry,” you mutter, unzipping the small pouch. The only available pen you have is a brand new blue Pilot G2 pen, one that you got from the library. You sigh, “Here.”

“Thanks,” he takes it and threads it into the space between the tip of his ear and head. His locs fall on top of it.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, only helping him because he was walking you home—but he lived in the apartment next to yours. No surprise there.

“Have you already finished your paper?” He asks, turning back to you. A cloud of condensation blows in your direction.

“Yep.”

He nods, “You had what? Romanticism?”

“Uh-huh.”

He chuckles, “What’s got you so upset? I just saw you earlier and you were fine. And then the stunt you pulled in the library? What’s up?”

“Nothing, I’m good,” you stare ahead, the apartment finally coming into view.

He bumps into your shoulder again, this time with more force, “Why are you being such an ass?”

You stop abruptly, attempting to grab your pen back but he just weaves away. “Am I supposed to thank you for walking me home?”

Trent smiles but not genuine, his tongue licking across his lips, “I try to be nice even after you’ve said something about me twice.”

“You live there too!” you scoff, and then turn back to the apartment. Scanning the key fob, the staircase doors open and Trent follows closely behind you.

“I was trying to make small talk with you,” he says calmly, rephrasing his words as if it will prolong the conversation.

“Don’t. We don’t do small talk.”

“Your mood changed so fast, sorry for trying to make sure you were okay,” he relents.

You halt, turning around and looking down at him, “Don’t act like you care about me.”

He gapes, “You’re my friend, of course I care.”

“Friends? We aren’t friends, Trent.”

“Why not?” he looks taken aback, his hand clutching onto the rail. His knuckles turn whiter the longer you take to respond.

“Because you ruined my presentation!”

“That happened months ago.”

“That was an asshole move and you know it, don’t be dense. I worked on it for an entire month and you fucked it all up, for what? A five minute laugh? You cost me my grade,” you cross your arms, feeling yourself grow hot as rage seeps through you. “I would’ve never done that shit to you. Why do you think I’ve kept my distance from you? All I want to do is punch your stupid face.”

Trent huffs, “Then do it, if that’s going to stop making you feel upset.”

You blow out a breath, “You don’t get it.”

“Then tell me.”

“I was this close to getting an A,” you pinch your fingers together, displaying the small gap you needed to bump your B to an A. All you needed was a superb presentation and you would've gotten it, but here comes Trent, infiltrating your hard drive and changing your entire presentation to Latin. Luckily, you had memorized and practiced what you wrote and was able to present it that way, the PowerPoint just a mere background. But it wasn’t enough to change your grade to an A.

You exhale slowly again, “And then you changed my presentation and I got a bad grade on it. Long nights worth of researching, gone.”

Trent glances around the stairs, biting down onto his bottom lip, “I’m sorry.”

“Too late,” you purse your lips. “It doesn’t matter now.” You turn around and head up the stairs. Trent lagged behind but then eventually caught up to your pace. You held the door open for him begrudgingly, him walking past you without a glance. His hands stuffed into his pockets as he walked down the corridor to your and his apartments.

He shuffles around in his pocket for his keys and then opens his door, slamming it closed and you furrow your eyebrows at his attitude. You slam your door back, not caring that it rattles the apartment.

-

Trent is a couple of minutes late to class, your professor going on about your papers needing to be passed down to the ends of the rows so that she could pick them up.

And for whatever reason, your eyes latch onto Trent’s appearance once he strolls into class. A black beanie covers his head as he climbs up the stairs, his backpack on one shoulder, and the black leather jacket he has on makes your eyebrow rise. Was it new?

As he passes by your seat, the scent of his usual laundry detergent is replaced with an unfamiliar cologne. You let out a cough, him glancing in your direction but then turning away as he sits down. His eyes look a lot more hooded than usual, and the sudden emergence of eye bags.

Two seats separate the two of you but the space is so small that it’s almost an arm’s length of distance in reality. You had missed the first day of class, not realizing the seat you chose the second day of class was next to Trent, neither of you daring to move away.

He takes out his paper quickly, passing it in your direction and the ink—it’s black? You give him a dubious look as you pass it to the person sitting beside you.

“Where’s my pen?”

“I lost it,” he mumbles.

“Are you serious?”

He nods, never looking at you as he props up his iPad, “Very.”

“Dickhead,” you whisper. You’d have to grab another pen. You had multiple colored pens, but nothing compared to the slick roll of a Pilot G2 pen. It was a good pen.

Class goes by without another peep from Trent, until the professor tells you you’ll be assigned a partner and topic for the next research paper. You hold your breath as you search through the class’s website to find your partner, and the universe always works against your favor:

Trent Alexander-Arnold. Darwinism.

Trent slams his iPad case closed, seemingly just reading the same list you did and you groan. The paper was due in a week.

“We can meet up later this week,” you suggest.

“I have to get to class,” he says, swinging his backpack over his shoulder and walking away.

You sigh, gathering your things and then following Trent. He is already at the end of the row when you notice a blue tab sticking out of the small pouch of his backpack. Your pen!

You pick up your pace, grumbling at your peers as they stop you from catching up to him. They crowd the stairs and take their time going down them, you attempting to maneuver through them but it’s no use. Once you exit, you stand on your tippy toes and catch the tip of his black beanie. As you beeline towards him, he turns the corner and once you round it, you stop dead in your tracks.

He’s grinning as he wraps his arm over a girl’s shoulder, leaning down to press a kiss on her lips. It isn’t a quick kiss, it’s a deep one, his fingers coming up to her cheek to draw her in deeper. Something tumbles in your stomach, making you lean against the wall for support. You turn away, feeling like you’ve invaded his privacy and you really shouldn’t have seen that. You swallow the bile in your throat and head to the library.

Dominik is the first one you see in the study room, his head perking up as he spots you, “Hey.”

“Hey,” you exasperate.

