#i would have been infuriated if he was in my class | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

itneverendshere · 8 months ago

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you said i have to trust more freely - r.c series (one)

requested here;

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader. word count: 8.9k

The North Carolina heat simmered under the August sun, but the sprawling campus of the university felt like a different world, far removed from the humid beaches of figure eight. This was a place where social lines blurred, where kooks and pogues no longer carried the same weight, they did back home.

Or at least, that’s what you had hoped.

Of course, Rafe Cameron, had to ruin that for you. When you found out, he’d gotten into the same school as you, you had begged your lucky stars and then some, that he’d stay the hell out of your way. It was one thing to put up with his bullshit back home, it was easy to avoid him since you attended very different high schools. Very different places and crowds.

He was an arrogant, entitled brat, always ready to throw his family’s money around to get what he wanted. But here, on campus, you hoped things would be different. You hoped that the prestige and maturity of university life would somehow keep him away. After all, wasn’t this a fresh start for everyone?

But now his name was plastered in the same class as you.

You had never thought you'd find yourself in the same academic sphere as him. As far as you were concerned, he didn’t give a shit about history, let alone the History of Empire, Colonialism and Post-colonialism. His major was…something to do with business, you were sure of it. It had to be a mistake. Some sort of system error, of course.

The first day of classes, however, quickly ruined any hopes of a peaceful coexistence. As you entered the lecture hall for your course—you saw him. Rafe sat in the middle of the room, slouched back in his chair with that same self-assured stupid smirk that made you want to throw a table at this face. His presence was an unwanted reminder of everything you were trying to escape.

Labels. Constant violence between clicks.

You took a seat as far from him as possible, near the front where you could focus on the lecture and block out any distractions.

“Oh, if it isn’t my favorite pogue.”

Your heart sank at the sound of his voice, that familiar sneer cutting through the quiet anticipation that filled the lecture hall. You didn’t even need to turn around to know he was talking to you. But you did.

He leaned back in his chair; arms crossed with an air of superiority that had always grated on you. His voice was just loud enough to catch the attention of a few other students nearby, some of whom glanced your way with mild curiosity. It was the kind of attention you had hoped to avoid, but of course, Rafe had other plans.

“You know, I didn’t think you’d be interested in a class like this,” he continued, his tone dripping with condescension. “I figured you’d stick to something more…fitting.”

He was so infuriating. Didn’t even know the first thing about you or your major.

You clenched your jaw, refusing to let him get a rise out of you. He was baiting you, trying to get under your skin like he always did back home. The smirk on his face told you he was enjoying this far too much.

“It’s a required course, Cameron,” you replied coolly, turning back to face the front of the room. “Not that you’d know anything about what’s fitting for me.”

Rafe chuckled, the sound low and mocking. “Touchy, touchy. Come on, we’re not in high school anymore. We’re all adults here, right? Let’s play nice.”

“Why are you here?”

His smirk widened at your question as if he’d been waiting for you to ask. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, looking entirely too comfortable for someone who had just waltzed into a class that was clearly way out of his depth.

“Had a spare elective to fill,” he said with a shrug as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Thought this class would be easy enough—history and all that. Figured I’d coast through it.”

You couldn’t help it; you laughed. The sound burst out of you, catching Rafe off guard. His smirk faltered for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he wasn’t sure whether to be offended or amused.

“Coast through it?” you repeated, shaking your head in disbelief. “You really have no idea what you’ve signed up for, do you?”

Rafe’s expression shifted, a flash of irritation crossing his face.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You turned in your seat to face him fully, a small, satisfied grin playing on your lips. For once, you had the upper hand, and you were going to enjoy it.

“This isn’t some high school history class. We’re talking about the intricacies of empire-building, the impact of colonialism on societies, and the complexities of post-colonial power dynamics. It’s not exactly lightreading.”

He looked at you skeptically, “So what, it’s a bunch of essays and books? How hard can it be? You’re here.”

So charming it nearly killed you.

You raised an eyebrow at his last comment, letting the subtle insult roll off your back. “Good luck then.”

Rafe’s bravado faltered even more, but he quickly recovered, leaning back in his chair again, “Well, I guess I’ll just have to prove you wrong then, won’t I little pogue?”

You shrugged, turning back to the front of the room as the professor started speaking, but you couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. It was almost laughable—Rafe Cameron, who probably hadn’t read a book cover to cover since middle school, thinking he could breeze through a class that was known for being one of the toughest in the department. You almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

As the professor launched into a discussion about the British Empire and its influence on global trade, you kept half an ear on the lecture and half on Rafe, curious to see how he would react. At first, he seemed content to doodle in the margins of his notebook, barely paying attention. But as the lecture went on, you noticed him glancing up more often, his brow furrowing slightly as the professor delved into the complexities of colonial economics.

Oh, this was going to be so much fun. Maybe watching Rafe finally struggle at one little thing in life was exactly what you needed.

You couldn’t resist the urge to glance back at him when the professor mentioned the labor-intensive plantation economies in the Caribbean. Rafe was staring at the board now, his expression more… confused? Blue eyes moved along the words as if they didn’t make any sense to him. Maybe this class would be the humbling experience he desperately needed.

When the lecture ended, he was one of the first to stand, shoving his notebook into his bag with a little more force than necessary. You had to bite back a laugh, again.

You took your time gathering your things, waiting for him to make a move or say something, but he just walked out without another word. Ooops. Maybe Big Bad Rafe learned a new lesson.

The semester rolled on, you and Rafe went back to avoiding each other in class.

You watched with a certain amount of satisfaction as he struggled through lectures, occasionally catching him furiously scribbling notes or staring blankly at the professor as if the concepts were being explained in a foreign language. It was almost comical to see someone like him so out of his element. Every time he fumbled an answer during a class discussion or looked around for someone to give him a clue, you couldn't help but feel a thrill of vindication.

Meanwhile, you kept your distance, focusing on your work and trying to understand the complexitiesof university life on your own terms. But as the days passed, it became harder to ignore a different reality setting in—one you hadn’t expected.

Uni wasn’t so different from home, not to you at least. Despite your hopes, it seemed the lines between kooks and pogues hadn’t entirely disappeared. Sure, the university was supposed to be a place of new beginnings, but you found yourself struggling to fit in.

You weren't exactly the social butterfly, and you could count your friends on one hand. The cliques here were different—subtler than the ones back home, but just as impenetrable. Weekends were the hardest, with endless Instagram stories of parties you weren’t invited to, people forming bonds over experiences you didn’t share. It hurt more than you’d care to admit.

Maybe you weren’t putting yourself out there enough, but could you really afford to? You were on a full scholarship, and parties were the last thing on your mind—you couldn’t afford to mess this up. Every penny went to essentials like food and books. Fashion and makeup weren’t even on the radar, but in another world, maybe they would’ve been. A girl could dream.

And then there was Nate.

Dreamy, golden Nate—a junior with a smile that could light up a room. He was so…perfect. You’d been crushing on him since the first day you saw him in the hallway, before your social studies class, but he didn’t even know you existed. He asked you for a pen in class once, and you nearly freaked out. He’d been so polite. Your heart pounded so loud you were sure he could hear it. But after that brief moment, it was like you faded back into the background. He returned the pen with a cute thanks and moved on, like you were just another face in the crowd. It was silly to hold on to that tiny interaction, but you couldn’t help it.

Boys like Nate never looked at you. You didn’t have the spark they searched for.

Unfortunately, Rafe still did.

After another particularly grueling lecture, you were packing up your things when you heard that all-too-familiar nasal voice behind you.

“Enjoying the view from the front of the class?”

You rolled your eyes, refusing to turn around. You’d been having a shit week, fed up with being alone. Your friends from back home had their own life’s now, so talking to them was almost impossible too.

You were on the brink of an existential crisis.

“I’m surprised you’re still showing up. Thought you’d have dropped by now.”

Rafe didn’t respond immediately, and when he did, his voice had a sharper edge than usual. “Y'know, I might not be the smartest in this stupid class, but at least ‘m not alone all the time.”

That made you pause, your hands stilling over your notebook. You slowly turned to face him, raising an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He crossed his arms with that same infuriating lazy smirk, but there was something different about it this time—something colder.

“It means I’m having the time of my life watching you struggle, watching you be miserable while everyone else is out having fun. Not invited to any parties, huh? Must suck.”

The fake pity almost made you lose your temper. You hadn’t realized he’d been paying that much attention, hadn’t considered that he’d notice, but of course, he’d put in the work to make a pogue’s life even worse.

The truth in his words stung even more because it was exactly what you’d been feeling, what you’d been trying to ignore. But now, hearing it out loud, from him of all people, made it so much worse.

You clenched your fists, trying to keep your composure, “Not everyone has daddy’s money, some of us have to put in the work. You think I give a shit about stupid parties?”

His left eye twitched in irritation and for a second you thought you had hit it where it hurts, but instead, he chuckled through his nose, “Must be exhausting, trying to prove something to everyone.”

“I don’t know. Is it?” You snapped, unable to hold back any longer, “This isn’t Figure Eight. Leave me the hell alone.”

“Where’s the fun in that, hmm?”

Rafe's smirk widened; his eyes gleaming with that familiar arrogance. He thrived on getting under people's skin, especially someone like you. It was a sick game he played, always pushing, always testing, just to see how much it would take for someone to crack. He was sick.

“You know,” he continued, his tone mockingly thoughtful, “Maybe I should keep an eye on you. Make sure you don’t drown in all this responsibility.”

His words were smooth, almost kind, but the condescension behind them was palpable.

You could feel your blood boiling, but you knew better than to give him the satisfaction of seeing you snap. Rafe was the kind of guy who fed on drama, who would twist any reaction into ammunition against you. You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” you asked, your voice cold as ice.

He chuckled, pushing off the desk and taking a step closer. “Oh, come on. Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy our little chats. I’m the only excitement you get around here.”

The nerve of him. The arrogance. What was he getting out of this?

“Sorry to disappoint,” you said, your voice laced with sarcasm, “but I’d rather shoot myself in the face than spend another minute talking to you. Goodbye.”

You left the classroom that day with your heart pounding. You pushed his words aside, focusing on what mattered: your studies, your goals, and making it through each day.

Weeks passed, and slowly, life at university began to shift. You met two girls in your sociology class—Ava and Harper. They were the kind of girls who seemed to have everything together: effortlessly stylish, confident, and always surrounded by friends. You’d admired them from a distance, never thinking they’d notice someone like you. But one day, after an impromptu group discussion, they invited you to join them for coffee. That was a big day.

Ava was a whirlwind of energy, always laughing, always with a story to tell. Harper was more reserved, but her quiet confidence and sharp wit drew you in. She was hilarious.

To your surprise, they were kind, and over time, the three of you became inseparable. You weren’t alone anymore. For the first time in weeks, you started to feel like you belonged. They didn’t care that you were a pogue, not even knowing what that meant. They liked you for you, and that meant more than anything.

One Tuesday night, Ava and Harper invited you to a party. It was the kind of party you’d only seen in movies—the fraternity house was practically a mansion, very different from the bonfire parties you were used to back home. You hesitated at first, thinking about your responsibilities. But they insisted, promising it would be fun, and you knew you could use a break. After all, it was just one night.

When you arrived, the music was pounding, lights flashing in time with the beat. People were dancing, and laughing, and the air was filled with the scent of perfume and alcohol. Ava and Harper pulled you into the crowd, introducing you to people you’d never have approached on your own. You were nervous, but they made it easier, always by your side, making sure you felt included.

After a while, you decided to grab a drink, needing a moment to yourself to take it all in. You found the kitchen, which was packed with people mixing drinks, talking loudly over the music. You were pouring yourself a soda when you felt a presence beside you—someone too close for comfort.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” a familiar voice drawled.

Rafe. Because of course, he’d be here, at the very party you’d finally decided to attend. You kept your eyes on your drink, not wanting to engage, but he wasn’t going to let you off that easy.

“What, no comeback?” he teased, leaning against the counter beside you. “That’s not like you.”

You took a deep breath, reminding yourself not to let him get to you. “I’m not in the mood, Cameron.”

He smirked, picking up a beer bottle and taking a swig. “Looks like you’ve upgraded your company. Ava and Harper, huh? Good for you. But I have to ask… how does it feel to be the DUFF?”

You blinked, finally looking up at him with confusion written all over your face. “What the fuck is a DUFF?”

“Designated Ugly Fat Friend,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Y'know, the one who makes their hotter friends look even better by comparison.”

For a moment, you were stunned into silence, processing the insult. It wasn’t just a casual dig; it was calculated, meant to hit where it hurt most. What the fuck was wrong with him?

“That’s…wow.”

Rafe chuckled, taking a swig of his beer. “Don’t take it so personally. It’s just a fact of life. Every group has a DUFF. Just figured you’d want to know your role.”

You stared at him, disbelief mixing with anger. “You’re seriously messed up, you know that?”

He shrugged, still smiling like this was all a game to him. “Just calling it like I see it.”

Your hand tightened around the cup in your hand. Before you could second-guess yourself, you flung the contents right into his face. The soda splashed across his perfectly styled long hair and down his designer shirt, leaving him momentarily stunned. The smirk vanished, replaced by a look of pure shock as the cold liquid dripped off his chin. The entire kitchen seemed to go silent for a moment as people nearby turned to see what had just happened.

Rafe blinked, his expression shifting from shock to something darker—anger, maybe, or disbelief that you’d actually had the nerve to do that. His jaw clenched, and for a split second, you thought he might actually retaliate.

But before he could say or do anything, you stepped closer, “Go fuck yourself.”

That was your last interaction for weeks.

He kept his distance, barely acknowledging you in class or around campus. It was almost as if the drink you threw in his face had washed away his relentless need to torment you. You couldn’t say you missed his attention, but the silence was unnerving in its own way. Knowing him, he could be brewing something much worse to fuck with your head.

One afternoon, after a particularly tough class, you were gathering your things when you noticed Rafe hovering near the door. His usual cocky demeanor was gone, replaced by something almost...nervous. He caught your eye and hesitated before approaching as if debating whether to say something or just walk away.

“Hey,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically low.

You raised an eyebrow, surprised by the lack of smugness in his tone.

“What do you want?”

He shifted uncomfortably, glancing around to make sure no one was within earshot. “I, uh…I need your help.”

That was the last thing you expected to hear. You stopped packing your bag, staring at him in disbelief. “My help? With what?”

Rafe rubbed the back of his neck, clearly out of his element. “The exam. The one we had last week. I just got my grade back, and…uh, I failed. Hard. I don’t know what happened, but I need to do well in this class, and I’m completely fucked if I don’t turn things around. You seem to know your stuff, so…c-can you help me? I’ll make it worth your while.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the irony of the situation not lost on you.

“You must be out of your fucking mind,” you said, a hint of sarcasm in your voice. “I don’t want anything from you. Good luck failing.”

He looked almost panicked like he hadn’t expected you to turn him down so quickly. Surely, he knew you hated him with all your strength, right?

“Wait—Wait up! What about Nate Archibald?”

You froze, your mind racing. How the hell did he know about Nate?

Your crush on the older guy was something you’d kept to yourself, shared only in passing with your girlfriends. But Rafe’s mention of it made your stomach drop.

“What about Archibald?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d rattled you.

He seemed to sense he was onto something, his desperation shifting into a more calculated expression. “Look, I know you like him. It’s not exactly a fucking secret okay? Even if you think it is. He’s a good guy I guess, but he doesn’t know you exist. You help me out, and I’ll help you get his attention. I can introduce you, get you in with his crowd.”

“I don’t like Nate.”

He rolled his eyes, “You were doodling his name on your notebook two weeks ago.”

Your stomach dropped at his words.

Two weeks ago, you had been sitting in the back of the lecture hall, barely paying attention to the professor as your mind drifted to Nate. You’d doodled his name absentmindedly, never imagining someone would notice, let alone remember. You were bored and you’d seen him earlier, arriving to school in his truck. He’d looked so dreamy it was all you thought about.

“I wasn’t.”

“You were.”

“No?”

“Jesus. It’s a crush, relax.”

“You were spying on me?” you hissed, embarrassment creeping into your voice.

Rafe shook his head, his tone more exasperated than anything. “I wasn’t spying, all right? I just noticed.”

“You’re such a fucking creep.”

Your heart raced, both with anger and with the tiniest snippet of hope. The idea of Nate finally noticing you was tempting, but you hated that it was Rafe offering it to you, as if he could manipulate your feelings just like that. You knew better than to trust him. And yet, he seemed genuinely humbled—at least, as humbled as someone like him could be. He would’ve never asked you for help if the fear of failure wasn’t eating him alive.

You narrowed your eyes, studying him closely. “Why should I believe you?”

He sighed, hands rubbing his face in frustration, “I just want to pass this stupid class, m’kay? I don’t give a fuck about Archibald, but if that’s what will get you to help me, I’ll do it.”

You hesitated, torn between wanting to tell him to go to hell and the small, persistent voice in your head that wondered if this could actually work in your favor. You’d worked so hard to keep your head down, to stay focused, but the idea of finally having a shot with someone like Nate was hard to ignore.

“You’re gonna make Nate notice a DUFF?”

Rafe's smirk returned, though it was less confident than usual, tinged with something almost vulnerable. “You’ve got potential.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, weighing your options. Part of you wanted to tell him to screw off, to take his offer and shove it up his ass. But the other part—the part that had spent sleepless nights wondering if you’d ever really fit in here, if you’d ever be more than just another face in the crowd—was tempted. Rafe was offering you a way in, a chance to break through the invisible barriers that had kept you on the outside looking in.

“Okay,” you said finally, the word slipping out before you could stop it. “I’ll help you, but don’t think for a second that I’m doing this shit for you. And if you screw me over, I swear, Rafe, I’ll kill you.”

He nodded, his expression serious. “Deal.”

You and Rafe met up in the library for your first "study session."

The awkwardness was palpable. He was slouched in his chair, trying to act indifferent, but you could see the tension in his jaw as he stared at the textbook in front of him. He was flipping through a history textbook with a blank expression, as if the words on the page were written in latin.

"Alright," you began, flipping open your notebook. "Let's start with the basics, because clearly, you’re lost."

Rafe rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. One day they were going to get stuck inside his brain from how much he did it. He grunted in acknowledgment, though his attention didn’t lift from the page.

You sighed and leaned forward, tapping on the open textbook in front of him, “We’re focusing on the economic factors that contributed to the development of plantation societies. You get that, right?”

He blinked, clearly not getting it. A perfect himbo.

“Okay, fine. The plantations needed a lot of labor. So, what’s the most cost-effective way to get that labor?”

Rafe shrugged. “Slaves?”

“Right, but it’s more complex than that,” you continued, trying to be patient. “The demand for crops like sugar and tobacco skyrocketed in Europe, so they needed cheap labor to maximize profits. That’s where the transatlantic slave trade comes in. It wasn’t just about the labor, it was about the entire economic system that developed around it.”

He nodded slowly, jotting down notes. “So, it’s like… the whole economy was built on this?”

“Exactly,” you said, a bit surprised he was actually paying attention. “And you need to understand how that impacted the societies, both in the Caribbean and in Europe. It’s not just about memorizing facts; it’s about understanding the connections.”

“Okay, I get it,” he muttered, though you could tell he was still struggling. “This shit’s more complicated than I thought.”

“If you don’t understand something, just ask. I’m not going to bite your head off.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he smirked, but there was no malice in his tone this time.

“Anyway. This also reshaped societies on both sides of the Atlantic. The Caribbean, for instance, became a hub of sugar production, with plantations dominating the landscape. These plantations were brutal, with slaves working in horrific conditions. But they were also incredibly profitable, which is why they persisted for so long.”

He seemed to be processing this, his pen tapping rhythmically against the edge of his notebook. “And the people back in Europe…they were cool with this? Just letting it happen?”

His questions sounded like things children would ask but you answered, nonetheless.

“It’s complicated,” you replied, flipping to a page in your textbook that showed a diagram of the triangular trade routes. “A lot of people in Europe didn’t really see the human cost. They were more concerned with the goods that were flooding their markets—sugar, tobacco, rum. These were luxury items that became everyday staples, and the average person didn’t really think about where they came from or who made them. But there were also abolitionists—people who fought against the slave trade and the conditions on the plantations. The system wasn’t unchallenged, but it was so entrenched in the economy that change was slow.”

Rafe leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “So, it’s all connected. The economy, the trade, the people—it’s all one big mess.”

A big mess is one way to put it simply. But at least he understood something.

You smiled slightly, glad to see the gears turning in his head.

“Exactly. And that’s what you need to understand for the weekly quizzes. It’s not just about memorizing dates and names—it’s about understanding the connections between these different factors and how they shaped the world we live in today.”

He nodded slowly, jotting down a few more notes. “Okay, I think I’m starting to get it. But I’m gonna need more help with the specifics—the names, the dates, all that stuff.”

“We can go over that next,” you offered, flipping to another section of the textbook. “But remember, it’s the big picture that matters. If you can understand how all these pieces fit together, the rest will come easier.”

He started improving. He was still far from a stellar student, but he wasn’t failing anymore. In return, he hadn’t forgotten his end of the deal.

One Friday afternoon, after another study session, Rafe leaned back in his chair, watching you pack your bag. “So, there’s this party tomorrow night.”

You looked up, narrowing your eyes. “And?”

“And you’re coming with me,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

You scoffed. “Why the hell would I do that?”

“Because you want Nate to notice you, right?” he said, crossing his arms. “Well, nothing makes a guy pay attention like seeing a girl with another guy. Especially one like me.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “You’re seriously suggesting we…what, pretend to be together?”

The thought almost made you gag.

Rafe shrugged, a sly grin tugging at his lips. “Not exactly. Just, you know, make it look like we’re close. Guys love a little competition. Trust me, it’ll work.”

You hesitated, unsure. The idea of pretending to be close to Rafe, even for show, made your skin crawl. But the idea of finally getting Nate to notice you…that was tempting.

“And what exactly do you get out of this?” you asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

Rafe’s grin widened. “The satisfaction of a job well done. And maybe a little fun. You know you need to loosen up.”

You rolled your eyes. “Fine. But this better work.”

“It will,” Rafe said confidently. “Now, what are you planning on wearing?”

You frowned. “I haven’t really thought about it.”

Rafe stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Come on, then. We’re going shopping.”

You blinked, surprised. “What? No way. I can’t afford—”

“Relax,” he interrupted, already walking toward the door. “I’ve got it covered.”

You found yourself standing in a high-end boutique, completely out of your element. Rafe was rifling through racks of clothes, pulling out items and tossing them to you with a casual confidence that made you wonder just how often he did this.

“This,” he said, handing you a sleek black dress that was far more daring than anything you’d ever worn.

You looked at it skeptically. “I’m not sure that’s…me.”

“It’s not supposed to be you,” Rafe said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re shorts and tank tops. This is supposed to be the girl Nate notices. Now go try it on.”

Reluctantly, you took the dress and headed to the dressing room. When you stepped out, Rafe’s eyes swept over you, and for the first time, you saw something almost like approval in his gaze.

“That’ll do,” he said, nodding. “But you need heels. And maybe some jewelry.”

This was so fucking weird it gave you chills.

You stared at him, bewildered. “Since when are you an expert in women’s fashion?”

Rafe smirked. “I have two sisters. You pick things up.”

The next thing you knew, you were trying on shoes, adding accessories, and letting Rafe play stylist until he was satisfied. When you finally looked in the mirror, you hardly recognized yourself. The girl staring back at you was confident, poised, and yes, attractive. It was a version of yourself you’d never seen before.

“See?” Rafe said, appearing behind you in the mirror. “Told you I’d make this work.”

“Gee. Thanks.”

“You know what I meant.”

The party was in full swing when you arrived with Rafe. The music was loud, the lights dim, and the air filled with the buzz of chatter and laughter. You felt so nervous you felt like throwing up, clutching the small purse you’d brought with you like it was a lifeline. You could feel eyes on you, who were undoubtedly curious about the new girl in Rafe’s orbit.

Rafe, on the other hand, looked completely at ease, immediately falling into his element, greeting people with confidence and casual charm. He guided you through the crowd with a hand on the small of your back, leaning in close to whisper in your ear. “You look good, okay? All you have to do is enjoy yourself.”

You must’ve hit your head. Rafe Cameron was complimenting you.

You took a deep breath, trying to follow his advice. You spotted Ava and Harper across the room, waving you over, but he stopped you before you could head their way.

“Not yet,” he said, nodding toward the bar where Nate was standing with a group of friends. “Go talk to him.”

“Rafe—“

“Don’t whine.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding. “What do I even say?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Rafe replied smoothly. “Just be yourself. Well actually, maybe not.”

“Ouch.”

“Don’t forget—he needs to see that you’re with me. Let him come to you.”

You nodded, nerves jangling as you made your way toward the bar. Nate glanced up as you approached, and for a split second, his eyes widened in recognition. Does he remember you? Oh wow. You’d spoken to him twice by now, this being your third.

“Hey,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “Mind if I grab a drink?”

“Sure,” Nate said, smiling as he moved aside. “I didn’t know you were coming tonight.”

“Last minute thing,” you replied, reaching for a cup. “Rafe dragged me along.”

Nate’s smile faltered slightly at the mention of Rafe, his eyes flicking over to where Rafe was leaning against the wall, watching the two of you with a casual, almost possessive air.

“Rafe, huh?”

“Yeah,” you said, forcing a smile. “He’s not so bad, once you get to know him.”

Nate looked at you, really looked at you, for what felt like the first time. “You look…different tonight. In a good way.”

Your heart skipped a beat, warmth flooding your cheeks. “Thanks.”

Before the conversation could continue, to your dismay, Rafe appeared at your side, draping an arm around your shoulders, “Everything okay here?”

Nate’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he nodded. “Yeah, we’re good.”

“Cool,” Rafe said, giving Nate a pointed look. “Come on, let’s dance.”

Without waiting for a response, he led you away, leaving Nate watching after you, a contemplative expression on his face.

“What the hell?” you hissed, trying to pull away from his grip, but he held you firm, guiding you toward the makeshift dance floor.

“Relax,” he said, his voice low and smooth, as he spun you around to face him, “Trust me, it’s working. Did you see the way he was looking at you?”

You glared at him, your irritation simmering just beneath the surface.

“You didn’t have to drag me away like that.”

He shrugged, unfazed. “Had to keep him on his toes. Assholes like Archibald need to feel a little competition to make them realize what they could lose.”

“He’s not an asshole.”

“Sure.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words died on your lips as the music shifted to a slower beat, and his hand slid down to the small of your back, pulling you closer. You stiffened, but he kept his grip light, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Relax,” he repeated, his voice softer this time, almost…gentle. “Just go with it. You’re doing great.”

Your breath hitched, caught off guard by the sudden change in his demeanor. You hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected him to be…well, not a complete asshole.

“Watch the hands.”

He only dropped them lower.

“Or what?”

Your pulse quickened as Rafe's hands settled lower on your back, grazing the curve of your hips. His smirk was infuriating, but there was something beneath it—a challenge, a spark that dared you to react.

“Or I’ll step on your foot,” you shot back, narrowing your eyes.

He chuckled, the sound low and rich, as if he found your threat amusing. “You’d really ruin those expensive heels I bought you?”

You glanced down at the sleek stilettos, a reluctant grin tugging at the corner of your mouth. “You deserve it.”

“I probably do,” Rafe admitted, his voice taking on a more serious tone. His gaze locked onto yours again, and for a moment, it felt like the rest of the room faded away.

The music, the people, even Nate—everything melted into the background until it was just the two of you. It felt weird. The way he looked at you was unsettling, like he was peeling back the layers you’d so carefully put up, seeing parts of you that you hadn’t intended to show him—or anyone.

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way your body was reacting to his proximity, to the warmth of his hands against your skin. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

You were here for Nate.

But Rafe wasn’t making it easy. He leaned in closer, his breath brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Ass face is looking.”

His lips were so close to you that you could feel the warmth of his lips. The scent of his cologne, a heady mix of cedar and something uniquely him, enveloped you, making it hard to focus.

"Stop calling him that," you whispered back, attempting to inject some irritation into your tone, but it came out softer than intended.

He chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. "Just calling it like I see it," he retorted, his fingers pressing lightly against the small of your back, guiding you even closer.

Well, fuck.

"Is this really part of the plan?" you managed to ask, your voice barely audible over the music.

He smirked, his eyes never wavering. "Absolutely. Just giving the audience a good show."

"Audience?" You arched an eyebrow, momentarily confused.

He tilted his head subtly in Nate's direction. You followed his gaze to find Archibald staring. It was a look you'd never seen directed at you before.

"See? It's working," Rafe whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear again. He had to be doing that shit on purpose, to get a rise out of you—it all felt too real, too intimate.

"You're enjoying this," you accused.

He grinned, unabashed. "Maybe a little. Aren't you?"

You were about to fire back a sharp retort, something to cut through the tension that had been building between you and Rafe, when you heard someone call your name. You turned your head, your heart still racing from how close Rafe was, only to see Ava and Harper pushing through the crowd toward you.

"Hey! We've been looking everywhere for you!" Ava exclaimed, her eyes flicking between you and Rafe, curiosity sparking in her. You never told them about him.

Harper raised an eyebrow, a sly expression spreading across her face. "And what do we have here? You two look cozy."

You stepped back quickly, putting some space between you and Rafe, feeling suddenly exposed. "Just... dancing," you said, trying to sound nonchalant.

Rafe, of course, didn’t miss a beat. He slipped his hands into his pockets, the picture of casual confidence. "Yeah, just giving her a little dance lesson. She’s a fast learner."

Ava glanced at you, suspicion plastered across her pretty face, “Uh-huh. Well, you ready to go? We were thinking of hitting up another party across town."

You hesitated, glancing at Rafe, who gave you a small nod, as if to say it was up to you. The moment between the two of you had been so intense, so confusing, that you almost forgot the entire reason you were there. Nate. You were supposed to be getting his attention, not getting caught up in whatever strange thing was happening with Rafe.

But now that your friends were here, the spell was broken. You felt more like yourself again, more grounded. "Yeah, let’s go," you said, finally pulling your eyes away from Rafe, “You’re not coming?”

“Nah. Have fun, I’ll see you on Monday, little pogue.”

As you walked away with Ava and Harper, you could feel his eyes on your back, and it took everything in you not to turn around. You weren’t sure what to make of it, or if you even wanted to. It was like you’d glimpsed a different side of him, one that wasn’t entirely awful. One that was strangely attractive. Maybe his ridiculous plan was working. But whether that was a good thing or not, you weren’t sure.

Sure enough, another study session came around. The old tension between you two had settled into a strange kind of truce. It was more of a mutual agreement to tolerate each other for the sake of passing the course. Plus, despite everything, he was strangely good company when he wasn't being a complete ass.

Tonight was one of those rare moments when he wasn’t trying to get under your skin. The conversation had started out innocent enough—debating historical facts, making fun of the professor’s monotone voice—but then, somehow, it drifted towards relationships. Or more accurately, Nate.

“So, you gonna ask him out or what?” Rafe’s tone was casual, but his eyes were sharp as they flicked over to you.

You glanced at him, trying to gauge if he was genuinely interested or just trying to pry into your personal life for another round of teasing.

“Ask who out?”

“Nate. Mr. Perfect.” His smirk was playful, but there was an edge to it.

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not asking anyone out.”

“Why not?” He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, clearly settling in for this conversation. “He’s obviously into you. You’re into him. What’s the problem?”

You looked away, focusing on the textbook in front of you, but the words blurred as your mind wandered. The truth was, you didn’t know how to answer that. You’d never been good with boys, especially not ones like Nate. Ones that seemed so far out of your league.

“Just…not my thing,” you mumbled, hoping that would be enough to drop the subject.

But Rafe wasn’t one to let things go. “Not your thing? Or…you’ve never actually done it before?”

The casual tone of his question made your stomach flip. You looked at him sharply, searching his face for any sign that he was joking.

“Done what?”

“Kissed someone.” The words were out of his mouth before you could even process them, and your heart skipped a beat.

You knew you should deny it, brush it off with a joke, but the way he was looking at you, so intently, made it impossible to lie. Silence stretched between you, and you could practically see the gears turning in his head as realization dawned.

“No way. You’ve never…?”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, embarrassment flooding through you. “It’s not a big deal, okay? Can we drop it?”

But he was looking at you like you’d just told him the earth was flat.

“You’ve never kissed anyone?” He sounded incredulous, like he couldn’t believe it was even possible.

“Seriously, shut up,” you snapped, but it only made him smile harder.

He shook his head, still looking at you like you were some kind of anomaly. “How the hell did you get through high school without—”

“Rafe!”

“Okay, okay, m'sorry!” He held up his hands in mock surrender, but there was a mischievous glint in his eyes that made you nervous. “But seriously, you’ve never kissed anyone? Not even a peck?”

“No,” you admitted, crossing your arms defensively. “And I don’t see how it’s any of your business.”

He was quiet for a moment, and you could feel his gaze on you, intense and considering. Finally, he leaned forward, his expression more serious than you’d ever seen it. “Alright then. I’ll teach you.”

Your jaw dropped, and you stared at him like he’d lost his mind.

“What?”

“I’ll teach you,” he repeated, like it was the most logical thing in the world. “Better to learn from someone who knows what they’re doing, right?”

You blinked, trying to wrap your head around what he was suggesting. “Are you out of your fucking mind? There’s no way I’m letting you—”

“Why not?” He was leaning in closer now, that stupid cocky smirk back on his face. “I promise I won’t bite.”

You could feel your pulse quicken, nerves fluttering in your stomach. This was Rafe Cameron, the guy who had made your life hell for years, and now he was offering to…what? Teach you how to kiss? It was absurd. Ridiculous. And yet, there was something in his eyes, something that almost made you say yes.

“No,” you finally said, shaking your head. “This is insane.”

He shrugged, leaning back again, but you could tell he wasn’t giving up. “Just think about it. No pressure.”

You wanted to argue, to tell him he was crazy, but the truth was, part of you was curious. Curious about what it would be like. Curious about why he was offering in the first place. But that was a thought for another time. For now, you needed to focus on getting through this study session without letting him distract you any further.

Easier said than done.

You tried to shake off the bizarre turn the conversation had taken, focusing back on the textbook in front of you, but the words on the page refused to stick. You could feel his stupid blue eyes on you, his presence more distracting than ever.

“Come on, don’t make it weird,” he said after a moment, his tone light but his gaze still fixed on you. “I was just fucking with you.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding, relieved that he was backing off. “Good. Because that was the weirdest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

He chuckled, the tension easing just a little. “Weird, maybe. But not the worst idea.”

“Rafe,” you warned, but there was no real bite in your voice. He had a way of disarming you, breaking through your defenses in a way that no one else could. It was annoying.

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop,” he said, holding up his hands again. But there was still a playful glint in his eyes, like he was enjoying this far too much.

You tried to focus on the study guide, pointing out a key term that you both needed to memorize, but your mind kept drifting back to what he’d said. The idea of him teaching you how to kiss was ridiculous—completely absurd—but there was a tiny, traitorous part of you that wondered what it would be like.

“You’re thinking about it,” Rafe said suddenly, his voice breaking through your thoughts.

“No, I’m not!” You replied a little too quickly, your cheeks burning. He grinned, clearly enjoying your discomfort.

“Yes, you are. I can see it on your face.”

You glared at him, hoping to shut him up with a look, but he just laughed, the sound low and teasing. “You know, if you’re curious, there’s no harm in trying it.”

You shook your head, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’m not curious, and I’m definitely not going to let you—”

Before you could finish your sentence, he leaned in, closing the distance between you in a way that made your breath catch. He didn’t kiss you, but he was close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath on your lips, the intensity of his eyes making your heart race.

“You sure about that?” he murmured, his voice soft but filled with a challenge.

You swallowed hard, your mind screaming at you to push him away, but your body refused to move. There was something magnetic about him, something that made it impossible to look away, to even think about anything else.

“I…” you started, but the words died in your throat as he leaned in just a fraction closer, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Just one lesson,” he whispered, his lips hovering just above yours. “Then we can pretend it never happened.”

Your heart was pounding in your chest, a thousand thoughts racing through your mind, but none of them made sense. All you could think about was how close he was, how badly you wanted to know what it would feel like to close that final distance.

But then, as if a switch flipped in your brain, reality crashed down on you. This was Rafe Cameron. The guy who had tormented you, who was probably doing this just to mess with you. You couldn’t let yourself fall into his trap.

“No,” you said, finally finding your voice and pushing him back gently. “This is crazy.”

He didn’t move at first, his eyes searching yours for a moment longer before he finally leaned back, giving you space to breathe again. “Fair enough,” he said, his tone still light, but there was something in his expression that you couldn’t quite read. “But if you change your mind…”

“I won’t,” you said quickly, needing to put some distance between you and the tension that was still thick in the air. “Let’s just get back to studying.”

He gave you a long look, like he was deciding whether to push the issue, but then he just shrugged and turned back to his notes.

“Whatever you say.”

You nodded, trying to focus on the study guide in front of you, but your mind was still reeling. You couldn’t believe what had just happened, couldn’t believe that you had actually considered letting Rafe teach you how to kiss. It was insane.

Completely and utterly insane.

The rest of the study session passed in a blur, the usual banter between you and Rafe feeling a bit more strained, a bit more loaded than before. You were hyper-aware of every move he made, every glance he threw your way, but thankfully, he seemed to have dropped the subject for now.

But as you packed up your things to leave, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted between you. You couldn’t tell if it was for better or worse, but one thing was certain—you were never going to look at Rafe Cameron the same way again.

The following days were a strange dance of avoidance and unspoken tension. Lots of it. You and Rafe still studied together, but there was an unspoken agreement not to mention what had happened. It was as if you were both trying to pretend that nothing had changed, even though you both knew it had.

It didn’t help that every time you were around him, you couldn’t stop thinking about that moment—the way he’d leaned in, the way his breath had felt against your lips. How soft they looked. It was infuriating, the way your mind kept circling back to it, refusing to let it go. You were better than this.

“Hey,” he greeted, sitting down next to you without his usual swagger. “You okay?”

The question caught you off guard, and you hesitated before answering. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

He shrugged, looking out at the entrance of the classroom for a moment before turning back to you. “I don’t know. You’ve just been kind of…quiet lately.”

You looked at him, searching his face for any hint of teasing, but he seemed genuine. “Just had a lot on my mind.”

Rafe nodded, as if he understood, and for a moment, the two of you sat in a surprisingly comfortable silence. It was strange, this version of him—so different from the one who had taunted you about kissing just days ago.

Finally, he broke the silence. “Y’know, I wasn’t trying to mess with you the other day. I mean, I was, but not…not in a bad way.”

You raised an eyebrow, not sure where he was going with this. “Rafe, I know you like to mess with people. It’s kind of your thing.”

“Yeah, well,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, “I guess I just didn’t want you to think I was trying to make fun of you or anything. I just thought…you deserved better.”

That caught you completely off guard. “What do you mean?”

He sighed, looking uncharacteristically serious. “I mean, you deserve to experience that stuff with someone who actually gives a shit about you. Not with some random guy at a party or something. I guess I didn’t like the idea of you feeling…left out.”

Was he…implying that you two were friends now? That he cared?

You stared at him, not sure what to say. This was a side of Rafe you’d never seen before—vulnerable, even a little protective. It was jarring, but not in a bad way.

“Thanks,” you said softly, not quite sure how to respond. “That's weirdly nice of you to say.”

He smiled, and for the first time in a long time, it didn’t have that usual hint of arrogance. “Don’t get used to it,” he teased lightly, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

Just then, the rest of your classmates showed up, breaking the moment.

Rafe stood up, his usual confident demeanor slipping back into place as he greeted his friends. But as you watched him joke around with the others, you couldn’t help but feel like you’d just seen a glimpse of the real Rafe—someone who cared, even if he didn’t always show it.

And you found yourself liking this version of him.

A lot.

More than you should.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron fluff #rafe x reader #rafe cameron au #rafe cameron outer banks #rafe x pogue!reader #rafe x you #rafe cameron x pogue!reader #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe imagine #rafe fic

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bamguetismee · 3 months ago

Text

Phantom Pursuit- YJW

Jungwon is cocky, confident, and easily one of the most skilled world class spies in the world. Nothing seems to bother him and his impulse is his most deadliest weapon. His partner was skilled, capable, and detail oriented- aka you. Something big goes down on an unassuming mission. But little did you know this one mission could change the fate of the world as you knew it.

PAIRING: — Spy Jungwon ✩ Spy reader (f)

GENRE: fluff, she’s angsty TT, slow burn, spy au

WARNINGS: making out, petnames, skinship, slow burn, I hate to say but there is angst, mentions of alcohol, guns, blood, fighting, cursing, near death experiences, mentions of death, dark haired Jungwon!, two ocs , there’s probably wayyy more but idk how to do this

WC: 21.110 words

Yuni Says: hihi, this is my first fic ever. And I mean like on any writing platform. So I’m completely new to writing- pls bear with me. I’ve been lurking on here for a while but I never published anything. I’m not going to be very very consistent with my writing but I will try my best. Pls feel free to chat with me and give me any feedback to improve. But I’m really really excited to start my journey on here!! Comments and reblogs are rlly appreciated. Anyway I hope you enjoy~ bye lovelies

The mission was simple- get into the gala and do some profiling on the high end criminals there. Although there was a stir of something else. Something big was happening at this gala of the underworld. That is precisely the reason that you were standing here. Underneath these opulent chandeliers in this glittering ballroom in Paris. The soft hum of classical music and whispers of the crooked floated through the air. The gala was filled with champagne fueled conversations that some could only decrypt as devious plans. You adjusted the slit of your deep sea blue dress and scanned the room observing the shadowy and mysterious figures. The earpiece buzzed faintly as you picked up a champagne flute from a waiter passing by.

“Hear anything interesting?” Jungwon’s voice crackled in her ear through the comm system. His annoying voice was smug as always

You suppressed a sigh trying to keep your expression neutral. “If by interesting, you mean potential intel, then no. Just the usual crowd of criminals pretending to be philanthropists.”

“Come on, ___” Jungwon replied. “You need to lighten up a bit. This is just a profiling mission. Its the easiest one we’ve been on in a while. So just relax and try to have some fun will you?”

“Jungwon no matter how easy this is its a mission. We aren’t here to have fun” you say in a focused manner like always.

You scanned around the room noticing him. Jungwon was leaning against the bar in his sharp black tuxedo. His hair was slicked back and he had that air of confidence and easiness he carried. No matter how much you hate to admit it, his broad shoulders, lean build, and small waist looked damn good in that tux. His eyes met yours from across the room. They were deep brown and mysterious, yet they still had that longing look. Those eyes that hide a deeper emotion, something that you couldn’t quite decipher. Even after all that training and those missions where you read people to a tee, you still couldn’t quite read him. Yet, those eyes always lured you in and never failed to bring that slight flush up your neck despite how damn annoying he was. And that damn smile. That charming one he gave with both his dimples poking out. It had already attracted two women who were all up on Jungwon. It was pathetic and honestly infuriating how his simple smile had such an impact on anyone. What’s more pathetic is the way your own heart ached in the slightest way at the sight. Now wasn’t the time for that though. You rolled your eyes as you set the champagne down.

“Are you flirting with civilians again??”

“Would you prefer if I flirted with you instead?” Jungwon teased as he raised his glass in your direction.

“Focus Jungwon,” you hissed. “We are here for intel, not your dating life” you reprimand him as you eye the host of the party, he was new on the scene and your agency needed more information on said man.

“And yet,” he said, taking a sip of his drink, “I’m the one who’s about to make progress.”

Before you could say anything in return he had already slipped away from the bar. He excused himself from the two pretty girls who pouted as he said he needed to leave. The criminal was named Bryan Cavellott, he was new on the high end criminal scene. He had made his grand debut by stealing some jewels from a museum in Russia and now rumor says he has something else thats far more important than some pink diamonds. Something so valuable that he had attracted all the high-level criminals in europe to his gala. As Jungwon made a beeline towards the older man with the crisp white suit and shaped beard, he shot you a sly look.

You narrowed your eyes as you followed him from a distance. You slipped through the crowds as you kept your gaze trained on Jungwon. He had already begun his usual act: leaning in slightly, charming but conspiratorial smile playing on his lips, and a trustworthy tone of voice.

You spoke through the comm system again, “Don’t blow our cover.”

“When have I ever blown our cover?” he whispered with a confident smile as he made his way closer to Cavellott.

“Do you want me to give you the list alphabetically or in order of how many times we almost died?”

Jungwon didn’t say anything but the smirk on his face was answer enough. Instead he finally approached the old man. “Mr. Cavellott?” he said his voice smooth. “Quite a gathering tonight. A man like you must have something truly extraordinary to share with us.”

Cavellott’s smile was thin and practiced but it held a hint of amusement too. “Ah, and you are?”

“Jung Park” he said easily, extending a hand. “Investor, entrepreneur, and lover of all things valuable and rare.”

You groaned into the earpiece quietly as you decided that you needed to make sure Jungwon didn’t get one of his brilliant ideas again. So you approached the two smoothly.

“And who is your lovely companion?” Cavellott asked, his gaze sharp and shifting to meet yours as you slid up next to Jungwon.

“___ Nakamura” you say with a charming smile of your own. “Jung’s business partner.”

Of course Jungwon couldn’t help but add with a stupid grin, “among other things.” which earned him a well deserved but subtle jab to his ribs from your elbow.

Cavellott seemed to have deemed you two trustworthy as he openly chuckled enjoying the dynamic between you two. “Well, Mr. Park and Miss Nakamura, I assure you that tonight’s main attractions is unlike anything you’ve encountered before. An artifact of immense… potential.”

Jungwon tilted his head playing along, “intriguing. I assume this artifact isn’t something you can pick up at a local auction house?”

Cavellott smiled wider. “Hardly. It’s something far more elusive- something that has been hidden for centuries and only recently resurfaced.”

You leaned in slight, your tone cautious but curious. You preceded carefully but you couldn’t help but think- is this what all the stir was about? “Oh? And what exactly makes it so special?”

Cavellott’s eyes sparkled with a mixture of pride and secrecy. “Ah, but that is the question isn’t it? Its value lies not just in what it is but what it could do. That’s what everyone’s here for”

“Sounds dangerous,” you said.

“All things of great power are,” Cavellott replied smoothly. “But that’s why it must be handled by someone who understands its worth. Plus I’m sure a lovely and confident lady like yourself wouldn’t mind a little game of danger?”

You sent Jungwon a quick glance but you both knew what it meant. This was it. It wasn’t just a rumor, whatever this… artifact is, its dangerous and with the way Cavellott is speaking of it- everyone here seems to understand its value. You sent a calm but pleased glance towards Cavellott despite the way your nerves were on edge.

“And this artifact…” Jungwon said his voice steady but probing, “does it have a name?”

Cavellott’s smile thinned as his eyes darted around nervously before he leaned in closer. “I shouldn’t even be discussing this, but I suppose you’ll find out sooner or later. The artifact is known as the Phantom Codex.”

The name itself sent a shiver down your spine although your expression remained neutral. The Phantom Codex… it was something significant. The way Cavellott spoke about it was too unsettling itself.

“And what does it do?” Jungwon asked his tone light but calculating.

Cavellott chuckled lightly but with a hint of knowing. “That, my friend, is the question that everyone here tonight is asking. And the answer… is far more than you could ever imagine.”

Before the two of you could press him any farther a woman on the other end of the ballroom caught his eye. She gave him a sly smile before turning away and walking to the balcony. The challenge in her eye was unmistakable. Cavellott offered the two of you a rushed excuse. “If you’ll excuse me, I must attend to my other guests. Enjoy the evening you two.”

And just like that he disappeared into the crowd. Jungwon leaned in closer to you, his voice was low and calculating. “Phantom Codex. Sound like the title of a bad action movie.”

“Focus Jungwon.” you snapped back at him. Your pulse was calm but your thoughts were racing. “Whatever it is, people are willing to kill for it. I mean some of these criminals hate each other but look at the way they’re playing so nice tonight. Whatever this is we can’t ignore it.”

Jungown’s playful expression faded as he took on a rare serious one instead. “Then I guess it’s time to figure out who else here knows something about it- and what they are willing to do to get it.”

You nodded and scanned the room. This always happened to the two of you, not a single mission where the stakes hadn’t risen. You were playing a game where one wrong move could cost you everything, even your life. In this room surrounded by throngs of dangerous people, you knew the importance of this mission.

“Lets split up,” you said, your tone sharp. You gave him one last look over your shoulder. “And Jungwon? Try not to flirt with anyone.”

“No promises,” he replied with a poor attempt at a wink before disappearing into the crowd. Despite yourself a small smile formed on your lips. You just sighed as you shook your head.

˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The party shifted into a quieter, more exclusive phase as the night deepened. The glittering and glamorous crowd thinned, leaving behind only those with the wealth, power, and influence to justify their presence at this gala in the heart of Paris. You and Jungwon moved through the crowd, your ears sharp, ready to catch any piece of information about this mysterious artifact.

“Anything?” you whispered your voice barely audible over the classical tunes.

Jungwon, who was on the other side of the opulent room turned to find your eyes as he smiled teasingly. “A lot of people talking about a lot of things. Art deals, offshore accounts… oh and Lady Pennington’s pomeranian apparently needs a personal chef and maid.”

You shot him a sharp look.

“Relax Miss Nakamura,” he teased with a cocky smile as he made his way towards you. “But seriously, everyone’s buzzing about something being revealed soon. I’m betting its our mysterious Codex.”

You nodded, “we need to find out what it is and when its going to be revealed.”

As if on cue two men walked by. One of them was some normal small town criminal. The other one though… It was him, Ebony Lloyd. To say that the pair of you and Lloyd had a history would be an understatement. Whenever there was any trouble he was always there. He had a rich history himself… robberies, head of a notorious organization, bomb and arms dealing, drug trafficking. He was a tall and burly man with sleek black hair and eyes of a wolf always searching for his next prey. Of course someone like him was at a gala like this. He didn’t seem to recognize you as he strolled right by. He was talking in hushed tones with the man but you heard bits of what they were saying. Something that sounded like: “Air strip..” “Vienna” “no mistakes this time”. Great- he was on the move again. You would deal with him later, right now the Codex is what mattered.

Jungwon’s expression soured as he laid his eyes on Lloyd. “Would you look at that? Its our best friend! And he’s conspiring again. I swear he can’t ever keep still for even a few days.” Jungwon sneered quietly as he ran his hand through his styled hair in annoyance.

“We’ll have to deal with him later. Right now we need to find out about the Codex.” you say with a bit of an annoyed expression yourself.

Everyone’s attention got drawn up to the front as a man strode up onto stage. The conversation died down as the man turned to face the crowd, commanding the attention of the room. He started smoothly and with confidence. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us this fine night. As many of you know, tonight’s gathering is more than a celebration– its an unveiling.” he declared

A murmur spread through the crowd as excitement rippled through the room.

“The artifact you are about to see,” the man continued. “Has been the subject speculation and legend for centuries. Its origins are as elusive as its true potential. But tonight, it is here, in this very room, for the first time in generations this precious artifact has been unearthed again.”

Jungwon leaned a bit too close to murmur in your ear, “I have a bad feeling about this.” With the shiver running down your spine all you could do was nod.

Two heavily armed men appeared on stage, wheeling a steel reinforced case onto the stage. The man gestured towards the case with a flourish, his tone turned reverent “Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you… the Phantom Codex.”

The case opened with a hiss and steam being emitted from inside. There it was.. The ever elusive Phantom Codex. It looked unsuspecting at first glance. Just a small black piece of tech that was shaped like that of a diamond. You had to take a closer look to realize that there were weird symbols and letters etched onto the surface. They didn’t look like any language you recognized.. In fact the looked almost alien. Whats more is that they didn’t seem to ever hold still, they shifted everytime you blinked. The tech emitted an eerie blue glow from the cracks in it as well. It truly was mysterious and a marvel of tech. You couldn’t help but think- how old is this really? Why is this tech so important if its so old??

Jungwon’s breath caught too as he looked at the object. As you looked around the room- no one seemed to be able to look away. They all had the same blue glow in their eyes. This small little black diamond had stunned the hardest of criminals as the crowd gravitated towards it. You could see Jungwon lean closer to the stage himself.

Snapping your finger in front of his eyes you pulled him out of his trance. “Jungwon.” you whispered in a hushed tone. “Stop looking at it. Its like that Codex is pulling you in- like everyone else here.”

He blinked rapidly as he looked around the room like he was finally gaining his senses again. He quickly masked his entrancement, “the only thing pulling me in is you cherie..” He brushed his hand against yours as a little tease. Your heart rate spiked but before you could come back with a witty comment the lights suddenly went out.

“Stay close,” you say as you place your hand on the hilt of the knife concealed under your dress. Panic rose even more when a deafening shattering sound echoed through the room. Yells and cries followed closely as Jungwon muttered to himself “damnit..”

When the lights flickered on there wasn’t a Phantom Codex to marvel at. “It’s gone” you hissed. The armed men were gone and the man who unveiled the Codex was on the floor, a pool of his own crimson blood surrounding him.

“We need to move. The person who stole it isn’t planning to stick around for long,” Jungwon rushed as he grabbed your arm. His grip firm but comforting as you two ran through the panicked crowd towards the nearest exit. Cavellott’s men were starting to close the exits. But in a quick series moves you rendered them unconscious as you ran through the gates.

“Where’d they go?” you demanded, your pulse racing with a mixture adrenaline and frustration. Alas, whoever it was, was long gone. The midnight streets of Paris were completely empty. There wasn’t even a trace of them. “We lost it!” you said, your jaw tight.

You pulled your hand away from Jungwon as you smoothened your dress out with a look of frustration. Jungwon’s teasing personality dimmed as he placed a warm hand on your shoulder providing comfort in the cold night. “We’ll figure this out. You know we always do,” he said his voice steady despite the tension.

It was concerning how fast he could manipulate your emotions with just a few words. You unclenched your jaw as you gave him a curt nod. Still though your mind raced. What exactly was this Phantom Codex? Why were people going to the end of the world for that little diamond? And why did you have a sneaking feeling that this was just the beginning??

˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Back at their hotel, you sat crossed legged on the bed, a tablet in your lap as you compiled all the information you had picked up- which wasn’t much. Jungwon on the other hand paced around the room with his tie loose, hair messed up with the way he ran his hands through it, and his shirt untucked. It was a sign of his restlessness.

Reviewing the security camera footage and guest list was of no use. Whoever this was- and you had a suspecting feeling- they were good. They were professional. Not a trace of them anywhere, just a shadow in the darkness.

“I think we both know who caused all this.” You said with a long exasperated sigh, falling back on the bed with a hand covering your eyes.

Jungwon groaned as he threw himself on the other side of the bed with the same hatred in his voice. “Ebony Lloyd. I swear when I get my hands on him I’m going to-”

Before Jungwon could continue his pleasant words a blue light shone from the tablet. The two of you quickly stood up and straightened out your outfits and you slapped the back of Jungwon’s head mouthing to him to straighten his tie before turning the video on. It was a call from your superior, Mrs. Kwon. She chuckled noticing your slightly disheveled appearance. Then Mrs. Kwon spoke with an easy tone, “agent ___, agent Yang. Nice to see you two so relaxed after a mission. Report to me.”

You spoke up first, “quite the opposite Mrs. Kwon. The mission didn’t go as well as we planned.” you say with a slightly ashamed tone but keeping your expressions professional.

“We profiled on Cavellott, but there was something else. The rumors were true ma’am. There was something big at this gala. Its called the Phantom Codex. We think its something we should be worried about” Jungwon reported. It was a bit unsettling how his personality changed to professional and obedient the moment he was under the hard gaze of our superior. What caught you off guard was the way that Mrs. Kwon’s easy and laid back demeanor dropped immediately the moment she heard the artifact’s name. There was some shuffling on her side- it sounded like she moved rooms.

Her voice came out in a whisper, “the Phantom Codex?? Are you two out of your mind?”

You and Jungwon shared a confused glance before looking back at her. “No ma’am. It's true. We saw it, it was at the gala tonight. But its gone now. Stolen.” you spoke up your tone sincere. Her nervous expression was making you uneasy. Mrs. Kwon was never nervous. “Ma’am if you don’t mind me asking. What is it? What does do?”

Her expression darkened as her tone was now dead serious. “Its dangerous. Every single criminal no matter how big or small is pursuing it. It can hack into anything and manipulate data in ways that humans never though possible. Things like government agencies, federal banks, military systems, nuclear codes, databases of civilians of whole countries.” she spoke, her seriousness making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. “You two listen carefully. No one. And I mean absolutely no one else should know about this. Is that clear? I don’t care what mission you’re on right now, now your one and only mission is securing the Codex. Is that clear?”

Jungwon could hear her deadly tone too as he gulped softly. You both nodded as she wished you luck before cutting communication. You let your stiff posture relax as you met Jungwon’s gaze. Both of you knew. This wasn’t just some tech, it was powerful, dangerous, and deathly. “I’ve never seen Mrs. Kwon that serious… Something isn’t right.” you observe quietly. You tried to read Jungwon’s gaze but his eyes were too complicated.

“Well no pressure right?” Jungwon sighed as he leaned back into an armchair his hands behind his head.

“This is serious Jungwon, did you see Mrs. Kwon??” you shot him a glare as you bristled at the way his posture was so relaxed so easily.

“I know,” he interrupted, his usual smirk replaced by a grim expression. “And we’re gonna find it okay?”

For a moment your eyes met, a flicker of understanding and something else passed through you. That something else made you look away as you sighed- even with the weight of this serious mission Jungwon’s gaze could make your heart flutter. “Just.. sleep soon. We have a long day ahead of us.” you say as you go to change into something more apt for sleep.

Jungwon let a faint smile grace his lips as he called out to you from the bed, “aww are you worried for me darling~?” he teased as he watched you come back from the bathroom after changing.

“Shut up. I just don’t want your work to be sloppy Jungwon” you say with an annoyed tone meeting his light gaze with a serious one. Although you knew that he was just trying to lighten the mood and tension. You silently thanked him for it before getting under the sheets.

˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The morning light filtered through the heavy drapes of their hotel room, neither you nor Jungwon was in the mood for sunshine. The air was thick with tension as you reviewed every scrap of information you had gathered the night prior.

You sat on the couch, your legs tucked under you as you sifted through endless digital files, recordings, and articles. Your hair was in a messy bun and the cup of coffee in your hand trembled slightly from too much caffeine and not enough sleep. Jungwon on the other hand was sprawled in an arm chair. He had seemed to made the decision to not be bothered by any of the events from last night. It frustrated you a bit that you were here busting your ass trying to find something- anything to help the mission and he just sat there. Tossing a stress ball in the air and catching it with a relaxed motion as if the fate of the world wasn’t hanging by a thread.

“Geez you’ve been hunched over that computer for hours” he drawled as he caught the stress ball lazily and looked up from his impromptu game, “have you even found anything?”

“Well maybe I wouldn’t have to be breaking my back for hours if you just decided to help.” you snapped, your patience wearing dangerously thin.

“Touchy this morning,” he teased as you clenched your jaw with frustration and annoyance. God- you swore he was the spawn of the devil- “what? Didn’t sleep well huh?”

“How could I? With you snoring like a chainsaw the entire damn night??” you spat back your head practically fuming by now.

“I do not snore”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” you muttered scrolling through yet another document.

