#it's basically the final two years of school before university or full time work - typically attended from ages 16-18

[whinyvents]

The closest I could probably ever get to experiencing "gifted kid burnout" is being considered smart by special ed standards and feeling good about getting onto a level 1 BTEC course at a mainstream college, only to eventually realise that most people who do BTEC courses (which already tend to be viewed as inferior to A levels) go straight to level 3 and that starting at anything below that is often seen as dumb.

[criceofpain]

switch it up | park jongseong (reposted and edited)

featuring: enhypen's jake, heeseung, sunghoon, sunoo, and jungwon; stayc's yoon

synopsis: after you find your ex cheating with another guy, the quiet kid takes the opportunity to get closer to you. but the shocking part is, you never knew he could do a full 180 and be the most charming guy you've ever seen.

pairing: student!jay x student fem!reader

genre: smut, fluff, a tinge of angst (and humor lol)

word count: 7418

warnings: semi-public sex, unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it), slut-shaming, usage of pet names, vaginal penetration, alcohol consumption, gamer rage (especially heeseung lol), male masturbation, degradation, fellatio, minimal impact play, implied violence, two-timing, cheating, jakehoon are gay, jay has too much porn vids on his laptop, yoon has warfreak tendencies, too much tekken references, too much time skips

Being popular in school had its own perks.

If people were asked what they’d do if they became the most popular person in year two for twenty-four hours, you’d get a vast range of answers from all of them. Fame, beauty, authority, and money–the possibilities are endless for a household name in one of the most prestigious universities in Seoul. The thing is, though, downsides will always be inevitable.

Thursday’s a typical work day for the student council’s president–you. A ton of paper stacks were waiting to be scanned and submitted to the council adviser, but you couldn’t bring yourself to get up and actually work on them. The adviser’s office was two buildings away from your location, and God, did you dread walking. Worse, you had to do it every week and without the help of your vice president. Bothering to find him would be a waste of time, either.

The sudden ring of your phone disrupts your train of thought, making you look up to check whoever was trying to test your patience at this hour. Jakey ♡, your phone screen reads. You heave a relieved sigh; it’s been three days since your boyfriend last called and it was messing with your momentum. Even overthinking was a waste of time and you hated it.

“Hi, love.” you mumbled, voice laced with exhaustion. “I'm glad you finally called.”

“Love, can we cancel our date?” Jake asks from the other line, and your face immediately contorts to a disappointed scowl.

Strange. He’s usually not the type to postpone plans at the last minute because he knew you despised that type of feat. As the student council president, the last thing you'd want is for someone to waste your valuable time.

“Suddenly?” you deadpan as you put your pen down and slowly spin in the swivel chair you sat on. “We’ve got everything planned out and now you wanna cancel?”

Jake sighs. “Coach called us for training. He’s been lenient on me for the past week, I can't afford another absence.”

“Oh.” you utter, at loss for words. “Long day ahead, huh?”

It was what you least expected, anyways. You stay still in your seat, disappointment filling your chest. You start to feel uneasy—you knew you’d never stand a chance against his monster of a coach. What can I do? Jake was the team’s striker which gained him maximum importance. Without him, the team would basically be a chaotic bunch. 

“Sorry.” he mutters apologetically. “I didn't want this to happen, really.”

“I know, I know.” you grumble, picking your pen back up and fixing your attention back to the papers you were reviewing. “Can I come after training, though? We should at least eat, like, ramyeon, tteokbokki or something."

A few seconds of silence fills the other line before Jake replies, "God, that sounds—fuck. That's irresistible. I hope Coach lets me off ‘cause his diet plan is seriously killing me.”

“I sure hope he does,” you roll your eyes as the image of a conceited middle-aged man with his stomach overflowing his pants. “unless he wants a big ‘fuck you’ from me for tiring you out. You gotta rest, love.”

He chuckles, causing a grin to tug your lips. “I love you. I know you’re a busy woman and you’ve probably got a lot on your plate right now. I'll hang up now, hmm?”

Your reply gets cut off by the sudden drop of the call, and another sigh leaves your mouth. 

Popularity was so exhausting for you. However, not everyone suffers from the syndrome; take Park Jongseong–who goes by “Jay” in school–as an example. The lad has finally gotten a taste of rest after coding what felt like a thousand HTMLs, now nibbling on a cob of corn with his other hand glued to his keyboard.

Why had I never thought of playing Tekken as a way of escaping the hell of school and the sight of students’ thirst for crowd validation before? As he fervently taps the keys of his laptop, the corner of his lip tugs into a slight smirk. He continuously lands hits on a random Kazuya he was matched with, not letting them rest as he uses his trump card–Jin Kazama’s ten-hit combo.

The silence breaks as Jay’s hearty laughter booms in the computer club room. He sighed triumphantly, propping his head on his intertwined hands. 

"I gotta tell Heeseung hyung about this.” Jay snickers, grabbing his phone from beside his laptop and speed dialing the number “5”. After a few rings, his friend finally picks up. “Ay, hyung! I got good news for you.”

“Man, fuck you!” Heeseung, the student council’s vice president hisses from the other line, annoyance evident in his voice. Before the younger can ask about why he had such a tone, the older interrupts, “You’re never gonna let me live, are you?”

“Whoa, whoa, chill out, hyung.” Jay chuckles in confusion. “It’s not like I’m gonna use the ten-hit combo on you, is it? What’s the matter?”

Heeseung clicks his tongue and scoffs, “Don’t you see what’s happened or are you playing dumb right now, Jongseong? Fucking look at your screen.”

Jay, although confused, obliges anyway. He looks back at his laptop screen with the rematch menu on display. After a good few seconds, he spots the username of his opponent and immediately gasps, loud enough for his friend to hear. He then breaks into laughter, this time louder and more provoking as he hears the bantering on his ear.

“What—don’t tell me you had no idea—Jay!” the owner of the username heeba_inu_1015 yelled, followed by a frustrated shout.

“Whoops, should’ve gone easy on you, then.” Jay teases, shrugging his shoulders. “No, seriously. I had no idea. This is what school frustration makes me do.”

“Well, at least you’re not the student council’s vice president.”

Jay snorts in disbelief. “Come on, it’s not that hard–” he cuts himself off. “Oh, you’ve got a point, though.”

Jay didn’t necessarily live in the shadows; he just didn’t like being the center of attention. Being an eye candy is the last thing he wanted. Sure, he’s got what it takes to be popular–he’s a CEO's son, filthy rich, and on the honor roll. His friends say he’s got some sick visuals, too. Despite all these, he’d prefer to just blend in with the crowd and not stand out as a resident introvert (not to be confused with being a pick-me boy; Papa Park raised him with manners).

“Still, fuck you.” Heeseung lets out his third scoff of the day. A female voice rambles in the background, on the verge of screaming as the vice president grumbles in dismay. Jay assumes it was the school council’s president calling him out for slacking. “I gotta go, though. Godzilla’s on the run and she’s unstoppable–hey, wait!”

Beep. The call ends, and Jay's me time continues. A chuckle leaves his mouth. That was the president? She’s unhinged as hell.

“What’s the president like?” he mumbles, putting his headphones back on and getting ready to start a new game. “I’d like to meet her.”

*

“Lee Heeseung, I’m giving you ten seconds to explain to me why you’re on Tekken when you’re supposed to be on duty.”

If looks could kill, your vice president could’ve died a slow, painful death by now. You try your best to keep your calm composure in front of your right-hand man while trying to suppress your anger, but the urge to lash out on him is just getting stronger. Heeseung, feeling intimidated, could only look down on the ground as he hears a disappointed sigh from you.

Fortunately, the school council’s secretary, Yang Jungwon, has informed you of the vice president’s whereabouts. You made sure to leave your pending tasks untouched before storming out of the council office and to the stockroom, where he was apparently taking his sweet time being a heavy load.

“Look, I’ve just finished my last game, Y/N, alright?” Heeseung raises his hands in defeat.  “I’m done. I’ll go and help.”

“Oh, you are definitely gonna go help Jungwon in the council’s office because I’m out of here.” you snap, unplugging the Ethernet wire connected to his gaming laptop. “There are waivers waiting for you. Get your ass up.”

“Alright.” he mutters, head hung low as he switches off his laptop. “I’m sorry.”

Without another word, you turn your back on him and walk out of the suffocating stockroom. How does he even stand the heat in there? Your steps get quicker as much as the psychological warfare you were having with yourself is getting worse. People are probably looking at me right now and think, why the hell is her face so sour? They wouldn’t know. They’re not the overworked, unpaid, “popular” student council president with a freeloader of a vice president and a midfielder boyfriend who’s just as popular.

You’ve been zoned out for the entirety of your trip back to the council office, but the sight of a familiar shoe sticking from one of the corridor posts shakes you awake. Your eyebrows furrow, wondering what would someone with skate shoes be doing in that spot at this hour when it’s inter-school olympics season. You take another set of steps before seeing a man’s back view with the jersey number 5 on it, and the scene that unfolds in front of you shakes your whole world.

Your boyfriend and the school’s most famous figure skater, Park Sunghoon, were kissing.

*

It has been a week since you found out that Sim Jaeyun was cheating on you and is gay.

You remember being rooted in your spot as you saw them eating each other’s faces. Screaming at them would be a waste of time. You feared wasting time the most, and crying in front of someone came in second. Instead of doing what someone normally does in these situations–screaming and bawling their eyes out, you land a slap on each of their faces with a shit-eating grin on your face before running to the nearest comfort room to cry.

You wouldn’t mind your boyfriend coming out of the closet and ending your relationship in good terms, but the fact that he’d been flirting–and probably fucking–around with a guy behind your back infuriated you.

You didn’t know how it came to this—you crying your heart out inside the club office as Heeseung finally took over and finished the rest of your work due to you not being able to properly open your swollen eyes. Even moving around was a pain in the ass. Jungwon works from the sidelines as well, and both of them didn’t dare speak a word to you unless spoken to. They knew better than to mess with a girl who’s got cheated on.

“Cabining trip’s tomorrow. You still going, noona?” Jungwon asks, eyes glued to his laptop screen as he types the minutes of the meeting for the past week. “We need you over there, Pres.”

“Hmm.” you reply, not having the energy to speak out a proper word as you blew your nose on a paper towel. Of course I’ll be there. What am I, a ghoster?

As Jungwon bombards you with questions, your replies are short and reserved, along the lines of “yeah”, “uh-huh”, and the like. How were you supposed to show yourself without shame knowing that your ex wasn’t into you anymore?

“Heeseung.” you croak out, getting a short “huh” as a response. “I need your help with something.”

“What’s it about, miss ma'am?”

You cringe at the nickname, throwing the empty box of paper towels along his way. “If you use that nickname on me again, I swear.” you hiss.

“Damn, calm down, will you?” Heeseung chuckles, barely dodging the box that almost hit his face. “What is it?”

You saunter your way towards the table where the two lads worked. propping your hands on the desk, You then look over at Jungwon who has his whole attention on his laptop, not bothering to pop into the conversation or listen to whatever you were about to say.

“You’re best friends with the adviser, right?” you whisper to Heeseung, to which he nods. “And I’m not. Wow. What am I president for, then?

“Touche.” he shrugs. “What about him?”

“This could be fucked up but,” you lean in to whisper on his ear. “Can you beg him to sneak drinks for the adults?”

Your eyes screw shut in embarrassment, in disbelief of the words that just came out of your mouth. You’re better than this, Y/N. 

“Yes.” Heeseung lets out a dramatic gasp, nodding vigorously at your idea. “You had me at ‘drinks’, Y/N, come on. Spill!”

“Noona, you’re kidding, right? Why would you sneak drinks in–”

“Quiet, kid.” you cut Jungwon off. “I’ve got a breakup to get over. Let the adults have this.”

With that, Heeseung let out a dramatic gasp, nodding vigorously at your idea.

*

The day of the cabining trip has come, and it wasn’t the most enjoyable day for the student council so far. While the other kids were having the time of their lives, talking with their friends and not worrying about keeping the lines straight and the cabins quiet, you struggled to keep the students in order as you tapped the backs of those who made a commotion, or worse, those who made out in broad daylight.

To your relief, Heeseung was in charge of bag inspection, which meant drinks were allowed (unless one was not of legal age, of course). The students will just have to hide it from the other supervisors. Jungwon, along with the student council’s treasurer, Sunoo, were on room assignment duty, making sure to separate the guys and girls from each other. Getting pregnant on a school trip is the last thing anyone would want.

Meanwhile, Jay stands quietly as the line advances. He wasn’t really supposed to be going on this trip if it weren’t for his father insisting him to do so. Luckily, with Heeseung’s permission, he was allowed to bring his gaming laptop without you knowing. The vice president just hopes he wouldn’t get pulled by the ear again.

“God, I hope I get the top bunk.” Jay mutters, putting his bag on the desk for inspection.

“Gotta go fast, then.” Heeseung replied, probing the contents of his friend’s bag. He taps Jay’s shoulders after he’s done. “Man, I hope we’re roommates.”

“Heeseung, how's the inspection going?” you bellow over the crowd of students, craning your head to look for him.

As you and Heeseung scream at each other over the loud sounds in the cabins, Jay couldn’t help but steal glances at you. He did pass by you sometimes, but he hasn't really gotten the chance to step up and talk to you. What a waste. After news has spread that you got cheated on, he could imagine himself tackling you into a hug and giving you small forehead kisses in hopes to ease your pain. He had set his eyes on you ever since you were appointed as president, and he found you so pretty ever since. He just secretly hoped that Jake wouldn’t go begging for you to come back, or else he’d lose his mind.

His daydreaming stops when he bumped shoulders with someone whom he least expected–you. The two of you momentarily met each other’s eyes, and Jay swore he’d melt then and there if it weren’t for you turning away almost immediately. On the other hand, you wonder why he’s been stuck on his spot for a good minute, so you approach him cautiously.

“Uh, are you lost, perhaps?” you wave a hand in front of Jay’s face. “You seem to be spacing out, Jay.”

She knows me. Oh, my God, she just acknowledged me. His heart somersaults in his chest at the mention of his name. It rolled off of your mouth perfectly. 

It takes him five seconds to answer, “I’m good, thank you.”

You smile briefly at him, and he flashes one back. He walks silently, trying to suppress a shout from coming out of his mouth. You were always pretty to him, and that smile was the cherry on top. 

The first day of the retreat wasn’t really hectic, except for the fact that all of the students have to run ten laps all around the yard before they can even have a taste of breakfast. Despite the supervisors lurking around the whole site, you’ve taken brave sips on your bottle of soju, disguised as drinking water. You couldn’t help but see Jake and his new lover every time you had to lead a segment and meet face to face with everyone, and your chest would always clench. How the fuck is he so happy without me? If it weren’t for the other officers beside you, you would’ve wrestled Sunghoon without a doubt.

The second and third days would probably be the most boring of them all, but not for Jay.

His laptop keeps him company as he silently jerks off to porn videos, trying his best to stifle a groan to not wake up whoever was occupying the top bunk. He would’ve brought a fleshlight, too, but he figured it’d be too much for a school retreat. So he resorts to another option–a sock. 

He finishes without suspicion, and gets knocked out to sleep right after.

On the other side of the site, you sit awake in your bunk, finishing the last of the soju you’ve successfully hidden for days. You sigh, not feeling any signs of drowsiness as you stare in spaces. I should've seen this coming. You wanted to slap yourself for being so clueless. Hasn’t it come to you that Jake might be using soccer training as an excuse to meet up with Sunghoon instead of you?

“Y/N, you dumb bitch.” you spit out, grabbing your phone to dial Heeseung’s number.

After a few rings, he picks up. “What the fuck, Y/N, it’s 3 in the morning.” the lad grumbled as he tossed and turned in his bed. “You better give me a good reason for calling at this hour.”

“You got a laptop with you?” you ask. What a stupid question. “It's urgent business.”

“No, I don't, dummy.” he snaps, and his sudden change of tone takes you aback. “I thought you knew we can only bring phones.”

You sigh. Out of all times your council adviser demanded an accomplishment report from you, why now? At that moment, you even wished to switch bodies with Heeseung; he was the adviser’s best friend and not you. Despite you telling your superior that you haven’t brought your laptop, he didn't budge, even bringing up the drink-sneaking incident.

To say you were doomed would be an understatement.

“Why does your best friend put me in situations like this?” you whine, pulling your hair in frustration. “He knows I don't have my laptop at the moment! Tell me, does he have something against me? ‘Cause he better settle things with me. Damn it. Do you get me? Sometimes I just want to walk out on all of you because I’ve got the whole council on my back! i’m a human who has limits, too, for fuck’s sake! When do I quit? I can quit anytime and turn my back on this responsibility. You take over once this term ends–”

“Shut up. I'm at your door.”

You hitch a breath, hang up and climb out of your bunk. You silently open the door to see your vice president holding an open laptop in his hand, phone on the other. The lad passes the device on to you, praying that his friend doesn’t notice his laptop out of place when he wakes up.

“Hey, that ain’t mine, though. Be careful with that.” he says, and you scowl in suspicion.

“Thanks,” you smile slightly. “Though I thought I told you not to bring gadgets in the cabin–”

“Don’t ask, just…” he waves his hands frantically, avoiding the question. “I’ll get going.”

“Okay…?” your voice trails off, and you shoo Heeseung away. “You’re a lifesaver, by the way.”

Heeseung nods, jogging his way out as you close your cabin door. You didn’t bother to wonder whose laptop this was; the only thing in your mind was the report you had to finish.

In silence, you immediately get to work. With sips of water from time to time, you struggle to keep yourself awake as you type the needed information, word by word, making sure that it would be slap-worthy on your adviser’s face.

After two hours of staring and typing, you feel your eyes giving out and fingers straining as you move the document file to your flash drive, finally finishing your work.

“This motherfucker better not scold me tomorrow.” you mutter through clenched jaws, carefully ejecting the drive from God-knows-whose laptop. 

With slow hands, you close all of the windows you have used, even the tabs, making it look untouched as this was neither your laptop, nor Heeseung's. Whose is this, then? There wasn't a wallpaper in it, just the default one, and that made guessing a waste of time. Nonetheless, you make a mental note to thank the owner first thing in the morning for saving your desperate ass in such a critical situation. 

Before you can shut down the device, a particular folder on the desktop screen catches your attention, especially its name,

“Things I want to do to Y/N”

You squint in surprise, mouse cursor hovering over the folder. As much as you wanted to pry it open, you wanted to respect the privacy of the owner of the laptop, whoever they were. But this has my name on it. You shake your head, preparing for the worst to happen as you double-click on the folder. What you see next shocks you utterly, making your heartbeat rise as you check the name of the owner.

The laptop belongs to a Park Jongseong, with the folder containing porn videos.

In astonishment, you close the laptop with a loud thud, not bothering to shut it down properly or close the porn folder before you do. A series of knocks makes you jump and hit your head on the top bunk.

“Go to sleep, Y/N!” your bunkmate from the top grumbles.

What the fuck is going on? You sigh, wrapping yourself in a cocoon with your blanket.

*

It's the last day of the retreat, which means free time for all the students until the morning comes with no schedules to stick to. However, you were far from relaxed as last night’s events haven't left your mind until now. You didn’t know what to feel knowing that the quiet kid has been fantasizing about you, and in secret. Do you get mad, grossed out or flattered? Neither of them felt right and it messed up with your head so much. Worrying about it would be a waste of time.

Heeseung couldn’t help but notice you staring at Jay, who played basketball by himself from afar. You spaced out often, too, and it was so not like you to do so. Apparently, your efforts on acting normal outside while being a chaotic mess inside fail as you finally draw out a frustrated groan.

“Something wrong?” Heeseung asks. “You're zoned out pretty bad.”

“That report sucked the life out of me.” you reply monotonously, standing up from your seat, eyes not leaving Jay. “I'll meet you at the bonfire. I just need sleep.”

“Fine. I'll take over for you.”

You nod, trudging to your cabin in hopes to get some rest. However, once your body dips down the mattress, images of Jay hovering over you appear as you close your eyes. Shaking it off, you push a pillow against your face, muffling out a scream of annoyance.

On the other hand, Jay has been stealing glances from you as well, completely unaware of you seeing the deepest, darkest secrets he's kept hidden in his laptop.

After what felt like days of slumber, you were awakened by the noise of students outside of the cabins. hollers and shouts fill your ears as you get yourself out of bed. As much as you hated being woken up in such a manner, you were happy to be able to get a wink of sleep.

“Evening, Y/N.”

You look up from the ground, seeing the person whom you unfortunately wanted to avoid the most. Jay wore a small smile on his face, which was seen clearer without his glasses. Contrary to his usual hoodie-slacks combo, he wore a shirt that snugly fit him, in which you can definitely see the slight curvature of his chest. His toned arms were on full display, too, and you couldn’t help but wonder how they’d flex under your touch. His thighs looked just as attractive, given the fact that he wore cargo shorts.

“Good… evening, Jay.” you chuckle awkwardly. “What's the matter? Can I help you?” Why does he look so different? He even wore his hair differently.

“Nothing much.” he replies sheepishly. “Just, uh, wanted to have a casual talk with the president.” God, that bedhead. Why does it make her more fuckable? He steals glances at the skimpy top that hugged your body, accentuating your curves and your plump breasts.

“Really?” you grin in amusement, not expecting his statement. Just say you wanna fuck and go. “That's strange. No one comes up to me unless it’s about school.”

“That'd be an honor.” he comments, gaze not shifting away from you.“Would having small talk with me waste your time?”

You hesitantly shake your head, and he smiles. Fuck, that smile. Where is this going to get me now?

The two of you proceed to have a conversation outside the cabin, at the same time, thinking of lewd thoughts that were probably too inappropriate, given the setting. From time to time, your hands would brush each other’s, increasing the tension between the two of you.

Despite this, Jay would get distracted, finding your giggles so adorable, especially knowing that he was the reason behind them. You admired how Jay speaks, and how cautious he was when you ranted about your ex. He just hoped no one would call you out and separate the both of you.

Or so he thought.

The whistle trills fills your ears as rain falls angrily on your skin. Whines and grumbles were heard as the bonfire session was declared canceled by Sunoo and Jungwon. Students start sprinting back to their cabins as the rain pours, including the supervisors. No more confession time and roasted marshmallows, I guess.

You look over to see your cabin that was several meters from where you and Jay stood, attempting to make a run for it. However, Jay gets a hold of your wrist before you can take your first step.

“Stay.” his voice is deep and alluring, and you could feel your body slightly shiver.

“You sure?” you raise your brows anyway, not bothering to pull away from his grip. “What if someone sees us drenched in here? Are you willing to vouch for me?”

“You're the president. I'm sure no one would budge.”

You don't protest. Instead, you take the opportunity to ask him about the folder in his laptop, which, by the way, he still assumes was untouched. He, meanwhile, couldn’t take his eyes off of the top that clung to your skin, against your stomach. You pretty much were doing the same as you eyed his abs through his shirt.

After what felt like ten minutes of standing under the rain, both of you were drenched as you walked into an empty cabin for protection that no one used due to faulty electricity. You sit side by side in a single bed, neither of you having the guts to start another conversation.

Maybe it was time for you to spill your secrets.

“I like you.”

“Fuck me.”

The two of you look at each other after speaking at the same time. Your remark especially shocks Jay, so does the way you weren’t fazed with his confession just now. A hand instinctively goes up to cup your mouth. Shit, was I not subtle enough? You fake a hearty chuckle (which was actually a nervous one) as you see his perplexed expression.

“You don’t wanna fuck me?” you mutter, confidence leaving your system as his expression remains unchanged.

“No–I mean, yes.” he immediately replies, afraid that you might take it as him rejecting you. “Of course, I do.”

“Do it, then.”

You tower over his sitting figure, propping your hands on his chest. Jay couldn’t help but close his eyes, asking himself whether this was a dream or not. Your touch trails up to his neck, your fingertips tracing his collarbones. You catch his lips into a sloppy kiss, which he returns fervently as he slips his tongue on your mouth. The cold sensation brought by the raindrops on your skin is now gone as he pulls you into his lap and wraps your legs around his waist. For a minute, he savors your lips as his hands find their way to the hem of your top, feeling a little hesitant.

He pulls off, staring into your eyes as he searches for a sign of fear in your face. “Should I?”

Without a word, you nod, guiding his hands into taking off your top. His eyes roam along your torso, your breasts wanting to be freed from their restraints as they were practically coming out of your tight bra. His cock twitches and slightly hardens at the sight.

“Jay…” you whine, digging your ass against his hardness. A groan leaves his mouth. “I want you to take over.”

With that, he flips the two of you over, with you beneath him. He then pins your hands above your head, asserting his dominance. You hitch a breath as you feel his clothed cock rub against your crotch, still not believing his change in character.

“Is this really the quiet kid I knew?” you tease, making Jay yank your bottoms down, leaving you in your bra. He then lands a stinging spank on your ass cheek, squeezing the soft flesh after.

“Shush, Y/N, unless you want me to leave you hanging.”

Damn, even his voice can make me cum at this point. you feel him spreading your legs slowly, dipping a finger on your damp pussy as he kisses your inner thighs. You reach for his hair and stroke it gently as his lips get closer to where you needed him the most, your other hand squeezing your breast.

he licked a warm strip along your clit, eliciting a whimper from you. He held you by the knees to keep you from pressing your thighs together as he ate you out. his moans against your sex provided vibrations that made your toes curl, and moans louder.

“So miss president loves being eaten out, huh?” Jay chuckles, his ego growing as you reply to him with a broken mewl, pushing two of his fingers inside you. “Such a needy slut.”

He proceeds with his ministrations as he leaves marks on your thigh, torso, then up to your breasts, avoiding your neck to not cause suspicion. The way your walls tightened around his fingers made his cock harden even more. even until now, you couldn’t believe the situation you were in–being fucked by the resident introvert who was secretly a freak in bed.

Your grip on his hair tightens as you feel your high nearing. “Jay, I'm cumming!” you cry out desperately.

Hearing that, Jay pulls his fingers out of you, and licks them with a smirk on his lips. “You taste so sweet… however, I can’t just have you cumming somewhere that’s not on my cock, can I?”

He takes off his drenched top, and the rest of his clothes follow, freeing his erect cock from its confines. He drags his tip against your clit, teasing your entrance and holding your hips tight to stop you from pushing him in.

“Jay, please…” you beg, voice laced with frustration. “I want to make you feel good.”

“Is that so?” Jay snickers, slapping your thigh. “Little miss slutty president wants to suck me off?”

“Mm-mm.” you nod, eyeing his cock and the pre-cum that leaked from his tip. “fuck my mouth, just like how you want it.”

Just like how I want it? he stops in his tracks as he sees you grinning from beneath him. It was finally time for you to confess.

“Sir,” you whined, the pet name causing Jay to let out an audible groan. “I gotta tell you something.”

You sit up and bend over in front of him, his cock on your face and your ass up. He lets out a small gasp as your tongue teases his tip. The way you made eye contact with him didn’t help him, either. He bunches your hair up in a ponytail, wrapping it all around his knuckles as you sucked him like a popsicle.

“Tell me, baby,” he sighs, looking down at you in amusement.

“I needed a laptop for my report.” you lick him from base to tip. “And Heeseung, the vice president, borrowed yours for me.”

The way your tongue moves all over him sends shivers all over his body, and he makes the impulsive decision to rub his cock all over your face. “Baby saw my porn stash, didn’t she?” he chuckles, pushing himself deeper in your throat. You try to stop yourself from gagging as he fucks your mouth. “Fuck, yes. Those were all meant for you. All the things I wanna do to that body.”

You moan against his cock, reaching for your clit to rub yourself. you expected a different reaction from him, but by the looks of it, the Jay you passed by along the corridors was now gone. In front of you is a different person, and you actually loved it. You loved this new side of him.

“This is one of them.” Jay adds. “Fucking your mouth.”

You feel your head being guided by his hands as he nears his orgasm, thrusting faster inside your mouth. you whimper as his tip hits your throat, waiting for his warm release to fill your mouth.

However, he pulls out again, much to your dismay. He gets out of the bed and walks to the other side where he can take you from behind. Coincidentally, there stood a mirror in front of you, and you could clearly see his naked body as you were on your hands and knees. Fuck, I bet he works out a lot. He spanks your ass cheeks again, making you yelp.

“God, you’re so fucking hot, miss president.” Jay says under his breath, lining his tip on your cunt and getting ready to push himself inside of you. “I don’t have a condom with me, though.”

“I'm on the pill.” you reply. You realized you haven’t gotten rid of your habit of taking birth control pills even though you didn’t have sex as much anymore, especially now that you’re not with Jake anymore. “I have a favor to ask you.”

“Which is?”

You heave a deep sigh before speaking.  I'll have to do this once and for all. “Help me forget about Jake.”

Without a word, he pushes himself slowly inside you. A gasp leaves your mouth at how big and girthy he was as he stretched your walls. It took you a while to adjust to his size, but after he has sunken his whole length in you, he starts moving.

I'll help you forget about Jake, sweetheart. “My love… tell me.” he drags a fingertip along your spine, rocking his hips at a steady pace. “Who's making you feel good right now?”

“You, Jay.” you reply, almost sounding like a scream as you do. “Your cock feels so good inside me.”

“Fuck, yeah, I am.” jay snickers, pulling you by the hair and making you look at your fucked-out reflection in the mirror. “Look at you. Such a cock-hungry bitch.”

God, you hated being degraded, but why did Jay's words turn you on?

Jay's pace gradually goes faster as he feels you tightening around him, his muscles flexing as his skin slaps against yours.

“That fucking soccer boy can never fuck you as good as I do, right?”

“Ah, yes!” you whimper as his finger reaches your clit.

He groans. “Repeat after me, darling. Cheaters.”

“Cheaters–ah!” you squeal as Jay spanks your ass again.

“Ain’t.” Jay seethed.

“Ain't…” you draw out a whine as he holds you by the waist.

“Shit.” he pulls you to sit up, slapping your breasts.

“Shit! Oh, that feels good.” you bury your head in the bed.

“See? That fucker doesn’t deserve you.” he whispered against your neck, leaving a dark mark by sucking on it. “He can go get some dick by himself ‘cause from now on, you’re mine.”

As his hands make their way back to your breasts, you feel like putty under Jay's touch. You couldn’t help but agree to his every word as if he’s put you in a state of hypnosis. Your words are incomprehensible as he snaps his hips harshly against yours, the feeling of his cock inside you clouding your vision and thoughts.

“I said you’re mine, little slut.”

“I'm yours.” you breathe out.

Once he has been given the go signal, he slows down for a bit and turns your head so you can see each other’s gazes. “If you'd let me take care of you, I'd do it wholeheartedly.” he said, kissing your knuckles lovingly. “I don't care how slow you want the process to be, Y/N. Just give me a chance.”

You don’t say a word. Instead, you lock his lips in a loving kiss. He holds onto your waist for dear life as your hips move in sync, the heated moment turning into a passionate, affectionate one.

“You close?” Jay mumbles against your lips, and you nod.

You stay still in that position as Jay picks up his pace, letting you feel his warmth as he brings you to your high.

Your climax crashes like waves, and it seems like momentarily taking the life out of you. Jay follows suit, his seed spilling inside of you.

After a good minute, he pulls out of you, lays you down on the mattress and hovers above you. you cup his cheeks and give him a peck on the forehead, the introvert in him slowly coming back as he blushes at your action.

“Let me clean you up.” Jay says with a slight pout, the dominant in him finally out of the picture as he spoke.

“Can we do that later?” you reply, planting a kiss on his nose. “Let me hold you for a while.”

He doesn’t oblige. Rather, he picks up his drenched shorts from the floor, pulling a small handkerchief from its pocket. As he proceeds cleaning you up, you stare at him fondly. Were you in love? Not yet. Would you give him a shot? Definitely. The way he just switched up on you would need some processing time, though. It was one heck of a moment.

The night ends with Jay sending you off to your cabin, kissing you good night as he promises to meet you in school after the weekend.

*

You slowly stroll along the corridors of the art department building, looking for Jay's room as you go. You have been walking for thirty minutes straight, but without an ounce of exhaustion in your body although it was a Thursday–a work day for the student council president. To say that you were excited to meet him would be an understatement.

It’s been a week since the last day of the cabin trip and your first sexual encounter with someone who wasn’t Jake. You’ve been feeling a lot better, and it made Heeseung and Jungwon wonder how you’ve done it so fast. Jay’s been sending you food over the weekend and it stunned you how well he cooks. He’s been dropping over to the student council adviser’s office from time to time, too, just to watch you work.

You feel your feet starting to hurt, but you keep on walking anyway. I need to see my Jay after a long dayyyyy.

“There she is!” a voice starts shouting, causing you to stop on your tracks. “The prim and proper student council president.”

You squint your eyes at the person who turned out to be Sim Jayoon, Jake's cousin. She eyes you with a scowl as if scrutinizing you, and retches as if she was grossed out. You knew exactly what she came at you for–to act as a proxy for her wimpy cousin who hasn’t shown his face in the soccer team ever since. She has the reputation of being the worst pick-me in all of tenth grade, and that makes this encounter worse.

“You rang, Yoon?” you reply, faking a cheerful tone as you try your best not to pounce at the poor girl. “Do you need help with something?”

“Weren’t you crying over Jake oppa just last week?” Yoon spits out, towering over you to assert dominance. “Now you’re fucking with another guy? Seriously, sunbaenim, how much of a slut can you be?”

Does she expect me to cry and beg her to keep my dirty little secret? You snort. “Babe, your Jake oppa two-timed me with Park Sunghoon while I was on duty. That makes your cousin the slut here, doesn’t it?”

“And I did what I could do best–moving on.” you add, pissing Yoon off even more. Her face reddens in anger, and you taunt her, patting her head.  “Aww, look at you. Aren’t you such a good guard dog for not admitting that your cousin made mistakes?” 

“Shut up!” she yells defensively, stepping away from you. “You’re the president and you’re supposed to be the role model, right? You should step down if you tolerate double-dipping! bitch!”

With that, Yoon raises a hand to land a slap on your face, and you grimace, expecting the sting to land on your cheek. However, three seconds in and nothing hits you.

Turns out, a hand blocked Yoon’s arm and stopped her from slapping you. You look over your shoulder to see Jay with his usual meh expression plastered on his face. He raises his brows at Yoon, evidently annoyed by her words.

“At least she’s getting better sex than your cousin does.” he quips, throwing Yoon’s wrist to the ground.

You gasp at Jay’s choice of words. “Jay! Language!”

“What? It's the truth.” he replies, holding up a cube in his hand which happened to be a mini-recorder. “You want me to call your parents or something?”

In defeat, Yoon screams, stomping her way out of the corridors. You hear a deep chuckle from Jay behind you, and you instinctively land a slap on his chest. “You didn’t just say that in front of a fifteen-year old kid.”

“What was I supposed to do? She’s just called you slut and a bitch.” Jay shrugged, and you could only shake your head at him. He leans closer to your ear and whispers, “You’re my bitch, though.”

You roll your eyes, unable to protest  “Jay, as much as I appreciate the degradation–”

“Meet  me after your last period. I promise I won’t ditch you.” he grins, giving your lips a brief peck. “I’m off to the e-sports club office and nope, Heeseung hyung won’t be playing with me this time.”

“Thanks for the assurance..?” you say hesitantly, followed by a chuckle. He’s back at it again with the random updates. “Show them what you got, gamer boy.”

He pecks your lips again, and starts walking away with his back facing you. You could only look at him in awe as he leisurely walked the corridor with his headphones on and probably a One Ok Rock song blasting from them. He was your definition of comfort, and the only one who could convince you that wasting time wasn’t a bad thing after all.

“Love ya!” he bellows suddenly, making you yelp. Now’s not the time to say it back yet. You blow him a kiss and he makes a run for the stairs. Of course, you loved him, too.

And the other sides of him, of course.

a/n: this fic is especially dedicated to my girlies nics (@ddeonuism) and aria (@jaylaxies) bc apparently they love this fic so much so OFC i had to retrieve it and free it from the dungeon! this is for all my jay hoes 🥳 one of the fics that got me started in enhablr AND my first ever jay fic. i tweaked this a lil bit just to make jay hotter and sweeter bc ik that's what y'all want right 🙄 /lh enjoy lovelies!

NSFW TAGLIST [OPEN]: @thots4hee @jaylaxies @ddeonuism @jojayke @vernonluvs-archived @puphee @hee-pster @forjongseong @jaeyunsz @muffinminnie @shu-ramyeonz @poutyjaeyun @fairy-junseong @duolingofanaccount @jkefelx @taetaemylovie @heetro @yizhoutv @lavhikaru @kaislinging-slasher01 @cha0thicpisces @en-archv @simplewonderland @exactlygreatcoffee @lhseth @aerinaga @xwonniex @jyshdoll @iiousim (send an ask or a dm to be added!)

© criceofpain on tumblr, 2020

[cheeriecherrymain]

Incorrigible Flirts And Besweatered Men [Chapter 5]

Pairing: TA!Viktor x fem!Reader Rating: T Warnings: Descriptions of anxiety and stress, i wrote this without my adhd meds so, good luck you lot :S Proofread: no beta we die like men Chapter Summary: You officially start your career as a musician, and it’s nothing like you thought it would be; thankfully Viktor is kind, and does what he can to care for you, even though you feel like you don’t really deserve it.

On Monday, you finally find the energy to send an email back to the studio; apologizing for the delay and explaining that you’re a full time student. You thank them for the opportunity, and agree to set up a time to meet - whenever they’re available, of course, and you’ll do your best to work your schedule around it.

The professionalism and anxiety pretty much destroys your mood afterwards. You’re barely able to pay attention in class that day, too full of nervous energy to absorb the lecture.

Thankfully, Viktor texts you later and offers to send you a recording of the lesson.

—

On Tuesday, you’re able to recover a little bit. The only class you have that day is in the afternoon, and you’re thrilled to be able to sleep in for once; not as late as you’d like to, but waking at ten was still better than waking at seven.

You run into Viktor after your class, and the two of you end up grabbing coffee while he’s on his break. You talk for a little while, telling him about the meeting you had coming up on thursday and expressing your worries about everything.

He, as usual, encourages your skill and capability.

But the mood shifts when a couple of your classmates walk into the small cafe, and find seats not far from you. Viktor doesn’t seem to notice them - or if he does, he pays them no mind - and continues telling you about one of the most recent papers he’s read.

You, however, are unable to ignore the dirty looks being shot your way.

—

On Wednesday, you take the first test of the semester. There are seven of them in total - according to the syllabus you’d been given at the start of the course - worth twenty percent of your grade, and not including your final exam. 

Part of you is grateful that most of your grade relies on your ability to absorb information; as opposed to having to write, source, and properly format a multitude of academic papers. Sitting for hours while scouring through books and internet pages wasn’t your favourite way of learning, and more often than not it had you getting sucked down wikipedia rabbit holes that had nothing to do with the subject you were supposed to be researching.

Though you also kind of miss being able to add things to your bank of useless knowledge.

In any case, the test goes well, and you’re pleased with your performance. It had been challenging enough that you really had to think and apply what you’d learned in class, but still straightforward in its wording, and not purposefully convoluted as a means of confusing you.

—

On Thursday, you have your meeting at the studio.

You get lunch with Viktor beforehand, going over the prior days’ test and talking about which concepts you fully understood, and which ones you maybe had a little more difficulty with. He seemed to be fairly confident in your grasp of the course so far, going as far as revealing that you were among the top three students in the class.

“I would not be surprised if you get an invite to one of the winter galas,” Viktor had admitted, much to your surprise.

“I thought those were only for the faculty and university sponsors?”

“Typically, they are,” he’d explained, going on to tell you about the singular event at the end of the year where certain students could be invited to attend and talk about their experiences with the school.

“So it’s basically to get more funding?” you’d asked, and Viktor had nodded with a smile.

You were thankful that he’d been able to take the time to sit with you for a little while before your meeting, his presence temporarily mitigating your ever-present anxiety. You didn’t tell him that, but you weren’t sure you needed to; his hand on your shoulder and a gentle encouragement as you departed suggested he already knew how stressed you were.

Now, you’re waiting in a small lobby. Waiting to be called back into an office to discuss the next five years of your life. You poke idly at your phone, playing some silly, repetitive game that didn’t require any skill or thought, but it had cute cartoon cats in it, so it automatically held your interest.

Kind of.

It keeps you entertained for all of thirty seconds, before your thoughts start wandering. What would it be like to work with an actual studio? Would you have to write your own music, or would you have help? Thus far in your life, you’d gotten on by mostly playing covers - some with lyrics, some not; you’d only ever written a couple pieces, and none of them had words. God, how were you going to do this? You didn’t know how to write! You were a physicist in training, not a songwriter-

You ball your hands into fists, so tightly that your knuckles turn white and your nails bite into your palms, and you force yourself to take a deep breath. Wait a couple seconds, breathe out, says Viktor’s voice, in your mind. Again. That’s it, good girl.