His eyebrows pinch, “You okay?”

“Mm-hmm,” you say, avoiding his gaze. “Just motivating myself for Harvey’s party tonight.”

He chuckles, “He says it should be lowkey, just us.”

And whoever Trent is planning on inviting.

You gulp, “Mm-hmm.”

“You look like you’re going to puke,” he says, putting down his iPad and standing up. He grabs the bin and pushes it near you.

Before you can thank him or push it away, Trent walks in. And that’s it, you bend down and hurl into the bin.

“Oh my god,” Dominik yelps. “Maybe you shouldn’t go to the party tonight.”

Trent doesn’t say a word as he sits down, you take the napkin Dominik pulled out of his bag. You wipe your face, feeling flushed and dizzy.

“I’m going to go home.”

“Do you want me to walk you?” Dominik asks.

“Uh—”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Trent says, slouching down in his seat as he types on his phone. You glance at him and notice the tips of his fingers are stained blue. You don’t question it as you get up to leave.

You can’t keep a secret. It was your biggest weakness, always making you physically ill. Trent was kissing one of those girl’s, her bestfriend oblivious that they were both going for the same guy. You had to either tell her or somehow forget about it.

Dominik huffs, closing his iPad and grabbing your backpack. He swings it over his shoulder and ushers you out of the room. Once the door closes, you blurt, “Trent was kissing her.”

“What?” Dominik asks.

“He kissed her. Her bestfriend has no idea.”

“Her bestfriend?”

“They’re both going for Trent!” You turn towards him and he’s blatantly confused, his lips part open.

“Okay, so what?”

“One of them is bound to get hurt.”

“Maybe they know,” Dominik sighs. “It’s not our business.”

“But tonight, he’s bringing them both.”

He walks you into the lift, “And? Trent can handle his own business. If he’s going for a pair of bestfriends, let him.”

“I’m breaking girl code,” you murmur, letting your head fall dramatically against the lift’s walls.

Dominik rolls his eyes, “You don’t even know them.”

“But I know it’s happening.”

Dominik sighs, letting the conversation die out. He walks you back to your apartment, making sure you eat something before he goes next door to his own bedroom.

-

Tara has you out of the apartment before you can even protest. Dominik’s already too buzzed to tell you to go back home, instead he’s pouring you a shot glass. Even though you know alcohol wouldn’t calm your nerves down, you down it anyway. It burns your throat that you turn away from the island, accidentally bumping into someone.

Looking up, Trent wears a weary smile as he looks down at you. His beanie is long gone, but so are his locs. Instead his hair is cut short, super short that you blink repeatedly at it, just to make sure your eyes aren’t playing tricks on you.

Before you can say something, he looks away and walks past you. You don’t realize his arm is clutching onto someone else, the girl from earlier following closely behind him.

Dominik coughs and you face him, he shakes his head rapidly. His cheeks flush red as he starts choking.

“Jesus, Domi.”

“What?” he rasps, bending down to catch his breath. You rub his back as your gaze finds Trent. Trent brings a brown bottle of beer to his lips, his gaze flickering up at you. “You aren’t the only one who lost a boyfriend today.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend to lose—wait what?” you pick up Dominik by his shoulder. His eyes are brimmed red, his cheeks still beet red. “What happened with you and Ibou?”

He shrugs, “He said he wants a break.”

“What?”

He looks down at his shot glasses, pouring another round of whiskey into them, “And it makes sense why you threw up, you like Trent.”

“No I don’t,” you deny, your eyes finding Trent again, hoping he couldn’t hear Dominik. Trent is too submersed into conversation to notice.

He nods, handing you the glass, “Don’t deny it, it’s obvious the more I realize it. Always has been.”

He can’t be right. Whatever chance Trent had was ruined the day he messed up your presentation. He made you sob in the girls’ restroom, there was no way you could have a crush on him.

But your stomach tumbling earlier today. The burn of your neck and cheeks. And the way your chest caved in so deep that it felt like you were choking—no.

It didn’t help that Dominik had known you so well. He was the first friend you made on campus and he had always had a knack for reading you. He ended up meeting Trent through his football team, but you had already known of Trent.

“See,” Dominik murmurs, pointing out the horror etched across your face. “He’s cute, he’s just an asshole.”

“No, Dominik, you’re wrong.”

He purses his lips, face growing somber, “I wish I was, just so I didn’t have to see the disappointment on your face. Let’s just forget about it. Ibou is supposed to come and I don’t know…I might escape to your apartment to be honest.”

“Go for it,” you mumble, tearing your eyes away from Trent and tilting your head back as you gulp down the shot. Dominik is quick to pour another, and Jesus, how many were you and him going to have back to back?

Once the both of you drink the third shot, you take the bottle away from his tight grip. The party had barely got rowdy thirty minutes ago and you had maybe fifteen minutes before you couldn’t see straight. Drinking with Dominik was never a smart idea and you were going to regret it soon.

Tara drags you and Dominik away from the island to the beer pong table. Trent stands behind you, the girl—and her bestfriend—beside him. Dominik hums in your ear, before grabbing a cup and drinking the beer.

“Dominik!” Jude yells and Dominik apologizes, a sloppy grin forming.

“You two drink too much already?” Trent butts his head between the two of you, Dominik murmuring in Hungarian as he gets startled—or annoyed—with Trent’s voice.

You look away, crossing your arms as Tara and Veronica start the round of beer pong.

Trent’s presence behind you makes you feel hot, as if you can feel his breath on your exposed shoulder. And when you miss your first shot, he doesn’t let his presence go unnoticed, “You can’t be that drunk already.”

“Shut up,” you slur, jabbing him in his rib with your elbow. The white tee he wears hugs his biceps tight that you get distracted momentarily before Dominik pulls you back to your senses. He tosses the next ball and it lands in a cup.

As the game continues, Tara and Veronica don’t let up, making you and Dominik drink more cups of beer. Your head was already spinning, incoherent words flying past your lips as you tried to distract Tara and Veronica.

