#side note the flowers on campus have bloomed so well

[studyblr-perhaps]

07/02/25 || Friday

It's a more chill day in lab and I am done with most required work. I'll probably sit and study a bit more later but right now I think I'll play Infinity Nikki (if anybody is a player let's be friends!) Although it makes my laptop fan sound like a helicopter so I can only play around half an hour lol

[honestsycrets]

enfócate | tutor!miguel o'hara x reader

❛ pairing | tutor!miguel x student!reader, fake boyfriend!peter x reader

❛ type | explicit

❛ summary | jess is clear: miguel o'hara is a terrible boyfriend. he'll inevitably hurt you-- but peter has other ideas. or, you blow miguel in a library.

❛ tags | spanish tutor!miguel, bratty reader, a kiss with Peter, Miguel's jealousy, bjs, fake boyfriend!peter, slight obsessive qualities, fuck buddies, undefined relationships, fuck boy Miguel.

❛ reqs fulfilled | see here.

❛ sy's notes | the pov on this piece bothers me, it jumps between reader and Miguel. however, i did write two separate pieces for this request (a combined 25 pages vs my usual 11/12). so, i decided to meld them together to create this piece. anywho, if it bothers you, i understand! ❤️ I yoinked a lot of the Spanish from my Spanish learners textbook, hopefully, it's acceptable.

He knew he wanted you from the first day he saw you in the tea cafe. 

Jess and he rarely visited the tea shop. It was settled on the edge of campus. Close to the social sciences and arts, but far from the work he did in the Genetics department. As a Ph.D. student, however, not all the work was done in the lab. Jess liked to see the different types of people that came to this tea cafe, where the chair cushions were fluffy emerald pillows and plants hovered overhead.

“Miguel? What's---” 

You stood apart from the other students with their sloppy, half-cropped, or frumpy appearances, there was a particular care you took to dressing. It was the embroidered bow in your hair that drew his attention. When you left to fetch a refill of chai, he noticed the soft, frilled socks in tiny ankle boots. He just knew you would taste sweet, leering as he watched you at the drink bar. Jess glanced in your direction, the way you adorably bowed your head after the tea artist gave you your drink, and just knew. Jess looked over her shoulder. 

“Not her.”

Jess’s voice was a drawn-out sigh of your name, punctuated by her fist beating the table. Miguel perked at the mention of your name. Oh, so she knew you. She was probably sick of his shit. Good, he was also sick of being used as a vibe check for the lesbians she wanted to pick up.

“Don’t you have enough side pieces?” 

Miguel didn’t respond. 

“She probably has a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend. Look who she's with.” 

That finally got a response. 

“You don’t know that,” he kept his eyes straight ahead. You caught him staring, wiggling your little fingers in a hello as you sat at a table. "I want her."

You sat with an incredibly frumpy, annoying photography student who once took his picture for the lab website. Could he be… his attention wavered when you pulled out a book: Español para el siglo. His lips quivered into a wildly sardonic grin. Oh no, no no. It was too easy. 

“You’ll ruin her. She’s too innocent.” 

He leaned in. 

“Are you going to help me or not?” 

“Buenas tardes,” 

Two chairs and a thin desk. The small study room was more of a glorified broom closet for its students. You were lucky that there was a large window that looked out over the student union, flowers blooming up its brick siding. Bits of lush dark green ivy poked into the window’s view from the library’s tall wall. As the sun set on campus, rich orange and pink settled over the sunset on that warm Friday afternoon. At least the sight was pretty for how overwhelmingly small the space was.

It wasn’t the space that bothered you. It was your tutor.

He was big-- big big. Not just a little big, but really big. The kind of big that was on bodybuilding competitions. It made his long, blue-grey muscle shirt and grey sweats look tiny, sucked to his well-pumped muscle. The room felt a lot smaller as you looked at him, his long brown hair whipped back over his neck. His eyebrows raised on his dark forehead, arms turning one over another, a bundle of muscle.

“Ah... you're him? The man from the tea shop.” 

