#like you say youre a part of this and that you know so much. but you clearly know nothing about this community. you do not interact with it

[starktonyx]

Sex pollen - Clark Kent x reader

Word count: 3.2k

Description: When Clark gets poisoned with sex pollen, he tries everything in his power to stay away from you. Until he ends up crashing into your living room, and you have a god on his knees, with your name in his mouth and your body at his will.

Tags/warnings: smut, established relationship, clark is sorry, he gets freaky with his powers, consent kink, breaks you and worships you at the same time, begging, praising, hovering (yes hovering👀), so much dirty talk (he’s feral but sweet), overstimulation.

Note: Guess who watched superman today and got a new man to obsess about🙂‍↕️ honestly I don’t even know what took over me when I wrote this but all I can say is go ahead, live your best life and enjoy the sweet filth 🫶🏼

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You wake up with a loud crash coming from your living room. You jolt upright from your bed as you hear glass shatter, sprinting toward the noise. You curse as your body, only covered by Clark’s giant shirt, gets hit with the crisp midnight air as wind gushed through your apartment like a hurricane just passed by.

A figure stood where your glass door used to be, leaning weakly on what was left of the frame. You turned on the lamp next to you, illuminating your boyfriend’s stumbling body.

“Clark!?” you exclaim, confused by his abrupt arrival.

He doesn’t look up, just stands there against the frame, chest heaving, fists clenched. Like he is barely holding himself together.

Worry washes your features, something must be really wrong. You start making way over to him, but as soon as you take a step forward he puts a warning hand in front of him.

“Stop! Don’t move,” his deep voice comes out strangled, like he’s been screaming for hours. “Don’t come closer… please. Just–just stay there.”

He keeps his hand up to stop you, panting heavily as he swallowed to try to soothe his dry throat. He slowly looks up, and groans when he meets your eyes. His pupils are blown wide, dry lips parted, his breath ragged like he’s been flying across the globe. His usually perfect wavy hair is now flat, messy, sticking to his sweaty forehead.

“I didn’t want to come here,” he whines. “I–I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“What happened to you?” You ask from your spot, fighting the urge to run to his aid.

“I’ve been infected,” he chokes out, and your brows furrow more. “Some kind of … alien pollen. It hit me out there. I flew straight into it and fuck ... It’s messing with my head, my body, I…”

He suddenly turns away, pacing in small frantic circles on your balcony like he’s trying to shake something off. His hands tremble as he fights to not make eye contact, like just looking at you hurts.

“What do you need? D-do you have the antidote?” You ask, scared as hell. He never acts like this.

He just shakes his head first with a bitter laugh, only to nod frantically afterwards.

God, if only you knew.

“I tried to wait it out,” he groans, fists now in his hair. “I swear I did, my love, I locked myself away for hours … tried to fly as far as I could but I kept turning back because I could smell you.”

Your breath catches in your throat, somehow understanding what this was about.

“I can smell you, sweetheart. Even from across the city … I can hear you breathing … your heartbeat. I didn’t want to hurt you but right now I have you in front of me and I can see–dammit … I’m sorry–“

He stumbles backward like he’s ashamed of himself, like he can’t even look at you.

“You know can’t turn it off,” he whispers. “I never mean to look, I swear, but I can see you now. Everything.”

Of course you know what he means. You know he can see right past his giant shirt covering your body. And the guilt on his face is gutting. He looks like he’s trying to claw his own powers out of his skin.

“Clark… it’s okay. You don’t have to explain, ”you step forward, slowly, gently. “It’s not like we haven’t–“

“No you don’t get it!” He snaps, his voice booming through your walls so loud you were sure everyone on the block heard him. He instantly feels worse with the way you flinched to his volume. “S-sorry darling … you just don’t get it … you have no idea what it’s like to smell you and know how soft you are, how warm. My instincts are going crazy. I just need to be inside you … I need to touch you, mark you, fill you up until I can’t think straight,” he just rambles, eyes raking through your body.

You take a deep breath, his words making you clench your thighs together and he noticed. Of course you’ve had sex before. You know what he sounds like when he’s needy. But this? This is feral. You’ve never seen him like this.

But you’re willing to do anything to help him. Always.

“Clark… you don’t even have to ask,” you speak softly, your own eyes darkening with desire.

He shakes his head. You don’t even understand the amount of restraint he’s having right now.

“I do … I always do. Especially now. Because I’m not going to touch you like I should. I’m not going to make it about you. I’m going to use you. Because you’re the only one who can fix me … you are the antidote and I hate it. I hate that I can’t even think straight unless I’m inside you … I need you so bad, darling, I’m shaking–“ He cries, an actual tear comes out his desperate eyes.

You’re watching a god fall apart in front of you.

Because of you.

You finally cross the space left, and he doesn’t stop you this time. You grab his face between your hands, and kiss him without hesitation. His arms immediately cling to your frame, cold hands slipping under your shirt to roam every inch of your warm skin.

You moan into his lips, when you taste the salty tears on his face. His hands land on your ass, and he squeezes hard, bruising, making you squeal. He immediately pulls back, apologizing. Like he still can’t let himself go.

“I love you, I’m sorry–” he blurts out immediately, hands soothing the skin he pinched while he fought the urge to do it again, harder. “God I love you … and I would never hurt you. Never. I swore I’d never touch you like this. Unless you asked me to. Unless you wanted me to. So please … tell me you want this too. Say yes, or I’ll leave. I swear I will.”

He nods, frantically, like he’s trying to convince himself more than he’s trying to convince you.

“I’ll leave if you tell me to,” he breathes. “I’ll fly through a mountain. I’ll bury myself in the ocean. Just don’t say yes unless you want this. I’m barely holding on– if you say it, I won’t be able to stop.”

You want him. God you always want him.

The way he keeps asking makes you want him even more. Even if he’s not your Clark now. Even if he won’t take care of you like he always does. Even if you can’t breathe or move after. Because you love him too.

“I want it,” you whisper against his lips, nodding. “I want you. You need me? Use me. Take all you want … I can take it.”

It’s over.

The moment you say yes there’s no going back. He lunges forward, tightening his grip on you as he lifts you off the ground to fly you towards the wall, knocking the lamp when your back hit the wall, leaving you both in complete darkness. Only the moonlight left to shine over his hungry eyes.

His massive hand cradles the back of your head to protect it from the hit, while the other tears off your shirt like he needs your skin on his or he’ll die. Your panties don’t even last two seconds before they fly away too.

His lips hit yours. Tongue desperate, hands everywhere, so large, so shaky, everywhere at once. He groans into your mouth like a man dying of thirst finally tasting water.

“Thank you,” he gasps between kisses. “Thank you sweetheart … I’m so sorry I can’t help you first … but I need you … I need to feel you inside, please just let me…”

He knows it hurts you when he doesn’t prepare you properly, when he doesn’t make you cum at least twice on his fingers before he fucks you …but he can’t right now. Not when he can smell how soaked you are already, not when he swears it’s dripping on the carpet.

“Do it,” you pant, hungry for him. “Clark just do it … please.”

He doubts only for a second, and then without thinking he rips the suit. Literally tears it at the waist, tugging it to get rid of it completely. He’ll care about that later.

Right now he is just muscle in front of you.

His painful cock springs up, and he presses himself to you with a wet slap, your back hitting the wall again. Your pussy throbs at how impossibly huge he is over your stomach.

You’ve had him before. You’ve barely made it. You still want him to rearrange your guts.

“Feel that?” he groans. “That’s what you do to me, that’s what’s been driving me insane all day, darling.”

He’s not even pretending anymore, his cock is throbbing, massive, already leaking. He aligns himself between your soaked folds, rutting the tip against your pussy a few times like he’s lost control of his body entirely. You moan at the friction. Every nerve ending screaming.

You know he’s gonna wreck you. You weren’t ready. But at the same time you’ve never been more ready.

He grabs your thigh and lifts it against the wall, before whispering against your lips. “I’m sorry…”

He pushes his hips forward, and when he finally slides home with a snap … raw, hard, you let out a strangled scream.

One long, broken sound, high pitched and helpless, because he stretches you brutally, all at once, bottoming out with a growl. An actual growl. Like he finally felt some type of relief since he got hit with the pollen.

You fight back a cry, lunging forward to bite his shoulder. He starts fucking you into the wall as he whispers ‘I love you’ ‘thank you’ ‘sorry’ like some sort of chant. Like it’s the only thing keeping him rooted to the version of him that is still careful with you when you have sex.

Your breath leaves you in a gasp, your bare back against the cold plaster, legs around his waist, and arms clinging to his biceps for dear life. All you can do is moan as you get adjusted to his unfairly thick cock slamming in and out of you.

“Just like that … you’re taking me so well,” he pants. “You can do it, sweetheart … you’re doing so good … fuck, you were made for this … made for me.”

His hands grip your thighs. He fucks you like he’s possessed, no rhythm, no thought into it, just deep, hard thrusts that hit something devastating every time, shaking the wall with every slam of his hips.

And the whole time, he keeps whimpering into your neck.

“I love you … I’m sorry … I love you …I’m gonna ruin you …I need it…”

You think you’re about to white out when the room starts moving, but you quickly realize what’s happening.

He’s lifting your bodies off the ground.

Still fucking you.

Going up as much as your ceiling allowed him too. He pins you high on the wall when his head touches the roof, like gravity doesn’t apply anymore. It never does, not to you, not to him.

So now you’re fucking hovering. Literally. Unable to do anything but take it.

And you feel him like never before. A complete moaning mess. Nails dragging down his back, mouth open in shock as you look down to the floor. Your whole body is a live wire, and he’s fucking you like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.

His cock twitches inside you. He’s already close. Has been since he walked through that window. But he’s holding it, fighting it, because he needs to stay inside. Needs to keep taking. You can’t.

“Fuck Clark … I’m gonna–“

“Yes? do it … darling please, you’re doing so well. I’ve got you … cum all over this cock baby I got you.”

Your body breaks before you can breathe. Your first climax of the night hits hard, clenching down on him, while you pant into his chest. Your whole body goes limp and he feels it.

He fucks you through it. Rough thrusts with his hand stroking your back and the other wrapped under your thighs. He keeps thanking you as his cock splits you open over and over.

“I wanna give you everything,” he groans, voice cracking. “Fill you up, stuff you full of me … Can I? Please? Let me finish inside you …. let me have you–“

“Yes, yes, fill me up,” you blurt out, still seeing stars.

He slams in once more and chokes, hips locked, whole body shuddering as he comes with a moan so broken it feels like it came from his soul. He shakes as he fills you, mouth pressed to your neck.

He doesn’t pull out yet. He holds you there, trembling, pressed against the wall like he knows you’ll fall if he loosens his grip.

Even after the first wave passes, after the groans, the shaking, the desperate I love you’s, he holds you like you’re the only thing anchoring him to this planet.

“…Are you okay?”

You just nod, breathless, a blissed out smile in your face. He smiles too. And then, slowly, he lowers you back down to the floor.

But he’s not soft for long. He doesn’t even give you a minute to recover. He can’t. The second round starts before the first one even finishes sinking in.

You’re still trembling in his arms, leaking down your thighs, whimpering his name into the crook of his neck. And he’s still inside you. Still painfully hard.

Still needing you.

“One more, please. Just–just one more,” he begs. “Let me have you again. Please, darling I need it.”

“Take it Clark, take all you need,” you nod, absolutely wrecked.

But what’s a few more rounds with your unearthly strong boyfriend?

He melts.

You usually go multiple rounds, but he’s softer, he gives you downtime, even brings you water in between orgasms. But right now he can’t believe the way he fucked you and you still let him have more. But he needs more. The pollen is fogging his brain.

He finally pulls out, just to set you down on the floor. The second your back hits the rug, he’s on top of you again. And god he’s heavy. Solid. He doesn’t even hold his weight like he usually does because all he’s thinking about is fucking you senseless.

He buries himself deep again, groaning, cursing under his breath. You close your eyes, nails digging the carpet, back arching when you feel him deeper from this angle. You pant small whines from the feeling.

“Shhh … don’t–“ he coos, he wants to be slow, but he can’t. His hips snap hard without even thinking. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart … so good for me… just need one more.”

You know it’s not just one more. And he fucking knows that too.

None of you cares.

“You’re so wet … so perfect” he groans, the filthy sound gushing loudly every time he thrusted. “I didn’t even give you time to come down … didn’t even let you breathe and you still take me so well”

He praises. Worships. He looks down to where your bodies meet, and he sees right through your skin. He can see his huge cock filling you with every thrust. He can see your walls clenching around him. And he looses it.

You’re suddenly running out of air when he presses his chest to yours, pining you tighter to the floor with his body as he pushes harder. And you feel all of him. The broadness of his chest against your ribs. The strain of his thighs bracketing yours. His cock still buried deep, rock hard.

You hit his bicep with your hand first, but he’s not paying attention, he’s too caught up on the way your pussy takes him to notice.

It’s not smooth. Not rhythmic. Just sharp, ragged thrusts that hit you so hard your body jerks on impact, tits bouncing, nails clawing at his back as he crushes you into the floor with every rut of his hips.

Your head starts spinning.

“Clark,” you choke out, hitting his bicep again. “I can’t–can’t breathe…”

His head finally snaps at you, eyes going wide. He lifts up a bit, but he doesn’t pull out, he just … can’t.

You finally gasp for air as he shushes you softly, tucking away the hair sticking to your sweaty forehead.

“I’m sorry … I can’t … can’t stop. I tried, I swear I tried,” his forehead presses to yours, without crushing you alive this time.

His hips don’t stop moving. You pant between moans. You’re close again, you can feel it.

“It’s okay, you’re just … you’re so big …so heavy.”

“I’m sorry,” he breathes. “I’m sorry, I know. I just … I don’t want to let you go–”

“Don’t,” you whisper. “Don’t let me go.”

His expression breaks. Because he knows. And you know. He’s not really letting you go. Not all the way. He’s still pressing his weight into you, even as he tries not to. Because he needs to. Because letting go means losing you, even just for a second.

He doesn’t know what takes over him, he grabs your hands and pins them above your head. Watching you sob, moan, eyes rolling back, skin already bruising in multiple places by his grip. He’s not like this. He should be apologizing. Begging. But you just feel so damn good.

And you like it, god you love it.

“I–I love it when you fuck me like this,” you confess, voice barely above a whisper, dumb smile on your face as he hits that spot repeatedly. “I just- I can’t…”

“I know darling, I know … just a little more,” he groans. “One more please. You can take it …you’re doing so good.” He soothes, but he can’t slow down, not when you’re clenching him like that.

He picks up the pace.

“C-Clark … please, I’m gonna-“

“I’ve got you, darling …I’ve got you, let yourself go for me.”

You see white this time. You’re not even moaning anymore. Just gasping. Twitching. Letting him take what he needs because you want to. Because this is Clark, your Clark, and you’d give him your whole body a thousand times if he needed it.

And he does.

He fucks you like you’re his last breath.

Even after you’re wrecked, limp, twitching … he keeps going.

You don’t even remember the next time he finishes. Or the time after that. Or where it happened. Your body is a mess, trembling and raw and wet and full. Marked. Praised.

All while he keeps saying, “Just one more … just let me stay inside you a little longer… please sweetheart, I’m still hard I know you can take it … this is the last time I promise…”

Again and again. You’ve never heard him lie so much before.

Yet still, with your hair splayed, legs shaking, literal tears leaking from the corners of your eyes from the pleasure, the pain, the strain, the goddamn pollen he pumps into your body every time he comes…

You are having the time of your life being drunk on his cock.

“Fuck me harder.”

You beg, even when you can’t feel it anymore. Maybe that’s why you need it harder … deeper.

And because you knew that once he came back to normal he wouldn’t fuck you like this again. And he makes sure to let you know.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry I’m hurting you. I just need you so fucking much … I love you I love you I love you—”

You just nod, because it hurts embarrassingly good.

You lose count of how many times he comes in total. How many times you come. You only know time’s passed when the sky starts to lighten outside your broken window, and Clark is rocking into you so slowly it’s more like he’s just holding you in place, his mouth pressed to your shoulder, whispering thank you with every lazy thrust.

By the time he finally slows down, finally wears the substance out of his body after dumping it all inside you … you can’t move. You’re limp in his arms, boneless and dripping and his.

Your bed feels incredibly soft in contrast to all the spots he fucked you on last night.

You’re draped across his chest, tracing the muscles under his bare skin. His fingers are in your hair. Barely moving, just tracing small patterns. Soothing you like he didn’t cause all the pain in your body.

You’re still trembling a little. Just from… after. Your body’s still echoing with everything he gave you. Everything he took.

Worth it.

Clark kisses your temple. He hasn’t stopped kissing you every few minutes. It’s like he’s trying to apologize without saying it. Like he’s trying to prove that he’s still the man you love, the man who flinches when he bumps your head by accident, who picks you flowers and gets flustered when you kiss him in public. The one who always put you first in bed.

Not the one who just broke the sound barrier flying to your apartment because his cock told him to.

“…I broke your window,” he finally breaks the silence, a chuckle makes his chest vibrate against your ear.

“Clark … you broke a lot more than my window.”

You both start giggling … glowing. Your throat hurts, you’re sore, probably can’t even walk today or the whole week, and somehow, it feels like the safest place on Earth.

“I love you,” he whispers. “So much.”

“I know,” you whisper back. “You said it like 87 times while destroying me.”

⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆

Feedback and sharing is always appreciated, thank you so much for reading <3

[luna-azzurra]

Responses to “why didn’t you tell me?”

(perfect for when your OC hid something Big and Emotional and now it’s all awkward and feelings are on the floor)

✧ "because I didn’t think you’d care."

✧ "because I barely admitted it to myself."

✧ "i was gonna... and then the moment passed... like three weeks ago."

✧ "because every time i almost did, i panicked and made a stupid joke instead."

✧ "it didn’t feel like something you’d want to know."

✧ "because i’m a professional at bottling things up until they explode spectacularly."

✧ "i figured if i kept quiet, it wouldn’t be real."

✧ "i was scared you’d look at me differently. and now you are."

✧ "because it was easier to lie than to see that look on your face."

✧ "i didn’t want to need you. still don’t."

✧ "because i didn’t want to ruin whatever this is."

✧ "because i’m tired of being the problem."

✧ "you were already dealing with so much. i didn’t want to be more weight."

✧ "i didn’t think i deserved to be honest with you."

✧ "because if i said it out loud, you might leave."

✧ "because i wanted to be someone you didn’t have to worry about."

✧ "because it’s not just about me. it never is."

✧ "you ever hold something in so long it becomes part of you? yeah. that."

✧ "because i didn’t know how to say it without falling apart."

[rawme-price]

Idk if you already done this but wolf!reader watching price give belly rubs to wolf!soap and getting jealous… :D

To be fair, you cant really complain about your current situation.

Even as ur seething in jealousy that soap is getting head pats and ear scritches on the ride back to base. No one even knows youre a wolf hybrid. Like many hybrids, your presentation isnt strong at all. You very much look human, no wolf ears or tail, no claws or extra sharp teeth.

You never corrected the team when they assumed you were human, the assumption never bothered you until now. Because you still have instincts of a wolf, and the 141 has slowly become ur pack, but they never act like it because they dont know thats what u need.

Ofc you've never been good at hiding ur expression, so gaz knocks his ankle against urs with a raised brow, a bit judgmental. the fuck is wrong with you?

You just shrug, glance at soap who tail is wagging like hell, then back to gaz. On one hand you want to tell them, but on the other you've always had negative reactions. Humans either accuse u of playing too far into ur "mild" wolf side, or hybrids say ur too human to really understand hybrid instincts.

So you just purse your lips and glance away, ignore it. This has...some sort of side affect. Bc once you land gaz doesnt say anything to you, in fact, he shoulder checks you on your way out for no discernible reason.

Late that same week, whatever got under gazs skin seems to have affected everyone else. They dont talk to you outside of missions. Ghost actively scoffs when u ask if you've done something wrong, and soap is going out of his way to avoid you.

It makes you feel like shit. Instincts screaming abt ur pack rejecting u, abt not being good enough for them. It takes a toll. Ur den is a mess after being torn up in frustration each night, u dont eat well when ur forced to sit alone, you feel jumpy and vulnerable without ur pack.

And the entire time, ur desperately trying to figure out what you did. Why they suddenly turned a cold shoulder. But there's nothing. No reason for the sudden animosity you can find.

Unbeknownst to you, all those days ago in the heli gaz had mistaken ur jealousy towards soap as discomfort. Hed assumed that you, a human, were taking issue with soap acting like a hybrid. Ofc he told his team. They all started avoiding you, it was only natural to cut out humans who hated hybrids, can u blame him?

(Part two here, part three here)

[hanimanny]

WIKIHOW: HOW TO GET YOUR GIRLFRIEND BACK (FROM YOUR FAMILY)

a.k.a Tim needs his girlfriend back

tags: Tim drake x reader (established relationship), batfam x platonic!reader, crack, no mention of ‘y/n’

word count: 2.7k , likes + comments + reblogs appreciated

Tim loves that you're close to his family, he adores it. He couldn't have asked for anything better. To know that the love of their life so easily integrates themselves into their partner’s already slightly dysfunctional- adopted family. 

Tim loves it, because you love it. His family, I mean. But if you were to ask him how he feels about how close his girlfriend is to his brothers, sisters, pseudo-father?

He’d say he hates it.

The first few months were great! He would bring you over and you'd greet every member of the family you pass, awkwardly bowing (even to Damian who had the biggest ego trip known to man) as you scurry off, glued to Tim’s side. 

He misses those days. You were like a little bird, too shy to leave the nest, finding comfort in each other’s presence. He had you all to himself; and he would not call himself selfish in a way, but gods, does he want to take you and hide you from the world (his family).

Like all baby birds, they have to leave home eventually, and you did just that. 

It started off small. Girls night with Cassandra, Barbara and Stephanie, who'd want to drill as much gossip and secrets out of you about himself. Innocent at first, Tim trusted you, after all, and doubted you'd say anything incriminating about him to the girls. 

Then, the rubber duckies began to appear. He first assumed it was you and one of your weird pranks. Finding the yellow toys perched on his PC, bed stand, his closet, the usual places he would find you around. Then it got progressively stranger. The batcave, his utility belt, his secret stash of stalkerish pictures of you before you guys dated. No way would you find this stash, the only person sneaky enough to get past his secured hiding spaces was… Cassandra. 

That was when it all started. 

The ducks were okay. Eventually, you took a huge liking to them and told him to give them all to you and you would start a mini-army of rubber duckies, in his name of course. Though, he couldn't miss the devious glances the girls would send him, like he owed them something. 

What ticked Tim off was when you started to come over to the manor. Not that you weren't allowed to, he loves it when you spontaneously visit. But the reason you gave, irked him to no end. 

“Hey Duckie, sorry can't hang, Damian wanted to test those new katanas I’ve been working on.” You gave him a quick peck on the lips and a little hug before dashing towards the batcave, clunky bag full of prototypes jingling beside you. Before Tim could even ask to help carry your bag, you were gone. 

Okay, yeah, this is fine. You help his family come up with new innovative weapons, it's literally part of your job description. 

And then it happened several more times. 

Sometimes needing to cut well needed cuddle time short because “Damian wants to test out all your new gear for himself to deem it useful or not” or “Damian said he’d teach you how to paint after his training session”. 

And with demon spawn at that! his replacement! his arch nemesis. All your inventions were useful! And brilliant! That little demon spawn is just digging his claws into your soft kind back to drain you of all your brilliance. 

And He could teach you how to paint! If Bob Ross taught him anything, it's how to paint using what little skills he had. Though, the large canvas you painted of Tim, yourself and the large army of rubber duckies you gifted him was certainly… something (he had it framed and hung it above his bed). 

Whatever… you're still with him 80% of the time, and if not at the manor, then at Wayne Enterprises!

He thanked the gods that he ended up in an office romance type-thing, even though he is sorta kinda your boss and you work in the STEM department.  He would show up at your lab unannounced and the two of you would have spontaneous lunch breaks, talking about anything and everything. About the silly nerdy geeky stuff his family would horrendously bully him for, because you are as equally silly nerdy and geeky as he is. 

But something always had to ruin his fun. 

That something, being Bruce. 

The first time he showed up was during an actual lunch break. You and Tim sitting on one of the tables in your Lab, devouring a bat-burger you had begged him to order because, in your words: 

“It's literally your dad! No way you gotta pay.”

He had to pay. Not that he minded, never minds when it comes to you.

You were mid rant about some ship that kept breaking your heart, with a smudge of ketchup on your chin and your mouth disgustingly stuffed full of fries. 

“Like what do you mean you guys were just ‘best friends’, you literally faked your death, gave up the only career you ever knew and loved, just to get ride off in the sunset with him.” You scoff as you comically swallow your food. “Coming from a guy, that seems pretty platonic to me” Tim humoured as he sipped on his drink, amused with the way your face contorts with disbelief. 

“I can’t believe you had a boyfriend and still have the worst gaydar known to man.”

“Hey!”

“Bernard would totally get me.” You frown dramatically and Tim rolls his eyes at that, tossing a fry at you. 

“Why aren't you eating in the cafeteria?” A deep authoritative voice shatters your little world, pulling your attention away from him and onto the voice. 

Bruce stands at the doorway to your lab, signature scowl on his face. You lean to the side, to get a better view of him and wave with enthusiasm. 

“Food’s Trash today,” you boldly claim, chewing sideways on a fry. “Is that why you're in my lab? Because you want to have lunch with us?” you ask innocently. 

Which is how Bruce started attending both impromptu and promptu’ lunches. You obviously welcome him with your big loving heart, and definitely not because he’s your terrifyingly, stupidly scary boss and possible future father-in-law. 

To no one’s surprise, Tim is less than… let’s say excited… to have his pseudo father crash his work dates. Now lunch is filled with you explaining to his poorly out of date father the difference of “being cooked” and “cooking.”

and don’t get him started with his god forsaken, golden child of a brother, Dick Grayson, who unknowingly cockblocks. With his brotherly hugs and how he somehow always manages to incite family movie night. or game night. or whatever night. 

And even worse, you slowly grow the habit of inviting Dick to your hangouts. like some b-grade pavlovian experiment.

“Hey, wanna finish watching Lost?” innocent enough, and if Tim played the right cards, you’ll even decide to stay over (you’d still do it even if he played the wrong cards). 

“Sure! let me text Dick” and at first he’s confused, dick? Why? bros in bludhaven doing bludhaven activities. He has his own life, own job, own responsponsibilities, probably too busy to hang out with his younger brother and pretty birdie.

“he’d throw a fit if we continue without him” you absentmindedly add in, typing away on your phone. No one's worse than a brother dick grayson who looks like a sick kicked puppy once you tell him you continued the show you started together without him. 

After this incident, Tim slowly started to notice the lack of reality show binging time with you (at least without Dick) because somehow, Dick is always there once you start a new reality tv show. Even worse, he Pavlova’d himself, catching himself thinking of Dick when it came to reality tv. 

And Jason Todd who cockblocks purposely. The taste of freedom was so close, during the time of confusion where Jsson had no clue Tim was even in a relationship. How he'd eye the two of you skeptically, watching how you seamlessly integrated yourself into their family. His siblings, father, even Alfred, left unblinking at your interactions. 

But now that he knows, that fuckass zombie does everything in his power to ragebait. 

Tim seriously thought he grew accustomed to Jason Todd and his offhanded remarks about him, but now? now he really might dox someone (jason todd). 

TIm can tell he’s doing it on purpose, that smug (and stupid) look in his eyes when Jason asks you about old literature and introspective texts, and god knows how much you love to talk about things you’re interested in (which we all love). 

“I just think that he really captured girlhood, like I don't even understand how he did— I felt so connected with him” you drone on and on about a new book you were reading, something that Jaosn read back in his old robin days. While Tim loves to listen to you talk, literature is something Jason has him beat at (unfortunately…)

Tim just sits there, arm wrapped around you as you face Jason politely, chatting the room up. Jason occasionally sends Tim the knowing glance of smugness and in turn, Tim stares at Jason like he’s the blame for the economic state of the world. 

Tim zones out, plotting on the best opportunity to shit in Jason’s food. He smiles quietly to himself as he envisions his plans taking place, the reaction and satisfaction he’d feel, only snapping out when you suddenly gasp. 

“Oh shit, I totally forgot, I need to give him his meds” and the smile fades from his face instantly. You turn to him with a crazed look, your arm already in motion as you stick your hand in a hidden compartment under the couch. 

“Come on, Duckie, it’s nap time” you say almost ominously, despite your sweet smile and beautiful face, it does nothing to hide your menacing aura. “Yeah, nap time, Duckie” Jason taunts, and his pet name coming from Jason’s mouth tastes sour to Tim.

“Hold him down, will you, JT?” you ask sweetly, as you pop open the pill bottle.

In a swift motion, Tim snatches the bottle from your hand, “No need, i’ll take them willingly” Tim interjects, rather anything other than to give Jason Todd the satisfaction of holding him down. 

Worse of all, by the time Tim wakes up, you’re gone, and the aroma and food reaches his senses. 

He’d wake up, unceremoniously groggy, drool trailing down his face and the pillow within his arm he uses as a substitute for your flat to all extent. Tim feels like the start and end of the universe, all at the same time. He feels his hands tingle and theirs a blanket imprint stained on his forearms and face. Not to mention, what time is it? 

Unable to recollect his own dreary thoughts, Tim drags himself to the kitchen for his obligatory concoction of coffee and energy drink, ready to immediately shave off the 5 extra years off his life he gained from sleeping. 

TIm instinctively floats towards the sound of your giggle, along with the soothing scent of food that roams the air.

When he enters the kitchen, looking like he forgot his name and knows the entire history of you, you and Alfred don't even flinch at the site. 

“Hey Duckie! You slept longer this time, a whole 8 hours” you chirp as you pull out a tray of cookies, cooking the oven door closed. “Congrautlations, Master Tim, that's 5 more than last time” Aldred adds, stirring the pot of delicious smelling food. 

“Thanks…” Tim mumbles, still dazed. 

“I’ll be right with you, i just need ice the sugar cookies” You hum as you vigorously mix the icing while somehow simultaneously piping another batch in a bag. 

Tim can't help but smile gently out the domestic site, heart fluttering and not because of the residual caffeine that circulates through his veins. 

Just as Tim was about to sneak up behind you, and suggest he helps, Stephanie, Cassandra and Barbara burst in like they're about to rob a bank. 

“WE’RE HERE! BARBIE BAKER! Now the icing decorating competition can commence! Alfred, you're the judge” the girls push Tim aside, him knocking against the wall like a discarded ornament, ignoring him. 

“By the way, Tim, Bruce needs you” Barbara adds, as she wheels herself near the table as you carry the trays of cookies while Cassandra balances the various bags of icing. 

Tim stares blankly, his soul threatening to leave tired bones. 

Dear Lord, please give me patience. 

Tim’s at his wits end, he's barely seen you this week (aside from the fact you sleep in his bed every night tucked securely in his hold), stolen by one of his many family members.

Which brings him to now, calling a family meeting as if a world ending war is approaching. With all the family lounging on the couch, with the exception of Alfred who stands at the doorway and Jason who thinks he’s too cool to lounge with his loving family. 

“What do you want, Replacement? You know some of us have lives” Jason quips, leaning against the wall like 2000s grunge emo delinquent. 

“I am a full time CEO and hero who solves all your cases, you run a gang of D-list vigilantes and still come to me for help, we are not the same” Tim spits, the bags under his eyes seem much heavier, darker, like he hadn't slept for days (which might actually be true). At. his. Wits. End. Jason grumbles a retort, licking his teeth and sending Tim a glare that’s somehow more glare than his usual one. 

Then, Tim releases a forbidden command. 

“You’re all on Birdie Ban”

In that moment, the whole room bursts into cries, and an instant influx of complaining rips through the air. 

“WHAT? you have no right to ban us!”

“YOU CANNOT DICTATE WHO SHE CAN AND CANNOT SEE”

“Dick’s right! let Birdie see who she wants”

“You’re just a jealous loser”

“Dictator!”

“Worse than Joker”

“Woah, Steph, that’s a bit much”

“Nah, I was killed by him, Replacement is definitely worse”

“Now, let’s not make any rash decisions, Master Tim”

“I’m going to make a rash decision.”

“No innuendos, Cain. I'm going to gut Drake and use his insides as a scarf”

“Holy shit, Damian, Do we need to talk to a therapist again?”

“Yes, if that therapist is Birdie”

Tim stands there taking the brunt of the comments without flinching, his face passive as if he mastered the art of the Tibetan monks. 

And then: “If I catch you stealing Pretty Bird from me, I’m going to stop helping you with any of your cases…and ill dox you” 

“empty threats, Drake”

“says the guy lost a twitter war to a Brony”

Instantly, Damian shuts up, though his eyes burn with something akin to psychopathy. 

With one look, Tim scans the room seeing that everyone has fallen silent.

“By the way, no one tells her about this or I'll hack into all the tech in the house and block them off, out of spite”

With that, everyone reluctantly agrees and Tim can’t help but smile in satisfaction to himself. 

“Anyways, Pretty bird told me to let you guys know that she’s throwing a Gregory House theme party, everyone has to dress as a version of him” 

Tim may hate the fact that his family steals his girlfriend, but he’s more than grateful that his family loves you so much— enough to show up with a cane and stubble at least. 

epilogue

“Wait, why aren’t you dressed as House?” Dick, slack jawed, asks as he leans on his cane, dressed as convict season 8 house. 

“seems like you can’t even stick to your own girlfriends theme” Cassandra quips, in her rehab house attire, holding an ipod which blasts radiohead at a soft volume. 

“I'm Amber, a.k.a. female house— know your lore” Tim retorts, brushing his faux blonde hair to the side. 

Then you burst into the room, brown wig galore, and your certified doctors coat

“I, too, am at this party— omg bruce! i love cheerleader house, you look so authentic” 

The adventures of Pretty bird (shenanigans revolving you and Tim's family)

[heesmiles]

OPERATION: HOW NOT TO GET THE GIRL L.HS

SYNOPSIS ⦂ You've never fit in. That much was true. Always feeling like the odd one out in your friend group. But when you're told to your face, well everything becomes more clear. Suddenly, every sidelong glance, every pity laugh, every party invitation that felt like a mistake, makes a little more sense. But it still stings. Especially when it comes to Soobin; sweet, soft-spoken, out-of-your-league Soobin, who doesn’t even know you exist beyond the orbit of your prettier friends. Enter Heeseung: campus golden boy, effortlessly charming, dangerously smug. He’s the type of guy who knows exactly how attractive he is — and how to use it. When he overhears your predicament (okay, maybe you yell about it a little too loudly in the hallway), he makes you an offer: he’ll help you reinvent yourself, rewrite your story, and finally get Soobin’s attention. In exchange? You’ll tutor him through senior lit, a class he's on the verge of flunking. You agree, of course. What could possibly go wrong?

PAIRINGS: heeseung x fem!reader

WARNINGS: smut mdni, virginity loss, jealousy, alcohol use, mean girls, talk of toxic beauty standards, college setting, ft Dani (katseye), Sakura (le sserafim), Soobin (txt), jay, sunghoon, jake, beomgyu (txt), wonyoung (ive), angst, slight miscommunication + more i’m probably forgetting.

WORD COUNT: 28K

RAIN'S MIC IS ON ࿐ haiii this is based on the movie "the duff" i wanted to give this a fun and very like early 2000s rom-comy vibes!! I do want to note especially that i do not support the toxic mindset that makeup and no glasses and dressing slutty automatically makes you more visually appealing, i think that's a mindset we should be letting go of but for the sake of fiction, it will be playing a part in this. Just a reminder that everyone is beautiful no matter what you wear or what you look like. Wear makeup if you want, or don't. Glasses do not equal ugly and nerdy. Also in this, i shortened “DUFF” to “DUF” because even in fiction i don’t feel comfortable saying “fat” so in my version it just means “designated ugly friend” which is still eh, but again for the sake of fiction it will have to do, Please remember those standards are out dated. Love you all hope you have fun with this like i did (: thank you so much to my love @yeonmuse for helping make the banner, she’s so talented check her out guys.

You’re not sure why you came. 

The music pulses like a second heartbeat as you linger in the doorway of the house, the bass reverberating through your ribcage. Inside, it’s packed wall-to-wall with bodies moving in a chaotic kind of harmony, shoulders brushing, drinks sloshing, laughter climbing over music like ivy. You follow the familiar trail of your best friends, Dani and Sakura, as they dive headfirst into the party’s epicenter. They're already laughing with someone, effortlessly folding themselves into a circle of golden-lit conversation. You’re left in the doorway like static caught on the edge of a signal, half-there, mostly invisible. You try to speak, to jump into the flow, but your voice is swallowed by the noise.

Dani’s turning her head too fast, Sakura’s already moving on to a new story. It’s not their fault. They love you. They try; they always do. But in places like this, where charisma is currency and the loudest person wins, you always come up short. You’re the comma in their sentence. The pause between moments.

Eventually, Dani hooks her arm through yours and grins. “Come on. Let’s get some air.” You let them lead you outside, where the music softens behind glass doors and the cool night air brushes against your skin. The wooden deck is lit by string lights and scented faintly of smoke and expensive cologne. And that’s when you see them; The it boys on campus, Leaning against the railing like some untouchable constellation: Heeseung, Beomgyu, Sunghoon, Jay, and Jake. Each one a caricature of cool in different flavors. Beomgyu’s laughing with his head thrown back. Jake is draped over the deck chair like he owns it. Sunghoon and Jay are mid-story. And then there’s Heeseung, casual arrogance wrapped in black denim and a hoodie pushed halfway up his forearms. 

The moment the girls approach, everyone shifts to accommodate them, the circle expanding like ripples on water. You find yourself next to Heeseung, who throws you a brief glance that feels like an assessment. His gaze dips for a second to your glasses and lingers. You know that look. You’ve seen it before in classrooms and locker-lined hallways. The look that decides exactly who you are in the span of two seconds and four syllables: nerd. Unworthy of any and all social interaction beside incandescent teasing. How comical that was. “You guys,” Heeseung says, in that smooth, drawling voice that makes everything he says sound vaguely amused, “Mr. Yoon was on my ass today. Said if I bomb this next lit paper, he’s yanking my scholarship. Like, sorry I don’t care about symbolism in 18th-century poetry, man.” 

Sakura perks up, turning to look at you. “Wait She’s amazing at lit! Like, scary good.” 

“She tutors people all the time,” Dani adds, nudging you playfully. You blink, caught mid-sip of something lukewarm in a red cup, and find five pairs of curious eyes settling on you. Including his.

Heeseung’s lip quirks. “Oh, I’m sure she is.”

You narrow your eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He gestures loosely toward your face, vaguely circling your glasses. “Nothing. Just, you’ve got that whole bookish prodigy vibe. You know. Brainiac chic.” 

“Brainiac chic?” You raise an eyebrow. “That’s your insult? Do you even have a GPA?” His friends snicker. Jake lets out a low “oooh,” and Beomgyu slaps Heeseung on the back like he’s just taken a hit.

Heeseung, unfazed, smiles lazily. “Touché. Though, I’m not the one who just quoted my GPA like it’s a flex.” You can’t help the way your lip twitches. You shouldn’t enjoy this. You do. Heeseung is irritating. Arrogant. Infuriatingly pretty. But he’s listening. He’s bantering back. In this weird, warped little moment, you almost feel like you matter. 

And then he walks up. Soobin. You spot him from the corner of your eye, tall and soft around the edges, dressed in an oversized hoodie that somehow still makes him look like a dream. His hair’s a little messy like he ran his hands through it too many times, and his smile; God, his smile, curls up slow when he sees your group. He says something to Jake, who waves him over, and then he’s standing in your circle, next to you, and your brain short-circuits. You try to say hi, but it comes out as a hiccuped squeak. Your voice cracks in three different places, and as if fate hadn’t humiliated you enough, you flinch backward and knock your elbow straight into the flimsy drink table behind you. The cup in your hand slips, spins midair, and splashes all over your shirt in one mortifying arc. 