Once you two lose, Dominik sits down on the couch and you groan, finding yourself in the kitchen and searching through their fridge for a bottle of water.

“What are you looking for?” Trent asks behind you, his arms folded.

“Why do you have so many eggs?” your brows furrow as you stare at the drawer filled with eggs.

“Do you need water?”

“Yeah,” you stand up, feeling the weight of the world around your head, and then you bump your head against the top of the fridge. Before you can tumble, Trent wraps his arms around your waist.

“Okay, let’s sit you down, yeah?” He ushers you to a chair and you groan, your head pounding from the sudden hit. The wave of pain seemed to only exacerbate your nausea. Your cheeks feel hot as you close your eyes to make the room stop spinning.

Trent uncaps the water and taps your elbow. You hold your hand out, “Hold on.”

“Do you need to throw up?”

“Just shut up.”

He sighs, “C’mon.” He bends down to hoist you up from your waist, ushering you into their guest restroom that was a few steps away. He locks the door and leans you against the wall. He leans against the door, watching you carefully.

“Ibou and Dominik broke up,” you slur. Here go you spilling secrets that weren’t yours to tell. “Fuck you weren’t supposed to know that.”

He nods, “It’s okay, I already knew.”

Thank God.

“And I saw you kissing that girl—ugh—what was her name, Clare? Clarissa?”

He furrows his eyebrows, crossing his arms. Your eyes selfishly land on his bulging biceps. He coughs, “Anything else you want to spit out?”

“I know you have my blue pen. And I’m really fucking drunk right now.”

Trent fights off a chuckle, it was a sight to see you flushed from alcohol. You rarely get super drunk and this seems to be the night you are going to—or already were. Your eyes are more hooded than usual, hair a bit out of place, and your face is sticky.

“Yeah, you are really drunk,” he chuckles.

“Why are you laughing? It’s not funny,” you groan. “My head, it feels so heavy and then the fucking fridge—”

Trent bursts into another loud laugh, “I’m sorry, it’s just, I haven’t seen you like this since last year.”

“I didn’t plan on it, Dominik kept pouring shots and then we sucked at beer pong.”

Trent shakes his head, “No, you sucked. He was pretty good.”

“I sucked,” you throw your hands up in surrender but it only makes you feel more unbalanced that you wobble.

Trent reaches out for you, “Woah.”

He brings his head away from yours, his lips shiny with saliva as he peers down at you. Your hands are clutching onto his arms to regain your balance and god when did his arms feel so strong? And those eyelashes, were they always this long?

“You okay?” he whispers. His voice is so soft that it makes you close your eyes, you wanting to desperately lean forward against him to settle the spins.

You are too drunk for this. Instead, you fall back onto the wall and try to stand against it as straight as possible.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

He lets go of you and hands you the water bottle, “Drink up.”

Bile teases along your throat that it hurts swallowing but you continue on, feeling the bottle crush beneath your grip. Trent watching you gulp down the water doesn’t make the room any less stuffy or hot.

“You’re drunk,” he repeats, “so you won’t remember any of this in the morning?”

You let out a dry chuckle, “Probably not, to be honest. Being in a small restroom with you, god I hope not.”

Something flickers across Trent’s eyes but it’s gone within a heartbeat as he says coldly, “Yeah, I wouldn’t want to remember this either.”

“Why aren’t you with Clarissa and her bestfriend?”

“Because I’m here taking care of you being a sloppy drunk,” he spits.

“I can handle myself, I was doing just fine until you startled me and made me hit my head.”

Trent’s nostrils flare, his jaw clenching, “I don’t understand you.”

“Save your monologue, I won’t remember this and I really want to remember the way you look like you’re about to lose it,” you say monotonously, finishing the last bit of water.

Trent grits his teeth, “Can you stop being an ass for five minutes?”

“Timer starts now.”

“Why do Clarissa and Diane bother you so much?”

“Because they’re bestfriends, that’s cruel, Trent,” you say. “They have no idea you’re playing them both. I shouldn’t be surprised after you humiliated me in front of everyone in class, but that’s cruel. And you say you’re sorry but you’re doing the same thing.”

Trent’s eyebrows crease, “It’s none of your business.”

“It’s not, but you’re an awful person. And it just makes me look at you differently. If the presentation didn’t prove you to be the biggest jackass at this uni, that does.”

“What you think of me doesn’t matter to me.” Trent snarls, looking around the restroom but only faces the mirror, where he immediately darts his eyes away from his reflection. “You made it out to be that I was playing them both, I’m not.”

You gawk, “You were right, I am too drunk for this.” You step to leave the restroom but he stops you, your head bumping into his chest that you stumble back against the wall where you were. “So what, I’m wrong and you’re only going for Clarissa? You know what, you’re right again, it’s none of my business and I’m not about to sit here and try to get it right because I won’t remember this in the morning. I’ll still think of you the same.”

“I like you,” he blurts out.

“What?”

He looks…flushed? Shocked? His eyes wide and his lips part as if he can’t believe what he just said, “Nothing. I just wanted you to stop talking.”

Silence falls between the two of you as he scratches the nape of his neck. He chews on his bottom lip anxiously. You couldn’t have heard him right. Surely the alcohol was seeping deep into you that comprehending words was much more of a task than before.

“Why did you cut your hair?” you ask quietly. Your gaze shifts to his chest, it’s heaving rapidly.

He shrugs, “Just wanted a change.”

“Oh, okay. Cool.”

“Do you like it?” He glances at the mirror and pats the back of it down.

Instead of answering, your jumbled mind reads his expression. He’s looking away from you but he’s expecting an answer, looking shy. His hands are still patting misplaced curls back into place but nothing is out of place. He waits patiently for your answer, but didn’t he say that it didn’t matter what you thought of him?