He pulled free his sunglasses and set them down. His warm chocolate eyes glanced from the edge of your now too-short skirt to the glint of a dagger necklace that beat between your breasts. He’s staring. Why is he staring-- you finger the dagger between your thumb and index fingers, soothing yourself with the manipulation.

“Miguel.” He warmed, pulling the seat out beside him. His voice was buttery and smooth, almost like rich caramel. The lilt in his voice lightened, inviting you to take a seat by him. You should. You thought. Sit down. “Siéntate." 

You stared.

"I said sit down.” 

That was a bad idea. You paused, slipping the bag down from under your shoulder and onto the beige tile by the door. Miguel watched every slight movement. That’s fine. It’s natural to do that. You tugged the bottom of your skirt and took a seat beside him. Miguel pushed the chair back in, pushing your chest to the edge of the desk space. Oh-- oh boy, he was strong. Of course, he was, he was built like a-- 

“Bueno. Now you're settled. How can I help you?” 

Do that again.

“Me? Oh! I... Jess said you could help me need to pass a test,” you murmured. The four semesters of Spanish seemed relatively easy compared to being stuffed next to this Adonis in this tiny study room. Your legs settled over your skirt, hands working over one another to will down the pulse of your wily excitement. What was wrong with you? “To pass my language requirement.” 

You should have been able to do that alone but-- let’s say you weren’t the most applied to the language in your childhood. A tutor was a great alternative to embarrassment and thousands of dollars in classes. If only he didn’t look like… this. His large hand left the pasty back of your chair.

“Hm,” he paused. “¿Puedes hablar español?” 

“Sí,” you murmured. “My mami was-- well, I should have listened to her.” 

Hm. 

You want to know what Hm means. Your leg tremored on its own accord. He swept a leather bag by his side up and pulled out a thick folder, running across several tabs. Lab notes, diet plans, pruebas. 

“It happens,” he notes, sliding a page free. “Let’s see how much you know, princesa.” 

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to know more, to hear the hum of Spanish bouncing off his lips. It was a world apart from your mother’s shrill screams on Saturday mornings to clean an already clean house. It held its own beauty and mystery when he spoke it. You took the page from him, setting it down on the bland tablespace by your phone, lighting up with a notification.

Jess When you meet Miguel, don’t do it.

"¿Princesa?" you asked.

"You dress like one. Don’t worry if you fail,” you plucked out a pink mechanical pencil, complete with little animated characters tightened around the wrapping. You perked at his words, choking a small smile. “I expect you to.” 

Why was he like this? You took another unfortunate look at him, his large forearm plastered over the desk, making the book he had to look like peanuts in comparison. God, he was hot-- you felt comparatively hideous, drooling over a man that was out of your league. Maybe he could be your piece of eye candy this year. Your phone buzzed along the table again. Miguel’s eyes shot to it, a frown pulling at his lips. 

Jess Don’t fuck him. He can’t keep his dick to himself.

He reaches over, flipping your phone down with an overworked smile sundering his expression. It’s almost fake. 

“Are you…” you turned your eyes to the questions on the page. “A student?” 

“Grad student,” Miguel answered. So, older than you then. “I graduated with a BA in Spanish and a BS in Genetics.” 

“Oh! A dual degree?” The man couldn’t be normal. He had to do both. “Did it… take a while?”

“No, it was accelerated.” 

He was unreal. There was no way this man was ordinary. It was physically impossible for the man to be that hot and successful. You scribbled across the page, nipping the back of your pencil at particularly hard questions.

“So you just do this for… a living?” you asked him. 

“I teach and train clients, yes.”

“Train?” 

“Gym,” Miguel set his cheek on his fist.

“I do cardio with Jess. No strength training for me.” Jess-- who suggested Miguel to you. You had some shit to bitch at her about the next time you saw her. Namely, why she didn’t warn you about Miguel. He was a boon for chaos in your life.

“I’d waste your time. I’m all marshmallow,” you pat your soft belly. “All pan dulce and burros.” 

He chuckled. 

“You have a beautiful body.” 

And that was that. You set the pencil down on a page half full of answers, glancing toward his full lips. They were quirked into an arrogant smirk. He knew the effect he had on women. He glanced to the page, then to you, his lips growing into a smile laden with arrogance. 