You try not to think about how much the sound of his voice flusters you, instead focusing on the little encouragements and praises he’d give you: kind words, a pat on the shoulder. Maybe even his hand wrapped around yours, thumb smoothing over your skin, like he had done the weekend prior.

Your anxiety eventually recedes, though the fluttering in your chest remains. At least the palpitations aren’t from fear, you think, and slouch back in your chair.

—

Four hours later, you meander through the doorway of your home, dragging your feet and overwhelmed with exhaustion. The toe of your boot catches on the lip of the entrance, causing you to topple forwards. You barely manage to catch yourself on the way down, twisting so most of your weight lands on your knee instead of your face; and you still end up sprawled out on the floor surrounded by loose books, but at least you don’t have a broken nose.

You lay there in the front hallway for a few minutes, unmoving and unmotivated to get up. Even when the cold air starts coming in through the screen door, you remain frozen.

Disappearing into the woods sounded like a really good option.

You know that you’re just being dramatic, and that nothing particularly terrible had happened, but that’s not really the point. The point is that you know you’re going to be stressed in the coming weeks, and you’re not looking forward to it.

You’d gotten through your appointment without much issue - you’d talked through the contract with your new boss, and been honest with him about the fact that you were a full time student. You’d met your mentor, a couple of other people you’d be working with at some point, and gone over what would be expected of you should you sign with the studio.

Everything had been thorough and friendly, and it had been written into your terms that your schedule would be modified to fit your student lifestyle.

In theory, there was no reason to be anxious.

Yet here you were.

On the floor.

Seriously considering running into the woods to become a mushroom.

It would be easier than writing an entire album in six months, you think, finally gaining the willpower to push yourself up into a sitting position. You gather up the books strewn around you, carefully sorting them into little piles before sliding them back into the bags you’d carried them in. 

While the meeting had gone well, and everyone you’d been introduced to had been kind and understanding, you’d still been…criticized, to some extent. Or rather, you’d been told that at least two thirds of your first album needed pieces with lyrics.

“Your instrumentals are fantastic,” your new boss had said, pairing a couple more praises as you went through the CD you’d sent in weeks ago. Then, he skips ahead to one of your more impressive covers. “Your voice, though? That’s a gift not many people have.”

He’d been somewhat disappointed when you’d admitted that you’d never actually written lyrics before, and even moreso when you and your mentor had tried to come up with something on the spot.

It was obvious that they were looking for well-rounded musicians - not necessarily traditionally educated, but with at least some kind of natural talent that could be built upon. And you were certainly what they were looking for in most areas: you just…didn’t have a way with words. You couldn’t take your feelings and turn them into sung poetry.

Which was apparently a detriment only to you.

You’d left the studio with a modified contract - instead of five years, you were cut down to six months. If you could produce a worthwhile album in that amount of time, then the longer deal would be reextended and you’d officially become one of their artists.

And if not?

You didn’t want to think about that.

Your mentor had been kind enough to catch you on the way out of the studio, offering you a list of resources that you could look into to start learning how to write lyrics, as well as a few words of encouragement. You had thanked him, and exchanged numbers in case you had any questions, and he’d disappeared back into the building.

You’d stopped at a couple of bookstores on the way home, picking up as many of the recommended books as you could afford, and…well, now you were on the floor in your front hallway.

One of your cats chirps at your side, pressing up against you and knocking her head on your arm.

“You have no idea what kind of nonsense the world is,” you tell her, trailing your hand over her fur. She - as expected - says nothing, and begins to purr.

—

Your life gets a hell of a lot more hectic after that.

Every moment you’re not studying for class, you’re studying what it takes to write a decent song. Beats and syllables, word shapes and styles that are pleasing to the ear, how to breathe properly, what to avoid; it’s maddening, and not in a good way.

You knew that it would take longer than a week to grasp concepts that were entirely new to you - it had been years since you’d studied a subject that you didn’t already have some base knowledge of - but that didn’t do much to lessen the frustration you feel each time you try to write something, only to scribble it out minutes later because it sounded wrong.

You’d hardly had enough time to keep up with your classes before, but now?

Now you can hardly pay attention.

You’re tired, your sleep schedule is a mess, you’re stressed. Each time you walk into the lecture hall, you feel like the entire room is staring at you with malice, and yet you can’t find the ability to care, because all of your energy is being put towards spongeing up information.

You feel like you’re learning so little about music, that you even start bringing your books to class: you figure you know enough about physics to get by for a couple of days, a fact which proves true when you’re called upon to participate in some discussion taking place around you.

You can tell that Heimerdinger doesn’t quite believe you when you say that you’re ‘just distracted by writing everything down’, but he doesn’t press you on the matter, which you’re grateful for.

Viktor, on the other hand, is less gracious.

He wanders up to your seat once the lecture is finished, and finds a spot beside you. He doesn’t say anything while you pack up your things, but you can feel his gaze boring into you - you worry you’ll find disappointment if you look at him.

“Is there something on my face?” you ask, keeping your tone lighthearted. Viktor sighs.

“Are you alright?” he wonders quietly, making guilt well up in your stomach.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” you reply, but you know your resolve is slipping: and Viktor’s hand on your shoulder is the last straw.

“You’ve just started a very demanding job, and you’re still in class full-time,” he says, and then taps a finger against the cover of the book you’d been reading out of. “That, and I don’t think poetry is part of the curriculum.”

You cease gathering your things up, and slouch back in defeat. “I don’t know what I was thinking,” you mumble, “I’m in way over my head. I thought I knew so much about music, but now I- I’m learning entirely new concepts, and I have no idea how to apply them!”

Viktor quietly slides the thin textbook towards himself, glancing over the cover and opening it to take a look at the table of contents.

“I’m sure you didn’t always understand physics, either. Learning takes time, Y/N.”

“I know that,” you cry, “but I don’t have time! I have to make an entire album in six months! Less than that, really, because I’m spending so much time studying and not enough time actually writing, and a good chunk of the time I have is going to be spent recording so the writing needs to be done by then, and-”

A pair of warm hands cupping your jaw draws you out of your anxiety spiral.

“Darling, breathe.”

His thumbs stroke over your cheeks, giving you something to focus on while he helps you monitor your air intake: you’re amazed you don’t start crying, with how tenderly he cares for you.

It takes a couple of minutes, but finally, you sigh.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

Viktor’s hands drop from your face, to your shoulders.

“We are going to head to the library, to go over what you missed in class today.”

“But-”

“No buts. We’re going to go over the entire curriculum, and we’re going to see which parts you need to study, and which parts you already understand. Then, we’re going to make a schedule around that.”

You cast your gaze away from him, anxiety beginning to claw its way back into your thoughts. “I’m not going to be able to change your mind, am I?” you ask, though you already know the answer.

“No,” he says, with every ounce of warmth and kindness he possesses. “But I could perhaps be convinced to stop for a snack on the way there, should you desire one.”

You perk up slightly. “But the library doesn’t allow food.”

Viktor smiles then, giving your shoulders a reassuring squeeze. “We can sit elsewhere while we eat,” he promises. “And maybe you can tell me more about ah…poetry and songwriting, is it? We could work it into your study schedule.”

[felipexflores]

FELIPE FLORES

BASIC INFORMATION

full name: felipe miguel flores

nickname(s): none

age: 30

resides: summit lake

gender: male

pronouns: he/him

orientation: gay

occupation: menswear fashion designer / owner of felipe's boutique

triggers: bullying, domestic abuse, gun violence, murder, death, loss, depression

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

face claim: taylor zakhar perez

hair color/type: short black hair

eye color: brown

height: 6'1

tattoos: none

piercings: none

PERSONALITY

positive traits: charming, humble, caring, witty, artistic, passionate

negative traits: worrier, paranoid, perfectionist, pushover, repressed

fears: ending up alone

hobbies: cooking, swimming, working out, painting

quote to live by:   “fashion is the armor to survive the reality of everyday life."

FAMILY

father: juan flores

mother: ana flores

sibling(s): a twin sister, felipa (deceased)

children: none

pet(s): 2 betta fish, dolce and gabbana

Felipe and Felipa Flores were born into a life of privilege and wealth. Their family owned a line of luxury spas in Miami, catering to clients with expensive tastes. The twins grew up with loving and humble parents. They instilled in their children to always be grateful for their blessings and to never look down on others. These life lessons stuck with the Flores kids all the way into adulthood. Felipe and Felipa were your typical twins growing up. They were glued to each other’s sides through thick and thin. Felipa was the more popular one in school. She was outgoing, confident, and bursting with personality. Felipe on the other hand had always been the more reserved of the two. It was his sister that was really able to bring out her brother’s more playful side. Felipe was subjected to bullying throughout his teen years. Between coming out as gay, and expressing a strong interest in the world of fashion, it made him an easy target for the close-minded bullies at his school. Felipa was never afraid to stand up for her brother. No matter what, she always had his back.

After graduating from high school, Felipe went on to enroll at Miami International University of Art & Design to study fashion. It was there that his confidence finally started to blossom. He finally shed his wallflower image and embraced being the man he always wanted to be. After college, Felipe pursued his dream career as a fashion designer for menswear. His style was sleek, colorful, and sophisticated. It didn’t take long before his clothing line hit the runways and was an instant success. While everything was going great for Felipe, it was the complete opposite for his twin. Felipa had fallen into a toxic relationship with an abusive boyfriend. She hid what was going from everyone in her family, including Felipe. It was almost two years before Felipa finally broke down and told her twin brother the truth. He had his sister move in with him and cut off all ties with her ex. He promised to take care of her, like she had taken care of him when they were kids. Felipe’s promise couldn’t keep his twin safe forever. Her unhinged ex broke into their home in the middle of the night and shot both of the twins. Felipe survived, but Felipa did not.

After his sister’s death, and the grueling trail that took place after the murder, Felipe shut out the world around him. He fell into a deep depression and his dream life slowly started to slip through his fingers. He was barely holding it together when he first met Toni. Felipe was looking to hire a personal assistant and Toni was the first and only person he interviewed. Her personality reminded him so much of Felipa. Being around Toni was almost like having his twin around again. She helped pull Felipe out of the slump he was in and a close friendship grew between them over time. A few years later, Toni eventually left Florida and moved out to Colorado. She was vague on the details, but Felipe believed it had something to do with money Toni owed to someone. Worried that something might happen to her, like it did to her sister, Felipe made the bold decision to move out to Colorado to keep an eye on Toni. With one successful men's boutique under his belt, Felipe figured it would be beneficial to his brand to expand and add another boutique in Providence Peak. This way he could keep doing what he loved and be able to watch over his best friend.

[alluringjae]

until dawn - ljn

part I | part II

⤑ summary: basic number one rule of the museum is not to touch the art. but no one told jeno that falling for one of them isn’t allowed either.

⤑ pairing: jeno x female reader

⤑ word count: 14k

⤑ genre: fluff, humor, angst | broke architecture major!jeno, historical figure!reader, college!au

⤑ warnings: jaemin mentions onlyfans as a joke, references to actual historical figures (some try to flirt with jeno lol) and literature, explicit language

⤑ author’s note: wow, i’ve had this idea for almost two years! this one was inspired by one of my favorite childhood movies, night at the museum. it definitely required a lot of research and brainstorming, and finally i brought it to life! it was so fun to play around with the characters, and even if majority of them are real people, this is all still fiction.

i also wanna mention one of my moots, marge for enlightening me about her life as an architecture major.

⤑ taglist: @renjunniehome​ (dm me if you want to be added) 

⤑ leave me some feedback, constructive criticism or hellos!

Dormitory rent was another thing to worry about aside from the inflated university tuition per semester. Although he’s lucky to have his parents backing him up already on it, paying the monthly rent for his dorm was the remaining objective on Jeno’s list.

Plus, money for food. The man was a heavy eater, following the whole “gym is life” mantra.

Splitting it already with two of his dorm mates turned best friends, Renjun and Jaemin, his plate felt lighter. But the question still lies: where on earth was he going to get the money?

He’s practically checked out every available part-timing job in university and anywhere near campus. Barista at the same café Jaemin works at, teaching assistant for an art school for kids, convenience store cashier, library assistant, all taken in a heartbeat. The burden of his friends paying his debt these past months took a toll on him, almost to the point he almost considered making an Onlyfans.

“Yah, just find something else! Part-timers are in demand right now!” Renjun intensely closed his laptop before his older friend gets any suggestive thoughts.

“I mean, you didn’t work out your body to look the way it is for nothing.” Jaemin pitched otherwise, lifting the front back up. “When do you want to start filming? Loads of chicks would dig a piece of you!”

The contradicting opinions of his friends were like the devil and angel debating on his shoulders. Useless, he gave this worry a rest and returned to drawing new plates. A common thing when you’re an architecture major. Those deadlines were nearing. Looks like he’ll pull another all-nighter again.

Good thing most of his classes were late in the morning until 6 pm.

As if someone from above heard his petition, Jeno saw a help wanted sign posted on the bulletin board outside of the university museum. He initially went there to document some artwork and architecture models from Greek and Roman times, further analyzing how they’re still apparent in modern buildings.

The sign explained the need for one part-timer from any college to cover the night shift of the museum due to the current night guard’s full semester absence. He only had to come in 3x a week, choosing his days since he was still a student. Even the pay was above average, considering that most part-timers never go beyond midnight. Jeno would, on the other hand, always staying for his projects or gaming with the boys. Drinking sometimes during late-night Fridays with his entire college crew.

The pay would leave him a load of extra cash for himself, thus he sent an application to the museum office right before he left. A week later, while he was out with the boys, he got a text from the office that they wanted to meet him again for a final interview first thing on Monday.

Perhaps it was having architecture as his course and a healthy physique that landed him the part-timer position. Mainly, the latter because guards required strong endurance and fighting skills when worse comes to worst. It would start at 9 pm until 6 am the following day, and there was a designated uniform of it too. Blue blazer with matching trousers, white dress top, and loafers.

Aside from the typical museum etiquette the head director instructed him about, there was an unofficial list of tips written on paper given from the night guard on leave when the director handed you over his box of office-related things.

Only read at the night guard office once you’re the remaining staff left.

He did as he was told like an obedient son, flipping the succeeding page.

 To my temporary replacement,

This part-timing job is nothing regular than the other jobs. You’ll witness things as you’ve never imagined them to be, almost like witchcraft. You’ll be lost and maybe frightened, or that’s how I felt the first time because no one led me through it all those years ago. Lucky for you, I made this small guide on how to properly take care of the place that the other staff doesn’t know about.

Before you proceed, I request you take a 5-minute stroll around the lobby first to understand what I’m talking about. After such, go back to the office or somewhere quiet then browse through the guide as quickly as you could.

Art is timeless here, so they need to be taken care of.

Good luck!

 Park Sanghoon

Night Guard on Leave

 Nothing could’ve prepared Jeno for what’s to come once he unlocked the office door. They say that art brings so much color to our life, allowing us to feel all sorts of emotions in a glimpse. But no one ever interpreted art to be literally alive and walking in the halls.

Behold, random wax figures and marble sculptures that he’s seen in the past roamed the hallways, as well as the paintings were interacting with each other side by side. Even the standee of a puppy from the entrance played fetch with one of those sculptures. He swore he looked like Hermes the messenger god from his arrow headpiece and sandals.

It made more sense why the guard on leave explained his feelings during the first day because it resembled Jeno’s. But unlike that guard, Jeno sucked it up. No one ever does well on the first day, even if others say otherwise. The first day was a learning experience, so he collected his thoughts even though the goosebumps triggered his body during that one rotation.

There was an indoor garden, already locked by the day guard earlier. The only room without any art piece, where students lounge to study the plants or relax in nature.

The sculptures section ahead, showcasing various fictional figures specifically from Greek mythology, chattered away about family drama and beliefs. The sculptures of Hades and Zeus, according to their title plate, argued relentlessly about power while Athena always intervened by shouting or even throwing arrows or daggers to any of the lightbulbs there.

That was one rule in the guide, but Jeno didn’t know yet until he came inside the room and swerved the attention of the arguing duo.

“Well, what do we have here?” Zeus, in the center, straightened his posture on his throne to present himself in a more regal way. “Are you perhaps the temporary replacement of Sir Sanghoon?”

“Sir Sanghoon’s stand-in is rather good looking, don’t you think?” Hera mused, stepping down from her throne beside Zeus to take a closer look at the taller male. Her cold fingers trailed his jaw until his chest, where his heart was beating intensely. She even pinched his toned bicep, mouthing wow.

“Truly handsome you are, my dear. So full of life, please introduce yourself to us.”

While Jeno introduced himself to everyone in that room, he answered any sorts of questions they had for him too. From his age, educational background, hobbies, Aphrodite just had to ask him if he had a girlfriend because he was that handsome.

“Nope, I’m single. With my degree in architecture, the requirements are so heavy I can’t even try dating.”

Mentioning his degree excited the gods, telling him how their people created and designed all these temples to house them and perform rituals. They loved it so much. This was a copy-paste of what Jeno learned from his history classes, and for a first, he’s hearing the perspective of the Greek gods.

Mind-boggling that he hasn’t fully freaked out yet. That’s what Athena anticipated when Sanghoon told her about his short leave, putting her in charge of everyone for the meantime while the replacement settled down.

The college museum was built during the late 70s as a gift from one of the alumni. It was for the purpose to preserve history and educate college students outside the classroom. The Greek mythology exhibit was the oldest one, making Athena have more seniority. Over her stay, she’s seen every new guard lose their senses during the first night. Some not even returning for a second night. She got used to every outcome, and so far, only 8 people lasted after the first night. A couple of students in the 70s and 80s, Sanghoon in the 90s, and now Jeno was one of them.

“Jeno, aren’t you terrified by us? You just got a job in a museum that comes to life every night, and it’s not a normal thing.”

“Well, I’m still shaken up about it. But it’s my first night, and it’s when I learn everything about the place from head to toe. Plus, I really need the money.”

“Money for what? But you’re young, a student even!”

“Yes, I am. However, I do pay for the rent in my dorm. So, this job is like my first big responsibility, and I want to perform well.”

Athena commended his sense of authority, capable of leading himself. She noticed how well-spoken and poised he is, respecting and listening to everything the gods and goddesses said even if they were nonsense. She never liked to compromise with her power, taking a while to like Sanghoon back in the day. Though Jeno looked like a natural leader on his first night. If he could take care of himself well, he’s skilled to take care of the rest in the museum as well.

Plus she had full control on the nights he won’t be there, especially the weekend.

With his potential, Athena mentored him the entire night about the gist of the entire museum. Every upcoming leader needs an intelligent mentor, right? She was naturally gifted with worthy leadership skills, managing Jeno like her own child.

Athena explained how the museum came to life, which was through a royal golden plate from the Oriental room. It was a gift from a popular sorceress in China to an affluent family from the Han dynasty, who wished them a long life after she was saved from invaders due to them. The plate preserved over time, becoming an artifact. Its power remained immortal, mutating to bring life wherever it goes. In this case, the museum since its arrival in the late 70s as well.

“That’s why the Oriental room must be locked always so no one could touch or break the plate.”

After she ordered Jeno to lock the mentioned room, alongside the Foreign Art Exhibit Room which he checked out for his class, she led him to the best view of the entire museum. Center of the second floor, where stairs were on both sides. Jeno marveled at the vivacious atmosphere, witnessing actual art living, breathing, and enjoying themselves.

“Unreal, right?” She leaned in the railing, scanning through the chatty paintings.

Jeno also leaned down, deep in thought and wonder. “Absolutely, Athena. How come no one knows about this? Art coming to life? It’ll invite more students to the museum.”

“That goes against a golden rule as a night guard in this museum.” She replied bluntly. “The life that goes on inside this museum at night must remain a secret to the public.”

Jeno predicted this kind of response, having watched too many films where anything supernatural mustn’t be revealed. Although he liked the advantage of knowing something this powerful, he’d never abuse it.

Athena’s intellect was beyond the world, seamlessly reading Jeno’s expression and what he was thinking. He had good intentions even if he’s a bit mischievous. She needed to keep a keen eye on him, but for now, he needed to explore on his own.

“Anyways, Sanghoon still left out some other details. So if you have any questions, I’ll be at my exhibit trying to shut my father and my uncle up again.”

“Can you not use any weapons to do so?”

“Can’t make any promises, Jeno.” She slyly cracked her knuckles and neck as if she was fighting another battle.

Jeno was silently left with himself, finally browsing through Sanghoon’s guide while seated in one of the museum benches.

It consisted of 25 rules, wherein the first two rules consisted of locking up. One, for the doors and gates of the museum, so no art piece could escape. If they do, they will turn into dust when the sun is out according to Athena. Two, locking the Oriental and Foreign Art Rooms, which was already done.

Rule #5: Let Mochi the puppy from the lobby tag along with you; feed him treats if you have any.

On cue, the little guy barked from the corridor and raced to his side. Jeno carried him, babying him for a little and letting him lick his face a few times before putting him back down. He’s surely going to the pet store first thing in the morning with the museum allowance the director gave him.

Since he was on the second floor, he read and followed the rules that fit in before returning downstairs. On the other side of the floor were the wax figures exhibitions: one for prominent men in history while the other for prominent women. Well, more people to get acquainted with.

It’s the exchange of gasps and profanities he received when he chose the latter room. Seeing their faces, these were women he’s learned in school and online. Now in the (fake) flesh. Except for one girl he’s never heard of, unbothered in her corner sketching her life away in a sketchpad. But before he could check who she was, a suggestive touch on his arm distracted him.

“My, oh my, Hera wasn’t lying when she said that the new night guard was a fine specimen.” By her dark blue eyeshadow and eyeliner with the snake-like crown, Cleopatra studied him like he was one of the most renowned art pieces. Even patting his chest, abdomen, and arms with both her hand, Jeno caught a suggestive glint in her eyes and a smirk across her red lips.

Rule #13: Reject Cleopatra’s seductive advances at all costs.

“Goodness, Cleopatra. It’s only his first night, and you’re scaring him.” With her accent, round eyes, and a chic formal outfit, she carried a posh aura while unhesitatingly scolding the Queen of the Nile.

“Come on now, Diana. He’s stunning, who wouldn’t go after him?” If no one knew her, you’re not reading up on your world history. She’s said to have been a lovely and intelligent woman, gone so soon. Jeno definitely understood why after she detached Cleopatra’s raging hands off him.

Rule #14: Treat Princess Diana and Hera like your own parent.

“Your highness.” Jeno nodded at her out of respect, only making her chuckle uncontrollably.

“No need to address me like that, love. Now, come here.” She widened her arms for Jeno, hugging him amiably. He sensed her motherly warmth, accepting such a gesture. “You remind me so much of my youngest son, Harry. Welcome to the night shift of the museum, love.”

Similar to the Greek mythology exhibit, he introduced himself and responded to any questions that the women wax figures may have. Good for him, they weren’t crossing any borders and kept him at ease.

“A student like you working at night to pay rent?” Katherine Johnson, an African-American NASA mathematician whose calculations led to the success of a lot of famous spaceflights, cannot believe her ears. Students must only focus on school, nothing else. “What about your studies, boy?”

Rule #15: Engage in academic discussions with Katherine Johnson whenever you can.

“Most of my classes are in the afternoon, Miss Katherine. So I’ll sleep in the entire morning later and study during my breaks.”

“Mr. Jeno, what do you like to do outside of work?” Anne Frank, a German-Dutch teenager whose revolutionary diary that documented her life in hiding from the Nazis gained popularity worldwide after publication dreamily asked from her section of the exhibit. Her life was robbed of greatness merely because of her religion and war.

Rule #16: Bring delicious food or gifts to Anne Frank.

“Well, I like to bike with my friends, exercise, and draw whatever comes into mind!”

Everyone he’s met so far acquired pleasure in knowing about who he was and his passion for architecture, ridding the “freaking out” phase Athena assumed he had. Yet not everyone in this exhibit bothered to give him a shot.

Jeno’s attention from Anne talking about her crush towards Peter van Daan, a teenage boy who lived with her, switched to the section beside her, where an unacquainted figure was zealously sketching as if something was due to the following day. It reflected how he’d look when he’s cramming one of his plates due to first thing in the morning. While he properly excused himself, he quietly gazed at the way this woman scrunched her eyebrows when she erased something then drew it again. She was someone he’s never seen or heard before, reading the information plate in front of him about her.

 (Y/N) (Y/L/N), Explorer and Author. (1854-1900)

 Wealthy women in the Victorian Era only served one purpose in society: marry a man from a prestigious family, have his children and join whatever interests they have. However, for (Y/N), she wasn’t going to conform to those standards.

Born into the affluent house of (Y/L/N), she was the youngest of 8 children. She was said to be the kindest and sweetest sibling out of everyone, not capable of hurting anyone or anything. She said it herself that she can’t throw away a dying flower because it’s too painful. While 5 of her older brothers were sent to school, she stayed at home with her 2 older sisters Cecilia and Amelia where she learned how to play the piano and take voice lessons from impressive teachers. Due to the huge age gaps between them (12 and 8 respectively), she never felt close with them. She was only closest to the 6th and 7th siblings, her twin brothers Benjamin and Liam whom she only had a 2-year gap. She was also best friends with one of the scullery maids her age, Lily, because she found her amusing that than the boring rich girls her mother forced to interact with.

The moment it bothered her that she wanted to live a more meaningful life was when Amelia got married. She was 12 years old at the time, and it left her as the last unwed daughter in the family. Badly did she want to revolt, which she gradually did. Instead of practicing piano, she’d sneak in to read every book in her father’s office. She secretly studied the notes of her older brothers from school and even dressed as a boy numerously thanks to Benjamin and Liam to join their classes or field trips.

This was her routine up until the age of 18 when she stomped her foot down and expressed to her parents that she wasn’t going to let Victorian society dictate her. The night before her parents were bound to send her to her great aunt’s home down South to sort her out, she successfully snuck out her house thanks to Lily, Benjamin, and Liam. It’s another good thing that she saved a lot of money for that moment.

Off she went across Europe first, then sailed to America and even parts of Asia. Initially under the name Lilibe, coined from picking the first two letters of her brothers and best friend, she documented her days and nights through her journals and sketches. Over time, she sent them to her brothers for publication. It started the franchise, “The Adventures of the Young and Free Lilibe”. There are 10 books under it.

She learned French, Spanish, Mandarin, Japanese, and Korean by herself as she made friends from those places. It was rare of someone like her to be fluent in Oriental languages, surprising locals every time she spoke to them. She was the only explorer to vividly describe life in different Asian lands in English, talking about their history and culture. With her accurate drawings of diverse citizens and their daily lives, it educated a lot of those living back home in Europe about them rather than speaking lowly of them.

In Seoul did she stayed the longest until her death from pneumonia at the young age of 46.

In her posthumous work, Finding Me, did she reveal her real identity, dedicating it to her parents whom she apologized and expressed her love for them despite everything that occurred between them. She talked about the last years of her life in Seoul, how locals were so nice and inviting to her, and how she adopted kids instead of having her own through the years.

“It’s not because I never found love in men. It’s more like I found love in doing things I’m passionate about. Traveling, learning new cultures, it outweighed the human need of romance.”

Due to her thrill in taking risks and embarking on wondrous adventures, it brought inspiration to a lot of young girls pressured to marry at that time to pursue what they really want.

 A remarkable background you had, Jeno contemplated. How come no one discussed her in his classes?

You kept brushing the bangs of your hair back as it fell repeatedly. But you got irritated instantly because it sabotaged your drive, you brought out a hairpin from her desk and attached it on both sides. But when you shifted your angle of focus, the corner of your eye locked with Jeno’s attentive gaze.

He didn’t flinch, even he should’ve. He wasn’t one to linger his look on anyone’s physical appearances, but your story and the passion on your face as you sketched mesmerized him. He was charmed, to say the least.

“Uhm, hello there?” You broke the silence due to your uneasiness about it. What’s his deal?

Jeno bowed, reintroducing himself to you. As soon as his presence settled in the room when Cleopatra attempted to hit on him, you could’ve cared less. Though this man was a first for you, a first in a long time as all guards would feel intimidated by you during the first night. Even your sharp tongue didn’t faze him. “Staring is rude, sir. Didn’t your mother teach you manners?”

“She did,” He wandered through the exterior of your section, by the fence that separated you and him. Not breaking eye contact, his eyes turned into moon crescents as he smirked with trouble. “Though she also told me to appreciate the art too.”

Snorts noisily exhaled from Cleopatra, who took the center section of the exhibit, succeeded by Princess Diana’s whispered gasps and Katherine’s side-eyeing Anne beside her while she taught her math. That was an odd way a guard conversed with you, but Jeno was merely doing what the rules stated. Partly, he was impressed with his cheesy pick-up line, partly embarrassed because he’s never spoken like this to anyone.

Rule #17: Act playfully around (Y/N) (Y/L/N) to break the tension; she’s a harsh one.

There was irony between the information he read about your life versus the wax model. Even when you faced sexism and ran away according to your history, never were you impolite to anyone in your life. You couldn’t even kill a lurking fly when it roams around your food! It showed Jeno a possibility that as much as you’re just a wax version of someone famous in the past, maybe the external environment around you had a heavy influence too.

“You fool!” His confidence exasperated you, urging you to persistently throw balls of paper with your failed sketches at him. No one dared to talk to you like that, most especially a night guard. “Take that for your comment!”

If you thought he’d scram away and act repentant, you were proven wrong. His reflexes were parallel to a spider, capturing every single paper ball without fail. Up and down his body went, one arm held on to them and no more were left on your part. Never a single defeat during the first meeting in years, but that seemed to alter now.

“Give up already, Ms. (Y/L/N)?” Jeno remarked vibrantly as he discarded your mess in the trash bin behind him. If he managed to get everyone to like him tonight, he wanted to make sure to have you onboard too.

Whatever agenda he had, you weren’t up for it. You’d treat him the same way you usually treated Sanghoon for the past 20 something years: cold and ignorant. From your stool, you left your comfortable position to come face to face with this man. He better be grateful for that barrier in between you, or else you would’ve caused mayhem.

“Never in your wildest dreams, Mr. Lee.” Your mouth gave a half-smile, clenching on the bars to liberate your annoyance. Before you could fend back, that’s when Princess Diana intervened between your heated dialogue.

“Oh heavens, children!” She stood by the barrier, mostly to protect the newbie Jeno with her body. “(Y/N), he just wanted to know you. Must you be so cross?”

This Princess Diana embodied all the traits the real one had: soft-spoken, intelligent, and protective. She’s gotten so used to your gradual temper, staying on standby whenever anyone tried to mess with you. Even if it was harmless, you could get so mean!

“Diana, he was mocking me! Saying such a sleazy phrase as if to amuse me, ha! Not a chance, I hate people like that.”

“Not us women though; you just despise men in general.”

“And you’re absolutely right!” With a smug smile, you greedily rejoiced. “Anyways, escort this disgrace out. I’m not in the mood to get angry when I have a lot of inspiration on mind right now.”

While you resumed your sketching to let go of that extra steam, Jeno was left with Diana who apologized on your behalf. Your pride was too high to do that, and as the motherly figure among them, she always took care of things in your exhibit.

“I’m so sorry for that, Jeno. She’s not really like this, but I know how much you tried your best. It was quite a fresh spectacle honestly.”

Whatever was responsible for your abrasiveness, Jeno yearned to know. He couldn’t understand who you were yet even knowing your life story. All he wanted was to get along with everyone. It was the key to successfully maintain his job for the next 6 months.

“How can I make her come around then?”

A demanding question that no one had a solid answer to. Diana recalled how much Sanghoon didn’t let your dislike for him get to him, maintaining a respectful boundary in between each other after his past attempts. Though with Jeno, observing how he riled you up and your focus entirely on him, she hasn’t seen anything like it since the 80s.

There was something in Jeno that may just get you to warm up and return to your kind nature.

“Aside from acting playful, as Sanghoon recommended, I can think of two ways, love.” By the doors of her exhibit, where Jeno was already waltzing the corridor to visit other rooms, she suggested smartly. “One, argue back to her opinions. She hates whenever anyone tries to get her way, but boy, you’re just as wise as her. No one was brave enough to peeve on her until you came.”

“How about the second way?”

“Do your research, love. Aside from libraries, you have those small technology devices that allow you to search up anything.” She tousled Jeno’s brown locks as if it were her actual son’s. Some habits just don’t die when you do.

“Brush up on your history, Jeno. Not only will it help you with (Y/N), but it’ll serve purposefully with the other art pieces here.”

Boy, he was ready to crash in his bed for a few hours after all those interactions. His introverted nature required to be revitalized.

Towards the last hours of his shift, the art pieces who’ve strolled in the first floor lessened his plate by not leaving any major clutter behind. As if she listened to him, Athena didn’t break any lightbulbs too.

His main highlight would be meeting the men of the historical male section, who flaunted a more humorous ambiance. Freddie Mercury from Queen insisted he drink a glass of his wine and to bring more wine next time, which he denied since it would against Sanghoon’s rules. King Sejong the Great and Martin Luther King Jr. argued back and forth over the most random things (pineapple on pizza specifically), while Steve Jobs mediated whenever one crossed the line. Meanwhile, William Shakespeare was too preoccupied in his writing and speaking to himself about his books, wondering how to improve them.

During one of his breaks today, he multitasked drawing a new plate with his research on every art piece to know them better. He started with the exhibit of sculptures of the Greek gods and goddesses, which were Zeus, Hera, Hades, Athena, Hermes, Aphrodite, Poseidon, Artemis, Dionysus, and Circe. They weren’t the complete roster because the rest were in other museums across the globe, as said by Athena before sunrise. The majority of them he knew what they were in charge of, but the rest were foggy to his knowledge. Typing away and jotting notes down, he started downloading his favorite jazz songs too.

Rule # 4: Play jazz music to the paintings on the first floor so they can relax and dance within their frames.

Circe is a minor goddess, the daughter of the sun god Helios. She’s recognized for her versatility in incantations and herbs, capable of transforming people into animals. From Jeno’s perspective, she’s mostly within her space with her journals and magic wand, trying new spells or combinations of herbs. For the latter, he had to keep a closer eye on.

Rule #9: Don’t let Circe, god of potions, into the Oriental Room to get plants and herbs.

He discovered that Dionysus is the god of wine, happiness, and theatre. That’s why every god in the exhibit had full wine glasses during their gathering. It also added up why Freddie Mercury always comes to him when his bottles run empty, though he mustn’t go overboard.

Rule #18: Make sure Freddie Mercury doesn’t get too drunk from the wine of Dionysus; he might make numerous scenes if he does.

After his lone studying session, he took a short trip to the pet and convenience stores to buy food. He got a dumbfounded look from Jaemin back in the dorm room, who was studying for one of his quizzes in Biology in a couple of hours.

“Woah what’s with this stash? Is it for yourself or something?”

“The museum surprisingly has a lot of tasks needed to be done at night. And no, not from my wallet but the allowance they gave me before you get a heart attack.” Jeno plopped on his solo bed, covering his face with a pillow.

“Thank God.” A relaxed sigh escaped Jaemin’s lips, taking back his balled-up fists meant for his roommate. “I think I would’ve stormed that boring museum if they made your broke ass spend a cent.”

“Boring?” Jeno removed the cushion hastily, eyeing his busy and coffee-high roommate. The scent of black coffee from his mug spread in the room, assuming that this upcoming test was testing his roommate’s patience again.

Not even trying to look at Jeno while reviewing his handwritten notes, Jaemin continued giving his opinion. “Museum culture is dead, Jeno. Not everyone has the time to roam around one, plus people can always look up the artifacts online these days.”

People were entitled to their own opinions on numerous things, though Jeno begged to differ with his roommate’s. Especially after witnessing the magic of the night shift, you shouldn’t merely judge a book by its cover. In this case, you shouldn’t judge an artwork or art piece merely on its history and legacy.

Maybe because his roommate was in the science department, he thought this way. A lot of art students regularly visit the museum both for fun and for their classes, and Jeno was one of them. Though he was too sleepy to explain his side, he let it slide for now and snoozed throughout the late afternoon.

An hour before the start of his shift, Jeno promenaded the emptying museum to inspect anything else he might’ve missed out on from last night. There were two areas according to his rotation, both in the first floor.

One was the Diorama Room. Divided into 4 sections, highlighting some of the well-known ancient civilizations in world history. Ancient Egypt and Ancient China to your left, Ancient Rome and Ancient Maya to your right. They acted as if they were the actual people during those times, giving Jeno a laugh when they cracked jokes in between. Such tiny figures, yet the rule for them said otherwise.

Rule # 7: The small figurines in the Diorama Room are feisty, so make sure they don’t fight with one another again.

The remaining room left was the Theater Room. He’s never been here, though his art friends have for film festivals held by the university.

The interior of it was set to look like an actual cinema place you’d see in a mall. There was a mini lobby with a few posters of iconic films over the years. Singin’ in the Rain, Back to the Future, Titanic, those were some framed and hung on the wall. There were two other doors there: one leading to the chairs and the other where the movie projector was. The latter room was pretty riveting, wherein you can choose to watch old short films through an 88mm film projector or switch to a cd player for the newer releases.

Back to those posters, they weren’t an exception to the magic and a simple rule was left for Jeno to do.

Rule # 10: Chatter with the movie posters in the lobby of the Theater Room; they love meeting new faces.

Since there wasn’t anyone checking out the Art Rooms on the second floor, he closed them. Though as he was about to lock the Oriental Room, the ravishing plants around the royal plant appealed his interest. Said to hold magical properties from his research, Jeno was reminded of another rule to keep in mind for later.

Rule # 3: The fake flowers in the Oriental Room come to life too at night, so when no one is lurking, water it diligently.

Instead of lounging at Sanghoon’s office first, he brought his important items to the front desk of the lobby and continued sketching his plate. He wanted to watch the art come back alive with his two eyes. Usually, he’d have coffee when he does his work, but due to another crucial rule in the guide, he’d rather not take the risk.

Rule # 6: The lobby room can get rowdy, so keep any drinks away from important items.

On the dot, the cries and yawns from the art pieces around him reverberated. Closing his sketchpad, his night guard mode was on. Connecting his laptop on the aux cord of the museum speakers, he tapped play on his playlist of jazz music that’ll last for the entire shift duration. As the first notes flooded the entire vicinity, sounds of joy left the lips of each painting. Some were humming, dancing, and even singing along.

“You can never go wrong with Frank Sinatra!”

“This Jeno lad really did the heavens’ work quick!”

Having the sense of accomplishment on his sleeve, the small barks of his fluffy pal reached closer to him. As he kneeled to find him, he was only taken by surprise as Mochi excitedly jumped on him. Tumbling over, Jeno chuckled innocently as Mochi licked his face numerously. This puppy was friendly, easily liking everyone at first sight. He wasn’t as choosy like Daegal, the puppy of his friend Chenle studying Business Management.

Once he composed himself and cradling the dog like his own, he fed him a dog treat from the desk.

“Good boy, Mochi!” He rubbed his fur while the puppy happily munched on it, ready to fulfill more of his duties.

He skipped the Greek mythology exhibit since Athena was doing a good job not letting anyone go overboard with their powers, though he’ll check in again in a few hours. He met the posters of the theater room, who were celebrities he grew up watching on tv. Sanghoon was right; they were the kinder group in the entire museum because they were more laidback.

On to the second floor, all the female wax figures lounged by the male section due to another lecture from Shakespeare. Although the guide informed him that most of the time it could get boring, this lecture was more stimulating. On his platform, he elaborated with conviction the lines of one of his famous books, Romeo and Juliet. A must-read book back in his high school days, there’s no way Jeno could’ve missed that out.

From the looks of it, Jeno perceived that Shakespeare was performing spoken word poetry due to him reading only Romeo’s lines while Cleopatra read Juliet’s beside him. This kind of show was one of the sources of entertainment to these figures, so Jeno leaned by the side of the door to listen. After all, the famous author of it was a few feet away. Cleopatra channeled such a naïve character to her ability, absentmindedly saying as she clutched her chest.

“O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name; Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, And I'll no longer be a Capulet.”

“Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?”

“'Tis but thy name that is my enemy; Thou art thyself, though not a Montague. What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, nor arm, nor face, nor any other part belonging to a man. O, be some other name! What's in a name? That which we call a rose-”

The flow of an engaged Cleopatra was abrupted by the loud yell from Shakespeare in front, specifically to an amused Jeno. “Jeno, my boy! Welcome back!”

Such an announcement diverted everyone’s attention to the back, some running to Jeno to give their respective greetings. It’s rare for everyone to feel at ease with a new guard, taking them weeks to approach them due to the intimidation. Though Jeno’s bright presence felt welcoming, so they accepted it. Perhaps it’s because of his youth, it reminded them of theirs too.