“Didn’t even recognize you.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. He looks at you and his eyes urge for you to continue. “I guess good, but then I recognized you and it became bad.”

His eyes look down briefly, “I’m sorry for hurting you.”

“Yeah yeah,” you grumble, having heard those same words over and over again.

“I want to show you something in my bedroom.”

Your brows furrow, “I’m drunk, I’m not having sex with you.”

His mouth drops, “No! That’s not what I meant.”

“I would hope not,” you gag as the image of you two pops up in your head. “I don’t think I’d want to remember that anyway, good thing I wouldn’t.”

Trent’s flustered state doesn’t go away as he rambles, “I made you something.”

“If I go upstairs, you might have to carry me down.”

“Okay,” he shrugs, holding out his hand. “Come on.”

You hesitate, “Won’t your girls get mad?”

He rolls his eyes, “They aren’t my girls. Come on.”

You clasp your hand into his but the second he pulls you, you stumble into chest. He places his free hand on your waist and helps you out of the restroom.

Dominik stands with a drunken smile perched against the wall beside the restroom, “Oh, I’m glad you two worked out.” He sends you a wink before taking another swig of his drink.

You turn back to Trent, “Make sure he ends up in his bed tonight.”

“I know,” he nods, tapping your hip so that you can lead the way. Despite your few stumbles and the death stares from the pair of bestfriends, you make it to the staircase. Trent guides you upstairs with his hand pressed against your back.

Your head still felt like it was spinning but the bottle of water helped. You just needed some kind of bread, or crackers, something.

You turn back to Trent, he stops abruptly and bends down to your ear, “What?”

“Do you have food? Water and bread?”

“Bread?” He scrunches his eyebrows, his hand becoming more heavy on your back.

“It helps with alcohol.”

He blows a raspberry, “I’ll get it for you once we get to my room.”

“Okay, thank you.” You continue up the narrow stairs, cursing as you trip over a step. Trent hoists you up quickly, his hands never leaving your waist, even after your shirt lifted and he was now touching bare skin. His fingers stung, firm as they dug into you.

Once you reach his bedroom, you plop down on the floor and lean against his bed and bed frame. He leaves to get you bread and water and you peek around his room. Not much has changed since you had last been in it. There’s a couple of books piled on his nightstand, a hoodie loosely thrown over his desk chair, and a floor lamp lighting up the room.

You expect him to return with a bottle and maybe three slices of bread, but instead he returns with a six-pack of water bottles and an entire loaf of bread. You selfishly gawk at his biceps but then feel your eyes well up with tears.

“Are you crying?” he scowls, getting onto his knees and prying open the six-pack. He then unties the bread and faces it towards you.

“You brought me a whole loaf?” Your voice trembles as you tear a piece off and eat it. Your jaw wobbles as more tears spill out, a much harder cry than you expected.

“It’s just bread…” he mumbles, sitting next to you and hesitating to look at you. He rests his hands over his perched knees while you stuff your face with the bread. A small smile teeters against his lips.

“You’re so sweet.”

“You just said I was an awful person.”

“You do awful things,” you correct.

“Wouldn’t I still be awful then?”

You nod through tears, not wanting to debate the logistics of your drunk mind because you knew somehow you’d convince yourself to see him through rose-colored glasses. You’d circle back to him being a “sweet” guy because deep down you know he is, but sometimes he does things that you don’t understand—much less he.

He shuffles up to his feet, “Let me show you what I made.”

You shake his head, “Don’t. I won’t remember.”

Trent looks back at you, his piercing brown eyes growing more gentle as he looks back at you. “Maybe that’s a good thing.”

“I want to,” you confess.

He swallows, his hand on the edge of his dresser, “You’d hate it if you were sober.”

“No I wouldn’t,” you say muffled, still chewing on bread. Being thirsty and hungry, this bread tasted like the best entree.

He nods persistently, “You’d get upset that I wasted your pen. Say something about it being a good pen, probably your last because you only ever have one pen on your person. And then you’d probably throw it at me.”

You chuckle, “That does sound like me.”

He doesn’t laugh, only purses his lips as he opens his top drawer. He pulls out two things, turning his back to you before sitting back down beside you with haste.

Your head still felt a bit heavy, but with you sitting and getting hydrated, it felt a lot better. Maybe you wouldn’t wake up in the morning with a throbbing headache, and maybe you barely missed your limit before blacking out and remembering nothing.

“Here,” he says sheepishly. He pulls out a papered flower, the petals scribbled with blue ink. The flower is so elaborate with layers of petals—it was a dahlia. It must have taken Trent hours to cut the pieces into the right shape and then scribble them all blue. You knew he had to color them blue afterward because of the way the scribbles lined up, all pointing to the apex of the petal.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, twisting the dahlia from its makeshift stem.

He pulls out what he hides from his waist, “I had to buy more blue pens, thought you’d want the extras.”

The blue pens are tied together with a white ribbon, a little bow in the center. They’re in a makeshift bouquet, baby’s-breath tucked in the gaps.

“Okay now I’m really about to cry and not because I’m drunk,” you say, setting down the dahlia and wiping away the tears that cascade.

Trent’s jaw drops, “You aren’t drunk?”

“I’m getting sober,” you sob. Somehow knowing Trent wanted to show you what he made you while you were drunk and couldn’t remember doesn’t quiet the ache in your chest. Why didn’t he want to show you while you were sober? Why didn’t he want you to remember? It would’ve helped the way you see him, not as the cold-hearted persona he puts out.

Trent stays quiet as his hands twirl around the bouquet of pens. You were going to remember everything in the morning.

“It doesn’t make sense,” you whisper through your cries.

Trent looks at you, his eyes frantic, his throat bobbing as he swallows.

“You were kissing Clarissa after you made me this,” you pick up the dahlia. “Why would you do that to her? To me?”

He shakes his head, “It’s just a flower.”

“Trent, this is—elaborate. This is detailed. It’s beautiful, not something you can make within an hour. Is that why you were late to class? Why you looked so tired?”