Soobin blinks. Heeseung stares. You feel the heat crawl up your neck like a flame eating paper. Someone offers you a napkin, Dani, maybe — but it doesn’t matter. You’re already backing away. “I—I’m gonna go,” you mumble. “I’ll see you guys later.” You turn before anyone can say anything else, your heartbeat thudding in your ears, the deck already blurry with shame. Behind you, the laughter starts again, soft, harmless, not mean, not really; but it doesn't matter. You’re already gone. And you have no idea how this mess is only just beginning. 

The next morning arrives not like a promise, but like a punishment. The sun is too bright, the sky too smugly blue, like even the weather knows what happened last night. You drag yourself across campus wrapped in oversized layers, hoodie strings pulled tight around your face like armor. You haven't checked your phone since the party. Not because it hasn’t lit up — it has, but because you can’t bear to face the missed calls and texts blinking like tiny sirens across the screen. Dani: “hey, are you okay?” Sakura: “babe, call us pls.” A voicemail you didn’t dare open. It’s all waiting for you like unopened letters from a version of yourself that doesn’t exist anymore. 

Because last night, you crumbled in front of Soobin. You keep replaying it like a cursed tape in your head: the way your voice cracked, the look of gentle confusion on his face, the splash of cheap punch soaking through your shirt like a scarlet stamp of shame. You can still feel the sting of it; hot, sticky, humiliating. You picture the exact moment his eyes met yours and how quickly you broke, like a window catching a stone at the wrong angle. You didn’t even say goodbye to Dani or Sakura. Just ran. Just let the night swallow you whole. And now, in the cruel light of day, everything feels worse. 

Your footsteps echo a little too loudly on the concrete path through campus. You keep your head down, gaze locked on your shoes as the crowds blur around you in streaks of motion and color. But you feel them; eyes. Not direct. Not obvious. Just there. Flicking toward you. Lingering. Someone lets out a muffled laugh as you pass. You tell yourself it has nothing to do with you, but the way your stomach clenches betrays you. It’s a peculiar kind of spotlight, being noticed for all the wrong reasons. You’re used to being invisible, not mocked. You never asked for attention, never needed a stage. But now you’re walking through campus like a meme brought to life, like the punchline of a joke you didn’t know you were telling. You pass a group of students lounging on the lawn. One nudges the other. Another whispers something behind a hand. Laughter. It could be about anything. It could be nothing. But you flinch like it’s a slap to the face. So you keep walking, keep shrinking.

Your classroom isn’t far, but the distance feels endless. Like the stretch of hallway in a nightmare where your legs move but you never get anywhere. When you finally reach the door, your hands tremble as you pull it open, slipping inside with all the urgency of someone trying to outrun their own shadow. The air inside is still and cold, the hum of fluorescents a dull buzz in your ears. You’re too wrapped in your own spiral to notice where your feet take you. The room is already half full, students murmuring over open laptops, pens clicking like insects in early spring. You move on autopilot, slipping into the first empty seat you see near the back, hoping the distance from the front will buy you some much-needed invisibility.

But the moment you set your bag down and glance to your left, the universe decides to play its favorite game, humiliation, round two. Because there he is. Lee Heeseung. Slouched in his chair with all the grace of someone who’s never had to try too hard, hoodie sleeves pushed up again like it’s a personal brand, one knee bouncing lazily. His arm’s draped over the back of the chair, dangerously close to yours, and he’s already looking at you when you meet his eyes, eyebrow raised, lips curled in that signature smirk that could make a mirror blush. “Well, well,” he says, low and smug. “Couldn’t get enough of me, could you?” You blink, brain short-circuiting for half a second before the sarcasm kicks in like muscle memory.

“Oh, absolutely,” you say, your voice dry as dust. “I just had to sit next to the guy who thinks MLA formatting is a type of sandwich.” Heeseung whistles through his teeth, hand pressed to his heart like you wounded him. “Wow. Vicious. No wonder you’re single.”

Without missing a beat, you smile sweetly, and flip him off. And that’s what does it. Heeseung bursts out laughing. Not a scoff. Not a half-chuckle. A full-bodied, belly-deep laugh that shakes his shoulders and lights up his whole stupidly handsome face. It’s loud, too; sharp enough to draw a few curious glances from the rows in front of you. Someone turns around. Another student raises an eyebrow. But Heeseung just throws his head back and laughs, like you’re the funniest thing to ever happen to 9 a.m. lit. And somehow, against your will, a laugh bubbles out of you, too. 

Just a snort at first, barely more than breath. But it grows, because you can’t help it, because it was kind of funny, because maybe you’re so bone-tired from crying that anything even slightly absurd feels like a lifeline. You laugh into your palm, trying to hide it, but that only makes Heeseung grin wider. “See?” he says, nudging your arm with his elbow. “I knew you liked me.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re delusional.”

“And yet,” he hums, “here you are.”You shake your head, biting back another smile—and for a second, just a second, you don’t care that people are still glancing at the two of you. You don’t care that your shirt from last night is crumpled in your laundry basket or that the video of you spilling punch may or may not be circling the group chat. You don’t care that your friends probably think you’re ghosting them. Because for this one moment, there’s no spotlight. No pressure.

The rest of the class unfolds in a quiet, uninterrupted hum. The professor drones on about motifs and metaphor, and your pen finally scratches to life again. Heeseung doesn’t speak after that, not really, but you can feel the lingering heat of his presence beside you, like a low flame that won’t go out. You catch yourself glancing his way more than once. He catches you every time. 

Class ends in a quiet unraveling. You gather your things slowly, letting the rows of students trickle out ahead of you like a stream smoothing stone. Heeseung’s already up, stretching his arms over his head in that effortless way that shouldn't be allowed this early in the day. He tosses you a wink as he moves toward the door, and you pretend to roll your eyes, even as something traitorous inside you flutters like a curtain caught in wind. You follow the flow of students into the hallway, hoping to blend in. Hoping, maybe foolishly, that today might end on a quieter note.

But fate has sharp teeth. 

A manicured hand taps your shoulder just as you pass beneath the atrium light, and when you turn, you’re met with a smile so sugar-slick and venom-laced it makes your spine stiffen on instinct. Jang Wonyoung. She’s standing in front of you like a statue carved from polished ambition, long legs, glossy hair, not a flaw in sight. Her clothes are designer without needing to scream it, her lip gloss a shade too pink to be innocent. She oozes confidence, curated and sharpened to a point. And you know who she is — everyone does. She’s not just the most popular girl on campus, she’s the one people orbit around. She’s the center of gravity in every room she enters. You’ve never spoken to her before. 

“You’re friends with Dani and Sakura, right?” she says sweetly, voice as light as powdered sugar.

You blink, caught off guard. “Uh… yeah,” you answer, nodding a little too quickly, nerves flaring. “I am.” Her smile doesn’t change, but something behind her eyes hardens. Shifts. It’s like watching a rose bloom only to realize the thorns are still sharper than the petals. She tilts her head slightly, and for a moment, you almost wonder if this is some kind of polite small talk. But then she leans in just enough for her perfume to ghost past your cheek; something expensive and calculated, and her voice drops to a murmur, low and cruel. 

“Don’t think for one second you have a chance with Heeseung.” She blinks, lashes fluttering like knives. “DUF.” You freeze. The letters don’t click at first. They hang there in the air between you, meaningless and jagged. You open your mouth, confusion spilling out in a quiet stammer. “Wait — what’s a DUF?” 

Wonyoung’s smile stretches wider, and it’s not a smile at all now. It’s the curve of something about to cut. “DUF isn’t a name. It’s what you are,” she purrs. “Designated Ugly Friend.” You stare, the words crashing into you like sleet against glass. You don’t even flinch; not yet. You’re too stunned, too caught between disbelief and dawning horror to react. Your throat tightens. Her words burrow under your skin, cold and gleaming. “You’re always with Dani and Sakura,” she continues, still smiling like this is all just a casual observation, like she’s not peeling your dignity apart with her manicured fingers. “They’re hot. Like, objectively. You’re just… there. To make them look better. That’s your role. Know your place.” 

You open your mouth again, breath hitching in protest. “My name is—” But she cuts you off, voice turning sharper, all pretense abandoned.

“DUF,” she repeats, slow and deliberate. “And Heeseung? He’s out of your league. So do everyone a favor, babe, and stay away from him.” She gives you one last look; final, dismissive, like you were never really worth seeing at all, and then she’s turning on her heel, walking away like she just dropped a bomb and is already bored of the smoke. And you — you just stand there. Your heartbeat thuds in your ears like a drum played out of rhythm. Your feet feel rooted to the tile, your hands limp at your sides, notebook barely clutched in your grip. It’s as if the world has narrowed to a single hallway, a single moment, and Wonyoung’s words are etched on the walls around you. DUF. 

You’ve never heard it before. Not like that. Not named. But now that it’s been said, now that it’s out in the open, it echoes. It colors everything. It twists last night into a sick joke, replays every photo you’ve stood in between Dani and Sakura, every party where you stood off to the side. You see yourself through Wonyoung’s eyes, and the reflection stings. You don’t cry. Not yet. The tears are waiting, crouched behind your ribs, but you won’t let them win. Not in this hallway. Not here. You just swallow hard, lower your head, and walk, each step heavier than the last, as if you’re trying to carry the weight of someone else’s cruelty on your shoulders. And all the while, her words stay with you like a brand: Know your place.

You don’t remember how you got there. One moment you were frozen in that hallway, still tasting Wonyoung’s words on the back of your tongue like something spoiled and sour. The next, you’re seated at the farthest computer in the campus lab, shoulders hunched, the too-bright monitor casting a cold glow across your face. Around you, students move in hushed clicks and muted coughs, the clatter of keyboards filling the silence like light rain. No one looks your way. No one ever does. It’s what you wanted, right? To disappear? To be invisible? But not like this. Your fingers tremble as they hover over the keyboard, uncertain, like they already know what you’re about to unearth. You type DUF first, because that’s what she said. That’s what she called you. The letters feel clunky and unfamiliar, like a language you were never meant to understand. When nothing pops up, you frown, your pulse quickening. 

And then, like the knife finally finding skin, it hits you. And the world splits open. The page fills with links, slang dictionaries, gossip forums, teen advice articles, old Reddit threads dissecting high school hierarchies like scientific taxonomy. You click the first video out of instinct, and a girl on the screen, barely older than you, leans into the camera with a sad smile and says, “The DUF is the Designated Ugly Friend. You’re the least attractive in your friend group, the approachable one, the funny one, the one guys talk to only to get to your prettier friends.” You freeze. Her voice continues, but it becomes background noise to the storm inside your chest. Your heartbeat hammers against your ribs like it wants to escape, and suddenly your body feels far too small for what you’re carrying.

Your fingers move on their own, clicking through link after link like each one might offer a different definition, something softer, something kind. But they don’t. They all echo the same gutting truth. The DUF is the one who fills the empty space. The background character in her own life. The girl who exists not for herself, but as contrast, to make her friends shine brighter by comparison. You feel it like a bruise blooming across your entire being. Memories rise unbidden, like film reels unspooling behind your eyes. The nights out where you stood at the edge of a circle, holding jackets and drinks while Dani and Sakura danced with boys who barely spared you a glance. The time a guy asked you for Sakura’s number while you were still in the middle of a sentence. The photos you’d be cropped out of, the stories you weren’t included in, the parties where you stood on the periphery like a shadow no one noticed. 

You thought it was just how things were. You thought maybe you were just quieter. Shyer. Less hungry for attention. But now the pieces fit. Too well. And what guts you, what truly guts you, is the realization that maybe — just maybe — they knew. Dani and Sakura. Your best friends. Did they know what DUF meant? Had they heard it tossed around and just… never told you? Had they laughed about it with others, let it live in whispers while you smiled beside them, oblivious? Were you some inside joke dressed in loyalty? Did they ever look at you and feel sorry? Or worse, did they agree? 

The nausea coils in your stomach like a slow-moving wave, threatening to rise. You press your palm to your chest, as if you can keep yourself from unraveling entirely. Your vision swims. The sterile blue of the lab feels too bright, too loud, too full of all the wrong kinds of silence. You’re still staring at the glowing screen, that same sentence blinking back at you like a taunt: “The DUFF is the one nobody notices until they need something.” Your throat tightens. You don’t want to be in this body. In this moment. In this story.

You slam the laptop shut without ceremony. The sharp clap of it draws a glance from a boy a few chairs down, but you don’t care. You’re already yanking your bag from the floor, stuffing your notebook inside with shaking hands. Your fingers are clumsy, rushed, like you’re trying to outrun a tidal wave that’s already crashing through you. You need air. You need to move. You need to not be here, not be seen. The walk out of the lab is a blur of cold tiles and humming machines. Your steps echo like betrayal. Like every footfall might draw more eyes, more whispers, more invisible hands pointing in your direction. You don’t even realize you’re crying until you taste salt.

Not the loud, sobbing kind of cry. No, this is something quieter. A leak in the dam. A silent surrender. The kind of crying that happens when the weight of the world doesn’t come crashing down in one dramatic moment; but seeps in, slow and steady, drop by drop, until you’re drowning. You step outside, wind slicing at your face, the sky too wide, too open. You feel small in a way you can’t describe. Not just physically, existentially. Like someone cracked your reflection and you’re left staring at the pieces wondering if any of it was ever real. And in the back of your mind, like a cruel echo still clinging to the walls of your skull, her voice repeats: Know your place, DUF. 

The first thing you do after leaving the computer lab is search. You needed to see Dani and Sakura. You find them exactly where you knew they’d be. The C building’s hallway is packed, echoing with the end-of-period rush. Footsteps slap against the floors in every direction. Lockers clang open and shut, laughter weaves in and out of the noise like a skipping stone. The scent of dry erase markers, mint gum, and cheap coffee lingers in the air. But it all feels distant to you, muted, irrelevant. Like you’re underwater, moving through the crowd on instinct, not thought. And then, through the blur of motion and sound, you see them. Dani and Sakura.

The two girls you’ve called your best friends since freshman year. The ones who’ve seen you through breakups, panic attacks, late-night cramming sessions and slow, sleepy Sunday brunches. The ones who claimed to love you. They’re standing outside their chemistry lecture, laughing at something; Sakura’s head thrown back, Dani’s hip nudging hers. It’s such a familiar picture that for a split second, you hesitate. For a split second, your brain lies to you.  Maybe they don’t know. Maybe Wonyoung was wrong. Maybe everything was just some cruel misunderstanding. But your heart knows better.  You push through the crowd with the desperation of someone chasing the truth, and the second your voice cuts through the air, they turn to you, your hair wild from the wind, breath ragged from running, eyes rimmed with something between fury and heartbreak. “Did you guys know?”

The words tumble out too fast, ragged at the edges, raw like a wound. They both blink at you, confusion washing over their faces like clouds across sunlight. “Know what?” Sakura asks slowly, brow furrowing. Dani’s already stepping forward, hand brushing your arm gently, like she’s afraid you might shatter on contact. “What are you talking about?”

And then you say it; louder than you meant to, louder than you ever thought you’d say anything in public. “Did you know I’m your fucking DUF?” The hallway doesn’t go silent, but it feels like it does. Their faces freeze, and you see it instantly, the flicker of recognition in Sakura’s eyes, the tightness in Dani’s jaw. It’s not confusion now. It’s not disbelief. It’s guilt. Guilt. They look at each other. It’s barely a glance, half a heartbeat, but it’s all the confirmation you need. Something in your chest gives, a sickening drop that feels like the floor vanishing beneath your feet. 

Your voice splinters when you speak again. “What? Are you just friends with me because you feel bad for me?” Your words hang in the air like smoke, heavy and choking. Dani’s eyes widen, her mouth opening like she’s about to say something, anything but you see the panic settle across her face. She wasn’t ready for this. They never expected you to find out. They never thought you’d ask.

“That’s not—” Sakura starts, then stops.

Dani shakes her head fast, her voice stumbling over itself. “That’s not true. Don’t say that.”

“Then why?” you ask, louder now, pain bubbling up from somewhere deep and long-buried. “Why did you always brush me off when I said I liked Soobin? Why did you laugh when I said I thought he might like me back? Why did you look at me like I was crazy?” They don't answer. Not really. They just look at you with wide eyes and silence thick between them.

“You didn’t think I was pretty enough,” you say, and your voice cracks right down the middle. Dani swallows. Her hands are wringing the strap of her backpack like she doesn’t know what to do with them. She steps closer again, gentler this time, quieter. “We don’t think you’re ugly,” she says, the words coming slowly, like they hurt her to say. “It’s just… you could try a little harder, you know? Like, you don’t really… put effort in.” The air leaves your lungs in a rush.

You feel it physically, like someone just knocked the wind out of you, punched a hole in your chest and left it gaping open for everyone to see. The people around you are still moving, still living their lives, but all you can hear is the echo of those words: try harder. As if your entire existence hasn’t been one long effort to be enough. And before you can respond, Sakura adds, “You’re just… not Soobin’s type, that’s all.” You blink. Your mind blanks. Your heart is already in pieces, but that line cracks the rest of you open. 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” you ask, your voice trembling, not with fear, but with something deeper, more dangerous. Rage wrapped in heartbreak. Sakura falters. She opens her mouth, but no answer comes out. Dani shifts uncomfortably beside her. Their faces are pale now, eyes darting around, noticing for the first time how many people are starting to look. How many are pretending not to listen. You want to scream. You want to cry. You want to undo every moment of vulnerability you ever gave them. But more than anything, you want to run. Because staying here, standing in this hallway, heart bared like a wound while the people you loved carve you apart, hurts more than anything you’ve ever felt. You shake your head slowly, backing away from them as the tears begin to fall in earnest. “I thought you were my friends,” you whisper, and then louder, “I trusted you.” Dani reaches out again, but this time you pull back. You don’t want her comfort. You don’t want her pity. You don’t want to hear another word. So you turn. And you walk.

You don’t care that people are watching. You don’t care that your shoulders are shaking, that your tears are spilling freely now, or that your bag keeps slipping down your arm. You walk faster, pushing through the crowd until the voices blur behind you, until the memory of their faces fades into the roar of everything breaking apart. And as you go, the thought haunts you, echoing over and over in your skull: They knew. They knew. They knew. And they never told you. 

The doors to the C building groan shut behind you, sealing away the voices, the stares, the wreckage. But the damage doesn’t stay inside. It clings to you, stitched into your skin like frostbite; cold, deep, and invisible to everyone else. The sting of betrayal coils inside your chest, twisting tighter with every step you take. Your breathing’s uneven. Not quite sobbing, but close. That awful in-between sound, caught in your throat like a scream that refuses to come out. The air outside is biting, too cold for early fall, but you hardly notice. It brushes your cheeks like ghost hands, cuts through your sweater, lifts the ends of your hair, nothing reaches you. Not really. You're numb in a way that feels permanent, like someone turned the volume of the world all the way down and you forgot how to turn it back up.

People pass by, some look, some don’t. A few recognize you, eyes flickering with half-curiosity, half-concern, but no one says anything. And thank god for that, because if anyone did, if even one person tried to ask if you were okay, you think you'd crumble. Right there on the sidewalk. Crumple like paper and never get back up again. The walk from the C building to your dorm stretches impossibly long. Every step is heavier than the last, as if the weight of Dani and Sakura’s words is dragging behind you, chained to your ankles. You replay it all, the glances, the hesitations, the way Dani looked away when you asked if they knew, the way Sakura's voice sounded too rehearsed, like she’d already decided what version of the truth you were allowed to hear.

“You could try harder.”

“You’re just not his type.”

Those words circle you like vultures. You can’t outrun them. You can’t out-walk what’s inside your chest. By the time you reach the dorm building, you’re shaking. Not from the cold, but from everything else. Rage. Shame. Heartbreak. All of it, bottled and clinking against your ribs like glass ready to shatter. Your key slips once in the door before you finally shove it in and turn, stumbling down the hall to your room like you’ve just escaped a storm only to find another waiting inside. You push the door open and don’t bother turning on the lights. You don’t take your shoes off. You don’t put your bag down. You don’t think. You just collapse.

Straight onto your bed, face-first, like gravity’s been waiting all day for you to break. The mattress groans under the weight of your body, the quiet rustle of blankets the only sound in the room. But even that silence feels loud. And then — finally — you scream. It’s muffled into your pillow, soaked into the cotton and foam, but it rips through you like it’s been building for years. A scream made of all the things you couldn’t say in that hallway. All the pain you swallowed down so no one would see you break. All the confusion, all the loneliness, all the self-doubt bubbling up into one long, raw, aching sound.

You scream because you thought they were your people. You scream because you believed, deeply, that you were loved. You scream because you didn’t know you were being pitied.

And when your voice finally gives out, when your throat goes raw and your breathing hitches in the dark, you don’t move. You just lie there, curled into yourself like something wounded, like you could shrink so small the world might forget you were ever here. Your pillow is damp now, tears soaking through it, hot and angry. You clutch it tighter like it might hold you together. For the first time in a long time, you feel completely and utterly alone. And the scariest part? You're not even sure who you can talk to anymore. Who’s left. Who actually sees you. Because the people you trusted the most already proved they never did.

The morning light is a pale, washed-out gray, soft and dull like an old photograph, like something that’s been wrung out of color and left to dry. You move through campus like a ghost, every step stiff and heavy, your limbs still echoing with the ache of yesterday’s unraveling. Sleep had barely kissed you the night before. It lingered at the edges of your consciousness but never quite arrived, chased away by looping memories, sharp-edged phrases, and the hollow ache in your chest where trust used to live. You’ve walked this path to Literature 204 a hundred times, maybe more. But today it feels different. The air around you feels thicker somehow, like it knows what happened, like the whole campus has been whispering about you while your back was turned. You keep your head low, hands shoved deep into the sleeves of your hoodie, as if retreating into yourself will make you smaller, less visible, less whatever-the-hell-you-are-now. The DUF. The outcast. The joke.

When you finally step into the lecture hall, it’s mostly empty, the way it always is ten minutes before class starts. The lights are half-dimmed, flickering in patches as if still waking up themselves. A few early birds have already staked their seats, nose-deep in books, airpods in, sipping lukewarm coffee out of dented thermoses. And then, of course, there’s him. Heeseung. You spot him near the front, standing beside Mr. Yoon’s desk. They’re speaking in hushed tones, but the words carry in this room where the ceilings are too high and silence feels sacred. You hadn’t meant to listen, you weren’t trying to eavesdrop, but your ears catch on the tension in their voices, the frustration curling at the edges of Heeseung’s sentences. You hear fragments. Tutor. Flunk. Drop out. Phrases that sound too final, too heavy for someone who always seemed so effortless. 

You tell yourself not to care. You’ve got your own storm to navigate. You slide into your usual seat halfway up the rows, far enough to disappear, close enough to hear, and drop your bag beside you with a sigh. Your heart still feels raw, your stomach still tied in knots. You’re exhausted in a way that no amount of sleep can fix. And then you hear his footsteps. Heeseung doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t scan the room for alternatives. He just makes a beeline straight for you and drops into the seat beside yours like it’s his god-given right. His presence is large, like it always is, broad shoulders draped in a hoodie two sizes too big, the scent of citrus cologne and coffee trailing behind him like something you could trip on. Usually, there’s a quip on his lips, something smug and irritating and just a little too charming. But today he’s quiet. And so are you.

For a long moment, nothing passes between you but breath. The quiet around you folds in like a cocoon, the only sounds the low murmur of Mr. Yoon gathering his notes and the soft click of someone’s mechanical pencil two rows back. And then, Heeseung leans back with a sigh and says, “Quite the spectacle you had going for you yesterday.”

You groan before you can stop yourself, dragging a hand over your face like you could scrub the memory out of existence. Your eyes narrow as you turn to him, voice sharp with lingering humiliation. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He’s already grinning, his mouth tilted up in that signature way that makes you want to slap him and kiss him at the same time, not that you’d ever admit that out loud. “Relax,” he says, stretching his arms lazily over his head. “I just mean, you, Sakura, and Dani? Everyone’s talking about it. It was, like, the hallway soap opera of the year.”

Your cheeks burn. You can feel the blood rising in your face like fire licking at your skin. Of course people were talking. Of course the entire goddamn campus probably had a front-row seat to your implosion. “Great,” you mutter, crossing your arms over your chest, “exactly what I needed, public humiliation on top of personal betrayal.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal, like it isn’t your entire world unraveling. But then, out of nowhere, he asks, “How long have you had a thing for Soobin?”

Your heart skips. Not in a cute, rom-com way. In a fuck, how does he know that kind of way. You blink, caught off guard, mouth fumbling for a denial that won’t sound like a lie. “I don’t, what are you even talking about?” He just smirks, eyes glinting with quiet mischief. “Come on. I’m not an idiot. The way you looked at him at that party? Like he was your last meal. It was kinda cute.” 

Your stomach turns, part mortification, part defensiveness. “Why do you even care?” Heeseung shrugs again, but this time there’s something more calculated behind his gaze. “Because I think I can help you.”

You raise a brow. “Help me?” 

“You like Soobin. Soobin doesn’t even know your name. I know what guys like him want, hell, I am guys like him,” he says, voice dipped in arrogance that somehow still doesn’t feel entirely cruel. “I could get you there. Make him see you. Want you.” You let out a sharp laugh, humorless and jagged. “Yeah, no thanks. I’m not really in the mood to turn myself into a Barbie doll just to impress a guy.”

“Suit yourself,” Heeseung says easily, turning back toward the front of the room like he couldn’t care less. “But when Soobin’s off making out with someone like Yunjin behind the gym, don’t come crying to me.” That line strikes like lightning, quick, bright, and unmistakably true. Because you have seen Soobin talking to Yunjin lately. Smiling. Laughing. He held the door open for her last week and you felt like your heart was trying to crawl out of your throat. And now the thought of him kissing her, or anyone, while you’re still sitting on the sidelines hoping for a miracle? It makes something sharp twist in your chest. 

You chew on the inside of your cheek, arms crossed tighter now, and Heeseung must sense your hesitation because he glances sideways again. “I’m just saying,” he murmurs, this time softer. “You help me pass lit, I help you not be invisible. Easy.” It’s insane. It’s humiliating. It’s kind of insulting, if you think about it long enough. But it’s also… tempting. Because what other option do you have? Soobin doesn’t know you exist. Your friends, the ones who were supposed to build you up, have already torn you down. And Heeseung, for all his cockiness, sees you. Maybe not the way you want to be seen. But still. 

Slowly, you turn your palm upward between you. He grins, all teeth and trouble, and slides his hand into yours. You shake. And just like that, the deal is struck. 

The evening sun sinks past the dorm window like a sigh, casting the whole room in the soft gold of a day exhaling. You’re curled up on your bed in an oversized hoodie, legs crossed, a nearly-empty takeout container of bulgogi balanced dangerously on your thigh. The smell of garlic and soy sauce clings to the air like a second blanket, and you don’t care. You’ve earned this. You’ve survived this week, barely, and now you’re self-soothing with salty meat and zero regrets. Your phone buzzes once against the sheets beside you. You ignore it at first. Probably Dani or Sakura again. Their texts have been coming in slow waves all day; apologies, explanations, questions that aren’t really questions. You’ve left them on read, unread, ignored altogether. You’re not ready. You don’t know when you will be. But the phone buzzes again. And then again. Finally, with a huff, you set your chopsticks down and snatch the device up. It’s not a contact you recognize, just a random number. But the message?

[Unknown Number]

what are you doing tomorrow?

You blink. Narrow your eyes. Your fingers hover over the keyboard, halfway to typing who is this when another text lands: 

[ heeseung ]

it’s heeseung

Duh. 

And wow. Of course he wouldn’t lead with an introduction. Or an ounce of normal human decorum. You don’t even remember giving him your number; maybe it was one of those group projects last semester or maybe he’s just unsettlingly resourceful. Either way, you're already rolling your eyes. You type back, begrudgingly.

[ you ] 

nothing. why? 

There’s barely a pause before the dots start dancing again. 

[ heeseung ] 

i’m taking you shopping and then we’re going to a party, you’ll wear what we buy and pretend to be hot for once. You nearly drop your phone into your bulgogi. You stare at the screen for a second too long, as if the sheer arrogance of his words might combust it in your hands. Shopping? Party? Pretend to be hot?

[ you ] 

what the hell does “pretend to be hot” mean???

[ heeseung ] 

it means we’re working with what we got. you’ll be fine. trust the process. 

You audibly groan and collapse backwards onto your pillow, phone pressed against your forehead as if it might somehow absorb the stress and return with divine wisdom. This was the deal, you remind yourself. You help him pass lit, he helps you with... what? Popularity? Style? Winning Soobin's attention through sorcery and strategic eyeliner? 

[ you ] 

i’m not “pretending” to be hot just to impress soobin. i have standards , and pride and a favorite hoodie that smells like detergent and self pity

[ heeseung ] 

noted. wear something that’s easy to take off tomorrow.

[ you ] 

HEY. phrasing.

[ heeseung ] 

relax. for the fitting room, nerd. I’ll be at your dorm at 1. and yes, soobin’s going to be at the party ;)

You stare at that last line for a beat too long. Something flutters, just faintly, in your stomach, uninvited.

[ you ] 

Fine. but if this party ends with me throwing up in a bush i’m holding you personally responsible.

[ heeseung ] 

deal. i’ll even hold your hair back. I'm generous like that.

You throw your phone onto the bed, face-down, like it’s suddenly on fire. You don’t know why you agreed. Maybe it’s the part of you that still wants Soobin to notice. Maybe it’s pride, or maybe it’s just the sheer inevitability of Heeseung’s energy, like trying to argue with a hurricane wearing a smug smirk. Whatever the reason, you’re already mentally preparing for tomorrow. Shopping. With Heeseung.  A party. With Soobin.  A new outfit. A new you. A new mistake waiting to happen. You look down at your empty bulgogi container, sigh, and mutter to no one: “…this is gonna be a disaster.”

The knock on your door comes precisely at 1PM. Not a second early, not a second late. You open it with one shoe half-on, your hoodie sleeve caught in the zipper of your jacket, and your face still half-moisturized. Heeseung is standing there, leaned casually against the doorframe like a page out of a campus fashion catalogue, black jeans, leather jacket, sunglasses perched on his head like he’s just so effortlessly cool it hurts. His hair is slightly tousled, like he either woke up like this or spent an hour pretending he did. “Took you long enough,” he says, not bothering to hide his smirk. 

You scowl and step out, slamming the door behind you. “I said ‘one second’ in the text.”

“Yeah, and I translated that from Girl to Human Time. So twenty minutes.” You roll your eyes, but you follow him anyway, because the deal has officially begun. Operation: Get Soobin to Notice You is in motion. Your dignity is already halfway out the window. Heeseung’s car is just what you expect, black, sleek, a little too clean, and filled with the faint scent of cologne, mint gum, and chaos. You barely get your seatbelt clicked in before he revs the engine and peels out of the dorm parking lot like he's in a race you didn’t know you entered. 

“Oh my god, slow down!” you yelp, clutching the side handle like it might keep your soul tethered to your body.

“Relax,” he says, one hand lazily gripping the wheel, the other already reaching for the radio. “You’re acting like I don’t drive this road every day.” 

“You drive it like you’re being chased, Heeseung.” He only grins in response, eyes still on the road, the picture of reckless confidence. “Maybe I like living on the edge.”

You’re about to fire back another sarcastic quip when the car fills, suddenly, gloriously, with the unmistakable sound of Taylor Swift. Specifically: Cruel Summer. And not the background kind of playing. The volume is up. Way up. Your eyes immediately dart to Heeseung, whose mouth is already moving, quietly at first, almost unconsciously, as he taps the steering wheel to the beat. “I’m drunk in the back of the car… and I cried like a baby coming home from the bar…” Your jaw drops slightly. Because he’s not just mouthing the words. He’s singing. And not in a “ha-ha this song is funny” way. In a felt that in his soul, this is on his heartbreak playlist, probably posted a breakup selfie to this in 2021 kind of way. You try. You really try to stifle the laugh bubbling in your throat. You press your lips together, you bite the inside of your cheek, you turn to the window in dramatic fashion. But it slips out anyway, a full, helpless giggle, light and sudden. 

Heeseung cuts his eyes toward you, still softly singing, and raises a brow. “What’s so funny?”

You blink at him innocently. “You like Taylor Swift?” There’s a moment, a beautiful, brief, perfectly humiliating pause, where Heeseung seems to glitch. His mouth opens, then closes, then he looks back at the road like he’s searching for an exit from this conversation. 

“I — well, I mean —” he clears his throat, shifting in his seat. “She’s… I mean, it’s just a good song, alright?”

Your laugh doubles, slipping out like sunlight through cracked blinds. “Cruel Summer, though?”

“She’s a lyrical genius,” he mutters, half-defensive, half-sincere. “That bridge? That’s literature.” 

You raise your brows, lips twitching. “Quoting T-Swift now? Is this what my tutoring is doing to you?” Heeseung flips you off with absolutely no hesitation, but there’s no heat behind it. He’s laughing now too, eyes squinting as he turns into the mall parking lot with a slightly-too-aggressive swerve.

“Fuck off,” he grins. “You wish you had taste this good.” You hold up your hands in surrender, still giggling. “Okay, okay. I’m not judging.”

“You are judging,” he says, putting the car in park. “But I’ll allow it. Because you’re clearly not emotionally evolved enough to appreciate her catalog yet.”

“Oh my god. Shut up.”

“Nope. We’re listening to Lover next. You’ve brought this upon yourself.” 

The mall greets you with its usual blend of too-loud pop music, screaming children, and the sweet, seductive scent of cinnamon pretzels. It’s packed with people, mothers pushing strollers, bored teenagers clinging to oversized shopping bags, couples holding hands like it’s an Olympic sport. You trail behind Heeseung, your feet already regretting your choice of shoes and your soul regretting this entire arrangement. “So what’s first?” you ask, trying not to bump into a mannequin dressed in denim overalls and heartbreak.

Heeseung doesn’t answer right away. He just keeps walking, purposeful, smug, like he’s on a mission from god. Then he abruptly turns left into a store that is suspiciously sleek and minimal. You blink. “Wait—this is…”

“An eyeglass store,” Heeseung finishes for you, already heading toward the back. “But more importantly, contact central.” You halt, crossing your arms. “Excuse me?”

“You’re getting contacts,” he says, matter-of-fact. “The glasses gotta go.”

You look genuinely scandalized. “Hey! I’ll have you know — I love my glasses.” He stops mid-step and slowly turns to face you, one brow arched so high it’s practically touching heaven. “Yes,” he says, voice dry. “Very librarian core. Sexy in a please return your books on time or I’ll gently scold you in a whisper kind of way.” 

You roll your eyes so hard you practically see your ancestors. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here you are. Following me into Lens & Style like it’s the promised land.” You’re about to argue more, but the woman behind the counter greets you both with a professional smile, and suddenly you’re being ushered into a little fitting room with sterile lighting and a mirror that shows way too much. A few minutes later, you’re handed a trial pair of contacts and instructed, gently, but firmly, to put them in. It’s harder than it looks. “What do you mean I can’t blink? My entire personality is blinking under pressure!” 

Outside the door, Heeseung snorts. “You’re being dramatic.”

“You’re being annoying,” you grumble, poking yourself in the eye again.

After a full five minutes of internal screaming, finger fumbling, and probably some divine intervention, you finally get them in. You blink a few times, adjusting. The world sharpens around the edges. For the first time in forever, you can actually see without the weight of frames perched on your nose. You step out slowly, unsure, blinking into the bright lights of the shop. Heeseung looks up from his phone, his gaze flicking to yours. And then — He freezes. His smirk falters for the briefest of seconds. You see it. You feel it. 

“Huh,” he says, slower now. “They… actually look good.”

You raise a brow, tentative. “Yeah?” He shrugs, but there’s something unreadable in his expression now, something softer, quieter. “They make your eyes stand out more.” He pauses, then adds with zero fanfare: “You’ve got nice eyes.” It lands like a piano dropped from ten stories. Simple, direct, and impossible to ignore. You blink, stunned; not just by the words, but by the way he said them. Like it wasn’t a joke. Like he meant it. Before you can formulate an actual response, Heeseung clears his throat and looks away. “Alright, let’s go,” he says, already walking toward the exit. “You can thank me later when Soobin gets whiplash tonight.” 

It takes you a beat to follow. Just one. But it’s enough to register that your cheeks are suddenly warm. That your stomach did a weird, traitorous flip. That you hate how a single compliment from Lee freaking Heeseung just turned your brain into a puddle. You push the thought aside and jog to catch up, voice light. “You know, for someone who thinks I look like a librarian, you sure stare a lot.”

He doesn’t look at you, but his mouth twitches into a grin. “You wish.” You do not dignify that with an answer. Mostly because your brain is still back at You’ve got nice eyes. And just like that, with one step out of the eyeglass store and into the fluorescent madness of the mall, the first layer of the old you is left behind.

You’ve barely had time to blink, or process the fact that you’re now navigating the mall with 20/20 vision and a slightly compromised emotional state, when Heeseung is dragging you again. His grip on your wrist is light, but determined, like he’s got an agenda and you’re just a reluctant passenger in the Heeseung Express. You stumble to keep up. “Where are we going now? I need emotional closure before the next attack on my personality.”

He doesn’t even turn around. “Hair.”

“Hair what?”

“Hair cut. Hair styling. Hair lesson. Hair magic. Come on, keep up.” You dig your heels into the tile floor and jerk your arm back. “Heeseung, wait — I did not agree to this. My hair is fine!” 

He finally turns, a single amused brow arched in classic Heeseung fashion. “Fine,” he echoes flatly. “That’s the bar now? Fine?”

You cross your arms. “It’s my head.” He takes a step closer, voice dipping into that maddening blend of mockery and charm. He laughs — laughs, the audacity of him, and says, “Relax. It’s just a trim. Maybe some layers. She’s gonna show you how to actually style it too. You know, so it doesn’t look like you were electrocuted every morning before class.”

You gasp in betrayal. “I’m sorry?!”

“Respectfully,” he adds, as if that softens the blow, then gestures for you to follow. “Come on. She doesn’t bite.” You eye the interior of the salon like you’re being led to an altar, but against your better judgment, and possibly because you’re too tired to argue anymore, you follow him. 

The girl waiting for you is already at her station, brushing her long, glossy black hair behind one ear. She’s tall, unfairly pretty, and wearing jeans that should be illegal. Her name tag reads “Yuri” in bubble-letter cursive. She sees Heeseung and her entire face lights up like a rom-com montage in reverse. “Heeseung!” she squeals, standing to give him a hug. It’s the kind of hug that lasts exactly one second too long to be casual. “You didn’t say you were coming in today!”

“I didn’t,” he says coolly, his hand barely grazing her back. “Brought a friend.”

You watch the interaction with narrowed eyes. It doesn’t take a genius, or even a whole brain cell, to figure out that these two have history. Whether it was a one-night stand, a few steamy study sessions, or something more dangerous like feelings, you’re not sure. But based on the way Yuri’s eyes immediately slide past you and lock on Heeseung like you’re the invisible girl in the background of her fantasy novel? Yeah. They’ve definitely seen each other naked. 

“She’s gonna need a trim and a crash course in how not to commit hair crimes.” Heeseung says, throwing a smirk her way. You open your mouth to protest, again but suddenly Yuri’s hands are in your hair and you’re being guided toward a chair like it’s your fate and destiny. “Don’t worry,” she hums. “I’ll take care of her.” 

“She’s fragile,” Heeseung calls after her with a smirk as he saunters toward the waiting bench. “Mentally and emotionally.”