Shakespeare highly requested (or forced) Jeno to take his part as Romeo, intrigued to watch someone younger read his lines. Since most of the male wax figures were aged, it never satisfied Shakespeare so he jumped on this opportunity as quickly as he could. With the roaring cheers from the other figures, Jeno might as well give it a try. It wasn’t like his friends were here to clown him like they usually would if he did something humiliating.

Jeno shockingly liked this activity as he wasn’t much of a performer on stage, but someone who does the behind-the-scenes of it. He realized as he read the lines from the book Shakespeare asked him to follow along with why people held university-wide spoken word shows a few times per semester. He was no actor, but it’s delightful to have tried it at least once in his life.

“O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?” As if the edge of the platform was the balcony of Juliet (or Cleopatra rather), he knelt as he ardently spoke his lines. He’s emphasizing this rush of uncontrollable desire for her, rambling whatever he would do to get the girl.

“What satisfaction canst thou have tonight?” Cleopatra questioned from her chair, inching closer to the young boy. Even outside character will she attempt to charm Jeno, but Jeno was quick to catch it and kept his distance.

“The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine.”

“I gave thee mine before thou didst request it, and yet I would it were to give again.”

“Wouldst thou withdraw it? For what purpose, love?”

“But to be frank, and give it thee again. And yet I wish but for the thing I have. My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep. The more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite.”

Everyone was condensed by their top-notch acting, as if this was the actual play unfolding before them. Jeno wasn’t so sure how he got himself in character without preparation, yet he felt what his character felt. He comprehended the material a lot better now than when he was still in high school.

However, there was always that one killjoy to ruin the heartfelt mood.

“How dumb is it to say that you’re in love after the first glance?” You opposed, putting the spotlight on you. This book was said to be a classic in literature, but as you matured physically and mentally, you could no longer agree with it. “Isn’t love the same thing that killed Romeo and Juliet in the end?”

Remembering what Princess Diana told him, he wasn’t going to let this pass. He wanted to give a piece of his mind too, caring less if the show must be paused. “Love is an emotion we don’t ask to feel. It’ll come to us when we least expect it, even when the timing of it can be crucial.”

“Of all the people Juliet could’ve gone for, it just had to be the enemy.” In all the years you’ve been brought to life, no one dared to test your opinions because they were aware of your intelligence, from the streets to the books. When someone bark, you’d bite back. Hard. “With all due respect, I love your works, Shakespeare. Yet the fate you’ve given these two at a young age was grave, could’ve you given them a better outcome or another character to love instead?”

“Giving them extra characters to love won’t address the horrific life fact that love can be dangerous. Regardless of what status you’re in, you can’t stop the attraction towards someone. The heart wants what it wants.” Jeno pressed his hand to his chest, pumping it a bit. Unknown to you and him, the audience found more entertainment in your argument. Anne, who was munching on the popcorn Jeno gave her earlier, passed the snack to Katherine who just couldn’t stop watching.

If this man wanted a challenge, you’re all ears. Who was he to compete with you? Was he not intelligent to know who you are?

“So are you insinuating that we just go with the flow? Be a slave to our emotions too and let them dictate our next motives?”

“Slave is such a strong word to use, (Y/N). But it’s not like we can’t choose who want to love because we actually can. In this case, Romeo chose Juliet and vice versa.”

“But what happens if the person you choose doesn’t choose you in return?”

“At least you tried your best, right? It’ll hurt like hell though, but it won’t last forever.” From his kneeling position, Jeno strutted his way with confidence. Trying not to let it mess with you, your extreme stare at him as if they’ll shoot lasers. Inches away from you, Jeno declared. “Love always has risks, that’s a given. Romeo and Juliet still tried and followed their hearts despite the downfall. But it was a needed downfall to get the message across.”

“No one would be that foolish to risk their lives for love though, right? Life is so precious, why would they do such a thing?”

“Even if they knew what their lives were without each other, they still preferred living a life where they were both in the picture. Therefore, they tried all they could that time because the regret of not doing anything at all carries a heavier burden.”

Whenever anyone argued with you, their debating points they spat back would further piss you off because most of the time, it never made sense. Back when this rude man told you to go home and be a wife in your earlier years of exploring, you civilly told him to fuck off, kicking his balls because he cornered you in an alley. For the first time, a man who tried to challenge you actually made sense. Was it because he lived in a modern time, where minds were more open? Because of the amount of sexism you faced in the past, you’ve turned a blind eye to the current period.

But your high pride maintained, not submitting into anything he said. “I still think it’s stupid to risk your life for love. There’s no such thing as having only one true love anyways, and you have to be alive to see it.”

“Fair point, but again, the feeling of regret and carrying it your entire life doesn’t fade easily. It’ll make you reflect on the what-ifs, and it’s heart-wrenching.” Jeno digressed, walking around you in circles. He’s intentionally trying to drive you mad, but he could care less. He wanted someone to put you in your place and open your mindset. “The question stands: would you rather try and go for it even knowing its risks or regret not even trying for the rest of your existence? Quite ironic for me to ask you that, don’t you think?”

Past the information board, Jeno researched more of your life history online. Your whole life was grounded on risks, from breaking the standards of your society, leaving your family and home country, to fending yourself from disrespectful men. Rather than living the original life expected from you, you chose not to because it didn’t make you happy. Such a risktaker he knew you are, but with the topic of love, he wondered why you were on a fence with it. Though some records stated you’ve had rendezvouses with a few men in your journeys, love was never in the equation. The single life was what you chose and you were more than satisfied, plus your adopted kids filled that supposed void anyways.

This man may have studied your history, but so much he still doesn’t know. Information that never made the books because you chose not to write or tell anyone about it. Aside from the discomfort growing in your chest, everyone else felt the awkward tension when you were lost for words.

Never been defeated in an argument, until tonight. Your mind lost its drive and willpower.

“Touché, Lee Jeno.” Indeed, his name you’re acquainted with. Numerously passed around in your exhibit, mostly from the lips of Cleopatra, who’d fantasize all the graphic things she would do to him. Too much information, least of your interest. “Please excuse me. I’d like to work on my sketches to ease my mind.”

As you quietly exited the room, an all too familiar sculpture leaned against the railings overseeing one side of the museum. Just like you, she hated accepting defeat or compromises. She always rooted for you to win. With a faint chuckle, “Facing a loss for the first time, I see.”

“Don’t even lecture me about it, Athena. I’m still fired up, and I need to relax.”

“Jeno is a different breed, isn’t he?” She stuck to your side, strolling wherever your feet led you.

“Different as in he’s a man? Yes. What else is there to it?”

“Men these days aren’t as trashy as those back in the day though. Shouldn’t you give him a chance?”

“Last time I did, it destroyed my heart. I’m not allowing myself to let men in even as a friend, Athena.”

She knew exactly what you were referring to, not touching on it further. No way will you let heartbreak or disappointment from men bother you. Even Sanghoon’s sweet company took a while to tolerate. You really needed to sketch this out on your pad right now, excusing yourself from Athena’s presence. Isolation wasn’t new to you; it’s what’s protecting your entire being. Immortal as you are, you had to recover from the past pain so the next decades won’t feel as brash.

You hoped to return to your old self when you were a fresh new figure in the 70s. So naïve, only proud of your accomplishments, and purely happy.

While Jeno continued to finish his scene in respect to Shakespeare, he received a standing ovation for his mini-show. Cleopatra didn’t expect such talent from him, growing fonder of the younger male. Whether she seduces him or not, he was never afraid to try new things and she liked that about him.

“Bravo, love!” Princess Diana praised, clapping at him.

Although Jeno appreciated all this positive attention, his thoughts bounced back to your and your stance on love. The debate earlier was just out of being playful, interested to hear your opinions. Though, he’s worried that he might’ve offended you. It may have been time to finally witness something like that, but then again, he was sure he touched something personal to you. No matter how you tried to fight it off, your eyes can’t lie. Staring down at him, there was pain beneath it. Your eyebrows scrunched to the center, thinking deeply yet remained utterly speechless.

A win he didn’t feel good about.

“It’s time she encountered something new in the years she’s been here. Give her some space tonight, then try again to reach out to her. Kindly this time; I’m not in the mood for another brawl that could end up like the Greek gods’ past fights downstairs.”

These clever words shared by Katherine loitered his mind for the rest of the night, eventually going back to finishing his current plate since everyone was behaving well. As great it is to get the approval of the majority, he tried brainstorming ways to make you like him too.

He understood the whole “men are trash” concept in today’s modern society, but if he could prove it wrong to at least one person, it would be you. Whatever is holding you back, he only hoped that you’d let it go. Questionably unsure as to why he was so persevering, he concluded that it was so he could perform his job better as the night guard. Set higher standards than Sanghoon even.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Weeks passed, and his attempts continued to be unsuccessful.

The capability for you to ignore his efforts remained strong, whether he was pestering you over small things or debating with you again about anything. Life, books, morals, the two of you always head butt each other. Anything good he did, you searched for a flaw in it. Whatever acts he’s tried and continued trying, not one flinch from you ever.

Even if that’s his state with you, his job no longer felt stressful nor strenuous. He’d try to sleep more on days he was off-duty. Although the fatigue of staying beyond his usual sleeping time was inevitable, he compromised to take a nap lasting an hour or two when the art pieces weren’t acting frisky.

Plus, there have been multiple times they adapted to any alterations so his physical well-being wouldn’t fall sick. Per order of Princess Diana and Hera, who by instinct became his motherly figures here, only wanting what’s best for the kids.

He became accustomed to everything that went on at night, discovering things on his own without Sanghoon’s guide. Anne talked about how much she missed biking in her neighborhood, so one night, Jeno snuck his bike inside and let her use it around the first floor. With proper monitoring so none of the paintings would be unbothered or pieces wouldn’t tumble.

Hermes the messenger god was fluent in every language possible, so every so often, Jeno would freely speak to him in Korean because sometimes he felt he could explode by the amount of English he used every night. Bilingual things, you know. He knew you were multilingual too, but for obvious reasons, he couldn’t converse with you.

Because Jeno was heavily favored, that should’ve been enough to push through his night shifts before the end of the semester. In addition to that, the hourly rate was above the average of whatever Jaemin or Renjun was earning. For the past 2 months, Jeno paid upfront first, even paying back all his debts. It almost made Renjun want to switch jobs with him.

“Trust me, Renjun. You don’t want it, being the lowkey scaredy cat you are.”

Work no longer felt like work, and that’s what everyone aspired to feel. Nevertheless, he tended to worry over you mid-shift, glancing at you from his side view. Sketching, reading, and writing were your default actions. No matter how many times he said to himself not to let your dislike for him affect him, it’d always backfire.

Why were you so cold?

What made you lose your fire from all the research he did about your lively personality?

When morning arrived and he gathered his stuff, you’d be the last thing he’ll check on. Frozen in your standing pose, smiling as you held a book and a pencil, he detected how fake it was. Bystanders would only assume your happiness was from your achievements, though Jeno’s gut firmly pried that something grand overpowered that happiness. And definitely, not in a good way.

Out of all the art pieces, he investigated on you the most. Skimming through every material in the library, endless searching on the net, even asking professors from the History department thanks to Renjun, he did whatever he could. People may already think he was obsessed with who you are, but only little did they know.

Another plate was done and submitted, and he promised himself to look you up one last time before surrendering. For someone who’s rarely given up on a challenge, this one was really out of his control. Maybe he should follow Sanghoon’s footsteps now.

You lived centuries before him, and there’s limited material of you left. Rather than learning of your adventures again, he dug through what things you liked over your life. Maybe by giving one of them, it’ll lessen the tension from a 100 to 99. Maybe you preferred gifts over words, he’ll never know until he tried.

Boom.

According to one of your journal entries, there’s a fond liking you’ve acquired for lavender roses from Benjamin and Liam when they visited you in Paris in secret because of how much you missed them. It went both ways, praying your family ties could be recovered.

It’s a good thing he needed to refill his stock of items for the art pieces so he could pass by the flower store a few blocks away from his dorm. That night, without further words, he graciously offered you a fresh lavender rose in between your new sketching session.

“I may not know exactly why you’re spiritless around me, but with this rose, I hope we could work something out.”

Your frigid face of disdain, keeping your chin high and squinting your eyes with judgment, began to crumble down.  Of all things as a peace offering, he gave you that? Then again, it’s not like he knew that an item you liked so much became something you’ve grown to hate and why so. No history books could teach him that.

Vulnerability was a normal thing, yet feared by many. Once one uncovered your weak spot, they could harm you. You still couldn’t trust Jeno fully, not willing to show your helplessness nor were you ever going to tell him. Hidden from his knowledge, everyone else including Sanghoon were familiarized as to why this kind of flower tormented you.

You sprinted like thunder out the exhibit room to wherever it’s private to control your senses. You may not have a physical heart, but your emotions were just as actual as a human’s. You needed to regulate your panting breath. In the past decades, you’ve not shed a singular tear but the cycle broke when they streamed out your miserable eyes like a flowing river. Quiet sobs, an empty corner near the fire exit was where your wobbly legs faltered, the painful memories of the past replayed in your head. Once beautiful, but now an agonizing reminder of what could’ve been.

Katherine, Cleopatra, and Anne were swift on their feet to hunt you down, anxious of what you may do next. Seeing or the mention of these flowers still affected you despairingly. Sanghoon must’ve forgotten to write them down, or perhaps he didn’t know either about this fact during all the years he’s worked there.

It’s one of the biggest secrets of his museum. By the clueless face Jeno had with his eyebrows raised, mouth, and small eyes slightly open, he repeatedly asked what he did wrong and adding that he never meant to harm you. Indeed, they knew that yet what occurred involved a secret in the list of museum secrets. Confidential only between art pieces according to Athena, none of the male wax figures spoke a word, only pitying the boy.

“I wasn’t here yet that time, but they said that it was once beautiful, but now it’s a rough period.” With hesitation, Princess Diana chose to reveal it to rid Jeno’s misery. She didn’t mind having to argue about it with Athena later on, as this may further affect the two of you later on.

“A long time ago in the early ‘80s, there was a night guard around your age named Junmyeon. Also, a college student, trying to make ends meet. He did it for 3 years until he graduated. Though within his stay, not only was he such a delight to everyone, he broke a golden rule in the guide. I believe you do know the guide much more now, Jeno?”

“Yes, I do, Princess Diana. Memorized it even, but which one specifically?” Jeno’s desperate eyes pleaded, only hoping for the best and to fix what he messed up.

“You can form friendships with the art pieces, but nothing more.” Princess Diana replied bitterly. “Junmyeon was an aspiring painter, a different path from his business-oriented family. He was seen as the black sheep. She resonated with him, sharing the burden and lifting it by doing whatever fun they could in the museum. In time, they both fell in love with each other; they were each other’s first loves.”

“Why must something beautiful like love be broken? It’s not like you can control it. That golden rule makes no sense.”

“It does, unfortunately. Wax figures like me cannot age, while humans like you can. None of them could accept the reality, always pushing it away. Until Junmyeon’s last week in university, he broke it off with her unexpectedly. From there, (Y/N) was heartbroken for decades. With heartbreak, giving the cold shoulder and bitterness followed. Then with the lavender rose you gave that she used to love became a flower that she associated with Junmyeon too because he gave her one almost every night for those past 3 years.”

Things finally added up, and the guilt in Jeno’s gut expanded. His major lightbulb moment was a major failure.

“Has Junmyeon ever returned to try and win her back?”

“Well, there was one time he did come back for an art exhibition for his paintings in the 2000s. I was already here, then he had a woman around his shoulder with an adolescent boy holding his hand. He roamed around our exhibit and kept gawking at (Y/N). We may be asleep, but we remember the conversations exchanged in the room. So, his son then asked him if he knew who she was.”

“What did he respond?” Jeno attentively listened, on the edge of such a hurtful tale.

“He knew her name, praising her for historical achievements. However, nothing as a former friend or lover. From what I predict, he ingested one of Circe’s potions.”

“But I thought Circe isn’t allowed to make potions for actual consumption. She’s not even allowed to enter the Oriental Art Room.” Jeno pointed out, overwhelmed at the puzzling past. Princess Diana was mindful that she had to stop spreading too much information, so she had to end her discussion with the lost boy.

“There are a lot of secrets about this museum, Jeno. Unfortunately, I cannot reveal to you to protect our peace.”

With due respect, Jeno quit his follow-up questions and concerns. The only thing he wished to do was mend his relationship with you. As vague as to where you even stood in the first place, he unintentionally crossed a line due to his selfish intention to befriend you.

“What can I do now, Princess Diana? You know I’d never push her buttons like that, even if I’m a whimsical person.”

“Oh, my boy.” Princess Diana soothed, holding both her hand on his sweaty palm and cupping his cheek. “For the meantime, give her space. No taunting for a while, and just observe her from a distance. Though do not fret the slightest; I’m sure she’ll be okay again.”

During that interval, you were hunched on the wall, bawling and weeping like the wound was brand new again. While Katherine and Anne stood by your side, on the lookout for anyone who’d be spying on you, Cleopatra knelt in front of you as your infinite tears gushed down.

“My dear,” She tried to wipe some of them while holding your hand. “It’s been years, and Jeno didn’t know a single thing. He didn’t mean to do it.”

“I don’t care, Cleopatra! He should’ve stopped trying to socialize with me because I won’t ever live down my experience with Junmyeon.”

“As if crying like this will bring Junmyeon back to your life,” Cleopatra exclaimed, holding in her temper. Acquainted with heartbreak, it’s awful that it changed you entirely, but you should’ve found a way to heal. Throughout your attitude change, it’s mostly you in pain, not those you inflict it to. “My dear, I love you a lot. But this Jeno boy is different, and you know it.”

“He’s still a nightguard, for Christ’s sake, Cleopatra.”

“You shouldn’t generalize that all night guards are bad just because of one encounter that occurred at the wrong time.” Brushing some strands stuck by your wet visage, she professed to you bluntly. “You’re never going to know how good Jeno is unless you slowly open up again, (Y/N). Not forcing you the slightest, but healing started once you’ve acknowledged the past and move on from it.”

“But I’m scared, Cleopatra.” You restlessly admitted, hunching even more against the wall. Your poor, metaphorical heart could only take so much. You barely expressed sorrow towards others as you always held a strong exterior, only letting it out alone. Not holding back anymore, Cleopatra brought you in for a hug. The last time she did that was the first night after Junmyeon left, calming your intensified emotions so you wouldn’t do anything dumb that night. No violence, just pure sorrow.

“My dear, it’s alright.” She whispered while stroking your back upwards. “But you’re a risktaker; that’s how people remember you. Now, you must challenge yourself to move on from things that didn’t work out. Because once you do, it’ll put your heart and mind at ease.”

“Do you think I’ll be okay again?”

“Yes, you will be, my dear. You are not alone, and never will be.”

Acting like the dutiful son he always was, Jeno distanced from you.

He still cracked jokes, chatted with the art pieces, and followed the rules, yet never did he utter anything to you. You’ve proudly anticipated it since day one, not wanting him up in your business or teasing you ever. But this time, it felt odd.

On nights he didn’t report, you’ve unconsciously wondered what he may have been up to. A job like this at his age was just as Sanghoon once said: nothing in the regular.

Was he with his friends?

Was he resting well?

From the moment you chose to let go of your limitations and old thoughts, it included your grudge against past guards. Asking for forgiveness to Sanghoon when he returns was on the top of your list, however, that’ll take a while to happen. In the start, you’re baffled as to why he no longer picked on you like every night he’s been present. Somehow, it became a habit you’ve gotten used to, having so many comebacks planned to fend yourself. But you didn’t want to concede to it, maintaining what was left of your pride since that breakdown.

While on the subject, you suspected if anyone told him anything that night because that also indicated the last time he reached out to you. By anything, it would be your unwritten past with Junmyeon. A part of yourself in the museum that you didn’t want to disperse like rapid-fire again. It would be the last thing you wanted Jeno to know.

To your misfortune, Princess Diana came clean due to your growing concern over it. Although your attitude changed and people got used to it, you could only blame yourself that you were responsible for Jeno’s change.

“All he wanted was to understand and enlighten us with his likable presence. Then with you, you were his challenge because of your high walls. Out of everyone, he tried to learn everything about you. From my observation, whenever he has a goal, he’s determined to achieve it.”

“But I’m trying to be better now, Diana. Why did he stop?”

“He may have determination, but he knows where the boundaries lie.” Princess Diana patted the side of your arm, giving you a half-grin. “It hurt him when he hurt you, even if it was accidental. So he opted to give you space; that way, you could catch a breather and he wouldn’t harm you anymore. It was what you wanted from the start anyways, right?”

A hard pill to swallow, though it was a fact. It’s just that now, you’re slowly willing to release yourself from the dark. It’s been decades, and more to come. Nothing can move on unless you do.

“Where is he, Princess Diana?”

Just as she predicted right on the edge, Diana completed the grin on her face and led you to the entrance of your exhibit. She may be younger than you, but you’re reverted in your twenties while she remained in her mid-thirties. Gaping the wide museum from the railing, starting from the painting exhibit in the lobby to across the other side of the museum, Diana spotted the black hair of the boy in the Foreign Art Room.

“Over there.”

Observing where her eyes focused, you caught a glimpse of a recognizable side profile. The owner’s eyes were completely taken by whatever he was drawing on the fold-up desk he brought out from the storage room. By the tedious action of his right hand going up and down, you’ve gotten so used to his part-time identity as the night guard to entirely dismiss his current status as a university student.

Architecture specifically as he first introduced himself to you. The same path your oldest brother, Christopher, worked in. The look of tenacity Jeno presented as his eyebrows continuously scrunched, his crescent orbs hastily spied his work for any unnecessary details and his veiny hands brushed his already messy hair, you were profoundly reminded of Christopher when he was designing his possible future house. You were 8 years old, and he was 22, who just got married. He explained how many floors it’ll have, what rooms to put and what extra furniture he’ll place to make it feel more at home.

Seeing how exceptional his art skills were, you started to sketch like him. With flowers first, it turned into bedrooms and sceneries of your neighborhood. You felt your shoulders rise in accomplishment when you were able to accurately draw people. As much as you credited Benjamin and Liam the most in your works, it’ll only be within yourself to know that you also held a soft spot for Christopher.

Excusing yourself to Princess Diana, you bravely yet quietly ventured into the Foreign Art Room. Hiding first from one of the cement columns, you resumed watching him sketch. Instead of a pencil, he used a black pen with a tip as thin as a pencil. Your assumptions would be it was for a class, basing it on him informing everybody earlier that he’ll be inactive for the remaining hours of his shift to focus on his midterm requirements. That must be difficult to balance, yet he still does everything expected from him. Maybe the second cup of iced coffee beside him stimulated his bones and mind, letting his imagination free.

Through the limited space, you tiptoed whilst holding the side of the column to make up his work. There were 2 and a half rectangular shapes stacked on top of each other, the third one he was still tracing. A sign encrypted with tiny written words you couldn’t decipher, the beauty and modernity of Jeno’s plate cannot go unappreciated.

“That’s absolutely beautiful.”

Sweet words you didn’t think would bounce back in the room, Jeno’s pace ceased whilst you hid again. Art pieces capable of walking weren’t allowed here, he locked the door even beforehand! Or he thought as he was rushing to get his work done because one of his terror professors moved up the deadline to tomorrow morning. Not even 25% finished, he petitioned for everyone’s cooperation just for tonight.

He used up his 2 days of not having the night shift for other projects, and not wanting to ruin his perfect attendance, he proceeded to show up.

The voices from the foreign paintings around him hushed for him out of respect. So possibly someone snuck in, his head looking around for intruders. But only did he quit it when he saw your blurry reflection leaning against the column. The glass windows slightly mirror back what it sees, without you knowing that.

Not to mention, the small bit of your lilac dress was left out. Of all people, it was you?

“Do my eyes deceive me or is Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N) inside when she’s not allowed so?”

To break the killing tension, he tested the waves with an innocent taunt. Never did you reach out to him, so least to say he was entertained whilst keeping his distance.

Fixing your proud stance, you responded in a low baritone voice you used to persuade numerous men in her adventures. “Uhm no, I don’t know who she is.”

As intelligent as you were, Jeno was a few steps farther than you this time. Educated about the risky ways you’d get around and one of them was changing the pitch of your voice, he heartily laughed at your unsuccessful attempt.

“Okay don’t lie, (Y/N). I can see a trail of your dress and your cloak. Oh, your reflection too.”

Damn, you peeked a little to realize that he was correct. Hauling your dress back in to readjust your outfit, you pushed your hair back before appearing to him. Though when you did such, you didn’t suppose that he was practically beside you the entire time. Bumping into his towering stance of 5’10 while the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up, your proud posture loosened up. He even discarded his blazer. A few more inches, he could’ve cornered you on the column if you didn’t take another step back.

Has he always been this tall or were you so used to your boots having high heels under? Oh wait, maybe because you wore flats this time because it’s making your toes sore. Your head bowed from struggling to maintain eye contact with him, your palms caressing your cheeks that suddenly heated up. Clearing your throat, you straightened your back again like nothing happened.

Jeno thought otherwise, shrugging his shoulders as he chuckled. He’s never seen you get shy, not that it was a bad thing either. The temptation to play around it more was there, but he was running out of time for his assignment.

“Come in. I’ll let you off the hook this time.” His arms opened up, allowing you access to such a wonderful exhibit. Paintings from different European periods, miniature versions of famous infrastructures inside glass containers, and replicas of Greek columns in the front entrance, no wonder it’s important to protect them all.

“Are you sure?” Watching him return to his spot, which was a bench in the center of the exhibit with a table in front, it didn’t process that you were gawking at his toned back. His broad shoulders and the evident muscles in his arms while he stretched, your eyes were speedy to look away when he tried to take a glance at you.

“I don’t think the paintings here and I mind.” Sitting down again, he tapped the vacant space beside him. “Feel free to watch me draw if you want to.”

Settling by his side, he recommenced where he left off. Now with a closer view of his piece, it did look like a building as you thought. He was sketching the remaining outline of the 3rd floor of this hypothetical place, continuously checking his ruler to monitor if the lines were consistent. Able to pick up on the words of the sign beside the building, you wowed with one hand on your lips.

“You’re redrawing Seoul National University Museum of Art?”

“One of my plate assignments was to visualize a renovation of a certain place, so I chose the museum.”

“Why so?”

“Well,” Jeno shook his pen so the ink could come out. “This entire place comes to life with the royal plate, so I think we should expand the space and bring in more art pieces to life if we add another extra floor. A rooftop area for visitors and events would be fun. And definitely, we should modernize the exterior and interior a bit because it looks outdated personally. That’s also what my friends think too.”

Noticing the minor details of his plate whilst removing any unnecessary pens so it wouldn’t smudge, “Huh, I quite agree with you.”

For the first time since his night shift, you, (Y/N) (Y/L/N), came into an agreement with him. He became so accustomed to clashing opinions that now, you had no contrasting points to make at all. A good change perhaps was what he’s witnessing.

“Woah, who are you agreeing with me and where’s (Y/N)?” He creased his brows whilst locking eye contact with you. This time, you didn’t wince away and just nudged him on his shoulder to get back to work.

“Hush, Jeno. Isn’t that due later? Get to work, I’ll roam around here for the meantime.”

After decades in this museum, you’re enlightened with the foreign paintings in which some you’ve heard of in your younger years and some that were created beyond your time. The Birth of Venus, Liberty Leading the People, Girl with a Pearl Earring, there’s an advantage of learning about their stories that humans couldn’t interpret. Logical that this section must be off-limits because these pieces were extra special, yet there’s so much more than what meets the eye.

There’s peace in silence while you wandered around, though it doesn’t hinder only at the art. Jeno hasn’t uttered a word since he got back to drawing, and once you asked him what’s doing now, still no answer back. Odd, he’s constantly awa-

Oh, my. You must’ve jinxed it.

Your eyes laid on Jeno leaning forward on his desk with his arms serving as his pillow, resting his head sideways. Soft snores and minimal movement in his upper body to shake the growing cold temperature of the room, he was sleeping like a log.

Putting into perspective, he hasn’t acquired enough rest specifically this past 2 weeks. The endless number of plates due making him work extra during his shift rather than sleeping in the slightest, exhaustion must be an understatement. Coffee no longer pushed him to his maximum for this week even.

But this was the path he chose, and it’ll have its challenges. Still, if you could relieve the stress in any way, you would. This would be one of the ways to repay for all the rudeness you’ve passed on him. Scurrying to his side, placing the plate on the side with his other things. You returned the caps of his open pens so they don’t spill. They must be expensive, recalling how Jeno shared the cons of being an architecture major to Princess Diana. One was the pens needed for sketching, and any tiny damages to them meant buying them again.

With his watch on clear display, he only had 2 hours left until his shift was done. Then, 4 hours until his plate assignment was done, and his current plate was far from done.

The blunt impulse to wake him up slithered your mind, though his calm state deflected your duty. As if you were on board a ship again for your explorations, you paid attention to the view with a relaxed mindset.

Lee Jeno specifically was the view.

His coffee-stained lips were parted and his sharp nose breathing in and out at a relaxing pace, he must be dreaming a happy moment the way half his lips curved into a smile. If he’s resting well, then you too would be calm.

Because of your past disinterest in him, only at this moment did you observe how sharp his jawline was and the cuts on his arms he sought refuge in. No matter how many times you tried to deny Hera’s compliments of him on the side, you couldn’t.

Lee Jeno embodied attractive features; both physical and emotional.

Back to his plate, it’ll put him at a disadvantage if he submitted the way it looked before he passed out. But you remembered all those extra details he mentioned and wanted to add to this project. Being an explorer, you documented all your ventures through words or drawings. You’re fast to adjust to anything new too.

For all the good he’s done for everyone, he only deserved some help in return.

Your version of help was sketching the remaining details of this plate, using other pens for more emphasis. It’s a risk also, but no way could you turn a blind eye on Jeno this time.

Around 5:30 am, Jeno’s eyes blinked open due to a brightening light from the outside. Stretching his limbs, he finds a velvet cloak wrapped around him like a blanket. But before he could question it, he pulled his arm in to see the time on his watch.

“Fuck!” He cursed, realizing that his so-called 10-minute snooze break aborted.

“Oh my, you’re awake!” From his frazzled state, there you were. So put together yet active, some strands of your hair falling down your face even with your hair up in a ponytail. “How was your sleep?”

This whole time he could’ve been woken up, yet you chose not to. You’re aware of his deadline, yet you let him rest entirely. He could’ve burst out in stress, yet he didn’t. You and he may have started on the wrong foot, yet it’s impossible of you to do such an evil thing. He’ll just have to tolerate the outcome later today.

“Refreshing. I really needed it.” Packing his things in his bag and closing the table, you trailed along as he exited with you. Locking up, he has 30 minutes left to accomplish the cleaning. A long good morning indeed.

But his worry of that vanished when you admitted that you had it all covered.

“Everyone helped out in cleaning, plus there are no damages made either.” From your hand, you returned one of his keys that was on his guard blazer. “I double-checked the Oriental Room and locked the doors again.”

“Why are you suddenly so nice to me, (Y/N)?” He questioned with confusion, wearing his blazer again and patting away any creases. He placed your cloak over you again like a true gentleman.

Without a word, you simply invited him to walk you back to your exhibit as parts of the sun began to rise. As you returned to your section, your fellow figures readying themselves to pose again,

“It’s my way to apologize for my very rude first impression and the succeeding moments after. I was too cooped up in my past that I was too afraid to let humans in again, night guards in particular.” You admitted, removing your cloak and placing behind your chair like always. “I’m so sorry, Jeno. Everyone was right about you and your kind heart.”

“About time.” Cleopatra’s sultry voice cut in, laying on her day bed.

Before you had the chance to flip off, Jeno mediated swiftly. With a gentle smile, “No worries about it. I’m just happy you’re okay, after all you’ve been through.”

“Can we start over then?”

“Absolutely.” With his free hand, he brought it out. No matter what kind of introductions, shaking one’s hand was the best way to start a friendship. “Good evening. I’m Lee Jeno, the new museum night guard.”

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N), explorer and author.” Sighing at his humor, you still replied by shaking his hand. “And I believe you’re mistaken, Lee Jeno. It’s a good morning.”

Seconds after, you imitated your typical pose and smile. Only now, the latter was more genuine. Finally, a fresh start to end your agony.

Once the sun fully revealed itself, every figure including yourself froze back to sleep. Something Jeno wished to catch up on if it weren’t for his damn plate. He was so screwed, already contemplating his next steps if he does fail this class. The possibility of getting delayed in all aspects, he dreaded it already.

Heading back to his dorm, where both his roommates completely passed out from soju on the couch, he sat by his work desk and turned on his night lamp for more light since the sun wasn’t strong enough yet.

With another cup of coffee, he cracked the joints of his knuckles and laid out his pens. He had 2 hours left to submit this plate, and at most he should accomplish 50% of his initial plan. However, he didn’t anticipate such a gorgeous outcome when he brought out his plate.

Picture perfect of every detail he desired, even adding a rooftop area with that he’d love to have if ever the museum does go under renovation one day. Rather than setting the plate during the day, it was at night as the skies were dark and bright specks of yellow inside the building symbolized light.

So much for wasting coffee, he’ll just give it to Jaemin when he wakes up later. Below the final product, a note written in cursive was stuck on it.

 I knew you wanted to get this specific plate done, but you mustn’t compromise your sleep for it. It’s your inhumane professor’s fault!

To make up for my faults, I wanted to help you out. I paid extra attention to the details you spoke highly about, so I only hoped that I interpreted it correctly. It’s risky, but as someone who researched so much about me, would you be surprised that I did such a thing?

PS: Get back to sleep. I’m quite sure your desk is laid out the same way in the Foreign Art Room.

Respectfully,

(Y/N)

 Turning off his lamp, Jeno jumped the covers of his bed to continue his lost sleep. Without an ounce of care that he hasn’t changed into cleaner clothes, he’s relieved that he won’t flunk his class.

Most of all, he’s relieved that you’ve melted the ice in you and allowed kindness to come in. Jeno may never understand how hard that must’ve been for you, yet he raved you for it.

“Oh, (Y/N) (Y/L/N). Surprise is an understatement when it comes to you.”

[weelittleweasley]

sheer brilliance (f.w.)

prompt: being a teacher’s assistant at a local college, you are assigned to a philosophy professor who is notorious for being young, cocky, and undeniably handsome. does his arrogance get in the way of you getting or job done? or is it his looks?

pairing: professor! fred x teacher’s assistant! reader

warnings: typically frowned upon relationships (oopsie i love forbidden romances that are legal and consentual mwah), language, food, drinking, alcohol

word count: 15k (I am so sorry I really couldn’t help myself)

author’s note: there won’t be a direct part two of this, but you can bet ur sweet booty that i will be writing more prof!fred in this universe because he’s just so HNNNGG

taglist: @rosaliepostsstuff​ @harrysweasleys​ @gcdricreads​ @lumos-barnes​ @whizboingies​ @lumosandnoxwriting​ @pxroxide-prinxcesss​ @c-t-h​ @lol-idk-oops​ @another-lonely-heart​ @kaseyrose96-blog​ @hufflepuff5972 @amourtentiaa​ @parseltongueswriting​ @shilohpug​ @peachypotter​ @spacexcowgirl​ @PaintballKid711 @vogueweasley​ @freddie-weaselbee​ @freds-slut​ @missmulti​ @gryffindcrghost​ @wand3ringr0s3​ @valwritesx​ @sweeterthansammy​ @loonylovegood13​ @lostaurorax​

“It’s so nice to see another young face here,” a blonde haired girls sighs next to you as you swipe your ID card to enter the university building for your first official day of work. “I thought I was going to be the only new TA here,” she confides in you as your shoes click down the corridor as you make your way through the halls. 

You flash her a comforting smile, “Same here. But I think there’s more of us on the way. Besides, we’re relatively early.” 

As a last year graduate student, you needed to be a teaching assistant in order to get your degree and finish your course requirements. It wasn’t an opportunity you were thrilled about, but it would give you hands on teaching experience in a university setting that could be very valuable. That was, if you had the right professor.

“I’m Luna, by the way,” the girl next to you chimes as she fixes the strap of her purse, offering you her hand to shake, gladly accepting it. “I’m a TA for Women and Gender Studies,” she adds proudly.

“I’m (Y/N),” you smile, “TA for Philosophy.” Luna looks impressed as you tell her about your area of study, making you laugh. “I promise it’s not as bad as it sounds. I quite like it, actually. Just hoping the professor I’m assisting is a good one,” you nervously speak, turning the corner to walk to the Dean’s office.

Luna shakes her head, “I hear you. It’s definitely nerve wracking, but Hogwarts University has some of the top rated professors in the country, so I really don’t think we’ll have many problems in that department.” 

You suck in a deep breath as you nod. The university was quite prestigious, you were shocked when you were informed you would be assisting here, but honored nonetheless. However, there was still a pool of nerves that swam around in your stomach as you thought about the professor you would be assisting. You could have a someone who was so knowledgeable in your field of study or someone who was a complete ass. It was a dice roll. “One can only hope,” you sigh before arriving in front of the Dean’s door, placing three knocks on the wooden door.

The door swings open to reveal a happy looking man, brown hair combed back and a toothy grin on his face. He wore houndstooth pants with a white button down tucked in and a neatly tied bow tie around his neck, matching the color pattern of his pants. His face glowed with excitement as he beamed, “Ms. Lovegood, Miss (Y/L/N), so glad to finally have you with us!” You and Luna offered him a warm smile in return as he opened his office door wider for the two of you to enter. “Welcome to Hogwarts! I’m Dean Longbottom, but you two can just call me Neville,” he smiles as he sits behind his desk adorned with small succulents and stationary. “I’ve been anticipating your arrival along with the other teaching assistants for awhile. It’s so nice that we have such a large pool of you for this semester. The professors are quite lucky to get quite a brilliant bunch like you,” he compliments.

“Speaking on behalf of all the TAs, I think I can confidently say we feel honored to be here,” Luna smiles softly as the dean chuckles and you nod.

Neville nods his head, “We are honored to have you.” You and Luna thank him before he begins again, “So, the two of you have some time before you are reporting to your classrooms for lecture. How about I give you the tour of the campus? A proper Hogwarts welcome?”

You and Luna excitedly agree and Dean Longbottom starts to walk you through the hallways of the beautiful university. The university had once been castle during the Gothic era, still maintaining the same structure. Beautiful hallways, paintings of founders hung in the walls, windows adorned with stained glass as sunlight seeped through. “The dining hall is on the left over here,” Neville gestures, revealing a large room lined with tables, school flags hanging high as students varying in year gather to chat and eat. “And if you look ahead, you’ll find the campus courtyard. It’s beautiful this time of year with the flowers in full bloom,” Neville smiles to himself. “Across the street are the campuses houses. Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, Syltherins, and Hufflepuffs,” he points as you see tall houses, coated in paint of their respective colors. “I myself was a Gryffindor when I was a student,” he jokes, earning a laugh from you and Luna. “Other than that, I think that concludes the tour. Here are your staff lanyards and your professor assignments have been forwarded to you in your emails. There’s still some time left before lecture, so feel free to hang around campus or in the staff lounge. If you need anything, please, don’t hesitate. I’ll see you two very soon!” he waves before disappearing down the hall. 

In this moment, you take the time to look around the hall to see the bustling student body, smiling and laughing as they make their way down the halls. You softly smile to yourself, reminiscing about when you were an undergraduate. A freshman in the halls, excited for university. Now, you were nearly done with graduate school, soon to be a certified professor. Time had flown by in the blink of an eye. 

“You want to take a peak in the staff lounge?” Luna disturbs your thoughts.

Turning to her, you give her a smile and a nod before walking up the stairs three levels to reach the staff lounge. Inside were a few professors scattered here and there, but mostly there were TAs. The room radiated buzzing nervous energy as red lanyards signifying TA status hung around a few necks. One of the boys sitting at the table spotted the red lanyard and spoke cooly, “You’ve found the right place.” 

He rose from his chair and walked over to you and Luna with a shocking amount of confidence. His jet black hair was gelled back neatly, a crisp light blue button up and handsome tie clung on his neck as he stuck out a hand for you to shake. “Name’s Harry,” he proudly shook your hand. “I was a TA here two years ago, now in charge of the TA program and coordinator for the math department. You two look new. Not that it’s a bad thing, it’s just I could sense it,” he laughs.

“(Y/N),” you shake his hand firmly as he smiles. Luna does the same with a small smile. “You’re right about the new part. It’s both our first semesters here,” you confirm. 

Harry nods and walks back to his chair, leaning back, tucking his hands in his pockets. “Nice. What’s your area of focus?” he asks. 