He gulps down, “I had gotten a haircut, that took a couple of hours and then I still had to write the essay—”

“Why are you lying?” you look at him and he darts away. His jaw tenses as his hands tighten around his knees. “You didn’t write the paper yesterday. You already had it done before you asked me for the pen. You never wait until the last minute to do an assignment. You got a haircut and then you made this, tell me I’m wrong.”

A heavy exhale leaves his nose as he glances at you, “You’re right.”

As another sob escapes you, Trent’s breathing seems to become difficult. He shuffles his legs around until they’re outstretched in front of him.

You shake your head, “God I’m so fucking stupid. You are an awful person, and I should’ve never thought you were any different.”

Trent was going to bask you in gifts as if he wasn’t making out with an entire girl after giving you the cold shoulder the same day. He spent hours making and buying you something—and those pens weren’t cheap—just to screw around with someone else.

As you attempt to stand up, Trent grabs your wrist, “Wait, let me explain.”

“How do you explain that, Trent?” you ask, almost yelling. You snap your wrist out of his grip and gulp half a bottle of water.

“Just listen to me,” he stands up, pulling his shirt down. “I convinced myself it was stupid. You fucking hate me. Why would you forgive me after all that I’ve done to you? I wasted your pen and then bought you more to replace them when all you wanted was your pen. You didn’t want my flower or more pens, just like how you didn’t want my apologies after ruining your presentation. It was a joke gone too far and I get that, but I didn’t think it would hurt you. I didn’t know it would bring your grade down. I know you’re smart, I knew you’d know what to say, but fuck I didn’t know our professor was going to grade the PowerPoint so hard. I tried to tell him that I did it, but all he did was bring my grade down too, but I maintained my A. I care about you, I do, and I’m sorry for hurting you.”

You shake your head, even though you were getting sober his words were too much to digest especially when he spoke way too fast to keep you from leaving.

“Trent,” you rub your forehead. “Even if all that is true, that doesn’t explain Clarissa.”

He holds out his hand in front of you as if you are going to dash out his room. “I was distracting myself from hurting you. Yeah, I’m hurting her too. I’m not proud of it, but—I can’t hurt you more than what I already have.”

“Yeah,” you nod tiredly. “You fucked up really bad.”

You make your way to his door but he grabs a hold of your arm, physically pleading you to stay and listen to him. “Wait, okay, please—”

“You wanted to give me these when I wouldn’t remember. As if I wouldn’t realize it was from you?”

Trent nods, “I know you would’ve, but it would’ve been different with you confronting me. I could’ve lied and said it was from Dominik or something—”

“God, you and your lies,” you shake your head. “Just fucking stop. I’m not going to listen to you if you keep fucking lying, I’m done with this.”

“I said ‘could’ve,’” he says curtly. “I’m being honest. Fuck,” he rasps, pulling the ends of his curls as if he still has his locs. “I like you, stupidly and selfishly so. The only reason I went for Clarissa is because I know you don’t like me back and I’ve been trying to move on. But it’s hard when we’re in the same friend group, when I see you in class, and then get paired with you. It doesn’t help that Dominik is constantly in my ear talking about what a screw up I am because I’m not doing this right. But fuck, do you know how much it hurt for you to tell me we aren’t friends? That you don’t even see me as a friend? I made the dahlia as a gift to give to you as a friend but fuck—” He stops himself and runs his hands over his short curls.

He shakes his head, “I scrolled through your Insta and for the first time realized how I’m cropped out of your posts or barely there. Even before I ruined your presentation, you’ve always hated me. I thought we were bantering, I thought you knew I viewed you as my friend and me teasing you about grades was friendly fire. We’re both competitive, but I thought you knew I cared about you. I thought it was so obvious. After I scrolled through your Insta, I didn’t want to give you the dahlia or pens back. I thought it best to forget about it.”

You bite onto your tongue digesting his words. He has always been a rambler, especially when he was desperate and watching him nervously shift the weight of his body between his feet, the way he tugged his hair, or him constantly licking and biting his lip between pauses, it hurt seeing him like this. He wasn’t prepared to confess his feelings or his intentions, just spewing his thoughts without a blueprint. It was a mess.

He was a mess.

“Trent,” you sigh. “Do you want to talk it out or do you want us to just talk tomorrow morning? After we’ve both gotten rest.”

He scratches his face, “I don’t think I’m going to get any sleep after this.”

You sure wouldn’t either.

You nod, moving the hoodie from his desk chair to his desk before sitting in it. “Okay, then let’s talk. The only reason I cropped you out of my pictures is because you aren’t much of a social media person. You always seem reluctant to take photos, never really wanting to be in them, and posting you after you didn’t want to be in the photo in the first place seemed like I was throwing you under the bus.”

Trent looks down but the side of his lip curls up, “It’s okay to post me.”

“Okay,” your tired voice comes out as a whisper. “I know us competing in class was always friendly but you really messed up with ruining my presentation. I know you are sorry about it, I get it, it just made me view you differently. Not as my friend because friends don’t hurt each other, but obviously we aren’t strangers. I forgive you for my presentation and grade, there’s nothing we can do at this point and it makes me feel a little better that you tried to help me despite failing. So we’re friends, okay? Friends.”

You hold out your hand for Trent, he reluctantly grabs it and gives your hand a weak shake. His thumb strokes your knuckles before he lets go.

“I like you,” you admit. “I like you too, but you have a lot of redeeming to do because I’m not sure if I can ever get the image of you kissing Clarissa out of my head. And you have a lot to sort out with her.”

He nods, “Mm-hmm, I know. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I know,” you sigh.

Trent seems distraught enough. He didn't need any more of his wrongdoings pointed out. He understood the message, even if he had gone all about this wrong.