Jungwon finally decides that he’s done pushing at your limits. He snickers as he stands up stretching like he had been doing some serious work this entire time. “Well maybe if you used common sense you wouldn’t have to be working so hard.” he stated as you were about at the end of your patience and your hands were itching to grab him by his pretty little neck and- “Vienna. Lloyd. Last night. I have to say- I thought with those witty comebacks I thought you would be sharper ___”

Your expression faltered as your mind raced through last night. He’s right.. Lloyd was there. He was whispering about Vienna and not long after the Codex had disappeared into thin air. It was him again. You sighed exasperated, finally getting up from the couch. You wanted to wipe that smirk off his face- you absolutely despised when he was right, “maybe your constant stupidity is starting to rub off on me. Just stop smiling and pack your bags”

As he stood up too he moved to stand behind you as he placed his hands deliberately on your waist. His voice was low and smug as his breath fanned your skin, “Whatever you say babe… but just once.. Admit I was right sweetheart.”

The only response he got was a deathly glare from you and his own yelp as you twisted his hands in an awkward angle behind his back, “try something like that again and you won’t live to see next time you’re right.” you scowled with a dangerous voice as he just grinned like an idiot.

˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The airstrip was alive with activity even in the dead of the night. The soft whine of jet engines and distant echoes of shouted instructions blended with the cold Austrian night. You had surveyed the area already so your movements were calculated. Lloyd had been clear- the Phantom codex was being transported through Vianna tonight, possibly by air. This was your chance to intercept it.

“We have to move quickly and quietly” you reminded him as you two sneaked through the grounds. You both blended seamlessly into the dark landscape- just like shadows.

“I know sweetheart, don’t worry I got it” Jungwon replied and you could hear the teasing smirk in his voice. You groaned internally at the way his sweet nicknames made your cheeks warm. Thank god for the cover of the night.

As you two approached the dimly lit hangar at the far end of the airstrip, your sharp eyes caught movement- a group of armed men were unloading a sleek black case from a private jet. Your heart rate sped up. The Codex.

“Bingo,” you whispered, pointing towards the hangar. But before you could say anything further, Jungwon covered your mouth pulling you behind the metal walls of a storage unit. You let out a muffed protest as your eyes widened.

You couldn’t help but notice the way that Jungwon was pressed flush against you. He had you pinned to the wall as he held a finger to your lips. You could hear his heart beat and his warmth reached you through the gear you both wore. His scent was a subtle one but comforting in a way. “Shhh, look-” Jungwon said in a hushed tone as you followed his gaze. There he was. Ebony Lloyd. He was getting off the jet that had been parked in the same hangar from where the codex had been extracted. He had tall burly men flanking both his sides as he made his way to a black van. He was close- way too close. You could practically smell his strong and obnoxious cologne from all the way over here.

If you two just stayed quiet and didn’t make a sound- CRUNCH!!. Shit. You accidentally shifted against Jungwon as you boots made a small sound on the gravel that was far too loud for the quiet night. Lloyd had a sickening smirk on his face as he made his way over to the two of you. You cursed under your breath as Jungwon stepped away from you, now facing him.

“Well well, would you look at that? The lovebirds and the world’s most dysfunctional duo!!” Lloyd drawled on as he voice was low and condescending.

You hated him too- not to misunderstand. But Jungwon had an entirely different fight to pick with him. Lloyd had a way of getting under his skin just like how Jungwon gets under yours. Jungwon was proud no matter how much he protested it. Lloyd had bruised his ego way too many times. You had to give it to him he was smart- that’s the only reason you ever lost. Its because he was always one step ahead. Jungwon detested him entirely. You could already see his rigid body language and clenched fists. Jungwon was practically fuming- this was something both Lloyd and you could see. And Lloyd took great pleasure in it.

“Jungwon… don’t. He’s testing you.” you clenched your own fists. You knew Lloyd and his love for mind games. But tonight the two of you had no time for his little game. The Codex was right there- so close.

But Jungwon ignored you. His teeth clenched as he stormed forward before you could stop him. “And you-” he seethed with his eyes cold and hard, “you little bastard. Got your sights on the Codex huh? Needed something more to show off to your pathetic little mistress? Couldn’t please her or your wife?”

“Oh stop acting so high and mighty jungwon. You can’t seem to win over your pretty little partner’s heart so don’t go insulting my love life.” He chuckled arrogantly. The statement really seemed to strike a chord in Jungwon. “These harsh words aren’t from lingering feelings about Milan right? Or was it Budapest? Or maybe… Dubai? You’ve lost so many times I’ve lost track.”

“Jungwon no-” you say your voice firm and hard as you eyed the four bodyguards trying to plan your escape.

But it was far too late. Jungwon snapped. Without a word he surged even closer towards Lloyd.

“Dammit it Jungwon.” you hissed desperately as you scrambled to follow him.

The two men collided, Jungwon’s fist connected with Lloyd’s jaw as a sickening crack rang out. The criminal staggered backwards and his bodyguards were quick to react as they rained down punches on Jungwon. You quickly lept into action kicking one of them square in the head while landing an uppercut to another ones jaw. You fired two quick shots incapacitating the other two.

Meanwhile, Jungwon freed himself only to launch back at Lloyd with more rage than before. But the criminal had more tricks up his sleeve. Quite literally!! He pulled a knife from his coat as they grappled. The fight was taking the two dangerously close to another jet’s running engines. Jungwon’s back thudded onto the flight’s metal body. Lloyd landed another strike but this time slashing Jungwon with his knife- drawing blood. Jungwon was too far gone to care at that moment. Lloyd landed one final cut to his abdomen as Jungwon fell to the tarmac.

You saw it happed with your own two eyes. The Codex. It had been loaded onto the plane. Lloyd smiled satisfied at the way Jungwon was trying hard to recover. “Jungwon!!” your voice rang out as you lunged for him. You caught him just in time. The two of you scrambled out of the way as the jet made its way down the runway.

There it was- gone once again, and that too in the hands of Lloyd.

˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The tension in your vienna hotel room was suffocating. You paced in front of the window, your arms crossed, your face the mask of frustration. Jungwon sat on the bed, one hand on his cut arm and the other on his abdomen, both trying to nurse the gashes on his body. You were fuming and it only added fuel to the fire that your heart was telling you to help Jungwon with his injuries.

“You completely lost control!!” you snapped instead, whirling around to face him. “We had the Codex right there, and you threw it away- for what?!? A grudge match?”

Jungwon sighed leaning against the the headboard. He was tired and annoyed himself, you could tell. “Lloyd needed to be dealt with. He–”

“He got under your skin,” you interrupted, with your voice rising. “And now we’re back to square one because of your ego!!”

Jungwon met your glare with his expression softening which only annoyed you more. There was a silence that was filled with tension and something else that was better it remained unspoken. You clenched your teeth as you saw the slight hint of a smile playing at the corner his lips. You scoffed to yourself. Why the hell was he smiling?? You just lost one of the most dangerous artifacts to a notorious criminal. This was most definitely not the time to be smiling. “What???” you snapped at him crossing your arms once again.

“Hm? Oh nothing.. You’re just really cute when you’re mad.” he said in a matter of factly tone. You hated yourself for the way your brain went blank for a good few seconds. You hated the way your cheeks felt warm and your breath hitched for just a moment.

You groaned loudly throwing up your hands in frustration. “Don’t do that! Don’t try to charm your way out of this.”

“Who says I’m trying to charm you? But even if I was.. It looks like its working- no?” he smirks despite the blood trickling from a cut on his lips. His damn lips that curled up even more when he saw your gaze on them. His damn lips that your just wanted to feel against yours- No!! You weren’t distracted by his idiotically plump, soft, and full lips.

You shot him a look after tearing your gaze away from his lips. Your sharp retort died on your lips when you saw the gash on his arm and abs. Your frustration warred with concern, but, with a heavy sigh, you grabbed the first aid kit from the desk.

“Take off the gear” you ordered your voice clipped.

Jungwon had the nerve to raise his eyebrows in mock surprise. “If you wanted to see me shirtless, you could've just asked babe.”

You shot him another deathly glare as you advanced towards him. The faint pink in your cheeks betrayed you as you made him put down the gauze he had in his hands and took his shirt off. Well I mean- you were just a girl after all. His toned muscles and hard lines of his chest and abs. The slight glisten of sweat and the scars that littered his body were so hot… well shit. “Getting distracted sweetheart?” Jungwon teased. You snapped your eyes back up to his face and made sure your gaze was sharp.

“Just hold still” you muttered, dabbing at the cut with disinfectant. Jungwon winced but he didn’t dare pull away. His gaze was trained on you as you worked with your movements precise and efficient. But your hands lingered on his skin for a few too moments too long. The tension was palpable in the air, the unspoken words and heat between the two of you was at its peak. You met his gaze and this time you could read it- but you didn’t want to. You were his partner it was strictly professional. The way your heart beat way too fast gave you away though.

He sliced the tension with a knife when he uttered your name out softly. It lacked any of his arrogance or its usual teasing edge to it. You didn’t look up. Too scared to see what you find if you looked up again. “Don’t Jungwon. Just… don’t.”

He reached out, his fingers gently brushing against your wrist. “I’m sorry,” he said, and for once he sounded sincere. There was undertones of something else too. “I screwed up.”

You froze, your breath catching at the unexpected vulnerability in his tone. You shivered at his gently touch, it melted away your anger and replaced it with something warmer, something neither of you could name. You took in a shaky breath as you replied, your voice lacking the earlier bite “you did.”

Jungwon’s lips curved into a faint smile. “But you’re still patching me up. Guess that means you care.”

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your moth twitched up- fighting back a smile. “Don’t push it.” you warned but your voice had gone soft.

You fell into a charged silence, the air between you thick with unspoken words. Jungwon’s hand lingered on your wrist, but for once you didn’t pull away. It was dangerous the way your heart raced at his touch. “You’re too reckless,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“And you’re too stubborn,” he replies, his gaze dropping briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes. At that moment you knew you couldn’t lose him. You hate to finally admit it but it was true. All the times he had risked his life to save you from near death situations, his stupid jokes that lightened up any situation, and his dumb pet names that made you smile every time. You knew you couldn’t lose him- so the least you could do for all those times was forgive him. Just this once.

You finished patching up his gashes silently before abruptly standing up. You walked to the other side of the hotel room as you set the first aid kit down once again. It was your pathetic attempt at trying your heart to beat normally once again. You turned back to face him- relieving yourself of the weight of your own gear as Jungwon spoke again. “So just to be clear. You weren’t staring at my lips or my abs right? Because then that would mean that you find me-”

“Jungwon!” you cut him off with a stern gaze. But his infuriating, smug, dimple filled smile still remained on his lips as he just shrugs.

˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

After that night in Vienna you couldn’t stop thinking about him- well you always had him on your mind anyway- but something else nagged at you. This Phantom Codex… you knew what it was supposed to do, but it still had a mysterious aura about it. There was something so elusive about this simple piece of tech, and you were determined to find out what.

That is exactly how you ended up here. In your shared hotel room with your glasses forming dents on your nose, your hands trembling from too much caffeine, and your eyes had deep circles under them that showed how you had been up for far too long.

I mean you can’t blame yourself- you tried to sleep. You swear you did. But Jungwon’s words and gaze and touch just wouldn’t let you rest. Jungwon groaned as he blinked his eyes open- the bright light of the screen blinding his eyes. “___? You’re kidding me” he stated in a rough and groggy voice. He turned his head as he squinted towards the digital clock. “It’s five A.M. Did you even sleep?”

“Couldn’t” you replied short and distant. “I was too busy doing your job.”

“Ah, there it is- the sharp tongue of my favorite partner” he said with a smile in his tone as he heaved his body- still marred with the gashes from before- into a sitting position. “Morning to you too, sweetheart”

You gave him a glare over your shoulder, but the deep circles under your eyes betrayed your exhaustion. “Don’t even start with me Jungwon. I’ve been piecing intel while you’ve been snoring away again.”

“I do not snore,” he insisted indignantly, crossing his arms as he leaned against the headboard.

“Oh, trust me you do. After all these years of sharing a hotel room, you most definitely do.” You turned back to your screen, muttering under your breath, “it’s like trying to sleep next to a freight train.”

He just rubbed the back of his neck as he sighed in fake and exaggerated. He watched as you typed away, the sounds of your fingers dancing along the keys an insistent sound in the room. In an amused but concerned tone he prodded, “What are you even looking at?”

“The Codex.” your voice was clipped. But there was an edge of something else— anxiety and nervousness. “I hacked into one of Lloyd’s encrypted files. I think I found a list of targets who apparently know something about the Codex.”

He nodded as he shifter closer to look over your shoulder at the screen. “Okay, thats progress. But… why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?” he questioned carefully.

Your fingers stilled on the keyboard and your body tensed. You took a deep breath before meeting his eyes, your expression guarded but your voice trembling just slightly, “My… My sister.. Her name is on his list.” you declare. Your brain was a mess even if you didn’t let it show. She was your sister, the few people in this cutthroat world that you loved and trusted blindly.

The air in the room seemed to thickened. Jungwon’s teasing smirk disappeared as he processed your shaky words. “Your sister?”

“She’s a target,” you said, your voice cracking despite an effort to stay composed. “I don’t know why or- or what they want from her, but–” you stopped, shaking your head as you pinched the bridge of your nose. Scared of just the thought or Lloyd targeting your sister or losing her entirely. “If we don’t get the Codex back, she’s in danger. I can’t– I can’t let that happen” you looked at him with scared and vulnerable eyes. This was the first time you let this happen. The first time you opened up to him.

He moved closer to you as he placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. “___, hey. Listen to me.”

Reluctantly, you lifted your eyes to his.

“We’ll get it back,” he said firmly, his voice steady and unwavering. “I swear to you. We’ll find the Code, and we’ll protect your sister.”

“You don’t understand,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. Your eyes distant as you thought about the horrifying possibilities of what might happen. “This isn’t just another mission anymore. Its personal.”

“I know,” Jungwon said, his tone softening. “And that’s why we’re going to win this. Because when it comes to you and the people you care about.. I swear to you- I would rather die than fail.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the rare sincerity in his voice. For a moment time slowed and the truth behind his voice rang clearer. The unspoken weight of his words weighed heavy on your shoulders. It was nice. It was nice to know that he would be there, even when times were tough or uncertain. He spoke with a promise that didn’t waver at all. His presence was firm and steady. It grounded you even as doubt filled your mind. You knew that from the countless successful missions you two had accomplished, that with him- anything was possible.

“You’re such an idiot,” you muttered, brushing past the lump in your throat and rapidly blinking trying not to show your vulnerability even more.

“Then its a shame that you’re stuck with me isn’t it?” Jungwon replied with a smile tugging at his lips. “Now, come on. You need to sleep before you collapse on me.”

“I’m fine.” you insisted stubbornly, standing up and brushing past him.

“‘I’m fine’ my ass,” Jungwon drawled, following you despite the pain his body faced when he moved. “Just like I’m the best hacker in this partnership.”

“You? Hacker? Yeah right- since when??” you show back with your usual sharpness returning to your voice.

He grinned like an idiot and his dreamy dimples made another appearance. “There she is. I was worried the all-nighter had turned you into a zombie.”

You rolled your eyes but the hint of a smile on your lips was still clear as day.

Later that evening, after hours of futile attempts to trace the codex’s whereabouts and Jungwon’s incessant nagging, you finally slumped onto the hotel bed, your exhaustion catching up to you. Jungwon walked to you from the kitchen a glass of water in his hand.

“Drink,” he said, holding it out to you.

“I’m fine,” you protested though your voice was hoarse. As much as you silently appreciated his comfort and care, you didn’t need to be coddled by your annoyance of a partner.

He said said your name in a stern tone of voice that left no room for argument. You sighed but took the glass of water, considering your pounding headache from looking at the computer screen all day, it was the right thing to do. Your fingers brushed his for just a moment too long. “Thanks” you muttered out.

He sat next to you, his usual cockiness replaced by a quiet concern. “You know” he started, “for someone who calls me reckless, you’re not exactly great at taking care of yourself.”

You scoffed, “Takes one to know one.”

He chuckled lightly his head shaking at your retort even with the pounding in your head. “Fair.”

The silence that followed wasn’t really uncomfortable, but it was definitely charged with something you both refused to acknowledge. You stared down at the glass in your hands. Your mind still running in overdrive with worry for your sister, the Codex, and the precarious line that you and Jungwon seem to be walking on. This dangerous pull that lulled you both towards one another that you just danced around.

“You’re too good at this,” you said your tone suddenly softer and quieter. “At making me feel like everything’s gonna be okay,” you admit with your cheeks warming as you turn your head, avoiding his gaze. You sigh as you continued on, trying to lighten the mood, “I guess there is one single thing that you’re good at. Sweet talking your way out of messes?”

“Out of messes? Oh please darling- my sweet talking has a much greater purpose- like sweet talking my way into sitting on the same bed as you.” he pretending to sigh dreamily as the sparkle of amusement didn’t leave his eye, “wow~ what an honor.”

This led to you pushing him off the edge of the bed and trying to contain your laughter as he landed with a big thud. He let out a yelp as he rubbed his back, the big boba eyes he gave you only worked on those girls at parties. “How about you start trying to sweet talk your way into me not beating your ass?” you say with an amused but genuine smile. He huffed in defeat as he stalked his way over to the couch. You couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle.

“Goodnight sweetheart~” you mocked him as he silently flipped you off.

˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The streets of Tokyo buzzed with life, the neon lights casting a kaleidoscope of colors over the bustling city. The air was filled with noises of children, adults, and automobiles. It was freezing cold in the night and you could see your breath in front of you, coming out in a cold white fog. You trailed a step behind Jungwon, your arms crossed as you watched him survey the surroundings with an air of practiced nonchalance. The two of you made your way to the looming but sleek and modern hotel. Of course it was a five star experience in Tokyo, only the best for the two best agents.

“You’re unusually quiet,” Jungwon remarked, glancing over his shoulder at you. You couldn’t help but groan internally at the situation. And also at the fact that no man should look that ridiculously good with his hair messy and blowing in the wind.

“Just trying to figure out how we ended up in this situation,” you muttered with annoyance as you shifted the bag on your shoulder.

“Acting like a couple?” he smirked, pushing the tall glass door open for you. “Don’t pretend like you’re not enjoying it.”

You stepped into the threshold with a sharp glare pointed at him. You had to hide the fast pace of your heart somehow, “You’re delusional.”

The hotel lobby was elegant and the chandelier shimmered in all the hotel’s elegance. The ambient lighting and soft jazz music filled the space. You took note of the huge glass windows that could be a possible threat. The receptionist looked at the two of you with a practiced smile which widened when she laid eyes on Jungwon. You didn’t really know why but it made you roll your eyes.

“Reservation under Park and Nakamura,” Jungwon said in his usual arrogant and cocky tone of voice. You couldn’t help but be more pissed at his voice but also find it a bit endearing as well. It was something you looked up to, he had a certain way with his words and it always worked somehow.

“Ah yes of course, I’ll be sure to get your bags up to your room. Anything else you needed help with?” the girl at the desk batted her long eyelashes at Jungwon and it made you annoyed even more. Why, though? It's not like you had some weird feelings for your idiotic spy partner or something.

“Oh no that’s quite alright, me and my boyfriend can carry our bags up to the room ourselves.” you smiled at her patronizingly. You had to try really hard to ignore Jungwon’s stupid smirk as you lugged the bags to the elevator.

“Boyfriend? Staking your claim sweetheart?” he asked smugly as he struggled to carry the bigger bag towards the elevator. “Besides, why did you stop her?? Now we have to break our backs trying to get these bags into our rooms.” he said as he huffed, putting the bag down for a second to catch his breath.

“Did you want her to discover the Glock 19 stowed in our bags?” you asked in a mocking tone. You didn’t know exactly why you were so on edge from just a simple look Jungwon had received, but you felt as though from recent events.. You and Jungwon had started to walk down a dangerous path that none of you were ready to acknowledge.

You opened the lock with a bit more force than necessary. The hotel suite was spacious, with a panoramic view of the Tokyo skyline. But your heart truly dropped as your bags slipped out of your hands when your view zeroed-in on the centerpiece of the room. The king-sized bed. You shook your head immediately as you spun to face his already wide grinning face. “No way. Absolutely not. There is no way in hell I am sharing that.”

Jungwon with the most aggravating smile quirked one of his eyebrows, “What’s the problem? Afraid you’ll be tempted?” he asked with a hint of a laugh in his voice.

“In your dreams,” you shot back. You were not just about to expose yourself completely by sleeping in the same bed as him and then failing miserably to contain your idiotic emotions. No damn way.

“I’m just saying,” he said as he tossed his bags to the side. He jumped onto the pristine sheets, ruining them completely. “We need to look convincing, even in the hotel. The staff might be watching.”

You scowled. He was right, you both were well aware of the fact that Lloyd had his men lurking everywhere. “Fine. But if you so much as cross to my side of the bed, I swear-”

“Relax,” Jungwon interrupted, his hands up in a mock display of surrender. “I’ll stay on my side of the bed. Unless you wanted me to-”

“Don’t finish that sentence.”

˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

You two were in Tokyo just because Mrs. Kwon had heard some rumors of the Codex here. There wasn’t any real evidence, but Mrs. Kwon was desperate. So for now the two of you just had to lay low and try to find anything more about the whereabouts of the dangerous piece of tech. That's the reason you couldn’t quite wrap your head around why Jungwon was parading the two of you around the hotel with his hand resting gently on your waist. Well you couldn’t really wrap your head around anything at the moment with how Jungwon’s fingers were softly brushing against your skin. “Remind me why I agreed to this?” you sighed as you forced the warmth in your cheeks to retreat.

“To keep up appearances sweetheart,” Jungwon whispered with his tone low and teasing, as his thumb rubbed absent minded circles on your skin, which only made your mind spiral even more. He had insisted that being stuck in your room all day reviewing the same five documents wouldn’t do you any good. So now you are here doing ‘bonding activities’ with your despised partner.

“I’m going to kill you one day,” you murmured through a tight lipped grin.

“Is that a challenge princess?” Jungwon asked a bit too loudly as you passed the receptionist once more. For some twisted reason this gave you satisfaction as you continued walking through the lobby. You couldn’t resist shooting her a devilish glance.

Still though, you forced yourself to keep up your act. “Lay it on any thicker and they’ll drown in it.” you hissed through gritted teeth.

You spent the entire rest of the day ‘bonding’ with Jungwon. But it was the small moments that caught you off guard. One of them was when you two were playing pool. He insisted that your posture was just offensive to the game. So he made a show of holding your arm as his strong chest pressed against your back. His breath lingered on your neck as his other hand rested on your waist once again. “Like this sweetie,” he muttered, his voice deep and velvety, as he paid no attention to the pool, his eyes only on your face, as if trying to memorize every little scar and contour. Your heart and mind were both unwell. They were working overtime trying desperately to process any of what was happening.

Another time he had you on your toes was when you were mid reach about to strangle him. The two of you were spending time in the arcade and as both of your personalities would permit it. The competitive streak was at another level entirely. So you were at your wit’s end when he interrupted your focus again as you concentrated on smashing the moles wherever they popped up. You had given him a fair amount of warning but you were running out of patience and points because you insisted on a rematch every time. A couple had strolled in and they were just about to take in the sight of you committing homicide. But before you could move you were pressed back against the machine with your arms unknowingly wrapped around his neck. “Play along if you don’t want to get caught ___.” he whispered, tightening his grip around your torso. You tried not to let the hammering of your heart and heat in your skin give you away.

The moment the couple had left you pushed him off but the smirk on his face didn’t budge.

When dinner came around you two had decided to eat at a fancy restaurant. But you cursed Jungwon as he smiled smugly at you. Obviously he was the center of attention for everyone there, so you couldn’t even curse him out without blowing your cover. He was taking full advantage of it though. “Say ‘ahh’ babe~” he cooed, holding up the spoon to your mouth. You rolled your eyes discreetly before you let him feed you. But before he could get too smug you sharply stepped on his foot from under the table. After all, you couldn’t let him think you were succumbing to his stupid flirting. You hid the smirk behind a glass of wine as you sipped it innocently while he glared at you from across the table.

It was late at night now. Even the beautiful city of Tokyo had dimmed its lights and gone to sleep. But you and Jungwon just couldn’t rest. Mrs. Kwon wanted answers and she wanted the Codex even faster. But after Jungwon had tired you out the entire day, the documents looked like they were from some other alien language. Your eyes were half lidded and bleary from the need to sleep.

You were just about to reach for the jug of coffee when Jungwon’s own sleepy voice called out to you. “Absolutely not. Hands off. Do you want a caffeine overdose?” he asked as he got up and took the jug away from you. You let a loud whine fall from your lips as you shot him a glare. You hate when he was right. But before you could shoot back at him with a snarky response, it all happened.

Both of you heard the footsteps from outside the door. Your head snapped up mid scroll. “Did you hear that?” you asked in a hushed whisper. The two of you were already in action though. You shoved the important files, weapons, and gear into your bag. Jungwon tossed you your gun as the two of you crouched behind the bed. The footfalls of the people outside were far too heavy and far too deliberate to be of normal guests.

“How did they find us??” Jungwon hissed as he reloaded his gun quietly. The footsteps paused and you took a deep breath before the chaos started.

The explosion rattled the room as the heavy wooden door came flying down. Splinters flew across the room like shrapnel, and you barely managed to miss the lamp that flew past you, shattering on the ground.

“Down!!” Jungwon yelled as the hail of bullets followed quickly. He dove towards you just in time before the air filled with gunfire.

Lloyd’s men poured into the room by the dozen. Their movements were swift and calculated but you two were like a well oiled machine. Nothing could stop Jungwon’s instinct and your precise aim.

Jungwon fired the shots, taking out the lead man with two clean hits to the chest. You rolled out from behind the bed, your gun steady in your hands as you aimed at the intruders. You picked the men off like birds on a wire, one by one with deadly accuracy.

“Left!” you shouted, and Jungwon pivoted, shooting the man who was trying to flank you.

“Nice call,” he said, his voice tight before he ducked for cover again.

You didn’t respond., your focus entirely on the men in front of you. One of them charged at you, his gun jammed, but you dropped him like a fly with one well placed kick to the chest, before you finished him off entirely with a shot.

“Watch out!!” Jungwon’s voice cut through the chaos and you turn just in time to see a man tossing a grenade towards the center of the room.

Your heart froze. You thought this was the end.

But Jungwon was faster.

He lunged, grabbing your arm and pulling you against his chest as your back hit the wall of the far corner of the room. The grenade exploded a second later, the blast shaking the entire suite. Glass shattered, furniture splintered, and a cloud of smoke and debris filled the air.

Your ears rang, and your vision blurred with tears as you struggled to breathe through the dust. You realized your head was pressed against Jungwon’s chest as he wrapped his arms tightly around you. When you looked up to see his distressed expression it's like you were looking at an angel. The sparks and gunshots whizzed behind him, there was a bleeding cut on his cheek, and his heart was racing. But in this life threatening moment all you could see was him.

“Jungwon…” you said, your voice barely audible over the ringing in your ears.

“I’m fine,” he said, though his voice was strained. But in all the chaos, you could see the bullet that was lodged in his arm. He grimaced as he moved to shoot more men that tried to advance.

“You’re hit,” you said with a trembling voice as the sight of his blood made you sick to the stomach.

“It’s nothing,” he replied, wincing as he moved, pulling you up to your feet. “We’re not done yet.”

More men surged into the room, but your initial shock and fear quickly transformed into fury. God when you got your hands on Lloyd… You grabbed your gun that had slid out of reach when the explosion rattled. You fired with precision, covering him as he pressed his hand to the wound. He winced at the sight of his own crimson blood as you shot down three more men. The room was a mess of bodies, blood, and debris.

“We need to move!” you shouted, helping Jungwon up as he grabbed the bag.

Jungwon scanned the room. The floor was unstable because of the explosion, more of Lloyd’s men just kept filling in through the door, so the only escape was.. “Window,” he said.

You both ran towards the large glass pane just as another explosion rocked the suite. Jungwon kicked out the window, the glass shattered into a million pieces. “Out,” he ordered.

“What abou-”

“Now!!”

You hesitated but still climbed onto the narrow ledge. Jungwon followed, his movements slower but determined despite his injury. You both got out just in time before another explosion rocked the building. The rain was pouring down in sheets. The slick surface of the ledge made every step even more treacherous than the last. But you two made your way to the emergency fire escape.

You two raced down the long dangerous steps as you covered Jungwon, shooting at the men who tried to pursue and pulling Jungwon when bullets whizzed onto the metal of the staircase. As soon as you were on the wet pavement, your hotel room burst into flames.

Bullets licked your heels as you narrowly avoided death, making a run towards a bike parked on the side of the road. You immediately got to work, hotwiring the bike as fast as you could. While Jungwon clutched his arm but still covered you with fierce determination.

“Get on!” you yelled, though you couldn’t hear much over your heart racing in your ears. You and Jungwon quickly sped away into the maze of streets. You rode like a maniac, avoiding cars by just small fractions of millimeters. The shouts echoed behind you but before Lloyd’s men could even rev the engine of their cars, you were gone.

˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The rain still lashed against the window of the safe house, the dim light of a single lamp casting long shadows across the room. The air was quiet but filled to the brim with tension. You sat on the edge of the couch, your hands tightly clasped in your lap. Your mind swirled with worry. Your sister’s face flashed in your thoughts- innocent, unsuspecting, completely unaware of the danger the Phantom Codex posed to her. She was a high ranking government official, both of your lives were forced to be kept secrets from each other. Yet the bond you shared with her was unbreakable and eternal. And she was only in more and more danger, if anything, the ambush today showed just how open Lloyd was being with his attempts. It showed… just how ruthless he could be.

And Jungwon… he had risked his life, gotten shot all for you. He sat across from you, his injured arm freshly bandaged after extracting the bullet and disinfecting the wound. His posture was more relaxed, the chaos had taken a toll on him too but he handled it like it was a normal Tuesday. His eyes watch you, sharp gaze softened by concern.

“You’re too quiet,” he said finally, his voice breaking the heavy silence.

You looked up at him, your lips pressing into a thin line. “What do you want me to say, Jungwon? That I’m fine? That everything’s okay?” you shook your head, your hands tightening into fists. “Because it’s not. My sister is in danger, we just got ambushed by Lloyd’s men, and you–” your voice caught and you looked away.

“Me?” Jungwon prompted, leaning forward despite the strain it put on his arm.

You couldn’t live with the thought. The horrifying thought that… you could have lost him. You stupid, idiotic, funny, loyal, and annoyingly handsome partner. How could you live with yourself if his dimpled smile wasn’t there to brighten any situation? How could you live with yourself if his grounding presence wasn’t there to calm you before missions? How could you… live without him?

Your voice was trembling now. “You could have died. Do you even understand that? If you hadn’t pulled me away from that grenade–” you cut yourself off, exhaling sharply.

He whispered your name, but you wouldn’t hear it.

“No, let me finish,” you said, your voice rising. “You threw yourself in harm’s way without even thinking, and I–” you buried your face in your hands, your body quivering like you had been reduced to some little girl- not a world class spy. “I can’t lose you. Not like this. Not when we’re so close, and when I still–”

He was in front of you before you could finish, he was crouching despite the sharp pain in his arm. He placed his hands gently on yours as he pried them away from your face. You met his gaze and it was sharp, like he could see to the depths of your soul.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice steady. “I’m not going anywhere. Do you hear me? I’m right here, and we’re going to get that Codex. For your sister. For you. For us. But you’ve got to stop thinking the worst, or you’re going to drive yourself crazy.”

Your lower lip quivered but you nodded still. He was trying his hardest to comfort you, so despite the gnawing fear and doubt in your mind you believed him. Because when he was here with you, it felt like nothing in this world was impossible. Your eyes shimmered with tears, you refused to let fall, “You can't keep scaring me like this Jungwon.”

“I’ll try,” he said, his signature smirk softening into something more vulnerable and sincere. “But I’m not going to apologize for keeping you safe.”

You stared at him for a long moment, the weight of his words sinking in. He had done what he did, to protect you, he put his life on the line because he cared for you. Then something inside you broke– no, shifted. Before you could process what you were doing and meticulously overthink the consequences, your hands gripped the front of his shirt, and you kissed him.

It wasn’t soft or hesitant like the previous brushes of affection the two of you had. This kiss was deep, desperate, and full of the emotions that they two of you had buried for years. It was full of that desire that the two of you had danced around for so long. Your fingers curled tighter into his shirt, as though afraid he might disappear. He responded just as fiercely, his hands coming up to cradle your face, careful to avoid the still-tender bruises.

You couldn’t pull back from him- not until your last breath. Just like he had stood by your side promising to protect you till his last breath. But you had to when the air in your lungs ran out. Your forehead rested against each other as your breath came out in pants, mingling with his in the quiet room.

“I can’t lose you Jungwon.” you whispered out between pants. And this time when you looked into his deep brown eyes, you could finally decipher what they said. They declared his love and fear of losing you. But this time you didn’t dance around it. You faced the emotions head on, because now you finally had someone to love.

“Don’t get all mushy on me now sweetheart,” he said with a hint of his signature smirk in his voice, that now seemed to be something you could rely on no matter what.

Whatever this is, it isn’t perfect- far from it. But it's something that has been inevitable since you first saw the black haired man with his big boba eyes. And for a moment the tension lifted, and neither of you pulled away. You two stayed like that- close, vulnerable, and finally honest. It wasn’t easy and it definitely wasn’t perfect but it was real. And you knew that whatever came next, you would face it together.

˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Whispers of the underworld led you to this shining city. Monaco. But it wasn’t a whispering voice that had threatened you. No- Lloyd’s voice was firm and dangerous. ’You think your petty little agency will be able to protect your precious sister? I know where she is, I will get her- so have fun with your little lover boy while it lasts.’ and that's when the radio message had cut off.

Your agency was keeping your sister in lockdown. Apparently she knew something about a key? The key to unlock the Phantom Codex. Not just Lloyd but every criminal was racing to find her. You weren’t naive though. You knew there was only so much the agency could do. Criminals had their resources and they would stop at nothing for power.

That’s the reason your body was so tense as you leaned against the railing of the balcony. The shimmering city with its population of only the world’s most elite was alive this evening. The luxury and sports cars were lined up in front of the Casino de Monte Carlo. You had a clear view of the location where the Phantom Codex would be held. Lloyd apparently hadn’t let it out of his sight since the moment he got his hands on it. He had kept moving so no one could track him and steal his prized possession. Tonight he was here, and you had your sights set on it. Lloyd had no business with your sister and her information about the key if he didn’t have the Codex itself.

You practically jumped out of your skin when you felt his hands snaking around your waist. You grew even tenser before letting yourself bask in the way his lips moved slowly down your neck towards your shoulder. You weren’t accustomed to his affection but you had to say you weren’t complaining.

“You’re tense sweetheart,” he murmured when his mouth was right next to your ear. His breath fanning your skin, sent shivers down your spine.

“You were there Jungwon, he’s threatening her. My sister’s life is on the line..” you say as you stop his roaming hands. You had a really important mission to complete tonight. But he looked so damn irresistible when he stepped in front of you with the top buttons of his shirt undone, his sleeves rolled up to his elbow, and his smirk on his pretty lips.

“Baby, you have to trust that the agency will do their part,” he said as his hands remained on your hips, his thumbs tracing small soothing circles.

“You know that bastard Jungwon. He has the resources and the nerve, if we don’t get the Codex this time then its not only going to be my sister-”

Jungwon rested his hands on your cheeks as he tilted your head so you looked him in the eyes. “Hey. We’re not losing. Not yet. And not ever. You’ve got me, okay? I won’t let anything happen to her– or you.”

The rational part of you wanted to argue, to remind him that you’d already failed too many times, but the way he looked at you, so steady so sure. It made the rational side of you crumble as you believed his promise. Before you could say another word, he leaned down, pressing a soft reassuring kiss to your lips.

You stiffened in surprise once again, still not used to this gentler side of Jungwon. It was worlds apart from the cocky, aggravating partner you had grown used to. And yet, you resolve softened as you kissed him back, a reluctant smile tugging at your lips when he pulled away.

“I’m telling you, I should be handed an award or something- no normal person can get you to shut up as fast as me,” he teased, his familiar grin returning.

You rolled your eyes but the faint color in your cheeks gave you away. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, you kissed me anyway.”

Before you could retort, the shrill beeping of the burner phone you’d been using for intercepting communication interrupted you. Jungwon let his hands drop from your cheeks as he grabbed it. His face grew serious as he watched the small screen.

He held up the phone for you to see, “Lloyd is on the move,” he muttered, snapping the phone shut. “Looks like our Codex is on the move too.”

You nodded, already slipping into your professional mode. “Let’s go.”

˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The two of you were past all of the excitement and precarious bets of the casino, instead you were pressed behind a pillar. Lloyd and another criminal seemed to be having a meeting, maybe an alliance over the most powerful artifact in the world?

The air was filled with quiet but incriminating chatter as the two gave practiced smiles to each other. This was obviously going to end badly. So you planned to get the Codex and slip out before either of them noticed it was gone. It was almost time that the two powerful men would get up from the table to move to the bar. There was a sliver of opportunity when the Codex would be brought out by one of Lloyd’s men. Like you mentioned before- he wouldn’t let it out of his sight.

That would be the prime time where you could steal it right out of his dangerous hands and he wouldn’t even know till much later. That was the plan. The easiest, most simple plan. But there went Jungwon, with his killer instinct.

Right as the two men were about to move to the bar, some idiot criminal from the smaller leagues decided to get involved. You almost jumped in joy, this was perfect. All the focus was trained on that idiot and you and Jungwon could just slip in, get the Codex, and get out. You turned to tell Jungwon about the new plan- but when you turned to face him he was gone.

You cursed internally, you knew this would happen. Jungwon and his instinct, his need to do the right thing, his stupid moral compass. The criminal’s legs shook as he realized what a grave mistake he had made storming into the lion’s den. Jungwon though, didn’t seem to see the bigger picture. He stepped out from behind the marble pillar, his gun poised, he shot the two bodyguards that had the criminal in their grasp.

The criminal made a run for it but now the bullets rained onto you two. You forgot all about the Codex, in your mind now only one thought rang clear. Protect Jungwon. You lunged for him, pulling him back behind the pillar to shield him from the shower of hurt.

The men started making their way up the stairs but you were too fast. You grabbed Jungwon’s hand and pulled him behind you as you two ran for the window. The fall hurt, but not enough to forget the imminent danger the two of you would be in if you stayed here for any longer. You made a run for it and Jungwon wasn’t far behind. You were already fuming, this lead was very hard to find. It might even be your last one. Your last chance to protect your sister… After today’s events you knew Lloyd would try even harder to get to your sister. He didn’t want anything to hinder his progress to harness the power of the Codex.

˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

In the hotel room you were done. You had worked night and day for that lead, for what?? For Jungwon to help some charity case of a criminal? The tension followed the two of you inside like an unwanted guest. Every inch of you was radiating fury. Jungwon walked in behind you, quiet for once, knowing that the storm was about to hit.

“You have got to be kidding me,” you snapped, spinning around to face him. Your voice was sharp and your eyes set ablaze. “What were you thinking, Jungwon?!?”

He sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “I couldn’t just leave him there. He would’ve been killed.”

“And because of that, we lost the Codex. Again!” you shot back, your voice ringing. The fear of losing your sister was becoming far too real for your liking and right now- the only person to blame in your mind was Jungwon. “Do you even realize what’s at stake here? Do you even care?”

“Of course I care!” he said, his voice finally rising to meet yours. “But I’m not going to stand by and watch someone die if I can stop it.”

You laughed bitterly, throwing your hands into the air. “Great! You’re a hero. Congratulations!! Meanwhile Lloyd’s probably halfway across the world with the Codex. And you say that you can’t stand by and watch someone die?? Well that’s about to be my sister, and while you play the hero, I can’t even be there to save her life!”

Jungwon stepped closer, his jaw tight. “You think I don’t care about your sister? About the Codex? About you?”

“Actions speak louder than words Jungwon,” you said, your voice trembling with anger. “And your actions tonight told me that you’d rather play savior than focus on what actually matters.”

“Don’t you dare,” he said, his voice low and dangerous now. “Don’t you dare stand there and act like I don’t care. I’ve been right here with you, every step of the way. I’m the one who pulled you out of that explosion last week. I’m the one who's been patching you up after every mission.”

“And I’m the one who’s trying to keep us focused,” you snapped back. “You think I don’t see how reckless you are? How every time you're the one lets something slip, who makes us lose our lead?”

Jungwon took a step back, your words hitting him like a physical punch to the gut. “I’m doing my best, ___” he said, his voice quieter now but no less tense than before. “I’m not perfect, but I’m trying.”

“Trying isn’t good enough,” you said, your voice cracking. “We take so many lives everyday, it's our job. But you couldn’t let this one criminal die?? Even when my sister’s life is on the line??!”

There was a long pause, the weight of your words settling heavily between you two.

“You think I don’t know that?” he said finally. His voice was painstakingly raw. “You think I don’t feel that pressure every second of every day? That I don’t know if I screw up one more time, it’s all over?”

“Then why the hell do you keep screwing up?” you asked, your voice breaking now. You knew you were being unfair but you couldn't really bring yourself to care at the moment.

Jungwon looked away, his hands clenching at his sides. “Because I’m human, ___. I make mistakes. And yeah maybe I let my heart get in the way sometimes, but I’m not going to apologize for that.”

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “Your heart? Is that what we’re calling it now??”

“Yes,” he said firmly, stepping closer again. “Because whether you want to admit it or not, I care about people. I care about you. And I’m sorry if that gets messy sometimes, but it's the truth.”

You froze, your breath catching. He cared… he cared for you. For a moment, you looked like you might say something but instead, you turned away, pressing your hands to your face. Rubbing your temple in frustration.

“This isn’t about me,” you said after a long pause, your voice muffled.

“No, it’s not,” he agreed. “It’s about us. About the mission. About everything we’ve been through together. And if you think for one second that I don’t care as much as you do, then you don’t know me at all.”

You dropped your hands, turning back once again to face him. Your eyes were glossy, your anger had faded away into something more vulnerable. “I don’t know if I did the right thing. I don’t know if kissing you was right. And I don’t know if I can keep doing this,” you said quietly.

Jungwon was stunned for a bit, but he spoke again, his voice softer now. “You can. And you will. Because you’re the strongest person I know. And because I’ve got your back, no matter what.”

You shook your head, a stray tear escaping and slipping down your cheek. “You could’ve died tonight Jungwon. And for what? A stranger?”

“No, for doing the right thing.” He said simply.

You stared at him for a long moment, your emotions warred within you. Your undeniable care and love for Jungwon, and your worry for your sister and the millions of lives at stake. Finally you sighed, your shoulders slumping. “I don’t even know what to say to you right now.”

“Then don’t say anything,” he said, stepping closer and gently reaching out to take your hand in his own. “Just trust me. Please.”

You couldn’t help the way your breath hitched yet again at his touch. You didn’t pull away, but you didn’t look at him either, closing your eyes and breathing slowly. “I’m tired of losing, Jungwon.”

His grip on your hand tightened. He felt some hope flicker within him. “We’re not going to lose. Not you, not your sister, not this mission. I promise you.”

You finally opened your eyes and met his eyes. They were desperate and apologetic. Your heart made your gaze soften and the tension eased for just a moment. But just as fast, you pulled your hand away, your brain taking over now. You were never too good at thinking with your heart anyway.

“Get some rest,” you said, your voice steadier but colder now. “We’ve got some serious work to do.”

You could almost see his heart shatter. But he didn’t say anything, he just watched as you walked farther away. Farther away from whatever you two had started, farther away from his grasp, farther from these complicated emotions. He sighed, running a hand through his hair again.

“Good talk,” he muttered to himself before slumping onto the couch, the weight of the mission— and your fractured partnership– weighing heavily on him.

˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

You woke up in a daze as the incessant ringing of your laptop startled you out of your subconscious. You groaned as you sat up, the digital clock showed 4 A.M. You heaved your laptop from the bedside table and opened it. It showed a contact that looked suspiciously like… your sister??

You were suddenly wide awake as you accepted the call. “Hello? Sora? Is that you..?” you whispered. It looked like your sister, but her surroundings were dimly lit and she looked pale. Concern shot up inside you. “A-are you okay? Where is the agency keeping you?”

She was breathing hard, she looked around agitated, “Hey sis, slow down slow down. I’m okay- but I don’t have much time. I found something… about your Mrs. Kwon.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, Mrs. Kwon? Well she had been acting a bit on edge but this was a huge mission. Your voice wavered at her cautious tone and your chest tightened. “What’s wrong? And Sora, where are you? Did something happen?”

Sora hesitated before whispering, “I’m okay, I’m escaping from where the agency kept me. But Mrs. Kwon.. she’s planning to use it for herself.. I heard her talking about how the Codex would give her leverage over every agency in the world. She’s going to blackmail people, threaten them, and use it as a weapon to gain power. She doesn’t have the right intentions and she’s a dangerous woman with all that power already.”

Your mind reeled from the information, “No… that doesn’t make any sense. The agency, we’re supposed to stop people like Lloyd, not become like him. Mrs. Kwon hates people like him. She.. she wouldn’t do that.” But you knew that she could pull something like this off. Still.. It hurt. It hurt to finally find out that the organization you dedicated half your life to, thinking you were helping people, it actually was all a fluke.

Sora saw the confusion and the pit that was forming in your stomach. She sensed it through the screen. Her voice broke slightly. “I don’t think you know what’s really happening, _____. You can’t trust them, you can’t trust anyone. Please be careful. I’m scared for you.”

You swallowed hard, your throat tight. Still you manage to give her a reassuring smile that seemed uneasy anyway. “I’ll figure this out, Sora. Stay safe okay? I’ll take care of myself, I promise, and I’ll protect you too no matter what.”

Sora nodded and returned your smile before the screen went dark. You sat frozen, still stunned at the revelation, your mind spinning. The betrayal felt like a knife twisting in your gut. How could the place- no, the person you put so much trust into stab you in the back like this?? It was done, years of your life had been wasted away but you wouldn’t let Mrs. Kwon do this. You wouldn’t blatantly let her harm innocent people. In two quick actions, you grabbed the burner phone and took out the chip, crushing the feeble metal in your hand. Betrayal burned in the pit that had formed in your stomach, you would stop that crazy lady. No matter what.

You pushed open the adjoining door to Jungwon’s room. He was sprawled out on the bed, his chest rising and falling steadily, the faint glow of the moonlight casting soft shadows on his face. For a moment your breath hitched, he looked so peaceful, so ethereal, almost like an angel- but the memories from a few days ago started to rush in again. Your gaze went from starstruck to cold once more as you stepped closer to his bed.

“Jungwon,” you said quietly, but he didn’t stir.

You took a step closer as you gently nudged his shoulder. “Jungwon, wake up.”

He groaned as he rolled over to face you. His eyes were still closed though. “_____, if this is about my snoring again-”

“Get up,” you snapped, your voice cutting through his grogginess. How could he be talking about his obnoxious snoring right now?

He blinked up at you, his confusion quickly replaced with concern when he saw your expression. He was so attuned to your feelings… “What’s wrong?”

You crossed your arms, your jaw tight. “Sora called. She overheard something about the Codex and Mrs. Kwon.” you say as you sigh softly, the dread and betrayal still fresh in your mind.

Hearing about the Codex woke Jungwon up completely. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his expression serious now. “What did she say?”

You hesitated, your voice quieter now. God- even you couldn’t believe it yourself. “Mrs Kwon, she doesn’t want to destroy the Codex. She wants to use it— for blackmail, for power. Everything we’ve been through, risking our lives…. It's all been for nothing. It’s a lie Jungwon.”

Jungwon was shocked for a moment just as you were. His mouth opened but no words came out. You could see the gears turning in his head. Despite your recent… differences, you knew he had risked his life for it too. You knew he had been through what you had for the Codex. He felt the same way you did. He ran a hand through his hair, his brows furrowed, “are you sure about this?”

“She overheard it directly,” you say as you start pacing around the room, feeling restless. “And she told me not to trust anyone. Not the agency, not anyone.”

He leaned back against his hands, exhaling sharply. “Well that’s just great. So, we’re completely on our own now? I mean we can’t just go back there and ask Mrs. Kwon to stop being evil nicely right?”

You rolled your eyes at his childish words, you stopped pacing to shoot him a glare. “Pretty much. Which means we need to figure out what to do next.”

Jungwon observed you carefully. Your shoulders tensed, your eyes absolutely refusing to meet his voluntarily, and your not so gentle bite of your lip. “You’re still mad.” Jungwon voiced, softly.

You turned away from him but your shoulders were still tense. “Mad doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

“Hey,” he said, his voice impossibly softer now, “I get it. I messed up. But right now, we’ve got bigger problems than my poor decision-making skills.”

“You think I don’t know that??” you snapped, spinning to face him. The fire now present in your eyes as you met his. “But I can’t just pretend everything’s fine when it’s not. You almost got us killed for some random criminal. And now Sora is out of any semblance of protection because of our stupid agency.”

He stood up. His expression was unreadable but a hint of determination lingered in his eyes as he approached you. “You’re right. I screwed up. But if there’s one thing you should know by now, it's that I’m not going to give up. Not on the mission. Not on people. And definitely not on you.”

Your breath hitched, damnit, he was making those stupid unnecessary nagging feelings bubble in your chest. But you quickly looked away as you spoke in an ice cold tone. “Don’t do this. Don’t make this about us Jungwon. This is about the mission. About Sora. About—”

“This is about everything,” he didn’t back down. Instead his tone was firm as he continued. “And whether you like it or not, we’re in this together. So, you can stay mad at me if you want, but I’m not going anywhere.”

You clenched your fists. You hated this, the way you even had to choose between your anger and the comfort his words provided. But even after all of what had happened- you could never bring yourself to hate him. “Fine. But don’t expect me to trust you like I used to.”

“I’ll earn it back” he said easily like it was the simplest thing in the world. His gaze never faltered either. And as much as you hated to admit it, in this uncertain time you were glad to have Jungwon there. At least you knew you had someone who would never tire of you. Who was there even if he made your blood boil.

You held his gaze as you challenged him silently. But he never backed down.. He never gave up on you. You broke away from his eyes as you sighed deeply. “We need a plan.”

Jungwon nodded. “Then let’s make one, yeah? Together.”

You didn’t respond but still silently sat down at the small desk to start mapping out your next move. You couldn’t help but glance at him from the corner of your eye. For all his flaws, you knew one thing for certain— Jungwon would fight for you, for Sora, for this mission. And no matter how angry you were, part of you couldn’t help but feel grateful for that.

After destroying the chip in Jungwon’s burner phone too, you both sat down with your own laptops. It was time to dig, for a lead, for a radio message, for anything that would help.

It took a while, but after multiple hours of trying to find something- anything a lead popped up. Lloyd had become sloppy with one of his radio messages. He had said something about going underground for a while. His estate in Russia, no one would be idiotic enough to penetrate his heavily guarded and almost unreachable mansion…. Except the two of you of course.

˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The storm raged over the sprawling Russian estate, casting an ominous shadow over the towering walls and wrought iron gates. Lightning illuminated the sprawling mansion, its sharp spires cutting into the dark sky. Dark walls with crawling vines seemed to threaten and ward off anyone who dared to enter. Icy rain poured down in sheets as it soaked through the gear that adorned your body. The sound of thunder masked the faint rustle of movement as you and Jungwon crouched in the dense shadows near the perimeter.

“This place screams ‘villain lair’” Jungwon mutters, his breath annoyingly warming up the back of your neck. He adjusted the hood of his black jacket against the freezing rain.

“Focus,” You said sharply, your voice barely audible over the wind. You didn’t spare him a glance, your gaze fixed on the towering structure ahead. More specifically on the armed men who were about to exchange shifts in just a matter of minutes.

Jungwon sighed, casting a sidelong glance at you. “Wow you sound like you’re going to bite my head off. Personally, I think you should wait until after we grab the Codex to kill me, yeah?”

You didn’t respond. Pressing on to the side entrance you were going to infiltrate. It didn’t help that this was the most important mission of your life. The Codex was finally in your sight again. Not to mention that Sora was still on the move. No place was safe for her as long as the Codex was at large. It was also absurdly hard to get here after you had gone MIA from the agency. Mrs. Kwon seemed to have gone crazy because she stopped some of the most important missions to employ the agents to search for you and Jungwon.

But what was worse was the ever annoying tension. It was cold and biting like the air that howled around you two. You didn’t like to say that you held a grudge, but your anger still lingered like a storm of its own. And though Jungwon tried to break through it with his normal flattery and charm, you wouldn’t budge. Not yet.

You moved once again the moment the men turned their backs to change shifts. Stopping by the gate, you pressed yourself against the wall as you were met with the high tech digital lock. “This is it,” you whispered as you nodded to the door. The lock looked a bit advanced but it's nothing you couldn't handle. You knelt as you connected your hacking device into the lock. Your fingers were steady despite the icy rain that soaked through your gloves.

Jungwon knelt beside you, watchful eyes scanning their surroundings. “Still can’t believe you stayed mad this long. You know, if we die here, it’ll make for a tragic love story.”

You shot him a glare for bringing your personal relationships (or lack thereof) into the conversation. “If we die here, it’ll be because you can’t stop running your mouth.”

Not even a minute after the lock clicked. You pushed the door open and closed it just as the next guards arrived for their patrol.

The interior of the mansion was cold and dark, the air heavy with the scent of damp stone and expensive leather. You moved in silence, your footsteps muffled by the thick carpet as you made your way towards the vault. You had to snicker at the hideous pictures of Lloyd that decorated the walls. Him in nothing but leopard fur, him showing off his (nonexistent) muscles, one with two girls fawning over him, and yet another where he was sitting on a pony?? Goes to show just how self centered he was.

You kept your focus sharp as you two sneaked silently towards the vault. You were blatantly ignoring how Jungwon’s presence at your side felt like both a comfort and an annoyance . You couldn’t afford to be distracted right now anyways.

Jungwon, for his part, stole glances at you whenever he could. The tension between you was eating away at him. He hated the thought that you didn’t trust him anymore. He thought about this every time, but today it felt more real. This mission could be your last, and he would hate to have that happen with you still angry at him.

The vault was hidden behind a bookshelf in one of the many studies this estate had. You had thoroughly researched beforehand. There shouldn’t be any people in this part of the estate right now. You turned to Jungwon abruptly as both of you got in place. Your tone was just the slightest bit accusatory as you gave him an unreadable look. “Once we are inside, you know the plan. No distractions, no detours.”

“Understood boss,” Jungwon said, his hands raising in mock surrender. The two of you tugged at the two dark blue books on each side of the study. There was some mechanical whirring behind the door, as it opened with a hiss. The huge metal vault sparkled at you, just the menacing door stood before you and the Codex now.

You ignored the jab and turned back to the vault door. It was protected by an intricate keypad and a biometric scanner. You pulled out the small device again as you started working once again. The gloves you wore would bypass the scanner no problem.

“Time’s ticking..” Jungwon murmured, his ears on high alert for any sound outside the closed study door.

“Almost… there” you said your voice tight with concentration.

The lock disengaged with a heavy click, and the vault door creaked open. Inside, the metal room glimmered with Lloyd’s wealth. Gold bars, stacks of cash, priceless artifacts, ancient jewelry, huge jewels. But at the center of the room, bathed in the glow of a single overhead light, was the long behold Phantom Codex.

The codex was exactly as you had remembered it. How could you forget the piece of tech that had basically ruined your life anyway? Obsidian black, diamond shaped, etched with glowing cerulean symbols. It seemed alive, faintly humming as you listened carefully. You had to shake your head so you didn’t get entranced like everyone had at the gala in Paris.

“There it is,” you whispered, your breath catching.

“Finally,” Jungwon said, carelessly stepping forward. But before he could even take a single step closer the floor detected his weight. In an instant, lasers shot from the walls as ear blasting sirens rang through the sound of the storm.

“MOVE!!” you shouted, as you dodged the lasers skilfully but Jungwon beat you to it. He snatched the Codex from the pedestal.

“I’ve got it, lets go!!” he yelled as the both of you could hear the thunder of the probably hundreds of guards all swarming to your location.

You both made your way outside the study. You could taste the adrenaline as the window in front of you taunted you. But this time you would do it. This was your escape, your victory.

Jungwon ran as fast as he could, his focus was on the window just the same as you. The pounding of boots and shouting of the men spurred the two of you to go even faster. You were just a few steps behind him.

That’s when you stopped. The bullet flew through the air as you felt time stop. Your eyes darted to Jungwon’s retreating figure, then to the guards that grew closer. The bullet pierced your abdomen. You felt the stinging pain, not from the blood that stained your gear– no. It was from the realization that this was it.

Still you didn’t care. Jungwon had secured the Codex, he would do what’s right. And you had to protect him no matter what. Instead of running to Jungwon, you turned your back to him. Facing the absurd amount of guards that closed in onto you. For Jungwon.

But while you tackled one guard to the floor, you knew it. There were way too many. You still placed a kick to another one as they surrounded you. You were sloppy, your movements too slow. Another guard grabbed your arm as suddenly, someone else lifted the butt of their rifle, bringing it down onto your back harshly. You felt pain through your entire being as you inevitably blacked out, watching the window shatter just like your freedom.

You fell unconscious. Your body crumpled.

˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Jungwon jumped through the window. The glass shards cutting his face as the rain immediately greeted him in the courtyard. He clutched the Codex tightly against his chest. He turned back, adrenaline and victory coursing through him. He expected to see you, standing victoriously beside him. That satisfactory smirk gracing your lips anytime you both succeeded in a mission.

But his heart dropped. There was no sight of you. He felt his blood run cold as his chest felt like it was caving in on him. No! This couldn’t be happening. He didn’t feel the tears stream down his face because of the rain that poured down onto him.

You were captured. Gone from his protection into Lloyd’s demonic hands. His hands shook as he held onto the Codex. He promised himself that he would get it for you. But not like this. Not at this cost. “DAMNIT!!” He yelled your name as his brain finally caught up with the events happening.

Fear for you clawed in Jungwon’s chest, but more than that white hot rage burned through him. So much so that it threatened to consume his whole being. The what-ifs of what Lloyd could do lingered in his mind for just a moment, but they disappeared the moment he imagined you at that bastard’s mercy. His hands clenched and his jaw set as he stared back at the estate. No rational thought in his mind. He couldn’t think of anything else– didn’t want to. The mission, the Codex, everything else blurred into insignificance. You were all that mattered.

Jungwon moved through the stone halls like a man possessed. He was soaked to the core but he didn’t once shiver. He let himself think with his instinct and his instinct alone. Something you probably would have reprimanded him for. But it was his instinct that was guiding him to you.

The guards who crossed his path didn’t stand a chance. Anyone who dared to move towards him was struck with precision and speed. His movements were raw and fueled by a fire that burned hot inside him. A punch to the throat, a kick to the ribs, a quick disarm— he left them crumpled in his wake, barely sparing them a second glance.

The Codex was clutched tightly in his hand. The dark obsidian surface shone with rain. Every time some stupid guard tried to grab it, he twisted away, taking them down before they could make a move. Like the big burly men were some flies he needed to flick away.

He was there, he was at the inner sanctum now. He was breathing hard and his gaze deathly. His focus never wavering.

The room where you were being held was flanked by at least ten guards. They stiffened at the sight of Jungwon, their weapons raised. But the sight of his gaze and rigid form struck fear into their hearts.

Jungwon didn’t slow down. “Get out of my way,” he growled out. His voice was low, dangerous, and shaking with rage.

The guards still stupidly didn’t budge.

Jungwon lifted the artifact that they all were after up high. “If you idiots don’t move. I’ll destroy this thing right here and now.”