Luna grabs a seat and speaks, “Women and Gender Studies. You by any chance know a Ginevra Weasley? She’ll be the professor I’m assisting this semester.”

Harry lets out a chuckle before an unfamiliar voice speaks up, “Oh, Potter is familiar here with Ms. Ginevra Weasley. That’s his fiancé.” You turn around to face a smirking face as he sips on his piping cup of black coffee. “I’m Seamus Finnegan. Head TA for the chemistry department,” he introduces. “You’ve lucked out,” he tells Luna. “Ginny is the best in the department. She’s a hard ass, but you’ll learn a lot from her.”

Luna smiles to herself, “Very excited to get started then.” 

“What about you?” Harry nods to you as Seamus slides into a seat next to Harry. “Area of study?”

“Philosophy,” you reply cooly. Seamus gives you an impressed look as Harry smiles lightly. “Specifically Ethics,” you add on. “I’m assisting another Weasley, actually?” you look at Luna. “Are they by any chance related?” you ask Harry and Seamus.

The two of them just chuckle as Harry sighs, “Yeah, the whole family basically teaches here. You’ll learn fast. They all got jobs at the same time since their father is on the board of directors. All of them deserve to be here though. Brilliant professors, all of them.”

You let out a sigh of relief that you didn’t realize you were holding in. Confirmation that you had a more than capable professor was good news. 

Seamus continues on Harry’s tangent. “Basically one in each department,” he shrugs. “Ginny is a  women and gender studies professor, Percy is the head of the business department, Charles is in the vet school, Bill is an adjunct professor now, but he’s in the language department with a focus in French, Ron is the European History professor and by the looks of it, he’ll be the head of the department next year, George is the chemistry professor I assist, and then there’s Fred w-”

“That’s the one,” you interrupt. “He’s the one I’m assisting this semester. How’s he? Do you have any intel that could help a new bee out?” you ask hopefully with a glimmer of jest in your voice. But the look on Harry and Seamus’ faces make your stomach do a flip. They look at each other knowingly as Seamus lets out a small chuckle. He mutters a small yikes before sipping on his coffee and excuses himself from the table to go attend his lecture with George. “What was that look about? Is he a lazy professor?” you groan.

Harry lightly laughs and shakes his head, scratching the back of his neck. “Fred Weasley is a great professor, no need to worry about that. He’s just...how do I put this without getting fired?” he whispers the last bit to himself as your eyes widen and you lean in closer with a what?, making Harry shake his head. “It’s not bad, I swear, he’s not like...unstable or anything. He’s just very cocky. Fred is good at his job and he knows it. He doesn’t let anyone forget it. He’s been ranked top professor at the school for the past three years and wears it like a badge of honor.” 

Great, a cocky professor. A narcissist. Just what you needed when starting a job that could determine the fate of your career. You sigh and flop back in your chair as Luna gives you a sympathetic look. “Bloody brilliant,” you huff.

“He’s a great professor though!” Harry tries to make light of the conversation. “Fred has been teaching straight out of university, so he knows what he’s doing. Students really admire him and his lectures are some of the best that I’ve seen. He knows how to have fun in the class, but he doesn’t take any bullshit,” Harry reassures you as you give him a weak nod. It was nice to hear that he was at least respected and admired by the students. Maybe you could learn to do the same. 

Luna takes a look at her watch and gives you a nudge. “It’s twenty minutes until the new lecture block. Reckon we should introduce ourselves to our professors?” she asks as you sigh with a reluctant nod. After that bit of information you just received, you were less excited to meet your professor. “It was nice meeting you, Harry,” she beams to Harry as you two rise from your seats. 

“Lovely meeting you two. I’m sure I’ll catch you around in the halls,” he winks friendly before you both exit the staff lounge.

Nervously, you played with the cuffs of your turtleneck, walking down the halls, parting with Luna, wishing the other good luck in their first lecture. As you strolled the hallway of the fifth floor, searching from room 523 where Philosophical Ethics would take place. You wondered how he would look. Old, no doubt. Harry said he’s been teaching since he graduated which had to mean he was in his late forties. Was he a cranky old white man? Great. Just fantastic. He probably had the traditional way of teaching which meant he sat at the front of the classroom and spoke at the class for three hours. Your worst nightmare. How could someone ruin something you loved?

You stumble upon the wooden door with golden paint etched into it 523. With a confident inhalation, you push the door open and enter the classroom, neatly set up for the next lecture. Three rows of eight, one next to the other. In the front of the classroom was a large chalkboard with the words Welcome to Ethics written in sloppy handwriting. Gently, there was soft jazz music playing from a small speaker, filling the classroom, saxophone and trumpet melodies echoing. Everything looked normal. Except for who sat at the desk.

At the front of the classroom, sitting at a dark brown desk was a tall, lean young man with tuffs of orange hair styled back. He wore a freshly ironed white button down that was tucked neatly into a pair of chestnut corduroys with matching brown chukka boots. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, showing off his muscular biceps and toned arms. A shiny silver Rolex watch was strapped on his left wrist as he tapped a pen against his desk. But you couldn’t get over how young he was. The youth in his face was lively as his dark chocolate eyes scanned over a paper in front of him. Your presence was unknown to him as he continued to flip through papers, dragging his pen across the margins. 

Politely, you clear your throat, causing him to look up from his paper, looking up at you. When his eyes landed on yours, you gulped thickly. His whole face was undeniably attractive. His angled jaw, full lips, soft eyes. He gave you a confused look. “Lecture isn’t for another twenty minutes,” he told you before looking back down at his paper, almost dismissing you. “But feel free to have your choice in seat. I hope you don’t mind the music. Let me know if it’s distracting,” he tells you before flipping the pages again.

You inhale deeply. “Actually, Professor Weasley, I’m (Y/N),” you introduce yourself. Professor Weasley looks up at you with confused eyes, trying to put together your identity. “Your TA for the semester?” you speak with a small smile. “I’m very excited to get started with you.”

But before you can ask him what you could do to help set up the classroom, he speaks, “I didn’t ask for a TA.”

His words take you aback for a moment. Instead of an introduction or even a simple hello, he told you he didn’t ask for a TA. “I beg your pardon?” you ask with almost a laugh.

“I didn’t ask for a TA. I don’t need one,” he clarifies to you, rising from his desk as you gulp, taking in how tall he was, standing proudly above you. “I’ve never needed a TA in the past, and I don’t know who decided I needed one this year. After being voted best professor since I got here, I don’t understand why this is the year I need one,” he laughs, making his way around the desk, leaning against it, tucking his hands in his pockets.

You give him a disturbed look. Harry telling you that Fred Weasley was cocky was a damn understatement. The bloody guy was telling you to your face that you weren’t wanted or needed here. That he could do his job perfectly fine without you. “I’m sure you don’t need one, Professor, but this was my assignment. Dean Longbottom assigned me here and I’m just following what I was told to do in order to get my degree,” you tell him, trying to remain cool and polite when you’d rather tell him to suck it up and deal with it.

Fred run his fingers through his hair before placing them on either side of his body, leaning back into his desk, tongue pressed against his cheek. His biceps flexed underneath his tight white shirt, making you gulp, trying not to get distracted at the fact that your professor was not only a dick, but an incredibly handsome one. “Neville assigned you?” he laughed. “Alright. Well, I’ll go down to office and get this sorted away,” he huffed before standing up straight.

But before he could take a step further, you stopped him, now getting frustrated that this guy didn’t even try being nice to you. “Hold on,” you stopped him, fixing the strap of your purse on your shoulder before placing it on the desk next to you. “This job was assigned to me. There are no other TA positions available in the philosophy department this late in the game. I’m not gonna lose this job just because you allegedly don’t need a TA,” you try to keep cool, but the venom leaks out every now and then.

Fred gives you a light chuckle before speaking, “Not allegedly. I don’t need one. There’s a reason why I’m one of the most successful and youngest professors. I can run this class by myself without some grad student’s help.”

Now, you are pissed. “Alright, you know what?” you fold your arms over your chest. “I don’t appreciate being spoken to like this. I’ve worked very hard to get where I am and I will be respected. Regardless if I am a TA, or a student, or a co-worker. I am here to do a job and I will do that job no matter what anyone says,” you tell him as he just stares at you, a cocky smirk on his face that makes your blood boil. It was like he wasn’t listening to a word you were saying. “So how about we save ourselves the dramatics and just be satisfied with the fact that this is the situation?”

Fred just exhales and rubs hand over his face. You could tell he didn’t want you here, and quite frankly, you didn’t want to be here either after his little stunt. You were quite sure he was capable of running his own class, but you weren’t here to take his job. You were here to be an assistant to his teaching, being there to support and help him. This was a requirement for you, not a pastime. “Alright then,” he eventually states, making the way back to his desk. “You can grab a desk from the rows and bring it up to the front, I guess,” he huffs as you remain standing with your arms still folded across your chest. 

He looks up and gives you a look. “Aren’t you going to introduce yourself?” you ask with venom pouring from your glossed lips as you give him a sarcastic smile. 

Fred gives you a sarcastic smile back as he drops his pen and speaks, “Fred Weasley. MA in Philosophy and Human Ethics. Cambridge Graduate. Cum laude.” The pride dripped from his voice as he leaned back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head. “And you are?”

You wanted to throw your shoe at his head, your blood was boiling at how arrogant and prideful this man was. “If you were listening before, you would know my name is (Y/N). MA in Philosophy and Human Ethics. University of Oxford. 3.98 GPA,” you mimic him.

Fred gives out a chuckle as you grab your purse and start to settle yourself in the room. “Oxford student? Fitting that our universities are rivals,” he huffs before pulling a desk and chair over for you, placing it near his desk. 

“And why would that be?” you ask sarcastically as Fred bites the inside of his cheek, trying not to snap a snarky response back at you. “Listen, Fred, I’m just here to do my job and do it well. I’m not here to step on your toes. I’m here to finish my requirements so I can get certified,” you tell him as you stand beside your desk, smoothing out your plaid skirt that your turtleneck was tucked neatly into. 

As you stand there, Fred’s eyes rake up and down your body, taking you in as a whole. The first time he’s done this since you walked in. His eyes are like magnets, scanning every inch of your body and how you carry yourself so confidently in the space. When his eyes reach yours, you inhale deeply, trying to prevent the heat from rising to your cheeks as your handsome superior checks you out. “I’m not worried about you, darling,” his thick accent coos. “You’re the least of my worries.”

Just as the words slip out of his mouth, students start to file into the classroom, greeting Fred with good mornings and how are you’s. You tell yourself to calm down, to remain friendly, and cool. As the students file in, Fred greets them all with a warm smile. “Welcome back everyone. This is Philosophical Ethics with Professor Weasley. You all can call me Professor, Professor Weasley, Fred, Professor Fred. Just not Freddie, that one is reserved for my mum,” he teases, earning a few chuckles from the class. He glances over to you with a small stare and begrudgingly introduces you, “This is (Y/N), my TA for the semester. She will be here with us for...?”

“The whole semester,” you remind him with a sweet smile contrasted by your  daggers for eyes. “Looking forward to working with you all,” you tell the class with a warm smile, receiving a few back in return.

Fred sighs, “Right. Well, anyway, let’s take roll and then get right into things, yeah?” The class nods as you sigh. “Alright, who can talk to me about Nietzsche?”

This was going to be a long semester.

Three hours of the class went by at a sluggish pace. Not to mention, Fred didn’t extent an invitation for your opinion or thoughts during the lesson. You didn’t expect him to let you teach the class, but instead, you just sat and listened to him run the class. 

Although he didn’t let you say much, you had to admit that his lecture was quite good. He led the class in a really interesting way, almost like a Socratic seminar type. He let his students make observations and create open dialogues about the philosophy you were covering. Fred encouraged student’s thoughts rather than shut them down and he tried to encourage everyone to participate to make sure everyone said what they wanted to say. But you, he didn’t extend that offer. 

Instead, you took notes. Notes on Fred Weasley. The way he spoke with his hands, how he sloppily wrote on the board with chalk, underlining words, circling, and drawing small diagrams. How he folded his arms across his chest when someone brought up a provocative thought. How he nibbled on his bottom lip when a student asked him a question. How he glanced over at you every once in awhile, catching your eye and smirking when he caught you looking at him. You would roll your eyes and continue to scribble down his mannerisms, what he focused on in class, and how he conducted it. 

The students ate up everything that fell from his lips. It was like magic, the way he could capture 20 students attention about something as niche as existentialism. But you couldn’t lie, Fred Weasley was captivating.

“Okay, for next week’s class read Nicomachean Ethics and start drawing comparisons and differences between Aristotle and Nietzsche,” Fred announces as he closes his book and dismisses his students for the day, a chorus of thank you’s and have a good day’s echo in the classroom.

The final student exits as Fred retires back to his desk, sorting papers and filing away miscellaneous papers. You click your pen as you watch him, waiting for him to break the silence. But instead he sits at his desk and starts scribbling into his planner. With a sigh, you break the silence and speak, “You give a really informative lecture. You engage with the students really well.”

You thought a compliment would be a peace offering. An olive branch of sorts. But Fred took it as an opportunity to dig into you. “I know. That’s why it’s a full class and I’ve got a waitlist 30 kids long,” he speaks without looking up at his desk. 

The guy was cocky as all hell and he was letting you soak it all in. The grip on your pen grows tighter as you click your tongue against the roof of your mouth in irritation, trying to maintain a steady facade. “So,” you breathe out as you grab your bag, pulling your notebook from your back. “You want to talk about lesson plans? I see that you’ve assigned Aristotle for the next week and a half. Maybe a smooth transition would be going into Kant and talking about the categorical imperative?” you suggest, sitting on a desk in front of Fred’s.

He peers up at you through his lashes, your legs dangling from the desk. He gives you all of his attention as he pushes his sleeves further up his arms, fiddling with the lock on his Rolex. “I’ve already taken care of the lesson plans for the rest of the semester. It’s all planned out. It has been since last month,” he explains to you as you nod your head, thinking he would offer something else for you to do.

“Okay,” you trail off. “Is there...anything you want me to do? Coordinate office hours? Set up my own as well so I can be a resource to the students. I can give you my phone number and email to put on the syllabus, so the students know they can reach out to me if they have any questions,” you tell him as you start to scribble down your email and number.

But Fred shakes his head, “Won’t be necessary. If a student needs you, they’ll come to you. Besides, they should really come to me if they need anything since I have more knowledge about the course.”

His passive comments were starting to pile up on you as you inhale deeply, your chest heaving. The turtleneck around your body felt very warm as anger started to bubble in your chest. “Maybe if you told me about the course, I could be a valuable resource to students. Remember, I’m just as qualified as you. I just haven’t graduated yet,” you remind Fred as you lean back on the desk, legs swinging back and forth as Fred starts to pack up his briefcase.

“Yet,” he looks up at you with a smirk, pink lips curled upwards as he leans over his desk, gathering his things. Even though the smirk was condescending as all hell, it did something to you. In more than one way. It made anger gather in your chest, frustration tingle in your temples, but butterflies pitter patter away deep in your stomach.

“So what exactly do you want me to do?” you ask, folding your arms across your chest as Fred grabs his jacket with one hand, his briefcase in the other as he does a once over his desk.

Calmly, Fred speaks, “You can start by filing away those papers on my desk and then once that’s done, make a list of the students in grade point average order. I want to know who needs the most help and who is fine on their own.” After he gives you that direction, he starts for the door.

With a scoff, you hop down from the desk. “And you’re just going to leave?” you laugh at him as he place his hand on the door with a shrug. “You know I am a teaching assistant. Not your personal assistant,” you spit at him.

Fred swings the door open and stands there with a smile. “Teaching is more than just standing front of a room as talking out of your ass, dear,” he tells you as the nickname makes you bite your tongue from yelling at him. 

“You really are arrogant, you know that?” you sneer at him with your hands on your hips, glaring at him. You stare at him as he stands in front of the open door, jacket laid over his forearm, leather briefcase in hand, his other hand combing through his fire red hair.

Fred smiles lightly to you before sighing, “I’m bloody brilliant, (Y/N). You would be arrogant, too.” His words make you shake your head with a scoff. “Sort those papers for me, won’t you? I’ll see you tomorrow in here. Early. 9am sharp.”

But before you can ask him why, he’s out the door and calling after another professor, leaving you alone to your own devices. You let out a frustrated groan as you cover your face with your hands. Of course, you got stuck with the prick professor who takes advantage of an extra set of hands. You walk over to his desk and see a small stack of papers to be sorted and filed away along with the list he wanted you to organize. 

You plop yourself into the desk seat and carefully start going through each file, examining each student’s credentials, organizing them by GPA and last name. You note who could be a tutor and who needs a tutor, who is at exit level, who is at entry level, so on and so forth. The task was interesting, but so time consuming. It was a way you could start to learn more about your students, even if it was through paper.

It had been an hour and a half and you were on your last file when you hear a gentle knock at the door. Slowly, it creaks open to reveal Luna and Harry together. Luna carries two lattes in her hand and smiles, extending her arm out to give it to you. “You are a saint, you know that?” you laugh as you accept the warm, caffeinated beverage. 

“You’re still working?” she asks in disbelief as you finalize some last notes in the margins of one student’s file. “But class ended almost two hours ago.”

You look up at the both of them. “Oh, I know. But Fred left after the lecture and insisted I do the filing and note taking whilst he got to leave on time,” you speak through gritted teeth, finishing scribbling your last note and flopping the pen down, leaning back in the desk chair with a huff. “You weren’t lying when you told me he’s a self-righteous fuck,” you talk to Harry.

Harry laughs and digs his hands into his pockets with a huff. “Well, I didn’t use those words,” he laughs as you give him a look through your mascara coated lashes. He gives you a sorry sigh and leans over the desk, “Fred is a great guy one on one, but as a professor...he just likes having reign over his classroom. It’s not just you. His last TA was three years ago and he made the kid miserable. The kid, Dean Thomas, was so sick of philosophy after he switched to psychology. Now he’s a first year professor.” You roll your eyes and push yourself out of the desk, grabbing your purse and notebooks, piling them all in as Harry continues. “What happened today?”

Recounting the moments of the day made you frustrated, but you allowed yourself to vent to your co-workers. “Well, when I walked in, he thought I was a student,” you speak as Harry and Luna give you an apologetic look, Harry muttering an ouch. “Oh, that’s not even the worst part. Then I told him I was a TA and he told me he didn’t need one, because he’s more than capable of running his own classroom,” you mimic his pompous attitude. “He had the gall to threaten me to go to Neville’s office and find me a replacement class! I mean, sure, he’s a great professor, but that doesn’t mean he’s the only good one in this bloody school!” you exclaim, frustrated failing your arms, earning a small chuckle from Harry and Luna. “I’m sorry, I’m just very frustrated that this is how my first day on the job went,” you run your fingers through your hair, shaking your head.

“No need to apologize,” Luna walks over and touches your shoulder gently. “He sounds...unpleasant...” she tries to be as cordial as possible, earning a giggle from you. “But maybe you’ll warm up to each other? It’s only the first day. We have a whole semester ahead of us,” she looks between you and Harry cheerfully. In a weird way, her light, happy tone made you feel a little better.

You sigh, “I guess so. Ugh, a whole semester with Fred Weasley...” 

The three of you start out of the classroom and start to make your way down the halls, retiring to the staff parking lot and bus stops. But before you can make your way to the public transportation, Harry suggests, “Hey, a few of us are headed to the bar to grab a drink before headed home. Do you both fancy coming?”

Luna perks up and shakes her head with an eager yes please. The idea of grabbing drinks sounded great and just what you needed after this gruesome day. But the looming thought of having to get up early and meet Fred in the classroom tomorrow at nine sharp hung over you like a storm cloud. With a sigh, you speak, “Wish I could. But Fred is making me meet him at nine to talk about lesson plans or something. Last thing I need is showing up hungover to my second day on the job.”

Harry and Luna groan in protest. “Oh, come on! You can’t let Fred rob you of your autonomy!” Luna stomps her foot and grabs your hand. “One drink won’t hurt! We’ll both have one pint and then I’ll take the bus back with you. We’re only one stop away from each other on the blue line,” she tries to convince you.

Harry starts dancing backwards to his car as he beeps it open. “I’ve got an extra seat,” he sing songs as he opens up the door for you.

A small smile creeps up on your face as you sigh. One drink couldn’t hurt. Just one cheeky little drink and then home away you would go. The night was still young, so you’d still be in bed at a reasonable hour. One drink. “You guys suck,” you laugh as you start walking to Harry’s car as Luna claps her hands in glee and Harry triumphantly punches the air, making you laugh.

-------

The morning sun creeps through your window, making you groan and roll over. The sunlight hurt your eyes and made your stomach churn as a headache pounds through your cranium, making you feel sick. “Bloody hell,” you whisper as you sit up and rub your eyes. 

You slowly start to remember the events of last night and everyone there. It was all the TAs, including some of the younger professors. You met another Weasley, Ron you think. The history professor. Absolutely nothing like Fred. He was charming and goofy in a lovable way as he sat next to his wife, Hermione, a classical literature professor, an arm draped over her shoulders. Seamus was also there along with a few other chemistry TAs as they sat at a high rise table, pointing and whispering about the business professors and TAs who sat all the way in the back, drinking scotch and making mild chatter.

“No bother meeting them,” Seamus told you as you sipped on a gin and tonic. “The business professors and TAs are all little shits. The one with the blonde hair is Draco Malfoy. He thinks he’s better than everyone because he got his PhD, but everyone knows his dad paid off the university to give him the doctorate. His TAs all kiss his ass to get in his good graces. Zabini, Nott, Goyle, all of them,” he groans before taking a long sip of his ale, making you laugh.

You had tried to tell yourself that you would only stay for one drink, but then you started yourself in conversation with the other TAs about undergrad and grad school, realizing the mutual friends you had with each other. And then, you found yourself being convinced by Ron to do a green tea shot with him as he toasted to all of the new TAs of the semester. And with that, one drink became six.

With a groan, you slump yourself up in your small studio apartment and rub your temples. As the sunlight leaked in through your white linen curtains, you check the clock. The hands pointed to 8:25am which made you gasp and rise to your feet. “Motherfucker,” you huff to yourself as you run to the bathroom. You had to meet Fred at 9 and it already took you twenty minutes to get to campus which left you with virtually no time to get ready. “Shit, shit, shit,” you turn on the shower quickly, running to your closet to grab a fresh pair of plaid pants and a jumper. “I’m so dead,” you whisper to yourself as you scramble to get ready.

You frantically rub soap all over your body with one hand and brush your teeth with the other, needing to freshen up after a long night out. The shower was cold and unpleasant as you shivered before hoping out and throwing your clothes on, opting to skip a full face of makeup and just pop on tinted moisturizer and lip balm. 

Checking the clock again, it was 8:35 and you groan in frustration. “I am a fucking moron,” you curse at yourself, grabbing your purse and notebooks and pens and papers, trying to get yourself organized before racing out the door to catch the bus. You run to your pantry to grab a granola bar as your phone starts buzzing on your nightstand. “Who the fuck is it?!” you scream as if your phone could hear you.

Stomping over, you grab it and see it was Harry calling you. “I’m kinda rushing to get out the door, Potter, make it quick, what’s up?” you babble as you slip your shoes in your Oxfords, lacing them up quickly.

Harry chuckles over the line. “I figured as much. You were a bit of a mess last night,” he tells you as you groan. “I’m only teasing you. But that being said, I’m passing your street in like two minutes, do you wanna catch a ride instead of betting on the bus?” he offers.

You sigh the biggest sigh of relief as you immediately respond. “Harry, you are a life saver,” you huff as Harry laughs. “I’ll be downstairs in a hot second. I just need to grab my coat and keys,” you tell him before hanging up.

Someone had your back today and sent Harry Potter to you. Rushing over to your coat rack, you grab your trench coat and your keys, doing a once over of your apartment, making sure you had everything, turned off all the lights and faucets. With a confident sigh, you exit your apartment, lock the door, and rush down the stairs. 

As expected, Harry sat in his car with a ginger haired woman in the passenger seat. You give him an exhausted smile as you open the back seat and slide in. “Morning,” he chimes as you shut the door and buckle your seatbelt. “How are we feeling?”

You give him a knowing look. “Fuck off,” you grumble as he laughs. “I can’t believe I let myself get carried away like that last night.” You never let yourself loose track of time like that; you felt so irresponsible. “If you didn’t call me, I would surely have my ass handed to me by Fred today.”

“Fred?” the woman in the passenger seat chimes in. “Are you the poor TA who has to deal with my brother this semester?” she asks as you sigh and nod. “Good God, I apologize on his behalf. He can be a dick sometimes. I’m Ginny by the way.”

She turns to you, offering her hand to shake as you gladly accept it. “The women and gender studies professor, right?” you ask as she proudly nods. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m (Y/N), philosophy,” you tell her with a smile. “You and Harry are engaged, if I remember correctly?”

Ginny smiles happily and flashes you her engagement ring. “Just recently, yeah,” she confirms with an admiring look to Harry as he drives down the road, a small smile on his lips. “We met when we were both TAs and have been together since,” she recounts with a smile. “Enough of that though, how are you finding Hogwarts so far? With exception of my bothersome older brother,” she reframes the question.

“So far, so good,” you tell her honestly. The staff at the university was class. Everyone was so warm and welcoming and made you feel at home instantly. “I think last night I also met your brother, Ron. He kept handing out shots to the new TAs,” you recall as the pang in your head agrees.

Ginny rolls her eyes. “Yeah, that’s him. Ron likes to mess with the new bees every year,” she speaks. “Here, take this,” she hands you a piece of spearmint gum and a tube of mascara. “It’ll make you feel better, trust me,” she winks as you thank her. “Harry should have given you a heads up on that one,” she elbows him.

Harry shakes his head, “Ron has been my best mate since grad school, I’m not revealing his tricks to anyone no matter how good of a friend they are.” And with that, Harry pulls into the staff parking lot of Hogwarts as the time reads on the dashboard 8:55am. 5 minutes to spare.

As Harry puts the car in park, you unbuckle yourself and say, “I hate to rush out like this, but I quite literally have to dash to get to this meeting with Fred on time. Ginny, it was lovely meeting you. Harry, I owe you one. Thanks so much for the ride,” you slide out of the car as you dash towards the school.

“You can buy me a round of drinks!” he teases after you as you shake your head, dashing through the halls of Hogwarts to get to classroom 523.

You dart in between students as you run up the stairs, purse in hand, hair flowing as you make a mad dash. Finally, you reach the classroom and push the door open to reveal no one in the room. “Seriously?” you huff out of breath. You just ran here for no reason. Fred was no where to be found. But after closer inspection, there was a small sticky note on the chalkboard that read be back in ten. You huff and throw your bag down, walking around the classroom, trying to distract yourself from your throbbing headache.

The classroom is neatly decorated, plants here and there, the windows open to draw in fresh air as you inhale deeply. Then you remember from yesterday. There was a small speaker by Fred’s desk, connected to the desktop on his desk. You walk over and press the power button, making the speak bleep on with a blue flashing light. You press play and see what was on the queue. Soft jazz music starts playing, specifically Frank Sinatra’s I’ve Got You Under My Skin. You smile to yourself, how fitting. 

As the jazz music echos lightly, you allow yourself to sway gently to the music, smiling to yourself. The song reminds you of working late in the library when you were in school, listening to music to maintain your focus. You hum the melody to yourself, dancing around the classroom, looking at the bookshelves, letting your fingers trace down their backbones. You allow yourself to start softly singing the lyrics as the tempo picks up, swaying back and forth as you pluck a book from the shelf, scanning it’s contents. 

The song picks up, the brass section wailing as you dance around, reading the first few pages of a random book from Fred’s collection. You continue to sing out loud, a little off key as you smile to yourself. In this moment, you were content, regardless of how gross you felt. “’Cause I’ve got you under my skin,” you sang gently as you continued to dance back and forth, cradling the book in your arms.

But you are pulled from your day dream when a voice speaks, “You’re a fan of old blue eyes?” You let out a light squeal as you see Fred standing there, watching you with a small smirk on his mouth, holding two coffees in his hand. 

You place a hand over your heart, monitoring how it thuds against your chest from being startled. You looked at Fred and sighed. He stood there, in a light tan khakis, crispy white shirt with a maroon tie hanging from his neck. A pair of square glasses sat on the bridge of his nose as his chocolate brown eyes peered at yours through them. “Sorry you had to see that,” you chuckle. “Sinatra is one of my favorites.”

Fred chuckles, “No need to apologize. Frank is one of the greats.” He walks over to you and hands you a coffee as you tuck the book in your hands under one of your arms. “Figured you’d need one of these,” he refers to the coffee. “TAs usually have quite the night out of the first day of work,” he recalls with a small smile. Was he...being friendly? But before you could ask how he knew you went out, he answered, “Ron is my brother. I know his ways. Because he learned them from me.” You laugh and shake your head. “I don’t know how you take your coffee, but I assumed a latte with an extra shot would suffice?” 

You give him a soft smile, “Yeah, that’s perfect. Thanks so much. I appreciate it.” Fred nods and sits as his desk with a huff, pulling himself close to the desk. “So, what did you want to talk about?”

Fred pulls his glasses off of his face and twirls them in between his fingers as you watch the glasses spin around and around. “I wanted to talk about expectations for the class and for you,” he speaks as you nod and take a sip of your warm latte that almost instantly helps with your headache. “I...I realize that we may have not gotten off to the best start yesterday...and I apologize for my behavior,” he speak as you nod.

An apology was a good start. “You’re forgiven,” you simply state.

“Thank you,” he adds before rubbing a hand over his lips. “As for the class, I just want to make sure we’re on the same page. This class is a prestigious course. One of the harder ones in the department. That being said, I think it’s best for me to have the reigns on the class and lead class lectures. You are free to observe and aid in answering questions about assignments or papers,” he tells you as he leans back in his chair, thinking he made a reasonable bargain. But it was quite the opposite.

You weren’t here to sit around and listen to another philosophy professor spew a scripted lecture. You did that for four years in undergraduate school. You were here to learn how to teach a classroom, how to run a lesson plan, how to gain hands on experience. Being a puppet in the corner was not going to accomplish any of those things. “Fred, I appreciate the apology. But this offer is not acceptable,” you state calmly. “I’m your teaching assistant. I’m here to help in any way I can, of course, but I’m also here to help teach and instruct the class. You are suppose to help me learn how to teach the class.”

Fred nods, “And you can do that by matters of observation.”

His way of brushing you off made you infuriated again, just like yesterday. Did he do this to everyone? “But don’t you think it would be more helpful for me to have some actual hands on experience? Like actually teaching the class?” you tell him more than ask him.

He rises from his chair and sighs, “I don’t need you creating a new lesson plan. I’ve been using this one since I got here and it works. If it isn’t broke, don’t fix it.” Fred walks over to the board and writes in bold letters, Aristotle, preparing for today’s lecture. The way that he so nonchalantly stated that to you and started writing on the board as if he didn’t insult your intelligence made you infuriated.

“You’re a fucking prick,” you flat out spew. You wish you could take it back, you really did. As soon as the words left your lips, you regretted what you had said to him. Insulting your superior was surefire to get you fired and released from your job, making you ineligible to graduate. But damn did it feel good to say. 

Fred turns around to look at you, eyebrows furrows as if you just spoke in a foreign language to him. “I’m a fucking prick?” he repeats, folding his arms across his chest, leaning back on the chalkboard, crossing his legs as you stand in front of him, completely enraged, fists tight next to your sides. “Wouldn’t be the first time I heard that,” he laughs, combing his fingers through his hair, as if what you said was a compliment.

“Well the people who said it before were right! You’re cocky and arrogant and self-righteous and pompous and self-absorbed. You clearly have no intention of helping anyone but yourself! That’s probably why you like being a professor! So everyone listens to every last bit you say,” you start to ramble. Now that you had said what was on your mind, it was almost impossible to stop. The words flew off your tongue like a jet. 

Boldly, Fred pushes himself off the chalkboard, hands dug into his pant’s pockets as he walks closer to you. A small smirk dances along his lips as his tongue darts out and drags across his lower lip. The action makes your breath hitch in your throat as you mentally curse yourself, wanting to be annoyed with him, but yet you found yourself aroused. “Keep going,” he urges. “Go on. Tell me how unbearable I am. You’ve only known me twenty four hours, but it seems like you have me all figured out,” he speaks, just a foot away from your body.

Adrenaline is coursing through your veins, your lips slightly parted as you take heaving breaths, making your chest rise and fall quickly. Fred’s eyes scan your face, soaking in your annoyed and confused expression. You suddenly become very aware of how close he is to you and you shake your head, taking a step back. “I only need a day to know an asshole when I see one,” you simply state, folding your arms over your chest. Your expression reads as if it were Fred’s turn to take a dig at you.

Fred chuckles lowly before speaking, “Here’s your problem, darling.” The endearing terms makes your stomach curdle. “You don’t get the hands on experience your second day on the job. You’ve gotta prove to me that you can run a class and keep their attention for three hours. You think it’s easy keeping the attention of a bunch of twenty year olds when you’re talking about philosophy? It’s not as easy as you may think it is,” Fred explain as you roll your eyes. “I was in your shoes once before, so I know what you’re experiencing.”

You laugh, “Oh, don’t pull that card. You’re a professor now. You did your time in my shoes. Don’t pretend like you’d give anything to go back.”

“Oh, honey, you couldn’t pay me enough to go back!” Fred retorts, now with an edge. “You know what. I could let you run today’s class,” he chuckles at the thought. “I could let you run it and watch you crash and fucking burn,” he emphasizes with a shrug. “I could watch those students trample all over you, you know why?” he asks looking at you intently as you gulp. “Because they don’t respect you! They don’t know who you are. In fact, they see you as one of them! If I mistook you as one of them on the first day, then what made you think they wouldn’t?” he asks as you inhale deeply. “Respect is earned when you are in a position of authority. Even if you’re just a professor. And you, (Y/N), haven’t earned that yet from the students. And I honestly don’t know if you have it from me.”

And with that last dig, the first student enters the classroom signaling that the first lecture of the day was ready to begin. Fred and you don’t acknowledge the student, just staring at each other. Fred’s words stung. Like a fresh wound, you were bleeding out. His words were sad, but true. You were a TA, but you were still a grad student. Fred worked to get to the position he was at. You just needed to prove to him that you were capable of handling yourself in a classroom setting as a teaching assistant.

You retreat back to your desk at the front of the room and sit down with a small huff, pulling out the attendance sheet, marking students as present as they enter the classroom.

Fred rubbed his hands over his face, feeling guilty for his out burst. He knew you were brilliant. To be quite honest, Fred knew he was going to get a TA. He had checked out your academic profile, seeing that you graduated undergrad with a nearly perfect grade point average and extra circulars that were sure to blow any one away. Your thesis statement made Fred laugh to himself, it was similar to his own when he was in university; the effect of utilitarianism on free will in our post-modern society. In a weird way, you reminded Fred of himself. Confident, smart, and ballsy. But where you differentiated with Fred is your adaptability. How you could adjust and go with the flow, that was Fred’s downfall.

Soon the classroom was full of students again and Fred took a deep breath, trying to regain his focus and composure to teach the class. He didn’t dare look at you, it would just make him upset. And you didn’t want to look at him. Fred sat on his desk, his long legs almost hitting the floor even when he sat. “Hello everyone,” he addressed the class, some students chiming back. “Let’s get started for the day. Shall we?” he claps his hands together. “Who can talk to me about eudaemonia?” he asks the class.

You looked out at the classroom along with Fred, anticipating a slew of hands but instead you got nothing. Students sat in their chairs in silence, some twiddling their pens, others scribbling in a notebook, some still groggy this during the ten o’clock lecture. “Someone’s gotta know about it. Come on then,” Fred probes the class as they remain silence, only sound is some kid yawning in the back. Fred allows the class to remain silent for a moment. “Alright,” he huffs. “Rough morning for a lot of us,” he speaks, hoping to catch your attention with that line, but you scribble nonsense into the margins of your notebook. “Maybe (Y/N) could give us a definition?” he suggests.

Your head shoots up like a rocket from your paper as you look at Fred with panic in your eyes. He looks at you with a small smile and encouragement, almost as if this were his way of making amends. A twisted way. You look towards the class and see twenty sets of eyes on you as you gulp before shaking away your nerves. “Um, yeah,” you clear your throat. “Eudaemonia is the greatest good, the aim for all human thinking and rational. Another word for eudaemonia is happiness,” you simply state, making the students start scribbling in their notebooks. Pride swells in your chest as you realize what you was valuable to the students. “Eudaemonia is achieve through action in tandem with the human soul and psyche. When eudaemonia is at its highest form, it is known as virtue,” you explain further as the class continues to scribble down what you were saying.

Slowly, you look towards Fred who gives you a small smile and a nod as you just give him a curt nod and turn back to your desk. But when you look away, it’s hard to cover up the small smile on your lips as you fiddle with the pen in your hands. Fred notices your grin as smiles to himself before speaking, “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Maybe today would be better than yesterday.

--------

Another two weeks had gone by and the work relationship you had with Fred improved significantly. He let you interject at certain points in his lectures, let you pose questions to the class, and even assigned you students for office hours. Finally, you started to feel like you were doing what you came here for and you were loving every moment of it.

Fred was a great professor and an even better mentor. He commanded a classroom unlike any other professor you have ever seen. He spoke with confidence and coolness and the students ate him up. It must be rewarding for him, watching students love his work as much as he did. You would watch him with a small smile as you jotted down notes here and there. Fred would catch your eye every now and then in class and gave you a small smile or cheeky wink that made your heart stop every now and then as you turned away from him, biting the inside of your cheek to make you stop smiling. 

“Remember to finish Kant’s Grounding for the Metaphysics of Morals for tomorrow’s class! If you haven’t turned in your paper on Nicomachean Ethics yet, do it by 4pm or else I will personally send (Y/N) to find you and hunt you down,” he teases the class as you roll your eyes, making the class laugh. “Happy Friday. Now scram,” Fred dismisses class as students file out.

When the majority of them have dispersed, you walk over to Fred’s desk and huff, “Good lecture today. Katie brought up some good questions about the differences between hypothetical imperatives and categorical imperatives.” Fred leans back in his desk chair, flopping his notebook down on his desk.

“Yeah, she did. But god, I wanted to punch Brian in the face. He kept talking over her while she was saying something poignant. I get it, Brian, there are different formulations, but damn, shut the fuck up,” Fred groans, making you laugh as you grab your bag and get ready to pack up for the day. “So, I hate to be the bearer of bad news...” he trails off as he rises from his seat.

You groan and throw your head back as you spin on your heels to face him. “Please, don’t tell me...” you start as Fred nods his head sadly. “Come on, Fred. It’s Friday night! Beginning of the weekend! All of the TAs are getting drinks at the pub tonight and quite honestly, I’d rather be doing that than grading philosophy papers,” you whine to him.

Fred mockingly places and hand over his heart and speaks, “First off, I am offended that you don’t want to spend time with me grading papers on the brilliance of Aristotle through a twenty year olds eyes.” The comment makes you chuckle, but he pushes on, “But I want to grade this papers tonight and finish them tonight so I, well we, can have the weekend free. You can get drinks any other night with the TAs. But we’ve got to do this tonight.”

You stomp your foot in frustration like a toddler, making Fred chuckle as he places his glasses on his face. “But tonight it’s dollar drafts! Dollar drafts happen once a week!” you beg him. “Why can’t we grade tomorrow?”

“Because I need to put these grades into my grade book before the students start wondering if they’ll ever be graded for something in this class,” he explains. “How about this?” he proposes. “We meet back here at 4:30pm. I’ll get take out for the both of us and we can drink coffee and energy drinks like we’re back in undergrad cramming for an exam. It’ll be fun,” he shimmies his shoulder making you giggle. 

With a huff, you say, “Fine. But if we’re here past midnight, I’ll never forgive you.” 

You start out of the classroom as Fred calls after you, “It’ll be fun!”

Shaking your head down, you start down the hall and see Harry and Luna talking as they leave their respective classrooms. “Heyo,” Harry calls out to you before slinging an arm around your shoulder. “So, for dollar drafts tonight we were just gonna take a cab there at around 5:00. Ron is going to be late because he’s going to wait for Hermione to get out of her night class and they’ll come together. But Seamus, Luna, Cho, and I will all be there and I think Dean said he’s coming and bringing some friends from grad school. It should be a great time,” Harry explains with a big grin.

Your ‘fomo’ was kicking in hard core as you sigh and speak, “About that...I can’t make it tonight.” Luna gives you a sad look as Harry groans and throws his head back. “Fred and I need to grade papers tonight to make the first quarter grades. If I get out early though, I’ll call and see if you guys are still there,” you offer as Harry slumps over. 