“Your hips--” he glanced down, “My girls couldn’t pay to get them.” 

He noticed. You supposed that the miniskirt wasn’t the best choice for meeting a new man.

“Do you talk to everyone like this?”

“No. Only the ones that look at me like you did." 

Oh. 

 If it were a game of whom ate whom up first, you had to be honest-- it may have been you. You couldn’t shoot anything back at that, angling your head down at the page guiltily. A sigh fell from his chest. His large hand came to the back of your head, cupping the thick bow on the back of your head. His fingers ran across the silk, teasing it between his fingers.

“Calm down, you’re not the first one to do it. You won't be the last,” he turned your head to look at him, large fingers combing through the strands of your hair. He chased the panic in your wide eyes, doe eyes blown wide. Your heartbeat soared into your chest, choking you there, looking for an outlet from your shame. 

“Breathe for me,” he leaned in, his warm breath tingling your ear. His cologne was clean, like the lapse of the waves on the shore back home where the tropical heat was a second skin. You listened, taking a weary, deep breath in, then out again. Again. 

“Go on.” His knuckles rapped on the sheet. Miguel’s hand fell away. You found yourself longing for it again. 

“He’s gorgeous.” 

“I told you not to fuck him," your superior, Jess said, her feet bouncing off the stairstepper effortlessly.

“I didn't-- I just, he called me beautiful.” 

“He would call anyone beautiful if it meant fucking them. Don’t fall for it.” 

You knew Jess wouldn’t say it unless she were serious. She always knew what you needed help with, where to locate a good solution, and had the right words to calm you down.

“How?” you said, louder than you intended. You were suddenly thankful for the pounding music that beat down on your ears in your school’s gym and the rush of people that came and went. “Jess, you’re a lesbian. You don’t understand-- he’s thick. Like, he’s luchador status big. Big, big.” 

“I’ve dated some thick women.” 

“And he likes me,” you said pointedly, rushing to the topmost step, remembering his words. The way he calmed you down from your embarrassment, seeming without concern for his own body. It was… sweet. “Men usually don’t like me, Jess. I’m too… soft.” 

“Okay, girl, whatever,” you were pretty sure she rolled her eyes. “Unless you’re going to be another one of his fuck toys, just ignore him.”  

“How?”

Her stare trained on the floors lapsed. Thirty and she was still going. “If you don’t want him, just fire him. What’s going to do? Come find you?” 

You stopped for the entirety of five… or ten seconds. Enough to consider her words. Enough to quite literally get plop off the stair stepper and onto the cold floor. Jess exhaled a stale breath, reaching over to jam the STOP button on your machine. Ow.

“Good job.” 

Miguel likes to tutor you. Not because you’re good at Spanish, no, for a girl that grew up with a Spanish mother, your skills are quite poor. But he likes the opportunity to have you in a room all by yourself, late at night. Wednesdays are great days for that. 

Your soft buttercup yellow dress is short today, exposing your thick thighs that take up so much of the chair. He pretends that he’s listening as you go over a list of irregular verbs, your lip pouting in response to the irregular verbs. Some were simple in their familiarity like poder with endings such as pudiste; but the plurals and other irregular verbs, you pouted at. It was cute. 

“Miggy, it’s not funny, ” Oh, nicknames now. Miguel throws a glance at your glossy lips, undoubtedly sticky but oh so soft looking. 

“I never said it was.” 

“You’re smirking.” 

“Then don’t whine,” he said. “It’s cute.” 

“Oh--” As to be expected, you shifted your hands between your legs, drawing your skirt in between your legs. He faltered and took a glance, coasting his eye over its edges and memorizing the way it fell over your skin. You’ll ruin her, he remembers Jess saying. She wasn’t wrong, he sensed the bit of it now, how close you sat-- 

“Take a break, princesa. Vocabulary-- ascendencia.” 

Rather than take a break, you turned and caught the corner of his lips in what was a terrible, cherry-red kiss that would stain his skin. But the connection of your lips, puckered in a pouting kiss on his skin, caught him off guard. 