The threat worked. The guards exchanged glances. Debating if they should really move and face Lloyd’s wrath or Jungwon’s. One of them moved and the others followed. Their eyes showed uncertainty but watching Jungwon move swiftly they knew they would have been done for if they hadn’t.

Jungwon almost broke the heavy wooden door down, his heart pounding as his eyes immediately sought you.

The room was dim, the occasional burst of lightning illuminating it. It was freezing cold and Jungwon observed how there were no guards inside. You were on your knees in the center of the room. Your hands tied behind your back in a rough grip that would leave your wrists red. Your hair was damp still, plastered to your forehead. But your expression remained fierce. Your head held high despite the position you were in. You refused to give in to Lloyd no matter what.

Your heart leaped in frustration and unbelievable relief as Jungwon burst through the door. It was so damn frustrating that he had done this, risked his life and the lives of so many others just for… you. Only for you. You couldn’t help but observe how rigid his form was. The moment he lifted his head to look at Lloyd, it scared you. You had never seen him this uncontrolled, this angry.

Lloyd was stood behind you with a gun pressed to the back of your head. His face split into a wicked, wide, mocking grin as Jungwon entered the room. The Codex sparkling blue in his grip.

“Well well,” he drawled, his voice oozing amusement. “The knight in shining armor returns. I must admit, I didn’t think you’d be stupid enough to come back for your little girlfriend.”

Jungwon’s gaze was locked on you. His fury only heightened once he saw how Lloyd was holding you at gunpoint. He shook his head as he straightened up. “You don’t understand what I’d do for her.” he said his voice barely audible but full of anger.

“Jungwon!! NO!!!” you shouted, finding your voice once again. “You shouldn’t be here!! Take the Codex and go!!” The shout made your bullet wound in your abdomen sting with unbearable pain, as you gritted your teeth.

Lloyd chuckled, amused by the little display. He menacingly nudged the barrel of the gun into your skull. “Listen to her boy. She’s smarter than you are.”

Jungwon ignored the both of you. His expression was hard, no one could tell what ran through his mind. His focus was entirely you. The grip he had on the Codex tightened. “Let her go, Lloyd!”

Lloyd almost laughed. He raised his eyebrows “and what position are you in to make that demand? Besides, why would I do that?? She’s quite the leverage. You hand over the Codex, or I blow her pretty little brains out.”

“Jungwon!!” you said in a warning tone, a certain urgency in your voice. “Don’t. Don’t give it to him. It’s not worth it. I did this so you could escape!! SO GO DAMMIT!!”

Jungwon’s heart clenched at the barely masked fear in your voice. His mind still pissed that you cared more about the stupid artifact more than yourself. How could you be so blind? You had to have known. To Jungwon, nothing mattered but you. “You want the Codex? Fine. Take it.”

“Jungwon no!!!” You yelled in vain.

He strode across the room and without hesitation, Jungwon tossed the Codex across the room. It landed at Lloyd’s feet, and the bastard’s grin widened.

“Ah~ the hero sacrifices everything for the damsel. How predictable.” Lloyd kicked the Codex aside and turned his evil eyes toward Jungwon again. “But you’re a fool if you think this ends well for you.”

He cocked the gun.

Jungwon moved before Lloyd could even think to pull the trigger.

With lightning speed, he lunged forward, grabbing a knife from his belt and throwing it with deadly accuracy. His fury at its peak, his vision completely red. The blade sank into Lloyd’s shoulder, forcing him to drop the gun and stagger back with a howl of pain.

You fell forward as the gun was wrenched away from him, landing hard on the cold stone tiles.

Jungwon couldn’t see anything but rage. He was already on Lloyd, tackling him to the ground and landing a flurry of punches. The sickening sound of flesh hitting flesh echoed through the empty chamber. The only other sounds being Lloyd’s groaning and Jungwon’s labored breathing.

“THIS IS FOR HER!!” Jungwon growled loudly, slamming Lloyd’s head into the floor. The crack of his skull was loud and clear, but Jungwon didn’t seem to hear it. “For all the people you’ve made suffer. For everyone you’ve hurt. For everything you’ve done!”

Lloyd was done. He was lifeless, his body limp but Jungwon didn’t stop. Jungwon didn’t think of any intel, of what use he could have been. All he could think of was slamming his skull into the floor over and over and-

“Jungwon stop!” your voice cut through his haze of rage.

His eyes seemed to finally refocus as the anger slowly dissipated. His heart clenched when he looked over his shoulder at how you were struggling to your feet, your hands still bound.

“He’s done..” you said in a soft whisper. “We need to go.”

Jungwon’s chest heaved as he stared down at Lloyd, who was lifeless. After he scowled at him, his eyes narrowing, he nodded and stood. Pocketing the gun that laid close to Lloyd. He picked up the damned Codex before making his way towards you.

No words were exchanged between the two of you as Jungwon untied your hands with surprising gentleness. Considering how angry he had just been it was astonishing how he handled you like a porcelain doll. The moment that your hands were free, you threw your arms around him, burying your face into his strong chest. You felt an inexplicable amount of relief and warmth as you were finally able to wrap your arms around him once again.

“You… you’re an idiot, Yang Jungwon.” you whispered, your voice shaking as Jungwon felt you wet his jacket that he wore. He hugged you back tightly. His hands wrapped around your whole body as he pulled you close to him. You cursed as the pain shot up in your abdomen once more.

He immediately pulled back as his hands rested carefully on your hips, “___?? What’s wrong?” he said with big boba eyes that showed nothing but concern.

“I’m okay won, just got shot.” you told him, the smile on your face looking like an idiotic grin. The tears still shone bright in your eyes. You ran your fingers through his soft locks as your eyes darted trying to memorize every single detail of his beautiful face.

“Just???-” he was about to tell you off, when the door flew open. The remaining guards poured into the room, guns drawn and shouting commands in Russian.

You and Jungwon immediately broke apart, your instincts kicking in. Jungwon reached for Lloyd’s gun in his pocket while you ducked behind him, your sharp eyes scanning for an opening.

“We’re not out of this yet,” Jungwon muttered, his tone laced with a mixture of irritation and exhilaration.

You smirked at him despite the chaos. The dynamic between you two undeniably felt right again, “thought you liked dramatic exits.”

Jungwon tilted his head, just barely dodging a bullet that whizzed past. “That I do.”

Jungwon fired a few warning shots wildly into the air. Forcing the guards to take cover as the two of you darted for the hallway. The storm still raged outside but there was a hint of blue skies not too far from the gray clouds. Thunder rumbled as the pair of you sprinted through the sprawling mansion. The ache in your abdomen was still present but you could bear it, because the taste of freedom was too sweet.

“You could’ve reminded me about the cavalry!” Jungwon called out over his shoulder as you rounded a corner, narrowly avoiding another group of guards.

You scoffed, breathless but focused. “I didn’t think you would be stupid enough to actually throw the Codex to Lloyd, but here we are.”

Jungwon laughed, his sweet stupid laugh. It rang out in your ears the sweetest melody you’d ever heard. “Anything for you babe! You know that.”

You couldn't afford the butterflies raging within you, but god you couldn’t stop them either. Just like the foolish grin that spread across your face.

The hallways seemed endless, a labyrinth of opulent decor and deadly ambushes. Guards spilled out from doorways, but you and Jungwon moved in a seamless unit. You kicked a marble bust, sending it crashing into the path of the pursuers, while Jungwon threw his knife that found its mark in another guard’s leg.

Finally, the mansion’s main entrance came into view, its grand double doors flanked by a pair of guards. You didn’t slow down one bit though, your mind racing. You didn’t have a plan sure, but you had Jungwon and his killer instinct. “Left or right?” you hissed at Jungwon.

“Both,” his eyes twinkled as he veered right.

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the burst of joy as you saw the look in his eyes. You darted to the left, sliding low as you kicked one guard’s feet out from under him. Jungwon tackled the other, knocking his weapon away before landing a solid punch to his jaw.

The doors were pushed open by the two of you as the storm had seemed to ease up a bit. Rain still softly pelted you as you bolted down the stone steps toward the row of motorcycles parked outside. You flipped off the estate in the background, the grin not leaving your face. “HA!! You bastards!!”

You let out a breathless laugh as the two of you mounted the Kawasaki Ninjas. You grinned at Jungwon, for the first time in a while feeling the thrill of freedom and success. “How’d you know I’d have these ready?”

Jungwon revved the engine, smirking at you, “Because you’re you.”

“And what does that mean?”

“It means you're crazy detailed and brilliant as hell.”

Your stomach flipped at the unexpected sincerity in his tone, but there was no time to dwell on it. The two of you sped off into the night. Kicking back gravel and mud in your wake. Shots were being fired into the air but you were too far from the estate to worry about any of that.

˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The cool night air softly tousled your hair. The two roaring engines fell silent as the bikes came to a stop at a beach by the road. The two of you were far off the path of the storm and far enough away that Lloyd’s men weren’t catching up anytime soon. The air was biting at your skin but still it was calm. The only sound was the rhythmic crashing of the waves. The scene in front of you was truly breathtaking. Gray sands giving away to dark waves. Except the fact that the waves weren’t as black as they seemed. On occasion as some of them crashed onto the shore, they lit up to be an azure blue. Bioluminescence graced the waves curves and foam.

You had time to think. And while on the ride here you contemplated. Jungwon had done something foolish that had no guarantee of working out. But by some godly will it did. You couldn’t help but be just a bit pissed that you risked your life for him just for him to save you in the end. There was a small part of you that said to tell him off for it. Now that you were past the rush of adrenaline you could think clearly once more.

Jungwon had hopped off the bike shaking the water out of his hair. You couldn’t help but stop and stare for a second as he looked angelic. The moonlight illuminated his pale skin and the moon itself shone bright in his eyes. It’s like he was struck by the beauty of the moon. His broad shoulders tensed when he looked at you. Standing with your arms crossed and an unreadable expression on your face.

“I hope you know I’m not letting you off the hook. That was stupid what you did.” You say trying to sound stern but there was no real bite to your voice.

“I heard you loud and clear the first time.” He said with a chuckle leaning casually on his bike.

You huffed at his nonchalant attitude as you strode towards him. You poked his chest hard. “You threw the Codex at Lloyd like a fool! Do you realize how reckless that was?? You-“

“Saved your life?” He interrupted. His hand laced his fingers with yours as he leaned in closer. His voice dropped to something deeper, more serious.

You were frozen in place. It’s like your brain shut off once again when his hand was grasped in yours. He was way too close too. You could see the soft shadows so his eyelashes and his deep dimple poked out as he smirked. You opened your mouth to say something but the words died on your lips. He was right, he had saved your life. Again. You hated when he was right- you were supposed to be the smart one. You stared at him as your heart pounded for reasons you couldn’t entirely blame on anger.

“You put the entire world in danger,” you whispered, as if saying anything louder would break this perfect moment. “For me.”

His smirk softened into a smile as he brought his other hand up. Tucking a piece of damp hair behind your ear. His hand lingered for just a moment too long. He stared at you with so many emotions you couldn’t decipher them all. “Baby… you are my world.”

Your breath hitched. You were rendered completely speechless. The only sound was the waves beating on the shore and the thump of your heartbeat. The petname, the way his hand was still in yours, the way his eyes softened just for you. You didn’t think anymore, letting your instincts take over. Just like he would have done.

You grabbed him by the collar of his jacket as you stared into his moonlit eyes before your gaze landed on his lips. You shoved him against the side of his parked bike.

“You’re impossible.” You muttered, but the way your lips twitched threatening a smile betrayed your resolve.

“And you love it” jungwon managed to shoot back. His grin faltered the moment you pulled him down by his collar.

Your lips met in a collision of fire and fury, a kiss born of unspoken emotions and pent-up tension. It wasn’t soft or tentative; it was deep, desperate, and raw. The way your mouths moved in sync like they were trying to make up for lost time. The kiss was sure and firm.

His lips were soft, plump, and pillowy just as you had remembered them. You couldn’t lie and say that you hadn’t missed him. The way he slightly smiled into the kiss. His tongue darting out to trace the outline of your lower lip.

His hands found your waist. Making sure to be extra careful that he didn’t irritate the wound on your abdomen. But the way he slightly tightened his grip when his tongue finally entered your mouth, he was holding on like you might slip away again if he lets go.

Your hands were in his dark and damp locks as your knuckles curled around his soft hair. You tugged slightly, earning a low groan from him that vibrated against your mouth. The sound makes shivers run down your spine.

You pressed him harder against the bike. Your body molded to his in a way that felt like you were trying to crawl into his skin. His hands roamed over your back as he traced soft patterns, grounding you like an anchor in the moment.

“Jungwon-“ you whined when he pulled away for a breath. The sound only made him cup your cheek as he angled your head while he went in again. You couldn’t resist whimpering against his mouth when he caressed your cheeks with so much tenderness you could melt.

It wasn’t just a kiss— it was a release, a declaration, an unspoken promise. The world faded into the background, nothing seeming to matter more than the two of you right now. It only left the two of you, connected in a way that felt inevitable.

When you finally pulled apart, your breaths came in ragged gasps. Your forehead rested against his and your hands remained on his shoulder. You looked into his eyes. And you knew this was right, you’d never felt anything more intense than this. You needed Jungwon and the way he stared right back at you, you knew he needed you too.

“You drive me up a wall Jungwon. Don’t ever scare me like that again.” You whispered. Your voice breaking.

Jungwon chuckled softly as he ran his thumb over your cheek with love in his eyes. His own breathing uneven, “no promises.”

You stayed like that for a few moments. Wrapped up in each other. Just enjoying the other’s presence and touch. But you stepped back slowly, your hands trailing down Jungwon’s built chest before falling to your sides. Your gaze dropped to the object that stuck out of his pocket— the Phantom Codex, its dark, intricate surface glinting in the moonlight.

You slipped it out of his pocket. Staring at some stupid piece of tech that almost ruined your life and the lives of many more innocent people. The blue hue that it exuded along with the faint whisper of the symbols moving were almost trying to convince you to stop. But without hesitation you held it up in the air before slamming it against the asphalt with all your strength.

It was done. The Codex shattered into a million pieces, shards scattering across the sand. The sound echoed briefly before being swallowed by the night.

You straightened your posture as you turned to Jungwon. It was gone. Your sister was free and Mrs. Kwon’s evil plan had come to a halt. Your eyes were a mix of joy, fierceness, and determination.

“It’s over.” You stated simply.

Jungwon nodded, a small, proud smile tugging at his lips. He slipped his hand on your shoulder as he pulled you close once again. His lips brushed against the crown of your head. “It is.”

You had to gasp softly as the horizon began to blush with the first rays of dawn. Jungwon’s arm fell as he stared in awe at the world slowly emerging once again from the embrace of the night. The golden light stretched over the waves, illuminating the water in hues of pink and gold. The storm had long passed, and the gentle breeze carried the salty tang of the sea. The world was quiet, peaceful.

You felt the breeze nip at your skin as you hugged your arms around yourself. Jungwon noticed and he silently draped his jacket over your shoulders. You glanced at him, your lips curving into a small smile you didn’t bother hiding.

“You’re really laying it on thick aren’t you?” You teased, still pulling the jacket closer.

“Can you blame me?” Jungwon replied with a grin. He stepped closer to you standing by your side with his hands in his pocket like he wasn’t just making out with you a minute ago. “It’s not everyday I get to watch the sunrise with the love of my life who happens to be the woman who also saved the world.”

You tried to hide your blush but it crept up on you anyway. Your smile softened as your gaze returned to the horizon. The rising sun painting your face with warmth. You looked like you were glowing to Jungwon. But even with the warmth your thoughts were heavy. “We didn’t save the world- there is no saving it. We just stopped it from getting worse.”

“Same difference,” Jungwon said lightly. “And we’re not done yet.”

You nodded, your eyes scanning the open sea that stretched in front of you. “We’re on the run now. The agency won’t stop hunting us”

Jungwon smirked. Hid confident aura returning, “let them try princess. We’ve outsmarted Lloyd and destroyed the Codex. What’s a few corporate nerds?”

You rolled your eyes but you couldn’t suppress the laugh that escaped your lips. “You really don’t know how to take anything seriously, do you?”

“Not true,” he said, stepping even closer as his voice softened,. “I take us seriously.”

Your heart skipped a beat as you looked away desperately trying to hide the blush and idiotic grin that threatened to break. “Don’t get all sappy on me now.”

“Too late.” He grinned , reaching out to brush some hair out of your face. “____, we’re free now. No rules, no lies, no one pulling the strings but us. We can make a real difference, fight the way we want to fight.”

Your expression shifted, the weight of his words settling over you. For years, you had operated within a system that used people like tools. Simply sacrificing lives for power plays. Now, standing here with the man who had saved you from danger and yourself multiple times, you felt the stirrings of something your prior life hasn’t allowed: hope.

The sun crept higher. It’s light washing away the remnants of the night, and with it, the shadows of your past.

“If we are going into this chaotic world of crime, corrupt organizations, and horrible people. I’m glad you’re the one I’m doing this with.” Jungwon said suddenly.

You could hear your heart beating in your ears as you grinned like an idiot. “Good. Because you’re stuck with me Jungwon.” You wrapped your arms around his neck as you took him in again.

“No one I’d rather be with,” he whispered, his lips brushing against yours.

It was morning now. The sun had finally risen. The path ahead was clear despite the dangers that lurked at every turn. The rays washed both of you in warmth as your lips met for the nth time. Your life had only just begun, and it was going to be a wild ride.

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tiramissyoucake · 20 days ago

Note

"Reader who fucking despises Mark Grayson but is an Invincible superfan"

Dude pleaaaaase write a small story to that, image reader even being a bitch or somewhat a bully to mark, but he can't even take her serious since shes wearing his merch

"fuck you looking at?"

"um, is that... an invincible keychain?"

"yeah. So what? Wanna choke on it?"

"no, I uh... Looks good."

– 💪🏽

This is less a story and more a ramble because GGRRRR I LOVE THIS IDEA I hope u like this <3

Mark is never going to live down the loser allegations because he knows deep down, he's too excited to be on the receiving end of your hatred.

But the thing that really made him fall in love with you is when he saved you as Invincible one day from a collapsing building, and you looked up at him with an expression he's never seen on you— god you looked so in love with him he almost ripped his mask off and revealed it was actually him all along.

You were always so... guarded around him, glaring at him and calling him a weirdo for staring at you too long and scowling whenever he'd have to talk to you, your disgusted gaze made him feel so small (regardless of whether he was taller or not) and he'd immediately look down and fidget with his hands.

And now, the tables were turned, he sets you down nearby and watches you under the guise of concern for a citizen, you were actually flustered this time, thanking him with a stutter and looking anywhere but at him as you fixed your clothes and your hair, under the layering and accessories he caught a glimpse of an Invincible shirt, god you were so cute.

"Anything for my biggest fan." He gives you his best smile while pointing at your shirt, an embarrassed laugh escapes you as you try to cover it with folded arms. "Again, thank you...! I really admire you and everything you do for the city...!"

He could die happy here and now, this was the first non-hostile exchanged he's ever had with you and you didn't even know it was with him of all people; Mark, the loser comic geek from your school.

He gave you a casual salute before flying off to deal with the rest of the threat, he could feel your gaze following him, ever since then he's been on cloud nine.

The following days since then, you're more freaked out by his behaviour, he's staring way more than he usually does. You had to restrain a groan as he approached your locker. "Hey, (Name)? I wanted to ask—"

"Thought I told you to fuck off, Grayson." You immediately responded, you could recognize that infuriating unsure tone anywhere.

"Well— I was gonna ask if you have a partner for that biology project?"

"... uh-huh, and why would I partner up with you?" You shut your locker, readjusting your bag on your shoulder.

Mark blinked before continuing. "Wh- Uh, well... because we're in the same biology class? And we.. both don't have partners?"

"Never noticed you there." Ouch, okay. Not the worst he's heard from you. "I have a partner, bye."

"Wait! Seriously..? I asked everyone and no one—" Mark paused when you groaned and whipped your head to look at him. "Can you stay out of my damn business?! My answer is no, go beg for another partner, creep!"

Your response left no room for an argument or a reply, and neither did the annoyed expression on your face. Mark raised his hands in surrender and watched you turn away, mumbling profanities about him, something something 'fuckin' geek'

He would've been dejected but he saw the cutest miniature figure charm of his hero alter ego hanging off the zipper of your bag, swinging back and forth with every step you took and he immediately remembered that cute timid girl who thanked him oh so sweetly for saving her life. He was sure if he peeked into your locker, he'd see posters or pictures of Invincible hung up for either moral support or pure admiration.

Your back was turned to him as the smuggest smile made its way onto his lips, you'd be wrapped around his finger soon enough, he just needed to play a little waiting game- him and his 'good friend' Invincible got all the time in the world.

#your stars have aligned .•°✧✦✧#invincible x reader #mark grayson x reader

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ka1rin · 3 months ago

Text

Tension

Sae Itoshi x Reader , wc: 3.1k , genre: smut

MDNI! contains & themes: hate sex, enemies to lovers, p in v, teasing

It was a well known fact at your school that you and Sae Itoshi absolutely hated each other. No one could pinpoint exactly when it started, but the mutual disdain had been there for years.

Maybe it was the way Sae thought the world revolved around football, completely ignoring everything else. School events? Group projects? Cleaning duties? Sae was always absent, choosing to spend his time practicing or playing matches. It infuriated you how he'd get away with it, just because he was the star player.

Meanwhile, you were the complete opposite. You threw yourself into every school event and project, often leading committees and organizing programs. So every time Sae's name would pop up on a list and he wouldn't show, you'd end up picking up the slack. And oh, you let him know about it.

"You could at least pretend to care about something other than football," you snapped at him once after an event where you ended up staying late because he didn't show up to help.

He didn't even glance up from his phone. "Not my problem."

That nonchalant attitude of his made your blood boil. Meanwhile, Sae hated you for entirely different reasons. In his eyes, you were nothing more than an annoying perfectionist who constantly nagged him. Every time you got in his face about responsibilities or schoolwork, it only reinforced his belief that you were too uptight, too controlling.

"You should stop trying so hard," he told you once, his tone flat and bored. "It's pathetic."

The animosity between the two of you was so obvious that even the teachers knew better than to pair you up for anything. But fate, or your English teacher had other plans.

The sun blazed through the classroom windows as your teacher's voice echoed in the room. You were already annoyed, scribbling notes while Sae sat at the back of the class, leaning back in his chair, looking half-asleep.

"Sae Itoshi, see me after class," the teacher said sharply, snapping her fingers to get his attention.

You smirked, glancing over your shoulder. For once, it looked like karma was catching up with him.

When the bell rang, you were packing up your things when your teacher called your name. "(Y/N), stay for a moment, too."

You froze, narrowing your eyes. Whatever this was, you already didn't like it.

Sae stood in front of the teacher's desk, his arms crossed, his usual stoic expression firmly in place. You joined them reluctantly, your annoyance bubbling at the thought of having to deal with him for even another second.

"Alright, Sae," the teacher began, folding her arms. "Your grades in English are unacceptable. If you fail another test, you'll be ineligible for the football tournament."

You suppressed a laugh, but the smirk on your face was hard to hide. Sae's expression, though subtle, faltered for just a second.

"And you, (Y/N)," the teacher continued, turning to you. "Since English is your strongest subject, I'm assigning you as Sae's tutor."

"What?" you and Sae said in unison.

"This is ridiculous," Sae muttered, his voice cold.

"And I don't have time to babysit him," you added, crossing your arms.

The teacher raised an eyebrow, unimpressed by either of your protests. "You'll make time. This is non-negotiable. I expect you two to work together every afternoon until Sae's grades improve. That's final."

The classroom fell silent as your teacher walked out, leaving you and Sae behind with an awkward air of tension. You sat on one end of the desk, arms crossed, glaring at him. He, of course, looked completely unbothered, as if this was all a waste of his precious time.

"Okay," you began sharply, "we'll meet at the library tomorrow after class. Be there by 4 PM, and don't be late."

Sae raised an eyebrow, his tone as flat as ever. "The library? No thanks."

You scowled. "What do you mean, 'no thanks'? That's where people study."

He shrugged. "Too many people. It's noisy, and I don't want anyone seeing me being babysat."

Your irritation flared instantly. "Babysat? This is tutoring, not babysitting. And maybe if you actually cared about school, we wouldn't even have to do this!"

Sae ignored your outburst, pulling his phone out of his pocket lazily. "Let's just do it at my place. It'll be quiet, and I can focus better."

Your eyes narrowed. "Your place? Are you kidding me?"

He met your glare with a bored look, like you were the one being unreasonable. "What's the problem? You scared or something?"

That last comment struck a nerve. "Scared? Of you? Not in a million years."

"Good," he said with a faint smirk. "My place. 6 PM. Don't be late."

Before you could argue further, he turned and walked off, leaving you fuming in your seat.

By 6 PM, you stood outside Sae's house, clutching your bag and muttering complaints under your breath. This was not how you envisioned spending your evening. When the door finally opened, there he was, leaning casually against the frame in his hoodie and sweatpants.

"Took you long enough," he said.

"You said 6 PM. It's 6 PM," you snapped, brushing past him as you stepped inside.

His house was annoyingly perfect, modern, clean, and minimalistic. It looked like a magazine photo shoot, which only irritated you more.

"Nice place," you muttered sarcastically, dropping your bag on the coffee table.

Sae ignored your tone, sitting on the couch and grabbing a pen. "Let's just start."

You sat across from him, pulling out your notes. "Alright, let's review your grammar mistakes from the test. Here's what you got wrong—"

"Do we really have to go over every single one?" he interrupted, leaning back.

"Yes, because you clearly don't understand the basics," you shot back, already losing patience. "You can't just skim through this stuff and expect to pass."

"And you can't just lecture me like I'm some clueless idiot," he replied, his voice calm but sharp.

"Well, if the shoe fits," you said, unable to stop yourself.

He sat up straighter, his eyes narrowing. "You know, you're really annoying."

"Funny, because you're really disappointing," you snapped. "Do you even care about anything other than football? Do you even realize how much everyone else has to pick up the slack because you can't be bothered to show up or help?"

Sae's jaw clenched, and for the first time, you saw something like anger flash in his usually calm eyes. "I didn't ask for anyone to pick up my slack. I didn't ask for your help, either. If you hate this so much, then why are you even here?"

"Because I was forced to help you!" you yelled, standing up and glaring down at him.

He stood up too, towering over you slightly. "You think I wanted this? You think I need you to save me? If I wanted to, I could pass this class on my own."

"Oh, please," you scoffed. "If you could pass on your own, we wouldn't even be here right now. Just admit it—you're all talk, no action."

Sae's expression hardened, his voice dropping to a quiet, almost dangerous tone. "And you're so obsessed with being in control that you can't handle it when things don't go your way."

His words hit like a slap, and you opened your mouth to retort, but before you could, he continued, his voice softening in a way that threw you off completely.

"You're exhausting," he muttered, his gaze flicking to yours briefly before dropping. "But... I guess I don't hate it when you're around."

You froze, your heart skipping a beat. "What did you just say?"

Sae's eyes widened slightly, and for the first time, he looked genuinely flustered. "Nothing. Forget it," he said quickly, turning away and sitting back down. "Let's just finish this."

Your mind raced, and you sat down slowly, unsure of what to make of what just happened. The tension in the room was suffocating, but neither of you dared to say anything about it.

The session had spiraled into chaos—or at least, that's what it felt like. Sae had been working through his workbook, and you had been mindlessly scrolling on your phone. That's when you stumbled upon the clip of his last game, where he'd scored the winning goal. Of course, the caption sang his praises: "Sae Itoshi: MVP, the genius striker!"

You rolled your eyes, scoffing as you double-tapped the post.

"What's so funny now?" Sae's voice was sharp, cutting through the quiet like a knife.

You looked up at him, irritated by his tone. "Nothing. Just people hyping you up again like you're some kind of god or something."

His expression darkened. "Let me see."

"Why do you even care?" you shot back, standing up and walking over to him. "Here. It's just this post. Chill out." You leaned over, holding the phone toward him.

But he didn't look at the screen. Instead, his sharp eyes locked onto yours. "You're always like this," he said, his voice low but laced with irritation. "Always in my face, always acting like you know everything."

"Maybe if you weren't so hopeless, I wouldn't have to!" you snapped, standing up straighter.

"And maybe if you weren't so annoying, I wouldn't ignore you half the time," he fired back, standing up as well, towering over you now.

The tension in the room was unbearable, the air thick with unspoken words. You didn't back down, stepping closer. "You think ignoring everything makes you better than everyone else, don't you?"

"Maybe it does," he said, his tone sharp. "Better than someone who can't stop running her mouth."

You glared at him, your heart racing as your faces were now just inches apart. "God, you're so—"

Before you could finish, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you forward, his other hand gripping your jaw as his lips crashed into yours. It was messy, desperate, and caught you completely off guard.

For a moment, your mind blanked. All the anger, the frustration, the years of clashing with him—they all melted away as his lips moved against yours, firm and unyielding. His hand slid from your wrist to your waist, pulling you closer.

You froze for a second, shocked, but then something inside you snapped. Without thinking, you kissed him back, your hands clutching the front of his shirt as you pushed against him with just as much intensity.

The chair behind him scraped the floor as he backed up, pulling you with him. His hands tightened on your waist, guiding you closer, until your body was flush against his. The kiss deepened, his lips parting slightly as his tongue brushed against yours, stealing the air from your lungs.

Your hands slid up to his shoulders, gripping tightly as if you needed something to ground yourself. The kiss was heated, every ounce of pent-up frustration pouring into it. You didn't care about the argument anymore, didn't care about why you hated him or why this was happening, you just didn't want it to stop.

He pulled back just enough to catch his breath, his forehead resting against yours, his breathing uneven. His eyes were half lidded, the usual coldness in them replaced by something much more intense.

"You're infuriating," he muttered, his voice rough and breathless.

"Right back at you," you shot back, your voice just as unsteady. But instead of pulling away, you leaned in again, pressing your lips to his once more.

This time, it was slower but just as fiery, his hands exploring your sides as yours tangled in his hair. The heat between you was overwhelming, and you couldn't bring yourself to care about how far things had escalated.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless, your lips swollen from the intensity. The room was silent except for the sound of your heavy breathing.

"...So," you said after a long pause, trying to catch your breath, "was that supposed to shut me up?"

His lips curved into a small smirk. "It worked, didn't it?"

You rolled your eyes but couldn't fight the small smile tugging at your lips.

The air was thick with tension, the heat between you and Sae undeniable after the kiss you'd shared. But it wasn't over. Neither of you could quite look away, as if the intensity between you was drawing you in further.

You took a step back, still a little rattled, but your body didn't quite follow the command of your mind. The silence hung in the air until Sae broke it, his voice a low growl.

"Fuck this studying," he muttered suddenly, pushing the workbook aside.

"What?!" you sputtered, staring at him, incredulous. "We were supposed to—"

Before you could finish your sentence, he yanked you toward him. "Shut up," he commanded, his grip firm as he pulled you down onto his lap. You gasped in surprise, your heart pounding as his hand pressed firmly against your back to keep you in place.

Your breath caught in your throat as you found yourself perched on his lap, your face dangerously close to his. The heat between your bodies was undeniable, your pulse hammering in your ears.

"Sae! What the hell?" you snapped, trying to push him away, but his hands quickly cupped your face, holding you still.

"I'm done pretending," he muttered, before his lips descended on your neck, kissing you with unexpected urgency. Your body froze as you felt the warmth of his mouth against your skin.

"Stop, Sae!" you gasped, but his lips didn't stop moving, trailing down your neck, and you felt yourself give in to the sensation, your heartbeat accelerating. His hands slid around your waist, pulling you closer, and all at once, you felt like you were drowning in the tension.

Then, before you even realized what he was doing, he pressed a quick peck to your lips—teasing, fleeting, as if to remind you of how easily he could break your resolve.

"Now we're talking," Sae whispered, his voice low and gravelly as he looked at you, his eyes darkened with something more intense than annoyance.

You were still trying to catch your breath, heart racing, as his smirk only grew. "What the hell is wrong with you?" you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckled, his fingers gently caressing your jaw. "I could ask you the same thing." His smirk softened, and before you could react, his lips were on yours again, this time without hesitation.

You kissed him back, the intensity of it surprising you both. His hand slipped down your back, pulling you flush against him, and you could feel every muscle in his body tighten. The kiss grew deeper, his lips exploring yours as if trying to stake a claim.

You felt something hard and firm shift beneath you as you sat on Sae's lap. Your face flushed crimson, knowing exactly what it was, his considerable length stirring against you through his pants. Sae's smirk deepened, his hands firmly planted on your waist, pulling you slightly closer.

As Sae pulled you closer, your hips instinctively began to move, rubbing your wet panties against his now throbbing length. You moaned softly into his mouth as he captured your lips again, his smirk turning into a deep, hungry kiss.

Sae's right hand left your waist to reach between your thighs, his fingers deftly flipping up your short skirt to expose your soaked panties. He rubbed your sensitive clit in slow, deliberate circles as you continued to grind your core against his hardness, your moans and whimpers music to his ears.

Without warning, he grabbed your thighs and lifted you onto the nearby table. His hands moved to his belt buckle, undoing it with a clink. He slowly pulled down his pants, revealing boxers that strained against his impressive size.

With one smooth motion, he removed his boxers, revealing his massive, throbbing member glistening with precum. He stepped closer, lining himself up with your still-covered pussy. Teasingly, he rubbed the head of his cock along your wet panties, causing you to whimper. "S-Sae...please.."

What do you want me to do?' Sae asked teasingly, his voice low and husky as he continued rubbing his hard cock against your soaked panties. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing your ear, 'Say it, y/n. Tell me exactly what you need.

"I need you inside me, Sae..." you whimpered desperately, your body aching with desire. Sae flashed you a devilish grin, 'Good girl,' he praised, his voice dripping with desire. In one swift motion, he tore your panties off, exposing your soaked pussy

He then rubbed his cock on your clit, moving down slowly till he reaches your hole. "Fuck"Sae groaned as he slowly pushed forward, the head of his thick cock easing past your tight entrance. Your pussy clenched around him, hot and slick. He paused, letting you adjust to his size before slowly sinking deeper with each inch, stretching you deliciously.

He began with a slow, steady pace, allowing you to feel every ridge and vein as he stretched you open. 'Fuck, you're so tight,' he grunted, his hands gripping your hips tightly.

As Sae quickened his pace, his thick member pounding into you, he reached down to tease your sensitive bundle of nerves. He circled his fingers around your swollen bud, rubbing in slow circles as he thrust into you deeper and faster. "Sae... Sae..." you whined, chanting his name like a prayer.

"...Sae! Sae! Oh god, Sae!' you whined, your voice rising to a desperate chant as he fucked you senseless. Your hands scrabbled at the table, your back arching as he hit that sweet spot inside you over and over.

Your pussy began fluttering around Sae's cock again, signaling another impending orgasm. 'Close already?' Sae murmured teasingly in your ear. Without waiting for a reply, he whispered urgently, 'Cum for me, baby. Soak my cock with your juices.'

As soon as those words left his lips, your body betrayed you, convulsing with another powerful orgasm. 'Fuck!' you cried out, your nails digging into his arms. With one final deep thrust, Sae let out a guttural moan, 'I'm fucking cumming..."

Both of you collapsed against each other, chests heaving as you shared labored breaths. A slow, satisfied smirk spread across Sae's face as he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead.

Sae slowly pulled out, watching your release trickle down your thighs. He looked around at the scene - books you meticulously prepared for his lessons thrown everywhere, pages wrinkled and wet with your arousal.

Sae teased, picking up a book and flipping through the soggy pages. 'So, are we still studying?' You rolled your eyes and muttered a curse under your breath. 'Fuck you,' you said, but Sae just chuckled and said, 'Stay here, it's late.

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bywons · 1 year ago

Text

𖧷 HEARTSHAKER — LHS

⌕ lee heeseung doesn't know what he wants from his rival, better marks or a kiss

pairing. student!lee heeseung x student!fem! reader wc. 1.4k tw/cw. jealousy, kissing genre. academic rivals to lovers, fluff, highschool au sru's note. requested for my nini love ♡ shitty title ik but i hope ya'll like cuz i dont T0T ( CATALOGUE?! )

¤ feedbacks and reblogs are always appreciated! PLS REBLOG ♡

96 out of 100.

thanks to the almighty above that lee heeseung is tired, the basketball jersey stuck to his back, sweat covering his face and colouring the red fabric darker as he pants for his breath, or else the test paper in his hands would have been crumpled and ripped to shreds.

not because of his number obviously.

“99, i knew i rocked this paper!”, a dulcet, familiar voice floats up to heeseung's ear from behind him, followed by a mean eye roll from him and his stance still. heeseung doesn't bother to turn around, not when he recognizes the infuriating feminine voice and already visualises the usual dark brown braids hanging by the either sides of her face, school tie too tight and almost reaching the last button of the shirt.

“why the long face?”, jake's interruption breaks heeseung out of his trance, as he takes the much unwanted seat beside him, “96 not enough for ‘ya?”

“oh shut up”, heeseung returns jake’s scoff slamming down his physics answer sheet against the wooden table. both heeseung and jake know it's not enough, whether it's a 96 or a 99 ’cause,

“it's never enough unless i cross y/n’s marks”, heeseung sighs, the answer sheet dampening under the pressure of his sweaty hands, as his forehead became the victim of the other.

everyone in the class is aware of the cutthroat competition and abhorrence between the two brunettes, already expecting the usual bickering episode between the two whenever it was time for exam results, and even if by chance someone got the same results as any one of them, they'd do their best and not bother the two.

but today is different, today heeseung doesn't find his usual energy to bicker with the braided girl sitting at the back of the class, not when she managed to beat him thrice in a row at his own game!

“last time it was a marks’ difference and now three? how is this even possible?”, heeseung groans while flipping the sheets over and over as if something magical would happen and increase his numbers.

“i heard park sunghoon's been studying chemistry with her,” jake sighs, pushing his fingers through his dark hair as he turns his head to the side, but his eyes steal a glance at heeseung, and he smirks, “‘ya know, the chemistry toppe—”

“yeah yeah i got you jake, i know who he is”, heeseung presses the bridge of his nose a bit too hard, the familiar face of the boy floating up to his vision, though he can't remember where his loved moles are on him. oh how all the girls are head over heels for park sunghoon.

is y/n one of them too? he could swear they're hanging out too much.

stupid thought, stupid stupid thought. heeseung winces at his sudden curiosity, why is giving this matter so much thought? he doesn't like y/n anyway, he doesn't like her bickering, he doesn't like her annoying attitude, he doesn't like her hair, he doesn't like her scent and he definitely doesn't like her smile. so lee heeseung shouldn't really get his head messed up in this.

the school bell rings, bringing out new tedious groans and sighs from the students as they dawdle to their next classes.

“i think she's coming here—”

“don't you have a physics class to be at, jake?”

“yeah yeah shoo me away all you want to”, jake scoffs, a smirk playing at his lips when he slings a bag on his shoulder before leaving the class, “bet you can't shoo away her.”

and before heeseung even knew it the class was empty, except him and as empty, dispersed out in the crowded hallways to their next classes. that is unless the previous dulcet but annoying voice came closer to heeseung.

“heeseung!”, you chirp, approaching him from behind, “how was your paper?”

“ugh what do you—”, heeseung's anger dies down when he turns around to face you, your hair's not done into braids today, instead it's let open with your tie loose this time, a few drops of sweat sticking to your forehead, dance practice maybe? “—w-want?”

“your marks of course,” you giggle at his stutter, taking a seat beside him, “wanna make sure if i beat you or nah.”

“yeah you did, but not on your own huh?”, heeseung scoffs, looking down at you. he realises his heart skips a beat when you tilt your head to the side, holding eye contact.

not good.

“huh? what do you mean heeseung?”, you pout, acting ever so confused by his accusation, “not on my own?”

“oh come on, the whole class knows it now”, heeseung rolls his eyes, “park sunghoon, rings any bell?”

“oh hoon?”, you grin, covering your mouth and suppressing a small giggle, “he did help me a lot with chemistry, he's so sweet!”

heeseung doesn't realise his face is getting hotter and redder by the minute, both by your presence and the pronunciation of somebody else's name. he has a nickname already? hoon? no way, you have only ever interacted with him, whether it was bickering or asking for notes or silently sitting beside each other. so how did this other guy pop up?

“hoon,” heeseung mumbles his nickname, his eyes searching for something in yours and he doesn't even notice he's sounding jealous, “how are you guys so close already…”

“well he's been tutoring me chemistry for a month now—”

“a month?!”, heeseung's brows lift up and his jaw hangs open.

heeseung doesn't know if he likes your new look, the way the curls of your hair rests on your shoulders, the way your tie is loose from your neck and the way your head tilts to look at his, heeseung's heart skips a beat and it knows something is wrong.

“why? is something—” your lips fall apart, a soft blush takes place on your cheeks and you giggle again, in a teasing tone you nudge heeseung's arm, “aww are you jealous?”

“what? don't be ridiculous now.”

“heeseung is jealous, you are jealous, you are jealous j-e-a-l-o-u-s”, you continue this song, nudging heeseung and teasing him more and more, causing his cheeks to heat up, eyes turning back to the open window and then back to yours.

“shut up y/n, you're not funny”, he scowls, the soft breeze enters the empty classrooms and hits the both of you like a refreshing wave.

and in that moment, through your teasing manner, the empty classroom, the echoes of your laughter and the soft breeze caressing your hair, your long dark hair that matched his and the way his heart skipped a beat, the way his heart always skipped a beat while you were around, he realises it's something good.

“if you shut up now i swear y/n”, heeseung tried and kept his best ‘angry at you’ acting.

“oh really? then why don't you make me?”, a soft chuckle leaves your lips and you squint your eyes.

it happens all so fast, heeseungs soft lips on yours, falling right into place. it tickles you a bit like feathers and pulls you in, until you realise that's his hand snaking around your waist. the kiss was delicate, caring and brought so much warmth from a person you only argued with.

you gasp for air, first one to pull back.

you meet his eyes, scurrying through yours and cheeks all red, probably embarrassed of what he did. the kiss quickly coloured your cheeks, a shy smile playing around your lips and a small glint in your eyes.

“i-i don't know what i did—”

“its okay heeseung”, you shush a nervous heeseung, the proximity increasing the pace of your hearts, “do you like me?”

“i love you”, heeseung answers almost instantly, “i love everything about you.”

“me too”, heeseung is the most relieved as he hears this, that hoon guy got nothing on him now. he's the winner.

“so, are we gonna date then?”, he chuckles.

you nod, “let's surprise the class together!”

lee heeseung doesn't know what he wanted when he got his answer sheets. better marks than y/n, a bickering episode with her, or maybe her to fall in love with her? he doesn't know.

a smirk falls upon his lips and he pulls you closer by your waist. he looked ever so magical and beautiful up close, that you wish the bickering had died down earlier.

“whatever you say, pretty girl”, he leans in for a second kiss, indulging himself more into you, he swears his heart will beat out of the chest as soon as his free hand makes contact with your dark strands of hair.

outside the class stands a grinning jake with a bored sunghoon, and a quite high five is shared between the two, carefully peeking inside.

(📌) :: TAGLIST IS OPEN! @euncsace @ii-nu @leaderwon @dimplewonie @yrhome @heartswonn @jwonistic @aaa-sia @ashtxrie @kgneptun @lilacnini @haechansbbg @river-demon-slayer @in-somnias-world @teddywonss @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @mylstserenade @branchrkive @aishigrey @nctislifue @greyminyoon1 @ro-diaries @rikibun @sleepyxxhead @belowbun nets! @/k-labels

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heartlessvirgo · 3 months ago

Text

Ojitos Lindos

Summary:

A fresh-faced DEA agent, new to Colombia, has zero time for Javier Peña after he leaves her hanging once.

Paring: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+MDNI, Swearing, Kissing, heavy petting, protected sex, oral, butt stuff kinda? Drug use, Mention of weapons and kidnap.

Word Count: 10.4K

part 2

A/N: Jesus Christ, this one really got out of hand. I always do this, I need to learn how to stop yapping and make my stories shorter lol. I apologize in advance for this one guys. Anyways, I hope you like this one.

You were an idiot. Plain and simple. You’d done dumb, even dangerous shit in college, but this? This was next level. Pathetic. And you knew it. Still, you couldn’t stop the flush in your cheeks every time the restaurant door swung open.

You were smart—everyone had told you your whole life. Top of your class, with a dual degree in Criminology and International Relations. So, how could you fall for something like this? Life just had to knock you on your ass at least once, and apparently, this was the time.

Stirring the cherry in your rum and coke, you noticed your lipstick had smudged from the copious times you'd licked your lips raw. It was hopeless. When you slammed the pesos on the table and stormed out, there was only one thing you were certain of.

Fuck Javier Peña.

Right after the New Year, you transferred to the DEA’s Colombia office—a move you had meticulously planned for years. This was the culmination of countless late nights spent buried in textbooks while your peers were out living their carefree college days. Now, in your mid-twenties, you have the credentials and the career to validate your sacrifices.

The initial weeks felt like stepping into a dream. The sunlit days, the vibrant culture, and the sense of purpose invigorated you. You had bought a new wardrobe to handle Colombia’s sweltering heat, eager to embrace the change in climate and your life. This was your moment—a chance to shed the reserved persona and finally unlock the vibrant, confident woman you had always felt trapped beneath layers of responsibility and caution.

That's why, after your first week, when Agent Peña noticed you, it felt like everything was falling into place. He was unbelievably handsome, undeniably skilled at his job, and you couldn't help but notice had a tight ass in even tighter jeans. It was a heady combination—one that made you think, just for a moment, that maybe things would go your way.

He asked you out in that casual, sly way—one that should've been a red flag. Right by the copy machine, just as you bent down to grab a manila folder. But you didn’t see it then. You were new, and no one had warned you—not that you would have listened. So, you got ready hours in advance, took a taxi to the restaurant, and waited.

He never showed. Not a word afterward either, no acknowledgment that you’d waited over two hours at the place he told you to meet him. From that moment on, you swore you’d give him a hard time whenever you could. Javier, with his stupid smug grin, annoyingly handsome face, and the infuriating way he slipped under your skin like he had a map to all your weak spots.

You turn the corner just as you hear footsteps behind you. Glancing over your shoulder, the familiar rush of irritation bubbles to the surface. The hair on the back of your neck stands as if pointing you toward danger.

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear…

Strolling down the hallway with that damned confident swagger. Agent Peña makes long strides as he matches your speed and walks beside you. He cocks his head to the side, lips twitching up into a smirk.

“Cariño, you look better and better each day.” his voice is sultry and smooth like a chocolate bar left out in the sun all day.

“Agent Peña,” your voice is professional, cold, distant—eyes narrowing to a tunnel vision before you.

“You wound me with your integrity. I think as friends, we are on a first-name basis now,” he replies, hand on his chest in false hurt.

You bite back a sharp retort, feeling a knot of frustration curl in your stomach. "We are not friends; we are coworkers, if that," you respond, your voice as chilly as a sheet of ice. Your steps quicken as you wish the hallway would end, your mind swirling with one question—how did he even find you down here, in the quiet, shadowy corners of the DEA?

He keeps pace, his presence unwavering. “Ah, come on now,” he says, the edge of amusement in his voice. “You can’t tell me we haven’t already crossed that line.” His tone is a smirk, lingering in the air like perfume, but you don’t give him the satisfaction of a response.

“There is no line,” you retort.

"I see your professionalism hasn't dulled your beauty," Peña murmurs, his voice dripping with that same sultry warmth.

He walks a little closer, his head turned towards you, not hiding the subtle delight in his eyes. "Come on, you can’t be that cold, cariño. You and I know what happens when ice melts…” he bumps your shoulder and you stop midstride. He walks a little further before stopping, half turning back. He’s wearing one of his formal suits, a blue button up underneath a cream suit jacket.

“What do you want?” You can tell he’s not here for pleasantries. He’s got that look in his eyes—like he’s got something in mind, and it sure as hell isn’t sweet small talk. He turns back to face you, observing you slowly, taking in how your hair falls differently today and how your heels click a bit louder on the floor.

He smirks, shifts his jaw, then parts his lips. “What makes you think I want something?”

You can almost hear the defensiveness in his voice, but you’re not fooled. You tilt your head, unimpressed. “I think we both know ‘bullshit’ is your middle name.”

He chuckles low, a sound that’s almost a warning in itself. “Such a blunt little thing. Colombia’s rubbed off on you, huh?”

You don’t flinch, meeting his gaze with a steady stare. “Am I wrong?”

He smirks, his eyes never leaving yours. He takes a slow, deliberate step closer, closing the distance between you just enough to make things feel... interesting. His lips curl up at the corners as if savoring the tension.

“Bullshit, huh?” he murmurs, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping to that smooth, almost too confident tone. “Guess I’ve been called worse.”

You cross your arms, standing your ground. “Cut the shit. You need access to a file, right? Which one?”

His smile falters briefly, but he regains his cool almost immediately. “I was hoping you could help me with that.”

You raise an eyebrow, looking at the files in your arms, the top stamped ‘confidential.’ “Do you have authorization? Papers, forms...?”

He shifts his weight, the slightest trace of impatience flickering behind his casual demeanor. “I don’t have time for red tape.”

You don’t back down, your gaze unwavering. “Did you fill out the proper forms? Because without them, I’m afraid you’re out of luck.”

His smirk is still there, but there’s a glint in his eyes now—amusement mixed with a hint of challenge. “Well, I’ll just have to talk you into it.”

You shake your head, not giving in. “Not without the right paperwork. You know the rules.”

He takes another step forward, just enough to make the air between you thicken. “I’m starting to think you’re more trouble than you’re worth.”

You feel your lips twitch into a smirk. “Maybe. But I’m also the one with the file you want.”

He smirks right back, intrigued but not ready to let it go. “Do me this favor, Please, Solo esta vez.” He says it so sweetly, reaching over to brush his fingertips against your arm, brown eyes so tender.

You feel the pull of his gaze but keep your composure. “No hay favores sin autorización, Peña.” You make sure your words are clear—no favors without authorization.

It feels exhilarating to stand in his way, to deny him what he expects—or, in this case, what he asks so damn nicely. There’s a quiet power in it as he fixes his gaze on you, his eyes flicking down to the file on top of the stack. You can almost feel the weight of the unspoken history behind his gaze—he's probably never heard "no" before, not as a child, and certainly not now. And in this moment, it feels sweeter than it should to be the one who says it.

“Huh,” he scoffs after a moment. "Maybe Colombia’s been good for you after all."

You walk away, pointedly ignoring him, praying he isn’t watching your ass with every sway of your hips. You focus instead on your route, heading back to drop off the files. A small, satisfied smile tugs at your lips as you make your way to your office, the image of his disappointed expression lingering in your mind.

As you finish packing up for the day, Camila appears at the foot of your office, her purse casually slung over her shoulder.

“We’re heading out for drinks. You in?” Camila asks, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as you collect your keys.

A fleeting thought crosses your mind—refusing due to the bottle of chardonnay waiting for you at home. But something holds you back. It’s Friday. You’ve been telling yourself you’d break out of your shell this year, that being a homebody wasn’t part of the plan.

“Yeah,” you say, the words slipping out before you can second-guess yourself. “Sounds fun.”

While finishing your makeup, you sip a glass of wine, the soft hum of anticipation building as you call for a taxi. The click of your heels echoes in the stairwell, a near stumble reminding you of their height as you descend from your apartment. When you arrive at the bar, your eyes sweep the room, spotting your coworkers. The black, form-fitting dress you chose hugs your curves, drawing more than a few glances as you enter.

“There you are!” Camila calls out over the pulsating music as you approach the bar. She flashes a grin and motions toward a lively group in the corner, some engrossed in darts, others deep in conversation. “We’ve got a table over there.”

Your gaze sweeps over the group, a soft smile tugging at your lips as Camila adds your drink to her tab.

“Is she new?” you murmur, subtly nodding toward the striking blonde in the blazing red dress. The fabric clings to her tall frame, accentuating her height—she even towers over you in your heels.

Camila squints, following your gaze, her eyes widening in recognition when they land on the woman.

“Fresh out of college, filling the front desk position,” she leans in, her voice low in your ear. You purse your lips, remembering what it felt like to be the new blood in a den of lions.

“How’s she doing?” you ask.

Camila shrugs. “Can’t type for shit, but she’s picking it up. We all start somewhere.”

You nod, taking a sip from your drink, letting the conversation settle with a quiet understanding.

You settle in with your coworkers, the laughter and music blending into a comforting backdrop. The evening feels light and carefree until a quiet ripple of attention shifts the mood at your table. Curious, you glance over your shoulder to see what’s caught their focus.

There he is—Agent Peña, standing impossibly close to the new hire. She’s leaning casually against the bar top, her elbows resting on the worn wood, while he hovers beside her, his arm resting just behind her back. His light-wash jeans fit snugly, the red button-up tucked in just enough to emphasize his lean waist.

A flicker of something stirs in your chest—a memory, a pang of annoyance. You almost scoff but catch yourself, the sight all too familiar. Not long ago, you were the naive girl standing in her place, drawn into his web of effortless charm.

“What a man-whore,” you mutter to the women beside you. They nod, silent yet captivated, unable to deny the allure of watching him work. His moves are calculated yet smooth, like how he leans in to light the cigarette resting between her lips, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

"I heard he sleeps with women to get information about the guerrillas," Camila says, the rumor so absurd it almost makes you laugh. But then again, you have no idea what happens beyond the office walls. Your world is confined to the stale scent of cigarettes and the endless rustle of paper.

"Why would they risk their lives for sex...with him?" you say, the disbelief apparent in your voice, tinged with laughter. The alcohol is loosening your tongue, making you bolder than usual.

Camila leans in, her tone more serious as she says your name, drawing the attention of the women at the table, who suddenly avert their eyes. "There’s got to be a reason he sleeps around, right? Maybe he’s just... really good at it?" she suggests, and you scoff, shaking your head. You don’t believe that; no one could be that good at sex.

Isabel nods, and a few other women follow suit. You swallow hard, the realization settling heavily in your chest: he’d slept with all of them, used them. The looks of quiet resignation on their faces send a sharp pang through you as they watch him, a silent understanding shared between them.

A heavy silence lingers at the table, the weight of old wounds too much to bear. You can’t stand it anymore. Standing up, you excuse yourself without a word, heading to the bar to order one last drink before closing out for the night.

“Let me get this one,” you hear and feel someone slip in beside you. It's Agent Murphy, and he offers you a warm smile. Of the two, you always preferred Murphy. He was respectful—always saying "please" and "thank you," never once flirting with you. You’d even shared dinners with his wife at his home several times. If the DEA building were on fire, you’d choose to save Steve over Peña without a second thought. Did that make you a bad person?

“How are you getting home?” he asks, his tone casual as he slides a few pesos onto the bar before turning to face the crowd, his back to the counter.

“Probably a taxi. I didn’t bring my car,” you reply, nursing your drink as the two of you watch the ebb and flow of people around you.

“Let me give ya a ride home,” he says, and you feel the familiar burn of alcohol easing in your chest.

“I’ll be fine, really. It’s out of your way,” you wave him off, trying to sound casual. You’ve never had an issue with taxis before, and the pepper spray in your purse gives you some comfort. Not to mention, you’re no stranger to self-defense.

“Don’t argue with me,” he replies, lifting his beer to his lips. “Connie’d kill me if she found out I let you take a damn taxi in this country.”

You exhale a sigh, nodding at his insistence. His chivalry is almost endearing in its persistence. You glance at Peña, a fleeting thought passing through your mind: Why couldn’t he be more like Murphy? Your gaze then diverts to the table, where the women still observe Peña and the new hire. They’re tangled together now, their mouths colliding, the kiss hungry and unrestrained, leaving little to the imagination.

You look away, trying to hold it together and avoid vomiting on the bar floor.

“Javier still asking for favors?” Murphy asks, pulling your focus back to him.

“He knows the answer’s always no. Whatever he wants, it’s not coming from me. I’ve got to stick to the rules, even if the rest of them are crooked,” you say, setting your empty glass down on the bar.

“I told ‘em to stop asking, especially with the promotion and all,” he mutters. But there’s no stopping Peña—not even Murphy. You haven’t forgotten about the promotion you’ve been working your ass off for. Every move you make, every time you tell Peña to fuck off, is a gamble. One wrong step, and you’ll be screwed, even for eyes like those.

“I can handle him,” you say softly, turning to look at the two again, but it’s just the blonde.

You can feel the shift in the air as you stand there before seeing him. Peña approaches—slow and deliberate like he’s got all the time in the world. He stops short of invading your personal space, his presence almost suffocating.

“You two look cozy,” His voice is low, and despite himself, there's that smirk—cocky, lewd, and dangerously familiar. The red neon lights create shadows across his features. He looks devilish, like any second, and he’ll grow horns to match his attitude.

You don’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction, but you can feel your pulse quicken. Even when he’s being a jerk, there’s something magnetic about him, like a tension waiting to snap. It must be the alcohol. You had never seen him while you were drinking and avoided seeing him outside of work at all costs.

"I didn’t realize you moonlighted as a comedian, Peña," you mutter, trying to inject a bit of bite into your words, hoping it'll deter him. But he doesn’t flinch. Instead, he tilts his head and slowly swigs his beer. You watch the movement in his throat as it dips, the faint trace of lipstick marking his jaw and neck.

“Ay, cariño, you always know how to keep things interesting,” he says, his tone smooth, not missing a beat.

"Who are you trying to impress here, Peña? It's exhausting." you feel your cheeks flush with anger but attempt to suppress it. But it’s hard, so hard, when all he does is use people. And the alcohol makes it so easy to rip him a new one, bite his head off, or ruin his night. All you knew was he twisted something inside you, and you didn’t know how to uncoil that.

"Impress? Not trying to impress anyone," Peña says with a slight smirk, looking at Murphy like he’ll have his back, his voice low and relaxed. "I just do what I do. If it bothers you, that's on you." He shifts his weight and juts a hip out. His eyes study you, your body, and your face like he's trying to figure something out. Then he shrugs, "But you sure seem like you’re trying to impress me, though."

Your cheeks flush bright red at his false accusation. No, you did not dress to impress anyone, let alone Javier fucking Pena. No way.

“I would never try to impress you, never.” you spit, glancing at Murphy. He gives you an amused smirk as he watches you two square up. Like he knows something you don’t. Ugh, not him too. You hoped Pena wasn’t rubbing off on him.

"Sure thing, cariño," he says, flashing a grin as he drags his tongue across his pink bottom lip—the one that juts out whenever he's upset, lost in thought, or buried in paperwork. Damn.

You stomp away, shaking your head, trying to shake off the frustration. You round the table, offering a quick goodbye to the women before grabbing your purse. As you head for the door, you pass the blonde woman, the compact in her hand as she reapplies her lipstick. You feel a pang of sympathy for her, but you're not about to come off as a bitch. So, instead, you do the only thing you know how to do—take another shot at Peña.

"Hey, you’re new here, right?" you ask, your tone soft and genuine. It's not the kind of conversation you typically start with, but something about her makes you feel bad. She snaps her compact closed with a quick flick, and her smile catches you off guard momentarily. It’s an innocent, almost naïve expression, and for reasons you can’t fully explain, it makes your chest tighten. She looks over at Peña briefly before meeting your eyes again, her expression shifting, maybe uncertain but hopeful.

"Yeah—" she begins, but you don’t let her finish.