“At least it sounds like things are going better with you and Fred,” Luna tells you and you nod with a smile. “Are you learning from him?”

“Absolutely,” you tell her. “Fred is actually a great professor and the class adores him. I’ve been enjoying it a lot recently.”

Harry wiggles his eyebrows, “Yeah, I’m sure you have.”

You slap Harry’s shoulder at his cheeky suggestion that something was going on. “Oh, quit it, Harry,” you say through gritted teeth. “Fred and I have a strictly working relationship. He and I are co-workers and are professional. All of my relationships are here. That’s more that some people can say,” you tease him about his engagement to Ginny as he rolls his eyes and mimics you. “Besides, there is nothing romantic or sexy about grading papers about ethics. In fact, it’s the opposite thing.”

Harry laughs, “You never know. Maybe you two will get so caught up in talking about morals that you just start to...” he mimics the sounds of sloppy snogging and moaning as you slap his arm again, Luna giggling. “Okay, okay, I’m just teasing you! But if you can meet us at the pub, give one of us a call and we can hail you a cab,” he tells you as you hug Luna goodbye and then Harry.

“Will do. Have a drink for me. Lord knows I’ll need one,” you huff, watching them walk off to catch up to Dean and Seamus. 

Instead of getting drunk at a bar after a long week of work, you would be grading papers all night with Fred. Which honestly, maybe, didn’t sound so awful.

A few hours past and you and Fred were at on opposite sides of his desk, empty Chinese take out boxes scattered around you along with empty coffee cups and cans of energy drinks. It was ten o’clock at night and you had hardly made a dent in the papers. You throw your head on the desk with a thud, making Fred chuckle. “This is hell,” you groan. “Do they even proof read their sentences?” you ask Fred who shakes his head. “Seriously. Some of these papers are just bad. Weak thesis and an even weaker argument,” you slap the paper in front of you.

Fred scribbles in red ink on one paper and circle the letter grade on it before shifting it to the done pile. “Honestly, if it’s horrid and you struggle to make it past the third page, just skip to the end, read the conclusion and if it reads fine, give them a C minus. If they have a problem, they can come to office hours and talk about it with me,” he tells you as you laugh. “I’ve done that with two of them already.”

You place a C minus in red ink at the end of the paper and shift yours into the done pile. “How many more do we have left? We’ve been here for nearly six hours,” you tell him.

Fred examines the pile and huffs, “About four more. So two more each and then we’ll be done. The papers are ten pages long, so only twenty more pages of absolute garbage to read before we are done.”

Eh, that wasn’t so bad. You sigh and examine the room around you. Your eyes land on Fred whose eyes scan over the page as he nibbles away at his lower lip, glasses resting low on the bridge of his nose, red pen tucked behind his ear. He made markings on the paper here and there, adding comments as he sees fit. He’d mumble a bloody hell here and there if something was really bad, making you giggle. He’d catch your eye and a proud smile would form on his lips when he saw that he’d made you giggle.

After another hour and a half of grading, you were finally finished with the thick stack of papers on Fred’s desk. The two of you let out a sigh of relief as you leaned back in your chairs. “Freedom!” Fred cried out as you laughed, running your fingers through your hair. “And before midnight!” he points to his watch, the hands pointing to 11:37pm. “I think I know what this calls for,” he speaks wiggling his brows as you watch him stand up and pulls out a drawer to reveal a small handle of whiskey. 

You laugh and shake your head. “Ohhhh, no,” you laugh and wave your hands. 

“Really, (Y/N)? Eight hours of grading papers and you don’t want one drink?” he pours one glass, waiting to pour yours.

You think for a moment. You were supposed to call Harry and Luna and tell them that you would meet them at the bar. But quite honestly, you didn’t feel like leaving the classroom and the pleasant company of Fred. Maybe some one on one time could strengthen your relationship...as co-workers, of course.

In defeat, you sigh, “Fine.” 

Fred smiles and pours you a nice, hefty glass of the brown liquor before handing it to you and sitting in his chair. “To a job well done,” he toasts as you clink your glasses together, sipping from the glass. The whiskey is smooth and warms your chest up delightfully as you relax further into the chair. The two of you rest in comfortable silence before Fred starts, “So...after you’ve finished your job here, where do you hope to go?” 

You think for a moment and lean on your elbows on his desk, letting your hair flop forward. “Not too sure really,” you admit. “I know I want to teach at a university level, but it’s just a matter of where positions are available. Maybe I’ll go back to Oxford and see if there’s any availability in their department,” you toss around as Fred boos you, knowing the rivalry between Cambridge and Oxford is still fierce. “But I’m trying to go with the flow and see where the demand is.”

Fred nods his head and huffs, “Well...what if I told you that there is going to be an opening in position here at Hogwarts for next fall?” You give him a confused look as you sip from your whiskey. He says, “Professor McGonagall? She’s been here for ages and she’s retiring after nearly sixty years of teaching.” You widen your eyes and nod your head. Impressive. “The department is looking to hire a new, fresh face and I think you might be right for the job...” he takes a sneaky sip from his glass.

“It’s a really kind offer, Fred, really thoughtful of you,” you tell him. “But I want to know that where I apply for a job I’ve earned it. I didn’t get the job because someone pulled the strings behind the scenes,” you tell him. This was true. Anyone would kill for a job at Hogwarts University, but you wanted to know that you earned your title here and not because a friend handed it to you. 

He leans forward and speaks, “This wouldn’t be me pulling any strings. (Y/N), you are a brilliant person and the students adore you. Just last week four students asked for your contact information to reach out about private tutoring. Neville loves you and the department sees the work that you’ve been doing and is throughly impressed. You’ve earned this position and the respect that comes along with it,” he tells you, honestly shining in his eyes, making you melt in your chair at his gaze. You feel heat rising to your cheeks as you look away from him, sipping from your glass. The sight makes Fred’s heart skip a beat. 

“Are you saying I’ve earned your respect?” you ask him with a teasing smile as he chuckles.

“Yes. You earned it awhile ago. You’re an incredible woman,” he tells you as you smile, looking down at the glass in your hands, too meek to meet Fred’s gaze now. 

It’s quiet for a moment before Fred clears his throat and stands up, turning on the speaker as Frank Sinatra softly starts playing again as you laugh to yourself. It Happened In Monterey starts to echo in the classroom as you smile at Fred. “One of my favorites,” you tell him.

Fred nods, “One of his best hits,” he says as if it were a fact. “Give me your top three. Go.”

You think for a moment before speaking, “It Happened In Monterey, The Way You Look Tonight, and Girl From Ipanema. I think those are his best.”

Fred smiles, “Agreed. His version of The Way You Look Tonight I prefer much over Tony Bennett’s.”

“Oh, easily! Don’t get me wrong, Tony Bennett has some great hits, but he doesn’t hold a candle to Frankie,” you tell Fred, making him chuckle. The two of you chat about music for a little while longer before Come Fly With Me comes on and Fred claps his hands. “My mom loves this song,” you smile, fondly remembering her singing in the kitchen to this song.

Fred rises to his feet and immediately grabs your hands and brings you to his feet. He places your drinks down on the desk as he spins you around, making you laugh. “You can’t not dance to this song,” he tells you, placing his hand on your waist, the other holding your other hand in his larger one. The contact makes your heart flutter in your chest as you giggle as he spins you around again, this time into his chest. 

Your back is pressed against him as he sway with you in his arms before spin you back out, dancing around and around the classroom, the two of you laughing messes as you dance to Frank Sinatra, still in your work clothes from this morning. As you dance, you steal glances of Fred. How his hair was messy from running his fingers through it, his tie loose around his neck, impressions of his glasses in the bridge of his nose. He was so effortlessly handsome and it made your stomach sway at the sight of him. How he could be so handsome without even realizing it. Without even realizing how he made you feel. All warm and fuzzy inside, giggling like a child as he spun you around in his arms, making this moment feel like something out of a movie. 

The song slowly fades away before Autumn in New York starts play, changing the tone of the room. You two catch your breaths before looking at each other in the eyes, Fred’s hands on your waist as your hands rest on his chest. The two of you look at each other, and slowly start to sway as the orchestra of the song starts to swell. Frank’s clear voice echos in the empty classroom as you slowly wrap your arms around Fred’s neck, him pulling you close to his body as you start to slow dance in the middle of the classroom, neither of you registering what is happening. You two were purely acting on instinct. But god, it felt so right.

The two of you dance gently to the music as Fred’s hands rest on your lower back, his thumbs tracing small circles into your jumper as you lace your fingers around his neck. No words are spoken. You just listen to the music and stare at the other, taking each other in during the dance. How could something that started off so innocent turn so beautiful? 

Your mind was reeling, watching Fred look at you like you were the most precious thing in the world. You wanted to tell him everything that’s ever happened to you in this moment. Everything that you’ve gone through that brought you to this moment. Something about Fred made you feel safe. Something you hadn’t felt in years. 

As the music starts to come to a close, you can feel Fred lean down gently and press his forehead to yours as you inhale a shaky breath. So desperately you wished to close the gap between you two, pushing your lips together, giving into him. But before anything can happen, the horns blare over the speaker, Brazil blasting over the speakers, making the two of you jump, startled at the change in pace. 

You place a hand over your heart as Fred races over to the speaker to lower the volume. “That scared the living hell out of me,” you breathe out as Fred laughs and nods. The two of you stand there, wondering what to say, knowing that you were both thinking the same thing. But no one says anything. “Um,” you clear your throat. “It’s quite late. I should probably get going...” you trail off as you walk over to grab your purse and notebooks.

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” he tells you with a nod, cleaning up the mess of take away boxes on his desk. “You need me to call you a cab?” he asks.

“No, no, it’s fine, I got it,” you tell him with a smile as he nods, throwing out the garbage and sorting away miscellaneous papers. “Um, I, um...”

“I had fun with you,” Fred finishes your sentence for you as you exhale and smile gently with a nod. “I’ll see you on Monday then?”

You nod your head, “Absolutely, yeah.” He grins and digs his hands into his pockets.

You start to make your way towards the door, but Fred stops you and says, “Hey, (Y/N)? On Monday, I’d like you to run the lecture. For both classes.” Your eyes widen as you look at him in disbelief. You try to protest, but Fred speaks, “I think that the class would benefit from your perspective. And your sheer brilliance.” 

A small smile forms on your lips as you let out a breathy laugh. “Wow. Okay. Yeah. For sure,” you tell him with a nod as Fred smiles. “Thank you, Fred. This is...wow. Thank you.”

“No need to thank me,” he tells you. “You’ve earned it. You’ve earned it all. Now, get going and get a goodnight’s rest. That you surely deserve.”

And with one small wave, you exit the classroom and start down the hall, feeling like you were on cloud nine. Nothing felt as good as this.

------

Monday rolls around as quickly as Friday left and you enter campus with a pep in your step. Today you were teaching the class and you were beyond prepared. You had your lesson plan in your bag, a coffee in your hand, and your favorite jumper on. You felt invincible. 

As you walked into the staff lounge, Harry sat with Seamus, sipping on coffees and munching on provided breakfast. “Morning, you lot,” you chime merrily as you place your bag on the table and walk towards the breakfast tray and grab a crossiant.

“You’re too cheery for a Monday morning,” Seamus says with a look on his face. “What’s got you so bright eyes and bushy tailed?”

You smile to yourself as you walk back to the table, tearing open the croissant to slab some jam on it. “Fred is letting me run lecture today,” you reply happily.

Seamus looks over to Harry with wide eyes, the two of them in complete shock. “Wow,” Seamus says. “That’s...incredible. Good on you, (Y/N),” he tells you as you thank him with a smile. “I didn’t know Fred let his TA run a class. The most he let Dean do was take roll,” he told Harry.

Harry took a sip from his coffee and wiggled his brows, “I didn’t think so either. I guess our very own (Y/N) has made him have a change of heart.”

You roll your eyes and speak, “I earned this, Harry. I’ve been working my ass off and after a long night of grading papers, Fred offered me the opportunity which I gladly took.” Harry nods his head with a mhm as you throw as piece of croissant at him. “I’m serious!”

“I’m not saying you don’t deserve it, (Y/N)! You’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met; you deserve this like humans needs to breathe!” Harry exclaims. “I’m just...shocked that Fred let you make a lesson plan, nevertheless teach a whole class,” he speaks as you shrug. “Guess you bring out the best in Fred Weasley.”

You smile, “Is that such a bad thing?” Harry chuckles as Seamus shakes his head with a huff. “Well, if you excuse me, I have to get ready for my lecture,” you joke as Harry rolls his eyes.

“Don’t let this thing get to your head!” he calls after you as you flip him the bird, making Seamus laugh.

As you walk to 523, your heart patter against your chest with excitement, but also lots of nerves. What if they preferred Fred over you? What if Fred was more engaging with them? What if someone fell asleep? What if someone asked you a question you couldn’t answer?

Soon your confidence began to waver as you entered the classroom, Fred clearing the chalkboard, getting the room ready for you. “There she is. Professor for the day,” Fred claps his hands. “You excited?” he asks. But you don’t answer him. You nervously place your purse on the desk and start gnawing at your nails. This makes Fred worried as he walks over to you and places his hands on your shoulders. “You alright?” he asks, concern washing over his face.

You relax into his touch as you sigh, “Yeah, I’m okay. I’m just...nervous.” Fred gives you a sympathetic smile. “What if they like you better than me? What if I say something stupid and they all laugh at me? What if I forget everything? I mean, how much do I really know about Mill? Probably nothing,” you ramble.

Fred laughs and gives you arms a squeeze, forcing your eyes up to him. “Hey, look at me,” he speaks as you huff and look into his comforting gaze. “Everything is going to be just fine. You are brilliant and the students love you. You’re gonna get up there and smash it. I know it,” he tells you with a confident smile, making your heart flutter and your stomach flip. “I was nervous for my first lecture too, but once you start, the adrenaline gets pumping and you feel on top of the world.”

You give him a shaky nod, “Yeah. Okay. I can do this, yeah?”

“Absolutely,” he laughs. “You’re more than capable,” he reassures you. “I believe in you. I always have,” he speaks, tilting your chin up with his fore finger as you gulp thickly. Fred’s eyes dart to your lips back up to your eyes as he smiles softly. “You’ll be brilliant.”

“Thank you,” you speak just above a whisper as Fred nods.

Slowly, he pulls away from you and sits at his desk which prompts the first student to enter the classroom as you gather your notebook and a piece of chalk, writing on the board in bold letters, Mill and Utilitarianism. You wipe your hands on your pants and look over to Fred who gives you a thumbs up.

Soon enough, the classroom fills up with students as you try to keep yourself calm and not let the class see your nerves. “Happy Monday, everyone,” Fred speaks from his desk. “I hope you all had a great weekend. Your papers on Aristotle have been graded and the grades are posted online. Some of you did great, some of you did shit. If you have any complaints, you can see me or (Y/N) after class to discuss,” he speaks, earning a few laughs from the class. Fred speaks, “Brian, I wouldn’t laugh if I were you. (Y/N) couldn’t make it past page three of yours before handing it off to me.” This earns a loud roar of laughter from the class which eased your nerves. God, Fred knew exactly what you needed. “Speaking of (Y/N), she will be running lecture today. I’ll be playing the role of TA and you’ll give her the same amount of respect like you give me. Understood?” The class nods. “Brilliant. (Y/N), you have the floor.”

You smile at him, “Thank you, Fred, for the introduction.” Fred nods. You turn to the class. “Alright. Let’s talk about Mill’s Utilitarianism. After reading it, what are our thoughts? How do we feel about Mill in comparison to Kant or Aristotle?” you ask generally trying to ease into the lecture.

The class is motionless for a moment before Jessica raises her hand and you nod. “I found it interesting how he acknowledges the objections in his work,” she tells you as you nod. “Not many philosopher’s explicitly do that in their works.”

“Great,” you smile at her. “Let’s take a look at that. Everyone open up your copies and turn to page seven. Mill writes, ‘Life has no higher purpose than pleasure? What are we, swine?’ What do you think this means?” you ask the class. The stare blankly at you as you inhale deeply, this being a fear of yours. But before you can allow yourself to freak out, you think about what Fred would do. You repeat the quote again and add this time, “Are we swines? I mean, I don’t know about Brian, but I know that I’m not a swine.”

This causes the class to erupt with laughter, Fred included, and Brian blushes a deep shade of red before he raises his hand to answer the question. Ah, victory. 

The class continues on and the discussion was incredible with both classes you taught. The students had such provoking conversations with fruitful discussions on the topic. It made your heart swell that they were so good for you and you felt like you were in your element the whole time.

Fred couldn’t help but smile to himself as he watched you give the lecture, bouncing off points, connecting ideas, and posing new questions that he couldn’t even think of. You were electric and the students were infatuated with you, even more so than they were with him. He couldn’t help but feel proud of you. He loved watching you smile and laugh as you talked to the students. 

“Okay, well unfortunately we are at time, but next week bring in your annotated books along with your first drafts of your papers!” you tell the class as they thank you as they leave the class one by one. 

After each student has left the classroom and the door shuts, you turn to Fred who springs from his chair and runs over to you, scooping you up in a hug and spinning you around as you laugh. “Sheer brilliance,” he places you down with a beaming smile. “I’ve never seen students so excited to talk about moral philosophy,” he shakes his head as you grin widely, holding your hands behind your back. “That was great, (Y/N).”

“I feel great,” you tell him with a smile. “Seriously. It blows my mind how smart they are sometimes. Bloody Brian had such great talking points today!” you beam as Fred laughs. “But really, I learned everything that I did today from you. You are the great teacher,” you tell him, nudging his shoulder playfully.

Fred rolls his eyes, “Oh, don’t give me all the credit. I mean...give me some, but not all.” You laugh and shake your head. “Kidding, kidding,” he tells you as you smile at him, taking in the way his face looked as the sun started to set behind him, signaling the end of your day. “Um, I’ll walk with you to the lot?”

You nod your head as the two of you pack your things and make your way to the parking lot with Fred, the both of you making light chatter about the class discussions and how thought provoking they all were. As you walk in the halls, you pass Harry who calls out, “I’m guessing it went well!”

“Shut it, Potter!” you call back as Fred chuckles. 

Soon enough, you reach the staff parking lot and Fred digs around in his pockets for the key to his car. “Well,” Fred huffs. “You did a great job today, (Y/N). I would say I’m impressed, but I knew you would do brilliantly.”

You beam, “Thank you, Fred. Really. I know how much this class means to you and I thank you for trusting me with it.”

He smiles and leans against the hood of his black Audi, pushing his sleeves up to his elbows before leaning on his hands. “It’s my pleasure. I know how much teaching a class meant to you and I’m happy I could help,” he tells you as you nod. 

The two of you stand there, watching each other as the sun sets behind the castle. Fred’s eyes glossed over your body and how pants hugged your curves and how the jumper clung onto your figure. He took a deep breath in before smiling to himself as you gulped and cleared your throat, trying to diffuse some of the tension between the two of you. “I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow, Professor,” you tease Fred as he chuckles. 

You start to walk away and towards the bus stop, but Fred’s voice stops you. “(Y/N)?” he speaks as you turn back to him, walking back to him. “I’ve got a quick question for you.”

“What’s up?”

“So, Mill said ‘There's no time for all this calculating when we're faced with an actual moral decision.’ And I’m afraid that I have a moral decision of my own,” he speaks with a smirk as you heart races at the sight of the smile you’ve grown so fond of over the past few weeks.

You smile at your feet before looking up at him. “And what would that moral decision be, Professor Weasley?” you tease him as he chuckles.

“That night, we spent grading papers,” he starts as you tuck your hands into your back pockets. “I wanted to kiss you.” His confession makes your heart race as face heat up. “And ever since then, I’ve been trying to find a moment where I can finally suck it up and kiss you,” he smirks. “So, what I guess what I’m trying to say is, is it alright if I kiss my teaching assistant in the parking lot of this bloody school?”

You lightly laugh and speak, taking a step closer to him as he snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you close as you place your hands on his chest, “Well, if we are talking about this in the terms of Mill, would kissing your teaching assistant bring you pleasure?”

Fred smiles, “Without a doubt.”

“Then I think you’re morally obligated to,” you tell him as he chuckles.

He hesitates no longer and dips his head down to connect your lips together as you inhale deeply, wrapping your arms around his neck. His lips are soft, but passionate against you as they gently move against yours. His hands squeeze your hips gently as you press yourself against his body, making Fred lightly moan into your mouth. His tongue slips past your parted lips, caressing his tongue with yours as you let out a soft moan, making Fred inhale deeply. Your heart is pounding against your chest as you gently pull at the roots of his hair, relishing in the way his lips feel against yours. His mouth moves slowly and lazily against yours, making your head spin and desire grow. It’s everything you imagined it would be as cliche as it sounded. 

Gently, you pull away as Fred smiles lightly. “Thank you, John Stuart Mill,” he breathes out, making you laugh. “I’ve been dying to do that.”

“I’m glad you did,” you confess to him, arms still wrapped around him as Fred squeezes your hips, placing another soft kiss to your lips. “Now that you’ve accomplish that moral dilemma, do you have any idea what your next one is?” you tease him, wiggling your brows.

Fred shakes his head, “Oh, we’ve got the rest of the semester to figure that one out.”

[viastro]

the best surprise | lee chan

ミ★ synopsis: you and chan have been together for the last four years, and he has failed to surprise you on your birthday for each and every one.

ミ★ genre: established relationship!au, fluff, humor

ミ★ warnings: none !

ミ★ word count: 3,128

ミ★ pairings: lee chan x gender neutral reader

ミ★ notes: hi everyone ! it was my birthday two days ago (the 15th), and i wanted to give you guys a little belated birthday gift from me ! i know that’s not how birthdays work, but i thought it’d be a cute thing to do. here’s a cute oneshot of sir lee chan ! make sure to give him lots of love <33 

You and Chan have been together for the last four years. 

The two of you started out as childhood friends, and it was when you both entered high school that you started to develop feelings for each other. You know the typical childhood friends to lovers au? Yeah, that’s you and Chan. Except it wasn’t complicated and there was no heavy angst involved as neither of you were worried that your friendship would be ruined. It was a rather simple process, actually.

“Yn, I have something to tell you.” You glance up from your phone, finding Chan standing before you with a small dandelion bouquet in his hand. Raising an eyebrow, you ask, “Did you pick those from the school yard?”

“...No…”

You and Chan stare at each other for a moment. With you being unconvinced, and Chan internally wondering whether or not he should’ve gotten the flowers from the actual garden. 

“A-Anyways…” Chan continues, shoving the dandelions onto your lap without another word, and you hold back your giggles as you turn off your phone, giving your best friend your full attention. 

Chan looks a bit nervous, something that’s somehow new to you even though you’ve been friends since elementary school. Chan usually oozes confidence, always passionate about whatever he does, so this sight is rather intriguing to you. 

Does that make you a sadist?

… Oh God.

“Do you want to go on a date this Friday?” Chan asks, promptly putting a pause to your thoughts on whether or not you get gratification from someone else's misery. You tilt your head to the side, feeling warmth flood your chest from the precious blush on Chan’s cheeks as he stares at you with hope in his eyes. 

You finally let out a smile after a moment, nodding your head as you respond, “Of course.”

The beautiful smile you’ve become accustomed to finally forms on Chan’s face, making you grin when he pulls you up from the bench, wrapping his arms around you in a warm embrace. You laugh, wrapping your arms around his waist and rubbing his back. 

“You’re so happy, did you think I’d say no?” You ask with a smile on your face, and you feel Chan shake his head, squeezing your frame a bit tighter. 

“No, I had confidence you’d say yes, it’s just nice to hear it in real life.”

“You’re a bit too overconfident.”

“Shush, you said yes. No take backs.”

And after a few dates, you and Chan became official. It’s been four years since then, and now the two of you are in your second year of university. With Chan being on the dance team, and you excelling in the Art department. The two of you are a rather talented couple, if you do say so yourself.

However, if there’s one thing that Chan never really succeeded in, it was surprising you. For the past four years, Chan has tried and tried to surprise you on your birthday. He would always buy a gift and think, this is it. this can’t fail. this will be the gift to surprise yn.

He was wrong each time.

Whether it be that you stumbled upon the hiding spot of your gift, you barging into his room to find him wrapping your present, or running into him at the mall with your gift in his hand.

Chan never wins.

However, he is determined that this year will be the year as it won’t be a physical gift that he’s planning to surprise you with. He will surprise you with people! A goddamn surprise party! 

Nothing can go wrong!

“Everything is going wrong!” Chan cries out, slamming his forehead down onto the café table. 

Seungkwan and Vernon exchange concerned glances with each other, trying to figure out how to comfort the youngest that will now, most likely, get a migraine. Seungkwan points towards Chan, and Vernon shrugs his shoulders, pointing towards the youngest as a way to get Seungkwan to initiate the conversation instead. To which the blonde only shoots a death glare towards Vernon, and the latter lets out a sigh, reaching out and resting a hand on Chan’s shoulder.

“Chan, everything is not going wrong.” Vernon says as an attempt to comfort him, but Chan only lets out a loud sob that gains the attention of a few passerbys. Seungkwan’s eyes widen, turning towards the few concerned fellow customers and waving his hands towards them, “He’s okay, don’t worry-”

“I’m not okay- OW!” Seungkwan kicks Chan’s ankle underneath the table, making the youngest let out a yelp of pain. The blonde sends those near the table a smile, and they simply turn away from the trio, more afraid than concerned at this point. 

Seungkwan lets out a sigh, before glancing back at Chan to see the youngest lift up his head, tear tracks evident on his cheeks. Vernon holds back a laugh, instead grabbing the rough café napkins and blotting away the tears on Chan’s face. 

“Why do you think everything is going wrong, Chan?” Seungkwan asks, and Chan sniffles, dramatically looking out the café window as he’s reminded of what occurred earlier. “Well basically,”

“You’re out… of balloons…” Chan says in a state of disbelief. The employee in front of him nods their head with a pitiful smile, “Yeah, so sorry about that.” 

Chan runs a hand through his hair in frustration, not having enough time for this before pointing towards the name of the store that’s in bold purple letters.

“The name of your store is Seongyeom’s Balloons!”

Seungkwan and Vernon both stare at Chan with frowns on their faces, and Chan raises his hands up in the air in exasperation. “That’s the same exact reaction I had!”

“How the fuck does a balloon store run out of balloons…” 

“That’s what I’m saying!” 

“I think we should acknowledge the fact that just because Seongyeom’s Balloons ran out of… balloons… doesn’t mean everything is going wrong. We can just go to a party shop or something, or even a convenience store! It’s fine, Chan. Don’t worry.” Vernon interrupts, and Chan bites the inside of his cheek, nodding his head in agreement. 

“Okay, you have a point. I’m just so stressed about making sure the surprise party works. I haven’t been able to surprise yn for the last four years, and I really want to surprise them this time.” Chan says, and the two nod their heads, already knowing of Chan’s previous failures. Vernon reaches out and pats Chan’s black hair, giving him a reassuring grin. 

“We know, and you will surprise yn. The two of us will be here to help you, as well as the rest of the guys! There’s twelve of us out here trying to help you, so don’t stress too much.” Chan glances at Seungkwan, finding him nodding his head along with Vernon’s words. The black haired beauty finally lets out a smile, feeling a bit more confident that this will be the best surprise ever.

“Can you pass me the chocolate chips, Chan?” You ask as you stir the cookie dough, reaching out with your free hand so that he can just place the bag onto it. You raise an eyebrow after a moment when you realize there’s still no chocolate chips in your hand, and you turn your head to find him engrossed in his phone. 

“Channie.” You call, just to let out a quiet laugh when Chan continues to type into the cool metal. You reach out with your foot and nudge his ankle, finally gaining the attention of your boyfriend when he looks up at you with soft eyes. 

“Yes?” Grinning, you motion towards the bag of chocolate chips beside him. 

“I asked you to hand me the chocolate chips like two minutes ago, but you were so busy on your phone.” You say, watching as Chan’s eyes slowly widen. He quickly pockets his phone and grabs the chocolate chips, stepping over and handing them to you. 

“Thank you, Chan.” You say in a sweet voice, turning back towards the dough, and Chan feels his heart melt when he takes notice of the bit of cookie dough resting on the corner of your lips from when you were stealing bits and pieces of it. 

“Yn.” You glance back towards your boyfriend, wondering what he needs. 

“Mm?” Chan doesn’t answer, instead leaning in and pressing a kiss to the corner of your lips. Your eyes widen slightly, warmth flooding your face from the sweet action when he pulls away. The black haired beauty gives you a smile, “You had cookie dough there.” 

Your mouth opens slightly as you let out an, ah, nodding your head as a shy smile breaks out over your features. Chan grins, going to your side and leaning against the counter as he takes over folding the chocolate chips into the cookie dough.

You watch as Chan does the tedious task for you, and you let out a laugh when he sneaks a chocolate chip into his mouth rather inconspicuously. He grins at the sound, turning towards you to try and act innocent, and you just shake your head at him. 

“Why were you so distracted with your phone earlier? Did you finally download Genshin?” You ask, propping yourself up onto the counter as you watch your boyfriend form balls of cookie dough to place onto the baking sheet. Chan freezes slightly from the question, before easily going back into what he was doing without you noticing. He turns and shoots you a look, “No. I’ve seen what Genshin’s done to you. You spent almost 100 dollars trying to get Xiao when he came out.” 

You purse your lips, letting out a quiet grumble when you can’t think of a way to respond to your poor spending decisions. Chan simply grins at that, turning back and placing the cookie dough onto the baking sheet. 

“Can’t believe you almost spent that much money on a gacha game-”

“At least I got him!” Chan lets out a laugh, and you burst into giggles as well when the two of you begin talking about your Genshin addiction while making cookies.

Chan sneaks a peek at you, grinning when he sees how passionate you look as you explain your love for Genshin. He’s only so grateful that he was able to steer your attention away from the previous question. As he was actually texting the groupchat the game plan for Friday evening, your 20th birthday.

Internally, Chan is screaming.

Externally, he looks like the epitome of calm, minus the drop of sweat that is currently going down his neck. 

Chan swings your intertwined hands back and forth as the two of you walk towards the elevators of your guys’ apartment building. You’re both heading home after the date you went on to celebrate your birthday. Or so, that’s what you think. In reality, it was a way to get you both out of the apartment so that the gang could decorate and prepare for your surprise party.

In which the surprise aspect will occur in about one minute.

“We should’ve gotten a slice of cake from that one bakery we like!” You exclaim once the two of you are standing in front of the door to your guys’ apartment, turning to look at your boyfriend, just to find him smiling at you. He squeezes your hand, “It’s okay. We can go tomorrow.”

You smile and nod your head, letting go of Chan’s hand so that you can unlock the door to the apartment. Chan anxiously stands beside you, watching as you open the door and step inside, finding the shared space to be borderline pitch black.

“What happened to the potato light I left on?” You mutter to yourself, only to let out a scream and jump backwards into Chan’s arms when the lights suddenly turn on and a chorus of voices shout out the word, 

“SURPRISE!”

Chan laughs at your reaction after the confetti gets thrown into the air in front of you both, peeking his head around to see your eyes wide and mouth dropped open as you stare at each person in your friend group. You point towards the balloons and the disco ball hanging up on the ceiling in shock, before your face morphs into a bright smile.

“You guys!” You whine, making Seungkwan and Vernon laugh when you raise your hands to your warm cheeks, feeling slightly embarrassed by your reaction. Chan grins, letting go of your waist and stepping in front of you to get a good look at the expression on your face.

“Did it work? Did I surprise you?” Chan asks with a hopeful smile, and you pout, nodding your head as warmth floods your chest. Your boyfriend turns towards the group, before he throws his arms up into the air in victory.

“WE WON!” 

“CHAN FIRST WIN!” Soonyoung yells, and all the guys come huddling towards you and Chan. A chorus of happy birthday yn!, and chan! you did it!, echo around the small apartment along with the sounds of laughter. 

“Let’s celebrate with some food!” Jeonghan shouts from the kitchen table, causing the thirteen of you to glance over at the wide arrangement of delicacies sitting on the wooden surface. Your mouth drops open, and you quickly grab Chan’s hand, shuffling over to the table without another word. The guys laugh and follow after you, finally being able to dig into the food that they’ve been waiting to eat. 

You peacefully eat the cake as you watch Chan and Mingyu battle it out on the switch, currently in an intense round of Just Dance. You let out a grin when Mingyu shoves your boyfriend, taking another bite of cake as you listen to Chan yell, 

“Foul! FOUL!!”

“Alright, how’d you know?” You turn your head to see Seungkwan standing beside you with a knowing grin on his face, and you bite the inside of your cheek to hold back a smile, “Know what?” 

Seungkwan rolls his eyes, nudging you with his shoulder as he takes a sip of water, and you let out a giggle. You glance over at Chan, smiling at how precious of a boyfriend he is for trying to do all this just for you. 

“Well, I found out around a couple weeks ago when I went to go and buy tea.” 

“I’ll have a honey green tea please.” You order with a smile, taking out your card to tap it onto the card reader in order to pay.

“Everything is going wrong!” A confused expression makes its way onto your face at the familiar voice, and you turn your head just in time to see a head of black hair slam onto the wooden table. You bite back a laugh, wondering what’s ruined Chan’s mood this time. 

After getting your receipt, you walk over to the other side of the bar to wait for your drink, now closer to Chan’s table as you recognize Vernon and Seungkwan sitting beside him. You tilt your head as you wonder why your boyfriend was crying, watching as Seungkwan just stares at Chan in confusion.

“I think we should acknowledge the fact that just because Seongyeom’s Balloons ran out of… balloons… doesn’t mean everything is going wrong. We can just go to a party shop or something, or even a convenience store! It’s fine, Chan. Don’t worry.” You hear Vernon say, and you raise an eyebrow because first of all,

How does a balloon shop run out of balloons ?!?

And second of all,

Why does Chan need balloons?

“Okay, you have a point. I’m just so stressed about making sure the surprise party works. I haven’t been able to surprise yn for the last four years, and I really want to surprise them this time.” Your mouth drops open when your second question gets answered, and you immediately turn away once you hear your order number get called. Quickly, you walk over to grab the beverage, thanking the barista and stepping out of the café so that you don’t get noticed. 

“And that’s how I found out about the surprise party. In all honesty, I think there’s a God that just doesn’t want Chan to be successful in surprising me.” You explain, turning to gauge Seungkwan’s reaction. The blonde only lets out an unsurprised sigh, shaking his head as he glances over at Chan. 

“You gonna tell him that you knew?” Seungkwan asks when Chan and Mingyu finally finish the dance, and you watch as Chan jumps up and down in celebration. You smile softly, shaking your head, no, “He’s been trying to surprise me for the last four years, I think I should let him have this.” 

“Yn! I won!” Chan shouts out to you once you answer Seungkwan’s question, and the two of you glance over at the black haired beauty, letting out a laugh at the sweat beads dripping down his forehead. 

“How are you so sweaty from a Just Dance game?!” Seungkwan asks, and Chan shrugs his shoulders, grabbing a napkin and blotting his face. 

“Don’t underestimate the power of Just Dance 4!” Mingyu answers back, pointing at the blonde with a serious expression on his face. Seungkwan scoffs, patting your shoulder as a means to tell you that he’s leaving the conversation. You nod your head with a chuckle, watching as Seungkwan walks over to initiate a dance battle with Mingyu. 

You move to take another bite of cake, only to pause when you see Chan standing before you, mouth open as he waits for you to feed him strawberry cake. Rolling your eyes with a smile, you place the cake into his mouth, and he bites it, letting out a noise of content. 

“You can get your own cake over there, ya know.” You say as Chan steps beside you to lean against the wall, and he scoffs. “I prepared this surprise party for you and you don’t wanna share your slice of cake? How rude.” 

You nudge his shoulder, and Chan lets out a laugh reaching out and wrapping his arms around you from behind, “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Are you having fun?” 

You nod your head with a smile, looking around the room at all your loved ones. Chan sees the warmth in your gaze as your eyes wander, and he finds himself smiling at the sight. He presses a kiss to your cheek, proud of himself. 

“I’m glad I was able to surprise you this time.” 

Holding back the laugh that threatens to escape, you lean your head back onto Chan, letting out a happy sigh instead as you press a kiss to Chan’s cheek in return.

“I’m glad you were able to surprise me too.” 

[7wanderingpaws]

Mess We Made - first (m)

Pairing: Baekhyun x reader

Genre: arranged marriage au (not bbh), doctor AU, highschool AU (first chapter only), university AU, fluff, ANGST

Words: 9.4K

WARNINGS: mature content, unprotected sex, cheating (not bbh), terrible family relations

Quick A/N: Finally, the anticipated full story for this drabble is coming! This will have more chapters! I am a bit self-conscious about this one. But I think it is a good challenge to grow as a writer. Hopefully it worked. Please let me know what you thought? ^^

Plot: You were willing to put the both of you through suffering without realizing you might hurt Baekhyun's feelings in the process. Even though he was yours, you were never his. And he would not stand in the way anymore.

tags: @byunfirstlady​ (hope you dont mind the tag; you were interest and since its been ages I tagged you to let you know 🥺 if you want to be tagged/untagged please reply to this post)

parts: first -- second -- third -- fourth (final)

-

Mess We Made, part 1

“Psst,” you heard from your right side as you walked through the corridors of your high school. Before you even managed to look in the direction of where the sound came from, a hand grabbed you, swiftly bringing you into the darkness of the corner, the cold wall pressing into your back. Baekhyun came into view with his breath-taking smile as his lips hovered over yours, stretched out in a mischievous smile. “It's me.”

Instantly, you grinned, mimicking his wide smile. “I was looking for you.”

“Well, I found you first,” he whispered, and leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in a gentle manner.

He had been your boyfriend since the second half of the first year in high school. You were now both seniors, ready to graduate and enter your chosen universities. You both chose the same one, the idea of not being able to see each other too ugly to risk going to different schools.

You felt Baekhyun's hands slide down your sides, reaching the hem of your short uniform skirt and his feather-like touch made you squirm and laugh right into his mouth. He followed suit with giggles. “It tickles,” you said, and looked into his smiley eyes.

He hummed, though didn't stop his wandering hand as he massaged the upper part of your thigh, the touch sending trembles down your legs, your heartbeat growing frantic. “But you like it. When I touch you there.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, growing red. “Yeah. But only when it's you.”

These final months in high school were those moments when boys were becoming very horny, the skirts of the uniforms girls had to wear driving some of them crazy. Baekhyun, thankfully, wasn't as affected, though you were thinking if it was because he already had access to you. You would tear his head off if he tried to touch another girl, but he just wasn't that type of a guy.

Same went for you, too. Baekhyun had a sharp gaze and if he saw a guy trying to lift your skirt up, he would just deal with them in his hapkido language, and nobody wanted that. Baekhyun was a literal martial arts superstar of the school. And also a terrible nerd. He was cool and nerdy. What a combo.

While that was him, the smiling, mischievous boy many girls grew a humongous crush on, you were the more unfortunate one, though many would immediately disagree. A daughter to a huge business company, money was something that was never an issue, to put it lightly. Having your own personal driver, needing to attend pilates classes to keep your form, visiting a dermatologist at least twice per month, eating small portions… everything that would scream rich, was basically you, as much as you hated it.

The reason for your hatred was simple: you didn't belong to Baekhyun's world. Likewise, he didn't belong to yours. But how would that define anything, when both of you were literally all over each other at any given opportunity, feelings too strong to fight them? Did social status really mean something? Baekhyun was studying hard to become a doctor, wanting to bring children to this world, and he had one of the best grade averages in the entire institution. Meanwhile, you, of whom it was highly expected of, didn't have it like him. Studying was not exactly your forte, and you ended up following your parents requirements of applying for business school, so that you would study something that was running in the family. As long as they did not intervene in your relationship with Baekhyun, you would accept and agree to anything. But Baekhyun was untouchable. No matter what would happen, it couldn't, by any means, include him and you always made sure about it.

“'Cause you are mine,” he murmured in your ear seductively, and you melted in his arms.

“That, I am. Always,” you replied breathily, standing on your tiptoes to crash your lips on his before anyone could catch you not spending the break outside of the building.

You just wanted to spend time with him before your family would whisk you away from him, like they always did. Rarely have you had the power to decide your free time, sitting at your father's meetings, mothers cocktails, boredly listening to conversations about money transactions that made you feel uneasy.

“Plans for tonight?” he asked as he gave your thigh a final squeeze before letting go, patting your skirt back down to its normal form.

You hummed, leaning back on the wall lazily, your chest pushed out. “Grandparents are coming over. From mother’s side,” you said, already tired at the idea of the dreadful encounter.