“I will throw a brush at you!” you yell back as he flops onto the bench with his phone. Yuri laughs under her breath and begins to run her fingers through your hair. Her nails are long, her movements graceful, and despite your stubbornness, something about the way she works is oddly calming. For the next half hour, you sit there as she snips and styles and explains how to curl and blow out and not look like you just woke up five minutes ago. 

“You’ve got good hair,” she says at one point, combing through a section with reverence. “You just don’t do anything with it.” You shrug in the mirror. “That’s kind of my thing.”

Yuri gets to work with practiced ease, fingers threading through your hair, sectioning, snipping. She hums to herself as she teaches you how to twist certain pieces, how to round-brush volume into your roots, how to flick the straightener just so to create an effortless bend. It’s overwhelming, but oddly empowering. Like you’re being handed the controls to your own spaceship. And somewhere beneath all the bitchy undertones, Yuri’s… actually pretty good at this. You glance toward the waiting bench. Heeseung is slouched with his legs sprawled out, scrolling on his phone like he’s not the reason this spiral of makeovers and feelings is happening at all. Every few minutes he glances up; quick, unassuming, but you catch him watching.

Finally, Yuri steps back. “Alright,” she says, tugging off the cape with a flourish. “Moment of truth.” You turn slowly toward the mirror. And okay, fine. You look… kind of amazing. Your hair isn’t drastically different, just sleeker. Softer around the edges. Effortlessly polished in that “I woke up like this but with money and a personal stylist” kind of way. It frames your face, brings out your eyes, makes you look like someone who chose to be seen instead of hiding behind glass and sarcasm. You stand, still a little dazed, and make your way over to Heeseung. He looks up just as you reach him, and something flickers in his eyes. He doesn’t say anything right away. 

But then — He grins. That slow, crooked, effortlessly smug grin. “She’s a miracle worker,” he says to Yuri, standing and pulling out his wallet. “Put it on my card.”

Yuri takes it with a wink. “You’re welcome.”

“Thanks, Yuri. I’ll call you.” He says, with the offer a wink in her direction. 

She swoons. “You better.”

Once you’re outside, you finally say it, because someone has to. “You’re not going to call her.”

“Nope,” he replies, the ‘p’ popping off his lips like punctuation. 

You shake your head in disbelief. “You are such a menace.”

“I prefer charming rascal,” he says, holding the door open for you like a true gentleman-shaped disaster. “Besides, she’s into guys who ghost her. Keeps the fantasy alive.”

You groan. “You’re actually insane.” He only shrugs, hands in his pockets, strolling beside you with the ease of someone who has never questioned his place in the world. 

The moment your feet hit the tile floor of the clothing store, you know this is going to be a disaster. The air is thick with overpriced perfume and the walls are lined with mannequins posed like they’re judging you. Bright lights buzz overhead, harsh and clinical, and the racks seem to stretch into infinity, each one more chaotic than the last. There are sequin jackets tangled with pastel blouses, jeans with more holes than fabric, and crop tops that look like they were designed for dolls, not human beings. You glance around, disoriented. “There is… absolutely nothing here I’d wear.” 

Heeseung, of course, looks completely in his element. He’s already moving through the racks like a man on a mission, pulling shirts and skirts and things that glitter ominously. “That’s the point,” he says over his shoulder, tossing a fringed jacket onto the growing pile in his arms. “You’re not supposed to wear what you’d wear. We’re evolving.”

“Into what? A disco ball?” 

“No,” he replies seriously, “into the kind of girl Soobin stares at across the room and forgets how to blink.” You roll your eyes and reach for a flannel shirt, your comfort zone. Heeseung is there in half a second, gently slapping your hand away. “Nope. Absolutely not.”

“But—”

He points toward the dressing room. “Try these first. And don’t come out until you’ve mentally committed to the bit.” You sigh, arms loaded with fabrics you didn’t even know existed. The dressing room is small and slightly claustrophobic, and the first outfit you try on feels like something a pop star would wear to confuse the paparazzi. You step out hesitantly, tugging at the edges of the bright green top that’s two sizes too tight. Heeseung blinks.

Then he bursts out laughing. “You look like a glow stick in crisis.”

You snort, your face burning. “Okay, rude.” The next outfit is worse: a ruffled floral monstrosity that looks like it belongs in an 1800s romance novel, if that novel had a comedic twist.

Heeseung cackles. “You’re one bonnet away from becoming Pride and Prejudice’s chaotic cousin.” You both descend into full-blown laughter, the kind that makes your stomach hurt and your eyes water. It's ridiculous, how quickly the walls fall between you when you're in this bubble of absurdity, trying on outfits and exchanging insults like secrets. He calls you a fashion war crime. You call him a menace with too much confidence. He claims he’s got the eye of a stylist. You tell him that eye is clearly blind. But somewhere along the way, the laughter shifts. It softens. Somewhere in the middle of the chaos, he starts watching you differently.

You don’t notice it at first, not until you slip into the last dress. It’s simple. No sequins, no plunging neckline, no look-at-me theatrics. Just soft black silk that clings gently to your frame, the neckline a graceful square that highlights your collarbones, the hem brushing just above your knees. You stare at yourself in the mirror for a moment, surprised. It’s not flashy. It’s not dramatic. But it feels like you, the version of you that’s always been hiding underneath. You take a breath, then step out of the dressing room.

Heeseung is on the bench, scrolling through his phone, completely unprepared. He glances up, probably ready with another quip, but the second he sees you, he stops. His phone lowers slowly in his hand. His mouth parts. And he just… stares. For the first time since this entire makeover madness began, Lee Heeseung is speechless. You shift awkwardly under his gaze, tugging at the hem of the dress. “Is it—do I look weird? Be honest.” He doesn’t answer.

You take a hesitant step forward, heart thudding. “Heeseung?”

He blinks, like you pulled him from a dream, and then, because he’s Heeseung, he smirks and shrugs. “That’ll do for tonight, I suppose.” 

You scoff and roll your eyes, but the flush on your cheeks betrays you. “Wow. High praise. I’m overwhelmed.” He grins, leaning back and resting one arm behind his head. “Don’t let it get to your head. We’re going for hot, not heart attack-inducing.”

You disappear back into the dressing room before he can see the stupid smile tugging at your lips. Your heart feels like it’s doing somersaults, and not because of Soobin. You shake the thought from your head, firmly, stubbornly, and change back into your jeans and hoodie. A few minutes later, you’re at the register, watching the cashier ring up the pile of clothes that feel like pieces of someone new. Someone a little braver. A little shinier. A little less invisible. Heeseung stands beside you, smug and satisfied, like he just built you in a lab. 

The cashier announces the total, and before you can even reach for your wallet, Heeseung slides his card across the counter. “On me.”

Your head snaps toward him. “Heeseung, what?”

He just winks. “Don’t worry. I’ll bill you in character development. The cashier bags the clothes, and you step back into the mall with your arms full of potential and your brain full of questions. 

After the last store spits you out, bags in hand, Heeseung’s wallet lighter, your soul slightly transformed, Heeseung glances at the clock on his phone and says, “Okay. Next stop: food court. I need carbs before I collapse.” 

You blink at him, momentarily stunned. “You eat pizza like the rest of us?”

He shoots you a look. “ I don’t just eat pizza. I inhale it. Come on.” Your stomach growls before your feet can move, and suddenly you realize that in all the chaos, makeup, mirrors, the emotionally unsettling event of someone finding you attractive, you forgot to eat. Now that he’s mentioned it, you’re starving. Practically feral. You follow him past vendors and kiosks, the scent of fried food and cinnamon sugar swirling through the air. The food court is loud and crowded, but there’s something strangely comforting about it, the normalcy of it, the fluorescent lights and orange booths, the chatter of families and teenagers and friends grabbing greasy comfort.

Heeseung gets in line beside you at the pizza place, his arms still casually swinging at his sides like this is just another day. “What’s your poison?”

You glance at the menu. “Uh… pepperoni. And a soda.” He nods and orders for you both, without asking, like he’s already memorized the way you talk, the things you like. You’re about to protest, but then he’s paying with that same black card he flashed earlier and nudging you toward a table like it’s no big deal. You settle into a booth across from him, the tray between you bearing two steaming slices and a pair of plastic cups filled to the brim with soda. The first bite is practically a religious experience, greasy, cheesy, absolutely glorious.

Heeseung watches you with mild amusement. “You eat like you’ve just returned from war.”

“I have,” you say, voice muffled around a bite. “Battlefield: retail.”

He snorts and takes a sip of his drink. Then, after a pause, his expression shifts. “So… have you ever actually spoken to Soobin?”

You freeze mid-bite, the cheese stretching between your lips and the slice. You blink. “Define spoken.”

He raises a brow. “Words. Sentences. Preferably involving two-way communication.”

You swallow and clear your throat. “I, uh, once held the computer lab door open for him.” He’s already laughing. You roll your eyes, cheeks flaming. “He said thank you!” 

Heeseung grins, eyes crinkling. “Wow. A whole conversation. Do you guys have an anniversary for that?”

You smack his arm lightly across the table. “Shut up.”

He rubs the spot like you wounded him. “Abuse. I’m calling my lawyer.” You giggle despite yourself, hiding it behind your soda. There’s something so stupidly easy about sitting here with him. You forget you’re supposed to be awkward and invisible. You forget that you’re the DUF. You’re just… you. Which is why the next thing he says nearly gives you whiplash. “Alright,” he declares, brushing crumbs off his hands. “I dare you to flirt with that guy and get his number.”

You nearly choke on your drink. “Excuse me?” He gestures with a nod to a guy sitting alone across the food court, mid-twenties, dark hair, nose in his phone, clearly minding his own business.

“No way,” you say immediately. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on. This is training. You want Soobin, don’t you?” 

“Yes, but—”

“Then get off the bench and into the game.”

You narrow your eyes. “Easy for you to say. You flirt like it’s breathing.”

He smirks. “Because it is.”

And then — he stands up. Before you can even form a sentence, Heeseung is already strolling toward a girl seated at a table nearby, casual and charming, like this is something he does between errands. You watch, jaw slack, as he leans in and says something that makes her smile, tilt her head, laugh. He gestures to his phone, and she takes it without hesitation, tapping her number in and handing it back with a wink. Heeseung returns, smug as a cat, holding his phone out to you like a trophy. “See?” he says, displaying the fresh new contact with flourish. “Easy peasy.”

You stare at him like he’s grown a second head. “I hate you.”

He just shrugs. “Hate me from over there,” he says, pointing again at the guy with the phone. “Go on. Play dumb, but not that dumb. Guys love that shit.”

“I am dumb,” you hiss. “There is no playing.” 

“Perfect. Just be your beautiful, awkward self.” Muttering every curse you know, you stand up and start toward the guy. It’s awful. You clear your throat. He doesn’t look up.

You fidget, then say, “Hi!”

He blinks, surprised. “Um. Hi.”

You force a smile. “I like your… phone.” He blinks again. You want to die. “I mean — I like your case! It’s… very rectangular. Classic. Minimalist.”

He looks mildly alarmed. “Thanks?” You attempt a laugh that comes out sounding like a cough. “Sooo, um, are you… single?”

His eyes dart nervously around. “I… I have a boyfriend.”

“OH!” you blurt. “Oh, my bad. I totally support that. I’m not… you know. Homophobic. Or anything.” You want to crawl into a vent and disappear. He offers a small, polite smile. “Have a good day.” And he’s gone, up and out, food tray abandoned. You turn slowly, walking back to the table where Heeseung is laughing so hard he’s red in the face, wheezing into his pizza slice like it’s keeping him alive.

You slump into the seat. “That was a hate crime.”

“That,” he says between snorts, “was the best thing I’ve ever seen. Ever.”

You glare at him. “I hope your soda spills on your lap.” Still grinning, he slides your tray toward you and raises his cup. “To improvement.” You clink your soda against his without smiling. But your heart’s laughing anyway. 

When Heeseung pulls up to your dorm, it’s with a dramatic screech of tires and the kind of recklessly confident parking job that screams I’ve never paid a meter in my life. He leans over the center console, smirking at you as you gather your bags of shopping and your still-wobbly self-esteem from the floor of his car. “Alright,” he says, eyes scanning the bags. “You have everything you need to socially destroy the night.”

You roll your eyes. “Thanks, fairy godmother.”

He winks. “I’m hotter than a fairy godmother. And taller.” You snort, slamming the car door behind you and flipping him off over your shoulder. He cackles, the sound following you up the stairs of your dorm and into the echoing silence of your room. Once you’re inside, the weight of the next few hours settles in your stomach like a boulder. You place the shopping bags carefully on your bed, smoothing the edges of the tissue paper like they might calm your nerves. Heeseung said he’d be back at 9 p.m. sharp to pick you up, which gives you a little over three hours to get ready. Three hours to transform. Three hours to convince yourself that you’re not the DUF anymore.

You spend the first half-hour just staring at yourself in the mirror. No makeup, hair messy, hoodie baggy and beloved. You look… like you. Regular. Quiet. Familiar.

You text Heeseung: “Okay so do I have to wear the mini skirt???”

His reply is instant. “Yes. And send pics. I’m the boss, remember?” You grumble, but slip into the skirt anyway and pair it with a halter top he claimed made your arms look “objectively illegal.” You take a mirror selfie, looking reluctant, and send it off. Within seconds, he replies: “Too ‘I work at a bar and hate my life.’”

You snort, throw the top across the room, and try again. Next outfit: jeans and a crop top. You pose. Click. Send “Cute. But it’s giving ‘we’re just friends.’” You flip him off through text “Try the dress. You know the one.”

You hesitate. That dress. The black silk one, the one that made his words stutter and his eyes flicker. The one that didn’t feel like you were trying to be anyone else, just a bolder version of yourself. You pull it out carefully, fingers gliding across the fabric like it might whisper back. Slowly, you slip it on. It fits like it did in the store. Soft, secure, like a secret. You stare at yourself in the mirror, and for a second… you see it. You see her. The girl who could walk into a party and turn heads. The girl who could maybe, just maybe, make Soobin notice. You send the picture. 

Heeseung replies: “Jesus.” Then, seconds later: “That’s the one.”

No teasing. No jokes. Just those three words that knock your heart off-balance. You set your phone down, exhale slowly. Then, the routine begins. You do your makeup with trembling hands, lashes curled, liner precise, lips tinted a soft rose. Your hair falls the way Yuri taught you, soft waves that frame your face and catch the light. You spray perfume on your wrists, your collarbones, the backs of your knees. A whisper of vanilla and hope. You put on your jewelry, simple earrings, the necklace that sits perfectly in the hollow of your throat. You take one last look in the mirror. You don’t recognize her, but you like her.

Then, your phone rings. The name “Heeseung 💀” flashes on the screen. You answer, voice caught somewhere between a smile and a scream. “Hello?”

“Hey,” he says, casual and breezy like this isn’t the first time he’s hearing your voice dressed like this. “I’m outside.” Your stomach flips.

You grab your bag, give yourself one more desperate glance in the mirror, and whisper to your reflection, “Don’t trip. Don’t choke. Don’t die.” Then you’re out the door, the echo of your footsteps ringing down the hall, your heart doing somersaults in your chest.

The car is sleek and stupidly shiny, purring low like it knows it’s hot. You spot it the moment you step outside your dorm building, standing at the edge of the sidewalk like you’re on the brink of a red carpet. And standing against it, leaning like he was born to be the poster child for a Calvin Klein fragrance, is Heeseung. He looks up as you approach, and even in the dim lighting of campus streetlamps, his smile flickers into something that nearly knocks you over. He’s wearing all black, ripped jeans, a bomber jacket, his signature messy hair that probably took way too long to make look that effortless. You don’t want to say he looks good, because that feels too generous. He looks... unfair. Rude. And worse? He knows it. He gives you a once-over, slow and obvious. “Damn,” he says, like he’s complimenting you and mocking you in the same breath. “You clean up alright.” 

You roll your eyes, clutching your purse a little tighter. “You’re not so bad yourself. For a menace.”

He smirks and pops open the passenger door for you with an exaggerated flourish. “M’lady.” You roll your eyes again, but your heart skips a beat anyway as you slide into the seat, the cool leather against your thighs making you realize just how very real this is. You’re on your way to the party. With Lee Heeseung. In a black silk dress and mascara that took you 45 minutes to get right. Breathe. The drive is short, just a few blocks away in one of those off-campus houses you’ve only ever seen through the haze of Instagram stories and hearsay. But your nerves are anything but short. They’ve curled into your stomach, wound tight around your ribs, pressed against the back of your throat. You grip the strap of your bag like it’s a lifeline.

You’ve been to parties before, sure. But never without Dani and Sakura. Without their protective, familiar presence to anchor you in the sea of bodies and music and beer breath. Without their shared eye-rolls and whispered commentary and midnight giggles on the walk home. And now… now you don’t even know if they’ll be there. Scratch that. You know they will. You just don’t want to see them. Not tonight. Not when you're dressed like this. Not when you're trying so hard to become someone new.

You barely realize the car’s stopped until Heeseung throws it into park. You’re frozen, staring out the window at the glittering string lights draped across the porch, the thump of bass already vibrating through the concrete. There are people everywhere, laughing, shouting, spilling out onto the lawn like they’ve never had a quiet thought in their lives. You’re going to puke. Heeseung glances over, and; because he’s Heeseung, he notices immediately. “You good?” he asks, casual but careful. “You look like you’re about to get drafted into war.”

You force a laugh, but it’s brittle. “I’m fine.”

“Liar.” You glance at him, cheeks hot. “Okay, I’m just… nervous.”

He nods like he gets it, and maybe he does. Maybe he doesn’t. But his voice is soft when he says, “Hey. Look at me.” You do. “Everything’s gonna be cool,” he says, with a cocky grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You look insane, by the way. Like, criminal levels of hot. If Soobin doesn’t fold tonight, he’s legally blind.”

That earns a weak laugh from you, and he nudges your shoulder gently. “Just remember who got you here when you’re famous on campus by Monday.”

You snort. “You mean when they put me in GroupMe memes for tripping over my heels and knocking over a keg?”

Heeseung grins. “Even better. Instant legend status.” You breathe out, shaky but a little more stable now. “Okay,” you whisper. “Let’s do this.”

“You sure?”

“No.”

He laughs, throwing open the door. “That’s the spirit.”

You step out onto the curb, your heels clicking against the pavement like you’re a contestant on America’s Next Nervous Breakdown. But still, you stand up straighter. Shoulders back. Head high. You smooth the hem of your dress and tell yourself this is what you came here for. To show them. To show yourself. Heeseung falls into step beside you, his hand brushing against yours, not quite touching, but close enough to anchor you. Together, you walk toward the house, the music growing louder with every step. Somewhere behind the front door, the party waits. Soobin waits. They might be waiting too. But for now; it’s just you. And Heeseung. And the version of you that’s ready to finally be seen.

The moment the front door swings open, you’re hit with a wall of noise and heat, thick and heady like you’ve just stepped into the center of a beating heart. The bass is thudding through the floorboards, lights pulsing with every drop of the music, and bodies are everywhere, moving, swaying, tangled up in each other, laughter and shouting and the occasional high-pitched squeal blending together like some chaotic symphony of college nightlife. It’s not your first party, not technically, but it’s your first this kind of party, this kind of entrance. Not as a background extra or the girl carrying everyone’s phones. No hoodie, no glasses, no fading into the wallpaper. 

Tonight, you’re a main character. And Heeseung is your entrance music. He walks in first, easy and smooth, like the world shifts to make room for him. His presence is magnetic, and it pulls eyes toward the doorway like gravity. The second you step through behind him, heels tapping softly, dress swishing around your thighs like smoke, there’s a ripple. You feel it. Heads turning. Conversations pausing. The hush of recognition so subtle you might miss it, if your nerves weren’t already on fire. 

You try not to look around too much. You try to look confident. Poised. Detached, even. You tilt your chin up like you belong, even though your hands are clammy and your stomach is doing Olympic-level gymnastics. You’re hyper-aware of everything: the way the strap of your dress slides against your shoulder, the way your perfume clings to the heat of your skin, the soft creak of your heels on the hardwood floor. You catch flashes of recognition from familiar faces, faces that used to glance right through you, now blinking, staring, mouths parted, whispering behind their solo cups. And you? You just keep walking. Heeseung’s friends spot him in the far corner of the room, near a low couch littered with bags of chips and someone’s half-eaten box of pizza. The greetings are instant, shoulder claps, finger guns, head nods and booming “Yo!”s that feel like something out of a movie. Sunghoon practically lunges forward, clapping Heeseung on the back like he’s just returned from war. Beomgyu pulls him into one of those half-hugs that somehow involve three back slaps and an awkward shoulder bump. Jay and Jake both pipe up at once about someone from class asking for him earlier, their voices fighting over the music. And for a second, you’re forgotten. 

You stand a little off to the side, hands awkwardly clasped in front of you, smile hovering uncertainly on your lips. You’re not mad, they haven’t seen each other in a bit, and the reunion energy is real, but the awkward ache settles in your chest anyway, that old too-familiar feeling of being adjacent to the fun but not quite in it. Until Sunghoon finally turns toward you, and freezes. His eyebrows shoot up so far they practically disappear into his hairline. His eyes flick over you, slow and not particularly subtle, dragging from the hem of your dress to the curve of your collarbone to your lips like he’s trying to solve a riddle with his eyeballs. “Uh… who’s this?” 

Beomgyu leans in, squinting in your direction like he’s staring directly into the sun. “Wait. Are you new? Like, transfer student new? Heeseung, bro, you didn’t say you were bringing someone.” Heeseung, who is somehow already sipping a drink he didn’t have two seconds ago, sighs and smacks Beomgyu lightly on the back of the head.

“She’s not new,” Heeseung says casually. “You guys know her.”

Jay looks genuinely confused. “We do?”

ake leans sideways to get a better look at you. “Hold on…” Heeseung glances at you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Then, with perfect comedic timing and just enough pride to make your knees wobble, he says your name like it was obvious. To them, it was not and for some reason that twisted you up inside. 

There is a silence. Then, chaos. “NO FREAKING WAY.” Sunghoon’s voice actually cracks. “Shut up. Shut UP.” Beomgyu’s mouth falls open. “You’re lying. This is not hoodie-and-sweatpants Y/N. This is, like — TikTok viral-level hot girl Y/N. You’re telling me it’s the same person?” You’re half-laughing, half-dying inside. You glance away, cheeks burning, unsure what to do with your hands or your face or your entire existence. This wasn’t supposed to feel like a scene from a teen makeover movie, but, well. Here you are.

“She’s always looked like this,” Heeseung says coolly, giving them a look that says don’t push it. “You just never paid attention.” The group stumbles over themselves with backpedaling compliments, Sunghoon muttering something about your eyes, Jake saying you look “like a star,” and Beomgyu still acting like he just saw a unicorn. You’re saved from having to respond by Heeseung, who, clearly reading your overwhelmed expression, tosses out casually, “You guys seen Soobin?” 

Jay shakes his head. “Not yet. Might be outside?” Heeseung nods, and without another word, he reaches down and grabs your hand like it’s the most normal thing in the world. And maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. Either way, the contact is sudden and warm and firm, and you don’t even think, you just let him pull you through the crowd, dodging plastic cups and tangled limbs as he weaves toward the kitchen. Your hand stays in his the whole way. You don’t ask why. You don’t let yourself hope. When you reach the drink table, he finally lets go, only to pour you something in a red cup and hand it to you like a bartender with a mission. 

“You alive?” he teases, raising an eyebrow.

You take the cup, roll your eyes, and murmur, “Barely.”

Heeseung clinks his cup against yours, grin widening. “You’re killing it.”

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks, voice just loud enough to cut through the bass thumping behind you. It’s gentler than you expect, free of teasing or sarcasm.

You nod automatically. “Yeah, I’m—”

“Y/N?!” The sound of your name rips through the music like a siren. You freeze. You don’t need to turn around to know who it is. You’d know those voices anywhere. They’re carved into your memory, every syllable, every cadence, familiar and aching in the way only ex-best friends can be. Still, you turn.

Dani and Sakura are standing there, half in disbelief, half in judgment. Their eyes rake down your body, from the sleek dress hugging your frame to the careful curls in your hair. Their mouths are parted like they can’t decide whether to gasp or laugh. Sakura tilts her head. “What… are you doing here?”

Dani crosses her arms. “And with him?” 

You glance back at Heeseung for half a second, who hasn’t said a word yet, just watching them with a slight furrow between his brows. Your stomach flips. You force a breath out of your nose and turn back to the girls, your grip tightening around your drink. You let out a laugh. It’s sharp and hollow and lined with every quiet insult they’ve ever made sound like a joke. “What?” you say, voice laced in dry amusement. “Surprised someone like Heeseung would want to hang out with me?” They flinch, barely, but you catch it. Dani opens her mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. You don’t wait.

You take a step closer, letting your voice drop, cold and brittle like breaking glass. “Why do you guys even care? Huh? You didn’t seem to care when you were calling me the DUF behind my back.”

Sakura’s expression twists. “We never—”

“This isn’t you, Y/N,” Dani cuts in, voice brittle. “The dress. The makeup. Hanging out with Heeseung? This isn’t who you are.” Your jaw clenches. The words burn, not because they’re true, but because they’re not. Because they’re laced with that same tired condescension, the same kind of backhanded care that always kept you two steps behind, like they wanted you close but never quite caught up. But before you can speak, a sudden warmth settles across your shoulders. Heeseung. His arm slips over you with ease, casual but claiming, protective but not possessive. His fingers brush the edge of your shoulder, and his voice is laced with syrupy sarcasm. 

“We’d love to stay and chit-chat,” he drawls, flashing the girls a lazy grin, “but we’ve got somewhere to be.” And just like that, he doesn’t give them another second. He tugs you away gently, steering you through the party with surprising precision, hand resting firmly on your upper back as he guides you toward the back of the house. You don’t look back. You don’t want to see their faces. You’re too stunned, too angry, too relieved. Your heart is racing and your pulse is pounding and your vision is a little too bright. He opens the back door, and the cooler night air hits you like a blessing. You step out onto the porch, the noise of the party muffled behind the closed door. Fairy lights are strung across the railing, casting a soft gold glow over the wooden planks and the few potted plants half-dead in their corners. It’s quieter here. Private. 

You suck in a breath and finally speak. “Thank you.”

Heeseung leans against the porch railing, glancing sideways at you. “For what?”

You give him a look. “For that. For getting me out of there.”

He shrugs, eyes flicking away. “It’s no big deal.”

You watch him for a moment, heart still unsteady. “It is, though.” He finally meets your gaze again, and for a moment, the cocky smile slips away. His eyes are dark and unreadable, but his voice is soft when he says, “They don’t get to make you feel like that. No one does.” You feel something twist in your chest. Something warm. Something dangerous. For a second, the two of you just… stand there. The silence stretches out, thick and humming with unspoken things. Heeseung’s hand is still in his pocket, but his shoulder is just barely touching yours now. Not quite close enough to be a statement, but close enough to feel like a promise.

The quiet of the back porch doesn’t last long. It breaks like glass, sharp and immediate, at the sound of stilettos clacking against the wood. You feel the shift before you see it. A cool draft. A wrongness. And then, the syrupy sweet voice that makes your spine stiffen and your heart drop. “Well, isn’t this cozy?” 

Wonyoung stood there, draped in a skin-tight red dress that clings like a threat, hair curled into perfect waves, and lips painted a venomous shade of cherry. She walks like the world’s her stage, and you’re just an extra lucky to be in the background. Her smile is the kind that cuts, sharp and gleaming, like she knows something you don’t. Your heart sinks because you remember. You remember her words last time: “Stay away from Heeseung.” You didn’t listen. Maybe you thought she wouldn’t notice. Maybe a part of you hoped she didn’t mean it. But she’s here now, and she’s looking at you like a hunter cornering something helpless. Heeseung straightens beside you, his entire body going taut like a wire pulled too tight. “What do you want, Wonyoung?” he says, voice clipped. 

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she saunters closer and, without warning, nudges you aside with the ease of someone who’s always taken up too much space. Her hand slides onto Heeseung’s shoulder like she owns it, like she’s done it a thousand times before. But Heeseung jerks away instantly, his jaw clenching as he shrugs her off like her touch burned. Still, Wonyoung smiles. “Hee… I miss you.” He doesn’t answer. Not at first. He just glances at you. And the look in his eyes, God, it’s something between apology and warning and please just trust me. But you don’t know how to read it, not really. Not when your stomach is twisting in knots and your voice is caught in your throat. 

“Hey, Wonyoung…” you manage, your tone so high and squeaky you want to slap yourself. Wonyoung turns, slow as a villain in a teen drama, and actually groans, like your existence is somehow the inconvenience of the century. She eyes you up and down with obvious disdain before deadpanning, “What do you want?” 

You blink, caught off guard. “Uh—I was just—” But she’s already looking away, like you don’t matter. Like you’re nothing more than a gnat buzzing in her ear. It’s humiliating. It’s infuriating. But you don’t say anything. You just shrink a little smaller.

She turns back to Heeseung, pressing forward again like she hasn’t just made you feel two inches tall. “We’re playing spin the bottle,” she says brightly, batting her lashes. “Wanna join?”

Heeseung lets out a dry laugh. “What are we, high schoolers?” His voice is full of disbelief. “Isn’t that a kids game?”

Wonyoung just shrugs, undeterred. “Still works.”

Before he can argue again, she latches her fingers around his wrist and tugs. You don’t know if it’s the surprise or the fact that he’s clearly outnumbered, but he lets her drag him halfway across the porch. You don’t even realize you’re following until you’re inside again, the noise swallowing you whole. The crowd’s shifted, coalescing into a rough circle on the living room floor. The center of attention now: an empty bottle spinning slowly on the wood, the air buzzing with half-drunken laughter and anticipation. You spot Dani and Sakura immediately. They’re sitting between Jake and Sunghoon, giggling, whispering, stealing glances at you. But there’s something different now. Not amusement. Not judgment. Pity. It glimmers on their faces like a sheen of sweat, and it makes something cold spark in your chest. You hate it. You’d rather be ignored than pitied. You tear your gaze away. 

“Finally you’re here! Join us!” Wonyoung’s voice rings out, shrill and triumphant. Soobin. He was here, oh god. Your heart lurches at the sight of him. He’s dressed in a white tee and a leather jacket, hair falling perfectly across his forehead, the picture of cool detachment. He smiles slightly as he joins the circle, settling next to Beomgyu without much fanfare. He hasn’t even seen you yet. But suddenly the air in the room is thinner. The lights are harsher. Every breath feels like an effort. This is what you came for, isn’t it? The moment you’ve been chasing. The whole reason you let Heeseung drag you to the mall, to the salon, through an identity transformation that’s still barely settled on your shoulders. You should be thrilled. But instead, all you can feel is this strange, gnawing pressure. You glance at Heeseung, who’s already watching Soobin, something unreadable flickering across his features. Then his gaze shifts to you. There’s tension there. Tight. Heavy. Loaded. And it hits you: the game has started. And you’re no longer sure whose rules you’re playing by.

You watch as people had their turns with the bottle, watching as the glass spun round and round giving someone their fate for the night and finally after countless spins — it was your turn. The bottle spun with a nervous flick of your fingers, clinking softly against the scratched wood floor as it twirled, and you felt your stomach turn with it. Around you, drunken laughter swirled like smoke, the heat of the crowded living room pressing in from all sides. Someone let out a whistle, another person shouted encouragement, and Wonyoung was watching you with narrowed eyes, her arms crossed like she was waiting for you to fall flat on your face. But none of that mattered right now. None of it mattered because that damned bottle had chosen a direction, and it was pointing straight at Soobin. You could barely breathe.

Soobin tilted his head, the corners of his mouth tugging up into a soft, almost apologetic smile, the kind that made your lungs feel like they were filled with helium. His gaze was kind, nonjudgmental. Gentle, even. As if to say “It’s okay if you say no. I won’t be mad.” And God, did that make it worse. Because now the ball was in your court. Your palms were sweating. Your heart pounded so loudly you couldn’t hear the party anymore. Just the roar of blood in your ears. You’d dreamed of this. Fantasized about this exact moment for years. The idea of kissing Soobin had always seemed like something that belonged to a different version of you, a cooler, prettier, worthier version. And yet here you were. Inches from it. One lean forward and you'd touch lips. And still, panic dug into you like claws. 

Your mind spiraled in frantic loops. What if I mess it up? What if I bump noses with him? What if my breath smells like the pizza from earlier? What if my lipstick smudges? What if I suck at it and he tells everyone? And more than anything; do I even want my first kiss to be like this? In front of Wonyoung, Dani, Sakura, and twenty semi-drunk strangers? But before you could finish the spiral, Heeseung’s hand gently curled around your wrist. His fingers were warm, grounding. You turned your head slightly, and he leaned in, his voice brushing against the shell of your ear, low and sincere. “You don’t have to do this,” he murmured. “We can leave. Right now.” 

You paused. That offer, so casual, so safe, it nearly undid you. You looked at him, and for a brief second the noise of the party dropped away. Just Heeseung and his eyes, steady and unreadable. Ready to walk you out of this chaos with zero judgment. But then your gaze flicked across the circle and found Wonyoung, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable but unmistakably sharp. You couldn’t back down. Not now. Not in front of her. “I’m fine,” you whispered, offering Heeseung the tiniest smile, even if it felt wobbly and weak. “I got this.” Reluctantly, he let your wrist go. And so, heart pounding like a drumline, you leaned in. Soobin did too.

Your faces were so close now you could feel the warmth of his breath, smell the faint citrus of his cologne. You were trying not to close your eyes too soon, but you didn’t know the rules. Were there rules? Were you supposed to count to three? Tilt your head? Your brain screamed at you to stop, to run, to — “COPS!” The word cracked through the house like a gunshot.

In an instant, the entire room exploded. Screams. Shouting. Feet slamming against hardwood. Red solo cups hitting the floor and rolling away. Someone knocked over a lamp, plunging half the room into shadow. The panic was immediate and real, like someone had hit a switch that turned this party into a stampede. You didn’t even get a second to blink before Heeseung was yanking you to your feet. “Come on!” he yelled, wrapping his fingers around yours and hauling you after him through the chaos.

You barely had time to register what was happening before you were stumbling through the living room, dodging people vaulting over furniture and crawling through open windows. The entire party had turned feral. Shouting echoed off the walls, red and blue lights flickered from the front yard, and someone shouted something about hiding in the attic. Heeseung didn’t slow. His hand tightened on yours as he dragged you through the kitchen, shouldering past people, and out the back door. The backyard was even more chaotic. Students were climbing fences, squeezing through hedges, and ducking behind trash cans. You stared at the wooden fence in front of you, at least six feet high, and made a sound somewhere between a groan and a gasp. 

“You want me to jump that?” you cried.

“Unless you want your mugshot posted in tomorrow’s student newsletter — yes!” With an ungraceful huff, you hiked up your dress and clambered over the fence, scraping your knee on the way down and landing hard in someone’s overgrown backyard. Heeseung followed right after, barely phased, landing beside you with an effortless thud.

“This way!” so you ran. Breath tearing out of your lungs, dress flapping around your legs, adrenaline pounding through your veins, you ran like your life depended on it. You didn’t stop until Heeseung’s car was in view, parked two blocks down. You practically dove into the passenger seat as he slid behind the wheel and slammed the door shut. He turned the key, the engine roared to life, and the tires screamed against the pavement as he peeled off into the street like a getaway driver in a movie.

You didn’t even speak for the first few seconds, just sat there panting, adrenaline still racing through your bloodstream, chest heaving as the lights and shouting faded behind you. Then, you looked at each other. And burst out laughing. Full, uncontrollable, hysterical laughter. The kind that curled your stomach and left tears in your eyes. You laughed until your lungs hurt. Heeseung clutched the steering wheel with one hand, his other wiping tears from his face. “I almost kissed Soobin,” you gasped out between wheezes.

“And then almost got arrested,” he choked out. “Honestly? 10/10 night.”

You threw your head back, still laughing. “That was insane.”

He grinned at you, cheeks flushed, hair a mess from the mad dash. “You’re kinda fun when you’re not busy hating me, you know that?”

You smiled, your heart slowing in your chest. Outside, the streets blurred past your window. Inside, something was starting to settle. Shift. Change. “I don’t hate you.” You whisper.  You were supposed to kiss Soobin tonight. Instead… you ran away with Heeseung. The laughter between you and Heeseung had started to quiet, settling into the thick silence that sometimes follows a shared moment, like the tide pulling back after a crash of waves. It lingered in the air, warm and easy, the kind of laughter that left your chest aching in the best way. You wiped at the corners of your eyes, breath still uneven from giggling so hard, and turned to look at Heeseung.

He was already watching you. His eyes sparkled under the dim glow of the car’s interior lights, lips curled into a half-smile, like he was still amused by the chaos you both narrowly escaped. Then, he tilted his head, that boyish grin deepening. “You were really going to kiss Soobin just now,” he said, like he still couldn’t believe it. You tried to smile back, to laugh it off, but something in your chest twisted unexpectedly. The corners of your mouth dipped, your gaze fell to your lap, and your fingers began nervously toying with your fingers.

Heeseung noticed immediately. The smile on his face slipped, eyes narrowing just slightly—not in annoyance, but concern. “Hey,” he said softly, leaning just a bit closer. “What’s wrong? I thought this is what you wanted?” You swallowed. The words caught in your throat, all scrambled and fragile. You didn’t want to say it. You hadn’t said it out loud to anyone. It was too revealing, too… vulnerable. But something about Heeseung, the steadiness in his gaze, the quiet way he was looking at you now like you mattered, made you trust him in a way that startled you. So you said it. 

“I’ve never kissed anyone before.” It came out softer than you intended. Barely above a whisper. But it landed between you with the weight of something unspoken for too long. Heeseung didn’t react right away. He didn’t laugh or make a teasing comment. Instead, he just looked at you. His eyes searched yours for something, you weren’t sure what, maybe the why of it, or maybe just the simple truth. But whatever it was, he found it, because after a moment, he nodded, his voice quiet and sincere. “I can teach you.”

You blinked. “What?” 

He nodded again, slower this time. No smirk. No hint of mischief. Just quiet seriousness. “I can teach you,” he repeated, “so you’re not inexperienced when you finally get Soobin.” The words felt… strange. Like something cold and sharp and warm all at once. You weren’t sure what to say, your heart skipping beats like it couldn’t keep up. “You’d really do that?” you asked, voice barely audible.

Heeseung leaned back just enough to look at you fully. “Yeah,” he said. “If you want.” And you did. You didn’t know why. You didn’t know what it meant. But you wanted to. So you nodded. “Okay.” He leaned over the center console, his arm brushing against yours, and suddenly the space between you shrank to something small and intimate. You felt the electricity buzz in the air like static clinging to skin, your pulse racing louder than your thoughts.

You swallowed. “What if I’m bad at it?”

He smiled softly, not in a mocking way but like someone offering reassurance. “That’s why I’m teaching you,” he said. Then, his hand lifted, slow and steady, brushing your hair away from your face and tucking it behind your ear. His touch was featherlight, the pad of his thumb just grazing your cheek. “You want to set the tone,” he murmured. “Don’t just dive right in.” You nodded, breath caught somewhere between your chest and lips, and then — He kissed you. It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t rough or overwhelming. It was soft. Intentional. Like he was holding the moment between his hands and molding it into something gentle. His lips were warm, firm but cautious, and he kissed you like he was afraid to scare you off. Like you were something rare. Precious. Fragile.

Your eyes fluttered shut, your hand lifting without thinking to rest gently against his arm. You melted, leaned into him. The world slowed down. The roar in your head dulled to a soft hum. The nervous energy in your chest unwound, slowly replaced by a kind of comfort that made your skin hum. When he pulled away, it was only by inches. His forehead almost rested against yours. His breathing matched yours, shaky and a little uneven. His voice was barely a whisper. “Did you learn anything?”