“Descent,” you took his red pen out of his loose grip, scribbling descent by the word. Fuck. Miguel took a sip of now cold coffee. A smile kept pulling at his cheeks, looking out of the window and catching the slight reflection of your lipstick smeared across his lip and cheek, he bobs his head into a nod.

“Correcto.” 

You’re with Peter the first time you see Miguel with another woman. 

It’s at lunch. Tuesdays and Thursdays are regularly spent running to the College of Arts, waiting for Peter to get out, and a picnic. Today, you forgot to bring lunch, running off to the union hand wrapped around his elbow as he talked to you about a bright new camera lens filter.

“These new pictures are going to come out perfect! Thanks for lending me the money,” he beamed. You loved the way he talked about his art-- stopping to show you his newest pictures of the camera that hung around his neck. Peter was always good with a camera, catching you in all the prettiest angles in your trade of photos for… sponsoring a lens or whatever. Or, at least, bringing down the cost. “Look at this one. Look how pretty you look in that dress, kinda like a pin-up! We should do some’a those next.” 

Feet thumping over the pavement, you failed to sense Miguel's presence until you smelled his peppery cologne carried on the air. There, on a bench, he sat next to a girl. She was pretty, with long dark hair and soft skin. Her hand was on his thigh and his arm around her shoulder, eating the last bit of a flaky empanada-- your eyes burned, the closeness of her head on his shoulder, clearly done and finished, waiting for whatever next plan he had. You don’t want to know what that could be.

“Huh? Oh. hi Miguel!” Peter waved to your dismay. You held onto him a little tighter, wringing circles around his sleeve. Miguel spares you two a glance, his eyebrows pushing together. But he waves, lazy and short. You stifle the hot prick of tears at the corner of your eyes and yank Peter away. “Wha-- I’m coming, I’m coming!"

Days later, Peter has a plan.

“I’ve got it-- the solution to your tea guy problem! You should have told me sooner that it was Miguel.” 

Peter was very excited. Why, you weren’t sure. He liked to feel helpful. That’s why he was a photographer. Photography lets others feel beautiful and seen. He picked at your lunch, his head flopped on your thigh as he worked through his camera. 

“I’ll be your boyfriend!”

“You want to be my boyfriend?” you offered him a grape. He opened his mouth with an adorable ‘ah’ of his his lips. You slipped the grape between his lips. He chewed appreciatively. “I don’t know, Peter. Isn’t it lying?” 

“C’mon, I know Miguel. He’s macho. The kind of guy you have to make jealous. And I can do it! I’m boyfriend material. Aren’t I?”

“Sí. But I don’t think I can make him jealous.” 

It was a sunshiney day, sprawled out at lunch on a cool picnic blanket, tracing the clouds when you heard his voice. Soft, smooth, inviting. Your head spun around, this time with a lean blonde-haired girl-- her legs were long, tummy nice and flat, blue eyes shining like little sapphires set in her pale face. She swooned on his arm. The perfect sorority princess. What if he called her princesa, too?

“--close lab with me--” 

“I can do it myself.” 

Miguel’s eyes caught yours, raising his hand lazily to greet you as he walked down the sidewalk, undoubtedly back to his genetics lab on the other side of campus. Over where brilliant boys and girls and theys were, rushing through accelerated scientific programs while you figured out how to fix broken artifacts. He lived in another impossible world. A realm far away from Peter and you: photography and the maintenance of culture and art.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Peter's eyes were glossy with concern. “It’s okay. We don’t have to-- did I say something wrong?” 

You shook your head. Peter sat up, his eyes bounced up-- from Miguel over his shoulder to your sudden sad eyes. Peter set his hand on your cheek, the fibers of his soft pink cardigan tickling your jaw. Your eyes tore from Miguel, whose pace became sluggish as if steps along took immense effort. Peter’s nose bumped against yours, clumsy and oh so Peterish-- his hand on the middle of your back, his warm but cracked lips swallowing the gasp that tumbled from your lips. He tasted of sweet fruit, the sloppy lunch you shared, and a silly comfort. 

He watching? Peter murmured against your lips. 