"Whatever you do, don’t sleep with Agent Peña," you say, your voice low but pointed, trying and failing to suppress the hint of amusement tugging at your lips. "He’s got a bad case of crabs. Like antibiotic resistant, gave it to the whole second floor."

You almost smile at how her face shifts between disgust and disbelief, but you keep your composure as Peña steps into the conversation. He glances between the two of you, a smirk on his lips.

"Good evening, ladies," he says, his voice smooth and effortless.

"Buenas noches," you reply smugly. You turn and walk away, not sparing them another glance, leaving the air between them thick with confusion. Behind you, you can hear her reaction—sharp, disgusted, and Peña, as usual, too slow to understand what just happened.

“I don’t even wanna know,” Murphy laughs, shaking his head as you both step out of the bar.

The next day, the Mercado is lively in the early morning, bustling with vendors shouting over one another to draw in customers. The air smells of ripe fruit and freshly baked bread, the sharp tang of herbs mixing with the earthy scent of soil. Stalls line the narrow paths, overflowing with vibrant produce. The morning sun casts long shadows on the ground, but the heat is already rising, making the place hum.

You’re wearing shorts, a tank top, and a flowy white blouse as the breeze flows past you. You wander slowly, letting the vibrant colors and sounds wash over you. You don’t quite know what you’re looking for, but moving through the crowd feels like something small you can control in a still unknown place.

Bending down to get a better look at the fruit before you, the market’s chaos continues—loud, alive, but somehow distant.

Then, a sudden shift. As if the air seems to tighten, the market buzz fading as you hear a purposeful, smooth clearing of a throat behind you. And it's like the space around you narrows because that subtle sound is something you could recognize in a crowded room. Or a busy market. Without even turning around, you know it’s him.

“Well, well, I thought you’d be nursing a hangover,” Peña says, his voice a little too easy, like he had been waiting for this moment. Waiting around every corner, like he’d orchestrated it.

"Are you following me?" The words slip out, half accusation, half curiosity. You don't need to look over your shoulder to know he’s standing there, one hip out. His presence becomes more like a shadow at your back—unavoidable, unsettling.

Peña’s chuckle rumbles behind you, low and unbothered, as if the question amuses him more than it irritates. The tension in the air seems to pull tighter, and for a moment, you wonder if you could even breathe properly. His proximity, that unmistakable energy he carries, presses into your space, making you feel more aware of him than the people around you.

The moment hangs there for a beat before Peña speaks again, his words now threaded with a sense of casual authority. “Maybe. Or maybe I just know where you like to shop.” There’s no mistaking the teasing in his voice now, the hint of a smile lurking behind his words.

You take a step forward, the weight of his gaze on you like a constant pull. But you refuse to let it show—refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s successfully annoyed you. Instead, you keep walking steadily to create distance, though the space seems to shrink with every step.

He doesn’t follow immediately. For a moment, the market feels normal again. The chatter of vendors, the shuffling of shoes. Everything around you is mundane and ordinary. But you know, without turning, that he’s still there. That he’s watching, sunglasses low on his arched nose, casting a cool shadow over the sharp lines of his face. His presence isn’t loud but it sure is undeniable, and you can feel the hair on your neck rise.

The deli vendor shifts his gaze between you and Peña, clearly caught in the tension. Peña leans forward just slightly, his voice a soft, almost bored command. “Get the filet; it’s more tender, and for godsakes, get the cut from the back, por favor.”

You barely register the vendor’s nod as you drag your attention away from Peña’s words. You fix your gaze on the glass display of meats, a silent war playing out in your head. You adjust the weight of the produce bag slung over your shoulder. It’s heavier than you remember, or maybe your anger is getting the best of you.

“Why are you still here?” You snap the question more out of habit than genuine curiosity, keeping your eyes trained on the man wrapping the meat in front of you, unwilling to look at him for fear of seeing the grin you know is there.

His shadow shifts and there is a faint laugh in his voice as he responds. You feel the warmth of his body just beside yours. Like one wrong move, and you’d brush against his side.

“Got a tip about this place, I didn’t follow you here, princesa.” His tone is low, too smooth, like something that shouldn’t feel dangerous but does anyway.

You don't know what it is about him, why his proximity twists your insides into knots. Maybe it’s how he speaks, knowingly, like he’s been around long enough to make every word feel like an unspoken challenge. Perhaps it’s the way he stands, always just a bit too close, constantly too aware of where you are. Or what he wears, jeans and a white shirt, so casual. It makes you…It makes you angry.

You finally turn to face him, and there it is. The slight arch of his brow, the small smirk that tugs at his lips. His mustache, perfect in its precision, only adds to the irritation that surges up your spine. How can someone look so deliberately smug and idiotic at the same time?

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” you snap, the tips of your ears burning.

Peña’s gaze flicks to you, sharp momentarily, before his usual cool indifference settles back in. He shifts his weight against the counter, one elbow resting lazily on the edge, the picture of someone who doesn’t have a care in the world. “Probably,” he says, his mouth curling into a faint smirk. “But this is more fun.”

You both stand there, an invisible line drawn in the air between you, a standoff. Peña won’t leave, and part of you knows that now.

The vendor clears his throat, and you pay him, thanking him quickly. You can feel Peña’s eyes on you as you pivot and begin to walk away.

You trudge through the hectic Mercado, your grocery bag digging into your arm as you weave between people. The crowd swirls around you, but you feel him, steady and unwavering, hot on your heels. The crowd parts for Peña, fluid and instinctual, like the Red Sea before Moses. It’s not the kind of attention anyone asks for, but it’s the kind he commands without effort.

Finally, you spill out of the Mercado and onto the street, the bustling noise fading into the background. Your arm aches under the bag's weight, but you keep walking, your sneakers tapping against the cracked pavement. You can still hear the soft patter of his boots behind you, the sound just a touch too close.

“Peña, I don’t need a bodyguard,” you mutter, furrowing your brows. You stop, but he doesn’t. He keeps walking, though something in his posture changes. Different from any other time, a hushed gravity suspends in the air. He glances over his shoulder, eyes scanning the space behind him. One hand rests on his hip, and you catch the flash of metal beneath his shirt—the weight of a holstered gun.

You glance down the street. It’s eerily silent, with no stray cars and no pedestrians. The street feels barren like it’s holding its breath. The midday sun beats down on the asphalt, but a strange chill pricks the back of your neck. The air feels thin, too still, like something is off—like the world has paused, waiting.

You don’t know how he noticed, but he did. It’s almost imperceptible, yet instinctively, you realize that this is what he does best— always been one step ahead. You’ve never seen him in action before, not like this. There’s a certain precision in how his gaze scans the surroundings, so calculating, his movements so fluid they seem choreographed. It’s almost… beautiful in its deadly grace. It's terrifying.

His eyes flick to you, locking onto yours with a look that needs no words. You don’t question it. You simply follow him, your voice lost, swallowed by the heavy air between you. The grocery bag you were so annoyed about carrying moments ago feels like a distant memory, the weight forgotten as your heart hammers in your chest.

He moves with purpose, his strides long and steady, leading you away from the busy street into an alley that smells faintly of wet concrete and diesel. It’s quieter here, the sounds of the city muffled by the walls that close in around you. The heat of the midday sun lingers in the narrow space, but there's a chill in the air as you see the shadow of a few men lurking just out of sight.

He stops abruptly in front of a metal gate and taps in a pin with the precision of someone who’s done it a thousand times before. The gate creaks open, and he gestures for you to slip inside. You do so without a second thought, too caught up in the moment's urgency to ask questions.

The door shuts behind you with a low thud, the echo sharp in the quiet. Javier’s gun is out before you realize it, his movements swift. You’re in a long hallway, and he leads you to another door, which he unlocks with a key.

He locks the deadbolt behind him, his eyes never leaving the peephole. Only then do you notice where you are.

You linger in the living room, the remnants of adrenaline humming beneath your skin as your eyes sweep over the space. This isn’t what you imagined. You thought he’d live in a place that screamed Javier Peña—something flashy, brash, maybe a little careless, with leather couches, a stocked bar, and ashtrays scattered like afterthoughts. A bachelor pad built for indulgence, not permanence. But this?

This is a home—the kind of place that feels oddly welcoming as if the walls themselves had been warmed by the life lived inside them. Sunlight spills in through half-drawn curtains, casting soft patterns on worn furniture. The couch—slightly lumpy with cushions that have clearly seen better days—faces a modest coffee table scarred with the faintest traces of water rings and cigarette burns. A stack of records leans precariously against a battered turntable in the corner, their spines worn smooth with use.

The air smells faintly of tobacco, wood polish, and something you can’t quite place—maybe the ghost of cologne clinging to his leather jacket. The infamous jacket you’d seen him shrug into as he and Murphy made their way out of the office.

Not that you’d habitually thought about his house or the things he’d keep in it. Or him. Definitely not him.

“Someone’s been following you. Who knows for how long,” he mutters, his tone sharp, clipped, and brimming with restrained anger.

He moves to the window, parting the blinds with two fingers just enough to peer outside. The barrel of his weapon stays low, the gleam of the steel catching a sliver of sunlight.

His eyes sweep the street, and the hardened look on his face is nothing like you’ve ever seen before.

“Me? I’m nobody. Why the hell would anyone follow me?” you ask, your voice cracking under the pressure of trying to sound unaffected.

He doesn’t look at you, his eyes scanning the street beyond the glass, every muscle in his body so taut you can see the ripple beneath his shirt.

“Doesn’t matter who you are,” he mutters, his voice low and cutting through the street noise like a blade. “They find out you’re with the DEA, and you’ve got a target on your back.”

Your pulse quickens and the sound of blood rushing in your ears drowns out the quiet of the room. The space suddenly feels smaller, every shadow sharper, and the calm you’d clung to is now a distant memory.

Your mind races, but all the thoughts are tangled up in a knot—half of you wants to dismiss it, to say he’s just trying to scare you, to brush it off as just another part of the job. But the other half knows this is real.

“So what, I’m just gonna have men wanting to kidnap me?” you say, upset, your grocery bag thumping on his couch as you sigh. This was a big deal, a huge deal, but right now, in your career, it felt more like an inconvenience.

“You don’t get it,” he mutters, shaking his head slightly, the weight of his words carrying a tone of finality. His voice is low and firm, like a man who’s seen too much and no longer has time for explanations.

“They wouldn’t just kidnap you…” He trails off, but you don’t need him to finish the sentence. The image plays out in your mind—a quiet warning etched with the brutality only someone like Peña could understand.

You swallow, and for the first time, reality's sharp, biting edge sinks in. The world outside this room or your office walls wasn’t just something you could read about in reports or watch on the news. It’s here. It’s now.

Peña moves from the window, holstering his gun but keeping his hand close to his hip. You stare at him, his dark eyes unreadable. His silence makes the room feel smaller like he’s drawing you in despite the distance between you.

You cross your arms, trying to force some semblance of control, though your breath is coming faster now. “I’ve dealt with danger before, Peña. This... This isn’t a fucking movie.”

He looks at you for a beat too long, like he’s trying to read you, see through the layers of bravado you’re wearing. “This isn’t the same thing,” he says quietly, almost as if he’s speaking more to himself than to you. “You’re not in control here.”

The words hit harder than you expect, striking a nerve you didn’t know you had. A flicker of something—fear, maybe—passes over you, but you force it down. You don’t need him to see that.

“And you think you can protect me?” you ask, the question escaping before you can stop it. There’s a sharpness in your tone, a mixture of challenge and... curiosity.

“Protect you?” he repeats, his tone dry but not unkind. “Cariño, I don’t think they’re handing out medals for saving you from yourself.” He smirks faintly, his eyes flicking to how you stand out in the room like it’s absurd. “But if you’re hell-bent on getting snatched, by all means, call a taxi. I could use the night off.”

Finally, you let out a shaky breath, reaching for the bag of groceries that still rests on the couch. “I’m not some damsel in distress, Peña,” you mutter, though your voice lacks the conviction it had a few minutes ago.

“Good,” he replies, brows furrowing as you attempt to walk past him. “Then don’t make me waste my time playing knight in shining armor. You’re safe here—now let me figure out what we’re gonna do.” He reaches for you, grabbing your upper arm with a strength you know is half the power.

You pause mid-stride, the weight of his grip burning through the sleeve of your thin shirt. So thin you can basically feel his fingerprints burning into your flesh. It’s not painful, not even close—but how he holds you feels like a tether to something you’re not sure you want to name. You glance down at his large hand before trickling up towards his gaze, the dark pools of his eyes crackling with frustration.

“I don’t need you to rescue me,” you snap, trying to inject more steel into your words than you actually feel. “I’m not—”

“Yeah, I know,” he interrupts, his voice low and sharp enough to cut. “You’re not a damsel. You think you can handle this yourself,” he recites like it’s a joke like you’re a joke.

The heat in your chest flares, half from his words and half from how he’s still holding on, as though letting go isn’t an option. Like you’re a kid, naive. “Let go of me, Peña,” you say, warning in your eyes, quieter this time. But this feels different than other times, more at stake, your close proximity, the walls around you. You feel inebriated as if your thoughts won’t flow in a cohesive line no matter how hard you try.

He was drawing you in, the shift in his gaze disarming. Those brown eyes—soft, searching, almost wounded—held a weight that made breathing hard. They begged for something you weren’t sure you could give. Or maybe he just wanted you to believe they did.

And damn it, it was working.

You could feel yourself slipping, the sharp edges of your anger dulling against the pull of his presence. Every rational thought screamed at you to hold your ground, to remember who he was and what he’d done. This was his play, wasn’t it? The practiced vulnerability, the carefully crafted sincerity meant to turn you into putty in his hands.

And yet, the worst part was how you wanted to let it happen. To let those stupid, heartbreakingly tender eyes convince you that he wasn’t all bad. That you weren’t just another stop along the way to wherever he’d inevitably disappear to next.

It made you want to scream. Or maybe slap him. Or yourself—whoever deserved it more in this moment.

His hand eases its grip on your arm, but his fingers linger, curved just enough to stay connected. Not holding, not quite, just there—as if to remind himself you’re real. “Quédate aquí,” he says, his voice low, a shade too soft. Almost pleading. Almost breaking. That sound—it crawls under your skin and wraps itself around your ribs. You hate how it settles, molten and insistent, dragging heat low in your belly.

“Por favor.” His tone shifts, like a secret he can’t entirely swallow. “Do me this favor, just once.”

“Fine. Just once…” Your eyes betray you, flickering to his mouth. It’s unfair how there’s no smirk to hide behind this time. No shield from that damn cupid’s bow, sharp and pouty. Your gaze trails upward—his nose, the slope of it, the way it catches the light—until you meet his eyes. He’s watching you, his focus as unyielding as a snare, as though cataloging every place you’ve been looking, every thought you’re trying not to have.

“Give me that,” His fingers find the strap of your bag, curling around it effortlessly as if it belongs to him. He slowly lifts it off your shoulder, and you don’t stop him. You don’t move. You just let him, even when it should annoy you, even when his hand brushing yours feels like a sizzling brand.

“You’re a pain in my ass,” He doesn’t say a word as he sets your bag down on the couch. His movements are all too intentional, too measured. You barely register the sound of the fabric hitting the cushion before he turns back to you.

Your breath catches somewhere in your throat. He's too close again, close enough that the room feels like it's folding in on itself, bending around the space between you as if it’s trying to force you together.

“So I’ve been told,” He replies, not even a hint of surprise in his eyes.

You stand there, frozen, almost daring the air to crack, even though every instinct in your body is screaming for you to step back and put more distance between you. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? Distance doesn't change how it feels. The weight of him, the pull of him—it's suffocating, magnetic. You're trembling, though you can’t decide if it's from the desire to step closer or the fear of what giving in might mean.

Your neck burns with heat, crawling up, spreading like wildfire, and you hate that it's happening. Hate that he’s the reason your pulse is racing, your skin buzzing with sensitivity. You can’t give in. You’ve seen it. The way women fall over themselves for him, like moths to a flame. No, he wasn’t going to make you another notch in his belt.

You wonder if he can hear your heart pounding louder than any words you might say. You want to speak, to break the silence before it consumes you, but all that comes out is a shaky breath—louder than the thoughts tearing at your insides.

No words make it past the lump in your throat. You want to tell him to step away, to fuck off, to stop looking at you like that. But you know that would mean walking away from this. From him. And the thought alone makes you want to crumble into yourself.

You were an idiot once again, shaking, wanting him—wanting everything you’d sworn you wouldn’t. You swore you were stronger than this and that you didn’t want to be the woman waiting for him to finally choose you.

But the heat pulses like it’s alive, and you can’t stop the furrow in your brows, physically pained by the scorch. You don’t even know if he realizes how badly you’re fighting to hold yourself together. His eyes are black, unreadable. But they’re too soft. Too focused on you.

The pressure in the room inflates until every breath you take feels labored.

So close, the warmth of Peña’s body radiates off him, yet it’s his gaze that pins you in place. His eyes drop to your face, and the space between you seems to shrink even more until you can feel his breath grazing your skin, every inhale a whisper against you.

Then, without a word, without any sign of warning, his hand reaches up. You hold your breath, bracing for something, anything, but the touch is different—gentle, almost tentative. His fingers brush the stray strands of hair away from your face, sweeping them behind your ear. It’s a delicate movement, but its weight hangs in the air like he’s touching something fragile, something delicate. His hand stays there for a moment, just lingering at the side of your face, the softness of his touch almost mocking the storm of heat inside you. You want to flinch, to pull away, but you stop short. Not when he’s so close, not when the very air is thick with this... this electricity that’s become impossible to ignore.

He doesn’t let go, though. His fingers curve around the back of your neck, pulling you slightly closer, his thumb brushing over your jaw in a way that’s almost too intimate, too tender. His gaze flicks between your eyes, searching for something, and you can’t look away. You can’t look anywhere else.

“Stop me,” His lips barely skim yours at first—just a whisper of contact that sends shockwaves through your body. It’s almost too much to bear, but you don’t pull away.

A soft, breathy moan slips out of you before your lips even touch fully, a sound that feels so raw, so unguarded. His hand tightens on your jaw, pulling you into him, and in the next instant, his mouth is on yours, desperate, fervent, as if he can’t stand the space between you for even a second longer.

It’s not a gentle kiss. It’s a kiss born from restraint, from months of wanting something he didn’t think he could have. His lips part yours with an almost brutal force, the intensity of it taking you by surprise. His tongue slides against yours, hot, wet, seeking—hungry. There’s no finesse to it, no lingering moment of sweetness. It’s primal like he’s finally allowing himself to take what’s been torturing him for too long.

The kiss escalates, and for a heartbeat, everything else falls away. It’s just him and you and this electricity, the raw need surging between you. He pulls you closer, his body pressing against yours as if he can’t get close enough, as if the torture has taken over every rational thought he had.

Your breath is stolen, and so are your thoughts. So consumed by the fire in your veins, the taste of his tongue, the firmness of his shoulders beneath your hands. He pulls away so quick it feels like he’s taken the breath from you.

"If you don’t stop me," he murmurs, his voice cracking under the weight of his own need. His thumb strokes the edge of your jaw, the touch so light it sends a shiver down your spine. "Cariño, please—" He swallows hard, his lips hovering just close enough to tempt you. "—tell me to stop. Or I won’t."

The words are pained as if saying them costs him everything. His breath is warm against your mouth, his forehead nearly pressing to yours, and the vulnerability in his voice cuts through the haze, grounding you even as your body betrays you with how badly you want to close the distance again.

“Then don’t,” you reply, swallowing the regret you know is rising in your thoughts. What would be the use of regretting now when the line has already been crossed?

A low, guttural growl rumbles from Javier’s throat as he kisses you again, the kind of kiss that swallows your breath and sets fire to every fiber of your being. His chest heaves against yours, his frustration bleeding into every press of his lips, every flick of his tongue. It’s as if he’s punishing you for every bratty retort, every dismissive glance, and for the endless nights you’d unwittingly occupied his mind.

“You’ve been driving me fucking crazy,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice low and rough, each word dripping with heat and accusation. His teeth graze your bottom lip before he bites down, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make you gasp. “You know that, don’t you? Torturing me every damn day.”

His hands drop from your neck, sliding down to your hips with a bruising grip, his fingers digging into your flesh as though trying to leave his mark. The pain mingles with pleasure, leaving you wanting more.

You rise on your toes, desperate to meet him, to feel him. The contrast between his towering frame and your smaller form only intensifies the ache pooling low in your belly. He doesn’t make you wait—he never would—his strong hands gripping your thighs as he hoists you up with effortless ease.

Your legs wrap around his waist, and your arms circle his neck, fingers threading through the hair at the nape.

He doesn’t bother with asking permission. His movements are rough, almost frantic, as he blindly carries you through the dimly lit apartment. When he reaches his room, he kicks the door shut with a force that rattles the frame. The darkness swallows you both, but you don’t care. Your only focus is the hard lines of his body pressed against yours, the feeling of his arousal straining against you, and the way he growls when you grind down on him.

“You don’t even know what you’re doing to me,” he mutters, his voice hoarse, as if you’ve unraveled him in ways he’s not used to. His words are a contradiction—gruff and demanding but with an edge of vulnerability that makes your heart stutter.

Your back hits the mattress, and he leans over you, his body caging you in. His hands roam your sides, calloused and sure, and you arch into him, a moan spilling from your lips as you chase his touch. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes burning with something that feels almost possessive.

“How ‘bout you show me then?” you fire, the familiar counter making you feel like you’ve found some semblance of control.

Javier's eyes darken, his lips parting slightly as if your challenge caught him off guard. But the corner of his mouth twitches, betraying the ghost of a cocky smile. “As long as you’re sure,” he replies, a dangerous mix of plea and provocation. It’s like he’s daring you to falter, daring you to back out—while silently begging you not to.

You scoff, leaning up, your lips brushing against his but never quite touching. The tease of it burns more than any kiss could. “Don’t get soft with me,” you whisper, your voice low. “I don’t like soft. I like to get fucked. Think you can give me that, Javier?”

His name, spoken like that—soft, intimate, a prayer all at once—makes something deep in him snap. He isn’t used to this, to you. To someone who doesn’t shy away, who doesn’t melt the moment he touches them, who doesn’t give him that instant satisfaction of control.

You’re not yielding, not letting him fall into his usual rhythm. No, you’re setting the pace, and he’s following—fumbling, even—like some love-drunk fool.

Javier leans down into your neck, the scent of your skin filling his lungs, intoxicating him. “Careful, cariño,” he warns, though the words lack their usual sharpness. They make him shake, his cock strain in his jeans. “You might just get exactly what you’re asking for.”

You push at his shoulders, your hands urging him back. He doesn't hesitate, scooting off the bed with swift, practiced movements. Like he’d done this a million times, and the thought of that angered you. It made something flare in your eyes as you watched him, his fingers working the buttons and zippers.

When he’s finally bare, the hard, defined lines of his body seem almost too much to take in all at once. His chest rises and falls with shallow breaths, his cock already thick and leaking. He looks at you, eyes shadowed and hungry, as he kneels on the bed.

His fingers curl around the waistband of your shorts, dragging them off your hips along with your panties, the fabric scraping over your skin as he exposes you to him. Before you can process the shift, his fingers catch the hem of your tank top, yanking it down with such force that the seam strains.

The path of his gaze burns into your skin, trailing across the valley of your breasts and down to where you close your thighs. He places his hands on your knees and spreads you wide open.

“Hiding such a pretty pussy from me, look at you.” Javier’s cock twitches at the sight of you on your back, head against his pillows. You were in his bed, and the glisten of your pussy as she dripped onto his sheets was because of him. And that made his chest rise and his cock weep.

You weren’t hiding anything—but the way he said it made something inside you flare, a fierce urge to prove him wrong surging through you. “Javier,” you say, dragging your hand down your stomach and to your lips, spreading yourself open for him with your fingers. You could feel the mess, the slickness that coated your fingers just from finally giving in. It felt so freeing.

You sit up, breathless, just as Javier leans down. You raise your fingers to his mouth, and he doesn’t hesitate—his lips parting just enough for your fingers to slip past them.

His tongue flicks out, velvet-soft, running along the length of your fingers in a slow, hot caress. He sucks them in, drawing them deeper, his eyes never leaving yours, a silent challenge in his gaze. Each pull of his mouth sends a jolt of heat spiraling through you.

“Fucking heaven,” he breathes out like he’s just had a taste of something long denied.

“Ass up,” he demands, his words a dark growl that sends shivers down your spine. “Let me see you like that, baby.”

You give it to him—your body obeying before your mind can catch up. You twist, moving slowly and carefully, your muscles aching as you position yourself. His hand slides to the back of your neck, pushing your head into the sheets, muffling your breath.

“Do you have a condom?” you ask, your voice strained and muffled against the sheets.

Javier doesn’t answer.

Instead, you feel him shift behind you, a growl rumbling in his chest before you feel the unmistakable warmth of his mouth on your pussy. His tongue flicks against you, tasting you like he’s been starving for this moment. You gasp, a sharp, involuntary sound slipping past your lips as he delves deeper, his tongue greedy and frantic as it drags along your slit, teasing and claiming in one motion.

His hands grip your thighs, pulling them wider, giving him better access as he feasts on you, wholly absorbed in the act. Your knees sink into the mattress, your hands clutching the sheets as you feel his tongue slipping up to your other hole, circling it with the tip of his tongue. You cry out, the feeling so foreign yet so delicious.

You feel him lick into your folds, his tongue swirling your clit, circling, and dipping lower as if to explore every inch of you. His breath is hot, his lips pressing against you as he eats you from behind like a man possessed, relentless, driven by need. He doesn’t care about anything but the taste of you, the feeling of you writhing beneath his touch.

Your hips buck involuntarily, pressing back into him, wanting more, needing more. It feels like he’s owning you, taking what he wants without hesitation, and the power of it makes your head spin.

He’s pulling an orgasm from you like he’s been trained to—like he knows every inch of your body, every reaction, every breath you take. Like he’s studied you and your body, found its rhythm, its tempo, and now he's using it against you, claiming you in ways you didn’t think you could be claimed.

“Javier, please,” You gasp, your breath coming in short, jagged bursts as you surrender to the rush of blood, the intense pull of your orgasm crashing over you, leaving you trembling. He doesn’t stop, not even when you shake, when your body gives in ultimately, and you attempt to pull away.

Only when he deems it right does he pull away, wiping where you coat his chin, and he reaches into his bedside table without a word. Spent; you hear him rip open a condom in silence as he rolls it on his cock. You feel his hands on your hips not a moment later, the tip of his cock swipes along your pussy before inching in.

Javier can feel the aftershocks of your first orgasm, the way you clenched around the tip of his cock before he can get another inch in. And it made him gasp, how tightly you clamped on to him; it felt like you were suffocating him. His self-restraint was hanging on by a thread, but you pushed back against him, sinking him further into your soaked pussy until he was buried balls deep. You were hot and soft inside, and Javier tensed as he watched you fuck yourself onto his cock.

“Damn, cariño, wish you could see this.” You hear him say over your shoulder, and you twist your neck to watch him. Large hands on the globes of your ass, watching himself disappear into you as you feel him hit something deep inside you each time.

You feel the subtle flex of his muscles as he shifts, pressing deeper into you. The rhythm intensifies, and the familiar stir of heat coils tight in your stomach. He moves steadily, his hand sliding down to your tit, squeezing and pulling at your nipple.

Then, with a deliberate pull, his hand wraps around your throat, the pressure possessive. He guides you upward, forcing you to rise on your knees, and the shift brings a new angle, deeper, harder. He grips your jaw to keep you there, his breath fanning against your hair as if he's inhaling the very essence of you, a soft exhale against your neck.

Each thrust is deeper than the last, a steady rhythm that threatens to shatter the fragile control you still cling to. He’s unrelenting, his grip firm as he pulls you closer, his teeth grazing the tender curve of your neck. He bites into your flesh so hard it stings, so hard you’ll be branded for life.

You gasp, the burn of his teeth searing into your skin, and he presses harder, pinning you against him. “Say my name,” he growls as he licks against the bite, “who makes you feel this way?”

You can barely catch your breath before his hand is at your head, forcing you down into the sheets again. The pressure of his palm is suffocating, but something is intoxicating about it, the way he has you utterly in his grasp. You can’t hold back the soft, desperate mewl that slips from your lips as you push back against him, needing more, wanting to feel the tension build once again.

“Javier… you…fuck me so good. So perfect,” you whisper, the words slipping out almost without control, as if your body is speaking for you. Javier watches as you snake your hand between your thighs, a whimper leaving your throat as you rub at your swollen and slick clit.

“Makin’ me lose my mind, cariño,” Javier growls, his voice rough with the effort to keep his composure. The pulse of your pussy around him drives him crazy, and he presses forward, each movement bringing him closer to the edge. “Give me another, please. I know you can.”

The way he says it, how he begs for it, like a man on his knees for you.

You hold onto the memory—this moment when Javier Peña begs for you, so desperate, so…pathetic.

“That’s it,” Javier's grip tightens on you as he moves deeper, a low groan escaping his chest. You feel every inch of his thick cock, the way his rhythm matches the frantic pace of your fingers, your body bracing for the inevitable release.

“Got you cariño, make me feel so good…your perfect pussy,” A litany of words spill from his mouth, his string of thoughts caught in the air. A sob catches in your throat, the pressure mounting before it finally breaks, coursing through you like a storm. Your nails dig into your palms as your body trembles for the second time, the world around you blurring with tears. The sensation of him inside you, his rhythm pushing you to the edge and beyond.

Javier’s breath is harsh and heavy as he spills into the condom. You feel the pulse of him deep inside you, and the sensation lingers long after he’s finished.

"Shit," he mutters, his voice strained as he swallows thickly. There is a moment of silence, of pure peace, before you startle when you feel the soft brush of his lips on your shoulder—gentle, almost too tender. It’s a sharp contrast to the bite he left there, his teeth still tenderly marking your skin. His kiss lingers for a heartbeat, a soft, almost intimate gesture before he pulls away completely. After a moment, he withdraws his softening cock, and the pressure inside you eases.

He pulls himself away from the bed, and the sudden movement makes your head spin. You push yourself up, too, feeling the rush of blood hit your temples, the pressure building in your skull. Your eyes follow him as he tosses the used condom into the trash, his hands trembling. With a sigh, he reaches for the pack of cigarettes on the bedside table, lights one with a shaky flick of his thumb, and exhales slowly. The smoke curls in the dim light, hanging in the air like a silent afterthought.

“I can give you a ride home, but I don’t think your groceries are going to make it,” he says, his voice light with that same casual humor. He takes a drag from his cigarette, then holds it out toward you, offering it like it’s some sort of peace offering.

You don’t move toward it, and the sight of him—already dressed, already dismissing the moment with that effortless charm—sends a jolt of bitterness through you. This is how he does it, isn’t it? Fucks them, smokes, gets dressed, then sends them on their way. You dress quickly, and finish pulling on your shoes, the awkwardness of the moment hitting you all at once. Without a word, you turn and head for the door.

“Hey!” His voice stops you in your tracks. “You can’t just leave. Who knows if it’s safe? Don’t be reckless. Cariño, ven acá.”

You roll your eyes, the sarcasm practically dripping from your words. “Call it post-nut clarity, Javier.” You reply with the same sarcasm in your tone.

You yank the door open, ready to leave, but then stop dead in your tracks. Murphy stands in the doorway, his hand suspended in the air as if he’d been about to knock. His blue eyes widen in surprise when they meet yours. His lips part slightly, and he lifts an eyebrow as his gaze flicks past you, settling on Javier—shirtless, jeans unbuttoned, cigarette dangling between his fingers.

Heat floods your already flushed cheeks, making your skin feel tight, and in that instant, everything becomes too vivid. Too exposed. You stand there, caught in a moment of sheer embarrassment. The awkwardness is suffocating, yet strangely, you don’t know whether you want to run or stay and unravel the feeling that has suddenly settled in your chest.

You do the only thing that feels right in the moment—you run. You brush past Murphy, the heat of his presence lingering just behind you as he follows. It’s perfect, really. He’ll drive you home, and you’ll avoid the awkward confrontation with Javier. You won’t have to face him telling you, in the most painfully polite way, that he isn’t interested, that he never was. You don’t need that kind of false pity. Not from him. Not when he got the whole thing twisted.

You wanted this—just this. A fuck, nothing more. And you didn’t want him to think you wanted more.

But then, you make the mistake of glancing back. And when you do, you catch it—Javier’s gaze, sad brown eyes darkened with something you can’t quite place. His brows furrow slightly, and for the briefest moment, his expression cracks open in a way you didn’t expect. Hurt?

No. You’re reading it wrong. It’s not hurt. It’s...relief.

Javier Peña only ever cared about one person—himself. You’d known that from the moment you first crossed paths.

The truth hit hard, but it was the only thing that made sense: leaving first was a favor. And for once, you didn’t feel bad about walking away.

#javier pena x reader #javier peña #javier pena narcos #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x you #javier pena smut #pedro pascal characters #papi pedro #pedro x reader #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedropascal #pedrohub #pedro pascal #tumblr fyp #new writer #writers on tumblr

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writersblockiskillingme · 9 months ago

Note

So I saw you wanted request for the rise of red and I'm here to deliver lol. So Captin Hook right? Can I get something like we are also friends with Bridget (or we are like Bridget) and they like run into each other and stuff I'm bad at doing requests and stuff sorry lol

Happy Little Accidents | Captain Hook

Pairing: Captain Hook x fem!reader

Summary: Hook and you always run into each other and he hates it.

Warning/s: fluff, short fic, Morgie's teasing, possible grammar and spelling mistakes

Author's note: You did amazing with the request, don't worry, hun. I did my best, hope this is what you wanted, enjoy!!

You had a reputation for being, what the VK's would call, a goody two shoes. A person that always follows the rules, never rebels against anyone or anything, is always good, always kind. Even if someone was so incredibly rude to you, you would still have a smile planted onto your face and a thought filled with kindness in your head.

All in all, your personality perfectly matched the one that Bridget from Wonderland had. That is one of the many reasons the two of you were practically inseparable.

No matter what, you always saw good in everyone and everything. Some people loved you for it. Some people found themselves despising you for that personality trait that you possessed.

You usually kept to yourself when you were not hanging out with Bridget or Ella, just trying to stay out of anyone's way.

Bridget always gave her best to make as many friends as possible, simply always going out of her way to make sure she made friends. You were not like that really.

You had Bridget and Ella. You had two friends. That was enough for you. It's not like you didn't want to give people a chance to be your friends. No way! You simply preferred it like that.

And even though you always stayed out of other people's ways, somehow one VK kept running into you.

The one with the smirk that seemed like it never left his face.

The one with the hook on his right hand.

The one who was a part of Uliana's crew.

Captain James Hook.

No matter how hard you tried to avoid each other, you just simply kept running into each other no matter what.

Whether you were just rushing to get to class in time or you were taking a walk or just reading or doing schoolwork on the courtyard, Hook was always there. However, it's not like he wanted to run into you all the time.

He infact hated it.

Constantly running into you. You with your bubbly personality and your kindness and your generosity and your willingness to help others even when they are mean to you and your perfect face and your gorgeous smile and your amazing hair and... and the panic he felt every time the two of you ran into each other.

The panic that appeared every time he realized over and over again just how amazing you truly are. Not that he would admit that to anyone.

Until Morgie noticed.

That's exactly how he ended up leaning against the tree in the courtyard of the Merlin's Academy as Morgie was siting down on the ground not too far away from him, listening as Hook was spilling nonsense at him.

"I just can't do it anymore," Hook groaned as Morgie rolled his eyes once again after God knows how many times. "I constantly run into her, it's crazy."

"Mhm..."

"She's just so annoying."

"Sure."

"I mean," Hook scoffed, basically ignoring Morgie who now had his head resting on his arms, sitting with his legs crossed in the grass. "Who can possibly be so happy all the time?"

"She can."

"It's so infuriating!" Hook groaned, throwing his head back, waving his hook around to emphasize his point. "That stupid, goody goody."

"Just admit that you like her already." Morgie rolled his eyes and Hook got silent all of a sudden.

"I don't-I-," he found himself stuttering and Morgie started to smirk as he saw his friend slowly starting to blush. "I don't like anyone! Especially not someone like her!"

"Mhm," Morgie hummed, unconvinced. "Sure you don't. You just notice every single thing about her and you've been 'complaining' about her kindness and generosity and perfection for almost half and hour. Just admit it to yourself."

"I don't like-"

"Please," Morgie said, once again, no surprise there, rolling his eyes as he looked at Hook. "I'm pretty sure Uliana noticed it, too."

"I-"

"Maleficent did for sure," he chuckled. "She's been looking at you a bit weirdly since few days ago when you started blushing when your little crush touched you accidentally while trying to escape Uliana and save Bridget like usual."

"I DID NOT BLUSH-!" Hook looked mortified and Morgie found himself laughing.

"Oh, please," he said, "Don't be so surprised, of course I noticed it."

Hook looked out into the distance and could have sworn that he saw that familiar hair color at the other side of the school. Morgie looked at him and sighed as he stood up, placing his hand on Hook's shoulder.

"Look, ask her out before someone else does because I've heard that Snow White's son has a thing for her, too." Morgie said and Hook's gaze snapped to Morgie's.

"I just thought that you should know." Morgie said in sing-song voice before he walked away with his arms behind his back, smirking, so pleased with himself.

As his gaze left Morgie's he realized, oh, he's not gonna have that.

TAGLIST:

@xoxo-h3arts @i-am-fork @a-homosexual-homosapien @snixx2088 @heartsfromcoco @ariaroseloklover @isafran1125 @gayfrog29 @mystic-mae

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delespresso · 4 months ago

Text

DETESTATION ━━ Fiyero x fem!reader

author's note; this was previously titled 'kiss me' lol. i cant lie, i was sort of just winging it with this one — i've been doing a lot of rivals to lovers u guys, my brain is a little confused now 😭 idk if i liked this but i hope its good! <3

prompt; “You can’t just…kiss me to win a fucking argument, [NAME]!” “You’re right…but did it work?” ps; i changed it up a bit, oops

summary; the constant back and forth was totally out of total detestation. . . right?

━━ ☄. *. ⋆

It was the third invite to the Ozdust Ballroom within the month.

Ever since the Winkie Prince showed up at Shiz a few months back, he's been influencing quite a few trips to the scandalocious venue. In fact — he started it immediately on his first day.

She didn't plan on going this time either. Even if the invite had come directly from him, while he was following her tail all over campus.

"C'mon, princess, it'll be fun," Fiyero urged as he walked behind her like a little puppy.

Typically, she refused to even be in his vicinity. With her luck though, somehow Doctor Dillamond decided he needed a tutor to push him through history class — so of course, she was chosen, being the current top student.

"Think of it as me thanking you for helping me ace history," Fiyero continued.

He did, in fact, ace his history after that. A whole A solid.

"For the millionth time, Fiyero, no," she huffed.

He rolled his eyes at another rejection, still following her as they found their way into the dining hall. It was sparse at the moment, they were quite early this time.

"Your welcome for history. But that's it," she added.

She grabbed a tray, starting to put food on it. As she did though, the infuriatingly charming — and annoying — prince stole a piece right out of her plate.

"You should learn to live a little. See the nightlife. Go dancing. We don't live forever, you know?"

She stared up at him as he just went on his little ramble about life.

"If you're worried about a dance partner—"

"I really don't care—"

"I'm sure Boq is very kind to help in that," Fiyero said with a sly smirk.

Respectfully, Boq was nice and cute in a way, but she would much rather drink a tub of toxic elixir.

She could only scoff in response, picking up her tray and finding a seat. Still he refused to let up.

"One night. Its just one night, it really won't kill you," Fiyero insisted.

"It won't, but I might kill you."

She set her tray down with a huff, but she didn't get the chance to sit yet before he was pestering her again.

"I've lived quite well, I wouldn't mind dying at your hands," he shrugged.

"Are you serious right now?" she scoffed. "I have a fork and knife an inch away from my hands, don't tempt me."

"Oh, how horrifying," he mock gasped.

Oh, this little—

"Truthfully, I find a death by my history tutor to be a beautiful exit," he continued with a smug grin.

"You have no sense of self preservation. My hands would be a painful way to die," she retorted.

He didn't miss a beat, grabbing her hands in his in such an oddly gentle manner that had her brain crashing for a moment.

"These soft hands? I find that hard to believe."

She blinked rapidly, just staring at the way he held her hands to his chest for no reason. Why was her head spinning? Why was her pulse rushing?

"You're infuriating," she managed to hiss as she pulled her hands away.

Really, she had no idea why this man annoyed her so much. She felt an irrational amount of irritation when he was around. Her head would sometimes go empty when she looked at him, her heart suddenly going too fast and her stomach feeling like it was floating.

Dislike. Pure, utter, dislike. Loathing, perhaps. Detestation.

Those were the only acceptable answers.

She ended up taking her lunch to go, bringing it with her to eat somewhere else where she could escape him.

"Come dancing tonight!" he tried again even as she stomped away from him and replied over without turning back.

"Eat grass!"

It was her roommate that dragged her to the Ozdust Ballroom that night. No one else.

Certainly not the persistent, annoyingly handsome prince. No.

She allowed herself to have fun for a while, dancing around with her roommate. She didn't catch a single glimpse of him so she assumed he bailed.

She would be absolutely wrong when she ended up twirling right into his arms.

Fiyero's hands were on her waist, keeping her right there as her hands ended up on his biceps. He grinned down at her, that casual and laidback smile he always had.

"You came."

"Not because of you."

He chuckled at her quick defensiveness. It was cute to him. Taking her hand, he gave her a quick whirl before pulling her close again.

"Of course not," he agreed.

"Plenty of other reasons to come to a party," she nodded.

"Mhm."

"Nice ambience, people in nice outfits," she started to list aimlessly.

"Yes, they do dress up nice," he continued to agree.

"Good music, exceptional dancing—"

"You dance well."

"Random excuse to dress myself up too—"

"You look lovely."

"The lights are quite nice too, all blueish—"

She didn't get the chance to keep yapping when suddenly a pair of warm lips were on hers. It felt like she was on fire. A good kind of fire. When she opened her eyes again and their lips parted, she met his gaze under the lights.

Her lips were parted, her breath catching. Her face was definitely flushing and Oz— her head was reeling. She was too flustered she ended up fumbling her words.

"You can't just kiss me to win an argument, Fiyero!"

He laughed at her reaction. In hindsight, he should've probably not do it out of nowhere. But her reaction was priceless.

"Yeah, probably not. But it shut you up," he mused.

She stared up at him, eyes wide as she was clearly baffled.

"You need to stop finding excuses, princess," he teased, giving her yet another whirl.

Her dress flared out before she ended up back with him, flush against his chest. Whatever she felt for him was strong. Though she was starting to suspect it wasn't actually detestation.

She'd likely been in denial.

"You need to not kiss someone without permission," she retorted anyway.

Fiyero only smiled, but at least he nodded sincerely with a bit of a shrug.

"Fair enough. Sorry," he agreed. "Can I have a redo?"

She raised a single brow up at him, this time catching up with the dance way better than when she initially ended up in his arms. A coy, almost teasing smile pulled on her lips as she casually ended up leading the dance.

"Let's see your dancing first, Winkie Prince."

liked this tale? leave a tip!

#fiyero x reader #fiyero tigelaar #fiyero tigelaar x reader #wicked fiyero #wicked movie #wicked #jonathan bailey

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helioooss · 4 months ago

Text

my favourite ex

synopsis: when minjeong dumped you over a year ago, nobody thought that you’d still be chasing after her: your favourite ex.

w/c: roughly 9.5k+

warnings: swearing, making out. winter’s a bit of an ass. law terminology when i actually know nothing about it and university as a whole (this hurt my fucking brain cause i went to uni for a week then dropped out). some angst here and there. (is it even a helios fanfic without a tinge of angst???)

a/n: merry christmas again - first detailed make out scene, lmao :)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the class was buzzing when you rolled in, skateboard strapped to your back, oversized “i love my ex” shirt proudly displayed for the world — or rather, for one person in particular, to see. you could feel the weight of the stares, the judgmental whispers blending with poorly concealed laughter, but it didn’t bother you.

at least, that’s what you told yourself.

“mate, you have got to be fucking kidding me,” ryujin said the moment she spotted you, her eyebrows shooting up so high they practically disappeared into her hairline. she nudged yeji, who turned around from her seat and immediately burst into laughter.

“you’re actually wearing that?” yeji cackled, pointing at your shirt as if it wasn’t blatantly obvious what it said. “y/n, come on. you’ve got to stop giving her free real estate in your head.”

“she’s not in my head,” you argued, dropping your bag on the floor with a thud. “she’s in my heart.”

“jesus christ,” ryujin groaned, burying her face in her hands like she couldn’t bear to look at you anymore. “you’re so down bad it’s embarrassing, just gets worse everyday.”

beomgyu leaned back in his chair, grinning from ear to ear as he tilted his head to study your shirt. “honestly, respect. this level of delusion? it’s kind of iconic.”

“thanks gyu,” you plopped down on the seat next to him with a smile.

“no, i mean it,” he said, gesturing wildly with his hands. “like, who does this? who actually wears an ‘i love my ex’ shirt to a class they share with their ex?”

“me,” you said, grinning to yourself. “because i’m not a coward.”

yeji snorted. “no, you’re just stupid.”

you ignored her, your eyes flickering to the other side of the room. there she was, in all her glory: kim minjeong, your ex-girlfriend, sitting with her clique like a queen holding court. yizhuo was whispering something to her, and whatever it was made her smirk — the type that used to make your knees weak.

that felt like a lifetime ago.

she looked flawless, of course. she always did. her hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, a few strands falling perfectly into place and she was dressed like she’d walked straight out of a magazine; simple yet effortlessly elegant.

even the way she was sitting, legs crossed and her arm draped casually over the back of her chair, made it impossible to look away.

you weren’t the only one staring. everyone in the room was drawn to her in some way, whether they wanted to admit it or not.

she was one of the richest girls at yonsei, part of the infamous clique of untouchables: minjeong, jimin, yizhuo and aeri. together, they were a force of nature, the kind of people who ruled the social hierarchy without even trying.

and yet, once upon a time, minjeong had been yours. your gaze lingered on her, memories flooding in uninvited. the late-night study sessions where she’d tutored you in the basics of tort law, her patience wearing thin every time you made a dumb joke to avoid answering a question.

the rare moments when her cold exterior would crack and she’d laugh; a soft, genuine sound that made your chest ache with something you didn’t understand back then.

the way she used to look at you, like you were the most infuriating person in the world but also someone she couldn’t quite let go of.

“don’t even think about it,” yeji warned, snapping her fingers in front of your face. “do not embarrass yourself any further, y/n.”

“what do you mean?” you asked, tearing your eyes away from the love of your life.

“you’re literally about to get up and try to sit with her,” she deadpanned.

“i was not!” you protested, even though the thought had definitely crossed your mind.

“oh, for sure you were,” ryujin whined, rolling her eyes. “you’re like a moth to a flame. except the flame is your rich, hot ex who dumped you in the middle of the busiest hallway on campus. remember that?”

as if you could forget.

the image was burned into your brain — the way she’d stood there, her voice calm and detached as she said: “i’m bored of you, y/n.”

the flood of emotions when people had stopped to watch, their whispers growing louder with each passing second. the way your chest had caved in, like all the air had been sucked out of the room.

but you’d smiled through it. laughed, even. told her it was fine, that you understood. because you did. you understood minjeong better than anyone else, knew that her coldness was just a shield she used to keep people at arm’s length.

she’d come around eventually, you were sure of it. you just had to wait.

“oh my god, you’re still thinking about her, aren’t you?” yeji groaned. “y/n, move on. she’s not worth it.”

“she’s absolutely worth it,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest.

“no, she’s not,” ryujin said firmly. “she’s cold, distant, and —”

“hot,” beomgyu interjected.

“— and way out of your league,” ryujin finished, ignoring him.

“i don’t care,” you muttered, glancing back at minjeong. she caught your eye for a brief moment, her expression unreadable, before she turned away.

your chest ached.

god, you missed her so much it hurt.

“you’re hopeless,” yeji muttered, shaking her head.

you sighed, leaning back in your chair as professor cho walked in and started the lecture. you tried to focus, really, you did, but every time you glanced in minjeong’s direction, you were reminded of everything you’d lost — and everything you were still desperately hoping to get back.

the class was dead silent, except for professor cho’s monotone voice droning on about the intricacies of criminal law. your head was propped up on your hand, and you let out a long, slow yawn that you didn’t even bother to stifle.

unfortunately, it didn’t go unnoticed.

“miss l/n,” she snapped, her voice sharp and disapproving. “if my lecture is so boring, perhaps you’d like to teach the class yourself?”

you blinked, caught off guard. “i wasn’t saying it was boring.”

“no, you were implying it,” she shot back, folding her arms. “do you have anything to add to the discussion, or are you content to waste everyone’s time?”

the entire room was watching now and you could feel the weight of their eyes on you. you glanced at minjeong, who was sitting with her arms crossed. she didn’t even bother to look at you.

one thing you hated was the judgment, the way your chest tightened uncomfortably under the pressure.

“i didn’t mean to waste anyone’s time,” you defended, trying to keep your voice steady. “i just yawned. it’s not a crime.”

“it’s disrespectful,” she retorted. “and given your current academic performance, i’d suggest you take this class more seriously.”

that hit a nerve. “oh, so now we’re making it personal?” you asked, your voice rising.

“y/n,” ryujin hissed from the corner of the room, but you ignored her.

“you know what?” you said, standing up and grabbing your bag. “i don’t need this. i don’t need to sit here and listen to someone power trip on their authority.”

“then leave,” she finished coldly. “and don’t come back until you’re ready to behave like an adult.”

“gladly,” you muttered, storming out of the room.

once you were outside, you fumbled with your bag until you found your pack of cigarettes. your hands were trembling as you lit one, the first drag filling your lungs and easing the knot in your chest. you leaned against the wall, closing your eyes as the nicotine worked its magic.

but even with the cigarette in hand, your thoughts drifted back to her. minjeong. her stupid smile, the way her eyes used to soften when she thought no one was looking. you thought about the way she’d laughed at your terrible jokes during those late-night study sessions, her walls crumbling just enough to let you in.

and then you thought about the way she’d torn it all apart. how she’d stood there in the middle of that hallway, looking at you like you were nothing and said she was bored.

the memory made your stomach churn. you felt sick, anxious, like you were coming apart at the seams.

“you’ve got to let her go,” you mumbled to yourself, flicking ash onto the ground. “she’s not coming back.”

the words felt hollow. you’d been telling yourself the same thing for months, and yet here you were — still wearing an “i love my ex” shirt like a complete idiot, still hoping she’d see you and change her mind.

you finished your cigarette, hanging around campus before heading to your administrative law class, your mood dark and heavy. when you walked in, yeji waved you over, patting the seat next to her. you slumped into the chair without a word, ignoring her concerned look.

“you alright?” she asked quietly.

“fine,” you mumbled.

out of curiosity, you glanced over your shoulder and immediately regretted it. minjeong was already sitting a row behind you with aeri, her face calm and composed as always. she didn’t even glance your way, but you could feel her presence like a weight pressing down on your chest.

yeji leaned over, her voice low. “okay, but seriously, what’s up with the shirt? you’re not helping yourself.”

you shrugged. “thought it’d be funny.”

“it’s not,” she said bluntly. “it’s sad.”

you didn’t have the energy to argue. instead, you focused on the desk in front of you, your fingers tracing invisible patterns on the surface. you hadn’t even realised you were trembling until yeji put a hand on your arm.

“hey,” she said softly. “are you okay?”

“i’m failing,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “failing everything. maybe i should just drop out. leave this place and start over somewhere else.”

she frowned. “don’t say that.”

“why not?” you asked, meeting her eyes. “what’s the point? i’m not cut out for this. i’m just wasting everyone’s time — professors, my parents, even yours.”

“that’s not true,” she said firmly. “you’re not wasting my time and you’re definitely not a waste.”

you didn’t respond, staring down at your trembling hands.

“listen,” she continued, her tone softer. “i know it’s a lot. but dropping out isn’t the answer. you just need to take a step back, breathe and figure out what you want.”

“i don’t even know what i want anymore,” you admitted.

from behind you, you felt a pair of eyes on you. minjeong’s. though you didn’t dare turn around, you could feel her frown, her sharp gaze lingering on your hands.

“just…think about it,” she added, giving your arm a reassuring squeeze. “you’ve gotten this far.”

by some miracle — or maybe out of sheer spite, you managed to pull yourself together for the rest of the lecture. instead of zoning out or whispering to yeji, you actually listened. surprisingly, the material clicked this time.

professor diaz, as sharp as ever, began throwing out questions to the class and to everyone’s surprise — including your own — you knew the answers.

“miss l/n,” he called, clearly sceptical after he heard of your earlier outburst. “procedural fairness — tell me, what are its main components?”

you hesitated for a moment, glancing at yeji, who gave you a small, encouraging nod. “uh, well, the two main components are the right to a fair hearing and the rule against bias.”

the professor raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting you to be correct. “and? tell us more about it.”

“the right to a fair hearing means that anyone affected by a decision should have an opportunity to present their case,” you answered, hesitation still audible in your voice. “the latter will ensure that decision-makers remain impartial and free from any conflicts of interest.”

he paused, then gave a small nod of approval. “not bad, miss l/n. maybe there’s some hope for you after all.”

you felt a flicker of pride at his words, though it was quickly replaced by embarrassment as yeji smirked and whispered, “look at you, being a functional member of society.”

after class ended, you gathered your things and followed her out, ignoring the glances from your classmates. as the two of you walked toward your usual hangout spot, you spotted ryujin and beomgyu already waiting on the stairs that led down to the fountain.

the fountain, of course, was near the gazebo where minjeong and her clique always sat — and judged.

“finally!” ryujin called out as you and yeji approached. “thought you two got lost or something.”

“y/n was busy impressing the professor,” yeji teased, nudging you. “she actually answered questions. correctly, even.”

“whoa,” beomgyu said, putting a hand to his chest like he was in shock. “is this the same y/n we know, or did someone replace her?”

“ha ha,” you said dryly, dropping your bag on the stairs. “you’re hilarious.”

“she’s just trying to make up for the shirt,” ryujin said, nodding toward your chest.

beomgyu squinted at the bold i love my ex print and groaned. “oh, for the love of — y/n, take it off.”

“you take it off,” you shot back, smirking.

“don’t tempt me,” he said, rummaging through his bag. after a moment, he pulled out a plain white t-shirt and tossed it at you. “here; you put this on before you embarrass yourself any further.”

you stared at the shirt for a moment, then sighed. “fine,” you pulled it over your head without argument, covering up the text that seemed to offend everyone.

“there,” he nodded in approval. “now you look like a normal human being.”

meanwhile, at the gazebo, minjeong had been watching the entire exchange. she frowned when she saw you cover up the shirt, though she didn’t know why it bothered her.

aeri, however, noticed immediately.

“jealous much?” aeri teased, smirking as she leaned back against the gazebo railing. “what, you miss being the one she’s obsessed with?”

“don’t be ridiculous,” minjeong’s tone was cool and dismissive. “i don’t care what she wears.”

“sure you don’t,” yizhuo chimed in, grinning. “you’ve been staring at her for the past five minutes.”

she rolled her eyes, pretending to focus on her phone. “you’re imagining things.”

“uh-huh,” aeri said, exchanging a knowing look with yizhuo.

she ignored them, though her eyes flickered back to you just in time to see you grab your skateboard. you and beomgyu were at it again, attempting flips and tricks on the stairs while yeji and ryujin sat nearby, shaking their heads.

“she’s going to hurt herself,” minjeong muttered, though no one seemed to hear her.

and then, as if on cue, it happened. you misjudged your footing on a landing, and the skateboard flew out from under you. you went down hard, hitting the edge of the stairs with a sickening thud.

“shit,” ryujin said, scrambling to her feet as yeji gasped.

from where she sat, minjeong’s heart skipped a beat. before she realised what she was doing, she was already standing up, her eyes locked on your crumpled form at the bottom of the stairs.

“relax,” jimin mumbled, crossing her arms. “your ex can handle it. and dumped her, remember? don’t act like you care now.”

but she didn’t respond. she couldn’t take her eyes off you, her mind racing with worry even as she tried to convince herself that it wasn’t her problem anymore.

“jesus christ, y/n,” beomgyu muttered as he crouched down beside you, pulling his bag off his back and rummaging through it with the urgency of a paramedic. “you’ve really outdone yourself this time. does it hurt? of course it hurts. what a stupid question.”

“it’s fine,” you said through gritted teeth, clutching your ribs as you tried to sit up. the sharp sting that shot through your side made you wince and you slumped back down against the cold stone of the stairs.

“yeah, fine. sure,” he said sarcastically. “you only fell from, what, three metres? you’re totally fine.”

“shut up, gyu,” you snapped, glaring at him.

“oh, don’t worry,” he said, pulling a freezing cold gatorade bottle out of his bag. “i’m about to help you,” without any warning, he pressed the icy bottle directly against your ribs.

you let out a shriek, the pain sharp and immediate. “what the fuck, beomgyu?!”

“what?” he asked innocently, holding the bottle in place. “it’s cold therapy. helps with the swelling.”

“it’s called torture!” you yelled, trying to shove his hand away.

“stop being dramatic,” he said, but he moved the bottle, finally giving you a moment to breathe.

ryujin crouched next to you, her hands on her hips as she stared at you like a disappointed parent. “you’re a fucking idiot, you know that?”

“it wasn’t that bad of a fall,” you muttered, avoiding her gaze.

“you’ve got to stop pulling stunts like this,” she said, shaking her head. “your bones can only take so much abuse before they just give up.”

“and then what?” yeji interjected, crossing her arms as she stared down at you. “you’ll end up in the hospital and we’ll have to explain to the doctors that you’re failing uni because you spend all your time skating and crying over your ex.”

at the mention of her, your stomach twisted. “don’t bring her into this,” you muttered, staring at the ground.

“oh, we’re bringing her into this,” yeji said, crouching down to your level. “because, let’s be honest, half the reason you’re acting like an idiot lately is because of minjeong.”

“shut up,” you mumbled, squeezing your eyes shut.

“she’s right, though,” ryujin added, her tone softer this time. “you’ve been in your head about her since the breakup. it’s messing you up.”

“it’s not about her,” you lied, though the lump in your throat betrayed you. you hated that they were right. hated that even now, with pain radiating through your ribs, your thoughts still drifted to her.

you hated minjeong. or at least, you wanted to. you hated the way she made everything look so easy and you hated the way she walked around like she owned the world, like nothing and no one could touch her.

most of all, you hated the way she looked at you. because even now, even after everything, you swore there was something in her eyes that told you she still cared.

and that, more than anything, made you feel sick.

“y/n?” ryujin’s voice cut through your thoughts, bringing you back to the present. she was staring at you, her brow furrowed in concern. “are you crying?”

“what? no,” you said quickly, wiping at your face. but the tears were there, hot and unwelcome.

“you are,” yeji pointed, her tone softening. “y/n, what’s wrong? is it your ribs?”

“no,” you said, shaking your head. “it’s…it’s just —” your voice cracked, and you groaned, burying your face in your hands. “stupid fucking bitch, why does she have to look so pretty all the time?”

“who?” beomgyu asked, confused.

“minjeong,” yeji said quietly, her expression softening. “she’s talking about minjeong.”

of course you were. even now, when you should have been focusing on your physical pain, she was the only thing on your mind.

“alright, don’t fucking piss me off,” ryujin groaned abruptly, standing up and brushing off her jeans. “we’re skipping the rest of the day.”