You blinked at him, dazed, lips still tingling. “I  —I think I need another lesson.” He grinned, something sparking behind his eyes, and then nodded. “I think so too.” The second kiss was different. Gone was the careful, tentative pace. This time, his mouth found yours with a hunger that startled you, like he’d been waiting for permission and now that he had it, he wasn’t going to waste a second. His hand slid to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair. Your hands, unsure at first, found their way to his shoulders, gripping lightly as your lips moved against his. It was fire and silk and all-consuming. His mouth moved with confidence, coaxing you, guiding you, his kiss deeper now, filled with something unspoken. You kissed him back with everything you had, wanting, needing, trying to remember everything, to feel everything.

When he finally pulled away, both of you were breathless. The windows were fogged, your hearts thundering. He looked at you with wide eyes and a half-laugh in his voice. “Let’s get you back to the dorms before I forget this is supposed to be educational.” You blinked at him, flustered and floating somewhere between disbelief and bliss. You nodded, cheeks burning, and didn’t say a word.

The morning sun crept in through the slats of your blinds like a quiet promise, painting golden stripes across your sheets and the cluttered floor of your dorm. You stirred slowly, a little dazed, blinking against the light and the memory of last night that came flooding back all at once. Lee Heeseung kissed you. Correction: you kissed Lee Heeseung. Twice, you never thought you would see the day. Your cheeks burned as you sat up, the remnants of sleep falling off your body like petals, replaced with a rush of electricity that made you want to scream into your pillow. It wasn’t just that it was your first kiss, it was the way it happened. Soft. Gentle. Focused. Like he’d been waiting to kiss you and didn’t know it until the moment your lips touched. You padded across the dorm floor, slipping into your morning routine with a weird sort of buzz in your chest. Toothbrush. Face wash. Outfit. Breakfast bar you didn’t feel like eating. But everything felt brighter. Softer around the edges. You were still you, but something inside of you had shifted just a little to the left. Your phone buzzed.

[ heeseung ] 

Studying tonight? Meet me at the campus cafe. 6pm sharp.

Your breath caught, and for the briefest second you just stared at the screen, heart kicking up a beat like it remembered the feeling of his mouth on yours.

[ You: ] 

Is this a date or is Mr. Yoon threatening your scholarship again?

Three dots danced on your screen before his reply popped up: 

[ heeseung ] 

Can’t it be both? 😏

You let out a snort and shook your head, fingers tapping against the glass.

[ You ] 

Fine. But I’m only coming for the lattes. And the pity.

 [ Heeseung ]  

You love me for my academic desperation.

The audacity of how quickly your fingers typed out “maybe I do” and how fast you deleted it made your heart skip. You settled on a safer: 

[ You ] 

6pm sharp. Don’t be late, loser.

He didn’t respond right away, and that was probably for the best. Your head was still spinning with thoughts you didn’t know what to do with. Because despite the fact that this whole arrangement started as a carefully crafted plan to get Soobin to notice you, Heeseung had crept under your skin in a way you hadn’t expected. You were supposed to tutor him, he was supposed to help you get a makeover and gain confidence. You were not supposed to like the way he looked at you. Or the way he laughed at your jokes, like they were the funniest thing he’d heard all day. Or the way he kissed you like kissing you was something he’d been waiting to do forever. And yet…You shook your head and tried to push the thoughts down as you threw your backpack over your shoulder. There wasn’t time to obsess. You had a class to get to and a very smug, stupidly attractive boy to study with tonight. Still, as you stepped out into the cool morning breeze, you caught yourself smiling. That soft, barely-there kind of smile that made your cheeks warm and your chest float.

The clock on the café wall ticked toward six with the dramatics of a heartbeat, each second heavier than the last. You stood outside the door for a moment longer than necessary, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. It was just a study session. Nothing more. Just like it had been every time you’d met with him to talk about literature, syntax, metaphor, only now, every word he spoke felt double-edged. Heeseung had kissed you. Twice. You had kissed him back. And now here you were, stepping into the soft glow of the campus café, with your heart tucked somewhere beneath your collarbone and trying desperately not to show itself. Heeseung was already there, lounging in the corner booth like it was made for him. One long leg stretched out in front of him, a cup of iced coffee sweating on the table beside a half-opened notebook. His face lit up when he saw you, that easy grin sliding onto his lips as if it belonged there. You hated how your stomach flipped.

“You’re late,” he teased, gesturing at the seat across from him.

You scoffed, sliding into the booth and unzipping your bag. “It’s 5:59. Maybe your watch is just as bad as your syntax.”

He let out a sharp laugh, eyes crinkling in the corners. “Touché.” You started with the basics, flipping through your annotated copy of Frankenstein, pointing out literary devices with the kind of precision you were proud of. Heeseung listened. Really listened. His brow furrowed when he was concentrating, and his eyes flicked back and forth between you and the book like he was trying to stitch your words to the page in real time. He asked questions, good ones, and when he got something right, his grin was so smug you almost threw your pencil at him. But then, somewhere between explaining tragic irony and discussing the gothic atmosphere, his focus started to slip. You were mid-sentence when you felt it, his fingers poking at your side, soft and quick like a spark.

You jumped, letting out a startled laugh. “What the hell?”

Heeseung smirked, clearly proud of himself. “You were monologuing. I had to bring you back to earth.”

“You’re such a child.” You quip. 

“A cute child,” he said, wiggling his brows. You rolled your eyes, shoving him lightly with your foot under the table, but there was no bite behind it. There never was anymore. Then, he leaned back in the booth, his voice lowering just enough to signal a shift. “I have an idea, by the way. About how you can actually talk to Soobin.”

You blinked, momentarily derailed. “You mean… like a conversation that doesn’t involve holding a door open and whispering thanks?”

He smirked. “Exactly like that.”

 “Well? I’m listening.” Heeseung’s gaze flicked over your face before he continued. “Sunghoon’s hosting a get-together tomorrow night. It’s not a huge thing, more like a casual hangout. Pizza, soda, football on the TV, the works. Soobin’s gonna be there.”

You hesitated, twirling your pen between your fingers. “I mean, yeah, that sounds okay but…” You tilted your head. “Is it going to be weird if I’m the only girl there?” Heeseung paused. That pause said more than he probably meant it to. He scratched the back of his neck, like he was bracing himself. 

You narrowed your eyes. “What? What is it?”

He sighed. “Sakura, Dani, and… Wonyoung are going to be there too.” Your heart dropped straight to your feet. You leaned back against the booth, head tilted toward the ceiling in a dramatic groan. “Of course they are.”

“I get it if you don’t want to come,” he said quickly. “I wouldn’t blame you.”

But you shook your head, jaw tightening with something that tasted like defiance. “No. I’m going.”

Heeseung blinked. “Really?” his shock, palpable. 

“Yeah,” you said, voice sharper than you meant it to be. “I’m not going to let them ruin this. I’m not going to let her ruin this.” You didn’t have to say her name. He knew. Still, you couldn’t help yourself from asking, quieter now. “Why is Wonyoung even going to something like that? I thought you two were… done.”

“We are,” he said. “But she’s still friends with the guys. She shows up to stuff. It’s… whatever.” It wasn’t whatever to you, but you nodded anyway. Because you knew if you let your thoughts go too far, you’d unravel right there over your half-drunk latte. Heeseung shifted again, this time leaning in closer. “Hey. If anything happens, if anyone says something, or makes you uncomfortable, I’ve got you. Okay?”

You looked at him, really looked at him, and for a moment the din of the café faded behind the weight of that promise. “Okay,” you said. And just like that, it was settled. Tomorrow night, you’d walk into a room where your ex-best friends and your accidental nemesis would be seated on one side, your crush would be on the other, and Heeseung would be somewhere in between. You had no idea what would happen. But you weren’t going to back down.

It was barely past six when you heard the knock on your dorm doo, three quick raps followed by a familiar “Let’s go, loser” muffled through the wood. You smoothed down your shirt, did a quick breath check (because you were just being cautious, not because you were thinking about kissing him again), and opened the door. Heeseung stood there, smug as ever, but there was something different in his eyes, an excitement that made him bounce a little on the balls of his feet. “You’re early,” you said, raising a brow.

“I’m prompt,” he corrected with a wink. “Besides, I couldn’t wait to show you this.”

He brought his hands out from behind his back, and there, held like a treasure map or some kind of sacred scroll, was a single sheet of paper. You blinked, confused, until your eyes scanned the header and the bold black print across the middle. Literature 206 – Midterm Grade: 85% Your gasp was dramatic, theatrical, the kind of sound that would’ve made someone down the hall poke their head out in concern if it hadn’t immediately been followed by your delighted squeal.

“Shut. Up!” you shouted, grabbing the paper from his hands and spinning to look at it closer. “Heeseung, you passed! You didn’t just pass; you did amazing!” He grinned like a fool, the kind of smile that made your chest feel too tight, and before you could even think about it, you launched yourself forward and hugged him. Your arms wrapped around his neck, and his arms instinctively caught you around the waist, the paper crushed between your bodies. He laughed, that soft, deep sound you were starting to crave more than you should. And when you pulled back, just barely, your faces were close enough to feel the warmth of his breath.

“Told you I was a genius,” he murmured. You rolled your eyes, still beaming. “No. I’m the genius. You’re just the pretty face riding my coattails.”

He shrugged, smug. “Well, now that I’m officially a scholar,” he plucked the paper from your hand, “it’s time to cash in on your prize.”

You tilted your head. “Prize?” He held the door open for you, gesturing dramatically. “Tonight, you talk to Soobin. It’s finally your moment, superstar.” Your smile faltered, just a hair. Because somewhere, buried beneath all your excited nerves and fresh lip gloss, there it was. That voice. Small. Soft. Inconvenient. What if I don’t want Soobin anymore? You blinked, shoved it down. Laughed, even, like it wasn’t true. But it was. Or at least…it was becoming true. Every second you spent with Heeseung, that voice got louder. The boy who was once just a cocky annoyance was now a constant in your thoughts. He made you laugh. Made you feel seen. Kissed you like you were the only girl in the universe.

But you didn’t say any of that. Instead, you slipped past him into the hallway and said, “Well, let’s not keep my prize waiting.” The drive to Sunghoon’s house was familiar now, the same twisty roads and flashing streetlights. Heeseung’s music was loud, upbeat, something with too much bass and a beat that rattled your bones, but you didn’t mind. He drummed his fingers on the wheel, occasionally tapping along to lyrics, and every so often he’d glance at you out of the corner of his eye and smirk like he knew something you didn’t.

Maybe he did. You watched the world blur outside the window, trying not to think too hard about anything. Not the party. Not Soobin. Not the fact that Heeseung’s cologne was now recognizable by scent alone, or the way your hands had fit so naturally around the nape of his neck just moments ago. When he pulled into Sunghoon’s driveway, the house was already glowing, warm lights, windows open, the soft buzz of voices filtering out to the street. You took a breath.

“Ready?” he asked, not moving to get out just yet. You turned to look at him, heart thudding somewhere between nervous and expectant. “Let’s do it,” you said.

You weren’t sure when your heart had started beating so hard, only that you could feel it in the soles of your feet and the tips of your ears. From the moment you stepped out of Heeseung’s car and followed him to Sunghoon’s front door, your nerves had been steadily building, like pressure in a shaken soda can. The lights inside were warm, the sounds of chatter and clinking glasses casual, but nothing about this night felt easy. You stepped through the threshold like you owned the place, chin high, spine straight, masking your spiraling thoughts with the practiced poise of someone who’d watched one too many confidence tutorials on YouTube. Heeseung’s hand hovered protectively at the small of your back, just barely touching, but grounding you all the same. That slight pressure said, I’m here, and for a moment, you could almost breathe.

The living room was full already. Jake sat cross-legged on the floor, waving a slice of pizza around mid-story, while Jay and Beomgyu were in the middle of a mock argument about what toppings were superior. Sunghoon looked up from where he was grabbing drinks and offered a casual grin. And then, your eyes caught them. Dani and Sakura, tucked on one side of the couch, their laughter too forced, their eyes on you too long. But, Wonyoung. She didn’t say anything at first. Just stared. Her gaze zeroed in on Heeseung’s hand still lingering on your back like it was a personal offense, her perfectly glossed lips curling into something sour. “What is she doing here?” she said finally, her voice louder than it needed to be, slicing through the room like a knife dressed in perfume. You froze, but Heeseung didn’t. 

“She’s here because I want her here,” he said smoothly, not even looking at her. His tone was so offhand it made Wonyoung’s eye twitch. She scoffed, turning back to Jay with an exaggerated sigh, tossing her hair like she hadn’t just tried to publicly shame you. You swallowed hard. The room shifted again, the center of gravity pulling you straight toward the boy you hadn’t seen since the party. Soobin. He was seated on the couch, drink in hand, wearing a simple hoodie and jeans, his soft smile as warm as you remembered. He looked up when you approached, a flash of recognition lighting his expression. 

“Hey — Y/N, right?” he asked, voice gentle.

You nodded, tucking hair behind your ear. “Yeah, that’s me.” He patted the cushion next to him, and you sat, acutely aware of the way Dani and Sakura were watching, and more intensely, the weight of Heeseung’s eyes on the side of your face. But for a moment, none of that mattered. You and Soobin fell into conversation like it was the most natural thing in the world. He asked about your classes, your major, if you were enjoying campus life. His smile never left his face, and yours slowly returned to yours. You laughed at something he said, something dorky and sweet about how he got locked out of his dorm last week, and your hand brushed his arm without thinking. And then your eyes darted up, Heeseung, across the room, sprawled in a chair like he wasn’t watching. But you could feel his attention. Like it was tethered to your pulse.

Before you could dwell too long, a sharp clink of a glass brought everyone’s attention back to the group. Wonyoung, placing her drink with a flourish, said, “We should definitely play Never Have I Ever.” Heeseung groaned immediately. “Are we really doing every high school game in the book this week?”

She shrugged, all innocent smile and lethal intentions. “Come on, it’ll be fun.” A chorus of agreement echoed around the room, and you knew, there was no getting out of this one. Someone dimmed the lights slightly as everyone started moving toward the center of the room, sitting in a loose circle with half-finished pizza slices and soda cans in hand. You sat between Soobin and Heeseung, though the space between you and the latter felt a little too electric, like if you moved even an inch, you might get burned. The game began light, as they always do.

The circle had started off innocent enough, plastic soda bottles sweating on the table, crusted pizza boxes pushed aside, the living room heavy with the low hum of music and the occasional pop of laughter. Someone asked something dumb about stealing candy from a gas station. Another person confessed to cheating on a test in tenth grade. It was stupid, harmless, the kind of thing you could brush off with a smirk and a sip of your drink. But there was something in Wonyoung’s gaze that made the back of your neck prickle before she even opened her mouth. She was perched on the edge of the couch like a queen on her throne, manicured fingers curled delicately around her cup, eyes glittering with something sharp and venomous. She turned her head slowly, deliberately, and locked her eyes on you with a smile that didn’t touch her lips.

“Never have I ever…” she began, the silence prickling around her, “been a loser virgin that no man wants to touch.” The room froze. The words landed like shrapnel, hot and slicing through whatever warmth had existed just moments before. Your chest constricted instantly, the oxygen leaving your lungs in one swift rush. You could feel every pair of eyes in the room shift to you, some wide with shock, others downcast, uncomfortable. You sat rigid, your cup trembling in your fingers, your pulse thudding like thunder in your ears. And then Wonyoung, as if to twist the knife, tilted her head and said, sweetly venomous, “Y/N, that means you have to put your hand up.” Your throat tightened so fast it hurt. You blinked quickly, trying to swallow it down, trying to pretend you hadn’t heard her right. But Heeseung stood up then, voice sharp and cold in a way you’d never heard from him before. “Knock it off, Wonyoung.”

She gave a lighthearted shrug, still smiling like this was all some twisted joke. “I mean…it’s just a game, Heeseung. No need to get snappy.”

Dani scoffed, disgust heavy in her voice. “You know exactly what you’re doing. Cut it out.”

But the damage had already been done. Your vision blurred as a tear slipped down your cheek without permission, hot with embarrassment, with shame, with the kind of humiliation that clings to your skin like ash. The silence was worse than the laughter could’ve been, everyone staring, no one speaking. Just the sound of your shaky breath and the trembling rattle of your heart in your chest. You couldn’t stay. You wouldn’t. Without a word, you stood up on wobbly legs, grabbing your bag with clumsy fingers and bolting for the front door. You didn’t hear who called your name, didn’t wait to see who stood or who stayed behind. You just ran, your face burning and your lungs struggling to catch up to your heartbreak. Outside, the air was cold and biting, but not cold enough to numb the pain in your chest. You didn’t get far before you felt a hand gently catch your wrist, not rough, not demanding. Just there. Just him.

“Hey; hey, look at me,” Heeseung said softly, turning you to face him. The night was quiet except for your breaths, short and uneven. He reached up, brushing your tear-streaked cheek with his thumb, the gesture so tender you nearly fell apart all over again. “Don’t listen to her,” he whispered. “She’s miserable and she wanted to take it out on someone. That’s all this is.”

“I’m fine,” you choked out, even though you weren’t.

“No, you’re not.” His voice cracked slightly, and he gave a soft shake of his head. “And I should’ve never brought you here. I knew she was going to be here. That’s on me.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” you whispered, your voice raw. “You’re not the one who humiliated me.” Still, his face was drawn with guilt, his brow furrowed. He opened the car door for you and you slid in, heart still pounding, nerves buzzing beneath your skin. He got in after you, but didn’t start the engine right away. The silence filled the cabin again, but this time it wasn’t awkward, it was heavy. Dense with something unspoken.

You stared at your lap, thinking of Wonyoung’s words again. Loser virgin. No man wants to touch you. It echoed in your head, bouncing around until it started to stick. Was she right? Was that why Soobin had never looked at you twice? Why you were always the girl just outside the circle? Before you could overthink it, before the voice of doubt could talk you down, you turned to Heeseung.  “I want you to take my virginity.”

He blinked like he hadn’t heard you. “What?” You met his eyes this time, steady despite the tremble in your chest. “I want you to take my virginity.” The silence was immediate. Then sharp. His eyes widened, lips parting, trying to find something to say, some script, some defense. But nothing came. Just silence and the sound of your breath coming quicker than before. “I just…” you began, fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve. “What Wonyoung said. Maybe she’s right. Maybe Soobin wouldn’t want someone like me. Someone who’s never—” 

“That’s not true—”

“Please.” Your voice cracked then, raw and soft, but full of something else too. Desperation, maybe. Maybe hope. Heeseung looked at you then, really looked. And something shifted in his gaze, his expression folding into something more serious, more solemn. There wasn’t any cocky grin, no teasing smirk. Just… sincerity.

“Okay,” he said quietly.

You blinked. “Yeah?”

He nodded once. “Yeah.” Relief washed over you slowly, curling around the fear that had taken root in your belly. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, something like gratitude spilling from your chest.

“Tonight?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t hesitate. “Tonight.”

And then he turned the key in the ignition, the engine humming to life as the two of you slipped into the dark, quiet night, no longer running away, but heading toward something that neither of you could quite name yet. But you could feel it, in the beat of your heart, the warmth in your chest, and the hand that rested gently over yours on the console.

The streets outside were washed in amber, the streetlights spilling honey-colored light onto the hood of Heeseung’s car as he pulled up to the quiet curb outside a low-rise campus apartment building. You recognized it, vaguely,  though you’d never had a reason to be this far from your dorm before. He eased the car into park, the soft click of the gear shift cutting through the otherwise silent cabin. For a moment, neither of you moved. You were both suspended in this fragile, private space, like the world outside had hit pause just to give you this breath of stillness. He turned to you, one hand still on the steering wheel, the other reaching across the console like he might take your hand but thinking better of it. His gaze flickered to your face, warm and searching, not demanding. Not expectant. Just careful. Just him.

“You sure about this?” he asked, voice low but steady. And you nodded. Without hesitation. Without the voice of Wonyoung echoing in your ears. Without thinking about Soobin or the plan or the stupid game that led you here. You nodded because it was Heeseung and somehow, in the softest, strangest way, you’d never been more certain about anything in your life.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sure.” That was all it took. Heeseung stepped out of the car, jogged around to your side, and opened the door for you, offering a hand as you slid out. The air between you pulsed with unspoken tension, not the bad kind, not the kind that makes you want to flee, but the kind that hums beneath your skin like a quiet, rising tide. Neither of you spoke on the short walk to the building. You could feel the beat of your own pulse in your throat, your palms, your knees. Every footstep up the stairwell echoed like a question you were still answering with every breath. When he unlocked the door to the apartment, you stepped into a place that somehow felt like him , even if it wasn’t entirely his. The living room was tidy but lived-in: a half-empty water bottle on the counter, a sweatshirt slung over the back of the couch, a flickering neon sign in the shape of a guitar hanging above the TV. There was a faint scent of cologne and fabric softener in the air , something warm and clean and utterly disarming.

You glanced around, instinctively nervous. “Are you sure no one’s—?”

“I live with Jake,” Heeseung said, gently tugging you further inside. “But he’s out for the weekend. Swear.” Jake was obviously still at Sunghoon’s house. So, you nodded, cheeks warm as he guided you toward the hallway. Every step felt louder now, your heartbeat echoing in your ears. You could feel the shift happening between you,  something solemn, something sacred as he led you into his bedroom. The door clicked shut behind you. His room was dimly lit, the overhead light off, only the glow from a desk lamp in the corner casting soft shadows along the walls. Posters of concerts and bands you half-recognized were pinned above his bed. His guitar leaned against the corner, pick still nestled in the strings. The bed was made, barely and a hoodie lay crumpled on the chair by his desk. You turned to him again, breath caught somewhere in your chest. Heeseung was standing just a few feet away now, hands at his sides, gaze never leaving yours.

“Are you still sure?” he asked again, quiet and reverent. And again, you said yes. The word had barely left your mouth before he was stepping toward you, not fast, never fast , just sure, just gentle. His hand reached up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, fingertips brushing your cheek like he couldn’t believe you were real. Then he was kissing you, slow and careful, lips warm and familiar now. The kiss wasn’t like the one in the car, not teasing, not frantic. This one was patient, intentional. Like he was asking permission with every soft press of his mouth, like he was trying to memorize the shape of your yes. 

The rest happened slowly. Clothes were shed like old skins, your nerves still there, still fluttering like moths in your stomach, but softened by the way he touched you. Every brush of his fingers was careful, every motion deliberate. He wasn’t rushing, wasn’t teasing. He just was warm and present, grounding you with the weight of his hands and the way he whispered your name like it was something sacred. He kissed your shoulder. Your collarbone. The hollow behind your ear. He held you like you were something breakable and beautiful. When it finally happened, he was looking into your eyes, his hand laced with yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles to calm you. It hurt at first, of course it did, but it wasn’t scary. Not with him. And eventually the pain faded into something else entirely, something you couldn’t name, only feel.

His hands caressed your body like you were made of porcelain. His breathing hard groans falling from his lips with the severance of a melody you’d never want to forget. “Fuck” He grunted, his hips meetings yours. His forehead sheen with sweat fell against your naked shoulder, lining the skin with searing hot kisses. 

“You feel so good.” His grip on your hips tightened as he allowed himself to go faster, rougher. The sound of skin, mixing with your breathy moans and Heeseung groans were the only sound in the room. 

“Harder.” You choked, letting your head fall against the pillow, your hair creating a halo on the satin pillow case. “Please, Heeseung, harder.” You were begging, pleading for me. It felt too good, better than anything you’ve ever experienced and you just couldn’t get enough. 

Heeseung groaned, a low groan that rumbled deep within his belly all the way up his throat. “You want it harder?” He asks, His eyes locked onto yours as you send him a frantic nod. 

“Yes!” Your voice was almost shrill. “Please.” Your hands found his back, racking your nails up and down the skin — certainly leaving red marks in their wake. Heeseung’s hips pushed harder, the force of his thirst sending your body jerking upwards. 

“Oh my god.” You hissed. “Oh my fucking–” Your voice was cut off with his lips falling to yours, his mouth swallowing the sound of your pleasure. He broke away from the kiss with a low moan and a shaky breath. Your breath caught as you tilted your head back, overwhelmed and undone in the best way. Heeseung murmured quiet things into your skin, not jokes, not one-liners, just your name. Just reassurance. Just closeness. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t fireworks. It was better than that. It was real. 

When it was over, he didn’t roll away or laugh or ask how it was. He just stayed there beside you, your bodies tangled beneath his sheets, his thumb brushing lazy circles against your hipbone. You rested your cheek on his shoulder, skin still tingling, your heart finally slowing. And for a long time, neither of you said a word. You didn’t need to. Soon, you got up — put your clothing back on and thank Heeseung for all he did that night. You went to your dorm with an even bigger smile on your face. 

Morning sunlight seeps through the cracks in your dorm blinds, painting golden stripes across your duvet and the delicate curve of your shoulder. You stir slowly, not with the usual groggy resistance of a school day, but with something like ease, something light. Your limbs feel loose beneath your sheets, your chest warm, your lips tingling with memories. Last night plays on a soft reel behind your eyelids: Heeseung’s hands, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing worth seeing, the way his voice trembled when he asked if you were sure. You smile before your eyes are even open. It wasn’t just physical , it was something else entirely. Something safe. Something soft. You don’t know what it means yet, or what it should mean,  but right now, that doesn’t matter. What matters is the way you feel in this moment. Like maybe, for once, you’re not the DUF. Maybe, for once, you’re the girl someone actually wanted.

You get dressed slowly, pulling on your favorite jeans and a simple top that fits you right, a new confidence buzzing just beneath your skin. Your fingers hover over your phone more than once, tempted to text him, something casual, something teasing, but you stop yourself. You’ll see him in Lit anyway. And God, you can’t even begin to guess what that’s going to be like now. The walk to class is a blur of humming thoughts and overplayed memories, your heart skipping each time you think about him. You wonder if he’ll say something. You wonder if you should. You wonder if this is the start of something... more.

When you arrive at the building, the usual crowd of students loiters by the lecture hall, but your eyes find him immediately. Heeseung is leaning against the wall near the door, black hoodie pulled over his head despite the early morning sun, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. He’s looking down at his shoes, but as if sensing you, his head lifts, and there it is. That smile. Soft and crooked and just for you. “Look who finally made it,” you call as you approach, your tone light and teasing, the banter slipping into place like a well-worn jacket. “Didn’t think I’d see your face again after last night.”

Heeseung chuckles, pushing off the wall and falling into step beside you. “Please. You think you’d get rid of me that easy?” 

You roll your eyes, a grin curling at your mouth. “You’re relentless.”

“Persistent,” he corrects with a grin of his own. “There’s a difference.” The air between you hums with something more than your usual back-and-forth, a soft awareness, a shared secret, the ghost of his hands still lingering on your waist. Heeseung’s eyes flick over your face for a moment longer than they usually would, like he’s trying to memorize something. Then, as you’re about to reach for the classroom door, he says your name, softly, tentatively. You pause, looking up at him. His expression has shifted, and it’s not teasing now. It’s serious. Vulnerable, almost. Like there’s a weight on his chest and he’s finally ready to let it tumble out.

“Hey, I—” Heeseung starts, but he doesn’t get far.

“HEESEUNG!” Beomgyu’s voice barrels down the hallway like a wrecking ball, all volume and chaos, and before either of you can react, an arm is slung around Heeseung’s shoulder. “Dude! Party tonight. Sunghoon’s place again. It’s gonna be chill this time, no cops, I swear. You’re coming, right? And you,” Beomgyu points to you with a grin, “you better come too. You’re the new fan favorite.” You let out a laugh, caught off guard, but Heeseung just gives Beomgyu a playful shove. “Yeah, alright. We’ll be there.”

“We?” Beomgyu raises an eyebrow, smirking as he wiggles his brows. “Noted.”

And just like that, Beomgyu is disappearing down the hallway, already off to deliver his invite to the next unsuspecting soul. You glance back at Heeseung, your brows furrowed just slightly. “What were you gonna say? Before Beomgyu... you know.”

Heeseung looks at you for a beat, quiet. And in that silence, something shifts again, but this time it doesn’t rise to the surface. Instead, he just shrugs, sliding his hands back into his pockets. “Nothing,” he says casually, a smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “Forgot what I was gonna say.”

You want to press,  there’s something in the way he says it, the way his eyes flick away from yours for half a second too long, but you don’t. Not here, not now. So instead, you just nod, falling into step beside him as you both walk into the lecture hall. You’re still smiling. But this time, your heart is wrapped a little tighter in wonder. 

The air tonight feels heavier, not unpleasant, just weightier, charged in a way that isn’t quite like the other parties. The crowd buzzes with the usual electricity, the low thump of bass vibrating through the floorboards, bodies weaving and pressing in rhythm to a beat no one truly hears. But you do. You feel it in your bones, in your blood, in the skin of your arms where goosebumps rise as you and Heeseung step through the doorway into Sunghoon’s house. He walks beside you, shoulder brushing yours, laughter spilling from his lips as he says something teasing about your outfit. It’s familiar, the way he leans in a little closer than necessary, the way he always seems to find something to comment on, from the way you wear your hair to how your drink tastes like battery acid. He’s still the same. But you’re not. Not exactly. 

Because now you know what his breath sounds like when it trembles. You know how he looks when he’s above you, eyes full of questions and reverence like you were a poem he wasn’t sure he was allowed to read. You know what it’s like to be wanted,  not by anyone, but by him. And that knowledge sits in your chest like a small fire, curling smoke and heat into your thoughts as you walk beside him. You make your way to the drink table where Beomgyu and Jay are pouring vodka into plastic cups with reckless enthusiasm, laughing at something Jake said. It’s all easy, the familiar chaos of a college party,  but something inside you feels less swayed by the glitter of it now. Like you’ve seen what matters more, in the quiet hush of a dorm room when all the noise falls away and someone holds you like you're worth the wait. 

You glance toward Heeseung, catching sight of him joining in a game of beer pong with Sunghoon. His laugh is loud, tilted back in his throat, his hair flopping into his eyes as he lines up a shot. He’s magnetic like this, full of life, a little too much, and always just enough. You don’t even notice the tap on your shoulder until you feel it. You turn around to see Soobin. Your stomach doesn’t flutter. Your pulse doesn’t spike. You don’t feel weak in the knees or dizzy in the way you once imagined you would. All you feel is... calm.

His smile is soft, almost sheepish, like he’s approaching a wounded animal. “Hey,” he says, voice raised slightly over the music. “I wanted to say… I’m sorry. For what happened the other night. Wonyoung was out of line, and honestly? Everyone knew it.” You blink at him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. He rubs the back of his neck, eyes dipping away as if afraid to meet yours fully.

“That… that does make me feel better,” you say after a pause, offering him a genuine smile. It’s small but sincere, the kind of smile you give someone when you’ve outgrown the pedestal they used to stand on. He brightens at that. “Good. You didn’t deserve that.” The conversation unfolds easily, light, harmless. He asks about class, about your professor’s weird rant last week, and you laugh with him, grateful that it’s not awkward or strange. For a few minutes, it’s like nothing ever changed. But every now and then, your gaze slides across the room, to where Heeseung is, to the way his hand gestures wildly in the air after making a perfect shot, the way his eyes scan the crowd and catch on you. You feel it each time, that invisible thread tugging between you both, fragile but undeniable.

Soobin leans closer, tipping his head toward you. “Hey, the music’s kind of loud down here. Do you wanna go upstairs to talk?” You hesitate, only for a moment. This is what you’d wanted, wasn’t it? Alone time with Soobin. This moment; the intimacy, the possibility of something real with him, it used to be the end goal. It was the prize at the finish line. You look back toward the beer pong table. Heeseung isn’t there anymore. You swallow, forcing a smile as you nod. “Sure. Upstairs sounds good.” Soobin leads the way, and you follow,  but there’s a hollow tug in your chest, a low ache that whispers: something’s different now. Something’s shifted. And you can’t quite tell if you’re walking toward what you want… or away from it.

The upstairs hall is quieter, hushed like a cathedral built out of creaking floorboards and dim lighting. Soobin’s footsteps are steady ahead of you, confident, calm. You follow him down the hallway, the thump of bass from the party below now muffled by layers of drywall and closed doors. He opens one at the end, someone’s bedroom, likely Sunghoon’s spare guest room and steps inside without hesitation. You enter, arms crossing over your chest instinctively. The room is sparsely decorated: a bed, a desk, a dresser with a dusty mirror. A single lamp glows faintly in the corner, casting everything in warm amber light. The kind of soft hue that makes everything feel a little too intimate. 

You sit down on the edge of the bed, hands fidgeting in your lap. Soobin stands near the dresser, one hand running through his hair like he’s searching for the right words, the right entry point into something he’s been building toward. You try not to think about how your heartbeat doesn’t pick up like it used to. How your stomach doesn’t flutter. How the moment you used to dream about, you and Soobin alone in a room, about to have that talk, feels just a little off-center now. He turns to you, expression unreadable. “Can I ask you something?” You nod.

He gives a breathy laugh, rubbing the back of his neck again. “Do you… have a crush on me?”

The question hits you like cold water to the face. You blink. “What?”

“I mean,” he shrugs, “you’re here with me. Alone. Talking like this. And I’ve noticed you kind of… watching me sometimes. Not in a bad way, I just — I figured maybe you liked me.”

Your mouth opens, but no words come out right away. You weren’t expecting this — not so directly, not right now. But wasn’t this the whole plan? The makeover, the party, the studying with Heeseung, the kiss that didn’t happen, wasn’t this what you’d wanted from the beginning? So you say it. Quietly, like you’re repeating a line in a play. “Yes. I think I do.” Soobin smiles softly, like that was the answer he expected. He walks over, taking the spot next to you on the bed. There’s a small silence, not quite awkward but definitely unsure. Then, without another word, he leans in. And kisses you. It’s gentle. Thoughtful. His lips press to yours with an easy kind of care. But instead of feeling sparks or butterflies or that dizzy, swept-away sensation you thought would come,  all you feel is stillness. Like kissing someone underwater. The moment suspended. Weightless. Hollow.

You don’t know how long it lasts, but eventually, your hand moves to his chest and you pull away, slow and apologetic. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, eyes avoiding his. Your heart pounds for all the wrong reasons. “I… I don’t think I feel what I thought I felt.”

Soobin tilts his head slightly, studying your face. “What do you mean?” You look down at your hands, twisting your fingers in your lap. “I thought I liked you. I really did. But it doesn’t feel… right. Not like I thought it would. Not like…” You trail off, not daring to finish the sentence. Soobin hums thoughtfully, like he’s already solved the puzzle. 

“Ah,” he says, nodding once. “I get it.”

Your eyes lift, hopeful. “You do?”

A soft chuckle escapes him. “You like Heeseung.” It’s not a question. It’s a truth laid bare between you. You pause, breath catching in your throat. Then you nod. Slowly. “I think I’m in love with him.” There’s a moment of quiet. Not heavy. Not tense. Just the shared acknowledgment of something that’s been true for a while now,  you just hadn’t let yourself name it. 

To your surprise, Soobin smiles. Not bitter or wounded, just warm. Maybe even relieved. “I think you should tell him,” he says.

You swallow. “You think I should?” He nods, leaning back on his hands. “I think you’d regret it if you didn’t.”

Your heart flutters with something different this time,  not nerves, not fear. Hope. You stand up, legs shaky beneath you, but your decision anchors you. As you move toward the door, Soobin calls out softly, just before your hand touches the knob. “He loves you back, you know.”

You turn your head, eyes wide. “You think so?”

“I know so,” he says, simple and sure. You nod once, lips parting just slightly. “I hope you’re right.” And then you step into the hallway, closing the door quietly behind you. The music is still thudding below. The party still rages. But you’ve never felt more clear. Never more certain of who, or what, you want. It’s not about proving anything anymore. Not about being experienced or wanted by anyone. It’s about him. And tonight, you’re going to tell him.

You step down the creaky stairs, the bass from the party still thumping like a distant pulse beneath your skin. Your breath catches, a subtle panic fluttering in your chest as you scan the crowded living room for Heeseung’s familiar face. Your eyes dart past groups of laughing friends, clusters of conversations, and neon lights that blur faces into hazy outlines. But he’s nowhere to be found. Heart pounding in your throat, you veer toward the kitchen, hoping for some sign, a whisper, a clue. There, leaning casually against the counter, is Jake. His usual smirk falters when he notices your searching gaze. “Hey,” you say, voice barely steady. “Have you seen Heeseung?”

Jake shrugs, tossing a grape into his mouth. “Last I saw, he was in the living room with a bunch of people. Why? You looking for him?” You nod and push past him, a fragile thread of hope knitting itself between your ribs. The living room comes into view, and your steps slow, the air thickening in your lungs like smoke. And then you see him. There, framed by a cluster of familiar faces, is Heeseung. But he isn’t alone. Wonyoung stands close beside him, her body pressed against his in a way that twists something cold and sharp through your heart. His arm snakes possessively around her waist, fingers resting lightly but surely on the curve of her hip. She leans in, lips ghosting across his neck and jaw, a soft, intoxicating murmur escaping her mouth as he whispers back.

The scene unfolds like a cruel play, one you wish you could close your eyes to, but you can’t look away. Your chest caves inward, a hollow ache blossoming beneath your ribs. Your stomach churns, bile rising bitterly as you struggle to breathe through the sudden swell of nausea and heartbreak. You try to wrench your gaze away, but the sight sears into your vision, branding itself onto your soul. You can’t watch. Turning on your heel, you stumble toward the door, desperate to escape the cruel tableau. The room blurs around you, faces, laughter, music,  all fading behind the tight clamour of your ragged breaths and pounding heartbeat. Tears spill unbidden from your eyes, tracing warm, salty rivers down your cheeks. Each step away from the party feels heavier than the last, like you’re sinking deeper into a pool of your own shattered dreams.

You reach the night air, the cold biting at your skin but failing to soothe the ache inside. Pulling your phone from your pocket with trembling fingers, you summon an Uber. The glow of the screen feels alien in your hands, like a lifeline thrown across an endless chasm. Inside the car, the world outside dissolves into a blur of streetlights and shadows, but your tears keep falling, a steady cascade that no driver’s small talk or cityscape can interrupt. Your hands grip the seat, knuckles white, as the distance between you and the party grows with every passing mile. You are utterly broken. Stupid, you think bitterly. Stupid for believing, even for a moment, that someone like Lee Heeseung, with his easy charm and dazzling smile, could fall for someone like you. The DUF. The girl who blends into the background. The girl no one notices, the girl no one wants. You were chasing a dream painted in stardust and whispered promises, but it was always just that, a dream. And now, all that’s left is the ache of reality settling cold and hard in your chest.

The days bleed into each other like a slow, endless ache. You find yourself cocooned in your dorm, wrapped in the faded threads of your favorite hoodie, the one that swallows you whole and carries the scent of safety and solitude. The glasses sit perched on your nose, a barrier between the world and the girl who once believed she could be someone else. The weight of silence presses down, heavier than the thick blankets you pull up to your chin. Your phone lies discarded across the bed, buzzing and blinking with countless unanswered texts and missed calls from Heeseung, each one a fresh pang of regret and confusion you’re too scared to confront. You don’t know how to face him. How to face the truth that your heart still aches for the boy who chose someone else, who wrapped his arms around Wonyoung like you were a ghost in the room. You feel like you’ve been stripped bare, every hope unraveling thread by fragile thread. The girl who dreamed of being seen, of being wanted, it’s hard to find her beneath the rubble of broken promises and whispered lies.

Night falls again, the shadows gathering in the corners of your room as if to hold you close in your loneliness. The quiet hum of the city outside is distant and indifferent. You lie there, heart heavy, tears tracing silent rivers down your cheeks, when suddenly there’s a knock at your door. Sharp. Insistent. You don’t want to move, but something in the rhythm of that knock stirs you, a fragile hope tangled with dread. With aching limbs, you pull yourself from the bed, the cold floor a harsh reminder of the world beyond your blankets. You open the door slowly, and there he is, Heeseung. His presence fills the doorway, that familiar, impossible beauty that twists your heart in the best and worst ways. It makes your head spin, your breath catch in your throat.