You nearly forgot to return the kiss, captured in the way Miguel stared-- something in his warm brown eyes was almost wounded. Peter shoved you onto the picnic blanket, a soft sorry murmured under his breath as his thin frame fell between your legs. Miguel stomped away, his bumbling blonde rushing to keep up. 

“Oh yeah,” Peter rolled over onto his back, crossing his legs one over another. You watched Miguel stomp past the tall hedges, out of your line of sight. “He’s gonna be mad at you.” 

“Peter!” 

Miguel was still in a bad mood hours later. 

“¡Qué surpresa!” he murmured, offering you your paper blotted with red circles. “You did remarkably shit on this test. Do you focus on anything? Or just Peter?” 

“Perdona me.” Your focus was shot with his consistent presence in your life. Not that he could appreciate that. 

“How long are you going to keep wasting my time?” 

“Are you talking about the Spanish or--”

Miguel set the red pen down, a sharp slam snapping the pen under his force. The fragile plastic snapped into shards of plastic. He flicked it away, paper and pen both, his large hand flexing in and out of a closed fist. You traced the tracks of his veins along his forearm.

“Are you mad that I kissed you?” 

“Stop.”

“Or are you angry that Peter did?” 

 “Don’t touch me.” 

Though he said that, you didn’t listen. You slid out of the chair and in between his spread legs, your hands trailing his handsome jawline. He jerked back when your lips caught his, the legs of his chair hitting the wall. Though he said no, his mouth opened to your kiss, and his palms flushed against your soft cheeks. You pinned him between your body and the wall-- and though you were sure he’d quickly whirl you off if he really wanted to, he didn’t. His tongue pushed into your mouth, owning yours. His hands skimmed your back, trailing lower and lower down your deep red dress until he connected with your ass. 

“You need to stop.” Miguel broke from his kiss. Though he said that, he brought you onto his lap. You felt little in his large arms, his hands guiding your hips over his crotch. “Before I do something you’ll regret.”

You listened to the sounds of the library’s floor. The scrunch of take out into the trash, the sing of a door opening and closing. It was dinner time. Most everyone had gone to get their snacks— and here you were, looking down at Miguel with rapt eyes. 

“Peter is just a friend.” 

“A friend who happens to jam his tongue down your throat,” he turned the word over on his tongue and found offense in it. “Now why do I doubt that?” 

“He only wanted to help.”

“By kissing you?” 

Your fingers trailed his jaw, dipping back down for another kiss if only to say you could. That Miguel couldn’t tell you what to do. A sound of frustration ripped up his throat. You felt him, his dick twitching to life behind those sweatpants. He felt big. You bit your lower lip— a movement that didn’t escape his attentive eyes. 

“By making you as jealous,” You slid off his lap and onto the dirty floor. But as you lifted a hand, cupping his dick through the heavy fabric, he couldn’t bear to stop you. 

His lips pulled in a wicked grin, your soft palm stroking along his length. He hooked his thumbs into his sweats, yanking them down over his knees and onto the floor. His cock kissed his belly, straining with droplets of moisture at the tip. Miguel set his hand on your shoulder and forced you to heel on the floor. His temperament evened out. “You were jealous.” 

“Yes--” you murmured. “Are.. those girls, are they special?” 

“Special? No, none of them are.” 

“I want to be.” 

“That so?” Your soft hands trailed along the dark hair on his calves, up his thighs, settling your nose where his muscular hand tightened around the root. He wrenched his swarthy hand along his length, drawing along his veiny cock shamelessly. "Let's see how much you do, princesa."

“Please.”

“Aquí se habla español.” Miguel teased. Your fingers dipped down, small tickles of your fingertips as his heavy balls. He watched you massage them with half-lidded eyes, his lips pursing in a pleased hum. 

“Por favor.” 

“Abre,” you did, sliding your soft mouth open, a well of saliva on your tongue. Miguel slid himself into your warm mouth, a ruptured groan fizzing in his chest. You didn’t want to be too loud— someone might look into the small window on the door, and see you on your knees between Miguel’s thick legs, sucking his cock down when you should be going over that test you just failed. 