“I think we both need to stop assuming stuff for each other. Like me hating you. Hate is strong, Trent, maybe a strong dislike but that was before this conversation,” you chuckle. “And I shouldn’t have assumed you were messing with both Clarissa and Diane.”

He nods, standing upright against his dresser, “Okay. We’re good.”

-

The next morning, Tara, Veronica, and you head over to the boy’s apartment to help them clean. Dominik’s wearing sunglasses, his curls tousled as you sit down next to him on the couch.

He barely moves his head in your direction, “Morning.”

“It’s noon,” you chuckle.

“I threw up in Trent’s bathroom when he walked you next door,” he says. “He came back pissed.”

“Did you forget where your room was?” you laugh. Trent enters the livingroom, the mop in his hand as he sees the two of you settled on the couch. His lips simper as he places the mop into the sink and then sits down in the space next to you.

Dominik coughs, “No. I just wanted to be with you and him, but I didn’t realize you both left. And then it just came out.”

“You missed the loo, you idiot,” Trent replies.

Dominik waves his hand, “How was I supposed to know the lid was closed?”

Trent rolls his eyes, bumping into your shoulder, “Hi.”

“Hey,” you smile. He seems more lively than before, his teeth breaking through his lips as he smiles bashfully. His eyes scan your face and it makes your cheeks warm. You turn away, looking towards Dominik, “Well, it seems like you have a long day ahead.”

You tap on Dominik’s knee and he groans. You get up and look back at Trent, “Need help with anything?”

“Still cleaning my bathroom,” he stands up. The loose gray zip up he has on flaps open revealing his white shirt underneath.

You scrunch your nose, “You slept with his vomit on the floor?”

“He threw up a lot,” he groans, walking you up to his room. “I cleaned most of it but not a deep clean. And then forced him into his shower, but I had to stay with him because he kept crying about Ibou.”

“You’re such a nice friend,” you chuckle.

His eyes flicker away from you, “I’m not awful.”

“No, you aren’t,” you smile.

A moment of silence engulfs you both as you enter his bedroom, his sheets jostled around and his bathroom emitting cleaning fumes. You let out a cough, going to his window and propping it open.

He chuckles, “Yeah, I don’t think I was supposed to mix some of these.” As he points at the various bottles of cleaning supplies he’s opened, you let out a laugh. Your cheeks ache from smiling at his uncertain facial expression, as if he couldn’t have passed out from cleaning.

You glance down, “Oof, you are not.”

The two of you work in tandem quietly but also talk about various things. Trent even brings up the project the two of you were paired together for and hashes out the dates to work on it.

It was soothing to converse with him without feeling on edge as if he would say something to get under your skin. He wasn’t making any snarky remarks, only a few teasing words, but they were jokes, a goofy grin always following afterward.

“What?” you gasp.

He nods, he tosses a wipe into the bin, “You forced me into the restroom downstairs.”

“Why would I do that?”

“You were drunk,” he shrugs, a teasing smile teetering onto his lips. Last night wasn’t much of a blur, you remembered Trent and talking to him in his bedroom, but you didn’t remember how you got up there. The pen bouquet and dahlia were placed on your nightstand but you remembered him giving them to you.

You swipe at his chest, his jacket gone, “That’s such a lie.”

Trent bursts into a laugh, “You seriously don’t remember the restroom?”

“No, what did we kiss or something?” you quip but then palm your face. “Tell me we didn’t.”

He chuckles, “I think you wanted to.”

You laugh, feeling hot but not embarrassed, just nervous. Trent’s taunting gaze is unrelenting, the smile he hides by forcing his lips into a thin line. You chuckle, pushing his shoulder, “I don’t think so. I think I would’ve remembered you and Clarissa.”

Trent’s face simmers down as looks away, “I talked to her by the way. I apologized and told her the truth. She slapped me but—” you burst into a laugh while he rolls his eyes. “Don’t laugh, but yeah, I’m not going to be seeing her again—or Diane for that matter.”

“Good,” you nod. Even if he was doing it because he wanted to now focus on you after knowing you felt the same, it was good that he wasn’t going to be leading someone on when he didn’t feel the same for them.

“So,” he exhales, his chest bowing down as he looks at you, “can we hang out alone sometime? Doesn’t have to be anything big, maybe a walk around campus or coffee? I know I have a lot of making up to do with you, but I want us to be on the same page this time.”

You resist the urge to smile. Him taking care of Dominik last night stuck out to you the most. More than him bringing you water and bread to sober up. Dominik was too much of a heartbroken and vulnerable mess to handle himself, and after seeing just how much his vomit plastered on Trent’s walls, that was a big ask of him to deal with at three in the morning.

Trent was trying, flawed, but trying. You could work with that.

“Okay, we can grab coffee,” you smile. “But slow.”

He nods, “Okay.”

He breaks out into a smile as he pokes the broom against your shoulder. You let out a kiddish laugh, turning away from him to finish scrubbing the cabinets. Trent jabs your bent knee with his foot and you don’t catch yourself before you fall forward, your head hitting the cabinet.

“Oh shit,” he says, dropping down beside you and inspecting your forehead. Your head hitting the cabinet made the contact seem much more dramatic than what it really was, but Trent’s careful and concerned eyes only make you pretend it hurts more.

“Ow,” you feign, clutching the spot. He removes your hand gingerly, getting you to sit down on the floor. “I’m sorry. I’m already fucking this up, am I?” He suddenly leans forward and kisses the spot on your forehead, swiping his kiss over the spot with his thumb.

Your chest shakes as you laugh silently, him looking at you confused. Your silent laugh can be mistaken with a cry but he groans.

“You’re fine, aren’t you?” He stands up and holds out his hand.

“You looked so scared,” you tease, taking his hand and standing up.

He rolls his eyes, “That was loud.”

“The door was open a little,” you laugh. Your hand reaches out to grab a hold of his, “Thank you for checking out my forehead with your lips.”

“Ugh,” he flusters.

You give his hand a squeeze, “Thank you, Trent. You can kiss my forehead again.”