His eyes search yours, deep pools filled with worry and something you can’t quite name. “Why haven’t you been answering?” he asks softly, voice low, as if afraid to break the fragile silence. “I saw you go upstairs with Soobin the night of the party…” Your throat tightens, the words choking you before you can even think. You take a shaky breath, then whisper, “The deal’s off. You don’t need to worry about making me ‘hot and popular’ anymore.”

His brow furrows, concern deepening. “What happened? Did Soobin hurt you?”

You shake your head, voice trembling but firm. “No. Just… go, Heeseung. Please.”

You reach out, beginning to close the door, but before it shuts, his foot slides gently into the frame, stopping it with quiet insistence. The space between you is charged, a fragile tension stretched thin. His voice is almost a plea. “What’s going on?” The walls you’ve built so carefully around your heart begin to crumble. You swallow hard, biting back the tears that burn your eyes, and say the words you’ve been holding in for too long. “I’m tired. Tired of pretending to be someone I’m not. Tired of playing a role, like I can be that girl, the one everyone notices, the one guys actually want.”

Your voice falters, breaking with raw, aching honesty. “Guys don’t want me. Not really. Not like I am. This was an experiment... and it worked for you, but it didn’t work for me. So… can you just go?” The silence hangs between you like a thick fog. You hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears, loud and ragged. This time, your hand moves with quiet finality, closing the door with a definitive click. The sound echoes in the sudden, crushing emptiness of your room. And then, the floodgates break.

You lean back against the door, knees buckling as the tears you held back spill free. The sobs come unbidden, shaking your body, hot and wrenching and real. Each tear a silent confession of heartbreak, loneliness, and the aching desire to be seen, not as a mask, but as the fragile, imperfect soul beneath. In this moment, the girl you tried so hard to hide is raw and vulnerable and fiercely alive. And though it hurts more than words can say, it’s the first step toward something real, toward healing, toward finding the strength to be exactly who you are.

The morning light feels colder somehow, less forgiving as you step out of your dorm room and into the brisk hum of campus life. Today, you wear your armor: a soft, oversized hoodie pulled low over your frame, the familiar weight of your glasses perched on your nose, and leggings that carry no pretense, no flash, no glamour, just you. The girl who sought to dazzle and command attention has quietly slipped away, replaced by someone quieter, more raw, but undeniably real. As you make your way across campus, the chatter and footsteps of other students blur into a dull roar, a soundtrack to your internal storm. The air is thick with the ghosts of last night’s heartache, the sting of broken trust still simmering just beneath your skin. You tell yourself it’s fine. You tell yourself you’re okay. You’ve got this.

The lecture hall door creaks open, and you slip inside, hoping to be invisible, hoping to blend into the shadowy back rows where no one will notice your retreat from the world. But no one really goes unnoticed, especially not in a room charged with unspoken tensions. And then, just as your foot finds the seat furthest from the usual spot beside Heeseung, you hear it, a snide, low comment slicing through the hum of settling students Wonyoung’s voice, sharp and dripping with that familiar edge, echoes just enough for you to catch it. You don’t need to turn around to know it’s aimed right at you. But this time, something’s different. The bite of her words doesn’t sting. The heat of embarrassment doesn’t flush your cheeks. You simply keep walking, your stride steady and unyielding, heart quietly defiant beneath the soft fabric of your hoodie. 

You settle into your seat at the very back, far away from the usual orbit of Heeseung’s presence. And yet, even from there, you feel the weight of his gaze, like a hawk circling above, watching, waiting. His eyes flicker toward you in stolen moments, cautious and curious, as if trying to read the new lines etched into your silence. But you refuse to meet his gaze. You bury yourself deeper into your solitude, the words of the lecture washing over you like distant thunder, barely registered by a mind that’s a million miles away. Minutes stretch on, the clock ticking with relentless indifference. You notice the way Heeseung’s fingers tap lightly against the notebook in his lap, his eyes darting toward you in quick, nervous glances. It’s as if he’s searching for a way back in, a crack in the armor you’ve so carefully constructed. But today, you are a fortress, quiet and impenetrable.

When the final bell rings, a sharp and liberating sound, you rise without hesitation, stuffing your books into your bag with brisk efficiency. Heeseung’s voice trails behind you, soft, hopeful, “Hey, wait—Y/n!” but you don’t stop. You don’t turn. The hall swallows your footsteps as you push through the doors, leaving the echoes of his call behind you.

The evening wrapped itself around your dorm room like a velvet shroud, the dim light casting soft shadows over your tangled sheets and the quiet ache that clung to your chest. You lay there, cocooned in your own solitude, the weight of recent nights pressing down like a relentless tide. The world felt heavy and distant, and the thought of moving, speaking, or facing anything at all felt like a mountain too steep to climb. Then, a sharp knock echoed through the silence, jolting you from your quiet reverie. “Please go away, Heeseung,” you mutter, voice thick with exhaustion and guarded pain, already bracing yourself for the storm you didn’t want to weather again.

But the voice that answered wasn’t his. Soft, hesitant, and tinged with something almost vulnerable, Dani’s words floated through the door: “It’s not Heeseung… please, just open up.” Your heart stutters, surprise and a flicker of warmth breaking through the cold shell you’d built. With a weary sigh, you push yourself up, the weight of days pressing down on your limbs, and unlock the door. There, standing in the dim hallway, were Dani and Sakura, faces soft, eyes sincere, their usual confident air replaced with something tender and remorseful. They step inside without hesitation, their presence gentle like a balm, the space between you shrinking as they settle beside your bed.

“We’re so sorry,” Dani begins, voice low and earnest. “For everything. For not being better friends, for not being there when you needed us.” Sakura nods, her eyes shimmering with an unspoken apology. “We love you, Y/n. We do. And we’re sorry for making you feel anything less than amazing.”

Their words settle over you like a gentle rain, the unexpected kindness dissolving some of the walls you didn’t even realize you’d built so high. They smile, shy but genuine, and Dani confesses, “Sometimes, we’re even jealous of you. You make everything seem so effortless, being smart, funny, just... you. We try so hard, but you just shine naturally.” A quiet laugh escapes you, the sound rusty but honest. You joke back, teasing them for their dramatic flattery, and in the warmth of shared laughter, the tension unravels. The three of you fold into a comforting embrace, a hug woven with forgiveness and the promise of mended bonds.

After the moment lingers, Sakura’s voice breaks through, gentle but curious. “So, what about Heeseung? What’s really going on?” Your chest tightens as you recount the complicated arrangement, the late-night talks, and then, the confession that trembles on your lips. “I lost my virginity to him,” you say quietly, the words both heavy and liberating. “And in all of that... I fell in love with him.”

Their faces flicker between surprise and understanding. Sakura’s eyes soften as she speaks, “The way he looks at you... he loves you too, Y/n.” You shake your head, doubt gnawing at you like a silent ache. “But Wonyoung—”

Dani cuts in gently, firm and unwavering. “He doesn’t care about her anymore. And he never looked at Wonyoung the way he looks at you.” For the first time in what feels like forever, you want to believe them. You nod slowly, the weight of hope settling lightly in your chest. They urge you to hear Heeseung out, to let him speak and show you what’s truly there. But before the conversation can spiral further, they shift the mood, inviting you to a get-together at Sunghoon’s happening just minutes away.

At first, you hesitate, the memory of Heeseung and Wonyoung still stinging fresh. “Heeseung and Wonyoung—” you begin. Sakura cuts you off with a firm shake of her head. “They won’t be there. We promise.” That promise, fragile and shimmering with possibility, nudges you forward. You breathe in, steadying your heart, and then you say yes. Together, the three of you leave your room, stepping out into the night with tentative smiles and the fragile threads of renewed friendship and maybe, just maybe, a second chance at love waiting to bloom.

When you pull up to Sunghoon’s house that night, you’re half-expecting the pit in your stomach to grow teeth and chew you alive. But instead, you’re met with the warm, familiar glow of porch lights, the echo of laughter spilling from inside, and the voices of boys you’ve somehow come to know like brothers. Sunghoon, Jake, Jay, and Beomgyu greet you at the door like you’re royalty, like nothing in the world is out of place. They offer you sodas and cheesy jokes, Beomgyu pulling you into a dramatic bow while Jake salutes like you're being welcomed home from war. And for a flicker of a second, you forget it all, the ache, the shame, the heartbreak. You laugh. You actually laugh. You let your shoulders drop. You exist again.

Sakura appears at your side like she’s always belonged there and gives you a little nudge. “Hey,” she says, smiling with all her teeth, “Can you go grab the extra cooler outside? It’s on the deck.”

You squint at her. “You have legs.”

“Yes,” she says sweetly, “but you have main character energy tonight. So scoot.” You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling, pushing through the backdoor into the backyard. And that’s when it happens.

Twinkling fairy lights string above you like constellations pulled down from the sky, wrapped through the branches of Sunghoon’s backyard trees. They blink softly around the bonfire, flames low and lazy, casting shadows across the grass. And there, seated on a log bench near the fire, is Heeseung. His head is bowed, fingers locked together like he’s praying or maybe bracing himself from falling apart. The moment he hears your footsteps, his head jerks up. His eyes meet yours, wide and uncertain. Time hiccups. You stare. He stares. And then, slowly, shakily, he stands.

“I’ve been trying to figure out what I was going to say to you when I saw you again,” he says, voice low but trembling with everything he’s been holding in. “And now… now that you’re actually here, looking like that…”

You blink. “Looking like what? Like a girl who’s no longer hot?” He shakes his head so fast and so fiercely that a laugh escapes your throat without permission. 

“No,” he says, stepping toward you. “Looking like you. Just — you. Glasses, hoodie, stubborn scowl and all. You're beautiful.” Your breath stutters. The world sways. You try to speak, to make a joke, to do anything, but your lips don’t work. He fills the silence. “You’re so beautiful,” he says again, his voice stronger now. “And I love you.” You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. You’re too stunned. Too overwhelmed. So he continues, and thank God he does.

“When I saw you go upstairs with Soobin that night… I thought I was gonna be sick. I’ve never felt anything like that. Not anger. Not sadness. Jealousy. Like I was losing something that wasn’t even mine to lose.” Your chest aches. You take a step closer, barely breathing. “Wonyoung came up to me after that,” he says, voice rougher now. “Told me she heard you and Soobin hooking up. She tried to kiss me. Said I should get over it. But I didn’t care what she said. Even if you were with Soobin, I didn’t want her. I wanted you. I’ve always wanted you.” 

You want to cry. You want to melt. But mostly, you want to run to him.

“I was never going to get in the way of you and him if that’s what you really wanted,” Heeseung continues. “But then, when you told me outside your dorm that it wasn’t going to work out… I knew. I had to tell you how I felt.” His eyes lock on yours with full, unwavering honesty.

“I love you. Just the way you are. And I think I’ve loved you since the moment I saw you at Sunghoon’s party. When you insulted my G.P.A and spilled that drink all over yourself.”  He laughs, almost breathless. “That’s when I knew I was doomed.”

A laugh bubbles out of you before you can stop it, wet and cracked but real. You take one step closer, then another, until the distance is gone. “I kissed Soobin,” you whisper, eyes locked on his. “Upstairs, that night. And it was... fine. But while it was happening, all I could think about was you. That stupid smile of yours, your dumb little jokes, the way you hold the steering wheel with one hand like you're in an action movie... I realized something.” 

Heeseung holds his breath.

“I realized that I love you. Your charm, your goofiness, the way you never let me walk on the outside of the sidewalk. I love you, even the parts I think I hate, because it’s you. And I want you.” His mouth opens like he might say something witty, but he doesn't. He just crashes forward and kisses you, fierce, certain, heart-shaking. His hands come to your face, cradling you like you’re something sacred. It’s not gentle, not this time. It’s messy and passionate and breathless, like a whole novel written in one kiss. Like everything unspoken finally found its voice.

When you finally part, foreheads touching, breath mingling, he murmurs, “You’re it for me, Y/n.” You smile, tears slipping down your cheeks.

“And you’re the dumbest genius I’ve ever met,” you say softly, kissing him again.

Somewhere behind you, from the house, you hear Beomgyu shout, “ARE THEY FINALLY MAKING OUT?!” And then Jake yells, “SUNGHOON OWES ME FIFTY BUCKS!”

You both break apart laughing, and Heeseung groans. “God, they’re never gonna let us live this down.” 

You grin, cheeks flushed. “Worth it.” Because it is. It always was.

(♬) - @beomiracles @biteyoubiteme @hyukascampfire @dawngyu @izzyy-stuff @1-800-jewon @xylatox @firstclassjaylee @teddybeartaetae @hoonjayke @princesstiti14 @seokjinthescientist @lillotus17 @yeonmuse @hoonieyun @s1rawb3rry

[mickyschumacher]

more sub Oscar pleaseeeeeee

[DEAR GOD!]

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: silverstone has left a sour taste in oscar's mouth and he wants you to get it out. or in which oscar decides to call in a favour.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+ (minors dni), some fluff, sub!oscar, mentions of alcohol, oscar worshipping you, younger reader, praise kink (m/f receiving and giving), oral sex, eating out, fingering, squ*rting, p in v, unprotected sex (use protection plsssss), breeding kink, mutual and multiple orgasms, overstimulation, slight breastplay // poorly proof-read

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: oscar piastri x driver!fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3.4k+

𝐀/𝐍: just had to post this bc i've been salivating over this so here you go! sorry for the wait honey! hope you like it as much as i liked it! also notice how i've done two silverstone pieces and they're both about oscar... am i jinxing him?

🏎️ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | ⚽️ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Oscar stood outside your hotel door in Monaco, swallowing the nerves he had built up. It had been two days after whatever had happened in Silverstone.

God, he didn't know what to do.

The emotions he had experienced in the past forty eight hours alone had him melting down. 'Iceman' they called him. Emotionless. Cold. He felt sorry for those who couldn't differentiate the trait of a sociopath and he who could regulate his emotions.

Oscar was angry initially. Fuming. He couldn't understand why he had even received the penalty. It was the only reason he had so desperately asked to switch on the radio. He was never desperate.

But after looking at the footage from various angles and drivers, he was inclined to agree. And although he might've argued ten seconds was still a little too harsh, it was over. What's done was done.

Yet... he couldn't get it out of his mind. No amount of exercise or mediation (as his mother so kindly provided) was helping. So he was calling in a favour.

Oscar sucked in a sharp breath, taking a step forward to knock on your door before stepping back. While he waited for you to answer, the dread immediately began filling him. Was this wrong? Would you even say yes?

This favour... he had incurred it after you had gotten a bit too carried away with the drinking when you had won your first race this year. To be honest, you still barely remembered the night. You drank, you danced, you cheered... and the next moment, you were waking up with Oscar dealing with your hungover-self in your apartment.

Embarrassed as hell, you had tried to get him out of your apartment as quick as you could, pushing him out, saying something along the lines of "I owe you."

Before Oscar could overthink any further, you opened your door, brows raised and lips parted. You definitely weren't expecting him.

"Morning," Oscar greeted, shifting on his feet awkwardly while he took in the little black sundress wrapped around your body. Not even wrapped, it clung to your body oh so nicely. Oh Christ.

You smiled softly. "Morning," you responded. "What's up?" You queried, leaning on the frame of your door.

Oscar pursed his lips. "Um, well, you know how you got shitfaced in Monaco a few weeks ago? Well–"

You sighed, leaving the door open as you retreated back into your home. "Thin ice, Oscar. Thin ice," you mumbled loudly, cheeks already burning at the memory. You didn't want to try and remember any of it.

Being hungover was hell enough. But after winning in Monaco and having the Oscar Piastri help you home... it was a new sort of purgatory. One you weren't willing to tread.

Being hungover wasn't even the problem.

The problem was Oscar and the way he looked at you.

You were a rookie driver. Three years younger than him. You had raced each other at different times before. You knew his sister well too. You had never even considered him as something more than a friend or co-worker until this year.

Being on the same grid meant seeing him everywhere. You had lost count of how many times the McLaren team had dragged you to help the boys with their social media. More times than that, you had caught him staring at you. Eyes soft yet dark, full of want. At first you thought you were imagining things. But when your publicist pulled you aside and asked why Oscar staring at you like he wanted to consume your very being, your beliefs had been confirmed.

Even worse, Oscar had gotten out of a long term relationship months ago. So with the way he looked at you, the last thing you wanted to be was a rebound. That's exactly what you needed. Be a young rebound co-worker for a leading potential World Champion. Not.

"Right, well," Oscar walked after you, closing the door behind him while he removed his shoes. "I... you said you owed me."

You looked at Oscar through your eyelashes, taking a seat next to your kitchen counter. You chewed on your lip, raising a brow. "You mean like a favour?"

Oscar nodded quietly, memorising the way you crossed your legs and looked at him, teeth grazing your plump lips. He blinked, shaking his head lightly. "Silverstone's killing me. I can't get my mind off it."

You tilted your head, leaning on the counter. "How am I supposed to fix it?"

Oscar's mouth opened but nothing came out. Fuck... he didn't know if he could actually do this. Not when you sat in front of him like this. Ready to devour him.

"I know you don't what to hear it but when you were drunk," he sighed at your groan. He stepped closer to you, invading your space. "When you were drunk," he repeated, "you said something and I think I need it." Right now. Tomorrow. Next week. He didn't want to put a time limit on it.

"Oscar, please," you closed your eyes, trying block out all the memories.

"You have to remember it if you keep stalling, ___," Oscar mumbled, brown eyes staring hard at you.

You swallowed thickly. It was the only part of Oscar bringing you home that you remembered. The reason you had been avoiding him in the paddock for weeks now.

Oscar breathed, inching closer to you. "You said you wanted to fuck me. Have me on my knees. Eat you out till you couldn't remember your name. Ride me until I begged you to stop. I need that."

You sucked in a sharp breath, visibly clenching your thighs together. Fuck. His voice was shaking. You did say that. You had said it because Oscar looked so beautiful in the moonlight. You had said it because...

"I was drunk–"

"Drunk words, sober thoughts," Oscar retorted simply.

You wordlessly watched Oscar sink down to his knees, his hands skimming the fabric of your dress and your exposed thighs. You could feel your heart thud in your ears, whirring loudly while you spotted the semi-bulge in his pants.

"Please," Oscar murmured, pressing a kiss to the inside of your calf. "I want to taste you so bad," he breathed out, fingers drawing idle circles on your skin. "I want you to feel good, princess."

You involuntarily shuddered at the nickname. He threw it around the paddock all the time. Teasing you. But today, he was on his knees, pleading you.

"Oscar..." you whispered, swallowing the saliva built up in your mouth. He was making the mess between your legs even worse. "We can't. We work together. Our contracts–"

You could feel him huff with amusement against your legs. "Fuck the contracts. Everyone knows within a five hundred metre radius knows."

"Knows what?" You whispered.

That same boyish smile you saw that night sprawled onto his face. The sheer seriousness swarming his eyes as he looked up at you. "That I worship the floor you walk on."

Oscar watched you blink, silent for a moment. Quietly, you opened your legs, revealing a peak of your matching black panties. His mouth fell open as you spoke with a small smile, "I hope you don't make promises you can't keep."

"Christ," Oscar rasped, leaning in, hands grasping your thighs, your skin spilling between his fingers driving him crazy. He pushed your legs further apart, black dress riding higher, teeth sinking into his bottom lip when he spotted the damp spot of black on your panties. "Look at you," he croaked, hot breath skimming past your core.

He breathed in the smell of your arousal and God, he could've sworn his cock twitched. So intoxicating.

Your body lurched as he pressed his thumb on your clothed pussy, rubbing you gently. Oscar couldn't take his eyes off it. "So wet... does my devotion turn you on, princess?" He queried not in jest but pure intrigue.

"Shit," you mewled, hands clenching the edge of the kitchen counter tightly as Oscar pushed aside the drenched fabric and was immediately greeted by the warmth of your folds. He smiled, gathering all your slick with this thumb, grazing past your clit to capture the look of your hazed eyes.

Oscar said nothing, hooking a finger on your waistband before pulling down your panties, leaving it on the countertop before spreading you once again. His head dipped between your thighs, tongue taking a long stripe. You whimpered at the hum vibrating through your body.

"Taste like heaven," he gasped before plunging his tongue back into your pussy, nose nudging your clit as he lapped at you.

Your head fell back, pleasure swirling around you while your thighs clenched around his face. He was drinking you, taking all he could while he explored every single crevice he had been jerking off to for months now. How many times had he come in his driver's room under the guise of Lando's loud music, imagine your pussy on his tongue? Too many perhaps.

Your hands flew to his brown locks, trying to grasp the sheer pleasure running through your body as if it was tangible. Your eyes fell to his, tongue dragging up your folds before circling your clit while you instantly spotted his blown pupils.

You think he was humping the air, that's how turned on he was. But you couldn't tell. Not when he sucked your clit to gently yet firmly, a precision you had never even been to get on your vibrator. "Feels so good, pretty boy."

Oscar moaned against your pussy, cock straining in his pants at the name you had given him. He adored the thin sheet of sweat on your skin. You glowed above him, lips red from the way you bit them, nipples hard through your dress. Fuck, you were killing him.

He could only tighten his grip around your thighs, bringing you closer if possible, eating you like he was a starving man. The edges of his mouth drooling for you. He could feel your hips jerk and grind against his lips, your moans turning into incoherent gasps. White stars were clouding your vision while the sounds of Oscar slurping your pussy filled your apartment.

"Oscar," you breathed, lower stomach tightening, "I... fuck!"

Your legs trembled around his face, air evaporating from your lungs as you continuously ground your hips, taking every wave of pleasure rolling over you while his groans reverberated within your core.

While Oscar wasn't done, still lapping at your sensitive pussy, you grabbed those brown locks, forcing him to stop and look at you. Your core throbbed at sight of his face, shining with your arousal, chest heaving like he was finally breathing.

"Let me ride you, pretty boy," you breathed, pushing yourself off the chair, not forgetting to grab your panties. You watched him slowly stand back up, your index finger under his chin, his brown eyes solely focused on you.

"Yes, please, please," Oscar rasped, moaning when you grabbed his collar and pulled him towards your bedroom. The small trip had you press your lips to his, his hands immediately resting on your waist, bringing you closer while his tongue explored your mouth. The flavour of you fell all over your tastebuds.

Dear God... you weren't ever going to forget these lips.

Oscar whimpered at the rub of your hands on his ears, fingernails moving down his neck teasingly. You walked through your bedroom door, hands moving to push him onto your bed. "Take it off," you breathed. "Take all of it off."

Oscar scrambled at your orders, removing his shirt off with one hand – the other undoing his belt. He only sped up as you removed your pretty sundress, revealing your bare body to him.

"Oh fuck," he whined, eyeing you in awe while he finally removed his boxers. Goosebumps littered his skin. He was awfully aware of the way you were looking at him as he laid on your bed. Memorising him.

Your eyes fell to his cock. The pretty thing standing straight, slapping his stomach, red and sore – dribbling pre-cum like there was no tomorrow.

You grinned to yourself. You crawled onto the bed, Oscar watching your every move. Your hands trailed over his legs, moving up and up, grasping his thighs while your hot breath grazed over his cock, leaving him squirming.

You looked at Oscar, tilting your head, eyes wide like a doe, innocent thought you were anything but. "I'll let you choose, pretty boy," you murmured, hands roaming his chest, leaving him breathing unevenly. "There's a condom in my purse. Or... you can have me raw."

"Raw," Oscar said almost immediately. His voice torn. His chest heaved. He leaned up, kissing the column of your neck. "Please, please, please... raw. Fuck, I wanna feel you so bad, princess.'

You smiled, pleased. You pushed his back onto the bed, thumb trailing his swollen lips. "Such a well mannered boy. You deserve a reward."

You didn't give yourselves any time to adjust. No more teasing. You couldn't. You needed to feel him too. You hovered over him, legs on either side of him while you grabbed his cock, aligning it with you.

Oscar had to remind himself to breathe at your touch and not just cum already. He swallowed thickly, eyes glued to the space between your drenched pussy and his hard cock. You slowly sunk down on his cock, walls stretching to adjust to his thickness.

"Fuck," he cried out, hands flying to your hips like he needed to steady himself. Shit... you felt too good. He wouldn't last long.

"So big, pretty boy," you praised, moaning quietly at the way he filled you. You could feel him everywhere. So deep.

"Feel so good," he grunted out, trying to prevent himself from moving already.

You chuckled lightly. "It's okay, Osc," you cooed, patting his cheek softly. "You can come if you want. I'll just make you come again and again and again..."

Oscar's cheeks and ears flamed at your words. His stomach churned as you lifted your hips, coming off his cock before slamming down. "Shit," he mewled, head lurching forward into your breasts. The feel of your pussy clenched around him like a vice and it was driving him crazy. He could feel every part of you pussy, hips flushed with yours while the tip of his cock nudged your cervix.

Oscar watched you ride him, your body moving up and down like you were imprinting your name on his cock. Your breasts bounce against your chest, enticing him to suck them, praying it would silence his moans.

Your hand travelled to his locks, grasping his hair while the moans tumbled out of your lips.

"Tell me," he breathed against your breasts, cock pulsing in your pussy. "How do I feel? Tell me I feel good."

"So good," you groaned, eyes clenched, grinding your hips against his cock. "So deep, I could let you breed me."

Oscar's hips began fucking up into you, whimpers escaping his throat. "Yeah, you like that? Wanna come in me, pretty boy? Coat me from the inside? Let me know what's mine?"

"Yes," he whined, stomach clenching at the sight of the cream ring around his cock. The weight of you was fully resting on his cock, taking in every inch of him. The sounds of your skin slapping against one another filled the air.

Oscar swallowed, bringing his thumb to your clit, cursing at the way your pussy tightened around him even more. "Come for me, princess. Show me how good I make you feel."

Your jaw went slack, moans turning silent, vision blurring as your body trembled and convulsed around his cock, hips bucking to ride out the high. "F-Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Oscar moaned, his own hips increasing the pace. His hands gripped your waist tightly, your folds clenching over him still. "Shit, I'm going to come!"

He tried to hold off, thumb rubbing your sensitive clit in quick circle, rubbing your arousal all over you. "Come with me, please, princess," he panted, cock filling you in all the right places.

Your eyes rolled back, body shuddering once again while you felt his hot cum spill into your walls, his hips stuttering up into you. You fell against his chest, your own heaving.

Oscar pulled out of you gently, watching his seed drip out of you. He moaned, lifting you so you sat on the bed. He spread your legs, fingers collecting his cum before spreading it around your puffy pussy.

Your body shivered, overstimulated. You sunk your teeth into your lips when you felt Oscar push his cum into your pussy, three fingers pushing right into that spot.

"O-Oscar," you stuttered, walls clenching around his fingers while your hand reached out to grip his arm.

"One more, please," Oscar begged, fingers thrusting in and out of you. Curling and rubbing your insides. "I can make you feel so good. Look how you take my fingers. Just like my cock. Like I was made for you."

"Oh fuck," you moaned, hand tightening around his arm. The obscene squelches of your pussy told you both what you knew: you were so fucking wet.

His fingers plunged into you, thumb circling your clit. His speed increased, digits curling into your g-spot. Oscar groaned. He could feel your pussy pulsing around his fingers.

"Oscar," you panted, almost drawing blood from your lips, feeling him coax the liquid from you.

A cry fell from your lips, thighs shooting to clench around his hand while your legs trembled. Your vision was entirely white. Mouth open, pants eerily silent as heat flooded from your pussy, hot liquid coming out in spurts from your folds, onto his hands, and the mattress.

Oscar, who had been rutting his hips against the bed quietly, felt his cock twitch, his cum spilling again at the sight of your juices drenching him. "Oh my God," he whined, eyes shut, riding out his orgasm.

"Christ," you swore, head falling back to your pillows while you tried to catch your breath, legs collapsing while Oscar fell next to you.

You turned to him, sucking in a sharp. "You made me squirt," you breathed out in disbelief. "I came four times," you sighed, shuffling closer to him.

Oscar smiled gently, tucking your hair behind your ears. Both of your bodies stuck to the blanket, sweat, his cum, and your juices covering the both of you. "That was just four. I can give you eighty one."

You rolled your eyes, smacking him lightly. "Piss off," you chuckled, feeling his body shake with amusement as well. You pursed your lips, caressing his cheek. "Still feeling shit about Silverstone?"

"What's Silverstone?" He queried, a dry smile on his face as he pulled you closer to him.

You grinned. "That's what I like to hear."

"You wanna hear about Monaco?" Oscar teased, pressing his lips to your shoulder.

You groaned, cheeks burning as you tried to get out of his arms. Oscar laughed softly, keeping you close to him. "Okay, okay," he murmured. "Now let me at least take you out on a date. I'm not usually a sex first guy."

"What can I say? I bring the worst out of people," you quipped with a cheeky grin, tapping his nose lightly.

Oscar smiled while you sighed loudly, hand idly rubbing down your body. "Our publicists are going to kill us," you mumbled, already fearing the wrath of your own.

"It'll be fine. Everyone already knows how much of a loser I am for you. They'll probably be relieved, if anything," he snorted. "Have I mentioned that I really like you yet or..."

"Not really," you commented, warmth spreading over your body at his words.

Oscar grinned, clearing your face of any loose strands to he could see you clearly. "Well then," he whispered, thumb trailing over your lips. "I really really really like you."

You smiled. "I like you too... even if you're an absolute idiot."

"Okay... rude," Oscar nudged you, still grinning.

© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑

[kxsagi]

okay okay play fighting with the blue lock boys (obviously losing) then suddenly realizing you're fucked in real life situations

“𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬”

a/n: HELL YEAH

blue lock nation am i feeding you

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, kaiser michael, shidou ryusei, ness alexis, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, itoshi sae, karasu tabito

isagi yoichi

you try to fake a jab to his stomach and suddenly you're getting flipped over his back. no hesitation. no remorse. one minute you're like, “come on, yoi, show me what you got!” and the next you're kissing the hardwood floor like it owes you money. 

he immediately panics, crouching next to you like, “are you okay?? i didn’t mean to actually–” 

no. no. you're not okay. you just realized this man, who giggles over bubble tea and kisses your forehead like it’s his religion, has the strength and reaction speed of a trained assassin. like, genuinely, you try to tickle him and he blocks it like he’s in the matrix. 

and what’s worse? he gets excited. play-fighting turns into a weird drill session and suddenly he’s coaching you mid-chokehold like, “nah, babe, if someone grabs you like this in real life, you wanna turn your body like–” BRO. STOP. YOU’RE DIZZY. this isn’t a lesson, it’s a near-death experience. 

then at night, he wraps those same strong arms around you all innocently like, “you were so cute today trying to fight me.” yeah. cute. until you accidentally die. 

itoshi rin

you slap his back playfully. maybe throw a pillow at his head. you even smirk like you’ve won something. mistake number one. 

rin doesn’t “play.” there’s no such thing as friendly violence to him. your “haha got you!” moment lasts 0.2 seconds before he hip-checks you into the couch, pins your wrists down, and just stares at you like: “... you done?” 

you’re not. but your pride is. 

you wiggle and whine and he doesn’t even move. not an inch. like you’re some featherweight anime character trying to fight a titan. and the worst part is he smirks. a little. just the corner of his mouth. as if to say: “look at you. helpless. how adorable.” 

you go silent. because that’s the moment you realize: if anything ever happened IRL, you would be so utterly screwed. 

you call him a jerk. he kisses your forehead. 

you call him terrifying. he goes, “good.” 

rin might not say much, but the man knows he’s the final boss. 

kaiser michael

you go to jab his side. you don’t even touch him before he grabs your wrist, spins you into his chest, and drops you onto the couch like royalty. all while grinning like he just committed a charming war crime. 

“trying to fight me, huh? do it again. i dare you.” 

you do it again. now you’re pinned against the wall, both arms above your head, zero effort. and he’s just watching you like he’s so amused. like you’re a kitten trying to take down a lion. 

you realize, in the most dramatic slow-mo possible, that this man could ruin your life and still have time to fix his hair in the mirror. he taunts you while he traps you. he winks while you’re wheezing. and he has the audacity to say, “don’t tempt me unless you’re serious.” 

like. sir. you were literally play-fighting. now it feels like foreplay and a threat all at once. 

anyway, you’re never slapping his ass again in public. because if this is how he reacts to teasing… you’ll end up married, injured, or both. 

shidou ryusei

you swing at him and this man barks like a mad dog and tackles you onto the floor. you’re laughing one second and screaming the next because he’s got you in a full body pin, legs tangled with yours, breath fanning against your neck like he’s about to eat you alive. 

“you really think you can take me, babydoll?” 

you’re squirming. yelling. calling for backup. there is none. shidou’s idea of “play fighting” is 80% violence, 20% unhinged flirting, and 100% domination. 

you try to push him off and he just growls. growls. 

you say “you’re gonna break my ribs,” and he goes, “i’ll kiss ‘em better.” 

you say “help i can’t breathe,” and he goes, “i know, hot right?” 

and in that moment, pinned under a half-naked demon boy with biceps for days and no regard for laws or limits, you realize: if someone breaks into your house, he’s not calling the cops. he’s eating them. 

conclusion: shidou’s not allowed to play-fight anymore. or exist near sharp objects. 

ness alexis

he’s graceful. giggly. dramatic. when you throw a pillow, he spins. when you lunge, he twirls. for the first five minutes, you’re like, “aw, this is cute! i can totally win!” 

wrong. 

because the moment you say, “you’re not even trying,” he switches to demon mode. 

and suddenly he grabs you mid-tackle, does this unnecessarily sexy dip like you’re ballroom dancing, and lowers you to the ground slowly, holding your chin. 

“who’s not trying, chérie?” 

you are. you are trying so hard not to combust. 

you try to slap him out of embarrassment, but he catches your hand with two fingers. two. and then leans down, whispering, “you’re fun to tease when you think you have a chance.” 

you lie there in emotional shambles, plotting your next move (which you know will fail). 

nagi seishiro

you go in with a sneak attack. he’s sitting on the couch, arms tucked under a blanket like a lazy lil cat. you smack his thigh. no reaction. then suddenly, your whole body’s horizontal. 

you blink. you’re on the couch. on your back. he’s lying on top of you, sighing like you’re the one that made life hard. 

“mm. don’t start things you can’t finish.” 

you want to scream. cry. maybe kiss him. 

he’s not even trying. you were play-fighting and he just used your own momentum against you like some shonen sensei. 

and when you whine about being manhandled, he doesn’t even apologize. he just curls up next to you and goes, “you’re warm. fight me again later” as if you’re not currently traumatized. 

mikage reo

it all starts because you’re bored. reo’s lounging on the couch in some soft designer hoodie, legs stretched out like he owns the place (which… he probably does), scrolling on his phone like a pampered cat. so you do what any sane person would do: you launch a sneak attack and smack his thigh. hard. 

he pauses. slowly looks up. “... you just hit me.” you nod, smug. “with my bare hand.” 

the next five seconds are a cinematic blur because suddenly he’s standing, phone forgotten, and you’re running for your life down the hallway screaming “I DIDN’T THINK YOU’D ACTUALLY DO ANYTHING!!” 

too late. he catches you so fast it’s like he used a cheat code. you’re tackled onto the bed, wrists pinned, and he’s hovering above you with that perfectly smug smile like he just won the lottery and your suffering was the prize. 

“aw. were you trying to win?” he’s so mocking about it. and pretty. and rich. it’s infuriating. you thrash like a banshee. reo just leans down and hums, “hmm, not strong enough. but very cute.” 

you yell. he laughs. you call him a spoiled brat. he kisses your cheek. you scream “I’M GONNA BITE YOU.” he whispers “then do it properly next time.” 

you go silent. because wait. is he flirting or threatening?? or both??? 

and the worst part? you realize, as you’re pinned under 6’1 of casually jacked billionaire heir energy, that this man could actually survive an apocalypse. he’s not just a fashion-forward golden retriever with a trust fund, he has training. rich kid probably took krav maga lessons for fun. he could break your wrist and then buy you a diamond bracelet for it. 

later, he gets all cuddly again, arms wrapped around you, giggling like, “you’ll never win, y’know. i’m stronger, richer, prettier. you’re just lucky i love you.” 

… and honestly? you are. but also? you will try again next week. and probably lose. again. 

10/10 final boss energy disguised in pastel cashmere. 

itoshi sae

you poke his cheek. smug. maybe even say, “you don’t scare me.” 

he looks up slowly, blank-faced, like a cat about to destroy your entire kitchen just because you looked at it wrong. 

you blink. the next three seconds are a blur. he grabs your wrist, flips you over his shoulder with zero effort, and suddenly you’re face-down on the couch, arms pinned behind your back. he doesn’t even raise his voice. he just whispers, “what was that? didn’t hear you.” 

and you’re just lying there like, did i die??? 

he smirks. the most smug, godforsaken smirk to ever grace a face. and then he lets go like nothing happened and walks away, already on his phone again. the audacity. 

you follow him around all day after that with the most suspicious side-eyes, because how did he instantly go from calm to deadly without blinking? 

and then, just to ruin you further, he leans in at night, all low voice and bedroom eyes, and says, “you looked kinda good when you lost, though.” 

sir. SIR. you need to be stopped. you should not be allowed to combine violence and flirtation like that. 

karasu tabito

he invites you to fight. literally pats the floor and goes, “come on, baby bird, give me your best shot.” 

you throw a punch. he dodges like he’s in slow motion. smirking the entire time. 

“ooh scary. so aggressive. should i be trembling?” 

you yell. flail. kick. maybe scream a little. he lets you. lets you think you’re doing damage for a full minute, then body slams you into a bear hug and drags you down with him. you’re under him now, and he’s just grinning like this is his favorite movie. 

“you mad?” yes. “you wanna hit me again?” also yes. “do it. i’ll just pin you down again.” HE’S SO SMUG ABOUT IT. 

and the worst part? his trash talk is hot. somehow he manages to combine cocky wrestler energy with that teasing, “i’m totally gonna kiss you while you’re mad” vibe. 

you hate him. you love him. and you are never throwing hands with this man again unless you’re trying to get absolutely wrecked (physically or emotionally or… you know). 

and of course, later he stretches like nothing happened and casually goes, “ngl, seeing you all angry made me wanna marry you.” 

karasu tabito. certified menace. do not engage unless you are prepared to lose. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[wisteriashouse]

group project.

pairing: phainon x reader

word count: 6.1k

synopsis: college!au phainon. that's it. that's the story. mihoyo please let this man be happy (i will eat shaoji if he doesn't come back).

chapters: part one | part two (tbc)

The first time the two of you meet, Phainon gets off on the wrong foot with you — quite literally. And you say him, not you, because he’s the one who trips — half drunk with a can of beer in his hand — and spills its contents all over your shirt.

You hadn’t intended to go to that party. In fact, you hadn’t been intending on leaving your apartment at all that night. The first week of the semester started tomorrow, and you had an early morning lecture that you were already contemplating skipping to sleep in. But Castorice, the first friend you’d made in freshman year, had somehow caught wind that the host owned a Samoyed puppy with fur soft enough to dispel the black tide of finals week depression. That alone had been enough motivation for her to overcome her usual social awkwardness, and check the party out.

And you, as her good friend, had of course agreed to accompany her. Which is why you are now standing awkwardly in the hallway of an unfamiliar house — alone, you might add — with a single can of coke in your hand as Robin’s latest hit song blasts throughout the house.

“Rise up into my world! Renew your definition…”

You’d lost Castorice within ten minutes of entering the house — hopefully she’s found the Samoyed, at least. You, on the other hand, have quickly realised that you know no one here. Which isn’t really saying much, considering the number of friends you’ve made in college, but there must be someone that you can at least talk to, right?

You glance around. From the snippets of conversation you’ve managed to pick up, it sounds like the people here are mostly from Okhema University’s sports clubs. Is this some sort of jock convention? The most athletic thing you’d done lately was run after your bus, which you’d then proceeded to miss regardless. Embarrassing.