You caught the salty beads at Miguel’s top on your tongue, sliding sloppily around his thick head, and lapping at his slit for more. Your soft hands stroked along his length, clumsy and shy. He hummed in approval, a sound you were more than thankful to elicit. Miguel took a fist full of your hair and drove himself into your mouth, your tongue stroking the underside of his length. 

“Pero mira esto,” Miguel wrenched his head in your hair, grabbing handfuls of it in his palm. “You can focus on something. Sucking my dick.”

Even if you wanted to look up, Miguel drove your head down onto his dick, the dark, trimmed tuft of his pubic hair tickling your nose. He drew his hips back. You nearly pulled off him, if not for his hand assuring that you wouldn’t move off of it. Drool coursed down from your lips, soaking your chin and neck, connecting to his cock as if it were a spiderweb. Your cheeks flushed with blood— you must have looked a mess. 

“Coño," Miguel tutted with his tongue, grasping his phone. Your lips pursed around his tip, eyes flickering up to catch the lens of his phone camera on your ruined face. A picture or a video, you weren’t entirely sure. Only that it sent thumps of pleasure down your core to know he wanted to record it, keep it close. You suckled along his sensitive head, working his moans free. He set his phone aside. 

Miguel stood and dragged your head along with him to pin you between the ledge of the desk space and his wonderful hips. His hands slipped behind your head, keeping you still and steady, driving himself deep into your mouth. Past your tongue, down your throat, it felt like he hit parts of you that you could only dream of. You struggled with his size, choking the urge to swallow him when he forced you to hold him there. As if your throat was just a hole for his pleasure. Your sad attempt to suckle him down was tempered by the rocking of his hips, his needy face fucking. Your eyes screwed shut, bits of color dancing behind your eyes, the easiest way to deal with this was to focus— on the way he tasted, the scent of his fresh body wash, the light judder of his hips as he came close. 

"Hah-- ay, qué rico," his nails scraped the back of your neck, sloppy and undefined thrusts filling your throat. He spurts thick ropes of his cum down your throat and mouth, withdrawing to jerk the last bursts of his cum over your lips. Miguel’s breath fell from his lips in heavy gulps, meeting yours down on your aching knees. Strings of coughed-up cum connected your sodden lips to his cock, globs of his seed slipping between your breasts. You ached. 

“Tate quieta.” 

You don’t know where you’d go, your palms catching yourself on the floor. He snapped another photo, humming appreciatively. Miguel reached into his gym bag, pulling a sweaty shirt free. Your fingers dipped into his warm cum that spattered across your warm chest, drawing it to your lips. He tasted salty, tangy, and just right.

"You look so-- so beautiful, princesa, just perfect," Miguel bent down, wiping the rest of his mess from your chest and face, gently stroking away all evidence of your face fucking before cleaning his cock and tucking himself away into his sweatpants. He chucked the t-shirt back into his bag, glazing his eyes over your hazy, exhausted eyes. He crouched down. 

“Rule one, I never share my women,” he settled his knuckle under your chin, urging you to look him in the eyes. Something told him you wouldn't be as easy as the others, but for some reason, he shrugged the thought aside. “As long as I'm fucking you, you date no one but me. If I find out you are, we're done. Am I clear?”

He was a walking red flag. But for once, in your good girl life, you wanted that. You wanted to fuck in the library-- against the genetics building late at night-- to kiss him during a sunny picnic. More than you wanted a lot of things. His eyes went soft with your answer. 

“Claro que sí, Miggy.”

He loves it when he gets what he wants.

[uniquelyuninspired]

NOTE: I may or may not be absolutely in love with the below Thomfield fanart by @raihyeon, and felt the need to write a short little piece inspired by it. I hope you don't mind!

FANART LINK BELOW, DON'T MISS OUT ON CHECKING IT OUT!

• • • • •

Laying back on her handmade quilt, completely relaxed, face directed up to the calm blue skies, eyes closed; Amanda didn’t think that she had ever felt so joyfully at peace. She inhaled deeply to take in the blooming nature around the expanse of grass between Hellerton House and the lake where she had dragged Max to enjoy a small last-minute makeshift picnic in order to get the artist some sun for once. Of course, it still wasn’t technically getting her away from the campus like Amanda had wished for, but she took her victories where she could, well aware that Max currently had a fairly busy schedule with spring break quickly approaching.