Baekhyun nodded, though you could sense he was a bit disappointed. He never said anything, though. It was safe to say he was used to the way things were working with your family. After all, it had been two years by now. Two years of your relationship. And with each passing moment, the both of you seemed to grow even fonder of each other. He never complained. He loved you.

“Sorry,” you sighed again, closing your eyes for a moment when you felt his palm on your cheek that forced you to open them again, his gaze gentle. He leaned in, nudging you with his nose.

“There is nothing to be sorry about, love.”

“Of course there is,” you replied passionately. “I really want to spend more time with you, Baekhyun.”

“You will. We will be together. Once university starts-”

“Can you understand that you consume my thoughts every second? And when I am not with you, the time just drags and it's like a small hell because I cannot see your face-”

Baekhyun kissed you, interrupting your small outburst. You moaned quietly, shyly, bringing him closer by his tie. He played with your lips, teasing you with his tongue, but he wouldn't go further than that. You were in school and as much as he was mischievous, he wouldn't go that far. “I love you,” he whispered.

You smiled brightly. “I love you, too.”

“And I will wait for you no matter how long it takes, okay? Don't feel sorry. I should study anyway,” he shrugged nonchalantly as if it really weren’t a big deal.

You smiled proudly while massaging his ear with your hand. “Always responsible, my prince.”

Just like you knew he would be, your driver was waiting for you, his face typically devoid of any emotions as you trudged to the school gates, ignoring the snickering gazes of students scattered around the entrance. Baekhyun was with you, hand in hand and just before you would reach the car, you stopped to kiss him goodbye. 

“Text me,” you demanded, looking into his eyes.

He nodded, and his long hair fell into his eyes. “I will.”

Not wanting to let go just yet, you took the opportunity and brushed his soft hair out of his eyes while he gently gazed into yours. 

“Promise me you won’t go against your parents,” he said suddenly, his voice quiet and hushed.

You focused on him, slowly retreating your hand from his hair. “What do you mean?” you asked, despite having a very good hunch. He knew your family very well, if not from what you have told him already, then from the experiences of when you would bring him home to study together and his parents would be cold and heartless, especially to you, not accepting your relationship with Baekhyun at all.

He sighed and looked somewhere else for a moment, letting the surroundings absorb in his mind before facing you. “I don’t want something happening to you. It just seems to me that the more you go against them, the more they will push you, mentally or physically. And I don’t want that.”

His worries made you feel warm. Someone actually cared for your well-being, unlike other people you were blood-related to. “I will be a good girl, hm?” you murmured, hearing your driver opening his door to get out, obviously impatient. “I will obey. For you.”

Baekhyun nodded and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “That’s the talk. Now go, before Mr Lee loses his cool,” he said, stepping away from you and nudging his head towards your driver who already opened your car door, obviously urging you to hurry.

You pressed your lips together and waved at your boyfriend one more time before turning and sliding inside the car, the door shutting loudly behind you, voicing the driver's dissatisfaction with your attitude.

Even if you wanted to wave at Baekhyun, you knew he wouldn’t see you. The windows were completely black.

You were dressing up for the dreaded dinner when your mother entered your room. Without knocking, of course. She looked at your dress of dark-red colour combined with a cute black bow on your back. The A skirt was hugging your curves just the right way and the hem stopped in the middle of your thighs that were covered in black stockings. Stylish, you thought.

“Slutty,” was what she said, frowning, her forehead wrinkled into three layers of skin. “Change it.”

You looked at her from behind your shoulder, sending her a poker face before facing your mirror again. “I like it. I won’t change it.”

Your mother sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re ridiculous. Who are you dressing up for? Your lover boy isn’t coming tonight.”

“And whose fault is that?” you fired back, hating whenever they as much as mentioned him. He was too good to be pronounced in their mouths. “It ain’t mine, mother. So stop irking me!”

“Watch your tone,” she said in a low voice before sighing deeply and shaking her head. “Listen. Your grandfather and grandmother will be here soon, so change. You know they are very conservative.”

“I’m not even showing skin,” you muttered, frustrated.

“You’re still a high school student. You aren’t supposed to be looking like this.”

Swiftly turning around, you walked to her slowly. “I’m not supposed to be having a chest? A butt? I am still growing, you know. Out of all people, you should know.”

“You have those because you eat more than you should and thanks to your boyfriend you are more horny than it’s okay for someone your age which leads you to have a big appetite,” she deadpanned. “So cover yourself up. This is not a strip club.”

Your mouth fell open, complete disbelief widening your eyes. She must have not been serious. But you knew she was, so what was more annoying was the fact that you still got angry and you still fought back, despite knowing their preferences for years. You tried to ignore the sting in your chest when she talked about food and about the way your body naturally worked. You were a hormonal teenager. Why couldn’t she understand?

Quickly remembering the promise you made to Baekhyun, you collected yourself and, although in pain, you nodded. But before you could answer, your mother continued: “Besides. Given the nature of our get-together today, you do need to look more responsible.”

That made you frown in confusion. “What does that mean?”

She smiled, though it was rather smug than anything else. “You will find out soon enough.”

“Mum!”

“Change,” she commanded, something dark flashing in her eyes before she walked out of the room.

Annoying tears burned in your eyes, and you quickly grabbed your phone, wanting to complain to Baekhyun, but he beat you to it and you found messages from him sent only a couple of minutes ago that immediately pacified your wild emotions.

i’m thinking of you ❤️ always

even now

and even now

and now too

gorgeous 😘🥰

You smiled through your tears, the need of wanting to be with him growing by tenfold. He melted all the negative emotions you had in yourself and you sat down on your bed, your eyes scanning the texts, the emoticons, and then the picture you had for him. He was being silly on it, wearing your sunglasses and pretending to be a girl group member looking seductive.

With a final look, you nodded to yourself, determined to follow what you had promised. 

Changing into a white shirt politely tucked into a black pencil skirt with your hair strictly tied into a knot, you looked like any worker in your father's company; not standing out, conservative and a little bit numb.

Only one thing was eating you away as you made your way downstairs to the huge dining hall, your parents already  welcoming your grandparents whose eyes gave you a strict look over. 

The nature of this dinner. 

What could that be?

All of the dinners had something into it. Your parents never did anything just for the sake of doing it. If there wasn’t something profitable in the action, they would never bother. But what did they want from your grandparents?

“Oh, finally you decided to show up. What are these manners, letting your old folks wait for you, hm?” Your grandmother’s words sounded like crow’s wailing. Annoying, terribly annoying. 

“Excuse me. Had to dress up properly for your company,” you replied in a calm tone, not paying attention to her nagging. You walked up to them and bowed politely, respecting them.

Your grandma scoffed, frowning at you while your grandfather’s eyes crinkled up a bit in a small smile, though he didn’t say anything besides nodding once to acknowledge your polite greeting. 

“Let’s just sit, shall we?” your father voiced, motioning to the prepared dining table adorned in a cream table cloth. “Before the food gets cold.”

“Yes, yes, we have things to discuss anyway,” rasped your grandmother as she sat down.

Your father was at the head of the table while your mother and you sat on his right, your grandparents on the opposite site. You ended up facing your grandfather for which you were thankful. He was one of the less evil. In fact, he barely ever showed any interest in the happenings around the dirty business your family was involved in.

Now that you thought about it, you didn’t know about him and your evil grandma. You had been secluded from any warm interaction since young age, so you never even bothered asking how they met and how they fell in love. How did grandfather even deal with someone like her was beyond your understanding.

Once your mother started talking in her superior tone, you concluded that your grandfather still managed to raise up someone like your mother. He probably wasn’t any better than the rest of the family.

“We have been in close contact with the rival company,” she started and you suppressed the need to roll your eyes.

Servants put all the food in front of you; seaweed soup, lots of side dishes, meat, fish, rice, rice cakes and corn tea. You usually liked the food but given you had to listen to another business talk, you lost your appetite.

“Their son is already in his thirties, so they requested the marriage as soon as our daughter is out of high school.”

You jumped in your seat, knocking your knee in the table rather painfully. You didn’t have time to curse and look at your mother, who continued talking as if nothing was happening: “Obviously we need to finish this deal before any more losses could happen to our business. Their company is overflowing with profit-“

“What are you talking about?” you snapped, not watching your tone that came out rude.

Your father frowned. “Your attitude is honestly disappointing. How can you talk to your mother in that to-“

“I am not getting married to anyone!” you shouted, growing hot-headed, your knee throbbing in pain. “I-I have a university to attend soon! How can I marry before getting a degree?! And I have a boyfriend-“

Your mother laughed drily. “How on earth can you even consider that boy?” she said, looking at you with utmost calmness. “He is just a middle-class boy.”

Your grandmother and father joined her in chuckles. “Don’t be silly,” said your grandmother. “It’s just a high school crush. It’s always about experimenting and not understanding what love is. Silly teenager stuff.”

“What do you know about love?” you asked doubtfully, turning to your grandmother with a death glare to which she returned it back.

“How dare you question your elders?! Calm down this instant and listen!”

If it were possible, fumes would be coming out of your nose and ears. You couldn’t believe what you just heard was true. It couldn’t be. You wouldn’t allow it.

“Besides,” started your father in a scolding manner, “you are not good at studies. We agreed to let you attend the university you chose, but your studies will be fruitless since you didn’t study as you were told to. You aren’t a man either,” he scoffed and gave a side eye to your mother who now froze. “But that isn’t your fault that you weren’t born a man. That’s someone else’s.”

Completely at loss for words, you fell back in your chair, devastated at what you just heard. Not only he degraded you, but he now attacked your mother.

In a sudden need to defend your mother as a woman rather than as your parent, you snapped: “It’s the amount of sperm that a man manages to put into a woman that decides the gender. If it’s anyone’s fault that I am a girl, it’s yours!”

Everyone went silent at what you just said, your father so shocked his mouth hung open. He blinked a few times, regaining his posture but you were already standing up. “I am not marrying anyone! I already have a boy-“

“So you do all the dirty stuff with this boyfriend of yours and that’s why your mouth is so nasty!” came your father’s voice like a thunder.

“She needs to break up with him. He is no good influence on her,” butted in your grandmother nonchalantly as she slurped her seaweed soup.

You snapped your eyes to her, and to your grandfather who was frowning down at his empty plate.

“I won’t break up with Baekhyun.”

“Then keep your delusions up. But once you're out of high school, the ceremony will take place,” said your mother resolutely, sending daggers your way. 

“I don’t want to do anything with your business,” you now said in despair. “I don’t want to own your company!”

Your father snickered drily in disgust. “You won’t own our company, daughter. You’re useless as it is, so we are going to merge the companies. That’s the only way we can save our hard work.”

You shook your hair. “No, I refuse!”

“You don’t have a choice,” shrugged your mother now turning back to her plate. “You can do whatever you want, but your fate is in our hands. That’s why,” she emphasized and looked at you, “for your own good, break up with your boyfriend. He is no good news. Save yourself the heartbreak. He is with you for the money anyway.”

You stood frozen, keeping the gasp in. Tears were spilling out of your eyes and you turned around, running back to your room, sobs leaving your mouth.

You always knew your family was a nightmare - cold, scary, emotionless. But this was too much for your young self.

All you wanted was warmth, safety and honest emotions.

All of those were what Baekhyun offered you.

He was more than just a boyfriend.

He was love.

That night, you didn't call Baekhyun, instead deciding to text him back to let him know that everything went fine. He was studying anyway, and if you wanted something, it was for him to become successful in a field that he was passionate about. Unlike you, who barely had any hobbies, let alone passions.

Finally crying yourself to sleep around 3am, your alarm went off too early in the morning, a strong headache first thing you felt as you turned off the blaring thing.

Sighing, you fell back on the comfortable pillows, their lavender smell engulfing your senses and momentarily offering a calming pat on your headache. Closing your eyes, you felt your eyes well up again, the idea of having to break up with Baekhyun just not adding up in your mind. How could you do that? Why would you deprive yourself of the only source of light you had in your life? For someone you never even met. Someone who seemed to be much, much older than you.

“I'm not doing it,” you whispered into the stillness of your room, your voice hoarse. Tears slid out of your eyes and down your sides until they tickled your ears. “I'm not.”

And with that, you faced your day; you washed up, put on your uniform, packed the necessary books and headed out, not saying your morning greetings, nor eating breakfast. Ignoring your surroundings, you went out not even waiting for your driver. You decided you will take the mundane route to school that day: bus and metro like Baekhyun did everyday.

“Hey, are you okay?” Someone’s fingers appeared in the line of your vision. Fingers all too familiar.

You looked up to see a worried Baekhyun, his shirt untucked and his tie loosen-up around his neck giving him the typical goofy, laid-back look that lived up very well to his personality. You managed to smile. “Yeah, just tired. Didn’t get to sleep much.”

“And why is that?” he asked, taking the closest seat to yours, looking around to check if the owner of the seat wasn’t there. When you pursed your lips, debating what to say, he added gently: “What is bothering you, hm? You know you can tell me.”

Releasing probably the nth sigh of that day, you closed your eyes for a moment before looking at him. “Let’s talk after school maybe. It’s not something to discuss here.”

Baekhyun nodded but you saw the rapid thinking his mind drifted off to. He could sense trouble, especially with your family. “Alright, let’s do that. But your driver-“

“He didn’t drive me to school, so he won’t be driving me from school,” you said in a monotone and Baekhyun raised an eyebrow at that.

“How did you come to school?”

You shrugged. “Like you do everyday. Public transport.”

Slowly, his mouth stretched to a soft, lopsided smile, his hand reaching out to caress your cheek with the back of his fingers. “Enjoyed it?”

You mimicked his smile, his touch easing up the tension you couldn’t get rid of since last night. “Yeah, thoroughly. Only you were missing. Then it would be perfect.” 

His smile only grew and you turned your head slightly, kissing his hand before he retracted it, keeping the eye contact while he kissed the same spot your lips touched on his hand.

You watched in small awe and you giggled when he added a louder smooch. “You’re unbelievable.”

He let out a laugh, standing up when the bell rang. “But you love me.” He squeezed your shoulder.

“That I do.”

After that, you couldn’t focus any more in any of the classes. Once again it was proved that you wouldn’t be able to even imagine your life without Baekhyun next to you. Yes, the idea of marriage was scary but you’d marry him. In an instant.

Finally coming up with a way to make something out for yourself and of that damn deal your parents made, you slipped out of the classroom as soon as the bell rang announcing the end of your last class of that day. Quickly pulling out your phone, you hid in the toilets and dialed your mother's phone who lazily picked up after countless attempts.

“What.”

So you were still in a war zone. “If I am to get married,” you started without further ado, “he can not touch me. And I won’t be breaking up with Baekhyun.”

It was silent for a moment before your mother let out a laugh. “Oh, honey. We do want you to finish university first before anything else will happen.”

She didn’t add anything more which confused you. “Okay, either way, I won’t be breaking up with Baekhyun.”

“Do whatever you deem correct. Though I bet he won’t like you getting married to someone else? Didn’t you always say how loyal he was?”

You grit your teeth. “Why do you suddenly care about his loyalty?” you hissed, pacing in the small toilet space. “That isn’t your business. You will always get what you want and I already said I will comply but on my terms.”

“Your terms are cheating on your husband? Or on your boyfriend? I really don’t know where this attitude comes from in you. Neither me nor your father are like that-“

Before she could finish, you burst out laughing. “What? You aren’t like that? Don’t be delusional, mother. You’re trying to marry me off for your own profit!” you exclaimed, raising your voice. “The only thing I am asking - no, I am going to do it whether you like it or not. I will be with Baekhyun. I’ll be with him until he breaks up with me.” Because there was no way you would do it.

Your mother was silent for a moment and then she sighed. “Do as you want. As long as you sign the papers…” she trailed off. “I have a meeting now. Let’s discuss once we are home.” And she ended the call.

You realized you were trembling only when you finally let your hand dangle next to your body, already tired from the fights. 

At least she didn’t say anything against the idea.

You took it as a positive sign.

You didn’t go home that night. Baekhyun suggested to sleep over at his house and you gladly agreed. It wouldn't be the first and certainly not the last time. His parents knew you well and you always felt their warm welcome whenever Baekhyun brought you home with him. His mother was a great cook and whenever you saw her, you were reminded of Baekhyun's kind smile.

“Are you staying for the night?” asked his mother with a laugh when you greeted her with a polite bow.

You smiled shyly, nodding and looking up at Baekhyun who was gazing down at you encouragingly. “Yes, if that is okay, auntie.”

“Of course! It's Friday night anyway. My son just keeps studying and not living his young life properly so please, be our guest.”

“Thank you,” you smiled and she said she would prepare a late dinner for you while you and Baehyun went to his room to change into something more comfortable.

“Could you borrow me some of your clothes?” you asked once in his room as you were working on unbuttoning your uniform's shirt and watched shirtless Baekhyun roam in his drawer for your favourite shirt of his.

“Here you go,” he said, coming up to you with the shirt and joggers, but instead of handing them to you, he just put them on the bed and mumbled a soft: “Let me.”

His fingers took over the unbuttoning process, and you closed your eyes at the feathery touch of his hands as he uncovered more skin. When he was reaching your stomach, he paused and you cracked your eyes open, finding him gazing at you intently before his eyes fell to the middle of your breasts that were exposed. He unbuttoned the last two buttons swiftly and then pushed his hands inside the shirt, dragging his fingertips over your hips and waist, tapping each bone of your ribcage until he slid his hands up to your shoulders, sliding the material off. “You want to keep your bra?” he asked, almost as if he wasn't breathing loudly, mimicking your rapidly rising and falling chest.

Shaking your head gently, you mumbled a soft no before he nodded in acknowledgement and with one hand unclasped the bra. He stepped even closer, your nose almost touching his broad and very naked chest. You felt his breath on your cheek as he whispered, pulling on the straps of your bra: “May I?”

Swallowing harshly, you nodded and looked up at him to find his fiery gaze intently set on you. When he pushed the straps off your shoulders and your bra fell to the floor, you shivered at the cool air hitting the hot skin as Baekhyun's fingers were back again, dragging them from your back through your underarms until he reached the sides of your breasts. His breathing was irregular, hot puffs hitting your face while you whimpered softly, egging him on to finally grab you.

“You're so beautiful,” he whispered shakily and you let out a loud sigh when he finally took a hold of your mounds, squeezing them gently in his palms.

You brought your arms around his neck, stretching the skin on your chest and you kissed him hungrily, the heat in your core growing almost painful for not being satisfied as you so badly wished you would be.

Baekhyun pushed his tongue into your mouth, going for a dirty kiss right away as he gave a final, stronger squeeze to your breasts before letting them go, bringing his hands down to your backside, bunching up your skirt in lust. He let out a satisfied moan when he grabbed the meat, his finger momentarily sliding inside and between your thighs. You were fast to break the kiss, needing air and also needing to whine because you needed him so badly.

His naked torso pressed now to yours, his hands cheekily teasing you and grabbing you, he was all about games.

“Baekhyun, the food is ready! Come quickly before it gets cold!” shouted his mother down the hallway, thankfully not coming to Baekhyun's room. You froze in his arms nonetheless to which he chuckled.

“Relax,” he murmured, pressing his face into your neck. “She knows not to disturb when my door is closed and you are with me.”

Letting out a breathy laugh, you let go of him just when he did.

“Once we are back,” he said, helping you put on his big t-shirt. “I will take care of that wetness down there. Seems pretty severe.”

You quirked an eyebrow, looking at the tent that was asking for attention over his joggers. “You sound so unaffected.”

He looked down just where your eyes were set and chuckled as if it was nothing. “Oh, sweetie, it's always like this when I'm with you. I just can't help it,” he said and leaned in, biting your earlobe. “You bring out the man in me.”

Everything was a long lost dream and you should have known it. Things you imagined and desired were not what the reality had in store for you, and it just made it more difficult for you to face Baekhyun. Even when you went on the last high school trip where you had the biggest fun, made the most exciting memories, sneaking behind the group to steal a small kiss, even all of that was not able to lighten up your damp mood. Somehow, it was possible for you to fake it, but you would have been dumb if you ever thought Baekhyun believed your words or smiles. He could sense trouble from miles and given the nature of your family, he was always well-aware of how many troubles could grow overnight in your household. He just wouldn't know the severity of the problem. And you weren't planning to tell him, just like you promised yourself and your mother, not until Baekhyun would break up with you.

And right now, it was your graduation day.

The D-day had come when you would have to say goodbye to all your friends, even the fake ones, and you would be a little closer to losing Baekhyun. Except you wouldn't know it would happen that fast.

“Congratulations!” squealed Baekhyun's mother who was fast to hug Baekhyun and you both at the same time, squeezing you to her chest. Your face was pushed into the colourful bouquet of flowers that smelled wonderfully - but from a distance. You tried to  squeeze your eyes shut but you just looked down, catching Baekhyun's worn-out converse sneakers.

Baekhyun snorted a laugh when he saw your face in the freezias, and gently pushed you away from his mother to protect you. As you straightened up, you managed to scrunch your face just in time to sneeze.

“Oh dear, I'm so sorry,” giggled Baekhyun's mother and even his father chuckled from behind her which made your heart warm up.

“It's alright, auntie,” you waved your hand, feeling your eyes watering up but you laughed nonetheless because - how could you ever be mad at such a sweet woman who was the only person on Earth to have the right to call Baekhyun hers? As much as you wished, you were nowhere near close to have the right for him to be yours. And maybe you would never be. “Looking at you, I wonder how was my son able to sweep you off of your feet! You're so beautiful!”

You smiled shyly and felt Baekhyun's soft gaze on you, ready to reach out for your hand before his mother pushed the bouquet into his arms. “This is for you, son, and this is for you, my dear,” she said, giving you one as well.

Just when you were about to thank her politely and bow, your mother's cold voice interrupted the merry atmosphere, your happy smile dying down as you turned to face her, your father and a- stranger? A man, to be exact.

“Here you are,” she said, sending a cold smile towards Baekhyun's parents, ignoring your boyfriend altogether. She stepped closer so she wouldn't be overheard, and muttered: “I guess your wishes will come true soon.” She leaned back and you followed her with your eyes as she stepped aside. “Mr Kwon, please meet my daughter,” she introduced you before continuing, “and this is Mr Kwon Minheob, your fiancée. Greet him properly!” she ordered but you didn't even process what she said.

Standing frozen, your arms were about to let go of the bouquet you just received were it not for Baekhyun who was fast enough to get the flowers out of your grasp. “Oh, that's great news! I'll take these for you!” he exclaimed with a smile and you looked at him with pure horror in your eyes. “Congrats by the way! I will miss you as my classmate!” he added and quickly bowed to your parents. “I'll see you around someday!” And with that, he turned and left.

In that instance, many things were swirling around in your brain - complete, utter shock, overwhelm, fear, heartbreak. What did Baekhyun just do? Why did he say that? And where was he going-

“Nice to meet you,” said the older male with a deep voice. You turned your stare back at him, hearing your heart beating in your ears. “What a pleasure to finally meet you. I have heard a lot about you and your studies. It is so nice of you to lower yourself and your status and attend a regular high school with ordinary people. I believe we will have a lot in common.” He finally uncrossed his hands from behind his back and you found a pastel pink bag dangling off of his somewhat thick fingers. “And this is my congratulatory present for you. Congratulations on graduating high school.”

Once again, you just stared at the bag, unable to make your own hand move and accept the gift with a polite bow like you were expected to. The only thing ringing in your mind was Baekhyun and him only. He found out much sooner than he was supposed to and you hated yourself because he was most probably hating you right now. What was worse - his parents were there, too. They all saw it when it all seemed like you were just about to stay with their son forever. Yet, your family, as always, ruined it all and you weren't sure if you would recover.

Looking up to the tall, grown man, it didn't take you a lot to know he was far from anyone you could have feelings for, ever. The words he just spoke, the malice he said them with, was everything you were standing for. Obviously, he was no one you could have things in common with.

Your father stepped next to you and, painfully, pinched your side, making you gasp and automatically reach out for the gift with a low bow. His fingers were squeezing your skin through your dress and it rushed tears in your eyes, but you blinked them away while accepting the gift and staring at the polished shoes of Kwon Minheob.

“Nice to meet you,” you mumbled, straightening up. The gift bag felt heavy in your hand but you tried not to pay too much attention to it. Eventually, your father also removed his hand from your back and he gave you a pressed smile, though you didn't look at him. “Congratulations, our daughter. Now we can go all to our house and have a good di-”

“I'm sorry, but I still have, eh, friends to greet and meet,” you said, “we also all agreed to have our last meal together as a class,” you added, looking up to meet your father's eyes. You weren't lying; the entire class wanted to meet and have chicken and beer. Preferably spend the time loudly somewhere in a good restaurant.

He shot you a dissatisfied scowl, but you held his gaze. “Until when? You won't be meeting them anyway, why waste time?”

“Exactly,” pressed your mother and smiled brightly at Mr Kwon, who kept observing you with quite an unreadable expression. “And we have Mr Kwon to entertain.”

Quite literally you thought you would start wailing right then and there; everyone was going against you, nobody seeming to listen to your words. Just when you felt tears prickle your eyes, Mr Kwon spoke up and surprised all of you.

“That is not necessary,” he declared, giving a curt smile towards your parents, “she is still young and should enjoy her classmates one last time. I suppose it will be difficult to do it once they all go their own way,” he said in a diplomatic voice, looking at you the entire time. It took a lot in you not to flinch and shudder under his gaze. “So go and enjoy, miss, and I will meet you soon to have a more private conversation with you.” You nodded quickly, though blood was already draining from your face at the idea of what he suggested. Mr Kwon turned to your parents. “I will leave you to entertain your daughter and I will reach out soon.”

Before anyone else could say another word, he gave a short bow and disappeared in the mass of people.

“You do realize-” your mother started, but you were fast to push the bag into her chest, not caring whether she caught it or not, and dashing for the direction that Baekhyun disappeared into.

Of course you were aware how much you would get scolded once you actually faced your parents, but right now you couldn't care less. It was better to get scolded, but losing Baekhyun or even making him hurt just the tiniest of bits made you resent yourself.

And so you pushed past crowds, stopping to say hi, keeping an eye out for any coconut head out there with a family that shone brighter than yours would ever shine. Just when you were about to lose it and start straight up crying in the middle of the crowd, you felt a hand intertwining with yours and you just knew. He didn't turn you around, but you felt his body behind yours and it was you who turned, facing him with a scared expression. 

“Baekhyun,” you whimpered. Seeing his kind smile made you want to slap him because why was he like that after what he heard?

“Hm? Want to tell me about it now?” he asked gently and combed your hair out of your face, his smile growing by an inch. “Pretty.”

You took a deep breath, shakiness overtaking your legs from unwanted pressure. “It isn't what you think it is.”

“Then what is it?”

“I don't want to marry him,” you said and this time, your tears rapidly grew in your eyes and were rolling down your cheeks. “I-I-I never… I mean, not yet. I did-didn't know he would come, I never saw him before and-”

“Shhh, calm down,” he hushed, bringing your face to his chest, hugging you to himself. “Let's talk about it another time.”

“No,” you said, hiccuping, “I am not losing you, Baekhyun.”

“You aren't.” “I'm not losing you,” you repeated, closing your eyes and pressing your face more into him, taking a deep breath of his scent, feeling up his warmth and presence. “I'm not losing you.”

He called your name gently. “It's fine. Don't cry, hm? You know I can't stand seeing you cry. I am not mad and I'm not going anywhere,” he whispered urgently into your ear.

“I just hate my family so much,” you mumbled into his chest. Baekhyun's shirt must have been stained by make-up by then, but neither of you cared. “And I don't want their terrible attitude to damage you.”

“It won't damage me. You are important to me, you. Look at me, hm? Look at me, darling.”

You sniffed and stepped away a little, tilting your head so you could see his kind eyes. He cooed, reaching up to run his thumbs under your eyes. “My little raccoon. Let's enjoy today, alright? Just us. And our classmates,” he added with a little laugh.

You smiled weakly, nodding. Anything Baekhyun wanted, he would get from you.

Your entire class hoarded into a chicken restaurant in Hongdae, the loud cheers and chatterings making many people turn in interest to look at you. You sat down around your girlfriends while you let, though reluctantly, Baekhyun join his pals. Even though you would exchange reassuring looks here and there, you still felt incredibly anxious about the incident earlier. In fact, you were so swallowed up by the idea of losing Baekhyun that you didn't  even think about the actual fiancée, Mr Kwon.

But instead of focusing on that, you decided to enjoy tonight, for you knew events like these won't be coming up for you anytime soon. If anything, your freedom was close to gone.

“I am going to start my own clothing brand,” started one of your classmates that was sitting next to you, munching on her piece of chicken meat. She went on spilling many details that didn't add up in your brain, though you listened carefully to every word she said.

“You don't have your degree yet,” you replied eventually and took a gulp of your coke.

“Funny, coming from someone like you,” she snickered, “you can decide you want to own an island and you will.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes but your classmate just shrugged.

“I can assure you she won't,” came in Baekhyun's voice. “I know it pretty well, since I'm her boyfriend.”

The girls exchanged looks. They all had a secret crush on him, so his words made them a little embarrassed. “Would you even marry her?” they teased.

“I would. In a heartbeat,” was his answer and you looked at him with huge eyes, your mouth that was slightly oily from the chicken hanging open, your heart frantically beating in your chest.

The entire table hollored and whistled, and you caught your boyfriend smiling proudly at you, eventually sending a confident wink. He tapped his mouth with his index finger and then pointed at you. You felt your lips stretch instantly, because you knew he meant “close your mouth”.

“Whew, you really are lucky,” muttered the girl next to you, changing the topic completely.

His hand was intertwined with yours once again as you were slowly walking along the Han river. Ttukseom Han river park was, as always, busy with young people. It gave a great view on Gangnam and Cheongdam that were lying on the opposite side, the city lights of the tall buildings reminding you how life revolved around money and basically anything that smelled even the slightest of capitalism. You found yourself despising all of it.

“Cat stole your tongue?” muttered Baekhyun playfully into the chilly air as he swayed your connected hands.

“Just… thinking,” you replied and made sure your sides were brushing.

He didn't reply, instead letting silence overtake again, but you knew he was curious. He wanted to, and deserved, to know.

“Did you mean it?” you asked, looking at the dark water.

“Did I mean what?”

“That you would marry me in a heartbeat,” you said softly, scared to actually pronounce those words. They sounded so unnatural, for some reason, despite them mirroring everything you ever wanted in life. “What you said during dinner.”

“Yes, I meant it and you know it, too, sweetheart,” he said, shaking your hand.

You smiled to yourself. If you wouldn't spill the beans now, you would probably never find the guts to talk about the main issue that was simmering like the water in a pressure cooker. “My parents want me to marry that man for business. Something along merging their companies or whatever,” you started. “I found out a while ago but I was fighting them. And then you made me promise to obey,” you sighed, feeling the well-known dread eating up your insides, “and I had to agree. But I don't want to.”

“So that's why you weren't yourself,” he muttered more to himself than to you, and he stopped walking so he could look at you properly. When you wouldn't meet his eye, too ashamed, he put his index finger under your chin and made you tilt your head up. “Why didn't you just tell me from the beginning?”

“Baekhyun,” you whispered in disbelief, “how could I? It isn't some news about apples growing backwards.”

He chuckled. “Well, you have to admit, that would make the headlines.”

You giggled, rolling your eyes. “You know what I mean.”

He let out another chuckle through his nose and slid his hand up so he could cup your cheek lovingly while thinking over his next words. “When are you supposed to marry him?”

You swallowed. “Maybe after uni? I … I never wanted to talk to them, so I don't know exactly… I insisted after university graduation.”

He hummed, running his thumb over your lower lip, his gaze focused on the way he parted your lips. “So, we have four more years?”

You pursed your lips, not liking the idea of having limited time with Baekhyun. “Of course not. I will always be with you.”

He sighed, and eventually dropped his hand on your shoulder; you tried not to feel disappointed. “I think this is more complicated than you think, love.”

“How is it complicated, Baekhyun?” you asked stubbornly. “I love you. I saw that man today for the first time in my life. How can I marry someone I don't know and barely ever saw? He is almost twice my age, Baekhyun. You know this is not okay and you also know it doesn't make any sense.”

“And you know business is anything but emotions,” was his fast reply.

“I don't care about their business.”

“And they don't care that you don't care.”

“Bu-but I just don't care! I will be with you behind his back and-”

“And how would that make me feel?” he fired back, now both of you slowly getting heated up from the small exchange of opinions. Baekhyun just asked something you never wanted him to utter. If you were to talk about him, of course, he was the victim. He'd become a secret lover; the forbidden fruit.

When you didn't reply, he nodded, his hand falling off your shoulder. “I understand.”

“Baekhyun, let's talk about this step by step,” you tried, reaching for his hand which he, thankfully, didn't retreat. “We still have a long time until any of those things could even happen. Maybe it won't happen - and I will try my best not to let it happen. But let it not affect our present. Please,” you added with urgency, looking into his warm eyes.

When Baekhyun was troubled or sad, his eyes seemed to become even more down-ward than they already were. This time, it was no exception and you wanted to reach out and make the wrinkles go away but you didn't. “Let me just think this matter through, alright?” he murmured eventually.

You pressed your lips together and nodded while you stepped close to him, snaking your arms around his waist. He gladly took you in, letting out a deep sigh as he hugged you to him and kissed the top of your head. “It will be okay.”

“May I sleep at yours tonight?” you mumbled into his shoulder after a moment of silence. “I just cannot imagine going back to that hell.”

He rubbed your back gently. “Of course. My mum is already expecting us. We shouldn't disappoint her.”

You leaned back a bit and stood on your toes to press your lips to his. “You're the best.”

And so, after walking a little bit longer and enjoying the faraway noise of the busy roads and nightlife Seoul, you slowly made your way back to the metro station, heading for Baekhyun's house, and your safety.

The both of you were lying on his bed, his parents long asleep, the quietness of the apartment giving you a sense of safeness. Baekhyun had a book open on his lap while you were doodling something you weren’t sure what was yet. Manual work seemed to preoccupy your mind enough and sadly, even with Baekhyun next to you, you couldn’t find your peace of mind. 

“Aren’t you tired yet?” whispered Baekhyun and looked at you, and on the paper to see what you were so focused on. “It’s already 1am. Your parents will want you home early-“

Your sigh interrupted him and you put down the pencil rather harshly as you sat up properly to face him. “Since when do you care about them? You know I will go home whenever I want to. I don’t care, so you shouldn’t either.”

“I don’t want you to get into trouble, okay?” he said back, his voice quiet but low. “There has been enough drama.”

“What worse can happen? They want me to let go of you. That is the worst punishment for me.”

Baekhyun’s gaze softened and he also sat up properly to face you. “I know. I can’t lose you either. And I wasn’t intending on that. I meant that they might lock you up and then I won’t be able to see you so soon, hm?” he murmured gently, his lips puckering with each word as he reached out with his hand to caress your cheek. You leaned into his touch right away. “I want to enjoy what we have now.”

You smiled gently when you recognized your previously uttered words and grabbed his hand that was cradling your cheek. “You know I would sneak out just to meet you if I were to be locked up.”

He rewarded you with a lopsided, handsome smile. “You shouldn’t, you little devil.”

You sighed and shimmied yourself closer until your knees were touching his. “Kiss me,” you whispered breathily, already eyeing his lips.

He observed you a little longer before his eyes dropped on yours. Softly smiling, he leaned in, now both of his hands on your neck to angle your face. The softest of touches was what you felt first before he pressed his lips harsher, moving his mouth against yours. Your hands snaked around his neck to urge him on while he opened your mouth and invited himself in. Without meaning to, you let out a satisfied hum that seemed to ignite Baekhyun because he pressed harder, slowly making you fall back on your back, head on the pillows.

He grunted as you spread your legs so he could settle himself there as your kiss grew dirtier, all tongues and teeth, battling for dominance. Your fingers were messing up his hair while his hands were touching you over the fabric of his pyjamas.

It was your whines and a couple of pulls on the hem of his shirt that made Baekhyun lean back so that you could undress in haste, both of you eager and very much horny. Finally feeling the hot skin of his chest press up against yours he was too eager and he already lined himself up at your center, needing the release without any foreplay.

“Just keep quiet, alright?” he reminded softly into your ear under which he placed the softest kiss before he started pushing in, your mouth falling open, but your juices doing a good enough job for his easy access.

You gasped rather loudly and he silenced you with a messy kiss, interrupting it with harsh pants on your mouth as his eyes were closed in focus, his forehead pressed against yours. You panted and tilted your head to chase his parted lips while he pushed himself in all the way, reaching the stillness that you very much needed.

Unable to take the pain, your eyes were squeezed shut, scratching Baekhyun’s back while the other hand fisted his blanket. 

“Just a little longer,” Baekhyun whispered urgently, lips against your forehead, repeatedly puckering them in tiny butterfly  kisses. “The pain will be all gone, I promise. I’ll make you feel like no one on this planet.” He moved the slightest bit, the friction making him hide his face in your neck and mouth at the skin.

Your heaving chest was pressing up against his and with his next movement, you felt the tingles of pleasure that he promised you just heartbeats ago. Giving Baekhyun the sign to move, he started rocking, already setting up a faster pace for he couldn’t wait any longer. Your influence on him was too strong, his emotions for you too overwhelming. In his eyes, you were so sexy, beautiful, sensitive, and absolutely alluring. It would be brutal if he had to hold back while having you underneath him.

Who did he try to lie to? He went absolutely crazy at the idea of him having to leave you for another man; some old dude who didn’t even know you. It might have been the reason why he grew relentless, pushing you into his mattress and snapping his hips, your face of pure ecstasy only fueling his passionate drive. He hated the entire situation. He didn’t want to share you. He never wanted to have a secret relationship with you. If he imagined a future, besides him becoming a doctor, it was your presence next to his the entire time.

Baekhyun was never one to be aggressive and stubbornly go against every rule, unlike you. In your relationship, he was the cold-headed one, the peace-maker, always fighting for what the brain said instead of the heart.

But right now, his heart was in despair, already feeling the beginning of a heart break. He thrusted into you with such passion you really couldn't contain your moans and he wasn’t sure he wanted you to keep quiet anymore. Let everyone know that you belonged to him.

He bit your skin just under your collarbones, tasting the sweat, and you gasped, fisting his hair which prompted him to grunt and reach your g-spot.

“Cum for me,” he whispered harshly, biting you again and then moving his face to push his tongue into your open mouth. “Cum for me and say my name.”

He didn’t have to tell you as you were already panting his name like a mantra that would bring you to heaven. Your walls were pleasurably stretched out, the throaty sounds he made bringing you over the edge. He followed soon after your breathy moans and your arching back that caused your breasts to press to his sweaty chest made him lose it.

His arms snaked in the space between your back and the mattress and he squeezed your body to him, hiding his face in your breasts that he mouthed and licked at sensually while feeling himself release.

With one last bite to your sensitive nipple, he moved to kiss you, your tired smile welcoming him. “I love you.”

You combed his hair away from his damp forehead. “I love you more.” But please don't leave me.

--

CuriousCat Ask box is also open! Or comments!💕

[gatecoeur]

hey so, i’m now officially gonna make a slow return onto here - it’s been well over a month, and frankly i missed being on here. i guess i should give a lil update on my life for those who care, but i’ll get the rp parts outta the way first and put the rest under read more.