Perhaps you should make an attempt at social interaction, since you’re already here? To your left, a group of about fifteen stocky men with disproportionately large arms to legs — rowers, maybe? — crowd around the beer pong table, cheering and yelling so loudly the sound reverbs in your skull. You look to your right. In the kitchen, a blond guy in a fur lined jacket proceeds to pour half a bottle of vodka straight down his throat. 

You should probably be concerned, but decide that you’re not ready to be complicit to a murder this Sunday night. That’s a no to social interaction, then.

Your phone suddenly buzzes. Relieved, you fish it out of your pocket only to be disappointed to see that it’s not Castorice texting to ask if you want to go home right now.

De: you’re not rotting in bed

De: where are you

Straight to the point and mildly insulting. You can’t help your smile as you reply. Aww, you’ve missed your roommate.

You: at a party rn

He texts back almost instantaneously.

De: you get invited to parties????

De: ???????

You: i’m not friendless like u

You: btw hyacine is here

You: you WISH you cld be me

Hyacine, full name Hyacinthia, is a warm and bubbly third year student studying medicine in Okhema University. You’ve never actually been in the same social circles, but the girl is a literal ray of sunshine — everyone gets along with her. You’d contemplated taking shelter in her social bubble earlier, but she’d been chatting to a few other friends, and so you’d slunk away like a stray with your tail between your legs.

She also happens to be the object of your roommate’s blooming affections. Has been, ever since the last sports season, when he’d twisted his ankle during a basketball match and she’d been on first aid duty. It would have been a cliche made in heaven, too, if not for the fact that your roommate had the personability of a public latrine. And the fact that he simply refuses to approach her in any way, shape or form — does she even know he exists?

“You know, you could just ask her out. Like a normal person,” you’d said once, when you’d seen him pining — no, staring — after her from across the football field. She’d been walking alongside one of her friends, pink twin tails bouncing behind her and wearing a smile that outshone the arena floodlights. “Instead of stalking her like an emotionally constipated creep.”

“There are no words for ‘asking her out’ in the Kremnoan dictionary.” But he hadn’t denied the emotionally constipated part. Or the stalker bit, which might have been a cause for concern, now that you think about it.

You’d stared at him with a mixture of resignation and pity. “I’m starting to think that the Kremnoan dictionary doesn’t have any words at all, actually.”

As expected, your roommate replies with a friendly ‘fk u’, which is then followed by a ‘need me to drive you back?’ Truly, the epitome of modern day chivalry, you think to yourself with some amusement. Now, if only he could string together more than just a grunt in Hyacine’s presence…

You: nope

He doesn’t reply after that. Sighing, you decide to look around one more time for your missing friend when your phone suddenly buzzes again.

This time, it is Castorice (hooray!) — regretfully explaining that she’d been so enamoured with the Samoyed that she’d taken over a hundred pictures on her phone, promptly drained all of its battery and then had to go home to get it charged because she was too afraid to ask for a wire. This update is followed by a lengthy apology, a plea for forgiveness, and finally ends with several crying emojis.

You gape down at the message for a moment, feeling all five stages of grief cycling through you before you let out a sigh. Castorice’s phone has been on life support since freshman year — you’re surprised it’s lasted this long, to be honest — so this isn’t unexpected.

You glance up at the clock on the wall. Forty five minutes past midnight. You could have been in bed an hour ago in your comfy pajamas, scrolling through braindead reels. Instead, you’re… here.

Well, better late than never, you suppose. You toss the remainder of your drink into the trash and are just about to head out when you crash into someone exiting from the living room.

A yelp escapes you when you feel something cold and wet spill all over the front of your shirt, speaking into the fabric. Did they just— You glance up at the culprit. He stares back at you, blue eyes wide open and mouth open even wider. There’s a can of beer in his hand, dripping from his fingers. He looks mortified.

“Oh, my god.” He flounders for a moment, setting the can down next to his feet, before he picks it up — huh? — and sets it down again. It’s like watching a computer programme lag right in front of your eyes. His cheeks are slightly flushed — whether it’s from the alcohol or embarrassment, you’re not quite sure — and his white hair is a little dishevelled when he runs his fingers through it nervously. It just makes him look more effortlessly handsome, which is unfair, excuse you. But even that doesn’t do much to distract you from the cold beer dripping from the hem of your shirt.

“I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry.” He looks as though he wants nothing better than to evaporate on the spot. “Let me just…”

The guy disappears into the kitchen and returns less than half a minute later with what is, frankly, an absurd number of paper towels. He then attempts to pat your shirt dry, crouching so that he can wipe at the stain properly, but looks up just in time to see you staring at him as though he’s grown a second head. It’s only then that he realises just how incriminatingly close his hands are to your chest.

“Fuck.” The guy yanks his hands back so fast you’d think he was burned, a bright red flush creeping up his cheeks. “I am so sorry. I swear, I wasn’t trying to do anything inappropriate. I just—” He gestures helplessly at your shirt, looks like he wants to explain further but thinks the better of it, before finally giving up, arms falling awkwardly to his sides. “Sorry.”

His voice is meek.

“It’s alright.” You take the offered paper towels and he straightens up, rubbing the back of his neck —it’s only then that you realise that he’s tall. Maybe even taller than Mydei, actually. “It’s really not a big deal. I was heading back, anyway.”

“Oh.” He frowns. “Alone? At this hour?” There’s concern leaking into his voice, which would probably be more sweet if he hadn’t just spilled half a can of beer all over your shirt. A shirt that is now, to your displeasure, slightly translucent from the wetness. It’s not that long of a walk, and there shouldn’t be many people out right now at this time of the night, but still… You’re starting to regret turning down Mydei’s offer to drive you home.

“My apartment’s not that far away.” You tell him as you pick at the hem of your shirt with a sigh of resignation. “Don’t worry about it, seriously.” You turn around to leave, but the guy stops you.

“Oh, wait!” He quickly pulls off the varsity jacket that he’s wearing, revealing a black muscle tee underneath and some very nice arms. You have to do your best not to stare. Maybe he’s a basketball player? He hands it to you. “Please, take it. It’s not quite enough of an apology, but…”

Did he notice…? You take it gingerly, a little surprised. The fabric is still warm, carrying his residual body heat, and soft to the touch. For a moment, you wonder if you should refuse — you barely know the guy — but he looks at you so earnestly that you find yourself unable to turn him down. Seriously, that expression should be illegal on him… “Alright, then. Thank you.”

His face brightens. “No problem. It was my fault, after all.” He smiles at you, just a tad shyly. “Then, see you around.”

You wear the jacket back to your apartment. All the lights have already been turned off when you unlock the door — as expected, your roommate is already fast asleep, his snores muffled through his bedroom door. The man sleeps at ten, who does that in university? Sighing in disbelief, you trudge to your own room, ready to wash up and collapse into bed yourself.

Suddenly, you remember that you’re still wearing that guy’s varsity jacket. It’s far too big on you, but it’s warm and unbelievably soft and doesn’t even stink of sweat (you’re stereotyping, maybe). Instead, it smells faintly of fabric softener and a hint of cologne at the collar — something woody and citrusy that makes you think of sunshine. You’re wondering what scent he uses when it occurs to you that you’re the one acting like a creep now.

You blame Mydei, just like you do for a litany of life’s other problems. Taking the jacket off, you glance at the back. It’s then that you realise the jacket has no name, just a number stitched across the back — 13. Okhema University… you frown. Now, how the hell are you supposed to return this? You didn’t even get his name.

You stare down at the jacket for a few more moments before you give up. Grumbling, you toss it over the back of your chair and hurl yourself onto the mattress.

Well, that’s a problem for another day.

The first half of the week passes by in a blur.

You and Castorice have no classes together this semester, which isn’t a surprise, considering that she does veterinary medicine and you study computer science (a futureless field, it’s been looking like). To make things worse, your faculty buildings are on opposite ends of the campus — a tragic situation for your friendship. Regardless, the two of you still try to hang out between classes, just to catch up and make sure that the other isn’t dead yet.

And today, there are some new faces seated at your usual table in the cafeteria. Cifera is one of them, slumped over the table in an oversized cat-eared hoodie and an empty can of coffee next to her. Her laptop is open in front of her, but she hasn’t touched it in the last fifteen minutes. She’s friends with Hyacine, according to Castorice — and she’d taken a gap semester to go travel the world, only returning a few weeks ago to complete her final year.

“This dissertation,” Cifera mumbles into the table, “is going to be the death of me.”

You sneak a quick glance at her screen. It’s open to a word document, empty except for the list of bullet points with various spellings of the word ‘AHHHHHH’ and a skull emoji at the very end. Looks about right.

“The first week of the semester isn’t even over,” Dan Heng points out unhelpfully, and then swiftly ducks to avoid the empty coffee can she throws at him. “What I meant is, you still have twelve weeks left. That’s still plenty of time.”

“Time isn’t the problem, my will to live is.” She takes another look at her screen and groans like she’s been burned. “Or the lack of it, anyway.” You glance at Stelle, who’s chugging a packet of banana milk like her life depends on it.

“Any wise words of encouragement from IntergalacticBaseballer69?”

Your grey haired friend holds up a hand. For a moment, you almost think that she might say something profoundly motivational, but you’ve been acquainted with her long enough to know otherwise. “It’s garbage can,” she begins, looking very pleased with herself. “Not garbage cannot—”

Dan Heng shoves a hand over her mouth before she can finish her sentence. “Anyway, I can help with the formatting stuff, if you need it. I practically had to redo all of her—” he glances down at Stelle, who’s doing her best to bite at his fingers like a rabid dog, “— essays for her since she decided to take, ah, creative liberties with her citation format.”

Cifera stares at him like he’s the second coming of Kephale, before she places both hands flat on the table and bows low. “I will give you my firstborn child.”

“I don’t want that.”

A thought suddenly occurs to you. You look at Dan Heng. “By the way, where are March and Caelus? I thought the four of you always stick together like gum.”

A look of panic crosses Stelle’s face at that, but Dan Heng grabs her by the collar before she can run. “March dragged Caelus with her to help set up the photography club’s booth,” Dan Heng explains flatly. “Stelle escaped by pretending to have food poisoning.”

“Wow,” you raise an eyebrow, impressed. “Looks like that year in the drama club paid off.”

“Please don’t tell March,” Stelle pleads.

Cifera’s smile turns just a touch evil. “Well, if you’re willing to pay a price, of course…”

Fortunately, Stelle is saved from having her soul bartered away by Castorice and Hyacine, who return with an assortment of sandwiches and kombucha from the nearest convenience store. The two of them have a class together, which is how you’d all ended up at the same table in the first place.

Hyacine gives you a bright smile as she takes the empty seat next to you. Gods, she’s just so nice. It’s no wonder why Mydei is so, to put things eloquently, down bad for her.

“By the way, did you guys hear about the jacket drama that’s been going around recently?” Dan Heng asks idly as he picks at his cucumber salad. You glance up at him, frowning.

“Didn’t know you were into this kind of gossip stuff.”

“March has been talking about it non-stop for days now,” Stelle supplies. Now that makes a lot more sense. Castorice looks up from her sandwich, looking lost.

“Jacket drama? As in, there are people arguing over what kind of jacket is best?” Hyacine giggles a little at that.

“No, not that.” Dan Heng shakes his head. “There was a photo circulating socials — someone was spotted wearing the football captain’s jacket a few nights ago, apparently.” He shrugs. “It’s not really a big deal, but some people seem to think that it is, you get what I mean? So they’re trying to figure out if he’s dating or not.”

Wow, what a coincidence. You, too, happen to be in a similar situation — a situation that has been dragging out longer than you’d expected, actually. You’ve been keeping an eye out for that guy all week — you’d think that someone with white hair and legs longer than the Eiffel Tower would be easy to spot, but no. Does he even come to campus? Maybe it’s finally time to swallow your pride and ask Mydei for help…

Cifera yawns, runs a hand through her messy hair. “He’s already dating someone though, right? The business student with the pink hair — Cyrene, if I remember correctly. They’re sharing a house for university or something.” Hyacine hums in disagreement.

“They’re just childhood friends, I think.” She smiles at you, and it’s like being engulfed by a cloud of cotton candy. “You’re rooming with the basketball captain too, aren’t you? Are the two of you childhood friends as well?”

So she does know that he exists! Thank the gods, there’s still a glimmer of hope for your emotionally repressed roommate. “Oh, no, we were just assigned to the same apartment by chance.” You need to think about this — how can you best sell Mydei to Hyacine? “I was really lucky to end up together with him — he’s amazing at cleaning. Cooking, too! Somehow the chicken breasts he makes are never dry. And his souffle pancakes are the softest ever.”

“Did he pay you to glaze him or something…?” Stelle mumbles, incredulous, but you’re too focused on your mission to hear her.

“Mydei works out regularly, but always makes sure to shower before he comes back to the apartment. Oh, and he leaves his shoes at the door. Even sleeps at ten.” You rack your mind for what else a girl would find conventionally attractive in a man. “He volunteers at a cat shelter, too!”

Hyacine laughs, seafoam green eyes crinkling. “He sounds like a good boyfriend.”

He would be! “Yeah!” You nod vigorously, too preoccupied to notice the way Dan Heng and Castorice are gaping openly at you. She’s seeing the vision! “I mean, if he could clean up that potty mouth of his, he’d be almost flawless. But no one’s perfect, right?” She smiles.

“Of course.”

The conversation returns to the topic of the football captain and his childhood friend, who Hyacine is actually acquainted with, apparently, but you have other things to worry about. Smug, you type a message to Mydei and send it, far too pleased with yourself.

You: name your firstborn kids in my honour

De: ?????

On Friday, Mydei wakes you up with an airhorn and a pillow to the face.

“Get up, loser,” he says, standing unsympathetically over you with his arms folded even as you try to burrow yourself back under the blankets. It’s cold, god damn it. 

“I’m sleeping in,” you announce, as assertively as you can. Every bone in your body feels weighed down by lead — an allergy to higher education, perhaps? But before you can contemplate on that possibility, Mydei bends down and rips your covers off you with little to no warning. You shriek as your toes are exposed unceremoniously to the freezing air. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Get up.” And then he just leaves.

With your roommate holding your blankets hostage, you’re forced to drag yourself into the kitchen in your pajamas. Mydei, on the other hand, looks like he’s already showered and dressed after his morning workout. His usual leather jacket seems a little tighter around than usual around his shoulders — was he working out even during the holidays? Discipline is definitely a word in the Kremnoan dictionary.

You stumble into one of the kitchen chairs and come face to face with a spread of yoghurt, cut fruit and ciabatta sandwiches. The peaches are even pitted and sliced. Once again, you put your hands together and thank whichever high power put you and Mydei in the same apartment. The universe must have known you would die from an instant ramen overdose if you hadn’t.

“Can’t have you constipated and hogging the only toilet in the apartment,” Mydei had said bluntly in your first year as roommates, when he’d first started preparing your portion alongside his. “Besides, cooking bigger portions is more cost efficient.”

Well, you definitely hadn’t been in a position to complain. 

You start on the sliced peaches as Mydei scrolls idly on his phone opposite you. He’s got his grandpa glasses on, longish blond hair pulled back in a messy bun. It’s a little uneven, because he cut it himself, but he doesn’t look half bad like this, actually. Maybe if you took a picture and just happened to show it to Hyacine…

The genius of your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of Mydei clicking his tongue. He looks annoyed — well, more so than usual. “Damn football guys, hogging the gym again.”

Ah, so it’s already started again this semester. “Can’t you find another gym on campus?”

“The rest of the gyms don’t have this cable machine that we need. Basketballers need to train their shoulders, to help with shooting power and overhead—” He takes one look at you and gives up explaining immediately. “Anyway, it’s ridiculous that this keeps happening. The footballers don’t even need those machines.”

“Wow,” you say through a mouthful of fruit. “Maybe you guys just have slower reaction speeds. Hey, which moves quicker, a basketball or a football?”

“We do not have slower reaction speeds.” Mydei scowls, but doesn’t answer your question. “We have a guy camping on the facilities website the second the availability for the week resets. I swear, Professor Aglaea has to be showing favouritism to the football captain or something.” He shakes his head, grips his pink — pomegranate juice and milk — protein shake a little tighter. “What’s a fashion professor doing managing the facilities allocations, anyway?”

You inch back slowly in case it explodes in his fist. “You’ve been complaining about that HKS,” Mydei’s face twists as you butcher his native tongue horrendously, “ever since you became captain of the basketball team. Have you ever tried, y’know… just talking to him about it?”

“Have I tried what?”

This guy is hopeless. “Resolve it like real men, then.” Mydei gives you a flat look.

“And how would you suggest we do that?” His tone is dry.

“Fistfight in a Wendy’s parking lot. Deathmatch,” you think for a bit, then add on, sagely. “Hot gay sex in the back of a car afterwards. Can’t hurt.”

You barely manage to dodge the washtowel that Mydei hurls at you. “I will strangle you in your sleep.”

“Oh, do it. It’ll save me from having to attend Professor Anaxa’s critical thinking seminar later.”

He narrows his eyes. “I’ll stop making golden honeycake stacks.” You stare at him, aghast. This has got to qualify as emotional blackmail of some sort.

“Please just kill me instead.”

“No. And speaking of your seminar,” Mydei glances up at the clock. “Aren’t you going to be late?”

You are horrified to realise that he is right. Shit. Professor Anaxa is known for many things, but his leniency towards latecomers is not one of them. “You could have reminded me earlier!” You yell over your shoulder as you race to your room, nearly tripping over a chair leg in your mad dash.

“I’m not your mom,” he mutters, shakes his head when he sees you sprint out of the apartment with mismatched socks and your backpack slipping off one shoulder. “And you forgot your lunch!”

Mydei shouts the last part, but you’re already zooming off down the corridor — almost as fast as the great Zagreus himself. Shaking his head, he turns back to his phone with a fond sigh. Dumbass.

You make it to the faculty building in record time. You’ve nearly been run over by a car, a bicycle and a wheelchair (not all at once, though), and there’s a leaf stuck in your mouth from when you’d nearly faceplanted a hedge. But hey, you’d managed to get here on time, and in one piece, to boot!

Well, mostly one piece.

“And so, we will begin by—” Professor Anaxa stops in the middle of his sentence when you burst into the seminar room, wheezing like you’ve just run a marathon. For a moment, he just stares at you, as does the rest of the class. Brows pinching, he raises his arm to glance at his watch. “You are, unfortunately…” His face becomes flat when he sees the time. “Three seconds away from being late.”

You put on your most willing smile. “No points deducted then, professor.”

“Not yet,” your professor huffs before returning his attention to his slides. “Sit down, before I change my mind.”

You glance around only to see one available seat remaining, right next to the professor’s table. As expected… With a sigh, you make your way to the front and take your place, keeping your head as low as possible in hopes that nobody remembers your face.

It doesn’t work. 

“It’s you!”

Your head snaps to the side so quickly you can hear the bones in your neck creak. To your shock, a familiar face looks back at you with the bluest eyes, looking just as surprised. It’s the guy — the same one who’d spilled his drink on you a week ago.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” He looks so delighted to see you that you’re a little thrown off. “I only realised after you left that I had no idea who you were, and you probably wouldn’t know me either so it would be impossible for you to return me my jacket, and—”

“Phainon, is there something fascinating going on there that you’d like to share with the class? Or perhaps, you’d like to take over as professor?”

The guy instantly seals his mouth shut. “Nope, not at all, Professor.” Only when Professor Anaxa turns his withering glare on another pair of unfortunate students does he turn back to you. There’s a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he whispers, “Talk to you after class.” His eyes are bright.

You nod and sink back into your chair, unwilling to attract the ire of your professor another time today.

So, his name is Phainon.

Three hours of mind boggling thought exercises later and several mock debates, you stumble out of the seminar feeling as though your brain has just been run through a washing machine cycle. For some reason, Professor Anaxa had kept targeting you with questions during the whole seminar — which was deserved, you suppose. Even Phainon had shot you some sympathetic looks as he watched you flounder under the weight of Professor Anaxa’s stare.

And speaking of Phainon…

“Hey, wait up!” You turn to see Phainon jogging after you, sneakers slapping lightly against the pavement. His hair is white — really white, not just a bleached blond — under the sunlight. How could you possibly have missed seeing this man on campus? He smiles wide when he catches up to you, eyes as blue as the clear sky above. “It’s nice to finally meet you, um…”

You give him your name, and he repeats it. “It’s a nice name,” he says, in a way that almost makes you believe he means it. There’s a sort of effortless charm about him, in the way that he smiles bright and genuine and so enthusiastically. The looks don’t hurt, either… “I’m Phainon. In case you forgot, I was the guy who—”

“Spilled his drink on my shirt, yeah.” One his hands comes up to rub at the back of his neck. “Definitely made an impression.”

“Not a good one, I assume…” Phainon’s smile turns sheepish as he looks at you. You shrug.

“A lasting one, at least. I’ve been looking for you all week.”

His mouth forms a little ‘o’, head cocking to the side. “You have?”

“Yeah. I wanted to return your jacket—” You start digging through your backpack, only to remember that you’d tossed it out this morning in your mad rush to fit your laptop inside. “Shucks. I left it at home. Sorry.”

“It’s no problem.” Phainon grins at you. Something about him just reminds you of a gigantic golden retriever, friendly and easygoing. “We can always just exchange numbers, and you can pass it to me any time that’s convenient for you?”

“Alright, then.” He hands you his phone, and you key in your number quickly. “Done.”

Phainon fiddles with his phone, and a few seconds later a text message from an unknown number pops up. You open it to see a sticker of a white, furry cloud — a Samoyed puppy — with its head tilted to the side, tongue lolling out. Cute.

“Good?” Phainon asks and you nod, slipping your phone back into your pocket. You’re thinking how to bid him goodbye when he asks, suddenly awkward. “Um… wanna grab a bite?”

You stare at him for a few seconds before squinting. “Look, buddy, if this is your way of picking up girls…”

A laugh escapes Phainon at that in a rush. It’s a… pleasant sound, actually. “No, no. Promise I’m not that kind of weirdo.” He holds up his hands, and then frowns. “Or any kind of weirdo, actually. I just… I thought it’d be nice to get to know you, since I don’t know anyone else in this class. And I’m still embarrassed about what happened that night, you know?” His smile is genuine, earnest. “I’d like some kind of chance to redeem my image.”

You snort, amused. “Not happening. I watched you put down and pick up the same drink. Twice.”

Phainon’s face crumples a little at that like wet tissue paper. “I was hoping that you wouldn’t remember that.”

“It’s the good basis for a future friendship,” you say, and his eyes brighten. “Humiliation.”

“Then, you’ll let me make it up to you?” He’s smiling again now. “My treat, of course. As an apology.”

Mydei had once said that you could be lured off a cliff by free food. And you know what? He’s probably right. “Well… if you’re treating…”

Phainon grins. “Deal.”

Phainon introduces you to a cafe nestled next to the arts faculty building, Elysia. It’s a quaint little space, furnished with hanging moon charms and bundles of dried flowers, somehow achieving the perfect balance between occult and cozy. It’s relatively lively inside, with students queuing at the counter to get their coffee to go, but the two of you find a small table nestled between bookshelves. You take a seat on the cushion while Phainon heads to the counter to order.

He comes back a few minutes later with two cups of cold-brewed coffee and a cake that resembles a pink cloud sitting on your plate — how is it shimmering? It looks more concept than edible. “I hope you’re in the mood for diabetes.”

“Starved.”

“Great.” Phainon grins a little at that, and then gestures at the cake like he’s showing off his firstborn son. “Because this is the best tasting item on the menu.” You raise an eyebrow as you pick up your fork — well, someone’s confident.

“That sounds like exaggeration.”

“No, I’m dead serious. I’ve tried every item on the menu.” You stare at Phainon for a moment, trying to decide for a moment whether he’s lying straight faced to you or not. 

“Now you’re just shitting me.”

“Constipated, I’m afraid. I was duty bound to try out everything when the menu was still in its experimental stages — my friend’s the owner.” You nearly drop your fork.

“What.” Phainon shrugs like it’s no big deal.

“Well, I hope this doesn’t turn out to be some kind of pyramid scheme…” you say, and he laughs, resting his chin on his knuckles as you slice a small piece and place it in your mouth. Soft, light and fluffy — it’s like having a sugary cloud in your mouth. The tartness of the strawberries cut perfectly through the richness of the cream. Mydei’s golden honeycake stacks might actually be getting some competition here. “Ohmygod, this is so good?”

He grins, looking pleased. “I’ll let Cyrene know.”

You slice a bigger piece this time. “How did your friend end up owning this cafe?” you ask, curious as you dig into the rest of the cake. Phainon hums.

“Business school initiative for aspiring entrepreneurs. They gave a big discount on the lease, and she managed to impress them with her plans.” You catch a hint of pride slipping into his voice as he speaks, eyes warm with fondness. “She’s going to be a big time businesswoman in the future, I just know it.” 

Oh, is he…? 

“What do you study, then?” you ask instead, because this is only the second time the two of you have met, and the first barely even counts. To your surprise, Phainon perks up at that.

“Classical archaeology and ancient history.” You do a double take — there is no way you would have expected such an answer. Phainon grins when he sees the look on your face. “Shocked my parents too, really. I think I probably watched too many Indiana Jones movies as a kid — pity the actual degree doesn’t have very much to do with escaping the Temple of Doom.”

“Anything can be related if you’re brave enough. Maybe your thesis subject can be the speed needed to outrun a giant rolling boulder.”

Phainon laughs and, to your surprise, starts to break down what such a thesis paper would look like. It’s ridiculous, really, but he’s so earnest about it that you can’t help but nod along and laugh when some of his points actually start to make too much sense. It’s inspiring to see someone that is really, actually passionate about what they study, in this godforsaken late stage capitalism economy. 

The conversation flows easily between the two of you. You learn that he’s specialising in Ancient Amphorean history, and you tell him about your latest software engineering project. You both share traumatic stories about useless groupmates and some of the wildest things you’ve heard Professor Anaxa be accused of doing. Phainon thinks he and Professor Aglaea (known for their long standing rivalry) have some kind of strange chemistry between them. You agree and tell him that it’s sodium and water.

He has to google the reaction before he throws his head back to laugh at that, a clear and bright sound that makes something inside you do a little backflip in your chest. You feel like you’ve won some kind of victory.

You’re about to throw in an embarrassing story about Mydei when all of a sudden, your phone buzzes. Frowning, you glance down at the screen.

De: dinner time

De: making risotto

De: hurry up or it’ll start clumping

Damn, is your roommate reading your mind or something? Then you frown. What does he mean, dinner time?

You glance out of the window and are stunned to see that the sun has already begun to set, casting a honeyed golden warmth over the buildings outside. The ice in your drinks has long melted, the empty plate emptied of even its crumbs. How have you been here for a whole five hours without noticing?

Phainon leans forward when he catches the incredulous expression on your face. “You alright there?”

“Yeah, just. Experienced time dilation or something.” You slap the sides of your cheeks vigorously to bring yourself back to the present, before giving Phainon an apologetic look. “Sorry, but I gotta go. My roomie’s cooking dinner tonight and I’m dishwasher duty.”

He waves it off. “No worries. I thought something might have happened — it’s good that everything’s fine.” You pick up your backpack and glance at Phainon, suddenly feeling oddly reluctant to leave.

“I’ll head off first, then.”

Phainon’s smile widens. “Thanks for today,” he says, as though you are the one who's treated him. He holds up his phone, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Keep in touch? So that I can get my jacket back, of course.”

“Sure.” You sling your bag over your shoulder, give him a little wave. “See you around, Phainon.”

And as you leave, you find yourself looking back more than once.

a/n: the way i was tearing my hair out writing phainon recovering from complex trauma x reader after not having touched fanfics for three years i literally gave up and went back to my roots of writing braindead fluff rot. if the fic is bad i blame phainon for literally chewing on my brain because i haven't been able to think about anything but him since 3.4 dropped (i’m joking don’t blame phainon he has never done a single thing wrong in all 33 million cycles of his life) hope you enjoyed!!

[dark-night-hero]

Imagine being Zayne's non-mc significant other.

Imagine being the one Zayne always came home to.

Imagine being the person he smiled for when no one else was around. The reason he packed extra meal just in case you forgot to eat again. The one who'd fall asleep with your head against his shoulder while he charted vitals or scribbled post operation notes under dim lights.

Imagine it started with long shifts and night calls. The hospital never slept. And neither did he really. Not when you were starting to disappear into your own schedule, a different work, different place, a different life it sometimes felt like.

Imagine Zayne didn't say much. That wasn't his way. But he noticed everything. The way your coffee mug sat untouched on the counter. The slow fade of your toothbrush like you weren't using it his place as often. The silence after his messages. The shorter replies. The "Sorry, call you later." That came more often than it used to.

Imagine he told himself this was normal. Two lives, both demanding, both full of different things you two work on to. It wasn't your fault. And did he hoped it wasn't his.

still, Imagine the way the apartment felt colder these days. Even when the heater hummed and the lights were on.

Imagine he stopped bringing up dinner plans. He wasn't sure if you would show up. And part of him hated how his stomach twisted when he thought of an empty chair across from him.

Imagine the worst part was how kind you still were. You weren't angry. You weren't distant in a sharp, cruel way. You still understand. At the same time, it felt like you were just… Tired. Quiet. And he doesn't know how to ask. "Are you still in this? Or are you just trying not to hurt me by leaving?"

but Imagine, he tried to push it out of his mind. Telling himself he was just overthinking, that it was just the fatigue getting over him. But then came the moment.

Imagine you were outside the emergency bay, seemed to be waiting for someone but was also talking to someone he didn't recognize. A nurse maybe. Or someone from admin. It didn't matter. What mattered was the smile on your face. Soft. Relaxed. Familiar. The kind of smile you used to give him.

Imagine Zayne didn't interrupt. He just stood there for a second, blood pressure readings half forgotten on the tablet in his hand. And then he walked away.

Imagine it was not because he didn't care. But it was because it terrified him. The idea that you might be happier, more at ease when he wasn't around.

Imagine he stood in the on call room later, still in his scrubs, staring at the locker door like it might give him answers.

Imagine Zayne wasn't really the emotional type. Or at least on the outside. He didn't throw things. He didn't cry. But he sat down. Shoulders slumped. Head in his hands. And all he could think was that 'What if I was the one who made us tired?'

Imagine he remembered the last time you laughed together. The last time you touched his arm in passing. The last time you stayed awake just to wait for him to come home. He didn't know when those moments stopped. But he missed them like something broken beneath his ribs.

Imagine Zayne never blamed you. He blamed himself. For the hours spent chasing patients. For the nights he chose work over warmth. For thinking you'd always just be there even as the distance widened inch by inch.

Imagine he wanted to ask. "Do you still love me?" But he never did. Because if the answer was "No. No anymore." He wasn't sure he could bear that. If he could handle that. So instead, Zayne kept moving. Kept healing others. While something inside him quietly ached.

Imagine because that's how Zayne hurts. Silent. Steady. Like a heartbeat you don't realize is fading until it's almost gone.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2025°

: looks away* ehem, well you see- I was bored and hungry I could eat a damn zayn-

[onlypinkslut]

dad toji x f!reader🎀 18+

you clingy sits on his lap after work, babbling about your sticky panties while he gropes you and lets you grind on his cock.

he comes home heavy. it's always the same. the way the door slams with too much force, the way his boots sound against the floor like he's dragging every part of the day in with him. you can hear the weight in his body before he even says a word. keys hit the counter. a long breath leaves his chest like it's been waiting for hours. he doesn't need to ask where you are. you're already watching from the edge of the hallway, bare legs cold, skirt soft against your thighs, waiting for that one signal-the stretch of leather, the pop of a button, the creak of the couch under his thighs as he sinks into it with a tired groan.

when you crawl into his lap, it isn't quick or shy. it's slow. practiced. like muscle memory. his cock is already half-hard under his jeans, heavy and waiting, and your panties are sticky from nothing but thinking.

you settle on him, skirt riding up instantly, and he doesn't say anything. just exhales deeper, like this was what he needed all along. his arms wrap around you like instinct, one hand sliding up your side, the other resting just under your ass, holding you like a father holds something small and precious and his.

you start talking. you always do. it pours out of you, soft and quick, barely thinking.

dad.. i missed you and today i sat down and it squished so bad, dad. it was so warm and sticky and i thought it was blood but it wasn't, it was just... me. like, really me. and i got scared it'd get on my skirt but i didn't wanna change because it's the one you like with the little ruffle and i kept thinking about this, about now, about sitting like this..

he presses you down a little harder. his palm spreads wide against your ass, kneading slow dragging your body closer into his belly. the pressure makes your thighs tense. your voice cracks

and you keep going.

and aliyah asked if i was okay 'cause i kept crossing my legs and i lied and said my thighs were sore from working out but they weren't. it was just... it kept dripping a little and my panties are gross now and i didn't wanna take them off without you here to see first. i don't know why. i just didn't want to.

he doesn't speak. not yet. his hands never stop. one slips beneath your shirt. the pads of his fingers

stroke up your ribs like they're tracing growth. he cups your breasts in both hands, lifting the weight of them like he's testing if they changed since this morning. his thumbs drag over your nipples until they harden under his touch. and still, your voice keeps moving.

and i don't even know what's wrong with me 'cause i was just eating yogurt and i swear i got wet when the spoon hit the bottom. i wasn't even thinking about anything bad, it was just sweet and cold and thick and it made my tongue feel weird and i thought about your fingers and how you rub me sometimes, like slow, and then i started rocking in my seat a little and aliyah noticed..

and his mouth finds your shoulder. he kisses it once. soft. open. warm.

you gasp and freeze.

his hand leaves your tits and slides under your chin, thumb brushing over your lips. you're still talking, breathless, near tears now from the buildup, from the way your body aches against his without even being fucked. he cups your cheek and tilts your face toward his.

his fingers trace your bottom lip. you open without thinking. he pushes them in.

two fingers, thick and warm, inside your mouth slow. you suck automatically, eyes fluttering shut, lips wrapping around him like they belong there. he groans low in his chest and keeps them in place.

his other hand still grips your ass, guiding the tiniest roll of your hips against him.

that's it, he murmurs, almost to himself. sweet little thing. always talking. always dripping.

you hum softly. he watches you suck. your eyes are glassy now, mouth full, hips barely rocking over his cock, still trapped behind denim. your whole body trembling from the pressure of being untouched and overwhelmed.

he pulls his fingers out slowly, trails the spit down your chin, then presses them back against your lips.

he hums like it's nothing. like this is what dads do when they get home from work and their daughters won't shut up about dessert and shopping and how your thighs got sweaty walking past the construction site.

his hand is steady while he rubs your pussy with two fingers, watching your mouth move. he cups you like he's holding something fragile and filthy, spreading your lips slow so your slick starts to drip down over his palm, and he smiles when you keep talking right through it.

you say the stickiness felt embarrassing, and you had to sit with your legs tight together so no one would notice the wet mark on your skirt. you say aliyah asked if you were okay and you lied, said it was just sweat, but you knew it wasn't. you knew it was because you were thinking of this-right now-of being here, of the way your panties always end up soaked whenever you sit on dad's lap.

he groans low in his chest, and his cock twitches under you. you feel it. thick and hot, no longer restrained by denim. at some point, he's pulled it out-fat, flushed, heavy against your inner thigh. you gasp when it presses against your slick cunt, and he just holds you closer, dragging your body down slow until your folds wrap around him, until he's nestled right between your legs and your clit throbs

from the pressure.

you whimper softly, and he kisses your jaw. one hand stays on your tits, groping them slow and warm, thumbs circling your nipples until they're hard and sensitive and aching under his touch. the other hand cups the back of your head. he kisses your lips once, twice, then again, deeper-wet and slow like he's tasting the way you breathe.

his voice is quiet when he speaks, gravelly.

you're such a sweet girl, he murmurs, just needin a little attention. panties soaked and your pussy sticky and all you needed was dad's cock under you to feel better.

you nod, dazed, lips swollen from the kisses. your hips move without you meaning to. you grind against him, and the head of his cock catches right at your entrance.

his hands grip your thighs. his eyes close for a second. and then he lifts you slightly, lines himself up, and sinks you down onto him in one slow, aching motion.

your body folds forward, your mouth falls open, and your words finally stop.

you stay seated on him even after he's fully inside, your chest pressed to his, arms around his shoulders, face buried under his jaw. you don't speak at first, can't. the stretch is too deep. it fills everything. thick and warm and heavy inside you. his cock isn't just in-it's nestled, seated, sunk into a place that feels like it was made for him. you tremble through the first minute of stillness, his handsbrubbing circles into your back like it's nothing. like it's just another evening at home.

and then, slowly, your voice returns.

you mumble into his neck, your words sticky and half-spilled, breathless but still yours.

i thought about this all day. it was... it was hot, and i kept thinking about your lap and i didn't even mean to. i wasn't trying to be nasty, it just... it felt wet, and i thought maybe it was 'cause of yesterday and my panties wouldn't dry and i didn't bring spares so i just kept wearing them and they got all stuck in between and i couldn't fix it, not without you..

he groans low. shifts his hips slightly. your mouth falls open again. your voice catches.

his hands grip your waist and begin to move you-just barely. just enough to roll your hips in slow circles, not pulling out, not thrusting, just grinding your cunt over the base of his cock like he wants to feel every tiny muscle of your pussy hug him tighter. your body shudders, folds soft, wet and open around him.

i almost cried when i sat in the car because it rubbed the wrong way, and i just kept thinking about last time when you were under me and you made me sit still so you could feel the way it dripped. i didn't wanna move. i thought if i stayed still maybe it wouldn't feel so... so much. but it did. it felt worse. in a good way.

he kisses your jaw, your neck, your lips. he cups your tits again, kneading them slow like they're tired too, like your body needs to be held everywhere. he tells you you're a good girl, that your little body is working so hard for him, that no one else could ever take care of you like this.

and you believe him.

he starts to thrust then. slow, deep, dragging every inch out until your walls tighten around

nothing-then sliding back in with the kind of force that makes your whole body rock in his lap. your head falls forward. your thighs shake.

but you're still talking.

you say your body feels heavy and hot, like the wetness won't stop. you tell him you keep getting scared you'll leak through the skirt, and he tells you it's okay, let it happen, that's what he's here for.

you say you don't want anyone else to see. he says they won't. you say it's embarrassing, and he says it's beautiful.

you always make it better, dad. i always feel good after. even when it leaks all night.

and he kisses you again, groaning into your mouth, holding you tighter.

his thrusts slow, his fat cock pulsing inside you. and your words fade again not because you don't have more to say.

but because you're about to come.

right there in his lap.

where you belong.

thank u for reading 💗🎀

onlypinkslut

[grotesquevi]

cheers to your roommate, ellie williams. a vampire who’s into weird painplay and hating you.

‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎ ㅤ previous || 1k celebration list || music || next

cw    #     18+  as it contains smut, blood kink, threats and death wishes, academic rivals pipeline (she hates you abby level), this is a vampire universe settled in college, mentions of murder, whiny switch!ellie + masochist!ellie combo (she likes to burns herself with [redacted] and [redacted] during sex), ngl she's kinda dark in here? serious obsessive, dryhumping, fingering, some oral fixation, painplay, based on this ask for my 1k celebration! pss there's an small 2nd part of vampire!ellie here! — wc: 6k, image credits to cl6ireredfield on pinterest <3

ellie williams hates her roommate wholeheartedly.

it's a visceral feeling that settles in her stomach, similar to feed from rotten blood every time you cross her sight, living the undead life unfazed by her presence. you use her kitchen, her shower, her fucking sofa — makes her sure you're designed somehow to be everything she hates.

like a nightmare she's obligated to walk through every night, living with you in a small dormitory out of random assignation is something that never fails to get her in a bad mood: she's the best of her generation, prime hunter killer and top of the class, yet instead of receiving a congratulation basket or something similar, she only gets to have a shitty newly-turned vampire she happens to hate as a roommate.

it fills ellie with a rage she never knew before, ever so consuming and devastating that settles in her chest and blossoms like nightshade in her dead heart. you got the attention of her favorite teachers, walking around like the academy is yours, as if the elders were on your side when you were nothing but a human years before.

so yes, it's safe to say ellie’s mad. mad to the point it turns into an obsession that gets out of hand by the first couple of months, a race she knows is one-sided cause you're too busy not giving a single fuck at first. begins with having better grades, drink your blood rests in the freezer, ruin every single aspect of your life until you're truly miserable.

miserable. things would be easier if she stuck to her plans for once in her life, always failing in the process of her revengeful ideas, much sense if she wasn't so drawn to you, attracted like a polar opposite cause she wishes to be different than you — everything you're not.

hate is a powerful feeling. hate keeps the semester interesting, cause what else would ellie be doing more than spending every second salivating on the idea of making you fall off the rankings of the university once and for all? think about spitting blood on your mouth in the filthiest way possible? not really.

she can't afford these kinds of thoughts anymore, not when you insist on being a threat on a random tuesday night.

"so um, i don't know how to break this, but why do you have holy water? we can get in trouble for this if someone knows..." what the fuck did you just say? she barely talks to you during the night, so why are you talking to her? ellie's gaze travels from her awfully boring book to your pretty eyelashes that bats holding a small glass container with a metal cross in the center.

fuck.

too fast. everything's too fast when it gets out of hand: did she leave the bottle in the bathroom? how could she forget? — "what the fuck are you doing? you can't-" your words get lost in the air as she's pressing her pocket knife against your neck, lost pupils that dilate with nothing but boiling rage.

"say that again and i'll slit your throat" she spits. and by the look in her eyes, you know it's true. you hold no remnants of human blood in your system, but she could make you bleed if she wishes to. kill a vampire is as easy as feeding from a human, and to ellie, it's a threat she's willing to follow. "give me the pleasure and fucking say it big mouth. cause i'll never let them find you."

it's funny for a moment, when the knife presses against your skin ready to damage and you know deep down, she could be expelled and secluded for your death, become a clan-less vampire who'd die of despair or in hands of the hunters that now became a worldwide net if they knew the threats she's making against someone of her own kind: is it worth it?

the only threats ever made are reserved for humans and hunters, so it's clear when the adrenaline rushes to every corner of your body instead and you become aware of her hate, finally. fucking finally, you seem to realize the way she looks down at you like you were nothing, gaze inked with disgust. she would not hesitate to end your immortality with the same desperation you wish to do good and impress the elders who offered you a second life.

so the next few days, your eyes shine differently when seeing your roommate after the accident. knowing her dirty little secret and never even daring to mention it, you avoid ellie's presence more than ever now: arrive close to the sunrise and leave when the sun is about to disappear on the horizon. it's a new weight you're forced to carry in your shoulders now that you understand it.

ellie williams hates you wholeheartedly.

"can you pay attention to me for one fucking minute?" maybe shaw is right to be mad because ellie didn't go down on her today: a victim of her head as she’s been too distracted lately — "you're at a party and you're only interested in what she's doing."

the vampire brows furrow in question: what is her fling implying?

"it's not like that. you know it."

"maybe you should fuck her tonight instead of me" annoying. is she jealous? that would be new.

"please think about what you're saying." ellie would like to deny it even further, but she's stuck with the lame fact that she cannot take her eyes off you even from the other side of the room. fresh blood in your hand, you don't realize your roommate is at the same party as you are cause you're busy laughing and catching up with your pathetic, unimportant friends — "i feel nothing but repulsion for her."

"yeah," she can't blame shaw either for being tired, putting up with this attitude she's been keeping the entire semester: you're a fucking sickness for the dead, one she chooses to keep close, "you're fucking obsessed with your roommate, admit it. stop pissing me off with your lame jealousy and fucking do something about it, asshole."

the music's so loud for a moment that the bass makes ellie think she's alive for a second. how her heart must be beating as shaw leaves her behind, not really caring about whatever excuse she could make out in the moment: fucking do something.

it sits in her brain like a bad idea, marinating as she pretends to be interested in what the rest are talking about close to her. you're drunk it seems, flirting with a girl whose skirt is too high up her thighs — as if ellie’s going to ever allow you to take some random vampire who's standards are low enough to get in your sheets after one shitty party. she lives under the same roof too.

so she watches this whole interaction wishing to rip someones throat out. sipping on fresh blood from a plastic cup in a corner of the room, unable to tear away her gaze from you, an addictive sight under the throbbing lights that goes from blue to the richest pink hue as they reflect on your skin like a dream. a nightmare.

does she hate you? yes. hates the way you look, the way you feed, hates you in training when you're tacking shaw to the floor, climbing on top of her and succeeding to pin her down, leave her breathless beneath you as ellie debates herself on how deep her hate goes — could she make it aside to pin you down on her bed too? surely.

do something.

the entire night is a sick game to you — must be. you know the risks of getting involved with her, not only by her random acts of violence but because of her weird stash of holy water, the crucifixes you find the other day. it doesn't matter however, when you're staring at her even when people talk to you, pretending you don't feel the punch of ellie's gaze craving holes in your skin to demand just a tiny bit of your attention.

it's similar to haunting. you party like it's the woods and she's at the top notch animal on the top of the pyramid already lurking for some food. you're too drunk. high on rich kid blood fresh from the slaughterhouse of the academy, abusing on that heady feeling that gives you the confidence to stand in front of the vampire in a rush of adrenaline.

so it's perfect. perfect cause nobody seemed to care, nobody knows whats going on ellie's brain anyway, that hate that eats her insides but pulls her in the weirdest way closer to you. nobody's paying attention to a stupid interaction on the corner of a frat house, nobody cares about who's disappearing tonight.

"are you going to follow me around like this the rest of the year?"

"i dunno," she replies with honesty — "you gonna let me catch you in the end?"

"i'm not in the mood tonight for riddles, ellie. i'm having a good time with my friends," its an understatement cause she knows her voice is an unwelcoming sound to you after the pocket knife accident, but your lips are too red and dipped in dry blood, so tempting to lick down to give a single fuck. "m'not kidding around."

"yeah? your friends are busy hooking up, you sure you’re with them?" it's true when you've been dancing with strangers the last half hour, flirting without your usual circle around, she's been looking—. "seems to me you were ditched baby, don't lie."

"fuck off." what did she expect anyway? a good response? "i'm here just to let you know i'm asking for a room transfer tomorrow. i should get a response in no longer than a week."

"shit. and you're doing all of that hungover?" she's teasing you, testing your patience with a grin ellie cannot seem to hide: the vampire's having fun with you. "you sure it's not too much? would hate you getting burnt out for trying, leech."

"why do you care so much about what i do huh?" the consequences of drinking too much blood wash over you, dizziness settling in your brain like a new victim of your loose tongue. "last time i checked you hated me."

you're trying so hard not to stumble. it's funny for a moment when you're pushed by a much bigger vampire and ellie worries for a second you're going to fall while fighting to make her feel some sort of intimidation.

"i do hate you," she does, but that doesn't forbid her body from wanting, an act so pure and automated as feeding or breathing "but i'm a good samaritan and shit."

her words make you chuckle, a laughter that fills the air and catches ellie with a low guard when she notices the curve of your lips turning upwards and the movement of your chest as it expands and constricts filling the air with a sound she haven't heard before, enough to make her own heart jolt in her chest.

"good samaritan?" you don't really fall for it: clever girl—. "do good samaritans want to kill vampires in their sleep?"

what are you trying to do? what kind of act you pulling? fucking flirt. she threatens to slit your throat and you're giggling at her random lies? pretending you don't really notice the way her eyes keep wandering to your tits? insane.

"do you want to leave, leech?" she's so impatient sometimes, can't keep her mouth shut even if she wishes so. ellie blames it on the abuse of blood even when she's not remotely touched by it, enough to cement her mistakes that night "to our dorm- i mean."

"your girl ditched you huh? cold and fast."

"shaw is not my girl" she corrects annoyed, yet you're too busy thinking about her words: ours. — "we just fuck sometimes."

"then tell me, is this some sort of excuse, roomie?" ellie doesn't want to mention it, doesn't want to think about the way you seemed to be fixated on her too during the night, cause how else would you know about her presence on the same party? about her fling leaving? "gonna kill me in a dirty alley on the way back to our place?"

ours. that fucking word again —"yes. walking with you is the excuse i was waiting for."

"perfect. i was looking for a memorable ending for tonight."

so when you finally lose complete balance ellie's already hooking her fingers in the waistband of your jeans to keep your feet on the ground and preventing a possible accident, allowing you to rest against her body as a moment searching for support: how are you so warm when everything in their species is so cold? where does it come from? your previous humanity?

it seems you forgot about the pocket knife incident in your neck, the razor's edge sharp and ready to sink in thick skin. that would be coherent when you're walking down the campus close to randomly, ellie williams. the cold air seems similar to a slap in the face as you're much composed now, starting to wonder even why the fuck you're leaving the party with her.

what do you crave now? care from someone who only declares anger? that drug-like feeling of the touch of her fingers more intense than anything you've felt in your immortality years? feel- that's the thing, the key.

"i don't understand your behavior" you state close to her, maybe abusing substances is your way of being brave, honest: ellie can't decide. if you're asking for a transfer tomorrow, what's the worst thing that can happen? would she actually be capable of killing you during the night? you have a feeling she'll leave you alone the rest of the week—. "i don't get this need of hating and then flirting."

"flirt?" ellie asks, her hand feels mellow against your skin as the vampire let her fingers slip beneath your shirt, an invitation she grants by herself as her digits close tighter in your waist as she's helping you walk since you two leave the party—. "well, i thought we were just a couple of enemies trying to stay civil. guess i misread the fucking room huh?"

"funny," it's easy to reply and start this back and forth banter, bark and never bite. "you sure? this wouldn't have anything to do with you staring at my tits at all?"

"i thought we were fucking with each other, isn't that what enemies do?" is it funny for her? maybe that's why ellie chuckles. a coping mechanism as it becomes much intimate now when the two of you arrive to the dorm building. silence when there's no one around and it's much interesting there than anywhere else. "it's hard to hate you when you're this close leech, distracting cleavage."

it's such a pleasant surprise to witness how you get nervous under her words, how your brows reveal that nice surprise in your face at the confirmation: yes, she is flirting with you, do you need a more forward affirmation?

so the air feels electric when ellie's opening the door of the small space you've been sharing with her the entire semester, the smell of home combined with desire and blood making your brain so foggy it's a hazard, more than possibly dangerous when she's looking at you like that, when you're an unraveling mystery under her curious eyes.

"can i ask you something without you pulling on that knife of yours?" now as the door is closed your words seem to get lost in the air for a moment, real confidence you exude when it seems you're not going to get randomly killed for wanting a rational explanation even in private — "you don't have to answer if you don't want to."

"i'll think about it if you're quick."

it doesn't happen often, ellie's own brain betrays her to be kinder with you, nicer — "why do you keep crosses and holy water?"

"you sure you want to know the answer to that?" you nod like you've been offered a plate of food after a long journey, information you're tired of imagining — "i don't think you're going to believe me leech, borders on the mad-shit-crazy."

"what are you doing with it?" you wouldn't know when was the exact moment on which she corners you, but the back of your knee hits the couch and you end up sitting on it, trapped between the vampire legs and the comfortable cushions— "i don't think you're killing vampires with it. too much work to hide the bodies, and there haven't been any concerning missings lately."

you seemed to be getting to the point as ellie stayed silent, almost a joke when you don't need her help to find out the true motives of her crazy belongings as your eyes widen in new awe — "oh for fucking vlad. you are using this for sex?"

the lack of response gives you the chills: your roommate, the same vampire who's threats to slit your throat, is the very same one who craves the pain of holy water burning in her skin during pleasure, the marks of a cross red on the flesh when she cums.

interesting change.

"you were dead threatening me the other day- cause you simply like to indulge some pain when fucking?" you can't help but make fun of her, of the blush that spreads on her face down to her neck. sober now and like a damn stallion, you hook your fingers in the waistband of her pants now, pulling ellie with just enough force to make her fall on top of you. "can't you just be normal for once in your life and buy some strap? be into choking and blood like the rest of us?"

vulnerable. ellie williams is now vulnerable against the one person she hates the most, unable to stop her own actions when being seated on your lap feels so good it only ignites more hatred.

"pain is good," it's the only answer she can think of — "i'm not surprised you don't know it as you're a fucking rookie, but we as vampires heal hella quick."

you're going to whine about the sudden lack of weight pulling you down, her ass pushing awfully good against you before she's coming back again with the same artifacts you saw before: the small silver cross paired out with a poison-like container full of transparent water.

it makes you flinch at the sight, unconventional weapons designed to torture your kind.

"c'mere, sit on my lap it's easier" she pats her legs as you sit on top of her—"do you trust me?"

"no, i don't."

"good. give me your palm then," it's fucking crazy to admit how much she's enjoying this, how much she likes getting you like this— "and pray to the elders you're not losing your hand tonight."

you can tell it's a joke, but it never fails to leave you breathless when she treats you like that, cold words that promise only suffering as you give her your right hand. against her own, feels like radiation sweeping through her skin right through yours when ellie's carefully opening the bottle cap of the holy water, holding your hand tightly.

"go on. do it."

she hates you, but she looks at you waiting for a simple nod before pouring a single drop of water into your hand, consent. an interesting word that makes you gasp, wince instinctively as ellie holds your hand firmly, forbidding you to pull away or make any unwanted movement that would make the water fall off.

there's a sick moment in which you can feel the smell of skin burning alive under your nose, slowly absorbing in the middle of your hand as smoke comes out the wound. hurts. makes you whine audibly. where is the fucking pleasure of it?

you're missing it until your roommate's tongue comes in contact with your palm, licking the water it soothes the pain as your flesh begins to repair on it's own. turns you on as ellie's looking up to you, wishing to bite over that spot on your wrist she know she can draw blood from — you drank so much in the party, your roommate’s sure that if she bites she'll be able to feed from the blood that still lingers in your system as if you were human, blending it with a silvery vampire essence that’s purely yours.

it doesn't stop there anyway, it could never be possibly enough when ellie’s pouring another drip, two drips cause yeah-- she's sure you can take it. once again you flinch at the pain of the sudden contact of the holy water now in your collarbone, slowly making its way down to the valley of your chest.

it stings, burns in the most delicious way as it leaves a red trail behind, even when the burnt smell settles under your nose and ellie's eagerly letting her tongue follow the way down, thick and abundant saliva glistening under a skin that now heals again due to deadly abilities leaving no trace of a wound behind.

do you have a heart? is that it? did you turn human all of a sudden? cause you're sure your heart's beating in your chest loudly even when it don't exist, when ellie's mouth follow the path of holy water down to your tits, an innocent bite, wandering tongue — it's enough to make you biased, just a taste to make you wonder more about her masochist tendencies.

"next question," she suggests. not even close to you for a fucking kiss, yet somehow closer than she’s ever been when her fingers trace an invisible pattern in your thighs: "if i found your pretty pussy already wet and soaking for me, would you push my hand away... or would you grind against my fingers like a good vampire slut?"

raw, drops like a bomb and it couldn't be clearer as a sunny day: "i don’t know. why don’t you fuck around and find out?"

hates makes her different, rougher, less funny, constantly stiff, a stark contrast now to how need makes ellie pliant, considerate and desperate now that she's able to touch you properly, a sweet melody that scratches part of her brain and makes her weak, drunk on your charms.

does it make you a sadist? as you take the glass bottle from her fingers and a single drop falls against ellie's neck and you can feel her tensing down beneath you, do you get turned on because it hurts or her moans? your tongue does the same job as she did before, stinging when you swallow and the holy water travels down your throat like a reminder of her taste, of your sworn nemesis surrounding you entirely.

again. you need to do it again cause her reaction is too delicious to let it pass now, not turn it in a primal fight for control, a need for dominance cause ellie's fucking tired of feeling you against her damn belt and not her hands as she tries to unbuckle your jeans, and you on the other hand, are way too busy pulling on her white tank top upwards until your fingers reach her ribs to have more of her skin bare and exposed to you.

touch. you need to touch her more.

"nobody can know about this, okay?" 

can ellie fight the weight of your lust? she can barely resist her own under your hands, cast in a new kind of spell when her top finally rests on the floor and instead, she's received by a gust of affliction, fire on her skin that makes ellie's back arch away from the sofa to your mouth instead, delicious pain.

her skin heals, but the sensation of your tongue drinking the holy water takes her breath away as you wail in the agony of your throat already sore, forcing yourself to soothe the sensitive skin of your roommate with the warmth of your tongue.

"i understand it now," ellie's giving up the fight by now: do whatever you want. keep fucking burning her, keep helping her to take it with your thick and dense saliva coating her skin, lips red at the contact of the water already corroding your mouth — "this whole pain thing. it's nice you know? to see you squirm around, trembling 'cause it hurts and it turns you on."

she comes to the conclusion that she's neck-deep already, this weird connection between jealousy and desire who's devastating enough to let you kiss her, drown her in you. slow and invading your tongue pushes against her own and ellie's surrendering, lowering those walls of hate to let you collect every part of her system like a trophy, as if you weren't already all she thinks about lately.

burns against her tongue in a subtle, almost inexistent throb that only pushes her further, demanding for more when she licks into your mouth, hoping to make your saliva her own — consume you until there's nothing left.

drunk in the taste of your mouth ellie’s capable still of finally unbuckle your pants, sure she'll tear them apart with her knife still resting in the pocket of her jeans as her finger pull them down tired of the fabric forbidding her to roam around like she deserves: she has endured your presence the entire semester, didn't she deserve this? play with her pretty roommates pussy?

she does. a victory she need to claim when ellie's words slur together, a mix that only proves how needy she becomes with the seconds, how lust takes over her actions, dictating her movements as she tugs the waistband of your jeans down once again with a pleading look — "please-- take them off, they only get in the way..."

pathetic. she’s fucking degrading herself, sounding like a freshly-turned vampire who knows nothing about patience. it makes her blush when you stand in front of her for a handful of seconds: pull yourself together, how is that a pretty pair of panties hypnotizing her to the point of madness?

there you are. soaked, ready for her, inviting for her fingers to finally sink into your cunt.

her hands squeeze the round gloves of your ass when you're coming back to the secured spot in her lap, slowly making you move on top of her in a gentle back and forth that's too different from the fun you're having with her, the cruel desire. all is teasing in your fingers when the silver crucifix's tip scratches against ellie's torso, burning her chest in a path that lands later on her tummy, defined wound. the vampire stiffens when the cross burns deep in the flesh, an scream leaving her lips as her fangs come out in response.

"too much," ellie lets you know against your skin — "be gentle and not a fucking monkey. i know its too much to ask, but i encourage you to try."

even in your control she's eager when messing with you, testing your patience cause she's damn good at it, the best of the campus to fucking hate you and turn you on it seems, cause she can already feel the dampness your pussy leaves behind in her jeans as you're already humping her legs as if it's her cunt the one you're scissoring with.

"fuck you." there's no real offense when saying it, between erratic moans it makes the vampire laugh as she's leaving soft kisses on the curve of your neck, biting with no real pressure.

"well, i think that's what we're doing, isn't it?" 

"finally you're intelligent, huh? cheers to carmilla."

the thin line of hate blurs to an nonexistent line cause ellie can't think of nothing else but the way you hump against leg seeking for whatever relief she could offer, amazes her when you damn multitask to get rid of her sports bra, too busy to fight with it when you're barely making an effort to rip the fabric that shatters in your fingers like it's paper, brain too clouded to even say something about it: that bra costed damn human money.

it makes her skin tingle when your lavish tongue meets her stiff nipple, the meat of her breast moulding to your hands as you lightly squeeze the flesh. a breath of the pain before you're messing around again and the holy water burns its way down to your mouth, just right over her nipple to cause enough distraction to make her crash out.

"what the hell-" ellie gasps, closing her eyes shut — "are you a professional now in this field, rookie?"

you learn fast, clearly. you'd like to remind her that but you're too busy using her, getting off her clothed knee which rubs too good against your drenched cunt, wet enough to darken the fabric of her jeans at least two shades. composed, in control until ellie's fangs graze against your skin and you can feel her willingly breathing, filling her dead lungs with your scent that goes between sweat and the perfume you sprayed before leaving to the party and ellie felt all over the living room back to her bed before you left.

"you smell so much like blood" she manages to say, choking. hands gripping your waist like it's the only constant thing in her brain that’s able to keep her grounded — "a-class-fucking-blood huh? please don't be greedy and share a little- please."

it's messy when she says it, you need to stop any further painplay when she's grounding you faster against her leg, her fangs tearing through the skin of your neck to reach the vein under her teeth who ellie’s sure beats human-like in her mouth. red drops of blood slip past her mouth when she begins to suck, staining your chest and your tight shirt only to make you moan: the pain, the smell of blood and sex in the air, her fingers digging in your waist to the point her nails leave a mark.

there's no words to describe it. it's chaotic and ellie could downright cum just by that: jeans on, the holy water, the blood in your veins and your cunt soaking down her leg to the point she can feel you in the air — it's the perfect combination.

so she feeds from you like you're human, a source of fresh blood instead of a vampire just fed, slides her hand between your legs drunk on blood and gore, on the way her fangs tear your skin and makes you moan as she sucks further. her fingers slide under your underwear and it's a far more important need to get you there, destroy your barriers and have you peaking in her lap.

are you close? seems like you are when her digits push against your tight, fluttering-hole and you kind of forget about grinding. the moment your cunt engulfs her fingers, squeezing them in welcome.

"you gonna cum?" ellie’s voice's rougher now, thickened by the blood and need, the pleasure that gathers in her stomach and will give her the most intense orgasm on her fucking jeans — "talk to me."

ellie shows no mercy when she's fucking you with her fingers, you don't either when she's covered in crosses, in a daze of blood and burnt skin that even when it heals faster, makes her thrive under your bites and sweet tortures.

no you cannot answer, the undulating movements of your hips only help your roommate to discover that spot inside that drives you insane, that makes you move faster, in erratic thrusts to try and draw her closer, help her fingers sink in deeper. tight, ellie's sure you have a pulse when you squeeze her fingers tightly enough to make her moan, a damn heart. you're close- so fucking close, you cannot let her know seconds before.

fuck she should be so into this.

time for a vampire goes different, but now it reaches a whole different level when the world seems to stop for a minute, a tear in the universe that functions in your own rules as you finally cum, when ellie's cumming too in a loud whine and you can feel it crumbling down to pieces: what ego's now left after she creamed her pants like a fucking loser?

it's hard to be mean to you when she can feel how sticky it is between her legs, when at the slightest movement her underwear seems to cause the most delicious friction in her soaked folds.

"this is a one time thing," you try to say as you take your shirt off, dried blood in your skin like a new type of candy the vampire wishes to try, the new sight of your tits — your cunt too; warm, pliant and inviting, sucking ellie's fingers deeper like a way of inviting her further in, keep you nestled and full of her digits as she kisses your neck like she's already saying: yeah sure, whatever you say. "i mean it ells-"

the nickname makes her laugh for a moment: is it a reminder for you or is it directed to her? you're the one who's calling her ells anyway, never seen before.

"yeah? i know baby. open up," she’ll give you any reassurance you need when her fingers leave your used cunt to instead push insistently against your mouth, smearing your arousal in your lower lip as a permission to have you parting her lips for her, "that's it. you're such a good vampire when you shut the fuck up."

it defies nature itself. how are you so soft? how are you always at a different temperature? it makes her burn when you’re taking her fingers in your mouth, fangs coming out to playfully push against the skin of her hand as you let her draw them deeper, knuckles past your teeth as ellie's sure you can taste it; the savory essence of death and bliss your orgasm left behind.

what’s hers.

there's no need to rest when you're dropping to your knees, right between her parted legs ellie's fingers now plunges down your throat before your hands are freeing her from a life of pain, a slightly soaked belt you're unbuckling as a secret passage to paradise.

"i can smell your cum from here," you point out, making her feel suddenly shy at the plain evidence of her needs. "creamed all over your pants and all i did was suck your tits and let you use me as a vessel — are you sure you hate me?"

you're mocking her when the vampire’s shimmying out of her pants, not saying a word. what can she possibly say when you're right? when you reduced her to a mess? there's marks on her body you made, her knee’s still wet from your cum; your kisses burn like holy water on her lips, hell, she's not even sure herself of any hate.

"i- fuck, i tried not to cum i swear it." pathetic. all her threats, all this attitude she's been pulling out of her ass now goes to the fucking bin just because you're down on your knees, looking at her like she's the best human treat to a superior vampire — "you looked so good while i finger-fucked you... i couldn't help it."

you're pressing your lips against her inner thigh, and a shiver goes down ellie's spine when you know just exactly what she needs— "tell me you know this is a one-time thing, ellie."

"it is a one-time thing, rookie." loud and clear, she'd say anything to keep you going, even when you’re already intoxicated by the smell of her orgasm and the blood that runs through her veins as she recently fed from you.

good. you're gonna make her a feast, bite that vein close to her cunt, get dizzy on her taste-

one time thing.

"i still hate you" you reply between her legs, breathing heavily cause you want to make her smell part of you, her excitement an emotion you can pick up from: you need the reminder more than she does.

"wouldn't expect less from you," voice strained, ellie's fingers thread in your hair, pushing your face closer to where it's needed — "i hate you too."

lies. vampires are so full of shit sometimes, cause she doesn't hate you at all, just as you know deep down, that this act of devotion wasn't a one time thing only.

viva hate: isn't that what vampires say? when you despise someone so much their body speaks to you in a different tongue.

it turns out you’re ellie's favorite worst nightmare. and that’s enough to prevent you from looking for a new roommate the next day.

ellie williams hates you wholeheartedly. tangled in her arms the next morning on a dirty couch full of blood: wasn’t that just right?

[cheapshrimpysheep]

Dating in a Dream - Ruggie Bucchi

SUMMARY: What would his dream be like, exactly the same as in the original story, but with the small detail that he is dreaming that you two are dating?

CHARACTERS: Ruggie Bucchi x Reader 🍩🦐

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader; In a Relationship (kinda); Kiss; Flirting

WARNING: Spoilers from Book 7 and Ruggie’s dream (Eng Server)

WORD COUNT: 3.360 words

COMMENTS: This was written as a companion piece to the original dream story, so the parts that are the same as the game are just summarized.

I try my best to write dialogue for characters like Ruggie well, but since English isn't my first language there are some forms of speech and abbreviations I'm not familiar with. But I hope I've done him enough justice.

By the way, it was while I was writing this that my keyboard started failing, and I had to buy a new one. I hope I've fixed all the typos.

I hope you enjoy 🍩

Dating in a Dream: Idia / Epel / Rook / Vil / Kalim / Jamil / Floyd / Jade / Azul / Jack / (Ruggie) ...

“Aether signal tracking successful.” Ortho announces. “We have arrived at the designated coordinates.”

You, Grim, Silver, Sebek, Ortho, Azul, Jack and Idia’s tablet reach the next dream, but you don't land anywhere you recognize. It looks like a new country.

Checking on the others, Jack said he was fine and Azul said the medication he had taken had helped him, but the heat of that place was worse for him than the crossing between dreams. According to Ortho's analysis, everything indicated that you were in Sunset Savanna, more specifically in the capital, Sunrise City.

After you all changed into your school uniforms, and how long it took because Jack was embarrassed to use Idia's spell, you start chatting to try to understand whose dream it could be. Everything indicates that the dream is either Leona's or Ruggie's, since they are both from Sunset Savanna. They exchange information they know about that country to have a better idea of where you are until you hear someone approaching running.

“Oh crud, oh crud! I overslept!” You see Ruggie pass you by. “If I'm late, I can kiss my perfect attendance record goodbye! Outta my way!”

He was wearing what looked like a school uniform, but not the black one of Night Raven Collage, this one was light brown and yellow. And he was wearing glasses too. Azul comments that he had never seen Ruggie wear glasses and Jack adds that it doesn't make sense because he's supposed to have some of the best eyesight out of anyone in Savanaclaw. But that was definitely Ruggie's dream because he had the dreamer's silver bird around his head.

You follow him.

You follow Ruggie to the market.

“What's the hurry, Ruggie?” One of the vendors calls him. “I've got chilled hibiscus juice here! Have a drink.”

“Thanks, ma'am, but I'm running late!”

“My, that's rare for a model student like you.”

“I was up late studying for a test and overslept.”

“You can't study on an empty stomach, Ruggie.” Another vendor says. “Have some steamed bananas for the road!”

“Whoa, that's a lot! How much for the bunch?”

“Don't worry about it. Your grandma did a lot to keep me fed back when I was a kid. Once you graduate and get a good job, you can treat me to a dinner at the Sunset Villa.”

“Ah, yeah, I'll pay you back when I'm rich! Thanks!”

Other vendors continued to offer him food and talk about his grandmother and comment on how his father had returned home rich after working away from home. Now his grandmother was comfortable retire.

You had to try hard not to lose Ruggie in that crowd. That, and it was difficult to move around among so many people. Meanwhile, Ruggie was dodging and weaving through the crowds at top speed.

“(Y/N)!” You hear someone call you with happy surprise, when you look it's one of the vendors. “Oh, I almost didn't recognize you in those clothes. Why aren't you wearing your uniform?”

“My uniform? Well, I...” You try to make up some excuse, but it's not necessary.

“And you're also late on top of that!” The vendor continues, friendly. “Ruggie is late as well, he just passed by. You must have missed each other. You look hungry. Here, take some steamed bananas with you.”

You accept the bananas, thank them and say goodbye when the vendor says that you had better go as you are already late and wishes you a good day at school. Grim ends up convincing you to give him most of the bananas, while Azul and Ortho comment on the fact that the people there know you. But how?

You continue following Ruggie until you reach a new place, which appears to be a school. You see Ruggie meeting other students wearing the same uniform as him.

“Judging by the ears and tails, it seems to be mostly beastfolk here.” Silver notices.

“There's a lot of hyenas...” Jack adds. “Actually, I think most of the people I'm seein' are hyenas.”

“There's no school at these coordinates in the real world.” Ortho informs. “It must be something that Ruggie's imagination came up with.”

Then your attention goes to the statue in the center, which depict three hyenas. Jack says they’re the legendary hyenas, the ones that served the King of Beasts. He had heard they were considered heroes around Ruggie's home region.

Meanwhile, Grim draws your attention to the trees laden with fruit, even after he has eaten almost all of your bananas. You see Ruggie and the other students picking the fruits and eating them, showing that it is allowed to eat the fruits from those trees. This is enough for Grim to help himself too and start picking up a bunch of fruit.

“Whoa! What's the-?” One of the students who was with Ruggie sees him. “Oh, it's just Grim.”

“Heeey, take it easy.” Ruggie says, amused. “You don't want to get indigestion like last time.”

“Last time?” Grim wonders to himself.

“Well, if you're here, then that means...” He looks around with a smile until he finds you and his smile grows even bigger. “There's my dandelion! Don't tell me grammy forgot to-”

You get closer, along with the others and he notices your clothes.

“Um... What are those clothes?” He asks still with an awkward smile. “Where is your uniform?” When he realizes that you're wearing the same clothes as the other boys you were with, his smile turns into a pout, cute and scary at the same time. “Um, (Y/N), who are your... friends? And why are you wearing the same clothes as them?”

So Ruggie knows you and Grim, but not the others and doesn't seem to know about NRC either. It's intriguing and confusing, but Azul still manages to join the conversation smoothly.

“Allow me to introduce everyone. My name is Azul Ashengrotto. This is my fellow sophomore Silver, and this is Ortho, Sebek, and Jack, all freshmen. We attend an arcane academy in the Land of Dawning called Night Raven College. We're here on a student exchange.”

“And (Y/N)'s uniform?” Ruggie asked, focusing on Azul.

“A spell that hit the wrong person.” He answers as if it were the genuine truth. “(Y/N) was the one who greeted us when we arrived here. When we tried to help Jack with a spell to change his clothes to better adapt to the climate, we ended up accidentally hitting (Y/N). And since we're not familiar with your uniform, we couldn't change their clothes back. My apologies for the misunderstanding.”

Ruggie was silent for a moment which made you question whether he really believed that or not. But Azul was good.

“Okay. Strange, but sounds plausible. Sorry for the suspicion.” Ruggie smiles friendly again. “Let me do it then.” He uses his magic to transform your black NRC uniform into the same light brown and yellowish uniform as his. “Much better.” He comments before turning back to Azul and the others. “I'm Ruggie Bucchi. Please, call me Ruggie.”

At that moment, Sebek's stomach growled while he was arguing with Grim about him picking too many fruits.

“Ahahaha! If you're that hungry, take all you want.” Ruggie said, laughing. “Here at Ivorycliff Academy all the food on campus is fair game for anyone to eat.”

Silver says they aren't students there and Ruggie says that's not a problem, that the local kids go there for food too. At that academy they share food with anyone who's hungry in honor of the hyenas' spirit of solidarity, whether or not they're enrolled there. Jack is shocked (and maybe you are too) seeing Ruggie offering food for free.

You all chat a little and Ruggie offers you even more food besides fruit. There was a stall by the school entrance that had freshly made donuts. He recommends that they get a plain donut, drizzle on some chocolate sauce, then add some sliced nuts, then add custard cream and whipped cream, and top it all off with some tart berry jam like so.

But for you, he offered your favorite, or a mix that would be your favorite. He didn't even need to ask you anything, it was as if he already knew your tastes by heart.

Meanwhile, you hear the Donut Vendor talking to the other students and commenting that they should all be grateful to Prince Leona for establishing that school. Ruggie explains that he heard Prince Leona studied at an arcane academy abroad, then graduated last year and came back home. And he was been establishing schools and spelldrive teams and stuff all over the country. He even comments that the younger generation there likes Second Prince Leona way more than First Prince Falena. But he himself never met Leona.

Then, the school bell rings.

“Oh crud, class is about to start!” Ruggie says. “Gotta go, bye!” He takes your hand and takes you running with him.

The others stayed behind, probably because they knew nothing bad would happen to you since Ruggie liked you so much. And Grim would rather keep eating than go to any classes.

Ruggie and you arrive at a botanical garden hand in hand. Everything indicated that it was a theoretical potionology class, probably focused on the ingredients that were planted there.

The students sat on the ground and despite the idea of a model student that Ruggie was trying to convey, he didn't sit in the front. Instead, he told you to sit with him further back. You sat down first and then Ruggie sat so close to you that your hips were touching and he put an arm around your waist.

“Hey, sorry about that with the visiting students.” Ruggie tells you in a low tone, while the professor spoke up front. “You... aren't mad at me, right?”

You say no and that in fact his pout was actually cute.

“Well, in that case they were lucky.” He smirks.

“What do you mean?” You ask. “And what exactly are you apologizing for?”

“Well, you know...” His ears go down. “You showed up with a bunch of handsome guys and you were even wearing the same uniform as them. What did you expect me to do? They're lucky I still give them the benefit of the doubt before...”

“Before?”

“Do you really want me to finish that?” He smiles mischievously. “What do you think I would do if someone was really trying to take you away from me? Hum?” He brings his face close to yours, brushing his nose against your ear. “You've already seen me break a bone with a bite, haven't you?” He whispers in your ear, a threat not directed at you.

After a while, he covers his mouth to yawn. Next to him one of his friends snored so loudly that it made Ruggie straighten up and let go of his waist, startled. Upon hearing this, the professor called the student's attention and made him move from Ruggie's side to the front row as punishment.

“I can't blame him.” Ruggie tells you in a whisper and leans back against you. “After eating so much and with this sun so nice and warm... it really is relaxing...”

His arm goes back around your waist and he rests his head on your shoulder. He was clearly dreaming that he was in a romantic relationship with you. And it wasn't like you weren't enjoying it..

“If you're not careful you'll be called next.” You say.

“Aww. Are you worried about me, dandelion?” He says in a sleepy voice. “You’re always so cute.” He straightens up to kiss your cheek and lays his head back down again. “I'm really lucky to have you...”

After classes ended, you and Ruggie walked hand in hand with his two friends towards the gate. You see the others in the distance, now in their dorm uniforms. Had they gotten into a fight with the darkness while you were with Ruggie?

“Whatcha wanna do now that school's out?” One of Ruggie's friends asked. “We could see if any cafés in town have new drinks to try, or catch a movie.”

“Yeah... sorry guys, but (Y/N) and I already had plans.”

“Oh, don't worry, it's ok. What are you guys going to do?”

“We're going on a safari!” Ruggie says excitedly. “I heard that some hyena clans had cubs and (Y/N) really wants to see the little ones.” But then, he seems to have heard something that put him on alert and made a strange sound.

“Whoa! Why'd you whirl around like that, Ruggie?” One of his friends asked.

“I dunno, it just... felt like I was being called.”

“Someone called you? Who? I didn't hear anything.”

“Maybe I'm hearing things... HUH?! Where'd that sound come from?! Was it under the bench? I know I'm not hearing things!”

“Huh? What are you talking about? What's gotten into you, Ruggie?”

“Sorry, guys. You can go. I just can't leave until I figure out what that sound is!” Ruggie separates from the NPCs and you and gets on his hands and knees, rummaging around under benches and in the plants. “What is it? What's making that sound? It's like a bell... Except more beautiful and exciting!”

You look at the others, more specifically at Azul and see him drop a coin on the ground with a smug smile.

“AH! That sound... It's a little - no, not a little. It's 20 times more thrilling than before! What IS that beautiful sound? Reveal yourself to me! I just HAVE to find you!”

You see Ruggie searching for the coin, focused and with his tail wagging a little. You can't help but laugh.

“Are you laughin’ at me?" He says with a sly smile. “Why don't you help me instead? That Safari has a set time to start, you know?” He keeps looking, whether you help him or not. “Where are you? Where's the one that entices me so...? AHA!”

Entices him? Even dreaming that he’s dating you, it still seems like he likes money more.

“There's something in front of that trash bin...” He hurries to get there. “Huzzah! That's a free one-thaumark coin for me! Score!” He finally gets up. “Wait... Huh? Why am I getting so giddy over finding a little loose change?” The dream begins to distort. “Urgh, my head...! Why? I've got no reason to care about random coins on the ground...”

“Heh heh heh... I had every faith you would pounce on that.” Azul says, approaching you along with the others. “Do you see this, Ruggie?”

“Is that... a five-thaumark coin?!”

“What's the matter? You're looking a bit pale... And you seem to have a cold sweat.”

“What... are you gonna do with that?”

“I was thinking of tossing it into the water over there and making a wish to come back here again.”

“Five thaumarks?! You're not seriously about to throw that much mone away!” Ruggie said shocked. “Wait, no! Five thaumarks is barely anything at all. It's just spare change... Hrgh!”

“It's the only coin I have on hand. But... it's just 'a little loose change', right? Here goes!”

Azul tosses the coin and Ruggie jumps into the water to grab it with zero hesitation.

“Self-restraint isn't healthy, you know.” Azul tells Ruggie, in a way that is too villainous for someone who is supposedly helping him. “Just admit it... You want it more than anything!”

“Urgh, I... I... Argh, my head...! Ah, aaah... AAAAAAAAAARGH!”

The dream breaks and Ruggie wakes up.

“Ah... Ahaha... I remember everything now... Why was I... ?”

His NPCs friends approach him and ask what happened for him to jump into the water and Ruggie says it was because of 5 thaumarks. When they start saying that it was nothing, Ruggie lists the things that can be bought with only that. He also notices the discrepancies of that academy and remembers why he doesn't like light-colored clothes like the uniform he was wearing, because they stain too easily, exactly what just happened to him while he was looking for the coins.