After having – like always – absolutely devoured the food that Amanda had brought her, Max had slipped off to take a couple shots of the newly grown flowers and coloring trees around the area, muttering in amazement about having never expected the campus to be so beautiful in the spring. Amanda had teased her about the fact that she had said the same exact thing about the campus with every season shift, but Max had only offered her one of those heart-fluttering crooked smiles that were far too adorable for Amanda’s health, before sticking her tongue out at her and making her way closer to the water. Amanda had watched her wander around looking for perfect angles on anything that caught her eye, wondering if she ever professionally published her more lively work or if that was a part of her art that she kept to herself.

When the sun had moved out from behind a cloud and shined off the lake water at just the wrong angle, however, Amanda had been forced to look away, and so she had chosen to lay back on the quilt and relax while she gave her girlfriend longer with her camera.

The now incredibly familiar sound of a polaroid camera snapping close-by caught Amanda’s attention, causing her to open her eyes and look in the direction she had heard the sound float over from. This damn girl, she thought as she admired the smile gracing beautiful features, Max too busy easing the polaroid from its slot once ready to notice that Amanda was watching her.

Propping herself up on her forearms, Amanda stretched her legs out in front of her as she smiled up at her girlfriend. “You know, you still owe me that modeling fee.”

Deep-blue eyes lifted from the camera to find dark-brown, and Max lifted her eyebrows as she set her camera and the new pictures down on the quilt beside her bag. Now kneeling beside Amanda, she playfully said, “Oh, really? And here I thought I’d already paid all my dues.”

“Hey, my pockets are no more lined than they were before we started this arrangement,” Amanda teased, nudging Max gently with her knee.

Max moved over her and Amanda immediately made room for the woman between her legs, completely entranced by blue and unable to avert her eyes from Max’s gaze as the younger woman settled down against her. Resting her chin down on Amanda’s chest, Max stared up at her adoringly.

“I thought I was paying by means of other commodities?” Max spoke quietly now, as if she were sharing a secret that no one else could ever know.

If the lowered seductive tone hadn’t been enough to give away exactly what she had meant, the way her hands slid underneath her shirt and up Amanda’s sides, fingernails delicately scratching over skin, definitely erased any doubt. Immediately, Amanda felt the burning in her cheeks that indicated that she was blushing.

Still balancing on her forearms, she lifted her hands just enough to grab hold of Max’s arms. “I don’t recall ever having that conversation. I would never agree to such a thing.”

“It’s too late now,” Max said, sticking her tongue out at her as she pulled her hands from her shirt to instead slide them down her arms until she was playing mindlessly with Amanda’s fingers. “Not my fault you don’t remember. Shoulda signed a contract.”

Bringing one of her hands up to brush the hair back from Max’s eyes before settling against her face, Amanda slid the pad of her thumb over an irresistible bottom-lip. “Perhaps you can show me how this supposedly agreed upon ‘commodity’ is better than money?”

Max’s smile brightened, and she lifted up just enough to bring her lips over Amanda’s, teasing a kiss as she whispered, “I think I could manage that.”

[twstunes]

Take My Hand again actually we're gonna go on a walk through Night Raven College campus real quick while I lose my mind

First off look at the front gate. People have definitely brought up the birds and the keys and those ARE both very important symbols, BUT. What about the thorns sprawled across the top of the gate? And the repeat use of 4-pointed stars in the lettering gives an especially prickly quality, overall.

Also of note are the decorations on the main pillars and the very specific aesthetic choice for the shape of the wrought-iron fence—by which I mean both reflect designs found in Draconimom's appearance.

The carvings on the gate pillars feature an ankh-like shape that matches up eerily well with the central decor of Draconimom's belt, as well as two curves that mimic the main body of the belt. The three-leaf/bud-like shape above that is reflected in the lace pattern and dangling decoration of the Mirror Chamber's chandelier. The two swooping S-shapes mimic the Draconia family's iconic horns, and the little decorations on either side of the carving match with the shape of Draconimom's pauldrons.