“No,” he moans dramatically, his eyes stopping at the spot on your forehead and then he gasps, “Oh my god, it’s already swollen.”

You turn around to face the mirror so fast that it gives you whiplash. His shit-eating grin is the only thing you see, your forehead unmarked. You scowl when you turn back towards him, not realizing just how close he stood in front of you.

He chuckles, leaning forward and pressing his lips chastly on your forehead, “You craving coffee?”

----

Note: I'll write a proper academic rivals to lovers eventually. I just got lost within the plot, too delirious to make it make sense LOL. 🫠🫠

[lady-ashfade]

Following The Tune

Percy Jackson x UnknownGod! Half-blood reader. (The reader is the child of the “Unknown” god, other wise known as Caias)

—£ Again, I have not finish the books so I’m making up my own gods/plot and stuff. I just find it fun. Also, reader has a sword like Percy, the pen.

—£ This is just a plot i made up, I just have a oc story in like so I did it! Please don’t hate because it has nothing to do with anything really (Or maybe it does)

—£ Warnings: Slight!Oc!Reader, slight angst, new lore to follow, all over the place, comfort.

The moment you laid your eyes on Percy Jackson- you knew he was different. Everything about him sang a different song the rest here. It was a familiar tone. When you learnt of what he had to face to get here made you guilty, knowing while you were dry and safe he had to face that same doom you faced.

“Maybe, just maybe…” you whispered while he slept. He look almost peaceful but the crinkle in his brows said another thing. Taking a step forward you close your eyes and tried to listen for something. Your senses elevate as you tried to sniff him out. Every was calling out but you couldn’t hold it for too long.

A creek in the floor boards threw you off and took you out of your powers, turning around there stood annabeth with a raised brow and her arms crossed. “I told you not to be in here.” You sighed and picked up your bag. Walking passed her and out of the door but she caught your wrist in her hands. “What did you feel?”

Snatching your arm away from her, a annoyed huff left your lips. “Nothing, not like you ever listen anyway.” You made it out the door before she could say anything to stop you. Now, you didn’t hate annabeth. It was just, no one ever liked to listen to you. She always thought she knew everything and when someone needed something from you- They tried to suck up to you.

But in the years you could call her somewhat of a friend, like everyone else. But there was no trust.

Which is way you made it out of the camp in the same way you always have, with no one noticing. You were the only half-blood in your cabin, no one to stick with at times. So being alone made it easy to slip away from time to time but it was always dangerous to go out. But you always had luck on your side.

Taking a step through the barrier you smiled feeling the human feeling of the air. Making your way to the road you followed, stopped a few times to figure your way to things. Took a few buses with the money you hoarded. 

Smirking when you stepped out on the pavement at your destination. It stunk. The streets sang with chatting of all the mortals, and the smell of greasy food. “Home.” Is what it reminded you of but there was a stench you didn’t like but continued to go about your way into the apartment building.

The empty cabin was looked over by Chiron and Grover, Luke standing by with his arm crossed. “How can they keep getting out like that? I don’t understand.” Grover pondered his thoughts out loud. “Get it from their farther.” Luke commented and shrugged, he smirked again at the thought of you.

“They’ll be safe, hopefully. Does anyone know why they lift this time?” Chiron looked at the boys as the taller one just shrugged again almost uninterested. Grocer shifted nervously and he looked down trying to not say anything but he gave up when the attention was on him.

“They visited Percy before they left. I don’t know why, maybe that has something to do with it?” The older man sighed and closed his eyes, the stress lines already showing. He nodded and walked out without a word while the boys looked at each other. It was a worried look but all they could do was await your return.

It was stupid. He was stupid. He smelled. The apartment smelled of beer that burned your noses and gave you a headache. All he did was sit on the couch and scream at the computer in his lap as you stared at him behind the wall. He was to busy to hear the door open. But you were thankful as his attention was so focused on the screen that he didn’t notice you. All you had to do was focus.

Closing your eyes you calm yourself and let your senses take over and watch for you. Slowly you got ahold of his mind which was dirty to look at, that it made you feel filthy. Making him tired you heard him yawn and feel his body start to give up. Opening your eyes you watch him drift off while he was confused as to why he felt so tired.

Once he was out cold you walked around the apartment with one idea in mind. To find a photo. Sally Jackson and her younger son, Percy Jackson. They weren’t hard to find and you found a wall of them on in the hallway. So many pictures of the family. He was so little and smiling with no clue of the hard world he knew now, his mother still by his side. But all of them had Gabe in them while little Percy glares daggers at him.

Moving on you looked on the tables for just a single photo to take back to him, one small memory to have with him. Then one image become clear.

“Don’t go to far,” her voice sounded lovely. The sun beaming down on the two of them, the sound of waves soothed the soul. “I wouldn’t mom.” It was Percy, you could seem them clearly. The day was beautiful. She smiled at her son as she watches him run off towards the waves, she knew. Watching him play in the water gave a high pitched sound in your ears.

This memory was different. You didn’t search for it. It was a forbidden memory.

The scene became dark and windy. No one seemed to notice and continued to play and smiled like they were. The waves clashed harder on the shore as the wind whistled through the ears. In the both places you covered your ears and tried to pull yourself out of it but nothing was working. Thunder clashed down from the clouds near the sand you walked one, making you jump each time.

“You wish to know? Weak, so very weak. I only show the truth little one,” the darken voice made you tense and watch black smoke come closer as it swallowed everything up. “Just like your father, always looking for trouble. But unlike him, you aren’t as well hidden.” Sometime touched your face, making you scream out in pain as it stung your cheek.

“Let this be known.”

You were pulled out, crushing over for your breath. Placing a hand up on your cheek you felt the pain and wet feeling, pulling it back you saw the red stain. “Blood.” Panicked you looked at the picture that gave you the vision and grabbed ahold of it. It was a core memory, one not to be messed with. Grabbing ahold of it you threw it in your bag quickly.