“what?” yeji asked, glancing between you and ryujin. “you serious?”

“dead serious,” ryujin answered. “we’re taking her to joe’s juice joint, and we’re drinking her heart out until she forgets minjeong ever existed.”

“now that’s a plan,” beomgyu said, grinning. “i’m in.”

“guys, i’m fine,” you protested weakly, but ryujin wasn’t having it.

“nope,” she said, grabbing your arm and hauling you to your feet. “you’re coming, no arguments. consider this an intervention.”

reluctantly, you let them guide you down the stairs. every step sent a fresh wave of pain through your ribs but you gritted your teeth and kept moving. anything was better than sitting around and wallowing in self-pity.

as you passed by the gazebo, you didn’t spare minjeong or her clique a single glance. but you could feel her eyes on you, heavy and unrelenting, like she was trying to read your mind from across the courtyard.

“y/n!” aeri’s voice rang out from the gazebo, loud and teasing. “anything broken?”

“just my ego,” you mumbled without looking up.

she cackled, clearly delighted. “you skipping class again? what is this, the third time this week?”

“fourth,” ryujin told her with a smirk. “and yeah, we’re heading to joe’s. you want to join us after your class?”

the girl raised an eyebrow, glancing at minjeong, whose frown deepened. “tempting,” she said, still grinning. “might just take you up on that.”

“we’ll be there all night,” ryujin winked, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as if to shield you from the weight of your ex-girlfriend’s gaze.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the first day, it was easy for minjeong to ignore your absence. people skipped class all the time; it wasn’t a big deal. you were probably out skating somewhere or doing something equally idiotic and irresponsible.

she really told herself she didn’t care. she spent the lecture dutifully taking notes, her pen gliding smoothly across the page, her expression calm and collected.

yet as the minutes dragged on, she caught herself glancing at the door more often than she wanted to admit. no loud entrance, no skateboard clattering against the floor, no offhand comment that made half the class groan and the other half laugh. the room felt…off.

too quiet.

“focus,” she muttered under her breath, shaking her head. this was good. peace and quiet was good.

but the uneasy feeling lingered.

the second day was harder.

she arrived to class early as always, settling into her usual seat. she pulled out her notebook and began skimming through her notes, but her focus wavered. every time the door opened, her eyes flickered up instinctively, only to be met with someone else’s face.

not a sight of you.

again?

she hated how much it bothered her. hated the little knot forming in her stomach, the way her pen hovered idly in her hand as she stared at the empty seat you usually occupied. it wasn’t like she cared.

“you alright?” aeri asked during lunch, raising an eyebrow as she leaned across the table. “you’re kind of…off today.”

“i’m fine,” minjeong said curtly, stabbing at her salad with her fork.

“you don’t look fine,” jimin pressed, clearly amused. “what’s got you all grumpy?”

“nothing,” she replied, her tone sharp enough to make them smirk.

“is it because of y/n?” jimin asked, her eyes glinting with mischief. “you’ve been weird since she stopped showing up.”

“i haven’t been weird,” she snapped, glaring at her.

“you totally have,” yizhuo pointed out, leaning back in her chair. “you’ve been frowning nonstop for two days. it’s honestly kind of funny.”

“maybe you should just ask her friends where she is,” jimin suggested casually, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “wouldn’t it put your mind at ease?”

“i don’t care where she is,” minjeong said rather quickly, her voice colder than she intended. “it’s none of my business.”

“sure it’s not,” aeri chuckled, exchanging a knowing look with jimin and yizhuo.

she didn’t dignify them with a response. instead, she stood abruptly, grabbing her bag and walking away. she hated how transparent she was, hated that her friends could see right through her.

but as much as she wanted to pretend she didn’t care, the nagging unease wouldn’t go away. your absence felt like a puzzle piece out of place and she hated unsolved puzzles.

the fountain steps were as loud and chaotic as ever when minjeong approached, her unease simmering just beneath her calm exterior. she spotted your friends easily — beomgyu, ryujin and yeji sitting in their usual spot, laughing about something as he gestured wildly with his hands.

she hesitated for a moment, her pride warring with her curiosity. then, with a deep breath, she walked up to them, her expression carefully neutral.

the first to notice her was beomgyu, who immediately froze mid-gesture. “uh…” he blinked, clearly caught off guard. “can we help you?”

“where’s y/n?” she asked, cutting straight to the point. her tone was as cold as ever, but her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag.

ryujin raised an eyebrow, exchanging a glance with yeji. “why do you care?”

“i don’t,” she replied quickly, though the words felt hollow. “i just noticed she wasn’t in class. that’s all.”

“you noticed,” beomgyu said, leaning back with a grin. “interesting.”

“just answer the question,” she demanded, her patience wearing thin.

ryujin sighed dramatically, leaning forward with a smirk. “well, since you’re so curious…she fainted at joe’s the other day, y’know, when she fell down these stairs.”

minjeong’s calm facade cracked. her eyes widened slightly, her grip tightening on her bag. “she fainted?”

“yeah,” ryujin said, her tone casual but her eyes glinting with amusement. “we were all hanging out, having a good time and then boom — she just collapsed.”

her stomach twisted. “collapsed?” her voice was quieter now, less sharp. “what?”

“yep,” yeji added, nodding solemnly. “we had to take her to the hospital. turns out she fractured a rib when she fell on the stairs.”

the words hit your ex-girlfriend like a punch to the gut. fractured a rib? the image of your fall replayed in her mind, but this time it felt sharper, more vivid. she could still hear the sickening thud of your body hitting the stairs, see the way you’d clutched your side in pain.

and now, knowing you hadn’t just brushed it off, that it was serious enough to land you in hospital, made minjeong’s chest ache in a way she didn’t like.

“so, there you go,” ryujin yawned, tilting her head. “your curiosity satisfied?”

she didn’t respond, choosing to turn on her heel and walk away — her mind racing. she told herself it didn’t matter.

you didn’t matter.

she stared blankly at her phone, her thumb idly scrolling through an endless feed of nothing. the sounds of her friends chatting around her faded into the background and she leaned back against the bench, her thoughts pulling her under.

she didn’t know why she broke up with you that day. no matter how many times she replayed the memory in her head, it never made sense. one moment, you were telling her some absurdly funny story about your boss — a ridiculous tale about how he had a deep-rooted fear of olives and couldn’t even look at a martini without panicking.

she remembered laughing at that, really laughed and it felt easy, like it always did with you. you’d grinned at her, bright and carefree; the kind of smile that felt like it was meant just for her.

and then, almost without thinking, she’d said it.

“i’m bored of you.”

the words had tumbled out of her mouth, cold and sharp, before she even realised what she was doing. she remembered the way your expression had faltered for the briefest of moments, like a flicker of a flame before it was snuffed out.

and then, as if to spite her, you’d smiled. laughed, even.

“cool. no worries,” you’d replied, your tone light and easy, like she hadn’t just ripped the ground out from under you.

but she saw the way your shoulders stiffened as you turned and walked away and for the first time, she had felt the weight of what she’d done.

she’d tried to convince herself it was the right choice. your relationship had been getting…too real.

a year was a long time, longer than she ever thought she’d spend with anyone. and with every passing day, you’d peeled back more and more of her walls, learning things about her that she didn’t even know she wanted to share.

it terrified her how easily you read her, how you’d figured her out like you were studying a map of her soul.

she hated it. hated that you could tell what kind of mood she was in just by the way she tapped her pen during lectures. hated that you knew her coffee order by heart, down to the extra splash of milk she only liked on rainy days. hated that you always noticed when she was struggling, even when she didn’t say a word.

she hated that she’d started to depend on you — because if you knew her so well, if you’d gotten that close, then it meant you had the power to hurt her in a way no one else ever had.

and minjeong didn’t know if she could handle that.

so, she’d broken things off. not gently, not in private, but in the loudest, cruelest way possible. if she made you hate her, if she pushed you far enough away, then maybe she could protect herself.

except you didn’t hate her.

you didn’t yell at her, or cry, or make a scene. you just…kept smiling. kept acting like it didn’t bother you, like you understood her better than she understood herself. and then, to her frustration, you started chasing her. showing up to class wearing ridiculous shirts, making jokes loud enough for her to hear and skating around like you didn’t have a care in the world.

it drove her insane.

it wasn’t fair. she’d ended things because she needed distance, needed to feel in control again, and here you were, acting like you could still get under her skin whenever you wanted.

she clenched her jaw, staring down at her phone. the image of you sitting in the hospital, clutching your ribs and pretending it didn’t hurt, flashed in her mind.

you were so stubborn, so reckless, and it infuriated her that she still cared.

“you okay?” yizhuo’s voice cut through her thoughts, and minjeong looked up, realising she’d been silent for too long.

“fine,” she muttered, but the word felt hollow.

“you don’t look fine,” aeri teased, leaning closer. “what’s got you so worked up? your ex again?”

minjeong’s jaw tightened. she hated how easily her friends could read her, hated that she was so transparent. “no,” she answered sharply.

“uh-huh,” jimin said, smirking. “sure it’s not.”

she ignored them, turning her focus inward again. you needed to stop chasing her, stop showing up with that stupid grin that made her chest ache in ways she didn’t want to think about.

maybe if she made it clear that she’d moved on, you’d finally back off. you were proud, after all — too proud to stick around if you thought she was interested in someone else.

an idea formed in her mind, one she didn’t entirely like but couldn’t shake.

maybe i should be seen with someone else in front of her.

if you saw her laughing with someone else, leaning in close, maybe even touching their arm, you’d get the message.

she exhaled, closing her eyes for a moment. it would hurt you — she knew that.

but wasn’t that the point? if hurting you meant protecting herself, wasn’t it worth it?

minjeong opened her eyes, her decision made. she’ll stop. she has to.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

you were already regretting coming in. every step you took through the halls felt heavier, slower, like the whispers around you were dragging you down. usually, the energy on campus buzzed with something familiar — greetings, smiles and nods of acknowledgment as people called out your name.

today, however, there was a sudden shift. people were staring, their hushed voices following you like shadows.

you weren’t used to this. the stares weren’t friendly; they were curious, cautious, like you were some sort of sideshow spectacle.

your mind raced with questions as the weight of their gazes pressed on you: what the fuck have i done now?

“you should’ve stayed home,” ryujin muttered from beside you, her arms crossed and her pace slowing to match yours. “seriously, what are you even doing here?”

“i have to try,” you mumbled, not meeting her gaze. the ache in your ribs flared with every step, but you forced yourself to keep walking. “if i don’t, i’ll have to repeat. and that’s more embarrassing than walking around like this.”

she sighed, shaking her head. “you’re impossible, you know that?”

you didn’t respond, you couldn’t. the pain was bad enough, but the whispers and the growing pit of anxiety in your stomach made it worse. you tried to focus on getting to class, on anything but the way people seemed to glance at you and then quickly look away.

when you finally reached the lecture hall of your evidence class, yeji was waiting near the entrance, her arms crossed. the moment she saw you, she walked up and grabbed your wrist. “come on.”

“what —” you started, but yeji was already pulling you toward the front of the room, far from your usual spot in the back.

“why are we sitting here?” you frowned, glancing back at ryujin, who followed silently, her expression unreadable.

“just trust me,” yeji mumbled, her tone firm as she steered you into a seat in the front row. “you’ll thank me later.”

heaving out a sigh, you didn’t argue. your ribs throbbed as you sank into the chair and you focused on pulling out your notebook and pen, determined to make it through the lecture. you began to scribble notes as it began, your mind too foggy with pain to think about anything else.

direct. circumstantial. hearsay.

until your pen slipped out of your fingers and clattered to the floor behind you.

groaning in pain, you turned slowly, twisting just enough to grab it. when you looked up, the sight in the back of the room hit you harder than the fall that fractured your rib.

minjeong was sitting next to sungchan. not just sitting — close. too close. her body angled toward him, her arm resting on the desk between them, the space so small it might as well not have fucking existed. his stupid smile stretched across his face as he leaned toward her, saying something that made her chuckle softly.

the only thing rooted in place was disbelief as your breath caught in your throat. your fingers froze around the pen. it wasn’t just that they were sitting together; it was the way they looked. comfortable. familiar. like this wasn’t the first time.

what the fuck?

ryujin noticed the change in your expression immediately. “y/n?” she whispered, nudging your arm gently. “hey, you good?”

but you weren’t good. you were anything but good. the pain in your ribs was nothing compared to the ache that spread through your chest like wildfire.

your gaze flickered back to the front, but it was too late. the damage was done. the rest of the lecture passed in a haze, your pen barely moving across the page. you couldn’t focus, all you could see was minjeong and sungchan, sitting together like they belonged there, like she hadn’t asked about you just days ago.

so this is what she wanted, you thought bitterly, your jaw clenched so tight it ached.

some time alone so sungchan could sweep her off her feet?

you thought she cared. you really thought that despite her cold front towards you, that there was still something there, but apparently, you’d been wrong.

she didn’t even glance your way. not once. she stayed glued to him the entire lecture, her quiet laughter ringing faintly in your ears like a cruel reminder.

when the class ended, you packed your things in silence, your hands trembling slightly as you stuffed your notebook into your bag. you didn’t say a word to ryujin or yeji as you walked out, the hollow ache in your chest growing with every step.

she doesn’t care, you told yourself. she never did.

the thought didn’t stop the sting.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the walk to your next class was excruciatingly quiet. too quiet. beomgyu was by your side, matching your pace as the two of you moved through the crowded hallway, but he didn’t say much.

for once, the usual chatter and easy jokes he always carried with him were absent, lips pressed into a thin line, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie — like he was trying to make himself invisible.

he’d noticed, of course. he always did. you’d seen minjeong and sungchan together in the last lecture and it had sucked the life out of you. he’d seen the way your expression had darkened, the fire in your eyes replaced with something duller; something he didn’t like.

you were a ticking time bomb. and he was scared.

“you okay?” he asked finally, his voice hesitant.

you nodded, your eyes focused on the floor ahead of you. “fine.”

he didn’t believe you, not for a second, but he didn’t push. instead, he tried to fill the silence with small talk, his usual coping mechanism.

“so,” he said, forcing a grin. “how’s the rib? still feel like your entire torso’s on fire, or is it more of a dull, stabbing pain now?”

normally, you’d have some kind of snarky remark for him, a sarcastic jab or a playful insult. but now, you just shrugged, your shoulders heavy with the weight of everything unsaid.

beomgyu fell silent. it was rare for him to feel uncomfortable, but something about this version of you — quiet, almost lifeless, set him on edge.

the two of you walked into your tutorial room and took your seats. at least minjeong wasn’t here, but sungchan was. and even worse, he was sitting just a few rows behind you, loud enough for you to hear every word he was saying.

“yeah, man, she’s amazing,” sungchan was saying to one of his friends, his voice carrying across the room like nails on a chalkboard. “she’s smart, funny, gorgeous…i mean, i’m going to make her mine.”

your grip tightened around your pen.

“like, she’s not even cold, you know?” he continued, his tone insistent, as if he were the authority on minjeong’s personality. “she’s just…selective. she doesn’t waste her time on people who don’t deserve her.”

every word he said felt like a dagger, twisting deeper and deeper. he spoke about minjeong like he knew her, like he truly understood her and it made your stomach churn.

he doesn’t know her. he doesn’t.

then again, maybe he was right. maybe you didn’t deserve her. maybe you never had.

the tutorial on property law dragged on, every second stretching into an eternity. when it finally ended, you were the last to pack up, moving sluggishly as the room emptied around you. beomgyu hovered nearby, watching you like you might break at any moment.

“y/n,” professor anderson’s voice pulled you from your thoughts and you looked up to see professor anderson, her warm brown eyes filled with concern.

she was one of the few professors who actually seemed to care about her students, and she’d always had a soft spot for you, even if you were a pain in her class sometimes.

“yes, professor?” you asked, your voice quieter than usual.

she crossed her arms, leaning against her desk as she studied you. “you need to pull it together,” she said, her tone gentle but firm. “i don’t know what’s going on with you, but whatever it is, you need to let it go. focus on yourself, not on…other distractions.”

you knew exactly what she meant, but you didn’t argue. instead, you nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “i understand,” you said quietly. “thank you, professor.”

“you’re capable, y/n,” she added, her voice softening. “more than you realise. don’t waste that.”

you nodded again, murmuring a quiet “i’ll try” before walking out of the room.

beomgyu followed silently, his usual teasing absent as he guided you toward the stairs where your friends always hung out.

as you approached, your eyes drifted to the gazebo. there they were — minjeong, sungchan and the rest of her friends. he was sitting exactly where you used to sit sometimes, his arm casually draped along the back of the bench, leaning into her like he belonged there.

you looked away quickly, but the image was burned into your mind.

“don’t do anything stupid,” yeji started as you reached the stairs, her voice cutting through the haze in your mind. “seriously, y/n. you’ve already hurt yourself enough. don’t make it worse.”

“she’s right,” beomgyu added, sitting beside you. “minjeong’s made her feelings pretty clear, hasn’t she? maybe it’s time to…you know, let it go.”

you sat there for a moment, staring down at your hands. their words were harsh, but they weren’t wrong. she really had made it clear. over and over again, she’d shown you exactly where you stood in her life.

“okay,” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper.

yeji frowned. “okay?”

you exhaled, the weight of the past year pressing down on you like a tidal wave. “i give up on her.”

the silence that followed was heavy, but for the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t feel like you were drowning.

“it’s about time,” ryujin cut through the silence, her voice lacking its usual teasing edge.

beomgyu clapped a hand on your shoulder, his grin tentative but hopeful. “you’re gonna be okay, y/n.”

you nodded, your gaze drifting back to the gazebo for a moment before turning away. it still hurt, but maybe, just maybe, you were ready to start moving on.

but those words had barely left your mouth when the weight of everything hit you all at once. you thought saying it aloud would feel like some kind of release, a burden lifted.

instead, it was like the air had been sucked out of your lungs. the edges of your vision blurred as your chest tightened, your heart pounding so hard it drowned out everything around you.

you couldn’t breathe.

“y/n?” yeji’s voice came from somewhere far away, muffled and distant. “are you okay?”

your hands were trembling, your fingers curling into fists as you struggled to pull in air. your body felt too heavy, your chest heaving as you fought against the invisible weight pressing down on you.

“shit,” ryujin said, her voice sharp with alarm. “she’s having a panic attack.”

your ribs ached with every shallow breath, the pain only amplifying the sense of suffocation.

“y/n, look at me,” beomgyu called out calmly, crouching in front of you. his voice was steadier than the others, but you could hear the undercurrent of worry. “hey, it’s okay. you’re okay. just breathe, yeah? in through your nose, out through your mouth.”

the panic clawed at your chest, your mind spiralling as thoughts of minjeong, sungchan and everything else crashed over you like a wave.

ryujin grabbed your trembling hands, her grip firm but not forceful. “count with me,” she said, her voice low and steady. “one… two…three…”

the breaths came in short, rapid bursts, your body fighting against you as the world narrowed down to the sound of ryujin’s counting and beomgyu and yeji’s soft reassurances.

slowly, the edges of your vision began to clear, and the tightness in your chest eased just enough for you to take a deeper breath.

“that’s it,” beomgyu said, his voice filled with relief. “you’re doing great, y/n. keep going.”

it took a few more minutes, but eventually, the panic subsided. your breaths came slower, deeper, though your chest still ached from the effort.

“you scared the hell out of us,” ryujin said softly, her hands still holding yours.

“sorry,” you managed to whisper, your voice hoarse.

“don’t apologise,” yeji said firmly. “just…god, y/n. you’ve been holding everything in for so long. you haven’t had one of those in awhile.”

the truth was, you weren’t okay. you hadn’t been for a long time, and today had pushed you past your breaking point.

“we’re taking you home,” beomgyu decided, standing up and offering you his hand. “no arguments.”

“what about your other lectures?” you asked, though the question came out half-heartedly. “i can go home by myself, i’ve gone to all of mine.”

“it can wait,” ryujin reassured, helping you to your feet. “you need to rest.”

as the three of them guided you away from the stairs, your eyes flickered back to the gazebo. she was still there, her laugh carrying faintly on the breeze as sungchan said something that made her smile.

she didn’t even notice — or at least, pretended not to.

it hurt, but for the first time, you let yourself turn away. maybe you didn’t know how to move on yet, but you knew you couldn’t keep doing this to yourself.

one step at a time, you’d figure it out eventually.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the past few days had been a blur of quiet determination. for once, you focused on your lectures, actually paying attention and, to your own surprise, getting the answers right. the professors had started to notice the shift, exchanging glances whenever you raised your hand or turned in a completed assignment.

even your friends had been treading lightly around you, unsure of what to make of the sudden change.

your skateboard hadn’t seen the light of day in a week, and your fractured rib was a constant, painful reminder to take things slow. the ache kept you grounded, pulling you out of your thoughts whenever they strayed too far toward the past — or toward her.

you told yourself you were doing better. and maybe you were.

but then came criminal law and your tutorial; the one you dreaded the most and gotten into trouble for. the memory of that confrontation still made you cringe, but you were determined to avoid any repeat incidents today.

when professor cho announced that you’d be pairing up for an activity, your stomach dropped. random pairings. your gut churning. there were over fifty people in this class. surely your odds weren’t that bad. surely the universe wouldn’t —

“l/n and kim,” she announced and you felt your heart sink into your stomach.

there was no point protesting. she didn’t entertain negotiations when it came to her pairing system.

you didn’t look at her as you packed up your things and moved to sit beside her. minjeong was already there, her posture as perfect and poised as ever, her notebook open and a pen twirling idly between her fingers.

she glanced at you as you sat down, but you kept your eyes on your notes.

“so,” she began, her voice low and cautious. “let’s —”

“yes, let’s just get this over with,” you interrupted, your tone curt as you flipped through your notes. “assuming we both know the answers, this shouldn’t take long.”

she blinked, taken aback. she wasn’t used to this. wasn’t used to you being cold, distant. it was disarming, and for a moment, she didn’t know how to respond.

“how’s your rib?” she asked after a minute of silence, her voice quieter.

“fine,” you said shortly, not looking up and you rammed through your lecture notes.

she frowned, her eyes flickering to your hands. your fingers were trembling slightly, just enough to be noticeable if someone was paying attention.

she was paying attention.

“are you sure —“

“can we focus on the activity, please?” you cut her off, your tone sharper now. “i don’t want to waste time.”

the task was straightforward: analyse the implications of marbury v. madison on the separation of powers and judicial authority. a list of guiding questions were already provided.

her jaw tightened, but she didn’t push further. the two of you worked through the questions in near silence, your answers quick and precise, leaving no room for small talk. every time she tried to make a comment or ask something unrelated, you shut her down with a clipped response.

“okay, yeah, how did chief justice marshall justify the court’s authority to strike down laws?” minjeong asked, her tone professional, detached.

“his argument was that it was inherent in the role of the judiciary to interpret the constitution,” you replied flatly, not meeting her eyes. “and that any law conflicting with the constitution was void.”

she nodded, writing down your response. her attempt at making small comments, asking for your opinion on certain nuances of the case were shut down with brief, matter-of-fact answers.

aeri, sitting a few seats away, was clearly enjoying the show. she leaned back in her chair, smirking as she whispered something to jimin, who chuckled quietly.

minjeong cleared her throat, watching you write her answers down. “any plans for the weekend?”

you stopped writing, eyebrows furrowed as you looked up at her. “seriously?”

when you brushed off another one of her attempts at conversation, aeri let out a low laugh that carried just enough for you both to hear. “looks like someone’s getting a taste of their own medicine.”

minjeong shot her a glare but didn’t say anything. she turned back to you, watching as you scribbled the last answer onto your notes with an almost mechanical efficiency.

“we’re done,” you said flatly, closing your notebook. you didn’t even look at her as you packed up your things, already half-turned away.

“wait,” minjeong said, her voice firmer this time.

you paused, your jaw clenching as you slowly turned back to face her. “what now?”

“what’s your problem?” she asked, her brows furrowed in frustration. “why are you acting like this?”

you stared at her, disbelief flashing across your face. “why do you care?”

“i don’t,” she said quickly, though the slight waver in her voice betrayed her. “i just think we should be civil. we have to share classes, and —”

“civil?” you repeated, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “you want to be civil? fine. here’s me being civil: i don’t want anything to do with you. so why don’t you go bother your boyfriend instead?”

her eyes widened, stunned into silence for a moment. “boyfriend?”

“sungchan,” you said, spitting his name like it was poison. “you know, the guy who’s been practically glued to your side?”

her mouth opened, but no words came out. she didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to explain that sungchan wasn’t anything to her, that she didn’t even like him like that.

yet, the way you were looking at her — hurt and angry and tired — made her chest ache in a way she shouldn’t ignore.

“just leave me alone, minjeong,” you said, your voice quieter now but no less firm. “you’ve already made it clear how little i mean to you.”

and with that, you turned and walked away, leaving her sitting there, her thoughts a tangled mess of regret and confusion.

aeri, who’d been watching the whole exchange, let out a low whistle. “damn, winter. you really fucked this one up.”

she didn’t respond. she just sat there, staring at the spot where you’d been, her hands clenched into fists as she tried to make sense of the hollow feeling in her chest.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the sheer audacity of minjeong to ask you what was wrong after everything. it wasn’t just the question itself; it was the nerve of her, acting as if she cared when she clearly didn’t.

you couldn’t shake the anger. no matter how many hours passed, no matter how much you tried to focus on anything else, it kept bubbling up, simmering just beneath the surface.

“can you believe her?” you said, gesturing wildly as ryujin, yeji and beomgyu listened, clearly trying not to laugh. “what’s your problem? she has the nerve to ask me that, like she doesn’t know exactly what my problem is!”

“to be fair,” ryujin sighed, leaning back on her elbows. “you didn’t exactly give her much to work with.”

“yeah, well, she didn’t deserve anything from me,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “if she wanted me to talk, maybe she should’ve thought about that before…ugh, before being her stupid idiot self.”

beomgyu snorted. “solid argument, y/n. very lawyer-like.”

you rolled your eyes, but it only made you more animated. “and the worst part? she keeps pretending like she wants to be civil. civil! like we’re strangers passing in the hall. how does she expect me to just…just—” you waved your hands in frustration, “pretend nothing ever happened?”

“you’re really letting this eat at you,” yeji snorted, glancing toward the gazebo. “but hey, at least sungchan isn’t around today. small mercies, right?”

you stopped for a second at her words, if you’d had to see him sitting there next to minjeong again, smiling like he’d already won, you might have actually lost your sanity.

“yeah,” you muttered. “thank god for that.”

“so,” beomgyu said, smirking, “when are we moving on to the part where you stop caring?”

“don’t hold your breath,” ryujin quipped, earning a laugh from yeji.

you were mid-rant again, mocking minjeong’s indifferent expression and her painfully polite tone, when someone tapped your shoulder lightly.

startled, you turned around, expecting one of your friends, or worse, another professor.

instead, it was danielle marsh — one of the girls who shamefully, on your part, tutored you occasionally.

“hey,” she said softly, her warm smile immediately catching you off guard. she was carrying a tray with coffee cups and a few neatly wrapped sandwiches.

“danielle?” you said, blinking in surprise. she was a year below you, someone you didn’t know very well aside from occasional nods in the hall. “uh, hi?”

“i, um, saw you hurt your rib the other day,” she stammered, holding out the sandwiches for you. “so, minji and i made this for you this morning. figured you might need it.”

for a second, you just stared at her, completely thrown. “you made this for me?”

“yeah,” she said, looking a little shy now. “well, for all of you, really.” she glanced at your friends, smiling. “thought you could all use a pick-me-up.”

your friends didn’t hesitate to take the offered sandwiches and coffee, immediately diving into grateful thank-yous.

“seriously, danielle,” you said, standing up and pulling her into a gentle hug, careful not to press on your rib. “you didn’t have to do this.”

“it’s nothing,” she laughed softly as she hugged you back. “i just hope you feel better soon, yeah?”

“thanks,” you said, pulling away and meeting her kind eyes. “really, thank you. this means a lot.”

she waved it off with a bright smile. “anytime,” and with that, she walked off, leaving you and your friends with her thoughtful gesture.

the moment she was out of earshot, your friends pounced.

“well,” ryujin drawled, raising an eyebrow. “that was adorable.”

“and unexpected,” yeji added, already unwrapping her sandwich. “she made this for you? i mean, for all of us, sure, but for you?”

“you’re getting girls faster than we thought,” beomgyu teased, grinning. “maybe danielle’s your new start? or minji?”

you groaned, but their teasing was infectious, and for the first time in days, you found yourself laughing. “fuck off you all.”

“just saying,” ryujin shot back, smirking. “if this is what moving on looks like, i’m here for it.”

meanwhile, from the gazebo, minjeong watched the entire interaction. she’d seen danielle approach you, watched as she handed you coffee and sandwiches, her smile soft and genuine. she saw the way you hugged her, your expression lighter than it had been all week.

she hated how it made her feel.

yizhuo, sitting beside her, noticed immediately. “jealous?” she asked, her tone teasing.

“no,” minjeong denied, her voice sharper than she intended.

“uh-huh,” the younger girl smirked. “sure you’re not.”

she didn’t want to admit it — not even to herself, but the gnawing feeling in her chest was unmistakable.

it was jealousy, plain and simple. and it had started the moment she saw danielle hand you those coffees and sandwiches, her smile bright and genuine as she looked at you like you were the only person in the world.

it wasn’t fair. you weren’t supposed to move on so quickly. not when minjeong had spent months convincing herself she didn’t care anymore, that you were just a chapter of her life she’d already closed. but watching someone else care for you made her stomach twist in ways she didn’t like.

“so,” jimin began, her tone casual but laced with curiosity as she leaned against the gazebo railing. “danielle, huh?”

minjeong stiffened. “what about her?”

“oh, nothing,” she laughed, clearly enjoying herself. “just that she’s kind of adorable. and from what i’ve heard, she’s, like, the nicest person ever. super smart, super talented. makes sense she’d go for y/n, honestly.”

“she is not going for y/n,” minjeong snapped.

aeri raised her eyebrows. “hmm, interesting reaction.”

“oh, please,” yizhuo chuckled as she looked up from her phone. “you’re jealous, aren’t you?”

“i’m not jealous,” she insisted, but her voice lacked conviction.

aeri leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees as her smile faded slightly. “minjeong, if you’re just going to play with y/n’s feelings, leave her alone. seriously. she’s trying to move on and you need to let her.”

“i’m not playing with her feelings,” she protested, though the guilt was already clawing at her.

jimin scoffed, crossing her arms. “really? because the way you dumped her in front of everyone was pretty brutal. honestly, you’re lucky she didn’t punch you in the face.”

“she didn’t because she’s too nice for her own good,” yizhuo chimed in, her smirk widening. “but honestly, if she did, i’d have cheered her on — we liked y/n.”

minjeong clenched her jaw, her gaze dropping to the table. she didn’t need the reminder of how badly she’d handled things. she knew she’d been cruel and pushed you away in the worst possible way, all because she was scared.

“look,” jimin softened her tone. “you’re allowed to feel whatever you’re feeling, but don’t mess with y/n. she doesn’t deserve that — she chased you for a long time.”

before she could even respond, a loud, overly cheerful voice interrupted them.

“minjeong!”

she turned to see sungchan bounding toward them, a bouquet of brightly coloured flowers in hand.

her friends groaned in unison and jimin buried her face in her hands. “fuck’s sake, can you get rid of that cretin already? we let him sit here, once. and nothing more.”

“what now?” aeri muttered, glaring at the boy as he stopped in front of them, his grin blinding.

“i brought you these,” he said, holding out the flowers with a flourish. “thought they might brighten your day.”

minjeong blinked, completely caught off guard. “uh…”

“sungchan,” jimin interrupted, her voice dripping with annoyance, “we’re kind of in the middle of something. can you not?”

“yeah,” aeri added, ushering for him to leave. “serious conversation happening here. come back later. or maybe never.”

he frowned, clearly disappointed, but he turned to minjeong anyway. “wait, so…can i still come over tonight?”

right on time as you walked past the gazebo, your bag slung over your shoulder, steps faltering for a split second, your head turning just enough to catch sight of the flowers in sungchan’s hand and the hopeful look on his face.

your expression darkened, your brows furrowing as you looked away quickly and kept walking. but she saw it — the flash of hurt that crossed your face, so brief she might have missed it if she hadn’t been watching you so closely.

her chest tightened, guilt mixing with panic. without thinking, she stood up abruptly, ignoring her friends’ surprised looks.

“wait,” she called after you, her voice louder than she intended. “y/n!”

she caught up to you in a few quick strides, falling into step beside you as you kept walking.

then, you stopped abruptly, refusing to face her. “what do you want?” you asked, your tone flat and cold.

“i just…” she hesitated, struggling to find the right words as she turned towards you. “it’s not what it looked like.”

your expression was a mixture of anger and exhaustion, your eyes narrowing slightly. “what are you talking about?”

“sungchan,” she said quickly. “he’s not — i didn’t…he’s not coming over tonight. or any night. he’s not my boyfriend.”

“why do you think i care?” your voice cut through the air like a blade.

minjeong flinched, her chest tightening. she wanted to explain, to say something that would make this easier, but nothing came out. she hated the way your walls were so firmly in place now, blocking her out completely.

“you don’t have to explain yourself to me, minjeong,” you said, your voice softer now but no less firm. “we’re nothing to each other anymore. remember?”

you didn’t wait for her to respond. you turned and walked away, leaving her standing there, her heart pounding and her thoughts a tangled mess of longing.

from the gazebo, jimin let out a low sigh, shaking her head as she watched the scene unfold. “she’s really not handling this well, is she?”

“nope,” aeri sighed. “but it’s fun to watch.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

a few days later, you were back in routine; or at least, you were trying to be. the faint ache in your ribs had dulled to something manageable and you’d thrown yourself into lectures and tutorials with a determination that surprised even you.

your professors had started making comments, subtle acknowledgments of your sudden focus and improvement but none of it felt particularly satisfying.

then the rumour started.

“did you hear?” ryujin’s voice broke through the usual buzz of the courtyard as she dropped her bag on the stairs next to you. yeji and beomgyu followed close behind, their expressions a mix of concern and hesitation.

“hear what?” you asked, not looking up from your notebook. you were halfway through an analysis of some case law, trying to keep your mind occupied.

“about minjeong,” ryujin said, her tone careful, like she was stepping on eggshells. “we want you to hear it from us.”

your hand froze mid-sentence. “what about her?”

“uh…” yeji exchanged a glance with beomgyu, who grimaced and shoved his hands in his pockets. “apparently, she said yes to sungchan.”

the pen slipped from your fingers, clattering onto the page. for a moment, you just stared at it, your mind blank. then you picked it up and calmly closed your notebook.

“oh,” you said, your voice eerily even. “good for her.”

ryujin raised an eyebrow. “you okay?”

“yep,” you stuffed your notebook into your bag and stood up, slinging it over your shoulder. “why wouldn’t i be?”

“oh, i don’t know,” beomgyu said, crossing his arms. “maybe because the girl you’ve been in love with for, like, two years just said yes to a guy who literally makes his hair gel do all the work.”

“beomgyu,” yeji hissed, elbowing him in the side.

“what? i’m just saying,” he muttered, but he backed off when ryujin shot him a warning look.

“it’s okay to feel defeated, you know,” ryujin said, her voice gentler now. “angry, even. god knows you tried your best to win her back.”

you sighed, pressing your fingers to your temples. “look, i’m fine. it’s whatever. she can date whoever she wants. i don’t care.”

“okay,” they were clearly unconvinced.

but you didn’t respond. instead, you turned and walked away, leaving your friends watching after you with varying degrees of concern. you didn’t go to your classes that day.

instead, you found yourself in the library, tucked away in a quiet corner with a stack of books and your notes spread out in front of you. studying was easier than thinking about stupid rumours.

meanwhile, across campus, minjeong was sitting with her friends at the gazebo when yizhuo casually dropped the bomb.

“so, when were you going to tell us?” she asked, leaning back in her chair with a sly grin.

“tell you what now?” minjeong asked, frowning.

“about you and sungchan,” she answered, raising an eyebrow. “i heard you said yes to being his girlfriend.”

she froze in her spot, quick to turn her head. “what now?”

“oh, come on,” aeri rolled her eyes. “everyone’s talking about it. apparently, sungchan told some of his friends and now it’s all over campus.”

“that’s not true, i’ll fucking punch him,” she said quickly, her voice rising slightly. “i didn’t say yes to him. i didn’t even —” she groaned, burying her face in her hands. “this is getting out of hand.”

jimin raised an eyebrow as she crossed her legs, reapplying her lipstick. “so you’re not dating him?”

“no!” minjeong exasperated. “of course not.”

“well, you might want to clear that up,” yizhuo giggled. “because your rumoured boyfriend is basking in the glory right now.”

“ugh,” she muttered, standing up abruptly. “this is so stupid.”

“where are you going?” aeri called after her.

“to fix this,” minjeong yelled over her shoulder, already walking away.

as she made her way across campus, her thoughts weren’t on sungchan or the rumour. they were on you. if the rumour had reached her, it had definitely reached you.

and she didn’t like the idea of you believing it for even a second.

it didn’t take long to find you. the library was one of the few places on campus where you could completely disappear these days, and sure enough, there you were, hunched over a pile of books in a quiet corner.

minjeong hesitated for a moment, watching you from a distance. your head was bent over your notes, your brows furrowed in concentration, but even from here, she could see the tension in your shoulders, the way your pen moved too quickly, like you were trying to outrun your thoughts.

“y/n,” she said softly as she approached.

you didn’t look up. “what do you want, minjeong?”

“i need to talk to you,” she muttered, pulling out the chair across from you and sitting down before you could protest.

“i’m busy,” your voice cold as you flipped a page in your notebook.

“it’s about what’s being said about me,” she began quickly, leaning forward. “the one about sungchan.”

that made you pause. your pen hovered over the page, but you didn’t look at her. “what about it?”

“it’s not true,” she tried to reassure you. “i didn’t say yes to him — i barely fucking know him.”

you finally looked up, your eyes meeting hers with a mixture of disbelief and frustration. “why are you telling me this?”

“because i don’t want you to think —” she stopped, her words catching in her throat. “i don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

“minjeong,” you sighed, your tone tired, “you broke up with me. in front of everyone. you don’t owe me explanations about your love life.”

“i know,” she mumbled. “but i wanted to tell you anyway.”

you stared at her for a moment, your expression unreadable, before shaking your head and turning back to your notes. “thanks for the clarification. now, if you’ll excuse me, i have actual work to do.”

“okay.”

you frowned, shaking your head. “okay?”

minjeong hesitated, her chest tightening as she watched you retreat further behind your wall, but she didn’t know what else to say.

so she stood up, her hands clenched at her sides and walked away, leaving you alone in the quiet hum of the library.

she had made it halfway back to the gazebo when her steps faltered. the way she replayed your cold, clipped tone in her head bothered her.

she told herself to keep walking, to let it go. you clearly wanted nothing to do with her and it was too late for her to fix anything, but the thought of leaving things like this didn’t sit right with her.

“fuck it,” minjeong muttered under her breath, turning on her heel. she was already moving before she could second-guess herself.

the library was quieter than before when she slipped back inside. she spotted you almost immediately, still in the same spot, hunched over your notebook with a pen in hand. the tension in your posture hadn’t eased, and your lips were pressed into a thin line as you stared down at the pages in front of you.

she didn’t think. she walked straight to your table, stopping just short of your line of sight. her hands balled into fists at her sides, but her voice was calm when she spoke.

“what are you studying for?”

you froze for a moment before lifting your head slowly, your eyes narrowing as they met hers. “why are you back?”

“i’m curious,” she said, her voice steady as she gestured to the pile of books and notes on your desk. “what are you working on?”

you stared at her for a moment longer, clearly debating whether or not to engage. finally, with a sigh, you relented. “contracts,” you muttered, flipping through a set of messy notes. “specifically offer and acceptance. and it doesn’t make sense. i don’t get it.”

her lips quirked upward, just slightly, and before you could protest, she pulled out the chair across from you and sat down.

“show me what you’ve got,” she said, leaning forward and pulling one of your books toward her.

“minjeong, don’t,” you warned, but there wasn’t much heat in your voice. “it’s embarrassing enough that danielle, who’s a year below me, had to explain half of this stuff to me the other day. i don’t need my ex-girlfriend doing the same.”

“so?” she hummed, her voice calm in that matter-of-fact tone of hers. “i know you, she doesn’t.”

her words caught you off guard, leaving you momentarily speechless. before you could form a rebuttal, she was already flipping through your notes, scanning the pages with a practiced eye.

“okay,” she began, her tone shifting into something softer, more focused. “let’s start with offer and acceptance. it’s the foundation of any valid contract, right?”

you nodded hesitantly.

“an offer is essentially a promise or commitment to do something, or refrain from doing something that’s communicated to another party,” she explained. “acceptance, on the other hand, is the agreement to the terms of that offer. it has to be clear and communicated back to the person who made the offer.”

you watched as she grabbed a blank sheet of paper and began sketching out a quick diagram, breaking the concept into manageable chunks. “think of it like this: aeri makes an offer to jimin. for it to become a binding contract, jimin has to accept it. if she doesn’t, there’s no agreement.”

“as if jimin would ever accept anything, but go on,” you frowned, glancing at your notes. “what about when an acceptance comes with conditions? like, if jimin says ‘yes, but only if you deliver by friday.’ doesn’t that count as acceptance?”

“good question,” minjeong said, nodding. “that’s actually a counteroffer, not acceptance. a counteroffer effectively rejects the original offer and replaces it with a new one. the original offer is no longer valid unless aeri agrees to the new terms.”

you blinked, processing her words. for the first time all day, the tangled mess of legal jargon in your head started to untangle itself.

“okay, but what about silence?” you asked, leaning forward slightly despite yourself. “like, if aeri threatens jimin with, ‘if you don’t respond, i’ll take that as acceptance.’ does that count?”

“generally, no,” she explained, almost laughing at your example. “silence isn’t considered acceptance. there are exceptions, though, like if there’s a prior relationship between the parties where silence has been treated as acceptance before but that’s pretty rare.”

you let out a low sigh, leaning back in your chair. “this is so annoying.”

“you’re doing fine,” she smiled, her tone reassuring as she slid the diagram she’d drawn across the table. “you’re overthinking it. contracts are just logic in disguise.”

“logic,” you repeated, rolling your eyes. “right. it’s totally logical to write 50 pages on whether saying ‘maybe’ counts as acceptance.”

minjeong chuckled softly and the sound caught you off guard. it was the first time in a long while that she didn’t sound distant or guarded.

“okay, fair,” she kept the smile on her face. “but you’re getting there. it’s not as bad as you think.”

you glanced down at the diagram she’d drawn, the pieces clicking into place in your mind. reluctantly, you muttered, “thanks.”

“anytime,” she answered, her voice soft.

the two of you sat in silence for a moment, the tension between you easing just slightly. but then you shook your head, a faint scowl tugging at your lips. “still doesn’t change the fact that this is humiliating.”

“why?” she asked, tilting her head.

“because you’re my ex,” you said bluntly. “this is next-level embarrassing.”

minjeong shrugged, her expression calm. “i don’t see why it’s a big deal. i’ve seen worst. plus, we’ve been through this before.”

her words lingered in the air, heavier than you expected. for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond, so you said nothing.

instead, you turned your attention back to the notes in front of you, your chest tightening with something you didn’t want to name.

she, however, didn’t press further. she stayed, patiently guiding you through the material until the frustration in your eyes gave way to understanding.

the library was much quieter now, with most of the tables empty and the hum of whispers and shuffling papers reduced to a faint background noise. as you packed up your things, minjeong stood by the door, waiting silently. the awkwardness between you had lessened, but it wasn’t entirely gone.

after all, she was still minjeong; cold, poised, and impossible to read — and you were still you, guarded and hesitant.

you slung your bag over your shoulder as you approached her. “thanks for the help,”

“you’re welcome,” she replied, her tone equally quiet.

the two of you stepped out into the hall together, the silence between you not entirely uncomfortable, but not warm either.

and then, as if the universe had decided to throw yet another curveball your way, you spotted danielle walking toward you, her usual bright smile lighting up her face.

“y/n!” she called out, waving as she quickened her pace.

you stopped, your heart sinking slightly and it was not out of dread, but because you could already feel the tension radiating off minjeong beside you.

still, you smiled at danielle, grateful for her kindness. “hey, what’s up?”

“oh, nothing much,” she said, adjusting the strap of her backpack. “just wanted to see if you’re free after school. thought we could have another study session. you know, go over those case studies from contracts? i think i’ve got some good notes that might help.”

for a moment, your mind flickered back to the days when minjeong used to tutor you. the late nights in quiet study rooms, the way her calm explanations had made everything click.

it was hard not to draw parallels, but you quickly pushed the thought aside.

“yeah, sure,” you said with a nod. “that sounds good.”

danielle beamed and then her eyes shifted to minjeong, who had been standing silently beside you the entire time. her smile faltered slightly as she tilted her head. “oh, hi. i don’t think we’ve met.”

you hesitated for a split second before gesturing between them. “danielle, this is minjeong. minjeong, danielle.”

“hi!” danielle said brightly, extending a hand. “nice to meet you.”

she glanced at her hand briefly before giving it a polite shake, her expression cool and detached. “likewise.”

danielle didn’t seem fazed by her tone, her smile unwavering. “so, are you two friends?”

you opened your mouth to answer, but minjeong spoke first. “we’re classmates.”

her voice was so flat, so devoid of emotion, that it left no room for interpretation. danielle nodded, glancing at you as if to say, well, that was awkward.

“anyway,” she continued, turning back to you, “i’ll text you the details for later, okay?”

“sounds good,” you said, offering her a small smile. “thanks, danielle.”

“no problem,” she grinned. “see you later!”

with that, she waved and walked off, leaving you alone with minjeong once again. the silence that followed was heavier than before and when you turned to look at her, her expression was unreadable.

“what?” you asked, frowning slightly.

she didn’t respond immediately. her eyes lingered on the spot where danielle had been, her thoughts racing. she thought about the way the other girl had smiled at you, her kindness so effortless and genuine.

she thought about the way you’d smiled back, softer than you ever smiled at her these days.

and then, minjeong thought about herself; her coldness, her inability to open up, the walls she’d built so high that even you, someone who had once been so close, had struggled to climb them.

she thought about the way she’d hurt you, the way she pushed you away and how she kept coming back, unable to let go but unwilling to fully stay.

you deserve better.

the realisation hit her with a clarity she couldn’t ignore. you deserved someone who could match your warmth and meet you halfway without hesitation.

someone who didn’t leave you questioning your worth or your place in their life.

and minjeong knew, deep down, that she wasn’t that person.

“nothing,” she said finally, her voice quiet. “i’ll see you around, y/n.”

before you could respond, she turned and walked away, her steps brisk and purposeful.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the moment minjeong walked away, you brushed off the strange interaction as just another one of her weird moods, but the more you thought about it, the more it stuck in your head.

the way she’d been so quiet, her gaze distant, it was strange, even for her.

as you made your way to your next class, you couldn’t help but vent to yeji, who listened intently as she walked beside you.

“it was so weird,” you tried to explain. “she just stood there while danielle was talking to me. like, awkwardly silent the whole time. and then she walked away without saying anything, like — what was that?”

yeji snorted. “classic minjeong,” she said, rolling her eyes. “probably trying to act mysterious. you know, her usual icy queen routine — all the reason why her nickname’s winter.”

“i don’t get it, though,” you said, frowning. “she came back into the library just to help me with contracts and then she acted all…weird when danielle showed up.”

“maybe she’s jealous,” she suggested with a smirk.

“jealous?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow. “of what?”

“danielle; she sees you getting close to someone else and suddenly remembers she doesn’t like sharing.”

“that’s ridiculous,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “minjeong doesn’t care about me like that anymore. she made that pretty clear when she dumped me in front of everyone.”

yeji shrugged. “maybe. or maybe she’s just realising what she lost.”

the thought lingered in the back of your mind as you reached your next class: professor diaz’s administrative lecture.

the room was already filling up with students when you walked in and minjeong was seated near the middle, often her usual spot. you hesitated for a split second when your eyes met hers, but you quickly looked away and took a seat beside yeji in the back row.

professor diaz walked in a moment later, his sharp gaze sweeping over the room as he placed his notes on the desk.

“good afternoon, everyone,” he started, tone brisk as always. “today, we’re starting a project that will require collaboration, critical thinking and presentation skills. it’s an activity that requires two members per team.”

you glanced at yeji, who gave you a small, sympathetic smile. you weren’t a fan of group projects, but you could survive it.

hopefully.

“partners have already been assigned,” he continued, flipping through a list of names. “i paired you based on complementary skills and previous performance. some of you might not like it, but tough luck.”

again, you slouched slightly in your seat, praying to every higher power you could think of that you wouldn’t end up with —

“y/n l/n and kim minjeong.”

you groaned quietly, earning a small laugh from the girl beside you. “tough break,” she whispered, smirking.

you’ve got to be fucking kidding.

you reluctantly made your way to the middle of the room, where minjeong was sitting, her expression unreadable as always. she didn’t look surprised to see you, which only annoyed you more.

“of course,” you muttered as you dropped into the seat beside her. “because who else would i get stuck with other than you?”

“nice to see you too,” she said dryly, flipping open her notebook.

professor diaz continued explaining the project from the front of the room. “we’re diving into the practical application of judicial review in administrative law, specifically focusing on procedural fairness and its two pillars: the right to a fair hearing and the rule against bias.”

he paced the front of the room, hands clasped behind his back. “your task is to analyse a hypothetical case, identify the grounds for judicial review and argue whether the administrative decision should be upheld or quashed; this project will span the next week or two, depending on how i feel. the final deliverable will include a written report and a joint presentation to the class.”

you collectively groaned with everyone else, pulling out your notes as you glanced at minjeong. “so,” you said flatly, “what case should we pick?”

“something straightforward,” she replied, her tone calm. “we don’t have time to overcomplicate this.”

“righto,” you said, opening your laptop. “let’s look at some recent cases.”

the two of you worked in tense silence for a few minutes, scrolling through legal databases and jotting down notes. the tension was palpable, hanging heavy between you. you could feel her gaze on you every now and then and it made your skin crawl.

“why do you think professor cho paired us?” you asked finally, breaking the silence.

“probably because your grades improved when i was tutoring you,” minjeong said matter-of-factly.

you glared at her, but she didn’t flinch. “well, that’s embarrassing.”

“why?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. “it’s the truth.”

her words caught you off guard, leaving you momentarily speechless. you quickly shook it off, refocusing on the project. “whatever. let’s just get this over with.”

minjeong didn’t respond, but she watched you carefully, her expression unreadable. you looked so beautiful.

as much as she tried to focus on the project, her mind kept drifting to one thought: you deserve better than this. better than me.

she didn’t say it. instead, she turned her attention back to the case in front of her, determined to at least help you succeed in this, even if it meant spending the next few days side by side.

the library became your designated meeting spot for the project, mostly because it was neutral ground. neither of you wanted to be in each other’s spaces and the library was safe and impersonal.

together, you worked in a tense but oddly productive silence during your free time, with occasional moments of begrudging cooperation when one of you needed clarification or feedback.

the first few sessions were uneventful, though the air between you was thick with unspoken words. minjeong would occasionally glance at you when she thought you weren’t looking, her gaze lingering just long enough for you to notice, but she never said anything about it.

it was during your third meeting that everything went sideways.

you were both seated at a table in one of the quieter corners of the library, surrounded by books and notes as you debated how to frame your analysis of the case.

minjeong had just finished explaining her point when a loud, overly enthusiastic voice shattered the peace.

“minjeong!”

you looked up, already cringing as sungchan approached your table, his usual grin plastered across his face. he was carrying a coffee cup in one hand and what looked like a wrapped pastry in the other.

“what are you doing here?” she asked, her tone cool but tinged with annoyance.

“what does it look like?” he said, pulling up a chair uninvited and plopping down beside her. “i saw my favourite girl through the window and thought i’d bring you coffee. and a croissant. your favourite, right?”

she sighed, her eyes briefly flickering to you before landing back on his. “i’m busy.”

“you’ve got to eat, right? and who’s this?” he glanced at you, his eyes narrowing slightly. “oh…y/n, right?”

you raised an eyebrow. “yeah, we’re working on a project if you’ve got eyes.”

sungchan’s gaze darted between you and minjeong, his grin faltering just a little. “huh, weird pair. but then again…” he trailed off, his smirk returning. “you two used to date, didn’t you?”

her jaw tightened, but she didn’t say anything. you, on the other hand, just rolled your eyes. “what’s your point?”

“nothing,” he replied, leaning back in his chair as he crossed his arms. “just funny how things work out, isn’t it? i mean, you’re stuck working with her, and she —”

“sungchan,” minjeong interrupted, her voice sharp. “stop.”

he blinked, clearly caught off guard by her tone. then he laughed, shaking his head. “fine, fine. i’ll stop. but, you know, it’s interesting —”

“sungchan,” she repeated, firmer this. “leave. we’re busy.”

he didn’t leave. instead, he looked at her, then at you and back again. and then, with a smug grin, he said, “wait minjeong, i thought you said you never liked her.”

the words hung in the air like a bomb waiting to explode. your stomach twisted, heart dropping into your chest as you stared at minjeong. she froze, her eyes widening slightly as she opened her mouth to respond.

“what the hell is that supposed to mean?” you spoke for her, your voice low but sharp as you glared at sungchan.

“i’m just saying,” sungchan replied with a shrug, clearly oblivious to the tension he’d just created. “she told me she never really liked you. thought you’d have figured that out by now. why are you still sticking around?”

“sungchan,” minjeong snapped, her voice colder than ice now. “leave. now — before i knock your fucking teeth out of you.”

he finally seemed to realise he’d crossed a line, his grin faltering as he stood up. “jeez, okay. no need to bite my head off,” he set the coffee and croissant down on the table, muttering, “enjoy your project,” before walking off.

the silence that followed was deafening.

“did you really say that?” you asked quietly, your voice trembling just enough to betray how much it hurt.

she looked at you, her expression panicked for a split second before she forced herself to remain calm. “no,” she said firmly. “he’s lying. why would i do that?”

“so he just made that up?” you shot back, your tone harsher now. “out of nowhere?”

“yes,” she said, her voice steady but strained. “i never said that. i —” she hesitated, her gaze dropping to the table. “i wouldn’t say that about you, ever.”

you scoffed, leaning back in your chair. “great, so now i’m supposed to believe that, what? he’s just running around making up lies about you?”

“i don’t know,” she mumbled, her voice quieter now. “but i didn’t say it. you have to believe me.”

you stared at her for a long moment, searching her face for any hint of insincerity but she looked genuinely upset, her usual mask of indifference cracking just enough for you to see the guilt and frustration beneath it.

“whatever,” you muttered finally, looking away. “let’s just finish this stupid project.”

minjeong opened her mouth to respond, but then she closed it again, her shoulders slumping slightly. for the rest of the session, neither of you spoke unless it was directly about the project.

the air between you was heavier than ever, weighed down by everything that had been said — and left unsaid.

finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. you slammed your pen down on the table, the sharp sound cutting through the library’s quiet hum.

“do you think this is funny?” you snapped, your voice low but furious as you glared at her. “is this all just some game to you?”

she looked up, startled by your sudden outburst. “what are you talking about?”

“you,” you hissed, your chest heaving as your emotions boiled over. “you dump me in front of everyone, act like i don’t exist for months and now you’re back in my life, acting like you care? and on top of that, sungchan shows up and says you never liked me? are you fucking kidding me, minjeong?”

for once, she looked genuinely at a loss, her usual composure completely shattered.

“do you even realise how humiliating this is for me?” you continued, your voice trembling with anger. “i have been trying to move on, to forget about you and every time i feel like i’m getting somewhere, you show up and remind me of how much of an idiot i am for still caring about you!”

“you’re not an idiot,” she said quickly, her voice soft but desperate. “y/n, i —”

“then why?” you demanded, leaning forward, your eyes burning into hers. “why did you break up with me like that? why do you keep showing up, acting like you care and then pulling shit like this?”

minjeong stared at you, her jaw tight, her eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite place. for a moment, you thought she wouldn’t answer. then, she exhaled shakily, running a hand through her hair.

“because i’m scared,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “i was scared then and i’m scared now.”

you blinked, thrown off by her sudden vulnerability. “scared of what?”

“of how much you mean to me,” she said, her gaze dropping to the table. “of how much you’ve always meant to me. y/n, when we were together, you…you saw right through me. you knew me better than anyone else ever has and it terrified me. because if you could do that, if you could get that close, then you could hurt me in ways no one else ever could.”

her voice cracked slightly, and she swallowed hard before continuing. “so i pushed you away. i thought if i ended it, if i made you hate me, then i could protect myself but all i did was hurt you, and i hate myself for that.”

you stared at her, your anger fading into something closer to disbelief. “you broke up with me in front of everyone.”

“i know,” she trembled. “i know and it was cruel and i’ll never forgive myself for it. but i didn’t mean it. i didn’t mean any of it. i thought if i made it loud, if i made it final, then i’d stop feeling the way i do about you. but it didn’t work.”

you shook your head, trying to process her words. “then why did you let sungchan say all that crap? why didn’t you stop him?”

“because i didn’t know how,” she admitted, her voice breaking. “i didn’t know how to fix this, how to tell you everything i’ve been feeling. i thought it was too late.”

“it is too late,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended. “you can’t just come back into my life and expect me to forgive you for everything. it doesn’t work like that.”

minjeong nodded, her expression crumpling slightly. “i know. i don’t expect you to forgive me. but i need you to know that i never stopped caring about you. not for a second.”

her words hung in the air, heavy and raw. you looked at her, at the way her usual calm had completely unraveled and you didn’t know what to say.

part of you wanted to scream at her, to tell her that her feelings didn’t matter anymore.

“i don’t know if i can do this,” you said finally, your voice quieter now but no less firm. “i don’t know if i can trust you again.”

“i understand,” she looked down, fidgeting with the hem of shirt. “but i’ll do whatever it takes to prove to you that i mean it. i’ll wait as long as you need me to.”

you didn’t say anything — you didn’t need to for now. instead, you turned your attention back to your notes, your chest tight with a mixture of anger and sadness. the girl across from you stayed silent after that, giving you the space you needed, but you could feel her presence beside you, heavy and unrelenting.

she had said all the things you’d once wanted to hear — things you’d longed for when she left you shattered in the middle of that hallway.

“y/n,” minjeong’s voice was quiet, hesitant. “please say something.”

you didn’t look at her. “there’s nothing to say.”

“you don’t believe me,” she said softly, more a statement than a question.

“no,” you admitted, your tone clipped. “i don’t.”

the words hung between you like a final nail in the coffin. minjeong opened her mouth to respond, but you were already standing, gathering your things with deliberate precision.

“where are you going?” she asked, panic flickering in her voice.

“home,” you said shortly. “i need to think.”

“what about the project?” she asked, her voice rising slightly.

you hesitated for a fraction of a second, then put your bag over your shoulder. “figure it out.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

for the next few days, you avoided her like the plague. you skipped the library sessions, ignored her texts and avoided her in class. when professor diaz asked about your progress on the project, you lied, saying you were working on it separately.

ryujin cornered you in the courtyard one afternoon, her arms crossed and her brow furrowed.

“what’s going on with you?” she demanded. “you’ve been weird all week.”

“nothing,” you replied, looking away.

“bullshit,” she snapped. “this is about minjeong, isn’t it?”

you didn’t answer, but your silence was enough.