TL;DR, other than the starters people have written for me that i’ve yet to reply to, i’m dropping all my threads. i just really need a fresh start right now, and given that i’m going into a Master’s degree that’s in the English department, i’m not sure how well i’m going to be able to keep up with my more plot-heavy threads. i hope people see this as an opportunity to throw new ideas at me, and i hope to interact with some of the people who’ve recently followed me, so i feel like starting anew is the best way to go about it. 

for those who’ve left me asks, i’ll do my best to work through them. i may have to delete some, especially if they’re in reference to things that happened while i was gone, so please don’t take it personally. i’m just trying to take things at my own pace and time. i hope you all understand.

now, onto where the fuck i’ve been this past month and a bit.

so, back in late July, i was faced with a situation i was hoping i wouldn’t have to deal with, but nonetheless had anticipated - in searching for a place to live in for the school year with friends, they all bailed out on me. all their reasons were valid, but it put a crazy amount of stress on me, because i was already dealing with trying to get myself a car and the insurance for it. so i poured all of my energy into finding a place before i’d be forced to settle on a room i’d hate. 

for two weeks, i had to travel between my home city and the city the university was in to do viewings, which typically was a full day sort of ordeal. not that i didn’t do so beforehand with my friends, but it was taxing and frankly costed me a decent amount of money, especially when a lot of the places i initially looked at were incredibly shitty. i am so fortunate that i found the place i’m in now - sure, the room’s small, but the place is newly renovated, the rent’s cheaper than everywhere else i looked at, my roommates are very nice people, and it’s close to the university. 

when i had that out of the way though, i still had to deal with getting a car. my mom had been flip-flopping for WEEKS about whether or not she wanted to give me hers or not, but finally she did, which honestly ended up saving me a lot of money. dealing with the insurance had been a fucking nightmare though, and it’s actually still ongoing, but it should be resolved by the end of this week. during that time though, my mom had done absolutely nothing to help my stress, because there was potential that i had to stay with my parents for longer than i wanted to, since the car was still needed to get my brother to work, as well as needed for my mom to travel around to find herself a new car. the situation ended up being way more ideal than what my mom had projected, but still, you can imagine how much that sucked for me.

now, during this time, i had the brilliant idea of getting back into the dating pool. i ended up downloading a few apps, and met a guy that i really hit it off with - we’d talk pretty regularly on Discord, and we even went on a few dates. he had so many similar interests with me, was insanely intelligent, and he treated me with so much respect. by the second in-person date, i’m not gonna lie, i was head over heels for him. we even talked about him visiting me every weekend once school started up again, which was way more effort than any of my exes had ever put into me. 

but then, just a few days before i’d officially move into my new place, he messaged me saying he wasn’t ready for a relationship. even though we weren’t official or anything of the sort, it devastated me. i understood his reasons though, and we agreed to stay friends. sometimes it still hurts to think about, but i’m slowly but surely getting over it. we’ve sent each other the occasional message since then, but nothing more than that. 

i’ve also deleted all those apps since then -  i’m not sure how long it’s going to be before i’m okay with opening myself up like that to another person.

it wasn’t all bad though. i went to a wedding with my best friend, and her entire friend group from her hometown has basically accepted me as one of them - they’ve even invited me to join them in their yearly cottage trip that they’re hoping to have next year. i also got to meet up with an old friend from high school - even though it had been literally 3 years since we last saw each other, it felt like no time had passed at all. i got to see some family members that i also hadn’t seen in years, and just yesterday, i helped a friend move into a new place.

overall, the past month and a bit has been one hell of a rollercoaster for me. i hope things will be relatively more manageable, especially when my mental health is in such a fragile state - i need some healing, and part of that includes coming back here and doing what i love most. interacting with you all.

if you’ve read through this all, thank you. i promise i’m doing much better now, and i hope to get back into the swing of things soon enough. <3

[graspingcitylights]

Not everyone can say they’ve been to the Big Apple, but  [ ROBIN NGUYEN ], a [ THIRTY ] year-old [ CISWOMAN ] has lived in [ MANHATTAN ] for [ SIX YEARS ]. This is the city of dreams and [ SHE ] knows it, because they came to NYC to be a [ STUDENT AT COLUMBIA, TURNED STRIPPER TO PAY OFF HER STUDENT LOANS POST-GRADUATION ]. Well, that and as an [ STRIP CLUB ELMPLOYEE ] to [ LUKAS “LUCIFER” VALE ]. Living in the city means they meet all kinds of people, but everyone always seems to think they look like [ KARRUECHE TRAN ]. They even got away with free cab fare once because of it!

BASICS + full name: robin nguyen nicknames:  she tends to go by “moxie” when working, a name earned with the big personality and all the nerve she brings to the table gender: cis female pronouns: she/her age (d.o.b.): march 25, 1991 - aries cultural background: african american & vietnamese hometown: kiind of a loaded question. her father was a marine, so she was never in one place for longer than a few years before his retirement. once her father retired, her family settled in north carolina. current location: robin has been in manhattan since 2016.occupation: stripper / adult entertainer face claim:  karrueche tran sexual orientation: bisexual / panromantic relationship status: single PSYCHOLOGY + zodiac: aries temperament: choleric moral alignment: chaotic neutral myers briggs: entp deadly sin: lust & pride heavenly virtue: diligence +charismatic, sociable, diligent, & adaptable -quick-tempered, impulsive, arrogant & vain A BRIEF HISTORY + the oldest child of the nguyen family, robin was raised bouncing around the states in the typical fashion of a military brat. the longest she spent anywhere growing up was two years, and then they were up and moving again. It made it hard to put down roots, starting over every time she finally started feeling settled. she helped her mother out a lot, considering her father was often busy or deployed, and found herself mothering her younger siblings more often than not. expectations were set high in her family: good grades, extra curriculars, good behavior, all of which were demanded.  with high expectations came high ambitions and a desire to get to the top by whatever means necessary, and robin was raised to accept nothing less than the best for and from herself and from everyone else. she attended duke university for undergrad with pre-law as her major, staying relatively close to home to still visit on weekends and help out with her younger siblings still at home. when applications for law school came around, she shot for the moon and put all her eggs in one basket with columbia. hard work and pure moxie won out in the end, and robin was packing her bags for the big city before long. new york had always been a dream of hers and she had decided within her first week of school that she would be staying. however, big city distractions served to get in the way of her long-term-goals and her ambitions slipped: robin’s ranking continued to decline in law school, and she ended up taking what she declared to be a brief hiatus before she took her bar exam. needed time to study, time to get her ducks in a row. at least that as the story that she swung for her parents, considering she wouldn’t dare tell them the truth. robin wasn’t sure that law was for her after all, and wasn’t about to spend more time and money on a profession she wasn’t sold on. she was hell-bent on remaining in the city she’d grown to love, but waitressing wasn’t paying the bills…especially when those law school student loans came a-knockin’. one job turned into three, and robin hated the idea of working to live instead of living to work and so she put that big brain of hers to use to find a solution out of the mess she’d made. stripping was meant to be a short-term solution, but it ended up turning into something more of a preferred occupation. robin had never been shy about her body, had a personality that could lure people in, and the cash flow was better than she ever could imagine. the bar exam was tabled, potentially permanently, with tips from a week paying her bills for the entire month and then some.

[spiltscribbles]

Any chance you could give us some Arabic speaking Remus headcanons? Loved your latest fic ❤️ 📚

OMFG gorgeous sugarplum! I legit only just was reminded of this while scrolling through my inbox right now! But my heart is finna burst!!! Thank you SO SO much and yes I would love to give some Headcanons about this! Especially since the next long story I’m working on includes this dynamic, and I’m so excited about it!! However, common disclaimer that while I am Arab and culturally Muslim even if I don’t practice like the rest of my family lol, I am Palestinian and not Syrian. So with every identity there are different experiences and customs no matter how closely intertwined. So I apologize for any inconsistency   that a Syrian may read and disagree with, and please feel free to correct me<3 <3

.-

The FIC this HC is from 

.-

So first off some background on his mum in the story 

I chose the name Vivian based off a friend of a friend who’s uncle married a woman by that name back in Palestine,  so it’s definitely extremely uncommon, but a fully Arab lady was named it, so like it’s my defense bahaha. But it also means lively, and coupled with Hussein as her maiden name which means beautiful, it just fit her personality to a t!! 

She was born into a pretty secular family in Syria in the late 1920s, so there was a lot going on in that time period. But her dad was pretty influential, working in the government and such. Vivian was also the youngest of four girls and three boys so she was pretty spoiled tbh

She attended a boarding school in France through out her adolescence and decided to go to university there too, so she’s fluent in both Arabic and French, with pretty great English as well. Though she wasn’t exactly white passing, even though like a bunch of Syrians/Palestinians/Lebanese folk she was somewhat fair, she had distinctly Arabian features, like the large almond shaped eyes and thick lashes and thicker brows, and a long, largeish nose, accented by full lips. So she experienced a good amount of jeers and discrimination, especially when folks found out her surname. So I think she’s able to relate to Remus in that sense of being a wolf at least, and later on  when he comes out as gay.

It was 1950  when she and a few of her girlfriends went to Wales for holiday after completing university. The second Lyall first spotted her in the woods while she was trying to make it back to the cabin near the Irish Sea with her mates, it was something like love, because duh. She was a fucking knock out!! A babe and a baddy! Literally so far out of his league its ridiculous! But on Vivian’s side,  she was mostly just amused and a bit enamored by this cocksure Welshman who had the most endearing of crooked smiles that their son would inherit a decade later. So obviously she didn’t make it easy on him, but eventually she let him take her out on the last night of her trip, and was pleased to find out that they had the same sort of humor and the same passion for their careers and even the same love for the outdoors too.

 They had a long distance relationship for two years while she went to grad school so she could teach about classics while Lyall himself was rising the ranks in the Ministry for regulation and control of magical creatures— Unbeknownst to her, the Floo network  was very helpful with the distance. Just thank God Lyall himself is a Muggle born because he really had to fake the hell out of it lol.

So just to speed things up they got married on a lovely June evening in  1955,  subsequent to  Vivian excepting a professorial job in Cardiff after Lyall told her about the Wizarding world. At first Vivian thought e was tripping on some subpar edibles until he proved it by transfiguring her snuff box into a lovely broach that she kept for the rest of her life, So after Vivian was convinced, she became  absolutely enthralled by all of the magic so completely. 

They were trying for a few years when she finally became pregnant with Remus in 1959, and they were both so over the moon (pun unintended).

So like I said above, Vivian’s family are pretty secular, so I see her mostly practicing the cultural aspects of Islam. For example, every Friday— which is the equivalent to Sundays being the holy day  for Christians— she lights up the instance that she always keeps herself stocked up on after her annual trip to Syria, instead of the typical candles she ordinarily prefers.  And Remus swears that for the rest of his life whenever he smells it, he’s back to being a baby, puttering around the house and watching her dusting the shelves while humming quietly an Arabic song that’ played out the gramophone  by a man who’s music would soon become regarded as the song of the people. Or Remus would recall being snuggled into her lap while she read him a novel on the windowsill. Or he’d simply remember listening to his parents laughter fluttering in the air while he fell asleep by the fire, subconsciously making the flower buds closest to him bloom with his untapped magic.

Remus’s first clear memory— thanks to the endless pictures— is when he was around four years old, before the attack, and they were staying in Vivian’s home town in Damascus. While the men congregated out doors for cigars and cards and the women in the living room chatting while snacking on watermelon seeds, his older cousins— who were all girls— dragged him off to one of the bedrooms and doted on him because he was the baby of that side of the family. And he remembers walking out in a set of one of their heels and a headscarf wrapped around his head which made his Mama and Tata and Aumties laugh out loud and croon over him, and all his uncles and Sido call him Aumty Remus.

The attack by Greyback happened soon after they returned to Wales, and I’m not gonna touch on it becs I’ not finna depress myself. But it was a January morning after his first transformation and he remembers that when he woke up, he saw the cookies stuffed with dates resting on his bedside with a glass of milk that Lyall had put a cooling charm on. And they’re indulgent treats that Vivian makes for both Eids every year even though they don’t celebrate them in any other way lol. But the cookies always reminds him of family and of feeling safe in his mother’s arms, and they still work to make him feel better even after the worst thing he has ever experienced in his short life.

Remus’s love of poetry came from both sides of his parents, but it was listening to his mother recite the story of Majnun Layla in it’s original Arabic that really made him glow for the art form, and brought him to discovering his favorites like Auden and Neruda. 

There’s a ornate, wooden prayer box that has been past down on the Hussein side of the family for five generations, it was originally  meant to hold a Qran but for the past three it’s simply just been a beautiful piece of decoration. So when Vivian gave it to Remus when he was headed off to Hogwarts, little Remus asked McGonagall to help him with locking  charms so it could become a safe place for him to keep his most cherished of nicknacks ant momentos, so obviously,  she silently added a charm to keep the wood nearly unbreakable and the extension charm atop of that, like Hermione with her bag, so that he could keep as many happy memories as possible inside of it, and she prayed that there would be so many that it threatened to burst. 

The last time Remus opened the box was in 1996, when he was putting away the ring Sirius gifted him as a match to his own in some feeble promise of forever only weeks before James and Lily’s own engagement. 

Once during first year, he and the lads were staying up late, trading stories about how they got their most ridiculous scars— after seeing the one that scraped across Remus’s left shoulder blade— But it got to a point where they were all feeling a bit nippish, so they went down to the kitchens for some of the chocolate pudding that was served during dinner that night. And Remus idly asked the house elves if they could make him a batch of Kinafa because he was getting home sick and missed when he and his Mama would dash over to the city whenever they were feeling antsy, and she’d take him to their favorite hooka bar after buying a round of the dessert— which is basically sweetbread stuffed with cheese— from down the block. And they’d stay sitting beneath the starlight, and talking about her job and his lessons from school while she’d let him try a discrete puff or two and they’d laugh about everything and nothing at all.

The next time they stopped by the kitchens one of the younger house elves presented him with the snack gleefully, and it tasted fine, just not like how they do back home. So Remus smiled warmly at Tipsy, the house elf, and thanked her with real sincerity.

But his face must’ve betrayed him because after easter break, Sirius plops down a fresh batch of them on Remus’s bed before leaping into his own, casually mentioning that he saw how grossed out Remus looked when trying the one the house elves made, and it was from a restaurant close to Grimmauld so it’s not that big of a deal, and then he rushed to cursing at James for stealing his favorite pen and swearing that  if he broke it he’s gonna have hell to pay. Remus had only blushed and chuckled  with a small smile on his face when he cut himself a small piece and finished the half sheet off with the rest of their house later that night during an impromptu party that the Marauders would become infamous for in later years.

It was the summer after second year when all the marauders visited Remus back home in Wales and when they heard Vivian call him Qamar practically every other sentence, which of course lead to endless ribbing and eventually  to his nickname of Moony— even though it’s so fucking obvious and Remus loves and hates it in equal parts. God his friends are so fucking stress inducing!

Remus teaches the other marauders funny Arabic curse words and they use them in class so that they can talk shit about particularly disgusting Slytherins without them being any of the wiser. (Yes I did do this with my friends, and I’d do it again! POW! POW! POW!)

It’s from Vivian that Remus has an affinity for coffee as strong as shit, but also prefers his tea weak— specifically two sugars and a dash of milk. But seriously, if you’ve ever tried Arabian coffee you’d understand, that shit is so fucking strong it’s literally a hate crime LMFAO. But yeah, this habit is definitely a point of contention between him and Sirius— who’s actually so fucking posh no matter how much he wants to be punk, and he stands by only drinking black tea— like Merlin intended— and saying bugger off to any and all coffees. “Leave that shite to the French and Americans.” And Remus would try to keep himself from making eyes at him from across the table, because God Sirius is hot when he’s all fiery  and impassioned, even when it’s about the dumbest, most inconsequential shit.

Something that’s sort of funny is that Remus was the first among them to become a fucking pot head and could drink them all  under the table even though Sirius himself has got two stone and three inches on him. But Remus still refuses to eat ham, purely because he never grew up eating it and doesn’t care too now. Sirius had to specifically ask Euphemia and Monty to make turkey for Christmas dinner their sixth year just because he knew that Remus’s head would probably implode with the decision between being rude and not eating it or forcing himself to gag down the unfamiliar meat.

When Remus is really, really fucking drunk he definitely spends the night only speaking in Arabic! (Don’t look at me I’m trash just because I stole this from my own life lmfao) But yeah, it’s really fucking hilarious and Sirius swears to God he’s so fucking in love with him while listening to Remus ranting in the unfamiliar language. And he’s like positive that half the time he’s actually just cursing Sirius out but he doesn’t even care because it’s SO! DAMN! CUTE!  And sometimes Sirius decides to speak French at a drunk off his arse Moony, who occasionally replies back in a stiff staccato before returning back to the easy Arabic. And it’s just a mess.

Ok so sadness warning

In my head, Vivian loses her fight against breast cancer the July after the Marauders graduate from Hogwarts, and afterwords Remus gets a tattoo of her name in Arabic on his chest, and the word for soul on the nape of his neck. He locks away that battered copy of Magnun Layla in the wooden box she gave him years ago, along with a woolen  scarf that smelt like her perfume.

 It’s Sirius who buys a set of prayer beads to hang off her photo above the mantel in the flat he and Remus share, and when Remus sees it he literally feels like  he might crack open with tears, but opts to kiss Sirius thank you instead, and they stay tangled on the sofa for the rest of the day in quiet contemplation.

One night, in late 1979, while  the war was only getting worse and worse—  Sirius was hit by a cutting curse to the ribs. And it was really fucking bad, but thankfully James got him to his house in time for Lily to help and heal. He slept for the most part for nearly an entire day, but remembers snippets. Like when Remus had sprinted into the room with fear painted all over his soft features, and when James put a cooling cloth to his head. But most distinctly, Sirius recalls Remus gingerly lying besides him and Sirius talking gibberish at his boyfriend while Remus plunged his entire face against his back, eyes wet with tears and body shuttering as he squeezed him softly, saying something quietly in Arabic. Sirius obviously didn’t understand like 99.9% of it, but he did catch the word “Habibi,” which he instantly remembers as an old pet name Vivian use to call Remus with so much love it made her entire countenance sparkle. It’s an endearment  that means beloved, or darling, and it feels like Remus is begging Sirius to stay with him and Sirius’s throat is still raw from the screaming, so he can only  reply by dragging Remus’s hand up to his mouth and kissing his knuckles tenderly. And he knows that whatever he does for the rest of his days, he loves Remus Lupin with every cell in his body.

Oof this got mad depressing…. Chow anyways, I can add a picture of the container you’re suppose to use for the instance if anyone wants that?

Thank you again dear Nonny!!!

Ask Me For Headcanons About A Story I’ve Written Or For One You Want To See Written

[noyasboxdye]

Let me love you- MatsuHana

*******************************************************************

Notes: I’d been sitting on this idea for a while bc I didn’t know how to attempt it but it’s here now :)

Pairing: Matsukawa & Hanamaki

WARNINGS: cursing, mentions of sex, tiny make out scene (its like 2 sentences though), toxic relationship 

*******************************************************************

Hanamaki was so deeply in love with Mattsun he couldn't help it, he truly couldn't he wished he could but when it came to things like this the universe was never on his side. He and Mattsun were technically in a relationship, but it wasn't the kind that he wanted, nor what he would typically go for. To put is simply they were fuck buddies. It had been like that since March of their 2nd year. After a full year of pining after each other they had finally gotten together if that's what you could even call the course of events.

Hanamaki had talked to Mattsun about how he wanted to be in an official relationship several times before, but it was always the same answer which was that he wasn't ready. Which wasn't entirely true. He wasn't ready for a relationship with him he didn't want a boyfriend- not that there was anything wrong with him having one he just didn't want one. Especially not Makki.

Makki didn't know about this. He thought that everything he was saying was true. So, he gave him time, and more time, and more time, and more time. He was more clueless than the new kid in a friend group who's been friends for years making an inside joke from 3 years ago.

His friends would always try and tell him to get out of the relationship. He was always being told that Mattsun was using him and that he was nothing but a good fuck or a way for Mattsun to get his dick wet, but he would always brush it off and give the same excuse that Mattsun would give him. "Oikawa it's fine he's just not ready for a relationship, stop worrying so much!" he would say as an attempt to calm the boy's thoughts and suspicions, but excuses like that can only work so much.

It would always be the same routine one of his friends (usually Oikawa) would tell him to leave the relationship, he would give the excuse, the words would get to his head, him and Mattsun would fuck, he would ask, and then get the same excuse he's been getting for almost 2 years now. "I'm sorry love I am, but I'm just... not ready for a relationship. I hope you can wait for me though because I really do want to be with you." Mattsun would say with those same sad yet amused eyes and that same pity filled face.

Hanamaki was walking down the halls of his high school heading towards the gym after grabbing his clothes for practice when he noticed Mattsun standing near the classroom door doing what looked like laughing and talking to someone, which he assumed was Iwaizumi. Oh, how wrong he was, he felt kind of- who was he kidding really dumb after seeing the boy of his dreams kiss his classmate. Her name was Yayoi she was the epitome of Mattsun's type short, brown hair that wasn't too long, blue eyes and perfect skin, an hour glass figure that most girls would die for.

He looked so happy with her he was basically glowing. "He never smiled like that with me" Hanamaki says tears threating to spill. Pulling himself together he blinked back his tears and walked down the hall after giving Mattsun a few minutes to say bye and start walking towards to the gym too. Noticing that he was going to be late he rushed towards the gym doors and ran into the locker room.

"Hey Makki where were you." Mattsun said grabbing the attention of a certain fluffy haired 6'0 captain. "Sorry my locker was jammed haha." Makki said awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. "Oh okay." Mattsun said going back to changing Hanamaki taking notice of the arrangement of hickeys going down his neck all the way down his body his eyes stopped at his first row of abs, he couldn't bring himself to look further down knowing that if his heart would probably beak even more than it already was.

"Alright come on we're already late coach is going to mad at us." Oikawa says grabbing his water bottle and heading out the door, dragging Iwaizumi and Hanamaki out with him. "What are you looking like that for Makki?" Oikawa says, "I'll tell you later- we're still going to your house after practice, right?" Makki said noticing Mattsun walking towards him and shifting as he becomes uncomfortable. "Yeah- Iwa-chan wants to come though- is that okay?" Oikawa said noticing Hanamakki's discomfort. "Yeah it's fine." the pinkish brown-haired boy said.

**Timeskip**

"Matsukawa can you go get the broom please." Iwaizumi yelled slightly. "So, can you tell me now?" Oikawa said to Hanamaki as they were walking out of the gym to fill up their water bottles. "Tell you what-", "From earlier Makki how did you forget already." Oikawa said his tone becoming slightly impatient and whiny. "Oh! Yeah uh it's not really anything big just Matsukawa doing the same shit he's been doing for months now." Makki said brushing off the event he saw take place.

"What do you mean like he rejected you again or something else." "No uhm I was walking to the gym and I saw him with a girl and... and they kind of... kissed." Makki said tilting his head up to try and stop the tears from falling down his face. "What do you mean they kissed?! I thought he told you he was gay!" Oikawa said his voice raising more and more as he spoke.

"Uhm yeah heh he did but I guess he just lied or something. Honestly, I could just be misunderstanding the situation... I didn't stay to watch the entire thing." The boy says trying to coax Oikawa into calming down. "Well are you going to talk to him about it?" Oikawa says a look of sympathy on his face taking notice to how sad his friend looked.

"No- I don't really have a reason to Oikawa. We're just fuck buddies it's not like we're together or I'm even in a kind of place to asking him about that." The boy said. "Makki you can't keep letting him walk all over you like this." Oikawa said his heart starting to feel heavy as he saw the tears threatening to slide down his friends' cheeks.

"Oikawa it's fine! I'm fine, he's fine, everything... is fine." He said the tears finally making their way down his cheeks despite his efforts to stop it from happening. "Well obviously it isn't fine if you're crying Hanamaki!" Oikawa said as anger started bubbling up inside him at the thought of someone hurting his friend.

"Hey what happened?" An all to familiar voice said from behind the crying boy. "Mm look what the cat dragged in..." Oikawa said giving Matsukawa a sour face. "Oikawa don't. I said it's fine." Hanamaki said as he tried to wipe his tears away in a way that the taller boy wouldn't notice.

"One second Makki come here. Now." The shorter boy said sounding like a mother scolding her child in a store. "What Oikawa.", "Okay one don't act like that I'm not the one who broke your heart. Two talk to him about what happened. And if he brushes you off again leave him." The skinnier boy said crossing his arms. "And if you don't do it then I will for you because this crying everyday bullshit you're doing is getting old. Now go!" he said pushing his friend towards the earlier left boy.

"Hey, sorry he dragged me away uhm did you still want me to come over or no." The darker pink haired boy said rubbing his arms in discomfort. "Yeah sure. I'm ready now so we can leave if your ready." The slightly tanned boy said. "Yeah I'm ready, and when we get to your house can we talk about something please."

**Timeskip**

Matsukawa and Hanamaki both enter the house as it finally dawns on Hanamaki that he has to do this, he needs to leave Matsukawa. Not because Oikawa said to do it or because Oikawa would do it for him but because he finally realized that it isn't healthy what they're doing especially for him.

He's constantly giving and giving to Matsukawa and he never gets anything in return other than a quick fuck and he's tired of it. He's given Mattsun chance after chance to give him what he wants and needs but he just won't do it. It's draining to give everything and get nothing back in return.

Walking into the tanned boy's room and sitting down on the bed putting his bag down next to his feet he takes a deep breath trying to mentally prepare himself for what's to come knowing that the other boy won't take it well.

Mattsun sitting down next to him and giving him a kiss Hanamaki immediately loosing control over his body and kissing back. "Mmm I missed you." Mattsun says turning his head to deepen the kiss not even giving Makki the chance to respond.

"Wait- wait we-... we can't. We need to talk first remember." The smaller boy said trying to compose his self and catch his breath. "Alright what did you want to talk about.", "Do... do you have girlfriend?" he said finally getting a hold of himself.

"What do you mean." The taller said before getting cut off by the other. "Stop it Matsukawa. You know what I mean do you need me to actually explain it to you?" the pink tinted haired boy said the frustration and anger finally starting to settle in after months of dealing with his behavior. "Well yeah I don't know what you're talking about."

"The girl! Matsukawa the fucking girl you were with her before practice before you even try it. You both kissed and maybe I'm misunderstanding the situation, but I don't think I am considering you smiled at her after you did it." Anger seeping into his words the more he spoke. "Why?" the later said rolling his eyes.

"What the fuck do you mean why? We're fucking practically everyday and you ask why I'm worried or caring when I see you kiss another person?! A girl at that!" Makki says his voice slightly cracking as tears threaten to fall down his cheeks once again. "That's all you're worried about really? No, me and her aren't dating Makki. Now come back on the bed I missed you." Matsukawa says trying to change the subject once again.

"No, Mattsun it isn't just that. It's everything-you." Makki said the brunettes smirk faltering as he feels his heart drop. "What do you mean me.", "I mean you Mattsun! It's you, I can't even fathom-... look I don't want to argue with you because I still want to be your friend, but I refuse to let myself continue to be toyed with by you." Makki said grabbing his bag not really wanting to be in his room much less his home any longer.

"How have I been toying with you Makki?" Hanamaki face going sour looking at the boy with disgust. "How have you been... maybe lets start with the fact that we've been doing this... what ever this is since last year and it's become basically a routine at this point for me to ask you out and tell you I want to be with you and you tell me you aren't ready for a relationship! You're toying with me and I'm over it I'm leaving if you're going to continue to try and fuck me then lose my number."

Makki finally walking out of the door his head held high as tears stream down his face. Biting his down on his bottom lip to stop the sobs from making its way past his lips. Speed walking down the road and turning the corner to his house as he quietly wept to himself.

Entering his house and taking off his clothes as soon as he got in his room heading straight for the shower. Turning on his playlist after texting Oikawa that he did it, turning on the do not disturb for the rest of the night.

Taking time to himself the entire night doing a face mask and whitening his teeth while he finished remaining homework. Finally laying down and coming to the realization that he would never get Matsukawa the way he wanted and felt he needed. Crying for a few hours before falling asleep for the night wishing the boy would let him love him the way he wanted. His worries all going away in that moment waiting to sneak up on him the next morning.

[gentryllarena]

Is that GENTRY LLARENA? Wow, they do look a lot like EVAN MOCK. I hear HE is a TWENTY year old SOPHOMORE who are studying FILM STUDIES at Luxor University. Word is they are a(n) ARISTOCRAT student who is FOR The Unhinged. You should watch out because they can be STUBBORN and UNFORGIVING, but on the bright side they can also be HUMOROUS and SMELL GOOD. Ultimately, you’ll get to see it all for yourself.

Hi hello! My name is T and in this essay I will be introducing you to my home boi Gentry!

basics:

full name:  Gentry Joseph Llarena

nicknames: Gent, Trees, GLaw

gender:  Cismale

pronouns:  He/Him

sexuality:  Bicurious

age:  20

date of birth:  September 21st

Birthplace: Savannah Georgia

zodiac sign:  Virgo

likes:  Skateboarding, cigarettes and coffee, spicy food, Caribbean Passion from Jamba Juice 

dislikes: Vegetables (specifically peas), when his hands get too dry after washing them, movie spoilers

Biography: 

It wasn’t until Gentry was in the 8th grade that he realized it wasn’t normal to move around as much as his family had. They weren’t exactly traditional in the sense that they literally lived in a giant RV and used it to drive themselves across the country. However everywhere they went he was always promised that it’d be the last time. Every time they’d enroll him in school, sometimes for the year and sometimes only for a few months before they were on the road again. It wasn’t for lack of finances they did this either. No in fact his grandparents on his mom’s side had been huge investors in wildly successful tourism companies that had made them more money than they’d ever known what to do with. While the grandparents on his dad’s were both hugely successful doctors. Both sets which set fairly high expectations on their kids who decided to start a business of their own. 

Their business was to build giant farming communes that was done entirely on the road. Every couple of months a new project leading them somewhere else. The whole thing should have made it challenging for Gentry to make friends. Sure he had a few that he’d chat with online, and cousins who’s lives he got to watch from afar and envy, but nothing concrete. No one he really got to call his own. The bonus to moving all the time meant that commitment was a word he didn’t have to learn for a long time. 

Gentry started the exploring of his sexuality in the plains of Oklahoma with people who’s names he can barely remember now. Individuals who ensured he was aware of the importance of keeping their secrets which wasn’t going to be a problem considering he’d be gone the next week. Sometimes he thinks back on them as the closest things to real relationships he’d ever held. 

When it came time for him to graduate the online high school program he’d been attending he’d aged out of what normally would have been a typical high school experience. Finding it challenging to always be focusing on school with his parents encouraging his participation in so many of their projects. When it was time for him to start applying for colleges, his parents had a few conditions for him. 

They’d always felt he wouldn’t need school if he was going to take on their family business but Gentry had never been sure that was something he wanted. So instead they came up with a plan. Namely that they decided they wanted him to have some real back up experience in case college didn’t work out and sent him to work at his uncles Sex Shop promptly named the G-Spot. He’d done it for approximately 6 months when he finally got his acceptance to Luxor. After which he turned on his heels and moved to New York. His parents agreed to pay for school at this point and he was off. 

Wanted Connections: 

Have we met before (0/1): Maybe in another life I knew you? The two of you met only one time. Perhaps a date? Perhaps just a friendship. It was a one time meeting during Gentry’s travels. Hit it off. Really enjoyed each others company. Then just like that he was gone the next day. 

Mixtape (0/1): Oooo he did it, he made you a mix tape. The two of you are buddies. Same taste in music. But every so often Gentry adds a song to his playlist that makes you question his motives.

Pen Pals (0/5): These are the people he wrote to. People he made friends with on his travels and kept in touch with. We can build the how they met together but they kept in touch and now they’re at school together. How fun! 

 Ocean’s were lakes (0/2): Gimme a cat fish situation. Someone he was talking to online who convinced him to come to Luxor only to be Catfished and find they are someone else entirely. 

Always do (0/3): These are the group of close friends that probably worry a little too much about how into the drama of Luxor Gentry gets. The people he is constantly telling not to worry. That he’ll be safe and then goes over board every time with. 

[owletstarlet]

For a prompt, maybe a Tanunatsu college AU? I'm sort of picturing something where Natsume is visiting the shrine for a weekend and Tanuma is trying not to focus on the fact that his boyfriend now has earrings

(*insert profuse apology for how long this took here* I had initially wanted to get this posted in time for @natsumeweek as one of the prompts was “future” but I guess this is more an early happy-September-birthday-to-Tanuma fic... 

ao3 link in the comments.

When the doorbell rings, it’s a near thing for Kaname to not spill his tea all over the keyboard. He has to remind himself several times on his way to answer it not to look as ludicrously eager as he feels, as though his heart might float right on up and out through the top of his head, in case it’s a mail carrier or a maintenance worker at the door.

It isn’t.

It takes all of a second and a half before Kaname’s got his arms full of him, face buried in his hair.

“Hi,” he mutters, voice muffled against the top of Natsume’s head.

“Hi,” Natsume says back, and Kaname can hear the grin in his voice, feel the arms coming to rest around his waist.

They stand like that for several seconds, in the genkan with the door wide open, and Kaname can feel all the tension he’s been holding for six weeks bleed out of him. Eventually, he asks, “How was your flight?”

“I liked it.” His voice is just as muffled against Kaname’s shoulder. “Sensei didn’t.”

“Really?” Kaname finally pulls back enough to see his face. He looks well, relaxed and smiling, the barest dusting of freckles across his nose from time spent outdoors, and it’s almost enough to push a month and a half’s worth of swirling images and morbid what ifs out of his mind. “You’d think Ponta would enjoy flying.”

Natsume rolls his eyes a little, but there’s something fond in the set of his mouth. “He complained the whole time, about being stuck in human form, and kept saying it was unnatural or something to be up so high where he couldn’t even see the treetops past all the clouds.”

Kaname grins at the thought. “Where’s he off to right now?” He pulls Natsume into the genkan, finally lets him go so he can get his shoes off.

“Probably off getting drunk. Or begging snacks off Touko-san. She was pretty happy to see him.”

Natsume’s been up in Aomori for a little over a month, on a few jobs with the Matsuokas. Field training, as Natori had cheerfully put it to Kaname over the phone. And Kaname hadn’t been thrilled about that, but had felt marginally better to hear that Natori would accompany him for most of the trip.

The Matsuoka clan wasn’t particularly prominent or large, but they were well-funded and well-connected. It was Natori who’d reached out to them over a year ago, once Natsume had given his slightly grudging consent to it. Since then Natsume’s been living two and a half hours away in a spacious apartment and attending a university to which the Matsuokas happened to be generous donors. In exchange for this, and their tutelage, Natsume accompanies and assists them with exorcisms. They’re apparently pleased enough to have him, and Natsume’s told Kaname that they haven’t asked him to do anything he’s opposed to; it’s often either binding a harmful entity or else simply sitting down to listen to whatever it is the troublesome youkai-of-the-day is after. But despite Natori being on good terms with the head of the clan, he’d had to make it perfectly clear that Natsume had no interest in longterm recruitment. Or, at the very least, that potential adoption into the clan was to be a decision that Natsume would be entirely free to turn down.

Kaname himself, meanwhile, hasn’t gone anywhere since graduation. Natori had floated the idea of Kaname joining Natsume, that the Matsuokas be perfectly willing to take him on. And, admittedly, the prospect of learning how to defend himself, and others, with the basics of exorcism under his belt had its appeal. Especially since a big factor in Natsume’s own decision had been an ugly encounter with some cave-dwelling youkai that had landed him in the hospital for weeks, an incident which had ultimately led to the truth--or parts of it, at least-- spilling out to the Fujiwaras. Kaname still has nightmares about it.  

It was ultimately the prospect of being able to go with Natsume while he was out on a job instead of having to sit around and fret about it that had had Kaname prepared to agree to the offer. But then Dad had needed knee surgery, and a complicated one at that. And Kaname learned very quickly just how much work it takes to run a temple essentially on one’s own. Theirs was part of a larger organization of temples in the prefecture, who had arranged for Dad to be sent here in the first place. To be fair, they’d been as helpful as they were able, and are still paying Dad a salary. Another priest would come two or three days a week to fulfill necessary duties and rites and enabling them to stay at least partially open to visitors while Dad recuperated, and a maintenance worker would show up once a week to help Kaname care for the actual grounds. But Kaname still typically spends the better part of his week at the desk of Dad’s cramped office poring over order forms and spreadsheets he doesn’t always understand, attempting to balance the books of a little temple that barely takes in enough revenue to stay afloat even with the organization’s support. He’s gotten better at it, and Dad’s helped a lot, but even though he’s  recovered enough to receive visitors and resume some of his religious duties, Kaname still tries to keep him out of the office most days so he can get some rest.

Still, Dad worries, not only that Kaname is overworking himself but about how his friends have all gone off to school, how he rarely leaves the temple grounds unless he’s running errands. He knows about Natori’s offer regarding the Matsuokas, Kaname’s discussed it with him. And though he’s made it clear that it’s ultimately Kaname’s decision he’s made it equally clear that he likes the idea—both for the sake of Kaname’s mental health and for the prospect of him learning how to better protect himself. On occasions when Dad’s pushed himself too hard and worn himself out, Kaname has threatened to accept the offer but go on to major in accounting just to get hired on by the temple organization and then end up right back home. But he has to admit, he’s been dreaming of it—of the airy kitchen that always smells just a bit like the tea Natsume drinks in the mornings, of the sun-dappled corner where Sensei likes to curl up and nap, of the balcony overlooking a cityscape both unfamiliar and beautiful in its own way, the mountains that look blue in the distance. Of waking up to Natsume’s cheek squashed against the pillow beside him, safe and whole and wonderfully there. He’ll probably have to wait until the next academic year begins, but he thinks it wouldn’t be so bad at all.

“I have something for you,” he tells Natsume now, scooping up the backpack Natsume had set down while taking off his shoes. Natsume smiles, tilts his head just a bit in question. But when he does, Kaname sees something, a glinting just beneath his hair on one side. He blinks, steps forward to brush Natsume’s hair back. “What’s—”

And when he sees what it is, he thinks his face must do something odd, because Natsume’s smile has faltered a bit, turned sheepish. “I actually thought you’d have noticed them already,” he says.

“I left my glasses by the computer,” he murmurs, and he thinks he’s staring. He should probably stop staring. “And your hair’s gotten longer anyways.”

Natsume shrugs, looking a touch pinker than before. “It’s just on the one side.” A pause. “It doesn’t look weird, does it? I don’t really trust Natori’s opinion.”

“It’s not weird.” The answer is immediate, almost embarrassingly so. He realizes they haven’t moved from the genkan, and that he hasn’t quite managed to quit staring, so he takes Natsume’s hand and tugs him towards the kitchen. He hopes his palms aren’t as clammy as he thinks they are.

There are two hoops in his left earlobe, side by side, one silver and one gold, catching the light from behind strands of pale hair. They’re subtle enough—Kaname doesn’t think the tip of his little finger could fit through either—but the sight of them makes the air stick strangely in Kaname’s throat.

“Did they hurt?” he asks, a moment later.

“Not really.” Natsume takes a seat at the worn kitchen table, hand hovering up near his ear in a way that’s half considering, half self-conscious. “Right when they do it, yes, but not so much after.”

Kaname goes to get Natsume a drink, but pauses with his hand on the refrigerator door, considering. “Any particular reason you got it done?” he starts, tone as light as possible. If Natsume’s already shy about it, Kaname doesn’t want to make it worse, but he can’t pretend he isn’t curious. “Just because you wanted to, or…”

“No, I—I mean. I don’t hate it, but there was a reason.” The shade of Natsume’s cheeks is on just this side of salmon when Kaname glances back, and it’s so frankly adorable that Kaname has to turn his back again, not trusting himself to keep a straight face. “Do you remember the farm in Aomori I told you about?” Natsume continues. “The owners had called the Matsuokas for an exorcism because their livestock kept getting sick so we stayed for a few days.”

“I remember.” He also remembers all the grim visuals his own imagination had served up over the course of those three long days, until he’d gotten the text that all was resolved and that Natsume was safe and whole and on a train away from that place.

“The family had a connection to a lesser exorcist clan that sort of fizzled out a few generations ago. And Sayaka-san—ah, the wife—was really her aunt and uncle’s only heir because they didn’t have children. They were both exorcists, and she’d inherited a few things from them.”

“Did the angry ayakashi have something to do with that clan?” Kaname asks, setting two cups of lemonade on the table and sliding into the seat across from Natsume. And god if it doesn’t do something to him, to see Natsume right there, right across from him, pale fingers wrapping easily around the lumpy clay cup Kaname made in middle school, afternoon light through the window settling in his hair and glinting starlike off those new tiny hoops in his ear and every day, Kaname wants this every day. Just this. He swallows, hard, forces himself to pay attention because Natsume’s talking again.

“It actually had nothing to do with them. The farm had been owned by her husband’s family anyhow, but. The land the farm sat on was at the center of some dispute between two ayakashi, some territory thing they bicker about every hundred years. All Sensei and I really did was get them both to agree to meet each other, and they mostly sorted it out themselves from there.”

Kaname blinks. “The Matsuokas didn’t do anything?”

Natsume shrugs. “They didn’t really need to. Sensei worked out what was going on pretty quickly, and didn’t really wait up for their help. He thought the exorcists barging in would just make things worse.” He pauses to take a sip of lemonade. As soon as he does, his eyes light up. “Ah—your lavender! You got to harvest it?”

Kaname feels a grin touch his lips as he watches Natsume take a second, larger gulp of the lemonade, in his face all the bliss of an elementary schooler who’s gotten his hands on an ice cream pop at the park. He’s a bit surprised Natsume didn’t notice the smell straightaway when Kaname had poured it, but to be fair the entire kitchen smells a bit like lavender most days. “I did. I’ll tell you about it later. Finish your story first.”