The NPCs try to convince him to go back to sleep, saying that he will never go hungry again in there. They also say they are on good terms with the king, but Ruggie says he prefers to decide who is his king himself.

After fighting those darkness figures, he asks what in the world was happening because he was beyond confused. Ortho shows him the video.

“So... This is all a dream?”

“Yes.” Ortho confirms. “More technically, it's all part of an arcane realm that Malleus Draconia established.”

“But that... Aaah...” Ruggie drops his glasses from his face, drops down on all fours and burst into tears.

You instinctively crouch down beside him to comfort him and are surprised when he clings to you and continues to cry on your shoulder.

“A dream? You're telling me all the food I've been eating wasn't real?! I got ZERO calories from eating all those donuts I loaded with toppings?! And the six thaumarks I just picked up? And my dad coming home, and him buying my grammy a new car? And (Y/N) and I...”

His sobbing stops suddenly. He straightens up to look at your face and jumps away from you, his face red with blush.

“I-I-I-I'M SORRY! I DIDN'T WANT... I DIDN'T KNOW... I-”

You try to calm him down, telling him that everything is fine, that he didn't do anything wrong.

“Oh, come on! Don't be so understanding and kind!” He tells you, a little annoyed. “You can be honest. You can say that I creeped you out.”

“Why would I say that?”

“Well, you know, when I...” He starts to say, blushing, but then looks at the others around you. He stands up, determined. “Come with me.” He asks you. “You stay here.” He told them as a warning.

You get up and follow him to a relatively more secluded place.

“Listen, I'm sorry, okay?” Ruggie tells you, his ears down, embarrassed and sulking at the same time. “I know I was kinda... clingy... and jealous. Like when we were in that potionology class. You don't have to pretend everything is fine. I'm not an emotional wimp.”

You stay silent for a second, but decide to confess to him that everything really is fine, because you liked him too. You even enjoyed the time you spent with him and how he treated you.

“Y-you... LIKE ME TOO?!” He repeats, incredulously. “Wait... you're the real (Y/N), aren't you? You...” He takes a step back and places himself in a defensive and threatening position. “You're not one of those darkness things from my dream... are you?” He looks at you menacingly and growls at you.

You insist and try your best to convince him that it really is you as you slowly walk backwards. Not even when you hit a wall does he stop walking slowly towards you like a predator preparing to attack. When he’s finally just inches away from you, you flinch, turn your face away, and he attacks you... with a loving kiss on the cheek. And then he tickles you.

“Relaaax~” Ruggie tells you, holding you by the waist, and with that sly smile “I believe in you. Shyeheehee.”

He sees you sulking, but flustered. This makes him smile sweetly, like you've never seen before.

“Aww, don't be mad at me...” He says in a poor-me voice. “I've been through so much here. You saw what Malleus did to me. *sniff* I want to cry so much...” He smirks again. “Doesn't that make a kind soul like yours want to comfort me?”

He rests his forehead against yours and starts rubbing his nose and cheeks against yours. Maybe it'll even tickle you a little. But then, he starts kissing your cheek, continues kissing you until he gets closer to your lips and, perceiving that you want that too, he kisses them. He starts by kissing you softly, but then he intensifies the kiss to an almost starving one. Hungry for the love he so desperately needed but was afraid he would never have.

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

[sunshinereblogs0]

dress to impress get fucked .ᐟ (maknae line)

i present: stray kids making you wear the sluttiest thing out just so they can ruin you in it later

genre: smut, minors dni. word count: 500~ish warnings: public sex, degradation, forced orgasm, possessive behavior, overstimulation, spit, creampies, breeding talk, semi-public risk. a/n: if you’re gonna dress like a whore, they’ll fuck you like one. simple math ♡ here is part two with our beloved maknaes!! based of this ask. sorry i feel like this came out totally bad and not like i imagined it :((( hope yall still like it. another disclaimer: this accidentally landed on my reblog 😭 my main is @sunshineangel0 btw haha

-> hyungs

HAN JISUNG Jisung doesn’t just pick the outfit, he makes it. Cuts the hem of your skirt higher, snips the front of your top so your tits nearly spill out when you breathe. He makes you stand still while he folds the waistband of your panties down, low enough that your whole slit’s on display if the wind hits right. “Gotta advertise what’s mine, yeah?” he grins, snapping a picture from behind. “Gonna be begging for it later. I can feel it.”

All night he plays it off like he’s sweet. Laughing, kissing your cheek, dancing behind you in the club with both hands on your hips, but his fingers keep dipping under your skirt like he can’t help himself. He whispers the dirtiest shit while you pretend to ignore the way your knees buckle: bet they’d die if they knew you were soaking for me already. Look at ‘em staring. You like putting on a show that bad, baby?

You don’t even make it back to the car. He pulls you into a dark alley behind the club and fingers you up against the brick wall, grinding into your ass while you cry into his hoodie. When you start to shake, he shoves your panties aside and fucks you raw right there, one hand choking you, the other shoved in your mouth to muffle the sounds. “Whine all you want, pretty baby. You wanted to be fucked like a slut, this is what that means.”

When he cums, he doesn’t stop, just keeps fucking into the mess, your whole body twitching. “We’re not done ‘til I say so.”

LEE FELIX Felix picks something illegal. Tiny mesh bodysuit under an open skirt, no bra, no pasties, no coverage. He makes you model it in front of him, legs spread wide on the bed while he plays with your nipples through the fabric. “You’re gonna wear this out? Damn,” he groans. “Gonna have to fuck you in every room just to calm down.”

At the club, he can’t stop touching you. His hand’s always on your thigh, sliding between your legs to remind you he owns it. When you squirm, he kisses your neck. “Be good, baby. Save it for later.” But it’s all a lie, he can’t wait. The second you start grinding back into his lap during a slow song, he snaps.

He takes you to the VIP bathroom and bends you over the sink without a word. Bodysuit pushed to the side, skirt bunched around your waist, his fingers shoved into your mouth as he rails you from behind, deep and fast. “God, you’re loud. Want the whole place to know who’s fucking you, huh?” he pants, watching your tits bounce in the mirror.

When you start to clench, he growls, “That’s it. Cum on my cock, make a fucking mess,” and you do, legs shaking, eyes rolling back. He cums so deep you feel it dripping down your thighs the whole walk home.

“You better not change when we get there. I’m gonna ruin that outfit again.”

KIM SEUNGMIN Seungmin acts like he’s annoyed when you wear something revealing, but it’s all part of the game. He lets you choose, just stares when you walk out in that microscopic dress, eyebrows raised. “Guess you’re asking for attention tonight.” His voice is flat, but he’s hard already. “Hope you know what that means.”

He’s quiet all night, just watching. Barely touches you, doesn’t say much, but the second someone looks at you too long, his fingers find your thigh, firm grip, a warning. He’ll wait until you’re confused, needy, thinking maybe he won’t fuck you after all.

Then, in the car, he drags you over the console and fucks you sideways while the engine’s still running. No warm-up. Just splits you open with one sharp thrust, hand clamped over your mouth while he mutters, “Who gave you permission to look like this? Hm? Answer me.” You can’t, your brain’s gone, the window’s fogged up, his hips bruising your thighs.

He pulls out before you cum, makes you finish on his fingers while he watches. “Sluts like you don’t deserve it easy,” he spits. “Look at the state of you. Ruined before we even got home.”

YANG JEONGIN Jeongin pretends he’s shy, but he’s the worst. Smiles all sweet when he zips you into a dress with no back, no bra, and nothing underneath. “Think anyone’ll notice you’re not wearing panties?” he asks, pretending it’s innocent. It’s not.

He touches you everywhere in public. Traces your spine with his fingertips, palms your ass when you lean against the bar. He giggles when you flinch, when you squeeze your thighs together to stop leaking. “You okay?” he teases. “You look desperate.”

He fucks you in a gas station bathroom on the way home. Bent over the sink, dress flipped up, his hand locked over your mouth as he wrecks you with fast, shallow thrusts. “You gonna cry? Thought you wanted to be a whore for me,” he pants, watching your mascara run.

When he finishes, he doesn’t let you clean up. Just pulls the dress back down and kisses your cheek like nothing happened.

“You’ll still be dripping when we get home. That’s the point.”

©sunshineangel0 𖹭 if you liked this work, please consider reblogging, commenting or liking! xoxo franzi 💋

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[dotpointping]

mdni, 18+, not proof-read

—

Your husband wakes you before dawn, his touch featherlight against your skin, coaxing you from your slumber. He murmurs low beside your ear, something about a mission and needing to leave soon. His voice is warm, like the first gentle rays of sunshine, threading itself through the haze of your dreams. You only groan in protest, wrapping your arms closer around him, as though somehow you had the strength to make him stay.

“It is too early… stay a little longer…”

“I would if I could, my sweet wife… say, shouldn’t you give me something sweet? A little farewell token before I embark on risking my life?”

You hum, still half asleep, slowly processing his words as warm hands slide over your waist, slipping underneath the sheets with practiced ease. You blink at him with heavy lashes, catching the mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Mm… token, is it? You ask as though you are not already spoiled.”

He wastes no time pushing the sheets aside, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you atop. “Spoil me again. Give me something to remember on the battlefield.”

You sigh, feigning reluctance. Though, your hands were already gliding down the divots of muscle, teasing the hem of his pants. “Greedy, aren’t you?”

After your little tussle—which to your surprise was dealt with a great deal of restraint and then a promise for more— your husband returned home earlier than you had expected. He had kissed you farewell on both cheeks at the first-entry hour, declaring he shall return tomorrow at the first ascent-hour. But, much to your surprise he’s standing right at your front door half-way through parting-hour. Huh, you didn’t hear the return party at all. You’re about to ask how he returned so quickly, but then he finally lifts his head and meets your gaze and— oh goodness, the smile he wears is so worn and he looks about ready to topple over.

“Oh, my love,” you say, pulling him inside and ushering him into your shared bedroom. “You must be so tired. Rest, you deserve it. I’ll go make you something to eat.”

You’re so busy getting a start on dinner, you don’t even hear him entering the kitchen. Normally you do, because your husband carries the presence of an enthused dog eager to play catch (and also because he literally can’t keep quiet when it comes to you). You yelp in surprise when you feel two strong arms wrap around your waist from behind and you almost drop the knife on your hand.

“You scared me!” You’re about to chastise him, tell him to let you know before he does such things because what if you had accidentally hurt him or yourself? But he drops his head into the small crevice of your neck and pulls you close to him and you forget what you were even going to say.

You gasp in surprise when he slips his hands underneath your dress. His touch was warm— so, so warm, tracing the delicate skin across your belly, down your curves, gently, firmly squeezing your hips before finally trailing back up and cupping your breasts. Searing heat envelops you, every nerve alive with a desperate aching need. He pulses with a familiar intensity, and your instincts scream at you to recoil, yet you are helplessly drawn to his blaze. His touch was so tender, hands gliding over your skin with a deliberate slowness, as though trying to map the parts of you that longed for his presence.

You expect him to take you then and there, against the counter. Your husband doesn’t have the best record of being patient and honestly, you’re surprised he didn’t try to jump you earlier, when you first opened the door for him. But instead, he busies himself by kissing and suckling small bruises down your neck and across your shoulder. Slowly, gently, as though savoring you for every moment and breath he took.

He calls your name, slow like it pained him to say it, as though it took him everything in his heart to utter. Like prayer to a god, begging for their attention.

You softly giggle, turning your head and placing a quick kiss against his the curve of his jaw. He hums, low and deep, the vibrations echoing across his chest and against your skin, sending a jolt down your spine. Normally, during times like these, your husband would simply bundle your dress and push it aside, hold it in place while he knelt down and feasted on you. Most of the time, it remained bunched by your waist, until you tried to escape from his onslaught of pleasure, and he tore the rest of the way off, his grip dragging you back into him.

Yet, tonight, he does none of that. His hands do not move to tangle your dress, but rather the tightly bound sash and clasps, his fingers fiddling with the knots until they all slowly collapsed, cascading down your figure and pooling by your feet. You whimper, beg him to hurry along, that you need him to take you and give you warmth, yet he hushes you. He tells you to be patient, that he will give you all you desire and more, but you need only wait.

How strange. Today must have been a hard day— something must have happened while he was gone. You wrap an arm around his neck, pulling him close, until you could finally kiss him. Warmth envelopes you, but it is not the warmth your husband has always gifted you with. Instead, it felt as though you had been scorched, your lips scalding as you parted them for his tongue. It almost hurts, but you cannot bear to pull away. You kiss him anyways, kiss him deeper and hold him in place, till your lungs beg for breath and even still you did not wish to part.

At last, he pulls away and you whine at the loss of his ardor. But, it is short lived. He scoops you into his arms at last, dinner completely abandoned, taken through the kitchen, the hall, and then to your shared bed. He lays you down gently, kneeling by your legs and nuzzling his head against your thighs. Instinctively, you part them wider. It was customary for your husband to nip your inner skin, tease the flesh till you felt overwhelmed with embarrassment, before finally diving in. But alas, tonight he seemed more content to just lay there, his hands instead massaging the skin, rubbing comforting small circles.

“Phainon…?”

“I have missed you, my wife…” he murmurs, and his voice is so weak and sorrowful. You almost think he will cry then and there.

“I am right here, my love.” You grab his hand, kissing it softly before guiding him to cradle your face. “I am right here.”

He is silent for a long moment, his gaze cast aside and peering off into the darkness of your room. For a moment, you grow worried. Your husband has never behaved in such a way. Sure, he’s cried in your embrace, bore his true self to you and only you, but… he has never been so deathly silent. Somehow, even when he sought your comfort, he always strived to tend to you, as though you were the one in need of hope when he was the one bearing the world's burdens.

“If all you knew were to be a lie,” your husband finally says, breaking the woeful silence, yet refusing still to look at you. “If the world did not exist as you know true, and was instead a trial written by gods who saw our lives as insignificant, mere playthings for their own amusement,” he moves at last, standing from his knelt position and slowly crawling over you, “if the only way I could save this world was by plunging it to ruin, tell me… would you still love me?”

Underneath him, you can finally see his face. His eyes that you have always adored, that shined reverently like Kephale’s eternal dawn and bore dreams beyond your reach, clouds with a hazy band of untouched darkness never before seen. Despair and misery etched into every crevice of his face, pale with pain you can’t even bring to imagine, fraught with anguish as though he wished to cry but could not do so.

“Oh my love…” you murmur, wrapping your arms around him. “If the world is a lie, then let it be our lie. If the Gods mock us, then we shall defy them together. If ruin is the price of salvation— if you carry that burden for all of us— then I will carry you. My love is not tied to the shape of the world nor the laws written by higher beings. It is bound to you, even when that path turns dark. No matter the choices you make, I will always love you, Phainon of Aedes Elysiae.”

Veneration is what you feel when he kisses you, his lips blazing against yours as though they were meant to forge devotion into your skin. Passion is what you feel when his hands trace over your body, teasing your entrance with two fingers before he leans down to suckle your weeping pearl, gently working you open. Mania is what you feel when he continuously denies your desires to feel him fully, when he hushes your cries and makes you fall over the edge again and again on his tongue. Euphoria is what you feel when he finally, finally, plunges inside you, your walls burning from the stretch.

You cry out, dig your nails into his back, following the sound of his voice as he guides you through it all, as though you were taking him for the first time again. Somehow, he feels bigger, deeper, the stretch practically becoming unbearable, like your body was being reshaped around him all over again. The heat of him is dizzying, radiating through you in waves that make your thighs tremble and your breath stutter. You cling to him— it is all you can do when every roll of his hips knocks your thoughts loose, leaving you messily mewling his name and begging for release, for mercy, for anything that might ground you in the heat of him.

Your husband is oddly silent during the whole ordeal, whispering words you hardly catch, with only the utterance of your name being all you comprehend. Yet, every time you reach out to him, try to cradle his face and beckon him, he takes your hands and pins them above your head. There is a tension to him you have never felt before, as though holding you was not enough and only by pressing himself into you, by chasing the trembling edge of your voice, could quiet whatever storm was tearing through him.

“My love, my dear, my world…”

Everything around you blurs, melting under the weight of his fire, until there is nothing left but the burn of him inside and the ache of wanting more.

—

It is mid-day when your husband wakes you, featherlight in his touch, lips brushing over your shoulders as he coaxes you awake. You groan, turning towards him, body sore and pleasantly aching. Truly, his appetite for you was endless.

“Phainon… didn’t we already…?”

“That was yesterday, my sweet wife.”

“No, it wasn’t. You were all over me before Dawn.”

Your husband gives you a puzzled look, before laughing as though he knew more than you did. “I see in my absence you had pleasant dreams to keep you company. Worry not, sweetheart, I’ll make up for our lost time.”

You open your mouth to protest, to insist that it wasn’t a dream, that you still feel the echo of him inside you— but then his hand is already trailing down your thigh, slow and possessive, and your words catch in your throat. He kisses the corner of your mouth, then lower, as though to claim what was always his to begin with, and you exhale a content sigh. There is no doubt in your mind that he was with you before dawn, just as he is with you now. The same heat, same hands, same pull that left you aching. You don’t argue with him, for there was no point in doing as such. All that mattered was the way his body fit against yours like a promise, the way your legs parted for him without hesitation, and the way you both moved as if time had never split in two.

—

Author’s Note: funny how I can whip shit like this for Phainon but need 20k of emotional anguish before you even hold hands with Mydei.

[redrage71890]

Backing Voice (Yan! KPDH x Fem! MC) Part 4

Synopsis: Sorting out ways to help Rumi's voice one day leads to the discovery of an emerging demon boy band. Their song hypnotic as they hastily gain fans all around. HUNTR/X being less than happy with the results.

Genres: Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn, Yandere

CW: None

Prologue, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

Word Count: 3.6k A/N: Hi I took a break and might have forgotten a few plot points whilst forgetting to write them down before hand :D

————————————————————

"Girls! *huff* I'm sorry I'm late! I got caught up with someone..."

Bursting through the door of the empty restaurant (Y/N) apologises first without thinking. Seeing the three girls at a small table as they long forget their food.

Zoey and Mira gleams seeing the (f/c)nette, though Rumi looks more surprised. "(Y/N)! You made it." Zoey waves at her as the manager awkwardly waves back, taking a seat in between Mira and Rumi.

"Again, I'm sorry..."

"Hey. Its alright. We haven't really started eating anyway."

"No. Its not only that. What happened during rehearsals, I didn't mean to sound mean o-or dismissive of you girls. Its just stress for me. But! I p-promise I'll be better and I'll be there to back you girls up no matter what."

(Y/N) puts on a confident smile for the girls, a fluttering sensation flowing through their hearts at the rare sight. Zoey breaks the silence by giggling at the feeling in her chest. (Y/N) not particular sure why the black-nette started giggling but joined her nonetheless.

"But. Back to before." Cutting off their giggles with a more serious expression. "I'll be honest here, its going to be hard to reschedule the live show because of the sudden cancellation."

"We got that impression from Bobby earlier..." Mira states.

"I...I'm sorry guys. My voice, its in trouble."

'Trouble? That's new.'

"Wait, in trouble? Then why did you push up the 'Golden' release?"

"Because we're so close, and its so important." Rumi states. But her tone and words made (Y/N) curiously think more.

'So close?'

"Okay, how do we handle this? What do we tell the fans? Maybe we should call Celine?"

"I don't advice that. We know what she'd say."

"Oh, right."

"We are hunters. Voices strong. Your faults and fears must never be seen."

Zoey and Mira reciting what their predecessor echoed at them. (Y/N) furrowed her brows at the phrase.

Her and her mother were never one to follow that motto. Mother in particular despising it. It being forced upon her as she tried to hide all her faults to the point of breakdowns and frustration. It always made her searing patterns appear.

"Rumi, why don't we take a break? We'll skip the Idol Awards this year and-"

"No. No way. Its our most important show. Its when we strengthen the honmoon for the entire year. We can't skip it. We just can't. Not when I'm so close."

‘Close to what? You’re not telling us something Rumi. Though….isn’t that ironic…’

What’s (Y/N) to say about secrets when she herself hasn’t been completely honest. But when has anyone ever been completely transparent. It’s not like every secret needs to be spilled just because someone wants to know. We have a right to keep things to ourselves.

Though in this case, Rumi’s secret might become a massive headache for them.

”Hey, we’ll get through this. We can get through anything. Together.” Zoey’s encouragement bringing on a slightly more relaxed expression on Rumi.

”Okay. We have two weeks to fix Rumi’s voice. Any ideas?”

”I do have one idea.”

”Just one?”

“Shoot, Zoey.”

”Okay, actually, 57, but let’s start with my favourite. Don’t worry. It’s totally legit.”

Shrugging her shoulders and leaning on her elbow against the table, (Y/N) watches the girls listen to Zoey explaining some of her ideas.

She won’t outright say it in the moment, but some of these ideas boarded along the lines of obvious scams and false promises. As much as Zoey at times annoyed (Y/N), she didn’t have the heart to tell her the likely truths.

“(Y/N), why aren’t you eating? We ordered plenty for you.” Zoey questions their manager. “O-Oh, right. Sorry I’ve been a bit lost in thought recently.” Brushing off their stares she picks up her utensils and began digging into her food.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Mira asks with a more worried frown. Zoey and Rumi holding similar expressions with more concern.

Seeing as she can’t get herself out of this conversation, she just sighed and stopped eating. “(Sigh) I’m not getting away from this, am I?” Averting her gaze up to meet the three sets of eyes on her. “Okay then. I….had another….one of my episodes. Right when Rumi left rehearsals...”

Uttering those words, the hunters all clung to her body in a tight yet comforting hug. It’s not been the first time this happened. Well. More like the third time this happened.

The first time was after their debut, a quite public breakdown occurred back stage. It was embarrassing to be seen by the staff. Her mother was the one that told the girls of her anxiety attacks.

The second was right before the tour started. The sheer amount of organising, meetings and calls she did was breaking her mind out of pure exhaustion. The girls found her hyperventilating in the bathroom on the dirty tiles with her attempted eyeliner dripping down her face.

And now, marks the third time.

Well, they technically weren’t there for this one.

A private meltdown with no one to hear or comfort her.

"Never apologise for experiencing that. We should be sorry for not being there for you." Mira gently pats her (f/c) hair.

"Please don't be afraid to come for us! We will always be there for you!" Zoey cries out clinging to her back.

"Yes, (Y/N). Let us know if anything troubles you. We'll do anything to help in anyway!" Rumi adds hugging her side.

The three hunters felt guilty for there actions. Not being there for (Y/N) hurt them. They hate seeing her so stressed. The girls really wish their lovely manager would confined in them more.

Unfortunately though, their said manager just really needed a breath of fresh air that's currently being crushed out of her lungs.

"G-Guys....y-you can let go n-now..."

————————————————————

After a big hugging session putting the four of them to sleep, the girls dressed in their best disguises and went out in the streets of Seoul. (Y/N) was glad she managed to sleep for a whole night for once. But she still wished she slept in her own bed and not on the couch with the girls.

Donning her classic baggy attire but with a cap obscuring her eyes. Ignoring the face mask as she got the feeling it wasn't necessary. Though she also remembered Jinu and his buddies putting on a show today. Just before leaving she stuffed the flyer in her pockets as a reminder.

But as of now, she follows the girls to make sure this guy Zoey recommends doesn't do anything.

Though hearing what Zoey is saying makes her want to divert them away as fast as possible.

"He's got this special tonic. Apparently, it can heal anything from sore throats to relationship problems."

'Oh you don't say!'

"Ssh! Quietly, Zoey."

"Why are there so many people today?"

(Y/N) noted how populated the area is at the moment. Of course the girls are worried about being seen and finding their disguises online. Our girl especially would rather not be seen on any post.

"Down that alleyway."

Diverging their path from the busy streets, they stood at the foot of an old hanok building refurnished to a clinic with an LED sign with the name 'Han 의원'.

'Yeah... this seems totally legit...'

"Yep, about as legit as I expected."

"Glad to know I'm not the only one thinking that." Mira smiles her way unknowingly.

"Earth and herby. Smells legit to me."

"Yay! That's the spirit! 가자 가자 가자!"

"Hurry, before someone sees us."

Entering the building the girls are greeted with the appearance of a usual doctors front desk/office. Though catching the eyes of our manager and Rumi was a wall lined with numerous signed framed pictures of the doctor and what appears to be celebrities. Seemingly other idols.

Though one picture caught her eye.

A group of four boys giving each other a back hug whilst leaning on the others shoulders, with the doctor strangely at one side gesturing to them. Those faces were oddly familiar.

Dragging her out of her head was the sound of the doctor entering. Standing up to bow and greet the doctor as he urges them to sit.

"You need no introduction. So, a problem with your voice."

"Yes. So we need one of your awesome tonics. Something that will work super fast."

"Okay, let me see."

(Y/N) automatically knew they guy ain't legit. Not bothering to do a proper examination of her throat and instead just staring at her with bulged out eyes.

"I see. I see.... No. Actually, I don't see. Very strange. You have lots of walls up."

"Whoa! He's so good, right?"

"I dunno about that Zoey..." Muttering to herself while messaging her temples.

Rumi scoffs at the comment but Mira quickly affirms that she indeed, does. Denial is not exactly on her side today.

"I'm just trying to stay focused."

"Focus is good, but focusing on one part leads to ignoring other parts, making you separated, isolated."

Her brows raised at the observation. Her own experience agrees with the statement. Mira and Zoey quickly agreeing with the doctor and stating their own views of the sometimes emotionally closed off workaholic known as Rumi. Their leader.

'This does not feel like a doctors appointment. If anything, its just a guy stating out obvious traits and iss-'

"Quiet, yet vocal. A mind racing with thoughts unheard. Silenced by those around, only eager for something else."

She didn't realise the doctor was pointedly staring at her.

"W-What?"

"Yeah, what are saying to our dear manager!" Zoey exclaims clinging onto her side.

"Z-Zoey. Its fine. P-Please let go." She asks of the eager girl, the said giving her some sparkly puppy eyes before letting go.

"How does this help me get my voice back?"

"As I said, to treat the part, we must understand the whole."

"(Groan) That's great, but I thought we were here just for your tonics."

"Just give us the voice juice."

————————————————————

Whilst the girls were waiting for the tonics, (Y/N) decided to wait outside for them. She trusts them enough to get the tonics, as much as she isn't fond of them.

That picture on the wall seemed oddly familiar.

'Where have I seen those boys from...'

With her time as a manager for HUNTR/X, she's seen and met a fair share of trainees and idols. Perhaps that is why they seemed familiar. But even then, nothing noteworthy comes up when she saw their faces. Man she wishes she could remember where she saw these guys.

Shaking her head to try and ward off these strangely curious thoughts.

'This shouldn't be occupying my brain as much as it should. I should be thinking about another song to sing for tomorrow night, I have another pacifying to d-'

"Oof!"

"Sorry, are you alright?"

So caught up in her mind that she ended up wandering out of the alleyway. Clashing bodies with a strong built guy and falling to her knees by accident.

"Y-Yeah, I'm f-fin- Oh. You're the guys I saw with Jinu last night." Meeting the familiar short pink haired friend of Jinu. The said male had his eyes widen slightly before turning down back to normal. A glint of mischief in his eyes with a thought.

"We never fully introduced ourselves, I'm called Abby." Bowing his head slightly as a greeting whilst helping her up.

"I'm Romance, Jinu mentioned me last time we saw each other." The longer pink haired male comes up from behind and leans on Abby's shoulder.

"I remember that."

"The one pouting behind me is our maknae, Baby Saja. And the last with the long fringe is Mystery." The mentioned maknae side-eyed Romance from his confirmed pouting face.

(Y/N) felt a chin resting on her shoulder, feeling the fluffy silver grey hair of Mystery tickling her face and neck. His close contact sent an uncomfortable shiver down her spine. Glancing her gaze down slightly, she can see the slight run-through of purple patterns across his exposed face, a quick reminder on what they are really.

Moving her shoulders up forces Mystery off with a sad pout on his face from the action.

"Well, its nice to meet you guys. Aren't you performing today?" She questions with a shiver to her body, still uncomfortable with Mystery's strange 'greeting' to her.

"Why yes, we are. Are you sticking around to watch us?" Romance asks with a flirtatious wink.

(Y/N) already decided she was going to watch them, purely to see what kind of concept her and HUNTR/X are working against. Though the pastel clothing was enough to tell her. Now its a matter of curiosity.

Shrugging her shoulders while stuffing her hands in her pockets. "I don't see why not. I'm actually also waiting for some friends, so I may as well kill some time."

"I'm so glad to hear that!"

Turning up her attention she sees Jinu pushing past the other boys (who don't look that happy with the action), an excited expression etching onto his face upon seeing her. His presence calming her shivers ever so slightly.

"I'm gonna assume you were organising your stage Jinu?" Crossing her arms and putting on a more professional tone. She may consider Jinu a new friend, but that doesn't mean he's off the hook as a demon yet.

His reason for being on the surface is enough to raise suspicion.

"Your powers would be of great use, considering you guys don't seem to have a manager in sight. (muttering) Even I don't think a company is willing to sign you and debut you the same year, let alone week." Her muttering went under their ears, replaced with shocked expressions to hear that she knows of their faces behind the disguises.

Jinu awkwardly chuckles, sort of amused by her bluntness, but is still heavily questioning how she knows this. "(chuckle) You have no fear in what we are, do you?" Leaning closer to her ear, his voice sending another nervous shiver through her body.

Taking a short breath in before leaning closer to his ear. "Why would I fear someone who doesn't hold such malice in his eyes."

The male had a thrilling shiver go up his spine. Not only from the proximity, but the words from her quiet melodic voice.

"I only see shame and guilt."

————————————————————

"WHERE DID (Y/N) GO?!"

"I DON'T KNOW?!"

The three girls were panicking upon coming out of the clinic, their box of tonics in hand. They were cheering about helping Rumi's voice, but stopped when they couldn't find their dear manager.

"Did anyone find where she went?"

"No?! We were inside for honmoon's sake!"

"Oh no! She might have been taken by demons! No she must be so lonely and-"

"What is going on?!"

Swerving their head around, they see (Y/N) with a confused face seeing their panicked state.

"My god...I thought you guys found a dead body or something. There is no need to yell for me, you don't want to be attracting ANY attention. Right?"

Her firm strict tone being a quick reminder of what role (Y/N) has played ever since their debut. A more strict version of Bobby with her hands in the creative process. Even when she wasn't fully comfortable with the girls yet, she still managed to steer them in the right direction when avoiding scandals and demos for songs.

"Y-Yeah...sorry (N/n)." Zoey frowns apologetically.

Sighing to herself like her mother usually does when she breaks a vase.

"You guys are the ones that said you wanted to stay out of sight." Her muttering causes guilty expressions to pull on the girls. "Don't worry about that now. I should be sorry as well, considering I just walked away without an explanation." Forgiving the girls for this is easier than letting it drag on more.

Rumi and Mira were about to provide an explanation for their panic, but their ears were picking up the faint sound of an instrumental beginning to play in the background.

"Wait. What is that?"

Rumi's question urges the girls to pop their heads out of the alleyway. Only to see a strange pink smoke beginning to form near the centre of the busy area. The backing instruments sounding positive and bubbly as it went on.

Adjusting their disguises, they make their way towards the commotion.

"Hey, hey"

"Hey, hey"

"Hey"

Five silhouettes can be made out in the smoke, all striking poses before the pink suddenly disappears to reveal the performers.

"Don't want you, need you"

"Yeah, I need you to fill me up"

"Masigo masyeo bwado"

"Seonge chaji ana"

"Got a feeling that, oh, yeah (Yeah)"

"You could be everything that"

"That I need (Need), taste so sweet (Sweet)"

"Every sip makes me want more, yeah"

"Its those stupid jerks again!" Rumi exclaims. "Wait. You know those guys?" (Y/N)'s confusion evident but is ignored by the sheer number of people gathering around.

"These guys are a boy band?" Another question Rumi exclaims. Irritation growing in her more.

"Lookin like snacks 'cause you got it like that (Woo)"

"Take a big bite, want another bite, yeah"

"Neoui modeun geol nan wonhae, wonhae, wonhae"

"Neo malgon modu pyeonhae, pyeonhae, pyeonhae"

"Whеn you're in my arms, I hold you so tight (So tight)"

"Can't let go, no, no, not tonight"

"That jerk stole one of my pouches!" Recounting her tonics upon seeing Jinu drinking one.

(Y/N) deciding to question later why Jinu decided to intentionally or not, magically send back an ahjumma with a hip thrust.

"Jigeum dangjang nal bwa sigan еopjana"

"Neon naekkeoya imi algo itjana"

"'Cause I need you to need me"

"I'm empty, you feed me so refreshing"

'A drop?'

"My little soda pop"

"You're all I can think of"

"Every drop I drink up"

"You're my soda pop"

"My little soda pop"

"Cool me down, you're so hot"

"Pour me up, I won't stop"

"You're my soda pop"

"My little soda pop"

The chorus infectiously going around the crowd with shoulder movements galore. Bopping their bodies to the earworm worthy song. Not even Zoey or (Y/N) were immune to the rhythm.

As much as Rumi and Mira glare for them to stop, their bodies couldn't deny the contagious beat.

"It is annoyingly catchy, though."

"Its infectious."

Romance and Baby Saja sending out kisses of hearts into the ground, physically knocking out those hit.

"They can make hearts out of thin air?" Mira's questions go unanswered, but (Y/N) can think of ways to reply.

But reflecting in the sunlight, catching the hunters eyes, was the faint purple patterns running through their arms and the hint of gold in their dreamy irises.

"(Gasp) They're demons!"

"Magicians! Demons. Obviously demons."

"My little soda pop"

"Uh, make me wanna flip the top"

"Han mogeume you hit the spot"

"Every little drip and drop, fizz and pop, ah"

"Soreum doda it's gettin' hot"

"Yes, I'm sippin' when it's drippin' now"

"It's done? I need a second round"

"And pour a lot and don't you stop"

"'Til my soda pop fizzles out"

"Dang they're good."

"Incredible. But a demon boy band? Why?"

"I don't care. A demon's a demon. We kill them." Rumi and (Y/N) stops Mira before anything can happen.

"No, its too public."

"Do you want everyone to grill us into being cancelled?"

"What if they try to kill these people?" Mira's reasoning is valid from her perspective. But everything around them says otherwise.

"It doesn't look like they're gonna hurt anyone." Zoey's observation being noted by (Y/N), seeing as the five boys helping out a few people struggling with little things.

"Kkum soge geuryeowatdeon neo"

"Nan jeoldae nochil su eopseo"

"Neol wonhae kkok"

"I waited so long for a taste of soda"

"So, the wait is over, baby"

"Come and fill me up"

"Just can't get enough"

"Oh"

"In fact, it almost seems like they're nice demons?"

"Demons are never nice!"

Seeing the girls rush over to destroy the very things the demons touched. Panic washing over with her usual professionalism masking it. Purchasing another hotdog for the girl with the right amount of sauce and giving the children smaller gifts in replacement for the destroyed ones, giving them all a soft smile in comfort.

'Think before you act, girls.'

"You're all I can think of"

"Every drop I drink up"

"You're my soda pop"

"My little soda pop (Yeah, yeah)"

"Cool me down, you're so hot"

"Pour me up, I won't stop (Oh, oh)"

"You're my soda pop"

"My little soda pop"

The sudden appearance of a stage large soba can was a choice, in (Y/N)'s opinion. But the wave of pastels and illusionary magic is what set her off.

Pushing her way through the crowd to catch up with the girls, she found her way near the front.

'I see what's going on...'

"Ooh, ooh"

"Ooh, ooh"

"You're my soda pop"

"Gotta drink every drop"

Striking their ending poses, Jinu looks down at the crowd, meeting the (f/c) and gold gaze with his brown ones. Smiling softly at her before diverting his attention.

"That's it for now. See you tonight on everyone's favourite variety show. Saja Boys love you!"

The demon boy band disappearing in a puff of smoke.

The three hunters grew more irritated at the easy work the demons have accomplished by just performing once! Determined to end this boy band as fast as possible.

(Y/N) on the other hand had other thoughts.

'Well then, if you want to play like this Jinu, I hope you know what's coming for you.'

*Ding*

Her phone vibrated with the indication of a text message. Opening up her messages to see the new text, reading made a small sigh release from her mouth.

Jinu: Hey (Y/N), lets meet up tonight. I'll meet you at the place we met.

————————————————————

Edit: I took a break and I managed to fall down into my Record of Ragnarok phase again whilst also watching the new Superman movie (really good I recommend). Also if anyone wants to be tagged, pls ask in the recent parts bc it just makes the list a lot easier to find and compile.

Tags: @kitsune-05, @the-bookish-artist, @apelepikozume, @shoopershtar, @ravvilicous, @valeriele3, @vikc, @lasa27, @chipster-321, @greensunflowerjuna, @napbatata, @that-one-girl2020, @tagmepls, @thoughtfulbananaduckcroissant, @minepugs, @crescent-z, @colorfulgardenerduck, @poem-bee, @deityofprocastinating, @0-undead-0, @gremlinartstudio, @jessica-mcd, @strayharmony943, @fruityg0rl, @cherryblossomfox, @aominehaven, @kyxmlii, @ssaischilling, @sweaterkitty-fluff, @historygeekqueen, @satansdaughter123, @theall-seeingone, @nvmkyuu, @amenabii, @julianne1024, @doggyteam2028, @nisarelle, @theall-seeingone, @hi-itsmee28, @celesteelysia, @maritheillusion, @levifiance, @kangsae-byeokfan, @hornehlittleweeblet12, @scara-simp69, @fancyhawk45, @shqyou, @enerofairy, @futuristicdefendorfart, @scentwombatarcade, @eliengoddes, @irethepotato, @sra7riddle-malfoy, @jessica-mcd, @koda-lupinn, @yoursleeparalysisdem0n, @tsukimoon-chan, @ityourguy, @elaemae, @neverending-animelove, @type-ink, @pandafuriousa60, @mazzk1ng, @theall-seeingone, @rorotvt2025

[404superman]

Just some “Clark Kent who” thoughts about having him as your soft boyfriend 🫶🏼 bc I can’t stop thinking about him since watching the movie.

⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆

Clark Kent who sends long voice notes instead of texts, rambling about his day because “I like hearing your voice, so I thought you might like hearing mine.”

Clark Kent who gets distracted mid flight while fighting some monster, because he heard your laugh from three blocks down when he passed through your neighborhood.

Clark Kent who loves to take you to small business fairs, filling his tote bag (and yours) with unnecessary amounts of things because “supporting local is punk”. Buying you multiple jars of honey because “the lady said it helps with allergies, she gave me a sample and I couldn’t say no after that.”

Clark Kent who says “be safe” and “call me when you’re home” when he can’t go with you because he has to stay late finishing an article, while he knows very well he’s gonna track your heartbeat every step of the way until you reach safely to your apartment.

Clark Kent who cries in every disney movie and tries to hide it by blaming “season allergies”. You just smile to yourself when you see the single tear rolling down his cheek, because superman definitely doesn’t get season allergies. But you still give him some of the honey he got you and kiss it better.

Clark Kent who casually does things like lift the couch to help you clean under it and doesn’t say a word about it, but then acts like he just did the most impressive thing when he parallel parks on the first try.

Clark Kent who stares at you so deeply while he memorizes every part of you, your laugh, your voice, the way you move, the way you’re his. So he can remember it when the world gets too loud and lonely while he’s on the other side of the globe.

Clark Kent who talks to Ma about you like you’re already part of the family, like he sees a future where he brings you home as his wife. So she sends you a jar of peach jam with a note that says “he’s always been a gentle boy, but he’s never been softer than he is for you.” Pa just tears up when he hears his son talk about you with so much devotion.

Clark Kent who still wears one of the friendship bracelets a kid gave him months ago, and he gave you the other one so “you can match with me”. That kid totally sees you at the grocery store at some point wearing the bracelets she gave to superman. Huh. Weird.

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