“y/n,” she sighed, her tone softening. “you can’t keep running from this. i know she screwed up, okay? we all know that. but you need to deal with it instead of shutting everyone out.”

“i’m not shutting everyone out,” you defended yourself.”

“you’ve been avoiding her, skipping the library and now you’re lying to the professor about the project,” she listed off. “sounds like shutting everyone out to me.”

“it’s none of your business,” you muttered, brushing past her.

“actually, it is,” a new voice chimed in. you turned to see beomgyu and yeji approaching, both looking equally concerned. “because now we have to deal with mopey minjeong asking about you.”

“she’s not —” you started, but beomgyu cut you off.

“oh, she is,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “she asked me yesterday if you’d said anything about her. looked like a kicked puppy when i told her no.”

“you’re being dramatic,” you muttered, but your resolve was weakening.

“he’s not,” yeji said firmly. “and honestly, y/n, it’s exhausting watching you both avoid each other when clearly there’s so much unresolved.”

“i’m done with her,” you admitted, though the words felt hollow even to you.

“are you?” ryujin challenged, her eyes narrowing. “because you don’t look done. you look hurt. and if you keep bottling this up, it’s only going to get worse.”

on the other side of campus, minjeong was facing her own intervention. her friends had dragged her to the gazebo, refusing to let her leave until they got answers.

“spill,” jimin demanded, leaning forward with her arms crossed. “what’s going on with you and y/n?”

“nothing,” minjeong muttered, staring at the ground.

“oh, please,” aeri rolled her eyes. “you’ve been moping around like someone stole your dog. what happened?”

minjeong sighed, running a hand through her hair. “i…told her how i felt.”

“and?” yizhuo prompted, raising an eyebrow.

“and she doesn’t believe me,” she admitted, her voice small.

jimin groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “well, can you blame her? you broke her heart in front of the entire university, minjeong, and when she chased you around, you ran faster.”

“and you’ve been cold and distant ever since,” aeri added. “what did you expect? that she’d just fall back into your arms the moment you said you cared?”

“i wasn’t expecting anything,” minjeong said defensively. “i just…i wanted her to know the truth.”

“okay, so you told her,” yizhuo shrugged. “now what?”

“she’s avoiding me,” minjeong responded, her voice cracking slightly. “she won’t answer my texts or show up for the project. i don’t know what to do.”

“maybe start by actually communicating,” jimin suggested dryly. “you know, instead of expecting her to read your mind.”

“and stop being so passive,” aeri chimed in. “if you want her to believe you, you need to show her. actions, not just words.”

“but what if it’s too late?” minjeong asked, her voice trembling. “what if she doesn’t want me anymore?”

jimin sighed, her expression softening. “then you’ll have to accept that. but at least you’ll know you tried.”

“i’m just going to drink my heart out.”

the sun was just beginning to set, casting a soft orange glow over the campus as you made your way toward the stairs that led home. the day had been long and all you wanted was to collapse into bed. as you reached the top of the stairs, you spotted jimin, aeri and yizhuo waiting for you like a trio of judgmental guardians.

“great,” you muttered under your breath, already preparing for whatever nonsense they were about to throw your way.

“y/n,” jimin said, stepping forward with a raised eyebrow, “we need to talk.”

“can’t it wait?” you asked, brushing past her, but aeri stepped in your way, blocking your path with her arms crossed.

“it’s about minjeong,” aeri said flatly, her piercing gaze locking on yours.

that stopped you in your tracks. you didn’t look at them, but your stomach twisted in knots. “what about her?”

yizhuo sighed dramatically, leaning against the stone railing. “she’s at joe’s juice joint. drinking.”

“on a tuesday night,” jimin added, mirroring aeri’s stance. “because word has it that a certain someone has been avoiding her.”

you scoffed. “i don’t care what she does.”

“she’s been there since this afternoon,” aeri said, raising an eyebrow. “she’s refusing to leave and we’ve had her guards attempt to pick her up.”

“because of you,” yizhuo chimed in, her voice unusually serious. “she thinks you’re done with her.”

you rolled your eyes, clutching the strap of your bag tighter. “she brought this on herself.”

“she did,” jimin agreed, stepping closer. “but she’s still hurting. and whether you want to admit it or not, you care about her.”

“why don’t you pick her up then?” you shot back, but your voice wavered slightly, betraying your frustration.

“because,” yizhuo shook her head. “it’s not us she’s been crying about. trust me, we’ve tried.”

that stung.

the three of them watched you expectantly, their expressions a mixture of smugness and concern.

finally, you let out a defeated sigh. “fine, i’ll go and talk to her.”

“thank you,” aeri smiled, stepping aside. “and while you’re at it, remind her that drowning her sorrows in alcohol isn’t a personality trait.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the bar was dimly lit, the scent of citrus and wood polish thick in the air. it wasn’t crowded, but the familiar hum of chatter and soft music filled the space. you scanned the room quickly, your heart sinking when you spotted her in the far corner.

minjeong sat slouched in her chair, one arm resting lazily on the table while the other clutched a half-empty glass of whiskey. her blazer hung off her shoulders, her usually neat blonde hair slightly disheveled.

she looked up as you approached, her eyes widening briefly before she looked away, taking a long sip from her drink.

“minjeong,” you called out, voice firm. “what are you doing here?”

she didn’t answer right away, swirling the liquid in her glass. “drinking.”

“on a tuesday night?” you pressed, sitting down across from her. “this isn’t like you.”

she snorted, the sound bitter. “maybe you don’t know me as well as you think.”

“cut the bullshit, minjeong,” you said sharply. “why are you here?”

she set her glass down with a thud, her lips trembling slightly. “because you won’t talk to me,” she said, her voice cracking. “because i miss you, y/n. i miss you so much and it hurts.”

her words hit you like a punch to the gut, but you refused to let your guard down. her usually cold demeanour was gone, replaced by something raw and vulnerable.

“you don’t get to say that,” you clenched your jaw. “you don’t get to sit here and cry about how much you miss me after what you did.”

she winced, her hands gripping the edge of the table. “i know, y/n. and i hate myself for it. i hate that i hurt you, that i pushed you away. but i didn’t know what else to do.”

“so you thought breaking my heart in front of everyone was the solution?” you snapped, your voice trembling. “you made me feel like i didn’t matter to you, minjeong. like i was nothing.”

“you were everything,” she said, her voice desperate. “that’s what scared me. i thought…if i ended it, i’d protect myself. but all i did was destroy the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“winter —” you started, but she cut you off, her eyes finally meeting yours.

“you have every reason to hate me,” she said, her voice breaking. “but i can’t stop thinking about you. i don’t want anyone else. i just want you, for the rest of my life, i’m certain i want you.”

her confession left you stunned, the sincerity in her voice breaking down the walls you’d so carefully built. you didn’t realise how much you’d needed to hear those words until now.

“you really hurt me,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “i don’t know if i can trust you again.”

“let me earn it,” she said, her eyes pleading. “please, y/n. give me another chance. i’ll do whatever it takes.”

her words lingered in the air, and for a moment, you hesitated; part of you wanted to walk away and protect yourself from getting hurt again.

but you loved her.

“fine,” you said finally, your voice soft. “but you’re going to have to work for it. and right now, we’re getting you out of here.”

to your surprise, she didn’t hesitate. she grabbed her blazer, threw it over her shoulders and clung to your arm as you guided her out of the bar, her grip firm as if she was afraid you’d let go.

“you don’t have to do this,” she mumbled, her voice slurred. “you don’t owe me anything.”

“you’re right,” you said, guiding her through the door. “but someone has to make sure you don’t end up passed out on the sidewalk.”

she let out a weak laugh, her fingers tightening around your arm. “you’re too good to me.”

“don’t push it,” you muttered, but the corners of your lips twitched.

when you reached the car, she refused to let go of your hand. even as you opened the door for her, she tugged you closer, pressing soft, clumsy kisses to your knuckles.

“minjeong,” you said, your voice tinged with exasperation. “get in the car.”

“i don’t deserve you,” she murmured, her lips brushing against your skin. “but i’ll do whatever it takes to keep you this time.”

you sighed, your heart twisting as you gently pried her hands off yours and helped her into the passenger seat.

the ride to her mansion was cloaked in a heavy silence, save for the occasional sniffle from her. her head rested gently on your shoulder, her fingers entwined with yours.

the gesture felt intimate, almost too much for the charged air between you, but you didn’t pull away. you weren’t sure if it was to comfort her or yourself.

“i missed you,” she began, planting another gentle kiss on the back of your hand. “i wish i told you sooner.”

you hummed, nodding as you pulled up to the gates of her mansion. “i wish you did too.”

minjeong didn’t move. her gaze was fixed on your joined hands, her thumb absentmindedly tracing circles over your skin. she let out a shaky breath, her lips parting as if to speak but no words came.

“winter?” you prompted softly, your brows knitting together in concern.

she finally looked up at you, her eyes glossy and filled with something raw, vulnerable. “i don’t want to go inside,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

you tilted your head. “why not?”

“because…” she hesitated, her grip on your hand tightening slightly. “because i don’t want to be alone.”

her words hit you square in the chest, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. her eyes searched yours and then, hesitantly, she leaned forward just slightly, her breath warm against your lips.

she stopped, hovering close, her needy voice barely audible. “can i kiss you? please?”

the question made your heart stutter. the vulnerability in her voice; you could see how much this moment mattered to her, how much she was holding herself back, waiting for your permission.

“minjeong,” you let out a shaky breath; unsure. “you’ve been drinking. you’re not sober and i don’t want to take advantage of you.”

she shook her head quickly, her fingers tightening around yours. “it’s not like that,” she pleaded, her voice cracking slightly. “i know what i’m asking. this isn’t the alcohol talking. it’s me — your winter, remember?”

you stared at her, your chest tightening as her words settled over you. “are you sure?”

“please,” she whispered, leaning just a little closer. “just one kiss. i need you to know how much you mean to me.”

then you nodded, your voice barely audible as you said, “okay.”

the relief on her face was instant. she leaned in slowly, giving you time to pull away if you wanted to, but you didn’t. her warm lips brushed against yours softly, hesitantly, as if she was afraid of pushing too far. her hand came up to cup your cheek, her thumb brushing against your skin in a gentle, almost praising way.

her tongue darted out to meet yours, hesitant at first but growing bolder as the kiss grew more intense. your tongues danced together, a rhythm of unspoken words and emotions too overwhelming to say aloud.

her fingers moved to cup your face, thumbs brushing against your skin as if she was trying to memorise the feel of you.

she wasn’t just kissing you — she was apologising, pleading and pouring every unspoken word into the way her lips moved against yours.

you hummed softly against her lips, your hands finding their way to her waist and pulling her closer. she smiled when your skin pressed against hers letting your arm snake around her body.

and once minjeong was no longer content with just that, she shifted in her seat, climbing over the console until she was straddling you in the driver’s seat. her knees pressed against the sides of the chair, her body fitting perfectly against yours as her hands tangled in your hair.

the kiss turned hungrier, more desperate, as if she was afraid this moment might slip away. her fingers pulled your hair slightly as her lips moved against yours with a hunger that made your heart race.

your hands slid up her back, pressing her closer until there wasn’t an inch of space left between you.

“minjeong,” you murmured against her lips, your voice breathless but she silenced you with another kiss, her lips capturing yours in a way that made your head spin. “this isn’t one kiss.”

“please don’t push me away,” she whispered between kisses, her voice trembling. “i’ll prove it to you, y/n. i’ll prove that i can be better. just…don’t let me go.”

your hands gripped her waist, anchoring her to you. “i’m not pushing you away,” you replied softly, your lips brushing against hers. “but this doesn’t fix everything.”

“i know,” she mumbled quickly, her forehead resting against yours. “but i miss you, i’m sorry.”

you kissed her again, slower this time, more deliberate. your tongues moved together in the same rhythm, her hands trailing down to your shoulders, her touch lingering as if she was afraid you might vanish.

when you finally broke apart, both of you were breathing heavily, your foreheads still pressed together. her eyes fluttered open and she looked at you with so much adoration in her eyes.

“come inside,” she whispered, her voice soft but insistent. “please, stay with me tonight.”

“okay,” you pressed a kiss against her cheek, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. “let’s go.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the end.

#kpop x reader #aespa x reader #aespa #aespa imagines #winter x reader #kim minjeong #minjeong x reader #kpop gg #kpop imagines

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fancyfeathers · 5 months ago

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I love the batfamily and daughter series!!! Now, I know this would be incredibly difficult for daughter reader to achieve but what if she kissed someone at school? When they do ask she doesn't deny it she just says, "Yeah. I kissed that person. I like them and they're smart, talented, and respectful. Shouldn't you be proud I picked someone like that?" or something along the lines of it. Thank you for reading!!!!

Yandere Batfam w/ Wife/Mother!Darling & Daughter/Sister!Darling Masterlist

She is absolutely in trouble, so much trouble.

Damian is the first person to find out because he sees it happen, it is after school and they are supposed to be heading home because Dick is picking them up and waiting for them. Damian goes out to look for her only to find her kissing a boy from her class in the staircase and oh my god he is pissed. If he had not been restraining himself for the sake of their civilian identities he would have probably beaten the boy to death or damn near it, but instead he shoves him against the wall, holding his collar.

“If you dare even talk to my sister again I will end you, do you understand me?”

“Y-yes”

He then proceeds to drop the boy to the ground and drag his sister along to the car where Dick is waiting and he immediately tries to defuse the situation when Damian quite violently shoves her in the backseat of the car.

“Hey, hey, Damian you know we don’t ever get violent with her-“

“She was engaging in inappropriate behavior with a boy in the stairwell, Richard. Which is also not allowed, father has made that very clear.”

“Let… let me talk to him about this, you two need to behave.”

He drives them both back to the manor and while no words are said the disappointment is incredibly heavy, she can see Dick looking back at her in the rear view mirror with glances that make her heart sink to her gut.

The thing is when they get home Bruce already knows what happened, the boy’s parents called the principal’s office and now there was a whole lot of trouble brewing because of their actions. Bruce scolds Damian first, because of his threat and violent action he may have and up getting expelled and so now they’ll be having the family over to make amends and clear up this whole mess. Then after that his daughter gets chewed out for breaking one of the rules, she’s far too young (even if she is a teenager by this point ), what if he finds out about their secret identities, what if she and her mother get put in danger because that information gets leaked? It is one of those situations where he speaks without letting her speak, letting go her guilt build up to get his point across.

“Father, he is the top of my class, he is part of the service outreach program, he is-“

“That is not the point, it is to keep you safe, to keep your mother safe. There are people out there who would hurt you and your mother if they found out. I am not letting anyone die again.”

“Father-“

“I will pull you out of school if you keep fighting me on this, young lady.”

“Fine…”

She just agreed to not fight him on this, not to not kiss or date the boy.

Tim found out by listening to Damian talking to a very stressed out Dick about it and well curiosity and caution get the better of him and he does a whole background check on the boy and his family to find something to show to his little sister that this is not the type of person she want to be around or dating-

Perfect, he is literally spotless, so is his family, quite literally model citizens.

He is very bitter about this fact and it only infuriates him more because he does not want his little sister with him but there is not solid reason to give. So when the boy and his parents come by to sort out this incident, Tim hates him already, he is just so insanely perfect.

Then there is Jason who looks like he is about ready to strangle the kid when he sees him walk through the door of the manor with his parents. Tim may or may not have found the footage of what happened in the school’s security cameras and shown them to Bruce and the others, and at first Jason did not really care, she broke the rules so she will deal with the consequences, but then he sees the video and he is pissed. That boy was practically feeling up his little sister and she was to him, but that doesn’t matter. Then also like Tim, he hates how perfect he is, literally nothing to really hate, he is respectful to his sister, talented, romantic, a goody two shoes.

The other family is very civil, even after the fact that Damian threatened their son. All of them have to keep calm when they see their little sister and this boy laughing and talking all during dinner. Bruce even had to grab Jason to hold him back when the boy kisses her cheek when saying goodbye after the incident has been resolved.

“What? Shouldn’t you be happy I picked someone who is nothing like you?”

She is grounded for half a year.

Aldo a little extra bit to think about, her boyfriend and his family being a part of the Court of Owls and he is a potential yandere for her, just a thought.

#yandere dc x reader #yandere dc #yandere justice league x reader #yandere justice league #yandere bruce wayne #yandere bruce wayne x reader #yandere batman #yandere batman x reader #yandere batfam #platonic yandere batfam #platonic yandere #yandere batfamily #platonic yandere batfamily #platonic yandere dc #platonic yandere bruce wayne #yandere damian wayne #yandere dick grayson #yandere jason todd #yandere tim drake

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wildernessuntothemselves · 1 year ago

Text

Class clown

class clown gyu who for some reason has it out for nerd!reader and finally she gets sick of it and puts him in his place. warnings: dom!reader, sub!gyu, handjob, blowjob, dirty talk, pathetic gyu as always

"What is your problem?" You snap at Beomgyu, the class clown and the bane of your existence. He is always on your case, making fun of you in front of everyone. Today you made a mistake answering the proferssor's question and he immediatley jumped on it, humiliating you in front of the entire class. "Why do you have to mess with me?"

"Because you're fun to mess them." He answers simply, a huge infuriating grin on his face. You look really funny when you're angry."

You don't know what came over you, you're not usually a violent person but seeing his stupid cocky face makes you lose it and you shove him against the wall, slamming your hands on either side of his head to trap him in. "Do I look funny now?

But to your chagrin, he keeps grinning, not phased one bit. "Kinda."

You're so frustrated you could cry. There was nothing you have ever thought of or done that got him to leave you alone. He has been doing this to you for years, even back when you were at school. In fact you had been so excited to go to uni just to escape him, only to see his stupid face at your first lecture and your entire dream of escape came crashing down.

"What? The smart mouth finally has got nothing to say?" He goads when you stay quiet too long for his liking.

Your vision turns red. He makes you so frustrated and pent up, you would do anything to shut him up. Maybe that's why you resorted to doing something crazy.

Grabbing his face, you push your lips against his, intending to strong-arm him into silence. After all if his lips are busy, he can't mouth off anymore.

You don't know how you expected him to react to that--freeze in shock? Push you off? Call you crazy? You don't know but you certainly didn't expect him to almost immediately start kissing you back. It threw you off so hard you actually pull away from the kiss yourself.

But as soon as you pull back, he's running his mouth again. "Damn, nerd, looks like your mouth is good for somethjng other than eating the professor's ass."

"You're so fucking.. ugh!" You groan, shutting him up again. But this time you don't just use your mouth, instead you raise his shirt up, feeling up his body to his nipples and grabbing them between your thumbs and index fingers and pulling on them a bit roughly, making him gasp and break away from the kiss with a wet smack.

"Oh god," He groans, eyes fluttering as you roll his nipples between your fingers.

"You like that, brat?" You spit, happy to finally be getting the upper hand for the first time in your years of being tormented by Beomgyu.

"Fuck yeah." He groans and tries to reach out to touch your own tits.

"Don't fucking touch me, brat." You hiss at him, "If you touch me, I stop."

"You're being such a killjoy." He protests but it's hard for him to keep a steady voice when your fingers are playing with his clearly sensitive nipples like that, and even more so when one of your hands slips into his loose pants to palm his already very hard cock.

"You look like you're enjoying it enough." You mutter, twisting your hand up to the head of his cock, making him moan out.

"Fucking hell...Are you gonna fuck me?" He asks bluntly.

"Do you want me to fuck you, Gyu?" You ask, and any hesitency over the unfamiliar nickname vanishes as he shudders under your touch.

"If you're going to be handling my cock like that then I damn well expect to get a fuck out of it." He replies, still insolent despite his whimpering and frankly slutty moans.

"You're such a little bitch." You chastise, focusing your strokes on the head of his cock, aiming for maximum damage. "You think you deserve to get anywhere near my pussy after the shit you've pulled over me for years?"

He shrugs, trying to affect nonchalance but it's hard to but he's panting like a bitch for you. "Maybe if you get fucked good, you'd be a little less uptight.

Uptight! Just because you care about your future, that doesn't make you uptight. God, you hate him... but damn, does he looks fucking hot falling apart in your hands like that.

"And maybe if you were getting any attention on your cock apart from your own hand, you wouldn't be such an attention seeking slut." You jeer, getting down on your knees. "Now shut the fuck up or you won't get to cum at all."

"What--" He doesn't have time to formulate his question before you pull his pants down and wrap your mouth around his cock, sucking any retort right out of him.

"Oh, fuck, that's it." He arches his back, driving his cock further down your throat which you readily take, to his surprise.

"Fuck, where did you learn to suck dick like this?" He asks through his moans but you don't bother to answer him. You don't owe him an answer, you just want to shut the bitch up.

But Beomgyu is incapable of shutting up. "Have you been sucking dick on the down low? I didn't know the nerd is such a big slut. Thought you were a good girl."

You detach from his cock to retort, tearing a whine out of him which the idiot is too stupid to realize he is the cause of. "You're one to talk. Look how loudly you're moaning as soon as you get your dick wet. What? No one wants to fuck such a loudmouth?"

"Fuck you." He mutters, and you laugh. "You wish, baby." You smirk, bobbing your head down his cock again, going ruthlessly fast and getting the brat to writhe under you.

You think that would be the end of it but Beomgyu could die and his mouth would still be running. "Seriously, who are you fucking? Taehyun? Soobin? Don't tell me it's that manwhore Yeonjun?"

You pull off his dick in frustration, using your hand to jerk him off roughly instead. "Why do you fucking care who I fuck?"

"I don't care." He huffs, arching his back to push his cock further into your grip. "I just know they can't be fucking you good if you're still so uptight all the time. If you want a good time, I could give you the time of your life."

You burst out laughing, obviously bruising the boy's ego in the process but you don't care. And you don't even bother hiding your incredulity. "You? Do you even see yourself? I'm barely even moving my hand and you're fucking it like a dog in heat. Your dick is drooling all down my arm. You look like you're a few pumps away from creaming yourself. I don't think you'd even make it one stroke inside my pussy before you pop like a virgin."

"No, I'm not." He denies, trying to keep his hips still, clearly fighting with himself. "I can fuck you so good you'll screaming my name."

"You can? You can take hot, tight pussy until I cum? You can have me clench around your needy cock without emptying your balls inside me?" You reach your other hand out to cup his balls, massaging then gently between your fingers, making him suck in a shuddering breath. "You can hold back your hot cum until I'm ready to milk your cock? You won't just break and spurt your cum inside me as soon as you put it in?"

"Fuck, fuck, slow down." He gasps, trying to squirm away from your touch but you hold him tighter, jerking him off steadily.

"Why? Are you going to cum just from my hands? That's disappointing. I thought you wanted to give me the fuck of my life?" You cock your head to side, staring up at him condescendingly, making him shudder.

"Baby, please, slow down?"

"Baby?" You laugh. "Now I'm baby?"

"I can't take much more." He was jerking uncontrollably in your grip but you never let go, taking the hand on his balls off to press it against his lower tummy to hold him in place as you continue jerking off his now very red and slippery cock.

"Are you gonna cum?" You ask again and he nods, biting onto his lip harshly. "Yes, can I?"

You have to say you were taken aback at him suddenly asking for your permission to cum. You would have thought the brat would just do it with no warning. "Aw, baby is asking for permission to cum? If I knew it was this easy to get you to behave, I would have... well, actually I still wouldn't have touched you any sooner. But it's good to know how pathetic you really are."

"Fuck you." He repeats, voice strained in his effort to still hold back.

"You want me to say you can cum?" You tease, twisting your hand over the length of his cock slowly.

He nods. "Yes. Need it. Need it."

"Are you going to be good to me from now on?" You ask and he shakes his head. "You're too fun to tease."

"You are too." You counter, slowing your hand down, making him thrust his hips to try to get more of your touch so you smack his thigh in punishment. "Down, boy!"

"Baby, please!" He begs so sweetly, pining you with his pretty, brown eyes, his dick drooling in your grip.

"Are you going to be good from now on?" You tighten your grip around him as you deliberately move your hand up the entire length of his cock, feeling his precum dripping down your arm.

"Yes, yes, I'll be good. I'll be so good." He babbles, and you know he is lying his ass off, just wanting to say whatever would get you to let him cum, but even that makes you feel so fucking hot. To have that effect on your tormentor after all these years is a fucking head rush.

"God, you're a mess." You mutter, quickening your pace over his cock, making Beomgyu panic. "Wait, wait, can I cum? Can I cum?"

It's a little precious how much he panics over cumming without your explicit permission, so much so you decide to just give it to him, wanting to see the brat completely lose it in your grip.

"You can cum, brat." As soon as you utter the words--as if he was really waiting for them--he explodes, spurting rope after rope of cum down your arm and onto your chest.

"Thank you. Thank you, baby." He cries, emptying himself for you until he can no longer hold himself up anymore and collapses to the ground by your side.

But to your surprise and mild horror, Beomgyu takes a minute to calm himself down before he grabs his own cock and strokes himself to full hardness again, bearing through the pain of overstimulation for a reason that only becomes apparent to you after you ask, "What the hell are you doing, Beomgyu?"

"I promised I can fuck you good, didn't I?"

He really is insane.

____________________

#txt smut #beomgyu smut #sub!txt #sub!beomgyu #sub!idol #dom!reader #just a small unedited thing cuz I miss writing for gyu 😭#really wanna get out the next yamqn chapter but have no time at all #so take this messy thing as a compromise

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goldfades · 5 months ago

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★ 'cause she's watching him with those eyes / and she's loving him with that body, i just know it / and he's holding her in his arms late, late at night / you know, i wish that i had jessie's girl / i wish that i had jessie's girl / where can i find a woman like that? ───JB⁹

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 18k (a lot more than i expected...)

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | a college student navigates her complicated feelings for her charming yet infuriating neighbor, joe burrow, while dating the seemingly perfect linebacker. after a series of missteps, flirtatious teasing, and an unexpected kiss, she finds herself caught in a whirlwind of tension, confusion, and unexpected sparks, all while trying to avoid the loud, chaotic presence of joe and his ever-constant parade of girls.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | unedited (sorry... i got lazy), NSFW (with lots... and lots... AND LOTS of plot), unprotected sex (wrap it before u tap it, kids) praise, teasing, lots of kissing/foreplay, p in v, uhhh.. descriptions of big dick joe??? enemies to lovers, roommates, mentions of drinking/alcohol, cheating (not on reader), joe being an asshole, cocky joe, lots of fighting, heated arguments.

⟢ ┈ 𝐞𝐯'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 | this has been in my drafts for a good 2 months and finally decided to finish it up on the sunday before american thanksgiving! so... yaya! please let me know your thoughts!

The muffled sound of Ja’Marr Chase’s bass-heavy playlist seeps through the thin walls of your apartment, rattling the picture frames you swore you hung up straight last week. The tiny LSU apartment complex, with its peeling beige paint and eternally broken elevator, has its charms—like the way the front door doesn’t lock unless you kick it just right or how the air conditioner only works when it’s below 70 degrees outside.

But Joe Burrow? He’s not one of those charms.

No, Joe Burrow is the bane of your existence, the human equivalent of a pothole on a road you have to take every day. His name alone makes your best friend, Ella, roll her eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t get stuck in the back of her head. “Just ignore him,” she says every time you come storming through the door, ranting about whatever fresh annoyance he’s cooked up that day. “He only bothers you because you’re fun to mess with.”

Right. Like that’s supposed to make it better.

Living next door to Joe and Ja’Marr was tolerable at first. Sure, they were loud, occasionally messy, and probably violating a dozen lease terms, but it wasn’t personal. Then, you had one small misunderstanding—okay, so maybe you yelled at Joe for leaving his bike in front of your door after you tripped over it—and now it’s like he’s made it his life’s mission to drive you insane.

Sometimes, it’s harmless: an obnoxious smirk when you cross paths on the way to class or his sarcastic comments about how you always seem to be spilling coffee on your shirt. Other times, it’s borderline infuriating: stealing your parking spot, taking the last box of cinnamon rolls at the grocery store, or claiming the shared apartment complex grill for “official game day business” every single Saturday.

Still, there’s something annoyingly magnetic about him, even when you want to wring his neck. The way his eyes crinkle when he’s laughing at his own jokes. The stupid mop of curls he somehow manages to pull off. The effortless confidence that borders on cocky, though you’d never say it out loud because that’s exactly the kind of thing that would go straight to his head.

Ella always jokes that you two are like an old married couple, constantly bickering but secretly loving it. You disagree. Mostly because Joe already has enough people falling at his feet—like the swarm of girls in purple-and-gold jerseys who show up at the apartment complex every other week, giggling like they’re auditioning for a reality show.

You sigh, brushing a stray crumb off the countertop as Ella flops onto the couch behind you, textbook in hand. And if his stupid grin when he sees you on your balcony later tonight is any indication, he’s already got something planned.

You just don’t know it yet.

The parking lot outside your apartment complex is a war zone at 11 p.m., with far too many cars crammed into a space that was clearly designed with only half the residents in mind. You circle the lot for the third time, your headlights cutting through the dark like a searchlight on some hopeless mission. After eight grueling hours at the campus library helping undergrads figure out why their printers are possessed, your brain feels like oatmeal, and all you want is to collapse into your bed.

But, of course, tonight isn’t going to be that simple.

Because there he is. Joe freaking Burrow.

He’s in his Jeep—windows down, music playing softly, and, naturally, there’s a blonde perched in the passenger seat laughing at something he said. Of course, he found the last available spot. Except—it’s not his spot, because you saw it first. Your blinker’s been on since the beginning of time (or at least the last 30 seconds), and you refuse to back down now.

Your grip tightens on the steering wheel as he slowly starts to reverse into the spot, like he hasn’t noticed your very obvious claim to it. Heart pounding with a mix of exhaustion and indignation, you tap your horn. Just once. Polite, but firm. He stops, glances in his rearview mirror, and then—of course—he smirks.

Oh, hell no.

You roll down your window and lean out. “Hey, Burrow! I was waiting for that spot.”

He leans his elbow casually against the window frame, his curls catching the faint glow of the streetlight. “Were you? Didn’t see your name on it.” His voice is slow, lazy, like he’s got all the time in the world to be a pain in your ass.

You glare at him, barely suppressing the urge to snap. “I was here first.”

“And I started reversing first,” he counters, raising an eyebrow like it’s a debate class and not a parking lot at nearly midnight. The blonde giggles beside him, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “Just let me have it. You look like you could use the exercise.”

Oh, he’s done it now.

“Excuse me?” Your voice comes out sharper than you intended, but you’re too far gone to care. “I’ve been on my feet for eight hours dealing with entitled freshmen, and if you think I’m about to let you—”

“Alright, alright,” Joe interrupts, hands raised in mock surrender. “Relax, I’m not trying to ruin your night.” He throws the Jeep into drive, and with a dramatic sigh, he pulls away, leaving the spot open for you. But not without one last parting comment. “Don’t scratch the paint when you park. Oh, wait—you’re really close to that pole—”

You park with excessive precision, throwing your car into park before leaning out the window to call after him. “I didn’t ask for your help, Joe!”

His laugh echoes across the parking lot, carefree and infuriating. You slam your door shut a little harder than necessary, adjusting your bag on your shoulder as you trudge toward the building. Finally, peace.

Or so you think.

Because just as you reach the elevator, its ding announcing its arrival, you hear the telltale sound of sneakers scuffing against concrete and—because your luck is absolute trash—Joe freaking Burrow strolls in behind you, Blonde Giggles McGee still glued to his side.

“Hey, neighbor,” he says casually, stepping into the elevator with you like he didn’t just steal and relinquish a parking spot out of sheer pettiness. The blonde gives you a wide, vaguely clueless smile, her gum snapping between her teeth.

You press the button for the third floor with a pointed jab and cross your arms, leaning against the elevator wall as Joe and his date take their sweet time figuring out which floor they’re going to. The door finally slides shut, and the tension in the small space is unbearable.

“So,” the blonde says brightly, flipping her hair over her shoulder, “you guys, like, live here? That’s so fun! Like, neighbors and stuff. Wow.”

Your lips press into a tight smile, trying to avoid eye contact with Joe, who you can feel grinning at you like this is the highlight of his week. “Yep. Fun,” you reply curtly, forcing the word out like it’s laced with acid.

Joe’s shoulders shake slightly, and you realize he’s laughing. He glances at you, and there’s that damn smirk again, like he knows exactly how close you are to losing it. “She’s real talkative tonight,” he says, tilting his head toward you. “Usually, she’s got more to say.”

You turn to him with a withering glare. “Don’t you have something else to do, Burrow?”

Before he can reply, the elevator lurches slightly as it comes to a stop on your floor. You step out quickly, muttering a polite “Good night” that is entirely devoid of warmth. Joe follows, his pace annoyingly casual as he throws one last look over his shoulder.

“See you around, neighbor,” he says, and you can hear the grin in his voice.

You don’t look back.

The smell of cheap ramen hits you the moment you open the door to your apartment. It’s comforting, in a way—familiar, like Ella’s answer to every late-night craving or bad day. She’s in the kitchen, stirring a pot on the stove, barefoot and wearing the oversized LSU sweatshirt you’d bought together during freshman year.

“You’re late,” she says without looking up, her voice light with mock reproach. “Was the library on fire, or did you stop to fight Burrow in the parking lot again?”

You kick off your shoes with a sigh, tossing your bag onto the couch. “Option B. Obviously.”

That gets her attention. She turns, spoon in hand, eyebrows raised. “Seriously? It’s, like, midnight. You two are going to give each other aneurysms before graduation.”

You slump into one of the kitchen chairs, letting your forehead hit the table dramatically. “He stole my parking spot. Had the audacity to smirk about it, too. And then—get this—I got stuck in the elevator with him and some girl who wouldn’t stop talking about how ‘fun’ it is to have neighbors.” You lift your head to glare at Ella, who is now struggling to hold back a laugh. “I’m cursed. That man is my curse.”

Ella snorts, pouring the ramen into two mismatched bowls. “He’s not your curse. He’s just a guy with too much charm and not enough common sense. And clearly, you’re living rent-free in his head, which, honestly, is kind of impressive considering he’s got a playbook in there.”

You accept the bowl she slides across the table, your stomach growling despite your lingering irritation. “I don’t want to live in his head. I want him to stop being so… so Joe all the time.”

Ella sits across from you, propping her chin in her hand with a sly grin. “Are you sure? You seem to spend a lot of time talking about him.”

You glare at her over a mouthful of noodles. “Don’t start.”

But she’s already started, her grin widening. “I’m just saying, it’s giving sexual tension.”

You nearly choke, coughing as you wave her off. “Nope. Absolutely not. There’s no tension. Only irritation. And rage. And an overwhelming desire to see him move to a different apartment complex.”

Ella laughs, leaning back in her chair. “Whatever you say, babe. But for the record, I think you secretly enjoy it.”

You open your mouth to argue, but before you can form a retort, there’s a knock at the door. Both of you freeze, staring at each other like deer caught in headlights.

“You expecting someone?” Ella whispers, her tone suddenly conspiratorial.

“No,” you whisper back, your heart sinking as a horrible suspicion creeps over you.

Ella gestures for you to check, and with a deep, resigned breath, you shuffle to the door, bowl still in hand. You crack it open just enough to see who’s on the other side, and—because the universe apparently hates you—there he is. Joe Burrow, in all his smug, infuriating glory, holding a box of cinnamon rolls.

“Hey, neighbor,” he says, his grin infuriatingly wide. “Figured I owed you something for stealing your spot.”

You stare at him, speechless, for a moment. Then, finally, you manage, “It’s 11:30 at night.”

He shrugs, as if that’s a perfectly reasonable time for a peace offering. “Better late than never, right?”

From behind you, Ella’s voice rings out, barely containing her amusement. “Is that Joe? Invite him in!”

You turn to glare at her, silently vowing revenge, but when you look back at Joe, he’s already stepping inside like he owns the place.

“Nice place,” he says, glancing around before holding up the box. “So… cinnamon roll?”

You sigh, shutting the door behind him. It’s going to be a long night.

Joe leans casually against the counter, still holding the box of cinnamon rolls like he’s been invited to stay for a late-night hangout. You narrow your eyes at him, folding your arms. “So, what’s this about, really? Cinnamon rolls aren’t exactly your style.”

“Wow, judgmental much?” he says with a mock-wounded expression. “What if I just wanted to be neighborly?”

Ella snickers softly behind you, spooning up her ramen as she watches the exchange like it’s prime-time TV.

Joe grins, ignoring your skepticism. “Actually,” he says, setting the box on the counter with a little too much flourish, “I’m out of sugar. You wouldn’t happen to have any, would you?”

You blink at him, incredulous. “Sugar? You came over at almost midnight to borrow sugar?”

“Yup,” he says, popping the “p” for emphasis, completely unbothered by your glare.

Ella, ever the peacemaker—or enabler, depending on the situation—sets her bowl down and gets up to rummage through the cabinets. “We’ve got some,” she says reluctantly, pulling out a small bag. She walks over and places it in Joe’s outstretched hand, but not without narrowing her eyes at him. “You better bring this back, Burrow. Or at least repay us with something better than cinnamon rolls.”

“Noted,” he says with a charming smile, tucking the bag under his arm. He turns to you, his grin softening into something almost teasing. “Thanks, neighbor. You’re a real lifesaver.”

You don’t bother replying, instead stepping aside so he can leave. He makes his way to the door, pausing for a moment. “Oh, and don’t forget to check your parking job in the morning,” he says with a wink before slipping out into the hallway.

The second the door clicks shut, you groan, slumping against the counter. Ella bursts into laughter, practically doubling over as she grabs her bowl again. “You two are ridiculous,” she says between bites.

“I’m moving out,” you mutter, dragging yourself to the couch. “I don’t care if it’s to a cardboard box in the quad. It’ll be quieter than this.”

You think that’s the end of it—Joe’s random sugar-borrowing adventure, Ella’s endless teasing—but of course, you’re wrong. Because a few hours later, just as you’re finally starting to drift off in the tiny bedroom you call your sanctuary, you hear it.

A muffled giggle. A low, rumbling voice you’d recognize anywhere. Then, unmistakably, the rhythmic creak of a bed frame against the wall.

Your eyes snap open, and for a moment, you pray you’re imagining things. Maybe it’s a nightmare—a cruel joke your overtired brain is playing on you. But then you hear it again, louder this time, followed by a very enthusiastic “Oh my God, Joey!”

You groan, grabbing your pillow and pressing it over your ears.

From the other side of the wall, Ella’s muffled voice reaches you through the darkness. “Is that…?”

“Yes,” you hiss, your voice barely audible through the pillow. “It’s him.”

She snorts, and you can hear her shifting in her bed. “Well, at least he’s getting good use out of that sugar.”

You let out a strangled laugh, torn between exhaustion and disbelief. “I swear, if this goes on all night—”

As if on cue, there’s another creak, louder this time, followed by more giggling and exaggerated moaning.

Ella sighs. “Thin walls, huh?”

“Apparently,” you mutter, rolling onto your side and glaring at the wall like it’s personally offended you.

The noises continue—giggles, muffled moans, the occasional thud that makes you wince. You bury your face in your pillow, silently cursing Joe Burrow and his audacity.

It’s going to be a very, very long night.

The next morning comes too soon. Despite the symphony of creaks, giggles, and thuds that plagued the night, you manage to drag yourself out of bed, bleary-eyed and cranky. The coffee pot sputters as you pour yourself a life-saving cup, muttering curses at your neighbor under your breath. Ella, still in her pajamas, watches you from the couch with an amused smirk.

“You look alive,” she teases, spooning cereal into her mouth. “Barely.”

“I hate him,” you say flatly, taking a long sip of coffee.

“Sure you do,” she singsongs.

You don’t dignify her with a response, grabbing your bag and heading out the door.

As luck—or fate—would have it, the universe isn’t done with you yet. Because just as you’re locking your apartment door, you hear the unmistakable sound of high heels clicking down the hallway.

You glance over your shoulder and immediately regret it.

There she is. Last night’s Blonde of the Hour, strutting toward the elevator with a walk of shame so confident it might as well be a victory lap. She’s wearing Joe’s oversized LSU hoodie, paired with last night’s skirt and heels. Her hair is tousled, but she doesn’t seem to care.

And because the universe apparently has a sense of humor, she notices you at the same time you notice her.

“Morning!” she chirps, her voice way too chipper for someone who clearly didn’t sleep much.

You press your lips together to keep from laughing, nodding in acknowledgment. “Morning.”

The two of you step into the elevator together, the silence stretching awkwardly between you. You steal a glance at her from the corner of your eye, wondering if she has any idea that her night of “fun” ruined yours. But then she sighs and adjusts the sleeves of Joe’s hoodie, completely unbothered, and you realize she probably doesn’t care.

The doors slide open to the lobby, and you step out first, your pace brisk as you make a beeline for the exit. But as you push through the glass doors into the bright morning sunlight, you nearly collide with none other than Joe Burrow himself.

He’s leaning against his car, coffee cup in hand, looking far too put together for someone who should be as tired as you. His eyes widen slightly when he sees you, then flick over to the blonde trailing behind.

“Morning, neighbor,” he says, his voice laced with amusement.

“Morning,” you reply dryly, brushing past him toward your car.

But of course, he can’t just let it go. “Sleep well?”

You stop dead in your tracks, turning to glare at him. His smirk is infuriatingly smug, and you can’t tell if he’s genuinely clueless or just messing with you.

“Thin walls,” you say pointedly, raising an eyebrow.

His smirk falters for half a second before he recovers, lifting his coffee cup in a mock toast. “Noted.”

The blonde, oblivious to the tension, giggles. “Joe, you didn’t tell me your neighbors were so fun!”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, instead unlocking your car with more force than necessary. “Oh, we’re a blast,” you mutter under your breath, sliding into the driver’s seat.

As you pull out of the parking lot, you catch a glimpse of Joe in your rearview mirror, still leaning against his car, watching you leave. There’s a flicker of something in his expression—amusement, maybe, or curiosity—but you don’t have the energy to figure it out.

Later that afternoon, when you’re back in your apartment trying to catch up on work, Ella pops her head into the living room with a mischievous grin.

“Guess who I ran into at the coffee shop?”

You glance up warily. “Who?”

“Joe,” she says, plopping down on the couch. “He said he’s planning a little ‘building mixer’ this weekend. Invited everyone on the floor. Including us.”

You groan, letting your head fall back against the couch. “No. Absolutely not. I am not going to some Burrow-hosted mixer.”

“Oh, come on,” Ella says, nudging you with her foot. “It could be fun. Free food, free drinks… awkward encounters with your mortal enemy…”

You glare at her, but she just laughs. “You’re going,” she says firmly. “I already RSVP’d for us.”

And just like that, you realize your week is about to get a whole lot more complicated.

Saturday night rolls around faster than you’d like, and with it comes the so-called “mixer” that Joe Burrow somehow convinced Ella you had to attend. You’d held onto the slim hope that it would be a small, quiet gathering of your neighbors in the building, with maybe some snacks, polite small talk, and an early exit for you.

Instead, you step off the elevator into what can only be described as chaos. The hallway is packed with people, the distant thrum of music vibrating through the walls. Someone’s yelling about finding the keg, and the faint scent of spilled beer and cologne wafts toward you.

“This is not a mixer,” you mutter to Ella as you both navigate your way through the crowd.

Ella, of course, looks thrilled. She’s dolled up in a crop top and high-waisted jeans, her hair and makeup perfectly done. “Relax,” she says, looping her arm through yours. “It’s just a party. Have a drink, let loose. Who knows? You might even have fun.”

You highly doubt that, but before you can argue, she spots Ja’Marr Chase leaning against the doorway to Joe’s apartment and perks up immediately. “I’ll catch up with you later!” she says, already untangling herself from your arm and heading toward him.

“Ella!” you call after her, but she’s too busy tossing a flirty smile Ja’Marr’s way to notice.

Great. Now you’re alone in the middle of a party that feels like half of LSU showed up to, surrounded by strangers and sticky floors. You push your way toward the kitchen, hoping to grab a drink and then find a corner to blend into until Ella decides it’s time to leave.

But, because the universe apparently loves messing with you, you hear his voice before you see him.

“Well, well, look who decided to show up.”

You groan internally and turn to see Joe leaning against the counter, a Solo cup in hand and that ever-present smirk on his face. He’s dressed casually in a fitted t-shirt and jeans, but somehow still manages to look like he owns the place—which, technically, he does.

“I’m only here because Ella dragged me,” you say, crossing your arms. “Don’t get any ideas.”

Joe chuckles, taking a sip of his drink. “Come on, admit it. You’re having the time of your life.”

“Yeah, sure,” you deadpan. “Sticky floors and loud music are exactly my idea of fun.”

He grins, clearly enjoying your irritation. “You know, if you wanted to hang out with me so badly, you could’ve just asked. No need to pretend Ella dragged you here.”

“I—” You stop yourself, realizing there’s no point in arguing. It’s exactly what he wants. Instead, you grab a bottle of water from the counter and turn to leave.

“Hey, hold up,” he says, stepping in front of you. “You’re not just gonna drink water all night, are you?”

“Yes, Joe, I am,” you say, trying to sidestep him, but he moves to block you.

“At least let me get you a real drink,” he says, gesturing toward the makeshift bar someone set up on the other side of the room. “I make a mean rum and Coke.”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

“Suit yourself,” he says, stepping aside, but not before adding, “But you’re missing out. My bartending skills are unmatched.”

You roll your eyes and head toward the living room, finding a spot near the wall where you can observe without being dragged into the chaos. You sip your water and watch as Joe works the room, effortlessly charming everyone he talks to.

About an hour later, you’re starting to regret not leaving when Ella abandoned you. You’ve been stuck making awkward small talk with strangers, and the music is only getting louder.

Then Ella appears out of nowhere, grabbing your arm with a giggle. “Come with me,” she says, pulling you toward the corner where Joe and some of his teammates are lounging on a worn-out sectional.

“Why?” you ask, resisting her tug.

“Because Ja’Marr wants to introduce me to his friends, and I don’t want to go alone!”

You sigh, reluctantly following her over. Ja’Marr greets Ella with a grin, and she practically melts under his attention. You, on the other hand, find yourself stuck sitting next to Joe, who looks far too pleased about the arrangement.

“Miss me already?” he asks, leaning closer so you can hear him over the music.

“Not even a little,” you reply, glaring at him.

He chuckles, clearly unbothered. “You’re really bad at hiding how much you enjoy my company, you know that?”

You open your mouth to retort, but before you can, one of his teammates interrupts. “Yo, Burrow, who’s this?”

“This,” Joe says, gesturing toward you with a dramatic flourish, “is my lovely neighbor.”

“Neighbor, huh?” the guy says, raising an eyebrow. “You two seem… close.”

You snort. “Not even remotely.”

Joe grins, slinging an arm over the back of the couch behind you. “Don’t listen to her,” he says. “She’s just shy.”

You shoot him a withering look, but he only laughs, clearly enjoying himself.

As the night drags on, Joe makes it his personal mission to annoy you. Every time you try to leave, he finds a way to pull you back into the conversation, teasing you relentlessly. His teammates, to their credit, seem amused by the dynamic, occasionally chiming in with their own jokes.

By the time Ella finally decides she’s ready to leave, you’re exhausted—physically and emotionally. You practically sprint for the door, eager to escape Joe’s smirk and the endless teasing.

As you step into the hallway, he calls after you, “See you around, neighbor!”

You don’t bother responding, instead dragging Ella toward the elevator. But as you press the button for your floor, you can’t help but feel like you haven’t seen the last of Joe Burrow tonight—or any night, for that matter.

The next week at LSU passes like any other, but somehow, Joe Burrow has managed to worm his way into your daily routine. It starts small—running into him at the mailboxes, hearing his muffled laughter through the thin walls at ungodly hours, and the occasional “good morning, neighbor!” shouted across the courtyard when you’re clearly not in the mood.

It’s maddening, really, the way he seems to delight in being everywhere you don’t want him to be. And yet, despite your annoyance, you can’t deny that his presence makes life just a little more… interesting.

FRIDAY NIGHT

Ella bursts through the apartment door, her face lit up with excitement. You’re sprawled on the couch, flipping through lecture notes and wishing the week would end already.

“Guess what!” she exclaims, tossing her bag onto the counter.

“Let me guess,” you say dryly. “Ja’Marr invited you to another party?”

“Close,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows. “Ja’Marr and Joe are throwing a tailgate tomorrow before the game, and we’re invited.”

You groan, already dreading the idea of spending yet another afternoon dodging Joe’s incessant teasing. “I’m busy,” you lie.

“You’re coming,” Ella insists, plopping down next to you. “It’s practically a campus tradition, and besides, you could use a little fun.”

“Fun,” you repeat, raising an eyebrow. “Is that what we’re calling being forced to socialize with half of LSU now?”

Ella rolls her eyes. “Come on, it’ll be fun. Food, drinks, and—” she grins mischievously—“a chance to hang out with your favorite quarterback.”

You glare at her. “Joe Burrow is not my favorite anything.”

“Uh-huh,” she says, clearly not believing you. “Wear something cute. We’re leaving at noon.”

SATURDAY AFTERNOON

The tailgate is, unsurprisingly, a spectacle. Rows of tents stretch across the field, decked out in purple and gold, with grills smoking and music blasting. Students and alumni alike mill about, laughing and chatting as they gear up for the game.

You follow Ella through the crowd, clutching a plastic cup of soda and trying to blend in. She, of course, makes a beeline for Ja’Marr, who’s manning the grill with an ease that suggests he’s done this a thousand times.

And where there’s Ja’Marr, there’s Joe.

He spots you almost immediately, his trademark smirk spreading across his face as he waves you over. “Hey, neighbor! Glad you could make it.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you mutter, but he’s already stepping closer, his easy confidence making it impossible to ignore him.

“What, no hug?” he teases, holding his arms out dramatically.

“Not in this lifetime,” you reply, sidestepping him.

Ella, now fully engrossed in a conversation with Ja’Marr, leaves you to fend for yourself. You glance around, debating whether to make a run for it, but Joe blocks your path, clearly amused by your discomfort.

“You’re really bad at this whole socializing thing, aren’t you?” he says, leaning casually against the nearest table.

“Maybe I just don’t enjoy your company,” you retort, taking a sip of your drink.

He grins. “If that were true, you wouldn’t be here.”

Before you can respond, one of his teammates calls his name, distracting him long enough for you to slip away. You find a quieter spot near the edge of the field, letting the noise of the crowd fade into the background.

But, of course, Joe finds you again.

“Thought you’d try to escape, huh?” he says, appearing at your side like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“I wasn’t escaping,” you lie, crossing your arms.

“Sure you weren’t.” He pauses, glancing at the crowd. “Not a fan of tailgates?”

“Not a fan of crowds,” you admit.

He nods, surprisingly serious for once. “Fair enough. They’re not for everyone.”

You glance at him, caught off guard by the genuine tone in his voice. It’s a rare moment of sincerity from someone who seems to live for getting under your skin.

And then, just as quickly, the moment passes.

“Still,” he says, his smirk returning, “you’ve got to admit, the food’s pretty good. Ja’Marr’s burgers? Best on campus.”

The party stretched well into the night, turning the once-bustling tailgate into a dimly lit, hazy scene of music, laughter, and scattered conversations. You’d almost forgotten how much you hated these kinds of events. The air was warm, the smell of grilled food and spilled beer thick, but for once, you weren’t faking a smile just to survive.

Instead, you were leaning against a folding chair near the makeshift DJ booth, chatting with a guy named Wes. He was a linebacker for LSU, though, by his own admission, mostly a benchwarmer. Shy, soft-spoken, and refreshingly normal, Wes wasn’t at all what you expected to find at a party like this.

“You’re telling me you’ve never been to Mike’s cage?” he asked, his voice slightly raised to be heard over the music.

You laughed. “I don’t know, it just never seemed like a big deal to me. It’s a tiger.”

His eyes widened in mock offense. “It’s not just a tiger. It’s our tiger.”

“Okay, okay, maybe I’ll check it out sometime,” you said, grinning at his enthusiasm.

From the corner of your eye, you caught movement, and instinctively, you glanced over. There, leaning against the bar table, was Joe.

His usual smirk was nowhere to be seen. Instead, his jaw was tight, and his eyes were fixed on you and Wes.

The sight of his uncharacteristically cold expression sent a jolt through you. Was he annoyed? No, that didn’t make sense. He didn’t care about you, not really.

Wes was saying something about the tiger habitat, but your attention flickered back to Joe. His knuckles whitened around the edge of his red Solo cup, and he seemed to be muttering something to Ja’Marr, who only shrugged in response.

“Everything okay?” Wes asked, his brow furrowed as he followed your gaze.

You blinked, forcing yourself to refocus. “Yeah, sorry. What were you saying?”

Joe, however, was impossible to ignore. At one point, he stormed past your little corner of the party, brushing close enough that you could feel the heat of his arm against yours.

Wes had just finished telling a story about his first LSU practice, his nervous laughter making you smile, when Joe’s voice cut through the conversation like a jagged knife.

“Nice to see you making friends,” he said, his tone just sharp enough to raise the hairs on your neck.

You turned to find Joe standing a few feet away, his trademark smirk forced and strained. He wasn’t looking at you but at Wes, his gaze heavy with something you couldn’t quite place.

“Hey, Burrow,” Wes said, his voice even but noticeably quieter.

Joe stepped closer, ignoring you entirely as he clapped Wes on the shoulder. “Wesley Evans, right? Linebacker extraordinaire.” His words were light, almost teasing, but there was a strange undertone to them.

“Uh, yeah,” Wes said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Though ‘extraordinaire’ might be a bit of a stretch.”

Joe chuckled, his laugh cold. “Oh, come on. Don’t sell yourself short. I mean, someone’s got to keep the bench warm, right?”

The group went silent.

You froze, your stomach dropping as the words settled over the conversation like a wet blanket. Wes’s easygoing demeanor faltered for just a moment—just long enough for you to catch the flicker of hurt in his eyes.

But he recovered quickly, letting out a forced laugh. “Yeah, well, someone’s gotta do it.”

“Joe,” Ja’Marr said sharply, stepping forward. “That was uncalled for.”

Joe raised his hands in mock surrender, his smirk faltering. “What? I was just joking.”

“No, you weren’t,” Ja’Marr said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You stared at Joe, your chest tightening with a mix of anger and confusion. What was his problem? You’d seen him tease people before, but this was something else. This was cruel.

Joe’s eyes finally flicked to yours, and for a brief second, something like regret flashed across his face. But just as quickly, he turned away, muttering, “Whatever,” before stalking off into the crowd.

The group stood in awkward silence, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

“I’m sorry about that,” you said softly, turning to Wes.

He shook his head, forcing a smile. “Don’t worry about it. Happens all the time.”

But you could see the way his shoulders sagged, the way his fingers tightened around the edge of his cup.

Ja’Marr sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “He’s not usually like that.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you muttered, still staring at the spot where Joe had disappeared.

Ja’Marr shot you a look but said nothing. The group eventually dispersed, the easy energy of the night soured by the encounter.

And as you followed Ella home later, you couldn’t stop replaying the moment in your head, trying to piece together why Joe Burrow seemed so determined to ruin the night—not just for you, but for Wes, too.

The walk back to your apartment was quiet, the faint buzz of crickets and distant party music filling the air as you and Ella navigated the dimly lit sidewalks. The night had been long, and your head was still spinning from Joe’s earlier outburst. You’d always known him to be annoying, maybe even a little infuriating, but tonight was different. There was a sharpness to him, an edge that left you unsettled.

Ella broke the silence first, her voice soft. “What do you think that was about? With Joe, I mean.”

You shrugged, kicking a loose pebble down the pavement. “Who knows? Maybe he ran out of people to torture and decided to branch out.”

Ella laughed lightly but didn’t press further. By the time you reached your apartment complex, the cool night air had started to seep into your skin, making you shiver. All you could think about was collapsing into bed and forgetting this day ever happened.

But, of course, Joe Burrow had other plans.

There he was, right in front of your door, pressed up against yet another blonde, her manicured nails tangled in his hair as they made out like the world was ending.

You stopped dead in your tracks, Ella nearly bumping into you.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you muttered under your breath.

At the sound of your voice, Joe broke away from his hookup, turning to face you with a smirk that was equal parts shameless and infuriating.

“Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite neighbor,” he drawled, his voice low and teasing. “Didn’t think you’d be back so soon. Wes not invite you over for a post-party study session?”

Your jaw tightened. “Get out of the way, Burrow.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself. “What’s the rush? You don’t want to hang out? I can introduce you to…uh…” He glanced at the girl beside him, snapping his fingers as if trying to remember her name.

The blonde giggled, clearly unbothered. “Stephanie,” she offered, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Right. Stephanie,” Joe said, his grin widening.

Ella groaned softly beside you, crossing her arms. “Joe, move. We’re tired.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, stepping aside but not before leaning casually against the doorframe, effectively blocking your path again. “But seriously, where’s Wes? Thought you two were hitting it off. Or is he back on the bench already?”

“Are you serious right now?” you snapped, finally losing the last shred of patience you had left.

Joe straightened up, clearly surprised by the sudden bite in your tone. “What? I’m just messing around.”

“No, you’re being a jerk,” you shot back. “First, you humiliate Wes at the party, and now you’re standing here, rubbing it in like it’s some kind of joke. What’s your problem?”

Stephanie shifted uncomfortably, her gaze darting between you and Joe. “Uh, maybe we should—”

“Not now,” Joe cut her off, his tone sharper than you’d ever heard it. He didn’t even look at her, his eyes locked on yours.

Stephanie’s mouth fell open in shock. “Excuse me?”

“Just go,” he said, his voice quieter but no less firm.

For a moment, the three of you stood frozen, the tension hanging thick in the air. Then, with an indignant huff, Stephanie grabbed her purse and stormed off, her heels clicking angrily against the pavement.

Ella’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “Wow,” she muttered under her breath.

Joe ran a hand through his hair, exhaling deeply before turning back to you. “Happy now?”

“No,” you said, crossing your arms. “You’re still here.”

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You’re acting like I committed some crime. I was just joking, okay? It’s not my fault you can’t take a little teasing.”

“Teasing?” you repeated, incredulous. “Joe, you embarrassed Wes in front of everyone tonight. And for what? To make yourself feel better? To prove you’re the big man on campus?”

His jaw clenched, the cocky facade cracking ever so slightly. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then enlighten me,” you challenged, taking a step closer. “Why do you always have to be such an ass?”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, his gaze dropping to the ground. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and tense. “Maybe because it’s the only way to get your attention.”

Your breath caught, his words hitting like a punch to the gut. Before you could respond, he turned on his heel and walked away, the sound of his door slamming echoing through the quiet hallway.

Ella let out a low whistle. “Well, that was…something.”

You stared after him, your heart pounding in your chest. “Yeah,” you said softly. “Something.”

“Did he just…?” Ella’s voice was barely a whisper beside you.

You swallowed hard, not trusting yourself to speak. What the hell was that supposed to mean? It wasn’t like Joe to be vulnerable—hell, he practically lived to get under your skin. And yet, there it was, hanging in the air: the truth you never asked for, wrapped up in all his stupid teasing and annoying antics.

“Forget it,” you finally muttered, fumbling with your keys as you moved to unlock the door. “He’s just trying to mess with me.”

“Uh-huh,” Ella said slowly, following you inside. “Because, you know, the guy who just ditched a hot blonde to argue with you at midnight clearly doesn’t care.”

You shot her a glare, unwilling to entertain the idea. “I’m going to bed.”