He does, after yet another hearty gulp. “When it was all resolved and we went to tell the family, Sayaka-san wanted to give me a gift. I told her not to, because it was more Sensei than me, and Hiiragi helped too—Natori sent her with me because Sensei didn’t want him there either—they made sure neither of the ayakashi could get away until they settled the dispute. I asked a couple of questions, mostly because I wasn’t sure what was going on—it was something about a sacred pine grove—but it wasn’t like I resolved things for them.”

Kaname doesn’t need to hear the specifics to be soundly convinced that Natsume’s not giving himself near enough credit. He takes his own sip of lemonade, the tartness of it tempered by the softer herbal taste that lingers on his tongue. “What was the gift?”

Natsume smiles, a bit rueful. “Earrings.”

Kaname points. “Those?”

“No, these were just to get the piercings done, but I can show you later. They’re talismans, and pretty effective ones from what Sensei could tell. It’s a set of six, they’re little round polished stones in all different colors. I’ve got the types of stone written down somewhere and what each of them is useful for but I don’t really remember. Sayaka-san had inherited them from her aunt and uncle.”

“Did she know what they were for?”

“Vaguely. Enough to think she didn’t have as much use for them as I might. They’d just been sitting in a box in the house, and she was really glad the problem was fixed, so. She insisted. But Natori also insisted on paying her for them.” His mouth twists. “She didn’t love that, but I think he had a sense of how valuable they were, and didn’t want anyone trying to step in and claim I’d gotten them illegitimately. I like Yasuda-san and Tanaka-san—they were the clan members that went with us—and I really don’t think they’d do something like that, but I guess it’s better to be cautious.”

Kaname’s not sure how to feel about that. “That’d technically make them Natori’s then, right?”

Natsume huffs a short sigh. “I did try to make him take at least some of them, but he said they’d do me more good than him, that he’d feel better if I wore them at least some of the time. Also that his agent would kill him anyways if he showed up with holes in his ears. So he took me to get mine done, instead.” His hand’s inching upwards again, like he can’t decide if he wants to touch his ear or hide it from sight.

Kaname reaches across the table and intercepts his hand midair, lacing their fingers together in a move that’s objectively more awkward than suave, but it makes Natsume’s lips twitch nonetheless, and that feels like an achievement. “What’d the Fujiwaras say?” he asks.

“Well when I explained why I got it done, they were all for it, but.” Lips pursed, he looks equal parts embarrassed and affectionately exasperated. “I think it sort of amused them. Touko-san said it looked ‘very handsome’ and had me promise to clean them really well, and Shigeru-san cracked a few jokes about rock stars.”

“I mean—”

Natsume shoots him a withering look. “Don’t you start.”

Kaname agrees with Touko; can picture the barest hint of mischief touching the corners of her wide, delighted smile. “Will you get the other side done?” he asks. “If you’ve got six.”

He shrugs. “Natori said two at a time would be fine. And both sides seemed a bit…”

There’s a dozen different adjectives Kaname could fill in at the end of that sentence, none of them remotely close to what Natsume looks to be thinking. If he had showed up with both sides done, Kaname’s quite sure that his own reaction would’ve embarrassed them both.

“I did think—” Natsume starts, then seems to need a moment to rally himself before continuing. “If you wanted,” he begins again, looking rather more at some spot on Kaname’s cheek than at his eyes. “You could take some of them.”

“Oh.” It’s safe to say that’s not an offer Kaname had anticipated. “I’m not…I’m not an exorcist, though.”

“Neither am I,” Natsume counters, his fingernail tracing idly across the back of Kaname’s hand where their hands are still twined together across the tabletop. “Not really. And you are good at cleansings and banishings, anyways.”

“That’s…it’s kind of just a matter of showing up and remembering the words, but thank you.” He’d been practicing a bit of that at Dad’s suggestion and with his help, and had genuinely found the memorizing to be the most arduous part of it all; he’d taken to muttering the trickier, more unwieldy bits of sutra under his breath to practice while watering the plants or doing housework, most days.

“You’re good at it,” Natsume repeats. “I don’t want to make you feel like you’ve got to go and put holes in your ears if you don���t want to but I thought…” he trails off, looking uncertain.

“Thought what?”

 He lets out a tight breath, then says, the words jumbling together a bit as though he’s afraid he’ll lose his nerve if he doesn’t get it out quickly, “I thought you could use them if you still wanted to come apprentice with the Matsuokas too.”

“I do.” He surprises himself with the immediate answer, but it crystallizes inside him even as he says it. “I will.”

Natsume’s eyes go round. “Really?”

“Really.”

Natsume smushes his lips together for a moment before speaking again, the taut look on his face suggesting there’s something before him now that he’s not sure he ought to hope for. “But…your dad—“

“I think Dad’s close to packing my bags himself if I don’t get out of here soon and go do something that doesn’t involve spreadsheets and invoices.” He feels himself smile. “I’d need to wait for the new school term, and don’t think I can do much to help out an exorcist clan, but…”

“You’ll do fine,” Natsume interjects, in a murmur. “I told you that.” And he had; as nerve-wracking as it is for Kaname to consider that he’d be literally blind to so many of the youkai the clan would be taking on, Natsume had said that he’d already met a handful of respected exorcists who worked for or alongside the Matsuokas whose sight for the supernatural was even less than Kaname’s. Some, even, with no sight whatsoever—who, like Dad, could compensate for that fact with knowledge and technique and become formidable in their own right. It’d been a comfort to know, but Kaname can’t say he’s not nervous about getting someone hurt because he couldn’t keep up, or excusing himself to go be sick behind a tree in the middle of some crucial binding or ritual because his body wouldn’t tolerate it.

Still.

“I want to go with you.” It’s out of his mouth before he can even find it in himself to be embarrassed about it. He’s staring at their hands, his own wrapped tightly around Natsume’s cool fingertips like he’ll find himself alone in the kitchen if he lets go.

Some of the creases in Natsume’s forehead soften. “That apartment’s too big for just me,” he says, with a tiny smile, looking down into his cup. “As long as you don’t get yourself eaten.” He pulls a slight grimace. “Or recruited.”

The first option’s more likely than the second, Kaname thinks but doesn’t say. “I won’t if you don’t,” he says instead.

“No chance of that.” Natsume taps the side of his cup with two fingers. “I think Sensei would rather eat me himself than consent to working for an exorcist. It puts him in a bad enough mood to be mistaken for a shiki as it is.”

Natsume had been very clear from the beginning, that his only reason for working with the Matsuokas was to learn to protect people, though Kaname also knows that means doing so without having to harm any ayakashi that ought to be left well enough alone. Kaname’s not sure why any of that has to be mutually exclusive from pursuing exorcism as a career path, but he’s certainly spent less time with exorcists and clan politics than Natsume has. And he can’t say he wouldn’t appreciate Natsume choosing a less dangerous day job.

“You’re sure?” Natsume’s asking him, now. His expression hasn’t changed much, but behind his eyes Kaname can see the years stacked upon years of learning to brace himself for rejection.

“I am."

***

They’re on the veranda now, legs hanging over the edge, the tips of Natsume’s socked toes not quite brushing the mossy carpet below.  Heaped on the floorboards between them is what Kaname now realizes is probably an excessive amount of lavender: dried blooms in a glass jar, loose stems fastened with twine into bunches, yet more blooms rather poorly sewn into cotton sachets with simple blessings Dad had helped him write tucked inside. And finally, currently perched atop Natsume’s head where Kaname had placed it on a whim a moment ago, a carefully twisted wreath of pale purple and silvery green.

“You don’t have to use it all,” he tells Natsume, tapping lid of the jar. “Or take it all. It’s a lot.”

Natsume gives him a small sidelong grin, and with those slitted eyes catching and holding the afternoon sun as if it belongs to them, Kaname has to remind himself to breathe.

“Did you leave any for yourself?” Natsume asks wryly.

A soft snort. “Plenty. I had no idea they’d bloom so much this year, after how pitiful it was last year. I harvested most of them twice.”

Kaname’s got a literal dozen plants, the seeds a gift from one of Dad’s associates who’d gotten them on one of his frequent trips to a network of temples in Hokkaido. Kaname had sprouted them in egg cartons and had done his best with them, knowing that plants more suited to a milder climate far to the north would be finicky to say the least. It had taken two years to coax a decent harvest from them, and that had taken digging up a long strip of garden space to fill in with the sand and gravel they needed, and then painstakingly potting and repotting them all to move them between the flowerbed and a sunny storeroom he’d cleared out at the rear of the house when the weather grew too wet. Dad had joked that they’d bloomed so well this year because Kaname had spent so much time mumbling sutra while tending to them, but whatever the case it had been deeply satisfying to cut and hang the bunches of long fragrant stems up to dry when they’d been so scraggly the year before.

Natsume takes a sachet into his hands, holding it gently between his fingers up to his eye level. It turns a faint purple where the afternoon sun lights it from behind.

“I’m not sure it’ll do any actual good in protecting you,” Kaname says, watching him lightly touch his fingertip to the outline of the card where the blessing is inked. “Taki would be better for that. But it’ll make your pillowcases smell nice, at least.”

Natsume brings it up to his face, letting his eyes shutter as it covers his nose and mouth. “It smells like your room,” he says softly. He reaches up to where the wreath is settled in his hair. “This too.”

“Well I’ve got the one on the wall near my bed,” he says, certain he’s failing to sound casual when there’s that rare, unveiled softness in Natsume’s eyes. His tongue feels heavy and strange, and there’s a sensation like so many soda bubbles fizzing and popping in his chest, but he somehow manages to say, “The smell’s relaxing, so I like it there, but. You can put it anywhere you want. Sorry for not tying it so neatly.”

Natsume takes his hand off the wreath, sets it over Kaname’s, fingertips chilled from the refilled cup he’d carried with him. “It’s a good thing the apartment has a big veranda.”

Kaname chuckles, shakes his head. “Not big enough for a dozen large pots. Where would we hang the laundry?”

“We’ll fit them.” Natsume shrugs, tips his head back, looking utterly serene. “Won’t you want them for your tea?”

And that’s about when Kaname can’t take it anymore. He turns, cups Natsume’s face in both hands, and kisses his parted lips.

For the space of a breath, Natsume’s motionless against his mouth, but Kaname barely has the time to start to wonder if he’s done the wrong thing before he can feel the cool grip above his elbows, practically taste the featherlight sigh between lips that have opened wider to move with his own.

When they part, a long lightheaded moment later, Natsume’s reaching up towards his own hair, brows scrunching together, cheeks marvelously flushed under Kaname’s fingers. “Isn’t this poking you in the face?” He taps his makeshift crown.

“Yes,” Kaname says simply, leaning in to peck the very tip of Natsume’s nose.

Natsume bites down on a smile, not quite managing to look disapproving, and not moving to take it off, either. “All the flowers will fall off.”

I’ll make a better one, is what he means to say. What comes out of his mouth instead, entirely unbidden, is, “I missed you.” His voice snags oddly on the last word, and he swallows hard. A month and some change does not warrant falling to pieces on him, Kaname tells himself sternly, a handful of colorful nightmares notwithstanding. He’d made enough of a scene when he’d nearly tackled him at the door, hadn’t he. Still, he doesn’t trust himself to speak until Natsume does, his throat feeling suspiciously thick.

Natsume, for his part, looks a bit stricken, at first. And Kaname has the sudden thought that he’s grappling with the idea of being missed to such a degree in the first place. But the expression shifts soon enough into one of concern, and warmth.

“You won’t have to, for long,” he murmurs, after pulling Kaname back in for a gentle brush of lips across his cheekbone. “I won’t, either.” A lingering pause. Then, “…ah, sorry. That’s got to be stabbing you in the eye, right?”

Kaname blinks when Natsume abruptly pulls away, feeling muzzy and untethered and wanting very much for Natsume to be kissing him again until he realizes that Natsume’s gingerly lifting the wreath off his head. It catches on his hair despite his best efforts, enough to tug a few blossoms loose, and enough to knock aside those strands that have grown out just long enough to fall past his earlobes.   

And Kaname couldn’t have pretended not to stare if his life depended on it.

His hand’s up, fingers outstretched before he even realizes. “Can I, um. It’s not going to hurt you or anything if I—”

“No. Go ahead.”

But Kaname’s only just touched the tip of his finger to the outermost hoop—the barest amount of pressure enough to make it lie flat against the bottom of Natsume’s earlobe—when Natsume sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, ducking his head out of Kaname’s reach.

Kaname snaps his hand back, distressed. “I’m sor—”

“No, it tickles.” Natsume straightens back up, rubbing at his ear with more vigor than he probably ought to whether it’s fully healed or not, leaving the metal gleaming against reddened skin.

Kaname raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

The glare Natsume shoots him is truly remarkable, though the effect is somewhat dampened by his mussed hair, the crumbly bits of lavender that have fallen onto his shoulders. Kaname throws his hands up, a picture of innocence, tucking this particular scrap of information away for a later date.

“For what it’s worth, though…” he starts, once he is well and truly sure that Natsume won’t try to scoot himself several meters down the porch and out of his reach; his arms are wrapped loosely around himself and he’s smiling again, though warily. But at that moment Kaname finds himself so thoroughly arrested with love that he couldn’t have launched the anticipated attack if he tried. “For what it’s worth. The earrings look good.”

[albarivas]

ana de armas, cis female, she/her    —    whenever i see alba rivas meandering down agnes street la escalera by pablo alborán starts to play inside my head. maybe it is the vibe they give off. bullet journals, colorful dresses, hairstyles with bandanas ;   you know ? artistic impressions is what keeps them interested in agnes. i heard they are a thirty-three year old teacher at bright future. they look like the kind of person who would make you do a vision board. 

hi again, it’s ella again. okay so i had cameron (the lily james) but tbh she’s a new muse and right now i don’t have the brain to develop a muse from scratch but i still want to write and that’s why i decided to bring alba, one of my oldest muses. i’m so happy to give her a new home and i can’t wait for her to meet all of your characters.

basics

NAME: alba carolina rivas borges

NICKNAME: al, albie

GENDER: cis female

PLACE OF BIRTH: boca raton, florida

DATE OF BIRTH: april 19, 1988

AGE: thirty-thirty

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: bisexual

OCCUPATION: teacher at bright future

background

tw: illness, cheating

CHILDHOOD

her story starts between cuba and spain. her mother, carolina, fled from cuba and her father immigrated from spain with no friends or family and only with a few dollars. the two newcomers were matched by fate and just a year later they welcomed their daughter, alba.

two years later, a son completed the rivas family. they didn’t have much and often had to deal with homesickness and many times they considered moving to spain, but eventually they decided to stay.

it was a big change for both julián and carolina. he used to work as a lawyer back in spain and carolina had almost graduated from med school. now in the united states they both had to start from zero.

her mother traveled an hour from boca raton to palm spring every day where she worked cleaning those luxurious houses.  her father got his credentials to become a spanish teacher and taught in the local high school.

alba always knew she didn’t have much. she grew up going with her mom to those huge houses and from a young age she understood what wealth could buy. however, alba never envied those who had a lot more than her. in fact, her childhood best friend was the girl that lived in the house her mother cleaned. the two were inseparable.

ADOLESCENCE AND COLLEGE YEARS

alba excelled as a student. education was something her parents always deemed as important and so she made it her goal to make them proud. 

she earned a spot in a prestigious public high school. as a teenager, she was the model child. always listening to her parents, rarely giving them problems. she had an active social life, she went on a couple of dates and she was part of several groups.

these qualities eventually earned her a place at nyu. moving to new york was something she’d never considered. she liked florida, and her family were there but her parents convinced her that this would be a great opportunity and that she could comeback.

becoming a teacher was her ambition. she admired her father for doing it and she knew from a young age that she wanted to teach children. 

to make ends meet, she got a job as a waitress and she really didn’t have a social life as she worked and studied full time. there was no time for friendship and even less time for dating.

it was during one day at work that she met someone that changed her life. she met another student while she was working who asked her out but she refused, however, he came back and did the same thing every night until one day she finally accepted.

one date turned into two and then three until soon people couldn’t see one without the other. most people thought they wouldn’t last, their personalities and values were too different. he came from a wealthy family, the typical spoiled kid that was set to inherit his parents’ fortune someday, the one that always featured on page six with a different woman every night. meanwhile, alba came from a working-class family, daughter of immigrants who always had to work to get what she had in life. despite the skepticism, they proved everyone wrong.

at twenty-two, alba graduated with a degree in early childhood education and began working as a teacher.

ADULTHOOD

her relationship with this guy (i dont have a name for him lmao) was better than ever and after dating for three years, he proposed and alba said yes as she was convinced she’d found her other half.

however, not everything was perfect. his family didn’t like her and things only got worse after they got engaged. the couple married only a year later. they left new york and moved to florida where they bought one of those houses alba always had dreamed to have and the best part is that they were neighbors with her childhood best friend.

but all good things must come to an end, and soon her fairytale turned into a nightmare. the relationship with her in-laws was awful which eventually caused tension in their marriage. they began to fight more often and he started to spend more time at his office than at home. however, she was determined to make their marriage work, a love like theirs couldn’t end like this, she wouldn’t allow it.

tw cheating: one day, alba returned to their home early and what she saw was heartbreaking. there he was, in bed with none other but her childhood best friend. heartbroken, alba refused to accept any of his excuses and immediately filed for divorce, to the joy of her in-laws. end of tw.

after her divorce, alba moved to california where she started a year course at stanford. she planned to stay there but that when she received news from home.

tw illness: her father was very sick, and her parents had decided to move to islebury, rhode island. without anything holding her back, she packed up her stuff and moved here as well so she could help her mother with her dad. end of tw.

she’s been living here for three years now and works as a teacher at bright future.

personality

She has the ability to see the good in almost anyone or anything and tends to sympathize with even the most unfriendly person. She often hides the extreme depth of feelings from her, even from herself, until circumstances elicit a passionate response. 

She has a deep sense of idealism that comes from a strong personal sense of right and wrong. She sees the world as a place full of possibilities and potentials and is governed by her intuition. She is quite reserved and is not easily manipulated.

She is a good listener and considerate, they try to care for and understand others in a deep way. She can be very calm and intuitive with the people around her, being able to search for hidden meanings in the actions and words of others.

Of course, all of life is not rosy and Alba is not exempt from suffering the same disappointments and frustrations that are common to others. She tends to be a perfectionist and often strives for personal ideals that can be exhausting or very difficult to obtain.

headcanons

she’s a bookworm. her favorite book is the persuasion by jane austen

she speaks fluent spanish

alba has a beautiful white persian cat named nube

she loves wearing bandanas in her hair

claims she’s allergic to strawberries, she’s not. she just hates them and that’s easier than explaining why

connections

Younger brother: I’m gonna make a wanted connection because I love this dynamic. He is two years younger than her and she adores him. She tries to stay in touch with him and in general, they are close.

Ex-best friend: they met as children and grew up together, they knew everything about the other. alba’s mother worked as a housekeeper and she used to go with her sometimes, that’s how they met. this person came from a different background, she lived in one of those expensive houses alba could only dream to own. their friendship was so strong that they even applied to the same university (although her friend was not accepted). alba considered this person as the sister she never had, but then she did the worst thing in the world, she slept with alba’s husband. they haven’t spoken since she found out.

Ex-husband: They divorced two years ago, after alba found out he had been cheating on her with her best friend. they met while she was a student at NYU and were together for three years before getting engaged and married. he comes from a wealthy family, the typical perfect american family. their relationship was never approved by his parents. she hasn’t spoken to him since the divorce.

Best Friendish: Okay, so this is a tricky one because her actual best friend turned into Judas and slept with her husband, but maybe this person is the closest she has to a best friend. she trusts this person and since her divorce, this is the only person that she has been able to speak without limitations.

Bad influence: Alba has never been one to go to many parties or even to drink, but this person is the only one that can convince her to have a good time.

Co-workers/Parents: She works as a teacher at bright future, maybe your character works there or their kids go/went there.

Neighbor: self-explanatory

Unlikely friendship: The two have different personalities, but somehow, both have managed to get along and form a weird friendship.

Hook ups: She’s not really the relationship kind bc she’s always busy but once in a while she hooks up with people ghdghdhgd (open to everyone)

Flirtationship: they act like friends, but cannot help to throw flirty looks or comments at each other.

Unrequited: It could go either way, I’m fine to plot it out. I’m an angst hoe sooo

Bad tinder date: after her divorce, her friends tried to set her up with someone but it didn’t go well. There was nothing wrong about her date, but she wasn’t ready and in the end it was a very uncomfortable situation for them.

One night stand: she was drunk, he/she was drunk too. They didn’t plan it but happened and now whenever they see each other in town it’s a bit awkward.

[kiwi-stan]

Crave

Description: AU Harry’s a struggling songwriter until a song about being in lofe with his best friend puts him on the map. My contribution to the pick your poison challenge that @oh-honey-styles​ @for-fucks-sake-h​ and @andwhenshesays​ organized. I haven’t written in so long but this has been a fun way to get back into it now that I have more downtime!

Warnings: None aside from me taking liberties with the process of how writing a song actually works 

Harry’s family had thought he was insane for dropping out of university and moving to LA to try songwriting professionally. And a few years in, he was starting to think that they were right. He hadn’t expected to start working with big names right away, but after two years, he had been hoping to move beyond indie artists who had about a thousand monthly listeners on Spotify. Songwriting was his dream. He loved music, loved creating it, but didn’t want the fame. The inability to step outside without being recognized, the scrutiny, the media attention. He wanted to stay behind the scenes. But he was beginning to think about packing it up, moving back home, and finishing his college degree and getting some boring office job. Until you called and announced that you had found a job in LA after graduating and would be moving. 

You’d been Harry’s best friend since you were both small, when some little boy knocked you off the monkey bars at the park and Harry’s protective instincts-already sharp even back then-had rushed over to check if you were okay. There had been a few awkward years in middle school, when he’d been teased by friends for having a girl friend who wasn’t a girlfriend, but that had resolved itself during a very awkward party where you’d played seven minutes together and had mutually agreed that kissing each other was too weird. Aside from that, your friendship had been solid all throughout school, and had even weathered Harry moving to LA. In fact, you were one of the few people from his hometown that he’d kept in contact with. His parents had cut off contact (and financial support) when he’d dropped out of school without warning, and his emails with his sister were infrequent as she was trying to keep up a positive relationship with their parents. He didn’t really have any LA friends either, a few casual acquaintances but no one who he felt like he could really talk to. 

On the day that you arrived, Harry drove to the airport to pick you up. By the time he navigated traffic and dealt with the nightmare of parking at LAX, it was nearly an hour after your flight had landed and half an hour after you’d sent a text saying that you’d claimed your bags. As he entered the terminal, he was worried that you would be angry about him being late. You never were the type to get annoyed about little things like that and from your video chats you didn’t seem to have changed all that much, but two years was a long time and it could bring about a lot of change in a person. He glanced around the room, full of happy reunions and stressed out men in suits setting out on business trips, when he finally spotted you, nestled in a corner and perched on your suitcase. It was like something out of a movie, how you looked up from your phone just as he spotted you, the two of you locked eyes, and you sprang to your feet and ran toward him, throwing your arms around him in an enthusiastic hug and squealing “Harry”. 

“Sorry I’m late.” There were so many things he wanted to say to you, how much he missed you, how happy he was that you were moving, stories he hadn’t wanted to tell over FaceTime. But for some reason, an apology was the first thing that popped out of his mouth. “Traffic was horrible then I had to park…” 

You pulled away from him to wave a hand, dismissing his apology and Harry got his first real look at you. He’d noticed from your Facetime chats that you’d changed your hair to a shorter style and that you’d started wearing more makeup, both choices that were probably seen as “more professional”. Otherwise, you looked about the same, but seeing you in person he noticed that there was a difference in the way you carried yourself. You seemed older, more mature, with the kind of confidence that he assumed came from graduating college and moving across the country on your own. He wondered if he had the same aura around him. “I missed you.” You said, picking up your suitcase and dragging Harry away from his thoughts. “And I cannot thank you enough for letting me stay with you.” You’d explained over FaceTime that the job you’d been offered had wanted you to start right away, not even considering that you would need time to deal with the logistics of moving or finding a place to live. Lucky for you, Harry had stepped in. 

“I missed you too,” Harry took your suitcase from you, dragging it behind him and tugging it toward the exit. “And don’t say that until you see my place.” 

******* 

You’d been worried that things with Harry would have changed in the two years that he’d been gone. But as he took the long drive back to his apartment, you slipped right back into your old friendship, joking and swapping stories. You updated him about what all of your old high school friends were up to and he told you stories about all the weird LA types that he’d met. You’d never admit this, but you’d been worried that he might have turned into one of them since he left, burning sage and displaying an unhealthy obsession posting to Instagram. He seemed like his old self in texts and on your video chats, but you had thought he might be hiding that part of him. You were relieved to see that Harry was still his old self. However, a new set of worries about Harry sprouted as he turned into his neighborhood. 

Harry had alluded to money troubles while you’d been apart, so you had known that he wasn’t living in Beverly Hills. However, you also weren’t really expecting dark streets, abandoned buildings, and liquor stores with bars over the windows. Harry parked outside a seedy looking building and led you up to his apartment, which was the size of a shoebox and overwhelmed with cardboard boxes full of your things. He’d been nice enough to tell you to ship some of your things to his address, though he hadn’t mentioned how tiny his apartment was. By the time Harry had cleared everything off the futon so you could sleep, you’d seen three roaches scurry across the floor and you’d made your mind up. 

“Once I find a place you’re moving in with me.” Harry opened his mouth to protest, but you held firm. “Don’t argue. Why didn’t you tell me you were living in a shithole?” You glanced around the small space and another problem occurred to you. “Where exactly are you planning to sleep?” 

“The floor I guess,” He said, gesturing to the sliver of space near the lone window that wasn’t occupied by furniture or boxes. 

You shook your head, thinking back to the roaches you’d seen and the shag carpet that probably hadn’t been cleaned since the 70s. “No way. You’re sleeping with me. It’s not like we haven’t done it before.” It might feel a little strange after your time apart, but back before he dropped out Harry had slept in your tiny twin bed in your dorm room tons of times, sometimes because he’d had a fight with his roommate, sometimes because he was drunk and your room was closer, and sometimes just because he was lonely. You couldn’t even count the number of times you and Harry had slept together platonically. However, a few hours later, when you finally nestled under the covers together-with Harry’s body pressed up against yours, he was big on cuddling (and the small bed didn’t leave you much room to spread out anyway)-you found yourself wondering why something felt different. 

***********

Harry started writing a song that night, about being in love with your best friend. He didn’t have the whole thing right away, which wasn’t usually how he wrote. Usually inspiration came fast, and he could write a whole song in the burst of manic energy he got when it struck. The chorus came that first night when you slept together, about you pressed up against him in a city full of dark alleys. 

The rest came to him slowly over the next few months, as you started your job and found a slightly better apartment to live in. With your entry level salary it wasn’t anything fancy, but it was in an area that made you feel safer and had two bedrooms, though Harry found that he slept worse without you near him and spent many nights tossing and turning before finally falling into a fitful sleep around 3 AM. 

Though you’d been basically joined at the hip since you were young, you and Harry hadn’t shared space like this before. The apartment was still small, which meant that you and Harry were still constantly tripping over each other. Harry had thought it might be annoying, and had even worried that it would fracture your friendship, but it hadn’t. Living together seemed almost natural for the two of you. It meant that he could hear you singing when you came home from work, which meant that you had a good day and would be in the mood to cook something elaborate for dinner, or when you slammed the front door and he knew that you’d had a bad day and that he should order your favorite take out. He found your bobby pins all over the bathroom floor, he sat and watched The Bachelor with you on Monday nights, and he stole your fuzzy socks as the nights started getting cooler. Harry worked on his song while you were at work when he wasn’t at writing sessions for other people, and by the time he finished he felt that it was the best thing he’d ever written. 

Harry knew exactly why the song (currently cryptically titled with an anagram of your name) was the best of anything he’d written so far. Typically he used a lot of creative license when he wrote, writing about things that happened to him long ago, about things that happened to friends of his, about completely made up scenarios, or anything that inspired him really. But he never really wrote about his own life. This was the first time, and it was his first song to really come from the heart. 

After finally perfecting the song, Harry recorded a quick demo on his phone, then sent it off to Jeff, a big-name record producer he’d met a few months back. They’d met during a recording session for some pink-haired indie singer. Though Jeff hadn’t really liked the indie girl and her bananies-and-avacadies voice as he’d joked to Harry, he’d liked Harry’s writing style a lot. He’d slipped Harry his phone number and had told him to send along some of his strongest work. Harry had come close to sending a few things before, but had chickened out at the last minute. Nothing he’d done before was his strongest work, and he knew that. The song about you, he felt good enough to send. 

Harry finally worked up the courage to press the send button during one of his sleepless nights. He hoped that Jeff hadn’t deleted his number, or if he had that he would be willing to listen to a voice message from a random stranger. Since it was nearly 1 am, he was surprised to get a message back almost immediately. Love it Harry. Let’s talk.  Followed by a meeting time and location. 

******* 

A few weeks later, you arrived home (you had been surprised at how quickly you came to think of your new apartment in a new city as “home”, but you came to the conclusion that it was all because Harry was there) to Harry humming a song you didn’t recognize as he cleaned the apartment. He looked up when he saw you, dropping the broom and drawing you into a hug. “Hey!” He swayed you back and forth a few times as he held you. You had forgotten that little tic of his, but the motion reminded you of how much you loved it. It always made you feel safe and comforted, probably because it replicated the motion of a mother rocking a baby. And it was something Harry only did when he was really happy. 

“What happened?” You asked once he let you go. Harry hadn’t seemed sad exactly, but you’d had the feeling that being isolated from his family and under almost constant money and career stress were starting to get to him. You hadn’t seen him happy like this since you were in college together and he aced a difficult Music Theory final. 

“I think we should go out tonight. Somewhere nice-ish.” 

This piqued your interest even more. Even combining your incomes, you still weren’t really on a going-out-regularly-in-LA budget. Something had happened. Something big. “Harry, tell me what’s going on.” 

“I wrote a song a few weeks ago and The Heartbreakers want it.” 

Your jaw dropped at the mention of the group who had shot to fame almost overnight a few years ago after one of their songs went viral on SoundCloud. Unlike some other indie groups that had scored mainstream hits and had faded to irrelevancy after a few weeks, The Heartbreakers had hired a good management team and were able to capitalize on the hit to become one of the biggest groups on the planet. “Harry, that’s amazing!” You threw your arms around him again. “But how? What? I didn’t even think you knew them? And I thought they wrote all their own stuff?” 

Harry pulled back enough to look at you and gave a little laugh at all of your questions. His hands stayed around your waist, your arms around his neck. “That’s what they say. They use ghostwriters basically. I had to sign an NDA and got an advance that’s basically hush money.” You frowned, not really liking the thought that Harry wasn’t going to get any credit for his work. “Hey no, that’s just how it works sometimes,” He added, noticing your facial expression. “The music industry isn’t pretty. I knew that going in and I kind of expected it. Producers and other writers have their own kind of underworld. The important people will know that I wrote it. This will lead to more big stuff for me. I know. I wouldn’t have given the song away if I didn’t.” 

Noticing that you still didn’t look happy, Harry was quick to change the subject. “As for how, I don’t know them. At all. It all went through this producer, Jeff, that I met a few months back. He wanted to hear some of my stuff, but nothing ever seemed good enough until I wrote this song. I sent it to him, he loved it and thought it would work with their sound. He took it to them and they wanted it. I’ve never even met them.” 

“Will you get to?” You said, thinking that you would at least want to shake someone’s hand before handing off a piece of art that you created to them and letting them act like it was theirs. 

Harry nodded. “I have to go in for a writing session and be there while they record in case they want to make any tweaks. Which they probably will. Change a word, get a third and all that.” Your frown returned at the mention of the unfair way that royalties were distributed. Harry noticed. “But this will still be really big for me. It’s the right move. I know.” 

You studied him for a moment, looking for any sign of hesitation. “I trust you.” Realizing that you’d been holding each other for an awkward amount of time, and that it felt surprisingly good to have your best friend holding you, his big hands solid at your waist and your fingers toying with the curls at the back of his neck, you stepped away. “I’d love to hear it. Do you have a recording yet?” Harry looked alarmed. “What? Has the NDA got you scared?” You teased. Harry could be shy about sharing his work, but he’d always been open about it with you. He called you his guinea pig, you were often the first one to hear new songs. 

“I just wrote it a few weeks ago. I got really inspired seeing you again, I guess.” Harry said, suddenly seeming shy. 

“Harry that’s so sweet.” You asked, unable to keep the emotion out of your voice. No one had ever written or created anything for you before, and as far as you knew you hadn’t inspired anything either (aside from some crude messages in the boy’s locker room back in high school that Harry had taken a Sharpie to almost immediately after they popped up). 

“But I can’t play it for you. I don’t own it anymore. I already signed it over.” 

“Harry, we’re alone in our apartment. No one’s gonna know.” 

“I know, I know.” Harry picked up his broom and went back to his sweeping, obviously nervous. “It’s a little unpolished though.” 

“That never stopped you before.” Harry had played you things that were completely unfinished before, sometimes even when he just had a few chords together or two lines of lyrics. 

“I really think the Heartbreakers will do it better than me. I think the first time you hear it, it should be their version.” 

“At least tell me what it’s called.” 

“It doesn’t have a name,” Harry said a little too fast. “Or at least right now. When it actually gets released they’ll find something marketable, I’m sure. Do you want to go to a club tonight, or just dinner?” 

You accepted Harry’s abrupt change of subject and decided not to push it, but you spent the entire evening (both dinner and a club, Harry wanted to splurge since he knew his so-called hush money would be kicking in soon) wondering why Harry didn’t want you to hear the song. 

*********

“So,” Jeff began as the final recording session for the song, which had been renamed “Crave” wrapped up. The Heartbreakers had left for the day, and Harry and Jeff had hung back to do some final mixing. Harry didn’t really need to be there either, but Jeff wanted his approval on the final version of the song and he seemed happy for the company. “You never told me who this song is about.” 

“Who says it's about anyone?” Harry asked, trying not to sound harsh. Despite the fact that they’d been working closely together on Crave, they weren’t good enough friends where they could be quite so honest with each other. 

“Every song is about someone. Especially ones this heartfelt.” Jeff let the song play once through. The Heartbreakers had changed very little lyrically, adding a lyric to the chorus about craving the person the song was addressed to (which was where they’d drawn the title from). They’d changed a bit more when it came to the music itself, switching from the indie playing-in-a-coffeshop vibe that Harry had intended, to a rockier sound. Harry thought it sounded much better that way, it was something that he wouldn’t have tried with such a sweet song, and he knew that he’d made the right decision in signing the song away. As the final songs of the song drifted away, Jeff turned to Harry again. “So I’m guessing it’s a lady friend of yours from back in school and who you once played seven minutes in heaven with,” Jeff began, referencing the first verse of the song where Harry had written about first meeting you when you were kids. “Who you now find yourself in love with because she sings like a lark when she’s happy, leaves bobby pins all over the place, and makes you chocolate milkshakes when you’re sad.” 

Harry felt his cheeks heat up as Jeff named more details from elsewhere in the song, all things that pointed directly to your friendship with him. “My best friend from back in school. She just moved out here and we’ve been living together and...I don’t even really know what it is, if it was the time apart or if it’s different now that we’re older or because we’re living together. But yeah, I love her.” It was the first time Harry had said it out loud and it felt like a weight off his shoulders. 

“Have you told her yet?”

Harry shook his head. “I’m worried about ruining the friendship.” 

“Do you think she feels the same way?” 

Harry considered it, how you had let him hold you for far too long the night he first told you about selling the song, how you always made spinach for him as a side when you cooked even though you hated it, how much your hands brushed when he took you on tours of his favorite places in LA, if those were all just friendly gestures or if it meant something more. “Maybe? But she’s probably thinking the same thing about ruining the friendship.” Harry knew you well enough to know that you were a little too pragmatic sometimes when it came to relationships. 

“You should tell her.” Jeff regarded Harry with a serious look. “The second she hears the song she’s going to figure it out. The Heartbreaker’s last single was number one on the Billboard chart for six weeks and played on KIIS once an hour every day for a month after its release. You don’t want her finding out that her best friend is in love with her when she hears the song in Trader Joe’s. It’ll mean way more coming directly from you.” 

******* 

“Does this look okay? What do you even wear to a listening party anyway?” You asked, stepping in front of Harry and twirling around, letting him examine your dress. 

Harry gave you a quick once over. “What you’ve got on is fine. You look great.” 

The simple compliment sent a little rush of excitement through you, the saw way you felt when previous boyfriends had complimented you before you set out on a date. With you in your dress and Harry also dressed up, the two of you looked a bit like you were setting out on a proper date, but you stopped yourself from going down that line of thinking. There was no way to know if he felt the same way. You studied Harry instead, drinking in his slicked back hair, black shirt with the little white hearts on it, and black pants. Realizing that you were staring, you changed the subject. 

“You’re sure it’s okay if I come?” A listening party seemed like something so secret, something that only music industry people got to attend, like the parties the cool kids threw in high school. But Harry had seemed excited when he invited you along, even though he’d had to present you with an NDA at the same time and had told you not to bring your phone or it would be confiscated at the door. The listening party was for people from the label and was being held a few weeks before the official release of the single, and preventing leaks was essential, Harry had explained. 

Harry nodded. “Yeah. It’s gonna be real small. Just the band, some people from the label, me, and Jeff. All people who are already aware that they don’t write their own music.” Harry looked like there was something more he wanted to say, but instead he just pulled on his sport coat. “Ready?” 

Harry was quiet for the drive to the private club where the party was being held, letting one of his Spotify playlists play as he navigated LA’s busy streets. He didn’t speak until he found parking at the club. You reached for the door to exit the car, but froze when Harry said, “Wait.” You waited. Harry took a deep breath before speaking. “I just want you to know that the song is about you. I just want you to hear it, knowing that, and tell me what you think after.” 

You wanted to press for more information. That was incredibly vague, and if anything it just left you with more questions. But Harry was nervous enough, you could tell from the way he’d adjusted his hair several times during the drive and the fact that he was avoiding eye contact with you now. Not wanting to stress him out anymore, you decided not to push it. You leaned over to kiss him on the cheek, ignoring how natural it felt. Maybe it was just the dim lighting from the streets lights, but you could have sworn that Harry was blushing. “I’m sure I’ll love it. I mean, writing a song about me is already nicer than anything any of my ex-boyfriend have done.” You realized a few seconds too late that maybe comparing your best friend to your exes wasn’t the best move. “And everything else you’ve written has taken my breath away. I’m sure this won’t be any different.” You added, trying to cover the awkward moment. 

Harry turned to you, looking happier and more confident now. “Let’s go.” He walked around to your side of the car and opened the door for you, even taking your hand to help you out of the car. Because no LA party could really start without time for networking first, you spent the first part of the party following Harry around like a baby duckling as he made his rounds to talk to the band and the industry executives. You’d been a little worried that you would feel like a fish out of water, or worse that Harry would leave you by the bar and make the rounds on his own. Harry had never been the type to social climb, but you were fully aware of the fact that this was his biggest career opportunity yet, so you weren’t sure how he would react. But you were worried for nothing, because Harry kept you by his side the entire night, introduced you to everyone by name, and tried hard to include you in the conversation, even though you were so starstruck most of the night that you ended up feeling tongue tied. 

As someone from the label raised his voice to announce that they would be playing the song soon, Harry pulled you to a table and introduced you to Jeff. 

“Ah, the famous muse,” Jeff shook your hand before giving Harry a knowing look. “Harry’s told you about the song?” 

“Just that it’s about me. I haven’t heard it yet.” 

“You’re in for a treat.” He told you with a smile, shooting Harry another look. Before you had time to further ponder what was going on, a label executive's voice at the front of the room drew your attention as he introduced “Crave”. 

As the song played, you were blown away. Harry had written a beautiful song, and though you’d initially been worried about him giving the song away you had to admit that The Heartbreakers had done it justice. But what surprised you the most was that it was a love song, and every single word of the song pointed to you, to things you had Harry had done together or to your little idiosyncrasies. Harry loved you, and had for a while. 

As the final notes of the song faded away, Harry grabbed your hand and pulled you outside the club, clearly wanting whatever happened next to be just between the two of you. You stood bathed beneath a streetlight, with drunks exiting nearby clubs stumbling past you. “So, what’d you think?” Harry asked, smiling shyly at you. 

“Harry, I loved it. I love you.” You said, throwing your arms around him. Saying it felt so right, so natural, even though it was the first time you’d said those words to Harry. 

Harry slid his arms around you and pulled you closer to him. “I love you.” He said quietly, before he pressed his lips to yours for a kiss that had been a long time coming.