You frozen when you smelled that dreadful smell again, the sound of something heavy making the flooring creek. Turning around slightly your eyes went wide and took a step back trying to keep yourself from screaming. The large black figure with claws bigger then your face as it’s body took up all the hallway it squeezed itself into. It was your blood. It smelled you.

The green scales on it’s legs you could see made you feel sick, the empty face made you go white. Sprinting to the open window where the fire escaped was it knew what you were going to do and followed you, reaching out for you. Jumping over the railing and down the steps you cried out in fear as it crawled down the building. The screeching alone made you go crazy.

It was one of the faceless. Something your father had made, something that should have been on your side. But your father lost his war to hades and everything had been taken from him. He went into hiding, ignoring the prayers to him and turned his back on mortals. Until he had you. One last chance to be forgiven and have something to his name.

But he was coward, he lost his war and mind. There was nothing in him that you wanted to call your father, for his creations killed your mother. Maybe that’s why you wanted Percy to have the one thing you did not. Something to look at and never forget her face, her smile, the warmth.

“No, No. Nope.” You jumped down and the other way into the alleyway to get out of sight from people. From your pocket a pen, the cape flipped off and the shining blade lit up the shade. The figure come into the alley and looked at you, moving so slowly towards you. It wasn’t a smart choice but your parent wasn’t known for his smarts. But fleeing was.

Just one step…

Blackness started to take over your vision and you limped over the camp line, holding your stomach as something warm and sticky leaked all over your shirt. You used all your might to get to the camp alive, once you did your body gave out. Muffed voices called out to you but you couldn’t see clearly as blurry outlines leaned over you. When you were picked up the last thing you could remember was someone calling’s your name but you didn’t know who.

Percy watch in confusion as someone was rushed away, no one was saying anything. They were blood red, huge cuts across their shirt and skin. As he stared at them he could remember something he saw in a dream. That face…was watching him for a moment while he slept.

Something blinding hit his eyes and made him turn away. He blinked a few times and stepped back to see what it was. A brown frame facedown in the grass, it looked broken and bloody. He bends down and picked up the backpack, then the picture frame.

“Don’t go too far Percy.”

He saw his mom standing in a sunhat while her hair blew over her face, her arm wrapped around his smaller body. The cartoon shark trunks made him cringe, he used to never go swimming without them. This was a picture of him and his mom….What was it doing here? And why was it with someone he didn’t know.

The frame was broken, the glass shattered but he managed to pull the picture out and stand up when Grover called for him. He threw the bag over his shoulders and followed to the room were they had brought the camper he didn’t know. Percy refused to leave, he needed to talk to them. Everything was so confusing and maybe he could get some answers.

He stood at the corner of your room while watching over you, almost protectively. Percy clings onto the photo of his mom, while staying with you. Even started to eat lunch in your room and desperately waited for you to wake. You mumbled in your sleep while panicked and sweating up a storm. The meds they have you took longer to work and the cut on your cheek seemed to stay black while healing, a permanent scar.

“Percy…” the soft voice caught him off guard. Looking at you he noticed you still out like a light. You repeated the words his mother said just as sweet and caring.

Twitching in the bed, you started to groan louder and try to speak but nothing back out of your mouth. Seeing such destress made him scared, it was unlike anything he has seen before. “Y/n.” He walked close to the bed. He learned your name from the others.

“Wake up,” he shook you slightly in hopes to make you somehow wake up. Your body felt hot, too hot. “You’re freaking me out.” Maybe if I hit them with a pillow it will work, he thought to himself. A few seconds of pushing your shoulders and calling your name, he finally saw your eyes open for the first time.

Shifting your eyes in the light and away from the blurry vision you were spooked when something grabbed ahold of you. Jumping back you shoved his hands away, going as far back as possible. The last thing you remember was the faceless creature.

But you didn’t see the creature, but a boy with his hands held out in front of himself. The look on his face matching the slight fear and confusion you felt. “Percy?” You whispered and tilted your head to the side. He nodded and slowly lowered his arms while looking over you for any sign not to trust you. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I get that a lot.” He half joked full of sarcasms.

“No, no. You need to leave.” Your hands grip the side of the bed. It clicked in his brain that you didn’t move from your curled up place on the bed, your body still tense and shaking. You were scared of him.

“I’m not going to hurt you- Really, I just want answers.” He inched back to make you more comfortable. You watch him point to the corner, “You had a picture of me and my mom, why?” You look at the photo on the table and then back to him. You kept quiet and looked at the door trying to get him to leave but he didn’t budge.

His nose let out of huff, “Look, I’m not mad- Kinda weirded out but, I just want need some type of answer. No one around me tells me anything. Just give me something.” That’s when you saw him, truly saw him.

You looked at your younger self, standing before you with teary eyes while holding themselves close. No one wanted anything to do with you. It was easy to be forgotten and bullied. A nobody begging for a chance to prove themselves. Percy Jackson was just searching for a place in this world like you.

“I saw you the night before you came. I saw your mother, I saw everything happening but I had no clue.” Pulling your legs up and crossing them while covering yourself with your arms. “You deserve a photo of her, something I never had. Sometimes i follow the tone that’s showed to me,” Percy sat down on the bed listening to your story with all his attention and you could see his guilt, sadness and confusion.

“I heard the tone when I lost my mom, when I was claimed,” you look at the bed next to you, “And when i saw you enter the camp.”

“What does that mean?” Your shoulders go up and down as you hum without a true answer. “That you’re important.” His own shoulders drop down as he looked down at the floor in defeat. He got answers with the price of more questions

It was silent in the room. It was slightly uncomfortable but you could handle it. Then he spoke up, “Thank you by the way, it’s nice to see her.” You meet his eyes once’s again.

“You’re welcome, Percy.” Both your lips curled into a small smile. Maybe new friends were to be made this year.