Ella raised her hands in surrender, smirking knowingly as she headed for her room. “Okay, but don’t act surprised when he shows up tomorrow. He’s not exactly the type to let things go.”

“Goodnight, Ella,” you said firmly, shutting your bedroom door behind you.

But as you lay awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling, you couldn’t get his words out of your head. Maybe because it’s the only way to get your attention. Was he serious? Or was this just another game to him, a way to throw you off-balance and make you question everything?

With a frustrated sigh, you rolled over, punching your pillow as if it was somehow Joe’s fault that you couldn’t sleep. Whatever his deal was, you weren’t going to let him get under your skin any more than he already had.

But deep down, you knew it was too late. Because whether you liked it or not, Joe Burrow had already wormed his way into your thoughts—and no amount of denial was going to change that.

The next morning, you woke up to a series of loud knocks on your door, far too early for any sane person to be awake. Groaning, you pulled the covers over your head, but the knocking continued, persistent and unrelenting.

“Go away!” you yelled, but the noise didn’t stop.

With a huff, you threw off the blankets and stumbled out of bed, yanking open the door with every intention of giving whoever it was a piece of your mind.

But, of course, it was Joe.

He stood there, leaning casually against the doorframe like he hadn’t just woken you up at the crack of dawn, a lazy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Morning, neighbor.”

You stared at him, too stunned and too tired to muster a response.

“Didn’t think you’d be up,” he said, his tone annoyingly chipper.

“I wasn’t,” you snapped, rubbing your eyes. “What the hell do you want?”

His smile widened, and he held up a to-go coffee cup, the LSU logo bright against the paper sleeve. “Thought you might need a pick-me-up.”

You blinked at the cup, then at him, suspicion rising. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” he said, still holding it out. “Just coffee. Truce?”

You hesitated, the words from last night still lingering between you. But, against your better judgment, you reached for the cup, your fingers brushing his for a brief second. “Fine. Truce. For now.”

His eyes gleamed, like he’d just won some kind of invisible battle. “I’ll take it.” He turned to leave but paused, glancing over his shoulder. “Oh, and by the way—I’m not going anywhere.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving you standing in the doorway with a coffee cup in hand and the distinct feeling that, somehow, things were about to get a whole lot more complicated.

Things between you and Wes have been going really well. You’ve been texting each other daily since that first meeting in the quad, and his messages always seem to bring a smile to your face. Some days, you talk about classes and the usual college chaos—complaining about professors who seem to thrive on assigning last-minute papers, laughing over campus gossip, or sharing music recommendations.

Other days, the conversations drift into deeper topics: family, future dreams, and the things you never thought you’d share with someone you’d barely known a few weeks ago. It's easy, effortless, and you feel like you've known him forever. There's a connection that grows stronger with each passing day, his texts becoming a constant you look forward to amid the swirl of college life.

When game days roll around, you make sure to watch, even if football has never been your thing. You learn enough of the basics to text him encouragement before each game and tease him when his team makes a stupid play. And every single time he wins, you get a photo of him in his jersey, sweaty and glowing with victory, his smile so wide you can feel it through the screen.

One crisp Saturday evening after a particularly big game—a win that had the entire stadium roaring and chanting for more—your phone buzzes. It’s Wes, as expected, but this time the message is different.

Wes: Big win tonight. You should come out to celebrate—party at the house. It'll be fun, promise.

You hesitate for a moment. Frat parties aren’t usually your scene, but the idea of seeing Wes in person after weeks of building up this text-based connection makes your heart beat a little faster. It feels like the right time to finally break out of the comfort of your phone screen. You don’t want to overthink it, so you respond quickly.

You: Okay, I’ll come! What time? Wes: Perfect. Starts at 9, but I’ll be there around 10. Meet me out front? I’ll make sure you don’t get lost.

You can’t help but laugh at that—his protective side has become more apparent lately, and you find it kind of endearing. The rest of the evening passes in a blur of anticipation. You try on half your wardrobe, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness that makes your stomach flutter. After way too much deliberation, you settle on something that’s cute but comfortable—a black crop top, jeans that fit just right, and your favorite sneakers. Casual, but you don’t want to come off like you’re trying too hard.

The party was in full swing by the time you and Wes went in, the familiar buzz of laughter and music filling the air. His arm rested loosely around your shoulders as you made your way through the packed house, a red solo cup already in his hand. It was a typical LSU post-game celebration—teammates hyped up from their win, students eager for a reason to cut loose, and just enough chaos to keep things interesting.

Wes, ever the golden retriever type, was all smiles as he greeted his teammates. You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt as you plastered on your own smile. Wes was great—sweet, thoughtful, and good-looking to boot—but there was something missing. Conversations with him always felt a little too polished, like he was sticking to a script.

Still, you weren’t going to let your wandering thoughts ruin the night. As he led you toward the makeshift bar in the kitchen, you decided to let loose a little, leaning into his world for the evening.

You were two drinks in when you felt it—a shift in the air that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Glancing across the room, your eyes locked with Joe’s. He was leaning casually against the wall, his cup dangling from his fingers as he laughed at something Ja’Marr said. But his focus wasn’t on his teammate—it was on you.

That look.

You’d seen it before, the one that screamed I’m up to something. Your stomach twisted as his lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk.

“What’s wrong?” Wes asked, his voice breaking through your thoughts.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, forcing a smile. “Just thought I saw someone I knew.”

Wes didn’t notice your distraction, too busy rambling about the game. You nodded along, but your attention kept drifting back to Joe. He was still watching, and now he was moving.

Straight toward you.

“Wesley,” Joe said, his voice louder than necessary as he clapped a hand on Wes’s shoulder. “Man of the hour! Hell of a game tonight.”

Wes beamed, his chest puffing out a little. “Thanks, Burrow. That means a lot coming from you.”

“Oh, don’t mention it,” Joe said smoothly, his grin sharpening. “You’re really making a name for yourself out there.” He paused, his tone dipping just enough to make the compliment feel off. “You’ve got a solid five minutes of playing time this season, right?”

Wes laughed, missing the sarcasm entirely. “Yeah, Coach says I’m improving every week.”

Joe nodded, his expression the picture of sincerity. “No doubt. You’re an inspiration, man. Really showing the bench how it’s done.”

You rolled your eyes, biting back the urge to step in. Wes didn’t deserve to be Joe’s verbal punching bag, even if he was too oblivious to notice.

Then Joe shifted his focus.

“And this,” he said, gesturing toward you with his cup, “is the girl everyone’s been talking about?”

You stiffened, already bracing yourself.

“She’s great, right?” Wes said proudly, tightening his arm around your waist.

“Absolutely,” Joe said, his eyes locking on yours. “Smart, pretty, patient.” His lips twitched as he added, “Definitely one of a kind.”

The room felt hotter, smaller. You knew what he was doing, and you refused to let him win.

“Wow, Joe,” you said, your tone dripping with mock sweetness. “That’s almost a compliment. Are you feeling okay?”

The corners of his mouth twitched upward. “What can I say? I’m a generous guy.”

Wes chuckled awkwardly, clearly missing the tension simmering between the two of you. But the people around you weren’t as oblivious. Conversations around the kitchen began to quiet, heads subtly turning in your direction.

Joe leaned in slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. “Though I gotta say, Wes, you’ve got your hands full. She seems like the type to keep you on your toes. Always ready with a snappy comeback.”

You took a step forward, your jaw tightening. “Maybe because some people deserve it.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re talking about me,” Joe said, his smirk widening. “But hey, you’ve got to admit, I keep things interesting.”

“Interesting?” you repeated, your voice rising. “You mean infuriating.”

By now, you were toe-to-toe, the space between you charged with unspoken words and something else you refused to acknowledge.

Joe’s eyes flicked down to your lips for a fraction of a second before he smiled again, softer this time. “Guess that’s one way to put it.”

Your breath caught, and for a moment, you were certain everyone in the room could see the way your cheeks flushed, the way your chest rose and fell faster than it should have.

Joe straightened, patting Wes on the back. “You’ve got a good one here, man. Don’t screw it up.”

And just like that, he was gone, disappearing back into the crowd with that stupid smirk still on his face.

Wes turned to you, oblivious as ever. “Man, Joe’s great, isn’t he?”

You didn’t answer, too busy trying to calm the storm raging inside you. Because as much as you hated to admit it, Joe Burrow had just gotten under your skin again. And this time, you weren’t sure you could shake him off.

The days blur together after the party, each one bleeding into the next with a heavy quiet you can’t shake. Joe hasn’t teased you, hasn’t made any more snide comments in passing. It’s almost like he’s disappeared entirely, and the silence he’s left behind feels suffocating.

But it's not the kind of peace you wanted—it's the kind that echoes, that bounces around inside your skull, replaying the things he said over and over again until you can’t ignore them anymore. You try to focus on Wes, try to let his easygoing, good-natured attitude soothe the irritation that keeps curling under your skin, but the more you think about Joe’s words, the more they fester. Suddenly, everything about Wes feels too soft, too careful. He’s kind, yes, but there's a blandness to it, a safe predictability that only makes you itch for something sharper.

Then, days later, you find yourself in the apartment lobby, bundled up against the late autumn chill, glaring at a maintenance form on the wall. The hot water’s been out for days, and you’re halfway through filling out a complaint when you hear footsteps behind you. You don’t have to turn around to know who it is—the shift in the air is enough.

"Wow, fancy meeting you here," comes Joe’s voice, smooth and mocking, with just enough bite to make your spine stiffen. You don’t turn around, don’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, you keep writing, the pen pressing hard enough against the paper that it almost tears.

"Cold water bothering you too?" he continues when you don’t respond, his tone amused. You can feel him looming behind you, a little too close, and you grit your teeth, willing yourself to stay calm.

"Just trying to get it fixed," you reply curtly, finally turning around and catching the cocky smirk tugging at his lips. You’re not in the mood for whatever game he’s about to play, but of course, he’s not about to let you off that easy. His gaze slides from the form in your hand back up to your face, one eyebrow quirking up in that infuriating way that always makes you want to wipe the smugness off his face.

"Surprised you’re handling it yourself," Joe drawls, his eyes bright with something almost like delight. "Thought you'd get your little boyfriend to do it for you."

Your fingers tighten around the pen, and you force yourself to take a breath, ignoring the way your pulse quickens. "Not everything revolves around Wes," you shoot back, but your voice wavers just enough to make Joe’s smirk widen. His eyes flick over your face, and you hate the way he seems to read every expression, every crack in the mask you’re struggling to hold up.

"Really?" he says, the word heavy with skepticism. He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back against the wall like he’s settling in for a show. "Could’ve fooled me. He’s got you wrapped around his little finger, huh? I bet you’re the perfect, supportive girlfriend." His voice drips with sarcasm, and something inside you snaps.

"Shut up, Joe," you hiss, your voice low and dangerous. You turn back to the form, determined to ignore him, but he doesn’t move. In fact, he leans in closer, his breath warm on your ear.

"Why?" he murmurs, his voice soft but taunting, like he’s got all the time in the world. "Hit a nerve?"

You don’t answer. You can’t. Because the truth is, he did hit a nerve. And he knows it.

"Come on," he pushes, a note of genuine curiosity in his tone now. "Don’t you ever get tired of it? Playing nice, doing everything right, sticking with someone who’s… I dunno, safe?"

You spin around, eyes blazing, and Joe’s face lights up with triumph. "You don’t know anything about him," you snap, but there’s a waver in your voice that makes Joe’s eyes narrow with interest. "Wes is kind, and he’s decent, and he actually cares about people, which is a hell of a lot more than I can say for you."

Joe’s smile doesn’t falter. In fact, it only grows wider, almost wolfish, and you hate that it sends a thrill through you, a charge that leaves your heart racing. "Yeah," he says, his tone almost pitying, "he’s safe. Boring. He’s exactly the kind of guy who’d never get in your way, never challenge you, never push back. And you’re happy with that? Really?"

You glare at him, your blood boiling, but you can’t look away. Because some part of you—the part you’ve been trying to silence for days—knows he’s right, and it makes you want to scream. "What the hell is your problem, Joe?" you demand, your voice shaking with anger. "Why do you even care? What does it matter to you if I’m with him or not?"

For a moment, something flickers in Joe’s eyes, something you can’t quite read, but it’s gone as quickly as it appears, replaced by that infuriating smirk. "I don’t care," he says, too quickly, his voice a little too smooth. "I just think it’s funny, that’s all. Watching you pretend like he’s enough for you."

You step closer without realizing it, your fists clenched at your sides. "You don’t know what you’re talking about," you insist, but it sounds weak, even to your own ears. Joe’s gaze drops to your lips for a split second, and you feel a jolt of something hot and dangerous twist in your stomach.

"Don’t I?" he murmurs, and suddenly, you’re standing toe-to-toe, your breath mingling with his, the tension between you crackling like a live wire. He’s so close, close enough that you can see the flecks of gold in his eyes, the way his smirk softens just enough to be dangerous.

You don’t move. Neither does he.

There’s a beat, a moment suspended in time where it feels like the whole world has narrowed down to just the two of you, the weight of everything unsaid hanging heavy in the air. Then, suddenly, Joe’s expression shifts, a slow, satisfied grin spreading across his face as he leans back, breaking the spell. He claps you on the shoulder, his touch light but lingering.

"Good talk," he says, his tone infuriatingly cheerful as he pushes past you towards the elevator, leaving you standing there, breathless and rattled.

"Have fun with Wes," he throws over his shoulder, and the door slides shut behind him before you can find the words to reply. You’re left staring at the closed elevator doors, your chest heaving and your hands still trembling around the pen, the echoes of Joe’s taunting voice ricocheting in your mind.

And for the first time in days, the silence feels even louder.

The days drag by, and every one of them feels heavier, weighed down by Joe's words. They hang over you, echoing whenever you try to ignore them, seeping into your thoughts when you're with Wes. The way he holds your hand, the way he smiles politely at your jokes, the way he never raises his voice or teases you too hard—it’s all safe. It’s what you thought you wanted. But now, thanks to Joe, it’s all starting to feel empty, like a shell with nothing inside.

As if to make matters worse, Joe's been louder, more present, and more irritating than ever. He’s upped his game, bringing a new girl home almost every night, the kind who giggle just a little too loud in the stairwell, whose heels click sharply against the tile floors, waking you and Ella up in the middle of the night. You hear them laughing through the paper-thin walls, their voices carrying long after you wish they’d shut up. Ella throws a pillow at the wall one night, groaning in frustration, but you just lie there, staring up at the dark ceiling, the annoyance mixing with something else—something you refuse to name.

And then Wes’s birthday sneaks up on you, like a storm you’d been pretending not to see on the horizon. Everyone's talking about it—the party of the semester, hosted at his parents’ mansion on the outskirts of Baton Rouge. You know it’s a big deal. Wes’s parents are the kind who throw events instead of parties, the kind where everyone’s wearing their best, and you’d feel out of place if you weren’t on Wes’s arm. You spend way too long picking out your dress, ignoring Ella’s teasing smile as you change twice and then settle on something classy, something you think Wes’s parents will approve of.

The mansion is even more extravagant than you expected. Tall, stately, and glowing with warm light spilling from every window. A string quartet plays softly near the entrance, and there’s enough champagne to drown in. It’s a perfect picture of Southern elegance, the kind of party where everyone’s on their best behavior and no one dares spill a drink on the white marble floors.

You’re almost able to relax, standing with Wes as he introduces you to old friends and relatives, his arm around your waist like you’re some kind of prize. But then, from across the room, you catch sight of someone familiar stepping through the grand double doors, and the air goes still.

Joe. And he’s not alone.

On his arm is a girl who looks like she’s stepped straight out of a beauty magazine—perfect curls cascading down her back, a dress that hugs her curves in all the right places, and a pageant smile that could light up the whole room. She’s everything you’re not: polished, pristine, and undeniably beautiful. And Joe’s leaning in close to her, whispering something that makes her laugh, the sound light and carefree, echoing above the music.

Your heart sinks. You should have known he’d be here. You should have known he’d show up with someone like her.

The moment he walks in, it’s like the temperature drops. You feel him scan the room, his gaze sliding over the crowd until it lands on you. There’s a flicker of recognition, a half-smile that tugs at his lips, and for a second, you swear he’s going to make a beeline for you, but then he turns to his date, all easy charm and confidence.

You look away quickly, swallowing down the hot, bitter twinge of jealousy that rises in your chest. Beside you, Wes is oblivious, laughing with some cousin or another, completely unaware of the storm that’s building in your mind.

The party moves on, but you can't shake the weight in your chest. Every time you turn around, Joe is there—always in your peripheral, laughing with his date or effortlessly sliding into conversations with people he’s never met, commanding attention without even trying. And it’s driving you mad. You hate that he’s here, hate the way his presence seems to seep into every corner of the room, hate that you can’t stop looking for him, even when you don’t mean to.

Wes’s parents announce dinner, and you find yourself at a long table, perfectly set with silverware that you don’t even know how to use properly. Wes is on your left, chatting away, and you force yourself to smile and nod at the right moments, though your gaze keeps drifting over his shoulder. Joe is at the far end of the table, but his eyes meet yours—bright and full of something that feels like a challenge. He raises his glass in your direction, and you don’t miss the way his date practically glows under his attention, leaning into his side.

You grit your teeth, focusing on Wes, who’s completely unaware of the way your stomach is twisting. He’s sweet, attentive, a perfect gentleman, and you wish you could ignore the itch under your skin, the restlessness that grows with each passing minute. But it’s there, burning hotter every time you catch sight of Joe, laughing too loud or leaning in too close to whisper in his date's ear.

By the time dessert is served, you’re practically vibrating with frustration, and Wes’s voice is starting to blur into the background. He’s telling some long-winded story about his summer at the family lake house, but all you can think about is how easy it would be to just walk over to the other end of the table and—

“Hey, you alright?” Wes’s voice breaks through your thoughts, and you force yourself to focus on him, pasting on a smile that feels hollow.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you lie, reaching for your glass of champagne and taking a sip that burns all the way down. He seems satisfied, squeezing your hand gently under the table, but his touch feels distant, almost suffocating.

And when you glance back at Joe, he’s watching you, his smile sharper than you remember. There’s a glint in his eyes that makes your skin prickle, like he’s waiting for something, like he knows exactly what kind of game he’s playing. His date is still chattering away, oblivious to the way his gaze keeps flicking back to you, like a tether he can’t quite cut loose.

You look away, your face heating, and try to drown out the feeling with another sip of champagne. But it's no use. The night has only just begun, and you already know—it’s going to be a long one.

You escape upstairs, the noise of the party fading as you climb the grand, spiraling staircase. It’s quieter up here, with the muted sound of conversation and laughter drifting up from below, and you can finally breathe a little easier. You’re not even sure what you’re doing—just that you need a break from the suffocating conversation, the polished smiles, and the feeling of being watched. Wes is deep in conversation with a teammate, and it was easy enough to slip away unnoticed. You tell yourself you're only going to the bathroom, but you don’t even bother finding one. You just wander down the hall, hoping to collect yourself, to calm the thudding in your chest.

But then, of course, you see him.

Joe, leaning lazily against the wall at the end of the hallway, like he’s been waiting for you. There’s no sign of his date—she’s probably downstairs, lost in the crowd—but Joe’s here, and he looks too damn comfortable, his tie loosened and his shirt sleeves rolled up. He gives you that infuriating half-smirk the second your eyes meet, like he’s been expecting you. Like he knows you’re going to stop.

“Lost?” he drawls, his voice a low, lazy tease, and you freeze, every muscle in your body going tense.

“No,” you snap, hating the way your heart skips when he pushes off the wall, taking a step closer. “Just getting some air.”

“From Wes?” he asks, eyebrows raising, and you can hear the taunt in his tone, the way he draws out the name like it’s a joke. “Or from this whole perfect little party of his?”

“None of your business,” you shoot back, but he’s closer now, and you hate how your breath catches, how the air between you feels thick and electric. He’s looking at you like he’s stripping away all the layers you’ve put up—the polite smiles, the careful charm—and seeing straight through to the part of you that’s restless and hungry for a fight.

“You know, I can’t tell if you’re actually enjoying yourself,” he says, his voice dropping lower, almost intimate. “Or if you’re just playing the role of ‘good girlfriend’ to make everyone happy.”

“Shut up, Joe,” you warn, but your voice is weaker than you want it to be, and he notices. Of course he notices. He takes another step, and suddenly he’s way too close, the heat of him radiating into the space between you, making it harder to breathe.

“Or is it that Wes is just…too boring for you?” he presses, and something snaps. You step forward, shoving him hard enough to make him stumble back a step, anger flaring white-hot in your chest.

“Why do you care?” you demand, your voice rising. “Why do you always have to ruin everything? You can’t stand seeing me happy, can you? You always have to get in the way—”

“Oh, please,” he cuts you off, his voice sharp with irritation. “Don’t act like I’m the one ruining things. You’re the one who can’t stop looking at me. You’re the one who’s pretending this perfect little relationship is enough for you.”

You don’t even think. You just react, stepping closer, your chest heaving with the force of your anger, your hands curling into fists at your sides. “You don’t know anything about me!” you shout, the words tearing out of you before you can stop them. “You don’t know what I want or what I need, so stop pretending like you have me all figured out!”

He’s laughing now, a low, mocking sound that sets your teeth on edge, and you want to hit him, to scream, to do something to wipe that infuriating smirk off his face. But then he’s had enough. Suddenly, he moves, quick as a flash, and before you can even blink, he’s grabbing you by the waist and hoisting you up as if you weigh nothing, throwing you over his shoulder in one swift, effortless motion.

“Put me down!” you shout, struggling against him, but he just tightens his grip, carrying you down the hall like you’re some kind of rag doll. Your fists beat uselessly against his back, and you’re half-cursing, half-panicking as he ignores you, kicking open the nearest door and stepping inside.

The door slams shut behind him, and you barely register the darkened room—a guest bedroom, dimly lit by the moonlight streaming through the curtains—before he’s setting you down, pressing you up against the wall with a force that steals the breath from your lungs. You’re too stunned to move, your back hitting the cold plaster, and suddenly his body is pinning you there, his hands on either side of your face, caging you in.

“Finally shut you up,” he mutters, his voice rough, and you feel a shiver run down your spine at the way his breath brushes your cheek, hot and fast. His eyes are dark, burning with something you’ve never seen before, and the space between you feels like it’s crackling, alive with an energy that makes your skin prickle and your pulse race.

“Why do you have to be such a—” you start, but he cuts you off, leaning in closer, so close that you can feel the warmth of his chest pressing against yours. His mouth is inches from yours, his lips twisting into a wicked smile.

“Go on,” he taunts, his voice low and dangerous. “Say it. Tell me what you really think.”

You’re breathing hard, your anger warring with something hotter, something that’s been building between you for months, and you can’t stop yourself. “You’re an asshole,” you spit, your hands coming up to shove at his chest, but he doesn’t move. He just leans in, his nose brushing against yours, the air between you thick and suffocating.

“And you,” he says softly, his voice almost gentle, “are a liar.”

You don’t know who moves first—whether it’s him closing the distance or you surging up to meet him—but suddenly his mouth is on yours, hard and desperate, and you’re kissing him back like it’s the only thing you’ve ever wanted. The kiss is furious, full of all the things you can’t say, all the frustration and the longing and the anger that’s been building up for so long it feels like it’s going to explode. His hands are in your hair, his grip almost painful, and you’re clinging to him, pulling him closer, gasping into his mouth as he presses you harder against the wall.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he whispers against your lips, his breath ragged, and you shake your head, too far gone to think, to lie, to do anything but pull him closer, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“Shut up,” you breathe, and he laughs, the sound vibrating against your skin, before he kisses you again, deeper this time, slower, like he’s savoring the taste of your surrender. The room feels too small, the air too thick, and you know you should stop, you know this is wrong, but you can’t, not when his hands are sliding down your sides, not when his body is pressing into yours, not when he’s kissing you like he’s been waiting for this just as long as you have.

And then, suddenly, it’s too much. You push him away, your breath coming in short, harsh gasps, and he lets you go, stepping back with a grin that’s all arrogance and triumph. Your lips feel swollen, your face flushed, and you hate that you can’t stop looking at him, that you want more even though you know you shouldn’t.

“See?” he says softly, his voice maddeningly smug. “I do know you.”

The words barely have time to leave his mouth before you’re on him again, shoving him away from you, your hands hitting his chest with more force than you intend. He stumbles back a step, a flash of surprise crossing his face before his eyes harden, that infuriating grin vanishing. You’re both breathing hard, the air between you heavy with everything unspoken, with all the sharp words that have been building up since the day you met.

“You don’t know anything!” you snap, your voice cracking, and he just laughs, a short, humorless sound that makes your blood boil.

“You keep saying that,” he shoots back, his voice low and dangerous, “but here you are. Every time, it’s the same thing. You want me to stop? Then say it. Tell me to leave.”

You open your mouth to say exactly that, to tell him to go to hell and stay out of your life, but the words won’t come. They catch in your throat, tangled up with the truth you can’t face, and he sees it. He always sees it. His gaze softens, something like understanding flickering in those dark eyes, and it pisses you off more than anything.

“See?” he murmurs, taking a slow, deliberate step forward. “You can’t. Because you don’t want me to.”

“Shut up,” you whisper, but it’s too late—he’s already crowding into your space, his hand curling around the back of your neck, tilting your face up to his. You hate him for the way he’s looking at you, like he’s unraveling you with a single glance, like he knows exactly how to break you down, and before you can stop yourself, you’re surging up, your hands fisting in his shirt as you kiss him again, harder this time, angrier.

His arms come around you instantly, pulling you closer, and you hate that it feels good, that it feels right, even as you’re pushing against him, your nails digging into his shoulders. It’s a mess of teeth and tongues, the kiss desperate and furious, and you’re drowning in it, in the heat of him, in the way his fingers are tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to make you gasp.

Then the door swings open, and you both jerk apart, your breaths coming in ragged, uneven pants. You barely have time to process what’s happening before you see Ja’Marr standing there, his expression caught somewhere between exasperation and disbelief. He looks at you, then at Joe, and lets out a long, frustrated sigh.

“Really, Joe?” he says, his voice laced with disappointment. “In the middle of Wes’s birthday party? Do you have a death wish or something?”

“Calm down,” Joe says coolly, like he’s not the least bit bothered, his gaze still fixed on you, as if daring you to run. “We were just talking.”

“Yeah,” Ja’Marr scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Talking, right. Because making out with your teammate’s girl is totally a normal conversation.”

You feel your cheeks burn, and you step back, smoothing down your clothes like you can erase what just happened. “This—this was nothing,” you stammer, trying to ignore the way Joe’s lips curl into a smirk at your flustered tone. “We’re done here.”

Joe just gives you a lazy, almost triumphant smile, like he’s won some unspoken battle, and turns to Ja’Marr with a shrug. “She’s got a mind of her own, you know,” he says, and you want to punch him, to scream, but Ja’Marr just shakes his head, looking equal parts disappointed and resigned.

“Whatever,” Ja’Marr mutters, grabbing Joe’s arm and pulling him out into the hallway. “You need to get your act together. Wes is going to notice if you keep pulling this crap.”

Joe’s eyes flick to you one last time, something unreadable in his expression, before he lets Ja’Marr drag him away. The door clicks shut behind them, and you’re left alone in the darkened room, your heart racing and your thoughts spinning out of control. You know you should follow them, that you should go back downstairs and pretend like nothing happened, but your knees feel weak, and it takes you a long moment to gather yourself, to steady your breathing.

By the time you make your way back down to the party, your face feels numb, and you’ve forced on the brightest smile you can muster. Joe is already back in the thick of things, his arm slung casually around his date’s waist, laughing like he doesn’t have a care in the world. You want to be angry, to hate him for making it look so easy, but then Wes catches sight of you, his eyes lighting up as he excuses himself from his conversation.

“Hey, there you are!” he says, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pressing a quick kiss to your temple. You try to smile, but it feels fake, like your skin doesn’t fit right anymore. “Where’d you disappear to?”

“Just needed a minute,” you say, your voice sounding hollow even to your own ears. You’re about to say something else, anything to fill the awkward silence, when you catch movement out of the corner of your eye.

Joe’s watching you, his gaze flicking from your face to your mouth, and that’s when you realize—his lips are still stained with the faintest trace of your lipstick, a dark, telltale smear at the corner of his mouth.

Wes follows your gaze, and his smile falters, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Joe, what’s on your—”

But Joe cuts in smoothly, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, his grin widening as if he finds the whole thing hilarious. “Guess I got a little carried away,” he says, his voice dripping with mock innocence, and you feel the ground sway beneath you as Wes’s arm tightens around your shoulders, his confusion shifting to suspicion.

“What’s he talking about?” Wes asks, his eyes narrowing, and you open your mouth to respond, to deny, to do something—but nothing comes out. Your voice has abandoned you, and all you can do is stand there, frozen, as Joe’s smirk deepens and he lifts his drink in a mocking toast, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Good party,” Joe says casually, his tone almost friendly. “Really enjoyed myself.”

You don’t remember what happens next—just the blur of faces, the noise of the party swelling around you, and the hollow ache settling deep in your chest as Joe turns away, laughing with someone else, like he hasn’t just blown everything to pieces.

Wes's smile is strained when he pulls you aside, away from the music and the crowd. There’s a tightness around his eyes you haven’t seen before, something almost defeated, and for the first time that night, you feel a genuine pang of guilt. This is the part you were dreading—the confrontation, the disappointment in his eyes. But instead of yelling, instead of demanding an explanation, he just looks... tired.

“Hey,” he starts softly, rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes dropping to the floor. “I don’t wanna make a scene, okay? But I think... I think maybe you should go.”

You open your mouth to respond, but the words die in your throat. There’s no anger in his voice, just resignation, like he already knows the answer before you can even try to lie. You can’t tell if that makes it better or worse.

“Wes, I—” you begin, but he holds up a hand, a weak, defeated smile pulling at his lips.

“It’s okay,” he interrupts, and there’s something achingly kind in his voice, which somehow makes it hurt more. “I think we both know this... isn’t what you want. Not really.”

You feel relief flood your chest so suddenly that it’s almost nauseating, and that’s how you know he’s right. Because instead of being devastated, instead of scrambling to explain yourself, you just feel lighter. Like a weight you didn’t realize you were carrying has finally been lifted.

You reach out to touch his arm, but he steps back, shaking his head. “Don’t,” he says quietly, and you let your hand drop, nodding numbly. There’s nothing left to say. You don’t try to apologize; you don’t try to make excuses. You just turn and leave, the buzz of the party fading behind you as you slip out the front door, the cold night air hitting you like a slap.

The walk back to the apartment feels like a blur, your mind whirling with everything that just happened, everything you don’t want to think about. You don’t know if it’s the relief of being free from something you never truly wanted, or the shame of how it all went down, but by the time you reach your building, your hands are trembling and your breath is hitching.

You let yourself into the apartment, your eyes already burning with unshed tears, and you find Ella curled up on the couch, half-asleep in front of the TV. The moment she sees your face, though, she sits up, worry creasing her brow.

“Whoa, what happened?” she asks, her voice thick with sleep, but you don’t even know where to begin.

“Everything,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, and then it all spills out. You tell her everything—about Joe, about the kiss, about Wes’s sad, tired smile and the way he let you go without a fight. You’re talking so fast you’re stumbling over your words, your emotions a chaotic tangle of regret and relief and frustration, and by the time you’re finished, you feel completely wrung out.

Ella listens without interrupting, her expression shifting from shock to disbelief to sympathy as you pour your heart out. When you finally go quiet, she just sighs and pulls you into a hug, squeezing you so tight you can barely breathe.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, and you don’t realize how much you needed to hear that until the tears start falling. She doesn’t tell you that you screwed up, she doesn’t lecture you about Joe, she just holds you while you cry, rubbing soothing circles on your back until the tears run dry.

By the time you pull away, your throat is raw, and you’re exhausted. Ella doesn’t say anything, just gives you a look that says she understands, that she’s on your side no matter what, and that’s enough. It’s more than enough.

But then, just as you’re wiping your eyes and trying to compose yourself, you hear it—a loud burst of laughter echoing through the thin wall you share with Joe’s apartment. It’s followed by the high-pitched giggle of a girl, and your stomach twists. Of course. Of course.

Ella catches the look on your face and scowls. “He’s such an ass,” she mutters, rolling her eyes. “You want me to go bang on the wall and tell them to shut up?”

“No,” you say quickly, shaking your head. “It’s... it’s fine. Let’s just go to bed.”

You don’t even believe yourself, but you can’t deal with Joe right now, not after everything. So you go to your room, shut the door, and try to block out the noise. You tell yourself you don’t care. You tell yourself it’s over. But sleep doesn’t come easily, and all you can hear is Joe’s voice in your head, his mocking words echoing long after the sounds from next door have finally gone quiet.

Over the next few days, you try to fall back into a routine, but everything feels off-kilter. Wes doesn’t text you, and you don’t reach out, letting the silence stretch between you until it feels like a mutual understanding—something that was always going to happen. Ella hovers, supportive but careful not to push, and you appreciate that. You just need space, time to sort through everything.

Joe, however, is a different story.

You barely see him around the complex, but when you do, it’s impossible to ignore him. He’s still bringing home girls—more than ever, it seems—and they’re always loud, obnoxiously so, like he’s doing it on purpose, like he’s rubbing it in your face. And maybe he is. Maybe this is his way of proving a point, of showing you that he doesn’t care, that he never cared, and the worst part is... you don’t know if you care either. Or maybe you care too much.

One night, after a particularly sleepless stretch of listening to laughter and footsteps pounding through the walls, Ella finds you staring blankly at the ceiling, dark circles smudged beneath your eyes.

“He’s doing this on purpose, you know,” she says bluntly, her tone halfway between irritation and pity. “He’s trying to get to you.”

“Yeah, well,” you mutter, rolling over to face the wall. “It’s working.”

Wes’s birthday party fades into memory, and a few weeks pass. It’s easier to pretend you don’t care when you don’t have to face the fallout. You focus on classes, avoid places where you might run into Joe, and try to ignore the way your heart sinks every time you hear his voice next door.

Then, one Friday night, there’s a knock on your door. You’re half expecting Ella’s latest Tinder date or a package, but instead, you find Joe leaning against the doorframe, his usual cocky grin nowhere in sight. There’s something almost hesitant about the way he looks at you, and for a second, you don’t know what to say.

“Hey,” he says, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it, and it catches you off guard.

“What do you want?” you ask, and you hate how defensive you sound, how you can’t help but put a wall between you.

Joe’s eyes flicker, and he shoves his hands in his pockets, glancing down the hallway before he looks back at you. “Can we talk?” he asks, and you can’t tell if he’s asking because he wants to or because he thinks he has to. “Please?”

You hesitate, every part of you screaming to slam the door in his face, to tell him to go to hell. “Talk?” you echo, as though the very idea is laughable. “What’s there to talk about, Joe?”

He shifts uncomfortably, his hands still deep in his pockets. “I just—” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. For once, he doesn’t look cocky or composed. He looks tired. “I screwed up, okay? I know that. And I just… I want to make things right.”

You laugh bitterly, shaking your head. “Now you care about making things right? Weeks later? Where was this when you were busy humiliating me in front of everyone at Wes’s party?”

Joe flinches, and the sight of it sends a small, mean thrill through you. You want him to feel every ounce of the anger and hurt that’s been simmering inside you since that night.

“I was drunk,” he mutters, like it’s an excuse. “You know I didn’t mean half the shit I said.”

“Oh, so you only mean half of it?” Your voice rises despite yourself, and you take a step closer. “Which half, Joe? The part where you said Wes was too good for me? Or the part where you implied I’m some kind of charity case?”

Joe groans, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “That’s not what I meant! You’re twisting it—”

“I’m twisting it?” Your laugh is sharp, humorless. “No, Joe. I’m finally calling you out on your crap. You think you can just waltz in here, throw out a half-assed apology, and I’m supposed to forget how you treated me? Newsflash: I’m done being your punching bag.”

“Punching bag?” His voice spikes, and you can see his patience starting to fray. “Are you kidding me? You think I don’t care about you? That I’d say that stuff to hurt you on purpose?”

“Then why did you say it?” you snap, stepping closer until you’re almost toe to toe. “Why, Joe? If you care so much, why do you always find a way to make me feel like I’m not enough?”

He stares at you, his jaw tightening, his chest rising and falling as he tries to keep his temper in check. But then he snaps, his voice loud enough to make you flinch. “Because you drive me crazy, alright? You’re in my head all the damn time, and it’s like I can’t think straight when I’m around you!”

You’re stunned into silence, your heart pounding in your chest. The air between you crackles with something electric, something you can’t name but can feel in every nerve of your body.

Joe’s eyes are blazing, his chest heaving as he takes a step closer. “You think I wanted this? That I wanted to feel like this about you? I didn’t, okay? But I do. And it scares the hell out of me.”

You swallow hard, your throat dry. “Joe…”

He shakes his head, his voice softening just a fraction. “I’m sorry, alright? For all of it. I just—I didn’t know how to deal with this, with you.”

You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly, the space between you is gone. Joe’s hands are on your arms, his grip firm but not rough, and you’re looking up at him, your breath catching in your throat.

Joe doesn’t step back. He doesn’t let the anger rise again. He stays close, his hands still resting on your arms, his grip grounding and firm. His gaze softens, something vulnerable breaking through the tension in his voice.

“You think I like being the guy who gets under your skin?” he asks, his voice low, but there’s no bite to it now. Only honesty. “You think I enjoy pissing you off just for fun?”

You stare at him, caught off guard by the sudden shift, the rawness in his tone. “Don’t you?”

Joe lets out a sharp exhale, shaking his head. “No. That’s just the only way you ever seem to notice me.” His words hit like a punch to the gut, and your breath hitches. “If I’m not in your face, annoying the hell out of you, it’s like I don’t even exist to you.”

You open your mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. He’s too quick, too honest, and you don’t have a defense ready for the truth.

“That’s why I invite them over,” he continues, and there’s no cockiness in the admission. Just exhaustion. “Those girls, the loud music, the stupid games—it’s not because I want them. It’s because I’m trying to get you to see me. To pay attention. Even if it’s just so you can yell at me.”

Your stomach twists, a lump forming in your throat. You want to stay mad, to cling to your anger like a shield, but it’s slipping through your fingers. Joe doesn’t stop; he steps closer, so close now that you can feel the heat radiating off him.

“I don’t know how else to get through to you,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I’m tired, okay? I’m tired of pretending like I don’t care when I do. So much more than I should.”

Your breath catches, and your heart pounds in your chest like a drum. You don’t know what to say, what to feel. Joe watches you, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips, his hesitation palpable. And then, before you can process what’s happening, his lips are on yours.

It’s not rough or demanding like you might have expected. It’s soft, tentative, as if he’s afraid you’ll pull away. His hands slide from your arms to your waist, anchoring you gently, and you can feel the tension in his body as he holds back.

For a moment, you freeze, torn between the urge to push him away and the overwhelming need to lean into him. But then your walls crack, and you kiss him back, your hands clutching at the front of his shirt as if it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

Joe pulls back just enough to look at you, his forehead resting against yours. His breathing is unsteady, his expression a mix of relief and something deeper. Without a word, he steps forward, his hands tightening around your waist as he gently pushes you through the door.

You don’t resist. You can’t.

He closes the door behind him with a quiet click, then sweeps you off your feet in one swift, effortless motion. You let out a small gasp, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he carries you down the hall toward your bedroom.

“Joe…” you begin, but he silences you with a look—a look so tender, so unlike the Joe you thought you knew, that your words die on your lips.

By the time he lays you down on the bed, the anger and frustration from moments ago have evaporated, replaced by something else entirely. Something that hums between you like a live wire.

He hovers over you, his weight supported by his arms on either side of your head. His eyes search yours, silently asking for permission, for understanding. And when you nod, so small and uncertain, he dips his head to kiss you again, this time deeper, more sure of himself.

Your hands find their way to his hair, tugging gently as he trails his lips down your jaw, your neck, every touch making your pulse race. He’s careful, almost reverent, as if afraid to break the fragile moment you’re sharing.

And for the first time, you let yourself believe that maybe—just maybe—Joe Burrow isn’t the selfish, cocky guy you thought he was. Maybe, behind all the bravado, he’s just a boy who wanted you to see him. And now, you finally do.

Joe’s lips trail along the curve of your neck, leaving a warm, electric path in their wake. He takes his time, his breath hot against your skin, and every deliberate touch makes your pulse thunder louder in your ears.

His hands glide over your waist, fingers pressing lightly, almost teasing as they trace the hem of your shirt. You feel his smile against your neck when you squirm slightly beneath him, a soft laugh rumbling in his chest.

“You’re quiet all of a sudden,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. “No more yelling? No smart remarks?”

You swallow hard, trying to find some semblance of control, but the way his hands move, the way his lips hover so close yet don’t quite touch, leaves you breathless. “Maybe I just don’t have anything to say to you right now,” you shoot back, though your voice wavers.

Joe chuckles, lifting his head to look at you, his blue eyes glinting with mischief. “Oh, I don’t believe that for a second,” he says, his thumb brushing over the strip of skin where your shirt has ridden up. “You’ve always got something to say to me. Even if it’s just to tell me to fuck off.”

You glare at him, but it’s half-hearted, your resolve crumbling as he dips his head again, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I like it when you get all fired up,” he whispers, his tone teasing. “But I think I like this quiet side of you even more.”

You huff, trying to ignore the way your body betrays you, leaning into him despite yourself. “You’re so full of yourself.”

Joe smirks, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. His hand slides under your shirt, fingers grazing your skin, and you shiver at the contact. “Maybe,” he admits, his tone smug, “but you’re still here, aren’t you?”

You want to retort, to wipe that cocky grin off his face, but before you can, he shifts his weight, his lips capturing yours again. This time, the kiss is slower, deeper, and you feel the teasing edge in his movements as he kisses you until you forget whatever comeback you had planned.

His fingers inch higher, tracing light patterns on your stomach, deliberately avoiding the places where you want him most. It’s infuriating, how easily he has you unraveling, and when he pulls back just enough to smirk down at you, you let out an exasperated groan.

“You’re infuriating,” you mutter, tugging at his shirt in frustration.

Joe leans down, his nose brushing against yours, his lips curling into a playful grin. “But you’re not telling me to stop.”

He shifts again, his hands sliding up to frame your face as he kisses you once more. His lips are soft but insistent, drawing you in until all you can focus on is him—his weight pressing you into the mattress, the warmth of his skin, the way his touch sets every nerve in your body alight.

“Say the word,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice soft but laced with a challenge. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

You stare up at him, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. But the word never comes. Instead, you pull him down again, your fingers threading through his hair as you kiss him with all the pent-up frustration, anger, and longing that’s been building between you for weeks.

Joe groans softly, his hands sliding down your sides, his teasing touch giving way to something more intentional. “That’s what I thought,” he murmurs against your lips, his tone smug but laced with something warmer, something that makes your stomach flip.

Joe's lips find yours again, the kiss deepening as his teasing facade begins to slip. His hands roam your body with more purpose now, fingertips pressing into your skin like he’s memorizing every curve. He nips lightly at your bottom lip, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Still hate me?” he whispers, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. He moves back slowly, before pulling off your leggings, his eyes never leaving yours.

You bite back a moan, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer. Instead, you pull him closer, your nails grazing the back of his neck, and the quiet groan he lets out is enough to make your pulse race.

The leggings are long forgotten now, leaving you exposed in your underwear. Joe chuckles softly, his breath fanning against your lips as he trails kisses along your jaw, then lower, his teeth scraping lightly against the sensitive skin of your neck. His tongue follows, soothing the faint sting, and the combination has your hands fisting in his shirt.

“You’re not as tough as you act, you know,” he teases, his voice dripping with amusement. His hands slide beneath your shirt, his palms warm against your bare skin as he pushes the fabric up slowly. “I think you like this way more than you’re letting on.”

“You talk too much,” you manage to gasp, but your retort loses its bite when his thumb grazes just beneath your ribs, sending a rush of heat through your body.

Joe pulls back just enough to tug your shirt over your head, tossing it carelessly to the side. He takes a moment to look at you, his blue eyes dark and filled with something you can’t quite name, and for a second, the teasing smirk is gone, replaced by something softer.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he murmurs, almost to himself, and the sincerity in his voice catches you off guard.

Your breath hitches, and you feel your cheeks flush under his gaze. Before you can overthink it, his lips are on you again, softer this time but no less insistent. His hands trace slow, deliberate patterns along your sides, his thumbs brushing just beneath the band of your bra, and you arch into his touch without meaning to.

Joe grins against your skin, clearly pleased with your reaction. “That’s more like it,” he murmurs, his lips trailing lower as he presses kisses down your neck, across your collarbone, and then to the edge of the fabric.

He pauses, glancing up at you as his fingers toy with the clasp, his expression both playful and questioning. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he says again, his tone softer now, without the usual cockiness.

But stopping is the furthest thing from your mind. Instead, you pull him down to you, your lips crashing into his with a fervor that answers his unspoken question.

Joe groans against your mouth, his hands moving to unclasp your bra with surprising ease, and you feel the shift in his demeanor as his teasing gives way to something more raw, more urgent. His lips trail lower, leaving a path of heat in their wake, and every deliberate touch has your body humming with anticipation.

“Still hate me?” he asks again, his voice rough and teasing, but there’s a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes as he looks up at you.

You reach for him, your fingers threading through his hair as you pull him closer. “Shut up, Joe,” you whisper, your voice breathless but firm, and for once, he listens.

Joe's smirk returns, but it’s softer now, laced with something warmer than his usual arrogance. He lets out a quiet laugh, the sound low and full of disbelief, as if he can’t quite believe where the night has led. But he doesn’t argue. Instead, he lets his lips and hands do the talking, his touch reverent but still filled with that undeniable fire that seems to burn between you.

He slowly pulls away, looking up at you with a small smirk before he gets up. Before you could start questioning him, he takes off his shirt and sweats swiftly, your eyes widening at his body.

Joe’s smirk deepens as he catches the way your eyes widen, lingering on his toned frame. His confidence seems to grow with every second you stay silent, your gaze betraying the sharp tongue you usually use to deflect him. He steps closer, his movements slow and deliberate, as if giving you time to drink him in.

“You’re staring,” he teases, his voice low and teasing, though his eyes burn with something more primal. “I knew you liked looking at me, but this is a new level.”

You roll your eyes, but the heat rushing to your cheeks gives you away. “Don’t flatter yourself,” you mutter, trying to sound dismissive, but your voice wavers slightly, betraying the effect he has on you.

Joe chuckles, leaning down to brace his hands on either side of you, his face inches from yours. “Too late for that,” he says, his tone dripping with satisfaction. “You’ve already done it for me.”

Before you can fire back, he trails his hand down your side, fingers skimming over your waist and hip with maddening slowness. He presses a kiss to your collarbone, then another to the swell of your chest, each one softer than the last, as if he’s savoring the way you shiver beneath his touch.

You can feel his hardened bulge against your stomach, and you're just about done with his teasing. You need him, now. “Joe,” you whined as he pulls back with a smirk.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he says, his voice low and raw. “But I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Before you can reply, his lips are on yours again, his kiss stealing whatever snarky comeback you might have had. His hands move with purpose, sliding over every inch of bare skin, and the slow, deliberate way he touches you has your body aching for more.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispers against your lips, the words a quiet challenge. But you don’t. You can’t.

Instead, you pull him closer, your fingers tangling in his hair as you kiss him with all the frustration and longing you’ve been holding back for weeks. Joe groans, the sound vibrating against your lips as his teasing slips away entirely, replaced by something deeper, more desperate.

“God, you’re impossible,” he mutters, his voice laced with both exasperation and awe. But his actions betray the truth—he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He finally pulls away, breathless as he gazes down at you, his eyes filled with adoration and lust. “I'm gonna fuck you, alright?” he mutters before leaning closer. “And for all those times you pissed me off, and annoyed me, I'll forget about all of that if I can just... hear you.”

You're caught off by the request and you almost think he's joking, but you're mistaken. He's dead serious. All you could was nod slowly in response and Joe leans away, pleased.

Joe’s control starts to slip, and it’s evident in the way his kisses grow hungrier, more urgent. His hands tremble slightly as they trail over your body, mapping out every curve like he’s afraid this moment will disappear. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his pupils blown wide and his breathing uneven.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he whispers, his voice raw, the cocky edge completely gone. “You’ve been driving me insane for months.”

Then finally, he slowly peels off his briefs, and his large, hardened cock falls out.

Joe lets out a small groan as his head falls back, relief in his expression. His pink tip is already leaking with pre-cum. You practically faint at the sight, you couldn't help but let out a whimper. His hands find his cock before he slowly begins to pump it, his eyes finding yours again.

He spreads your legs open before leaning in, his lips finding yours as his hands lead his cock to your cunt. His forehead falls against yours as he slowly begins to insert himself, a heavenly groan leaving his lips at the feeling of your warm, tight walls.

You felt like you were being split in half, in the best way possible. You can't even describe how good his cock felt, he wasn't even a quarter inside of you, but you still felt like you were filled to the brim.

“O-oh, fuck, Joey,” you moaned as your swollen lips form an O, your head falling back onto the plush pillows. Now you understood why the girls in his apartment were so loud—they definitely weren't exaggerating.

His hands grip your hips firmly, pulling you closer as if he wasn't inside of you already. His lips crash against yours again, the kiss filled with desperation, like he’s trying to pour every suppressed emotion into it. It’s intoxicating, the way his need for you feels almost overwhelming, and you find yourself clutching at his shoulders, wanting to be as close as possible.

He bottoms you out slowly, and he tries to give you a second to adjust—he really, really tried. He just couldn't. He slowly started thrusting in and out of you, and before you could even process the change in speed, he was rocking his hips against yours like the world depended on it.

The bed was creaking loudly underneath the two of you, the only sounds that could be heard was your loud moans, his grunts of pleasure, and the sound of skin against skin.

His cock was dizzying, to say the least. It hit all the spots you swore nobody had ever reached, making you question all your previous partners. You couldn't even form a singular thought about anything else except for Joe's huge cock and the way he was making you feel.

“Joe!” You manage to gasp as he begins to pound into you impossibly harder, but he cuts you off with another kiss, groaning softly against your lips.

“Say my name again,” he demands, his voice husky and edged with desperation. He leans down, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that makes you gasp as his hands spread your legs wider, pinning you to the mattress.

Before you can respond, his lips are on yours again, his kisses growing more frantic, more needy. His hands are everywhere, exploring, worshipping, as if he’s afraid this moment might slip away. The way he touches you, the way he whispers your name like a prayer, leaves you utterly undone.

His words make your head spin, and you can’t find a response. You're too caught up in the way he was pounding into you, like a fucking animal.

But Joe doesn’t seem to care; he’s too caught up in you, his hips moving faster and faster until you're practically crying out loud. His hands roam your body as if he’s memorizing every curve, every inch of skin. There’s no pretense now, no games—just raw, unfiltered desire.

You begin to feel the knot in your stomach begin to form, tight and persistent. You begin to grip his shoulders even tighter, your head falling back into the pillow as you moaned.

“O-oh, fuck! I'm gonna cum, please.” You began rambling as your legs wrapped around his waist, his hips not faltering one bit—if anything, he began going faster.

“Yeah? Gonna cum for me, pretty girl?” He grunted out, his own impending orgasm. “Cum for me, baby.”

That was all you needed. The knot in your stomach snapped violently, your whole body spasming as you cried out in utter pleasure. The orgasm washed over you perfectly as Joe's hips began to falter, and a few moments later, his cum spilled into you.

You both lie there, tangled in the sheets, your breathing ragged and your hearts racing as the room settles into a heavy, satisfied silence. Joe’s arm is draped lazily across your stomach, his fingers tracing light, absentminded patterns on your skin. The intimacy feels different now—softer, quieter, as if the storm that had built between you for so long had finally passed.

He exhales deeply, his chest still rising and falling against your side. “Well,” he says, his voice low and hoarse, “that was... long overdue.”

You glance over at him, your lips twitching into a faint smile despite yourself. “You think?” you reply dryly, the lingering warmth of the moment making it hard to muster the sharp edge your tone usually carries with him.

Joe turns his head to look at you, his hair mussed and sticking out in every direction, his cheeks still flushed. There’s that cocky grin of his, but it’s softer now, tinged with something you don’t think you’ve seen before—contentment, maybe. “Yeah,” he says, chuckling lightly. “So overdue I’m almost mad at us for waiting this long.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the laugh that escapes you. His grin widens as he props himself up on one elbow, leaning over you. His gaze flicks across your face, and he reaches out, brushing a strand of hair away from your cheek. “But hey,” he says, his voice taking on a playful tone, “now that I’ve finally got you right where I want you, I think it’s time to make this official.”

Your brow furrows slightly as you tilt your head at him. “Official?”

Joe nods solemnly, though the sparkle in his eyes gives him away. “Yup. A real date. No fighting, no yelling, no storming off. Just you, me, and a public setting where we try very hard not to tear each other’s clothes off.”

You snort, shoving his shoulder lightly. “Oh, is that so?”

“That’s so,” he replies with a grin, catching your hand and intertwining his fingers with yours. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, his gaze softening. “Come on, let me take you out. I’ll even behave. Swear.”

You arch a skeptical brow, though the warmth in your chest betrays you. “Behave? You? I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Joe leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment. “Guess you’ll just have to say yes and find out,” he murmurs, his voice teasing but undeniably sincere.

You roll your eyes again, but there’s no hiding the small smile that tugs at your lips. “Fine,” you say, trying to sound reluctant but failing miserably. “One date. But if you embarrass me, it’s the last one.”

Joe’s grin is blinding as he flops back down beside you, pulling you against his chest. “Deal,” he says, his voice full of triumph. “You won’t regret it. Best date of your life, guaranteed.”

You shake your head, laughing softly. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” he counters, his tone smug as his hand tightens around yours.

Maybe, just maybe, he’s right.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

#jb5 #nfl fic #nfl football #nfl lb #nfl imagine #joe burrow bengals #cincinnati bengals #joeyb #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow smut #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow #joe burrow x you #joe burrow x y/n #joe burrow x oc

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admiringlove · 2 months ago

Text

➵ pairing. gojo satoru x fem! reader.

➵ summary. you yearned for adventure, but the thrill you sought quickly spirals into a web of secrets as dark forces converge on hogwarts. with cryptic notes mysteriously appearing and a shadowy figure wielding parseltongue, your identity as a marauder hangs precariously in the balance. as you grapple with mounting responsibilities, the tension between you and the infuriating gojo satoru reaches a boiling point. can you unravel the mystery before it consumes you, or will the weight of the truth prove too heavy to bear?

➵ warnings. gojo being gojo; profanity; dueling; toji ripping people off; mentions of gambling or placing bets; mentions of theft; pureblood gojo being a dick at times; reader being stupid; causing physical harm (burning someone's hand, specifically gojo); fictional slurs mentioned once (1); etc.

➵ genre. wizarding world au; academic rivals to lovers; enemies to lovers; angst; fluff; adventure; etc.

➵ word count. 13k.

➵ author's note. as usual, ty for proofreading, my dear aspen. AND on that note, here is chapter two where the real show begins :)

➵ navigation. previous, masterlist, next.

One month had passed in agonizing monotony.

The requests had been laughable: a missing toad, students floundering with their grades despite the term having barely begun, and petty attempts at hexing one another in the name of Quidditch rivalries. Even the bludger debacle had been little more than a blip on the radar. Nothing gripping. Nothing exhilarating.

Now, on an unremarkable Sunday morning, you found yourself curled up in the common room, the faint crackle of the fire your only company. Your eyes scanned the dense text of The Rise of Pureblood Families—a tome so ancient it felt like it might crumble to dust in your hands. Professor Fig had insisted it was essential reading for his next lecture, though you suspected he delighted in tormenting his students with the driest material imaginable.

The quiet is abruptly shattered by the sharp snap of the book right in front of your face. You blink, startled, only to see Utahime standing over you, disheveled and very much unimpressed.

“What in Merlin’s name are you doing up this early?” she grumbles, collapsing onto the sofa beside you and rubbing the remnants of sleep from her eyes.

“Reading,” you mutter, holding up the hefty volume as evidence. “I woke up and couldn’t fall back asleep.”

She yawns, sprawling across the cushions like a lazy cat. “You’re a menace. It’s Sunday. Go back to bed like a normal person.”

“Some of us actually care about our classes,” you tease, leaning your head against her shoulder with a dramatic sigh. “Fig’s got us studying the bloodlines of the founders. Pureblood supremacy and all that delightful rot.”

Her eyes narrow at the title of the book, and she plucks it from your lap with a scoff. “History of Magic: The Rise of Pureblood Families? What on Earth is wrong with you?”

“It’s for class!” you protest, half-whining. “You’re the one who bailed on History of Magic last year. Ancient Runes was your grand pursuit of knowledge, remember?”

“Had I known they’d give me a time-turner if I took both, I’d have made better choices,” she mutters darkly, flipping through the brittle pages. Her eyes catch on a familiar name, and a wicked grin spreads across her face. “Oh, look. The Gojo clan. How utterly predictable.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “Of course they’re in there.”

“Of course they are,” she drawls, setting the book down with exaggerated delicacy. “The question is, how many pages do you think he’s read about himself?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, even as you silently wished the universe would send you something, anything, to break the tedium of this slow-burning school year. Something big, or dangerous, or impossible. Something worth remembering.

The book slides from your lap, landing on the sofa with a muted thud, and that’s when you notice it—a sliver of something protruding from between the pages, barely discernible against the worn parchment. Utahime is saying something about Quidditch, her words lazy and half-formed, but your attention has already shifted. Slowly, you reach for the book, the weight of its age settling into your palms, and tilt it toward the light.

There it is again. Something thin, fragile, and out of place. You pinch it between your fingers, the texture unmistakable—parchment, slightly waxy and crinkled at the edges. You pull it free, and as you do, your heart gives a faint, involuntary flutter.

The piece of parchment is blank. Utterly unremarkable at first glance, the kind of thing you’d toss aside without a second thought. Yet, there’s a heaviness to it, a peculiar presence that makes you pause. You trace its edges, the uneven cut of the paper catching against the pad of your thumb.

“Hm?” Utahime mumbles, stretching beside you. Her voice is sluggish, sleep-heavy. “What are you staring at?”

“Nothing,” you reply, but your tone betrays the lie. You fold the parchment in half, slipping it into your pocket as casually as you can manage.

She doesn’t press further, yawning mid-sentence as she shifts in her seat. “You’re weird. Anyway, did you hear? Itadori's been selected as the new Seeker of our team—”

“Iori,” you interrupt, glancing toward the clock above the fireplace. “Is it alright if I head out? I’m starving.”

“Now?” she asks, blinking at you like you’ve grown a second head. “It’s barely sunrise. The Hall’s probably empty.”

“I’ll check the kitchens, then,” you offer, already reaching for your robe. “House Elves always have something ready. Coffee, maybe a pie or two.”

“Suit yourself.” She waves you off, her voice dissolving into another yawn. “Bring me back a treacle tart if they’ve got one.”

You smile, grateful for her indifference. “I’ll see what I can do.”

As you step through the portrait hole, the cold stone of the castle’s corridors greets you. The folded parchment burns faintly in your pocket, its blank surface somehow heavier now, as though it’s watching you, waiting for you to notice something you’ve missed.

You crouch briefly, tugging your wand from its hiding place in your boot, the smooth wood a comforting weight in your palm. "Lumos," you whisper, your steps echoing unevenly against the cold stone floors, sharp and deliberate in the stillness of the castle at dawn. Reaching the Reception Hall, you hesitate, your gaze sweeping the expanse of shadowed corridors around you. Too early for students to wander. Too suspicious if you were caught.

The Floo Flame waits ahead, green embers crackling faintly in the dark fireplace. You move toward it, fingers brushing the small bowl of Floo Powder resting on the corner table. For a moment, you simply stand there, listening—nothing but the distant groan of shifting stone, before sighing out softly, "Nox."

Satisfied, you take a measured breath, gripping a pinch of the silvery powder, and step into the fireplace.

Your heart thrums like a drumbeat, resonating in your chest, in your fingertips, in the tips of your ears. “Room of Requirement,” you murmur, the words precise, deliberate, the syllables sharp in the still air. You release the powder, and the world blurs in a flash of emerald flames.

When you open your eyes, the Room greets you in its usual, haunting splendor. Shadows dance across towering bookshelves and stretch over the cavernous ceiling. The faint scent of parchment and the warmth of the ever-crackling fireplace mingle with the quiet, electric hum of something unseen—something alive. The air here always felt charged, like a secret waiting to unfold.

You walk toward the long table and its pinboard, the polished surface gleaming faintly in the dim light. Then, a voice cuts through the quiet, sharp and lazy all at once.

“Didn’t think you’d be here this fine morning.”

The sound makes you flinch, your pulse skipping. You turn, already preparing a cutting retort, something sharp-edged and brimming with profanity. But the words die on your tongue the moment you see him.

Satoru. Of course. His silver hair catches the flickering firelight, the perpetual smirk curling at his lips as infuriating as ever. But it’s what he’s holding that freezes you in place. Between his middle and index fingers, he dangles something thin and yellowed—a piece of parchment, eerily familiar, catching the light like a warning.

“You got one too,” you say, your voice low and surprised as you reach into your pocket, pulling out the parchment you’d found earlier. It feels heavier now, though it shouldn’t.

He nods, the motion slow and deliberate, humming under his breath as he strolls toward you. “Indeed. Blank, isn’t it? Curious little thing.”

His gaze flicks to yours, bright and unreadable. He spins the parchment in his fingers lazily, before adding, “Come with me, Fawkes Junior. Let’s see what we’re dealing with.”

“Do you think whoever sent it knows that we’re—”

“Highly likely,” he interrupts, voice maddeningly nonchalant. He brushes past you, the faint scent of mahogany and something sharper lingering in the air. “But let’s see what it is first, shall we?”

You trail behind him toward the long table, your steps hesitant, the weight of the parchment in your hand growing heavier with every passing second. Satoru reaches the table first, his movements unhurried, almost theatrical. He places his parchment down with a casual flick of his wrist, then steps back, fixing you with an expectant look. His pale eyes gleam with something unreadable, his smirk daring you to ask the obvious.

You stare at him, confused, your brows knitting together as you clutch your own parchment tighter. “What?” you ask, your voice defensive, though you’re not sure why.

“Don’t just stand there like a stunned pixie,” he says, his tone dripping with exaggerated exasperation. “Put your parchment down and do the honors, you toad.”

Your lips part in indignation, a sharp retort already forming. “I’m not a toad! You’re the toad.” But even as you say it, you step up to the table, cheeks warm, and place your parchment beside his.

“Right,” you mutter under your breath, steadying yourself. Your fingers twitch as you pull your wand from your robes, pointing it toward the two scraps of parchment. You feel the weight of his gaze on you, sharp and unwavering, as if he’s daring you to mess up.

Sucking in a breath, you focus, the words spilling from your lips with careful precision. “Aparecium.”

For a moment, nothing happens. The fire crackles softly in the hearth behind you, the sound stretching into the silence like a taut thread. And then, it begins.

The ink blooms slowly, almost hypnotically, across the surface of the parchment. Black tendrils unfurl like vines, weaving their way across the waxy paper in intricate patterns. You watch, transfixed, as words begin to take shape, each letter etching itself with deliberate grace. The air feels heavier now, charged with something alive, something ancient.

Your breath catches, and you barely notice Satoru stepping closer until his shoulder brushes against yours. The warmth of him is startling, a contrast to the chill that seems to radiate from the parchment. He leans in, his eyes fixed on the ink as it scrawls its secrets onto the paper, and you can feel the faint buzz of his presence, like static against your skin.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he murmurs, his voice low and edged with fascination.

You nod, unable to tear your eyes away, the strange, hypnotic motion of the ink consuming your thoughts.

“It’s a riddle,” you murmur, your fingers brushing over the parchment as you absorb the message. “Where still waters mirror the void, a whisper slithers ancient and coy.”

“A raven-haired calls what none can see, beneath the night's veil by the serpent's decree,” Satoru intones, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. For a heartbeat, his expression is inscrutable, his gaze penetrating, as if he’s searching for answers hidden within the very air around you. Then, without another word, he strides over to the pinboard, his movements fluid and graceful, as he plucks a pin from its holder.

With a deft flick of his wrist, he secures his piece of paper to the board, then extends his hand toward you, the gesture inviting yet commanding. You hand over your parchment, and he makes a point of placing yours before his. He studies the board, the tension in the air thickening as he furrows his brow, lost in thought, his usually playful demeanor replaced by an unexpected gravity.

“It’s so early in the damn morning, so I can’t think of anything coherent,” he admits, his voice tinged with frustration. “You think this could be a prank?” He turns back to you, one eyebrow arched in skepticism.

You shake your head, your resolve firm. “Whoever sent this knows our identity. They know we’re the Marauders. This is serious. Whatever they’ve uncovered can’t be known by anyone else in the school—only us. That’s why the notes are so mysterious and the riddle so convoluted.”

“Right,” he murmurs, a flicker of concern crossing his features. “Unfortunate for us that whoever this shithead—”

“—Language,” you interject, shooting him a mock disapproving look.

“This very mysterious person, bless them, clearly knows who we are and has the ability to slip notes into our things at will.” He leans against the edge of the long table, arms crossed over his chest, the muscles in his shoulders tensing as he considers the implications. “Can I ask where you found yours?” His gaze sharpens and you feel a thrill run through you at the weight of his attention.

You nod, recalling the moment with clarity. “A textbook about purebloods and their family history—lineages and whatnot. We’re studying it in Fig’s class.” The words hang in the air, charged with the gravity of the situation, as Satoru’s eyes narrow thoughtfully.

“Mine was tucked away in my quill case,” he replies, his gaze flitting back to the pinboard, where the riddle still looms ominously. He rubs his chin thoughtfully, an idiosyncratic gesture that somehow amplifies his charm. “Specifically, the one with my family’s crest.”

You furrow your brow, a mix of curiosity and anxiety knotting your stomach. “You think it’s linked to you? To the message?” The anticipation thrums within you, a palpable energy that makes your fingers clench and unclench, as if in a desperate attempt to control the tension building in the air. He casts his eyes downward, the intensity of the moment settling over him like a cloak. “Honestly, Fawkes, I have no clue. But I'd say, to start with the people in that class.”

Just then, the resonant toll of the bell reverberates through the stone corridors, a stark reminder of time slipping away. Sighing, you glance at your wrist, where your watch glints in the dim light. “It’s eight.”

“Breakfast,” you murmur, realization dawning. “Oh, I promised Iori I’d stop by the Kitchens to snag some treacle tarts before coming here. I really should—”

“Just head out first and cut through the dungeons,” he interjects, a hint of mischief sparkling in his eyes. “I don’t want to be seen with you anyway. It’s highly suspicious, and let’s be honest, you're you.”

His tone twists the knife of irritation deeper into your gut, and you roll your eyes, exasperation rising like bile. What an absolute git. This was precisely why you loathed him—the unnecessary comments, the incessant teasing, the way he seemed to revel in making your skin crawl. He exuded an aristocratic aura, a smug confidence born from privilege, and it infuriated you how someone so insufferably arrogant could also be undeniably captivating.

“I’d challenge you to a duel, Gojo,” you declare, striding toward the door with renewed determination, your voice steady and defiant. “But I’d be wasting my time on someone I’ve already beaten multiple times.”

“Then you should practice, Fawkes,” he smirks, a glint of challenge dancing in his eyes, revealing the sharpness of his teeth like a predator sizing up its prey. “You’ll be losing soon enough.”

“In your dreams,” you retort, unable to suppress a smirk of your own, even as frustration simmers beneath the surface.

You're nearly at the library doors when a voice calls your name, sharp and high, like a bird swooping down to catch its prey. You turn to see Professor Flitwick hurrying toward you, his small frame bouncing with an urgency that makes you pause. His wand is clutched tightly in one hand, and his robes billow awkwardly around his ankles as he paces forward.

"[L/N]! I've been meaning to catch you about the Dueling Club since yesterday!" he says breathlessly, halting just short of colliding with you. His cheeks are flushed, and you can't help but feel a pang of concern as you swing your bag off your shoulder and pull out a bottle of water, handing it to him without a word.

He looks surprised for a moment but then beams, taking it with a small bow. "Thank you, thank you," he says, uncapping it and taking a long sip. When he hands it back, he dabs at his mouth with the sleeve of his robe, his energy seemingly renewed. "Now, where was I? Ah, yes, the first meeting of the Dueling Club must happen tomorrow. I've compiled a list of second-year students I believe show great promise, and I trust you'll take the lead in getting them started. I'll announce it to them in class tomorrow morning and send them to you after lectures."

"Of course, Professor," you reply, your tone steady, though you feel the weight of the task settle on your shoulders. "I'll make sure everything is ready."

"Excellent, excellent!" he says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a slightly crumpled piece of parchment. "Here’s the list. Do give it a look—very talented young witches and wizards on there."

You unfold the parchment as he bustles away, scanning the names quickly. Most are unfamiliar to you, but three jump out like ink bleeding through the page: Maki Zenin, Mai Zenin, and Inumaki Toge. The Zenins, of course, were legendary among pureblood families—sharp-edged and shrouded in rumors of internal rivalries. And Inumaki, though quieter in reputation, carried a name steeped in mystique.

Your thoughts drift to Fushiguro Toji, the senior who had once borne the Zenin name before renouncing it—a choice that was as infamous as it was mysterious. You’d seen him around the castle often enough to recognize his tall, brooding figure, his presence more like a shadow slipping past than a person. His reputation was formidable, a quiet storm of skill and restraint, known for his precision in dueling and his unsettling aloofness. You knew him from the Slytherin Quidditch team and the Dueling Club, though he’d only joined the latter last year under McGonagall and Flitwick’s persuasion. They’d promised recommendation letters and credits to help him secure a spot at the Auror’s Office in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It wasn’t ambition that drove him—or at least, not ambition anyone could easily understand. The way Utahime spoke of him didn’t help; her tone was always a mix of admiration and unease, as if he were a force to respect but not to trust completely.

You tuck the parchment into your bag as the heavy oak doors of the library come into view. The anticipation of sorting through tomes and chasing down obscure references pulls at you, even if you know it might take hours.

Where still waters mirror the void, a whisper slithers ancient and coy.

The riddle loops in your mind as you step into the hushed sanctuary of the library. You’d spent most of the day—after completing your homework—trying to decode it, poring over textbooks in your dorm and whispering the lines to yourself like some sort of incantation. Still, nothing clicked. There were no voids you could think of. Not unless it was about the Forbidden Forest.

You hoped the restricted section held the answers. If not, you were out of ideas.

Madam Pince’s gaze catches you the moment you step inside. She’s perched at her desk like some sort of malevolent statue, her sharp eyes narrowing behind thin spectacles. With her pale, hollow cheeks and the way her lips press into a disapproving line, she looks less like a librarian and more like an avenging specter. Asking her for permission to enter the Restricted Section is a gamble, but it might be one worth taking—after all, you are a Prefect. You move deeper into the rows of shelves, steeling yourself for the conversation to come.

Your throat feels dry as you wander toward a shelf near the left corner of Madam Pince’s desk. The polished wood bears an engraved plaque: Atlases and Maps. You step into the section, glancing over your shoulder to check on her. Madam Pince’s sharp eyes remain fixed on a pile of returned books, her thin lips pursed in bitterness, as though even their presence offends her.

Maybe, when her mood isn’t quite so sour—which, in truth, is almost never—you’ll muster the courage to ask for access to the Restricted Section. You rehearse excuses in your head: something for History of Magic? Or maybe Magical Theory? Whichever sounds more plausible in the moment. Just imagining the conversation makes your palms damp, the thought of her vulture-like gaze boring into you far worse than any hex.

Pretending to browse, you let your fingers trail lightly over the leather-bound spines of the books on the shelf. The titles blur past, meaningless as your eyes flick back to Madam Pince every few seconds. She hasn’t noticed you yet, and for now, that’s all you need. You try to appear absorbed in the neatly arranged volumes, but your heart thuds against your ribs, loud enough to feel like a betrayal.

Then, a voice breaks the silence—low and far too close for comfort.

“You know you’re not fooling anyone.”

You flinch, the sound startling you so much that your hand knocks into a book, sending it teetering on the edge of the shelf. You barely catch it, spinning around to face the source of the interruption.

“Fushiguro,” you hiss, placing a hand over your chest as you whisper his name, “Whatever do you mean?”

“‘Whatever do I mean?’ Really?” He raises an eyebrow, the scar on his lip catching your gaze as he smirks, his expression a mix of amusement and challenge. “You’re standing near a shelf designated for second and third years, and you’re asking me what I mean?”

“I—I,” you stammer, your cheeks growing warm under his scrutiny, “You’re here too!”

As if on cue, Madam Pince’s ears seem to perk up, her sharp gaze snapping to you with palpable disdain. She raises a bony finger to her lips, a chilling “Sh!” escaping her thin, pursed mouth. You cringe, your shoulders instinctively tensing as Fushiguro grabs your arm just above the elbow and pulls you deeper into the library, away from her watchful eyes.

You walk in a daze beside him, your heart racing like a caged bird as you try to maintain some semblance of composure. The curious glances from a few fellow students make you feel like a fish under a magnifying glass, and you find that looking down at your feet is the safest option.

After weaving through the labyrinth of towering shelves for what feels like minutes, he finally pulls you into a secluded corner where the dim light casts long, flickering shadows. The hush of the library seems louder here, wrapping around the two of you like a heavy cloak. Fushiguro releases your arm and leans casually against the wall, his sharp eyes locking onto yours.

“Care to explain why you’re spying on that ugly old hag?” he asks, his tone laced with amusement and challenge, the corner of his mouth curling into the faintest smirk.

Fuck. What were you supposed to say? That you were one half of the Marauders? That you found yourself here, drawn by a peculiar riddle that felt far too suspicious to be dismissed as a harmless prank? You blink for a moment, your lips pursing as you grapple with the weight of your words. In that fleeting silence, he tilts his head at you, a mix of annoyance and curiosity etched across his features. “Can’t tell me?”

You nod vigorously, your expression filled with both determination and trepidation. His expression shifts slightly, looking as if your shenanigans have piqued his interest. “What do you want, anyway? You don’t have to give me details, but now I’m curious.”

“Restricted Section,” you croak, the admission slipping from your lips with an embarrassing crack in your voice. You cringe at the sound, disappointment flooding over you like a tide of shame. He huffs, unimpressed. “That’s it?”

Your eyes widen as you narrow them at him, summoning the Gryffindor stubbornness that runs in your blood. “What do you mean, ‘that’s it’? It’s not allowed for students to go there.”

“Just because something isn’t allowed, [L/N], doesn’t mean it’s not possible. I've been there loads of times,” he replies, smacking your forehead lightly with a book he had been holding. You hadn’t even noticed it until now. Blinking in surprise, you rub the spot on your hairline where the tome had collided, gazing at him with the indignation of a rule-following goody-two-shoes. “I should report you.”

“You were going to ask Pince for access to the Restricted Section; that’s like inviting detention,” he retorts, a smirk playing on his lips. “You’re quite stupid for a Prefect.”

“I am not stupid!” you exclaim, heat rising to your cheeks and the tips of your ears. Your hands grow clammy with frustration, and as he tilts his head, an amused glint in his eyes, you can’t help but feel like a fool caught unguarded. You pause for a few moments, before pursing your lips, “How would we even go in?”

"Ah, you know, just snag a few Invisibility Potions from Snape's office during dinner. He'll likely notice they’re gone, but I’ll replace them by the next morning. Being a seventh-year has its perks—I passed the exam last year and have my license," he says casually, his tone almost teasing. "Though I do need some money for that."

"Money?" you echo, your voice rising in disbelief. "I don’t have much. I’m not a pureblood like you."

"Then it's a no-go, princess," he shrugs, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Forget about it."

"Wait, no—"

"Five hundred Galleons. The potion will cost me four hundred to replace those in Snape's office, and I need a hundred for the trip to Hogsmeade just to fetch you anything at all," he says, sounding as if he’s been haggling his entire life. You scoff, incredulous. "That's a ridiculous amount! Where am I supposed to get five hundred Galleons?"

"Seems like your problem, not mine," he replies, his jaw set, the faintest hint of annoyance creeping into his voice. "This is what I do, [L/N]. Get used to it."

With that, he turns on his heel and strides away, leaving you exasperated. Where on earth could you possibly gather five hundred Galleons? Your allowance barely stretched to a couple hundred for the entire school year, just enough for a few trips to Hogsmeade. Gringotts was where your parents usually exchanged Muggle money for wizarding currency when they visited.

And then, like a lightning bolt, realization strikes you. Gojo. That insufferable white-haired twat probably received more of an allowance than you could even imagine. You gasp softly at the revelation, a plan forming in your mind as you break into a run. Ignoring Madam Pince’s shout, urging you to stop running, you dash toward the only place you think he could be—the Great Hall. Dinner would be starting soon, and with it, a glimmer of hope for your desperate situation.

And there he is, just as you suspected—Gojo, strolling alongside Suguru, his hands shoved carelessly into the pockets of his trousers. Laughter dances between them, a sound that feels foreign to your ears as you call out his name, “Oi, Gojo!”

He turns, an eyebrow arching in that infuriating way of his, as if your presence is a sudden, unwelcome surprise. “Oh, look who decided to grace me with her presence. Fawkes, I really didn’t want to see your face today.”

You huff out a breath, feeling the heat of exertion flush your cheeks. “I need to speak with you,” you manage, your voice tinged with urgency. “It’s important. Prefect things. Please.”

For a moment, he regards you with a bemusement that makes your insides twist. His gaze flickers to Suguru, exchanging a silent conversation that leaves you feeling slightly out of the loop. You nod at Suguru, a brief acknowledgment before your attention snaps back to Satoru, who seems to be weighing the gravity of your request.

“Go on, Suguru, I’ll meet you at the Great Hall,” Gojo finally says, his tone softening as his friend walks away with a casual “Alright.” With Suguru gone, Gojo turns his full attention to you, exhaling a resigned sigh. “What is it?”

“I need five hundred galleons,” you state, your heart racing at the enormity of the ask. “It’s for solving the riddle.”

His eyes narrow slightly, a mixture of disbelief and curiosity flickering across his face. “Why do you need that much money to solve a damn riddle? I mean, I’d give it to you because I have it, but I want to know what it’s for.”

You take a moment to gather your thoughts, catching your breath before continuing, “It’s Toji. He said he’d help me get into the Restricted Section of the library if I give him that much. He’s going to steal Invisibility potions from Snape’s office tonight if I say yes, and then buy them back from J. Pippins in Hogsmeade by tomorrow to replace them.”

Gojo scoffs, rolling his eyes in that trademark manner that both irritates and fascinates you. “That conniving asshole. Why do you want to go to the library? Just think about it, you nag. The answer will come to you. I already solved my part.”

“Because there might be clues- wait, what?” You blink slowly, the revelation dawning on you like a flickering candle. “You solved it? How?”

His gaze sweeps the empty corridor, ensuring the coast is clear before he closes the distance between you, grabbing your arm in a gesture that feels oddly possessive. “Someone with black hair at Hogwarts can speak in Parseltongue,” he murmurs, his voice low and conspiratorial. “I don’t remember your bit by heart, but if you want, we can sneak into the library tonight. Although,” he adds, his expression shifting to one of playful mischief, “I don’t think we’ll need to go in the restriction section at all for this. Remind me what your part was again?”

“Where still waters mirror the void, a whisper slithers ancient and coy,” you recite, the words falling from your lips like the echo of a half-remembered dream. They feel foreign, unwieldy, yet they carry the weight of something unspoken, something inevitable.

Gojo stares at you, his expression teetering between incredulity and amusement. He tilts his head, a hum escaping him—a low, resonant sound that vibrates in the air between you. It’s maddening, the way he always manages to make the most mundane gesture seem deliberate, practiced. You shudder, half at the sound and half at your brain for noticing it. This was Gojo Satoru, after all—the bane of your existence, the splinter lodged in your side since the moment you’d collided with him on the Hogwarts Express all those years ago.

He finally speaks, his voice thoughtful but tinged with that insufferable self-assurance. “Don’t go with Fushiguro. I have a better idea if you really want to sneak into the library.”

You hesitate, narrowing your eyes. “No prefect duties tonight, but the others will be about,” you say, your voice laced with skepticism. “What about them?”

His grin widens, that familiar glint in his eyes—a spark that you’ve learned to both anticipate and dread. “You remember when I told you I was working on something? For us? To make our lives as Marauders easier?”

Something twists in your chest. You know that look too well, the sharp edges of mischief cutting into his usually polished demeanor. Despite yourself, you feel the pull, the gravity that always seems to draw you into his orbit, no matter how fiercely you try to resist. “Yes?” you say, your voice tinged with hope despite the knot of hesitation in your chest. There’s something about him—something that unsettles you. Maybe it’s his intellect, sharp and unrelenting, always outpacing yours no matter how hard you tried to keep up. It wasn’t fair, but then again, nothing about him ever was.

He was always going to be better than you. The pureblood, the chosen one, the untouchable and glorious Satoru Gojo. And you? You were just a mudblood. The word still stung every time it surfaced in your mind, an unwelcome echo of whispered taunts from years past. You hated it, hated how it lingered, how it shaped the way you measured yourself against him. But no matter how much you loathed admitting it, he would always outshine you.

“It’s ready,” he announces, stopping your train of thought as he grins like the Cheshire Cat, every tooth glinting in the dim light of the corridor. “Think you can set aside your idiocy for one night and meet me outside your common room at midnight?”

“For your very kind information,” you say, your teeth gritting with irritation, “I happen to be better at you than a lot of things. But fine. This might be worth it.”

He groans theatrically, rolling his eyes with all the drama of a starlet in distress. “Gryffindors and your ‘knight in shining armor’ act—it’s unbearable!”

“As if Slytherins are any better,” you retort, your voice rising with indignation. “You’re all anarchists! You tried to poison our Quidditch team last year!”

He laughs, the sound sharp and incredulous. “How long are you going to hold that over my head? You hexed me before I even got the chance to do anything! I was in the infirmary the entire night because you made the bones in my arm disappear. Do you know how painful it is to grow bones back?”

You wince despite yourself. You might loathe the boy with every fiber of your being, but even you can admit—albeit silently, buried deep beneath layers of pride—that you may have gone too far that time. Still, Gojo’s grin persists, maddeningly bright, and you find yourself standing in that strange liminal space between rivalry and camaraderie, where annoyance and admiration blur together in a way that leaves you dizzy.

“Midnight,” he says, his voice softer now, almost coaxing. “Don’t keep me waiting, Fawkes.”

You huff, crossing your arms even as your resolve wavers. “I’ll think about it.”

But you already know you’ll be there. You always are.

It is a quarter to midnight, and the dormitory is cloaked in shadows, save for the faint silver sliver of moonlight sneaking through the half-drawn curtains. You sit up in bed, the ache of sleep pulling at your limbs, and lift your head from the scattered parchment on your desk. Your gaze drifts to your owl, a small tawny creature perched in quiet repose within his cage.

He’s quite small, and no louder than a whisper. His feathers, a soft patchwork of golden brown and deep earthen hues, are flecked with the faintest hints of black and white—an accidental constellation brushed into his down. He looks as though he belongs somewhere else entirely, a creature born of twilight and mystery, yet tethered to you by six steadfast years of companionship. His dark, endless eyes blink once in the low light, and you think, not for the first time, how much you love this bird.

He’s carried your words across distances great and small: letters home to your parents, scribbled notes to friends during summer holidays, even last-minute assignments dropped hastily into professors’ inboxes. And on those long nights when unspoken worries press heavy against your chest, he perches on your desk, watching you with an unfailing patience that no human has ever shown. On the rare nights when sleep overtakes you mid-assignment, he naps beside you, a quiet, feathery sentinel.

You smile softly at the memory, yawning as you stretch, the cool air brushing against your skin when you swing your legs over the side of the bed. The dormitory is still, filled only with the muted sound of soft breathing. You glance around, ensuring no one else is awake, before slipping to your feet and padding silently toward the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

The voice stops you mid-step, sharp and sudden like a lit match in the dark. You turn to see Mei Mei sitting upright in her bed, her arms crossed and her posture exuding the kind of lazy authority that only she can manage. Her calculating smirk catches the faint light, and her eyes glint as though she’s caught you red-handed.

“I—uh,” you stammer, heat prickling at the back of your neck. “I’m just… going out?”

“Out, why?” she asks, arching one elegant brow. Her tone isn’t stern—it’s amused. You can tell by the way she studies you that she isn’t actually upset. Mei Mei never bothers with rules unless they entertain her. Unfortunately, watching you squirm seems to qualify.

You sigh, the sound heavy with resignation. “Just a stroll. Nothing exciting. Maybe the Astronomy Tower.”

She makes a low hum of consideration, clearly unconvinced, though her expression doesn’t waver. You’ve gotten better at lying since this whole Marauders business started. At first, it was small white lies—just enough to fend off suspicion from Shoko or Utahime. But now? Now you lie like it’s second nature.

“Alright,” Mei Mei says at last, waving you off with a languid flick of her hand. “But don’t stay out so long that Filch catches you.”

Relief rushes through you like a dam breaking, and you nod quickly, mumbling a thanks as you tiptoe to the door. You descend the staircase with painstaking care, placing each step on the balls of your feet, wincing at the faint creak of wood beneath your weight. The common room is still, the embers in the fireplace glowing faintly like the last sigh of a dying star.

When you finally step out into the corridor, you exhale a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. For a moment, the world is utterly still—just you, the cold stone beneath your feet, and the faint hum of magic in the air. Your heart pounds in your ears, each beat louder than the last, but you tell yourself it’s nothing. You’re alone.

Until you’re not.

A hand grabs your arm, firm in its suddenness. Panic surges up your throat, and your mouth opens to scream, but another hand clamps over your lips, silencing you before the sound can escape.

“Shh, Fawkes,” a voice hisses, low and urgent, close enough that you can feel the warmth of their breath against your skin. Your heart leaps as you recognize the voice, even before the speaker pulls you closer, draping something over your shoulders in one fluid motion.

“Don’t make a sound,” Gojo whispers. His voice is soft but carries a sharp edge of command, and even through the haze of your panic, you obey.

You blink, momentarily disoriented, as the closeness of him settles over you like a weight. It’s almost unbearable, how near he is. His face hovers inches from yours, his breath steady and warm in the cool corridor air. He moves with precise, deliberate motions, draping something—a shroud?—over both your heads with one hand while clutching a lantern in the other. The golden light from the lantern flickers between you, casting soft, wavering shadows across the sharp angles of his face. He hands the lantern to you in a rush, his fingers brushing yours briefly, before gathering the edges of the fabric and adjusting it around you both.

You stare at him, utterly still, wide-eyed and transfixed. There’s something almost childlike in the way his tongue pokes out slightly between his lips as he concentrates, but it doesn’t diminish the sharpness of him—his cheekbones catching the light, the unruly mop of white hair falling just over his brow. Gosh, he’s beautiful. You hate to admit it, but all those girls who follow him with dreamy eyes aren’t entirely wrong. There’s something about him, something beyond his charm, that’s infuriatingly magnetic.

And with his hair disheveled like this, caught in a quiet moment of focus, you think for a split second—before shaking the thought away—that you understand them.

You keep blinking, fighting the warmth creeping up your neck, before realization strikes like a jolt of lightning.

“Is this what I think it is?” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

He glances at you sidelong, huffing out a soft laugh, though his hands don’t stop their work on the edges of the fabric. “If you can tell, I’m impressed.”

You stare at the material draped around you, eyes wide, then back at him. “An Invisibility Cloak,” you breathe, the words almost reverent. “For Merlin’s sake, this is an Invisibility Cloak. Oh, my God. Why do you have an Invisibility Cloak?”

“Careful, Fawkes,” he says, his tone as sharp as it is teasing. “It’s an Invisibility Cloak, not a soundproof one. Stop being so loud.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice even as he pulls the fabric tighter around you both. It feels absurdly intimate, standing so close beneath its folds, like you’re two conspirators bound together by something larger than yourselves.

“Why do you have this?” you whisper again as the two of you begin your slow descent down the stairs.

“Because I do,” he replies simply, his voice laced with that infuriating nonchalance. “And because you’d be hopeless without me.”

You want to scoff, to argue, but you can’t quite summon the indignation. Not when the echo of his voice, low and teasing, sends an unfamiliar warmth unfurling in your chest. “I’m being serious. Why do you have this?”

“It’s a family heirloom. Now, stop pestering me,” he says, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips. But then, as if compelled by the weight of his own words, he continues, “Pureblood families are weird. They isolate you, treat you like some twisted artifact, and then, when you’re older, they suddenly expect you to make connections, form alliances, carry the name. And just when you’re ready to resent them forever, they hand you gifts like this. It’s as if they think a shiny object will make you forget everything you suffered through.”

He stops abruptly, a flicker of vulnerability flashing in his eyes before adding, “Wait. I probably shouldn’t be telling you any of this.”

You can’t resist the grin that spreads across your face. “Oh, please, go on,” you tease, the words slipping out like a reflex. “I like it when you’re the one having a bad time for once.”

His glance is sharp, though not unkind. “Of course you do.”

The two of you walk on, your steps echoing softly in the quiet night as you pass the Quad Courtyard, heading toward the vast hallway that leads to the West Tower. The immensity of Hogwarts often feels like a burden during late-night escapades, every corridor stretching endlessly, but in moments like these, the castle’s haunting beauty makes the trek feel almost worth it.

“I really shouldn’t have brought this stupid lantern,” Gojo mutters, holding it out in mild disdain. “My wand would’ve been enough.”

“Look at you, learning from your mistakes,” you say, glancing up at him with a smile that threatens to linger too long. “Seeing the consequences of your actions for once.”

He shakes his head, a small, knowing grin on his lips. “Laugh all you want, you nag. This is the only time I’m letting my guard down.”

“Wait,” you say, your steps faltering slightly. “Is this the thing you were talking about? The one you were working on? For… our little secret?”

“Oh, I completely forgot,” he says, coming to a halt so abruptly that you almost bump into him. “Stop walking, I’ll show you.”

And so you do. You stand there in the dim corridor, the lantern’s warm light casting long shadows across the stone walls. He shuffles for a moment, reaching into his pocket and pulling out what looks like a simple piece of parchment.

You raise an incredulous eyebrow. “Seriously? That’s it? What’s this supposed to be?”

He shoots you a look, half-exasperated, half-amused. “Watch,” he says, shaking his head at your skepticism. He points his wand at the parchment, his voice suddenly lower, more focused.

“I solemnly swear,” he begins, a mischievous glint in his eye, “that I am up to no good.”

You gasp as the ink begins to spread across the page, winding like tendrils of ivy until intricate patterns form. Your breath hitches as the lines weave together, revealing a sprawling map—detailed, alive, and impossibly magical. It isn’t just a map; it’s the castle.

In bold, elegant letters, the words Messrs Fawkes and Ashen are proud to present the Marauder’s Map appear at the top of the parchment.

“What is this?” you ask, your voice an octave higher, a mixture of awe and disbelief. “And who’s Ashen?”

“A nickname I gave myself,” he says with a lopsided grin. “Because of my Patronus. I’m not telling you what it is yet, but it’s cool, right? Here, hand me the lantern and open this.”

You pass him the glass lantern, its warm light flickering against the curves of the flame within, casting shadows that dance along Gojo’s features. He cradles it effortlessly, his other hand gesturing for you to take the parchment. You obey, gingerly grasping it as though it were a relic, something impossibly delicate. Your fingers brush the edges, feeling the fine texture of the material, old but imbued with something alive.

As you carefully unfold it, the words spill from your lips in a voice barely above a whisper, yet brimming with wonder and affection. “This is Hogwarts.”

He hums in confirmation, a small smile playing at his lips, but you barely notice. Your attention is pulled elsewhere. You squint at the intricate lines and patterns, noticing something unusual—the map seems to move. Small, deliberate shifts catch your eye.

And then, there they are. Tiny footprints, trailing delicately across the paper.

“And that,” you begin, your voice hitching in disbelief, “is it really—”

“Filch,” Gojo interjects, his grin widening into something wickedly triumphant. “Stomping the hallway outside the Great Hall this very moment. Do you see the way he turns every four steps? It’s maddening. Oh, and did you know Dumbledore paces a lot in his study? Back and forth, back and forth. I never took him for the restless type, but apparently, even geniuses aren’t exempt.”

Your eyes widen as you scan the parchment, finding the tiny figure labeled Dumbledore indeed moving back and forth within the boundaries of his study. Your fingers press lightly against the parchment, as if the connection could make it any more real. Slowly, you lift your gaze to meet Gojo’s impossibly vivid blue eyes.

“It shows everyone?” you ask, the disbelief still lingering in your tone.

“Everyone,” he confirms, his voice dropping to a lower, conspiratorial register.

“Everyone?” you repeat, needing to hear it again, as if the weight of such a thing can’t fully sink in on the first try.

He nods, his expression turning smug. “Everyone. Where they are, what they’re doing, every minute, of every day.”

“Brilliant,” you breathe, the word slipping out in a hushed, awestruck whisper. You eagerly unfold another section, the map expanding under your careful hands. New details spill forth—more corridors, more staircases, more figures. Your heart races as you spot the prefects, their tiny forms marked by their names, retreating one by one to their respective dormitories. The intricacy of it all feels overwhelming, as though you’re holding the very soul of the castle in your hands.

“How did you even make this?” you ask, your voice trembling with a mixture of curiosity and admiration.

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating low in his throat. “Trade secret,” he says, winking down at you. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he adjusts the cloak around you both, ensuring the edges stay snug. “Now, be so kind as to lead us safely to the library, yeah? The map’s not just for show.”

You glance up at him, still clutching the parchment like a lifeline, feeling its magic through your fingers. “With this?” you tease, your lips curving into a faint smile. “I’d hardly call it sneaking.”

“Call it what you want,” he replies, his grin devilish as ever. “But let’s not get caught.”

The walk to the library feels like a stolen moment, effortless and exhilarating all at once. The hallways are deserted, their vastness echoing only with the muted sounds of your footsteps. Along the way, you suggest leaving the lantern behind—its light now more of a liability than a necessity. You extinguish it carefully, placing it on one of the desks tucked into a shadowed corner. Gojo nods in agreement, and together, you slip into the back of the library, where the shelves hold the deepest secrets of Hogwarts' history.

"I can't tell you how happy this makes me," you whisper, your voice laced with an almost childlike giddiness. The sheer joy of being here, surrounded by endless rows of books, makes you shiver. The scent of old parchment and binding glue fills your lungs, intoxicating in its familiarity. It feels sacred—this darkened library, the weight of knowledge hanging in the air, and the only thing marring its perfection is Gojo, standing there with his usual smirk.

He rolls his eyes, muttering something about you being a "proper nerd," but you brush it off. “Okay,” you begin, turning serious, “I think we can put the cloak away for now. Let’s focus on finding books about voids at Hogwarts. It has to be something connected to the dungeons. Or, maybe, a secret passageway leading out of the castle? There are only six that I know of, but there could be more—”

“There are seven, actually,” Gojo interrupts, his tone maddeningly smug. He pulls the Invisibility Cloak off the two of you in one fluid motion, the fabric slipping through his fingers like liquid moonlight. With a practiced flick, he spreads the map out on the nearest desk, tracing a slender finger over its intricate details. “This one here, the One-Eyed Witch Passageway, leads straight to Honeydukes’ cellar.”

“Bloody hell,” you breathe, your voice tinged with awe. Your eyes light up as you take in the map’s delicate markings, and a mischievous grin spreads across your face. “Can I keep this?”

“Absolutely not,” he says, snatching it away with exaggerated indignation. “You’d rip it or spill tea on it by the end of the day.”

“Rude,” you retort, glaring at him half-heartedly.

He ignores you, folding the map with care as though it were made of glass. “I’ll guard it with my life. Oh, and, Fawkes, when you’re done, don’t forget to give it a tap and say ‘Mischief Managed.’ Otherwise, anyone can read it.”

He taps it with his wand, and the markings disappear just as fast as they'd come. You gasp a little, but then, you nod, mentally noting the precaution. “Right, got it.”

He then motions to the left. “Now, quit gawking and get to work. You take that side of the shelf,” he says, gesturing to the bookshelves nearby. “I’ll start over there.”

You roll your eyes, but a small smile tugs at your lips as you turn to the towering shelves. The library, vast and infinite in its secrets, stretches before you, and for a moment, you feel like you’re on the brink of discovery. Or mischief. Or both.

Quickly, you spring into action, eagerly pulling out several thick tomes from the shelves. The first one you grab, "The Hidden History of Hogwarts: Tales of Adventure and Intrigue," is intriguing, though not quite hefty enough for your liking. With a determined huff, you rise onto your toes to reach for the illustrious "Hogwarts: A History," along with a few more notable titles, before finally settling into one of the chairs with a soft creak. You spill the books across the table, their spines cracking open like secrets waiting to be unearthed, and begin flipping through their pages as rapidly as you can manage.

Moments later, Gojo occupies a chair two seats away from you, a stack of his own books piled high beside him. You can’t help but steal a glance at him, an inkling of admiration tugging at your thoughts as he immerses himself in the research.

Time slips away, the world around you fading into a blur as your tired eyes scan each page with fervor. You skim through portions that may hold no relevance to your riddle, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. And then, there it is—a recurring echo of the word “void.”

“Void, void, void,” you mutter to yourself, a spark of recognition igniting in your mind. As the realization dawns, you quickly turn to Gojo, tugging at his sleeve and other parts of his shirt with a sense of urgency. “It’s the Black Lake! The Black Lake is where someone with dark hair was speaking in Parseltongue.”

Gojo leans in, a spark of intrigue lighting his expression. “Not just dark. Black hair. A raven-haired calls what none can see, beneath the night’s veil by the serpent’s decree. Someone with black hair might be practicing dark magic at Hogwarts. They can speak Parseltongue, and they've been doing it near the Black Lake for some reason. Whoever sent us that message wants us to know that something terrible could be happening at Hogwarts anytime soon.”

The next day, in the afternoon after lectures have concluded, you're setting up in the dungeons for the Dueling Club meeting—specifically, the chambers reserved for the club. These dungeons were far removed from the ones you and Gojo often snuck into, the ones so off-limits that even the most daring students steered clear. As you position the last training dummy along the far side of the dimly lit room, the murmurs of students arriving behind you begin to fill the air. Then, you hear a familiar voice, smooth and teasing.

"So, I’m guessing you got what you wanted one way or another," Toji says, leaning against the wall with his signature smirk.

You turn to him, your expression knowingly smug. "I did, actually. Got exactly what I wanted."

"I’d say I’m bummed I didn’t get a chance to rip you off," he begins, pushing off the wall and brushing past you, "but it’s okay. I rip off enough people to keep my reputation intact."

"You have a reputation for more than just ripping people off, Fushiguro," you shoot back, a playful lilt in your voice. But as the words leave your mouth, something about his expression makes you hesitate. Before you can apologize, though, he waves it off casually.

"It’s hard to survive on your own after ditching a shitty pureblood family," he says, his tone a strange mix of bitterness and pride. "Well, not that you’d know, but still."

"I’m sure growing up rich had its perks," you tease lightly, testing the waters.

He smirks, a glint of mischief lighting up his dark eyes. "Not at all. Maybe someday I’ll tell you all about it."

"Maybe," you reply, grinning as you move to the center of the room. Across the space, Shoko waves at you, her face a rare picture of enthusiasm as the younger students file in, awe and excitement radiating off them in waves. In one corner, Professors Flitwick and McGonagall stand together, observing quietly, their mere presence a reassuring reminder.

You clear your throat, stepping forward to address the room. "Alright, everyone," you begin, scanning the group and catching sight of a familiar mop of silver hair amidst the crowd. "Welcome to the Dueling Club. My name is [L/N] [Y/N], and I am the Head of the Club. Before we get started, we need to go over some rules."

Your voice is steady and authoritative, carrying over the hushed whispers.

"First, all participants must adhere to safety protocols to prevent injuries," you say firmly. "Every duel will be supervised by either a senior student or a professor. Physical altercations or the use of magical items like cursed artifacts is strictly forbidden. Standard dueling etiquette is a must, and we’ll demonstrate it shortly for those who are new. The duel ends immediately if one participant is incapacitated, yields, or if a professor steps in."

You pause, ensuring their attention is fixed on you.

"Spells that cause lasting harm, such as permanent transfigurations or irreversible effects, are strictly prohibited. The supervising professor has the final say in all duels, and their decisions are final. Younger students—those in first through third years—will only duel peers within their age group for safety reasons. Grudge matches are forbidden. Each duel is limited to ten minutes unless a professor decides otherwise. Spectators must stay behind the safety barriers and are not allowed to interfere."

Your gaze sweeps the crowd, ensuring everyone is following. "Unauthorized dueling outside the club is strictly prohibited," you continue, your tone sharper now. "Finally, missing three consecutive sessions without prior notice may result in suspension from the club."

"Are we clear?" you finish, your voice resonating with authority.

A murmur of agreement ripples through the group as anticipation builds, their excitement palpable as they prepare for the first duels of the term.

"Alright," you begin, your voice cutting through the low hum of chatter, "I need a volunteer, preferably fifth year and above, for a demonstration of how a duel is to be conducted for the younger members. Anyone?"

You didn’t need to wait. You know before the words even left your mouth whose hand would rise first.

Sure enough, Gojo Satoru’s arm shoots up, almost gleefully, his speed outpacing anyone else's reaction by several beats. He wears that same maddeningly smug expression you’d grown far too accustomed to, his silver hair catching the low light in a way that made him impossible to ignore.

You narrow your eyes at him, a silent warning, and gave a brief shake of your head—a clear no. His eyebrows furrow in mock offense, a whine already forming on his lips. But before you could say anything, Professor Flitwick's enthusiasm intervened.

“Ah, Gojo Satoru! Excellent choice!” Flitwick exclaims, motioning him forward with a flourish. “Come on up. A real treat for everyone, this is! We’ll see two of our finest students in action. A duel between Ms. [L/N], our reigning champion—unsurprisingly, given her Headship of the club—and Mr. Gojo, who isn’t far behind her in skill. Pay close attention, everyone!”

Gojo practically saunters his way to the center, brushing past you with deliberate ease, his smirk growing wider as he passed. The sheer arrogance radiating from him was almost palpable, and it took every ounce of restraint not to roll your eyes. He'd lost to you twice last year before the term ended, and you really weren't planning on breaking that streak. You clench your jaw instead, ignoring the simmering irritation pooling low in your chest.

This wasn’t how you’d envisioned the demonstration going. You’d hoped for someone else, anyone else—someone who wouldn’t make such a spectacle of the moment. But now you were here, and there was no backing out.

The two of you take your positions on opposite ends of the room, the circle of students around you buzzing with anticipation. The younger ones leaned forward, their eyes wide with awe and barely suppressed excitement, while the older students exchanged knowing glances, whispering wagers under their breath. You couldn't lose, especially not now, in front of the second-years that held you in such high regard.

“Wands at the ready!” Professor Flitwick calls out, his voice bright with excitement, and you raise your wand with deliberate precision, your movements sharp and controlled.

Gojo mirrored you, of course, but he did it with an infuriating grace, as though the act of lifting his wand were a performance in itself. His blue eyes sparkle with mischief, and as his lips curl into a smirk, he lets out a soft snicker.

“You scared, Fawkes?” he murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear. “Think I might beat you?”

“Absolutely not,” you hiss in return, your tone low but laced with steel. “I have an image to uphold.”

The two of you lower your wands briefly, turning to walk the traditional ten paces back. Each step feels heavier than it should, the air between you thick with unspoken challenges. When you finally turn to face him again, your stance is resolute—offensive, calculated.

His, however, is wide, open, almost careless. He was baiting you, leaving himself vulnerable in a way that made your blood boil. He wanted you to strike first. He'd throw quick attacks your way and eventually disarm you. Fine, you thought. You’d play his game. The count started in your head.

Three... two... one.

“Immobulus!” you call, your voice slicing through the room as your wand slashes through the air.

Gojo moves with infuriating ease, dodging the spell as though he’d anticipated it. With a quick, fluid motion, his wand flicks toward you. “Impedimenta!” he counters, the jinx used for slowing things down hurtling toward you faster than you'd expect.

You sidestep just in time, your breath catching as the spell crackles past you. The near miss sent a rush of heat down your spine, but you recovered quickly, slipping into a defensive stance.

The two of you begin circling each other, the space between you electric. He wears that same smirk, taunting, while your face stays set, determination etched into every line.

The duel escalates quickly. Spells ricochet off the dungeon walls, filling the room with flashes of light and sharp cracks of sound. His attacks come faster than they did last year, his movements sharper, more refined. Somewhere deep down, you register his improvement—damn him for it—but you don’t have time to dwell.

This isn’t going to be easy. He’s caught up to you in skill, and though you hate to admit it, that fact makes your blood run hotter. But you aren’t going to lose. So you smirk, sending aggressive attacks one after another, chasing him so he won’t have time to think. “Stupefy!”

You wait, watching for the smallest mistake, the slightest hesitation. And then it comes, just as he dodges your disarming spell—his fingers tighten on his wand for a fraction too long.

You focus as much as you can, your grip on your wand steady as you whisper, “Flagrante.”

The curse hits its mark instantly. Gojo yelps, his wand clattering to the floor as he clutches his hand. The circle of students falls silent, their awe-struck faces illuminated by the faint glow of the curse’s residual heat.

You straighten, lowering your wand and undoing the curse immediately, satisfaction blooming in your chest. Victory, though slightly bitter, is still victory.

Professor McGonagall steps forward, her expression cool and disapproving. “Newer students,” she says, her voice clipped, “are not to attempt what Ms. [L/N] just demonstrated. Flagrante is an advanced curse, highly dangerous, and entirely unsuitable for this setting. Even the most experienced duelists could easily miscalculate.”

You cringe at her words, the satisfaction of your win dimming under her sharp tone.

Gojo, however, seems entirely unbothered. He retrieves his wand, his injured hand cradled lightly in the other. When his gaze meets yours, it holds something you can't quite name. Pride? Annoyance? Maybe both.

But then his lips curl into a soft, almost imperceptible smile. Not his usual smirk, but something gentler, more genuine. It sent a strange, unfamiliar warmth through your chest, one that lingered far longer than you expected.

As the students pair off and separate into groups, Gojo saunters up to you with his usual grin. “Well, looks like your streak is now up to three. Impressive, Fawkes Junior. Although… weren’t you the one always preaching about following the rules? How’d you manage to use a curse on me?”

“When it comes to you,” you smirk, taking a few deliberate steps back while pointing your wand at his injured hand, “I just have to be better than you. Episkey.”

He winces slightly as the healing charm begins to mend the red burns on his pale skin. Slowly but surely, the angry marks fade, leaving his hand looking unscathed, the same snow-like perfection as before. He mutters a quick thanks under his breath.

“Now go,” you say, dismissing him with a flick of your wrist, “Practice with someone else instead of wasting my time. I’ve got to oversee the second-years with the professors.”

“Babysitter duties, huh?” he replies with a smug grin as he steps back toward his group. You have no doubt he’s either about to duel with Shoko or find someone younger to pester for his own amusement. You roll your eyes and turn away, heading toward the younger students to fulfill your Head duties.

The day unfolds in a haze, the heavy weight of your thoughts never quite lifting. Dueling Club wraps up hours before dinner, leaving you with an uneasy stretch of time. Time to rest, perhaps. Or to think—which, as it turns out, is far more exhausting.

The revelation from yesterday refuses to leave you. Someone, somewhere within these walls, was practicing dark magic. And the thought sends shivers down your spine. Hogwarts had always been a sanctuary, a place of learning and wonder—safety, even. But now, its shadows felt longer, its corners darker.

You try not to dwell on it, but how could you not? The line from the riddle echoes endlessly in your mind: A raven-haired calls what none can see. And with how many black-haired students roamed the halls of Hogwarts this year, the task of uncovering the truth felt impossibly daunting. Parseltongue wasn’t exactly something people casually advertised, after all.

Lost in your spiraling thoughts, you almost miss the familiar figures ahead. Turning down the hallway toward Gryffindor Tower, you spot Shoko. She’s leaning against the wall next to an arch, chatting casually with two others with a cigarette between her fingers. As you draw closer, you recognize Nanami and Utahime. Shoko waves you over, her ever-relaxed smile widening as she sees you.

“Hi,” you sigh, letting your shoulders slump as you lean into hers. There’s comfort in her presence, steady and grounding, something that soothes you. “I haven’t gotten time to see you at all so far. How have you been?”

“Irritated, mostly,” she says with a half-smile, resting her head lightly against yours. “You know I’m stuck dealing with two idiots.”

You huff a laugh.

“And you two?” Shoko continues. “You’ve both gotten way too busy, huh? Managing the Dueling Club and the Quidditch team? I’m surprised you’re still alive. And Kento, Prefect duties on top of everything else? How are you even here right now?”

“I’m wondering the same thing,” Nanami mutters, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“And her,” Utahime chimes in, jerking her thumb in your direction with a teasing grin. “She’s been trying to cozy up to Snape, of all people. That sourpuss! I still don’t know why.”

The mention of Snape jolts you, a moment of panic flashing across your face before you remember why she’d say that. Right. Your excuse the first night of the Marauders meeting. You grimace, shifting awkwardly. “Y-yeah. That… uh, hasn’t been going too well. Still isn’t, actually.”

“Don’t bother,” Nanami says flatly, crossing his arms. “He hates all Gryffindors on principle. And you? With the way you’re always trying to one-up Gojo? You’re his least favorite.”

“Speaking of that,” Shoko cuts in, nudging you with her elbow, “Nice job at the duel today. First time I’ve seen you break a rule to win. Miss Perfect, finally showing her rebellious streak.”

Her words pull a soft laugh from you, but the weight in your chest tightens. If only she knew the half of it. If only they all knew. One month in, and you’d already broken enough rules to keep Filch busy for a year. An Invisibility Cloak. The Marauders Map. Sneaking around the castle’s most restricted areas. You’d told yourself it was all for a greater purpose, but still, the guilt lingered.

“Yeah, well,” you say lightly, masking your unease with a grin, “It’s hard not to pick up some bad habits when I’m surrounded by the worst influences.”

Shoko smirks again, flicking the ash from her cigarette. “I aim to please. Speaking of bad habits, don’t think I didn’t notice you and Fushiguro Toji today.”

Your cheeks burn. “I wasn’t flirting!”

“Never said you were,” Shoko says, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “That exchange in the Dueling Club? Definitely flirting. Saw it with my own two eyes.”

Utahime gasps in mock outrage. “Didn’t I warn you about him? Ever since he renounced his family name, all he’s done is hop from one pureblood girl to another. That, and making money off of shady bets or ripping people off. I even heard he’s got connections in Knockturn Alley.”

You shake your head, exasperated. “He’s actually quite nice, even though he did try to rip me off. And I wasn’t flirting with him—”

“My eyes say otherwise,” Shoko interrupts, grinning.

“Get them checked,” you retort, narrowing your eyes. “It was a friendly conversation. Nothing more.”

Nanami chuckles, a rare smile tugging at his lips. “I only wish I’d been there to see you let loose for once.”

“Let’s not talk about him anymore, please.” You sigh and steer the conversation to safer ground. “Are you lot going to Hogsmeade next week? I might have to stay back. Flitwick’s been breathing down my neck about the second-years—especially the Zenins and Inumaki. He wants me to give them, you know, special attention.”

Shoko raises an eyebrow as she flicks the stub of her cigarette out of the stone archway, muttering a wordless charm to dissipate it mid-air. You watch as it vanishes completely before touching the ground. Shoko’s casual mastery of wandless magic always left you in awe. It was effortless with her, a talent you couldn’t help but envy. But before your thoughts could linger on your inadequacies, she speaks.

"Have you seen them?" she says, her tone sharp with incredulity. "They're ridiculously good at everything. Honestly, you might end up dragging them into your Quidditch team, alongside that Itadori kid. I caught him practicing the other day—just a casual glance—and it scared me. But for now, I think we've got Mai Zenin and Inumaki Toge in our House. And, well, Gojo and Suguru are there anyway. Oh, and me."

"I’ve only made it to practice once," you admit with a wince. "Too much on my plate this year."

Utahime’s brow arches sharply as she folds her arms. "I can excuse the Dueling Club meetings since you're the Head, but miss another day of practice, and I’m benching you."

"I know, I know!" you groan. "I’m just... stressed, okay? Prefect duties are insane this year, and I’m falling behind on assignments too."

That draws an audible gasp from Shoko. "You? Behind? Bloody hell, what’s the world coming to?"

For a split second, you consider telling them the truth—that you weren’t just behind because of typical school stress. That something far darker was unraveling at Hogwarts, something that made your sleepless nights and frayed nerves feel trivial in comparison. But how could you? The weight of it, the potential to cause panic, was too much. Instead, you shake your head, plastering on a weak smile.

"I don’t know," you say quietly. "I’m just not managing things well this year. But I’ll come to practice tomorrow. I promise."

"You’d better," Utahime warns, but her tone softens slightly. "I need a Chaser. I’m making Itadori our Seeker this year, and since I’m Keeper, I’ve got to step up too. Maki Zenin is quite the Beater, though."

"How’s practice going with him? Itadori?" you ask.

"Bloody amazing," she says, her eyes lighting up. "Kento was there the other day. He can back me up."

Nanami nods in agreement. "He’s... an interesting character. Relentlessly enthusiastic, which is exhausting, but his skill is unreal. Playing by the rules, though? That’s his Achilles’ heel. Iori and I are drilling that into him."

Shoko smirks, crossing her arms. "Speaking of stepping up, Gojo’s been upping his game too. He, Suguru and I were training after lectures yesterday. And then, long past curfew too. Almost till midnight. Although, Satoru left because he had some errands to run."

You pause for a moment. So that's where he'd been before your spontaneously decided meeting last night.

Then, you groan dramatically, throwing your head back. "I’m drowning over here, barely keeping up, and that smug little git is already pulling ahead?"

Your friends erupt in laughter, Shoko shaking her head as she teases, "Seems like beating him might be the only thing to pull you out of your slump, eh?"

You roll your eyes, but a reluctant grin spreads across your face. "It just might," you admit, chuckling softly.

"Okay, Fawkes, hit me," Gojo bursts into the Room of Requirement, a little late after your prefect duties that night. You had arrived directly after rounds, and he was about fifteen minutes behind schedule. He rushes to the long table, shedding his robe in one swift motion and flinging it onto a nearby wooden chair.

You sigh, "Well, I did some research while doing homework today."

He motions for you to begin, and you walk over to the pinboard, tacking up a copied page from a library book. "Parseltongue, as you probably already know, is hereditary and spoken by the descendants of Salazar Slytherin. So my guess would be that all pureblood students at the school could potentially be Parselmouths, regardless of their House. There have been exceptions in the past, although the textbook I got this from didn’t name them explicitly."

"Are you saying it couldn't just be a Slytherin pureblood?" he raises an eyebrow. "This just makes our job harder. There are so many possibilities now. If it were just Slytherin, we’d only have around thirty people in that House to investigate. If we rule out anyone without black hair, that narrows the count by half!"

"I know," you sigh again, feeling the weight of the task. "The book was about Salazar Slytherin, and it mentioned that there have been exceptions where purebloods were sorted into other Houses and still retained the ability to speak Parseltongue. However, we could probably rule out Hufflepuff; the cases discussed only Ravenclaw and Gryffindor."

"There's only like two purebloods in Hufflepuff anyway. They wouldn't be able to speak Parseltongue even if they had it in their blood," Gojo rolls his eyes, his elitism palpable. You say, "Don't be a dick."

"I'm just saying," he defends, raising his arms. "If your entire lineage is Slytherin and you end up a Hufflepuff, it’s a shame, really."

"Focus on our work," you interject.

"Let’s narrow the list down first to all black-haired students. That should make our job easier, right?" he suggests. "Then we can check their ancestry one by one."

"How does one even do that?" you mumble, glancing at the pile of student requests on your desk. "There’s no way—"

"I can handle that part," he replies, straightening his lips as he looks at you. "My father works at the Ministry, remember? I can pull some strings. Or we could find books on magical genealogy in the Restricted Section of the library. It’ll take time, though—probably at least a month."

"We have no way of knowing what this person is doing in the meantime," you sigh, still looking at the requests. "I also have to be at Quidditch practice tomorrow."

"A little overworked, are you?" he teases. "Our little Fawkes is finally having a hard time keeping up."

"Screw you, Gojo," you retorted. "It’s hard being Head of the Dueling Club, a Prefect, and playing Quidditch while doing this with you, nonetheless."

"Quit something, then," he shrugs. "It’s not like Quidditch is going to help you get to St. Mungo’s as a Healer."

"Shoko's doing it," you counter. "So I must too."

"Shoko’s doing it because her family is ridiculous. She’s not a Prefect, if you haven’t noticed. And she’s not Head of a club or Captain of the team. She’s just along for the ride while you’re taking on everything that’s wearing you thin. She’s a pureblood; you’re not."

"Are you saying I’m lesser because I’m a muggle-born?" you ask, furrowing your eyebrows.

He groans. "Are you even listening to what I’m saying? Purebloods, like me, Shoko, and Suguru, are forced to do things we don’t want to! You, however, have the choice. I don’t! I have to be the best at everything because I have the ‘Gojo’ name on my back and the clan on my ass. Shoko has to do Quidditch because she’s a pureblood. She has to take on extra things she doesn’t want to because of her family pressure. If it were up to her, she'd be in her dorm for half the day, smoking away. Do you think I want to be a Prefect? Or that I want to be a scholar? I just am because I am supposed to be. I have to be the greatest—you don’t!"

"But what if I want to?" you say, your nerves fraying. "I want to be the greatest. I want to be as good as you at everything I do, if not better!"

"That’s your choice, Fawkes," he laughs incredulously. "All you have to do is drop one thing, and you won't be so stressed. You can’t possibly do everything you want all the time."

"Maybe I can!" you reply, your voice rising. "And maybe I will."

"Whatever," he scoffs, standing up and grabbing his robe. "Just have the list ready. And work on the normal requests. If you want, ask for my help. If not, piss off."

"Fuck you," you spit, the tension thick in the air. "I don’t need your help."

"That makes my life easier anyway," he retorts with a sarcastic smile as he leaves the Room.

You sigh, feeling the weight of your decisions pressing down on you. What had you just brought upon yourself? You were going to be wrung dry, and it was all your doing. With your head hung low, you start pulling parchments and a quill toward you. You would stay here all night if it meant getting everything done. And the requests? You’d tackle them all. You’d prove Gojo wrong with every fiber of your being.

And perhaps, tomorrow, you’d steal an Invigoration Draught vial from Snape’s office after class to keep up. Yes, that would do.

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