As for the fence…it's That Shape again. Each post also bears resemblance to the upper portion of Draconimom's staff.

Considering the focus on thorned vines in relation to Diasomnia/the Draconias, the way that vines are slowly creeping up both the fenceposts and gate pillars feels relevant.

(Please recall: The coffins by which students are summoned into NRC are also referred to as "Gates.")

Next stop is the botanical garden. As I mentioned in a previous post, the building's overall shape is notably similar to the chandelier found in the Mirror Chamber. The large beams surrounding the building, with their spear-like support pillars, give the impression of the building being held in place by thorned vines.

The inside of the garden doesn't yield much in the way of analysis, unfortunately. The most stand-out feature is the crumbling structure in the subtropical zone, but that arguably could've been intentionally allowed to decay as a way of cultivating the various mosses and lichens we see growing on it.

(Please recall: at the beginning of the game, before you choose a student, Crowley has a monologue in which he appears to refer to the Dark Mirror as "a lovely and noble flower of evil.")

And now the Hall of Mirrors. This one has subtler details than the others, but still just enough for the pattern recognition part of my brain to start making noises.

Again, the outside of the hall bears a passing resemblance to the chandelier in the Mirror Chamber, though much less so than the botanical garden. More important to this analysis is the inside of the building.

Listen. Not all lace is related to overblots. But the majority of lace in Twisted Wonderland HAS appeared in relation to overblots. The presence of an unmistakably lace-y pattern on the beams under each ceiling arch feels worth pointing out. After all, as of Book 7, at least one student per dorm linked to the Hall of Mirrors has overblotted.

There are also small floral decorations on each arch: two buds in the lower corners, and a bloom at the top. Again, Crowley's "flower of evil" comment comes into play; each dorm, again, features a major antagonist who is visually and textually placed parallel to their respective member of the Great Seven (OG Disney villains).

There's also. Y'know. The horn-like design on the pillars.

(Please recall: each dorm linked to the Hall of Mirrors is, apparently, contained within a pocket dimension with somewhat strict borders.)

Okay now we're at the coliseum and I need you to bear with me for this first point. Look at the entrance. It's too ostentatious to not be important somehow, right? It's too overdone. It's the Dark Mirror's mask, kinda? Don't ask how long I've been staring at this thing

Aside from that, the coliseum has thorns lining the rim of the structure twofold. One set of thorns exists as spears jutting out along the rim, while the other set exists as the long, simple, repeating pattern on the wall just under those spikes. On the outside of the building, this pattern repeats for every floor, effectively giving a sense that the structure is "wrapped" in thorns.

There are also thorns visible in the support beams of the stage; they're especially noticeable after Malleus fixes the stage, as they're lit up a bright pink (as opposed to the gold they were prior).

Upon the stage sits an odd, crumbling structure. It's clearly made of a different type of stone than the rest of the coliseum, being a dark gray instead of subdued purple, but that's not all—the architecture doesn't match up, either. The two main columns don't resemble any others found in the coliseum, notably. The arch-and-a-half visible both distinctly feature three-pointed arches, unlike the round arches consistently found throughout the rest of the building.

The fact this structure has been allowed to remain in such a deteriorated state is also worth questioning, especially since it's obviously been modified at some point fairly recently; the LCD screen it's been fitted with seems to work like a normal electronic device w/ no magical component to it. Even if you were to argue that the structure is supposed to have a distinct aesthetic from the rest of the coliseum to better draw attention to the stage it rests on, its condition renders the argument null. I love its decrepit vibe as much as Malleus might, but very few people would see this as an acceptable "centerpiece" for such an important location. With how Crowley squawks about maintaining the school's reputation, why does this pass by without comment from him…?

At least the chains frame the stage nicely. Though, they could serve a symbolic purpose as well…

(Please recall: according to Rook, the school staff claims that the coliseum is "imbued with a special field that makes it harder for damage to spill out." We can assume that this is the truth, as no one outside of the coliseum seemed to notice Vil's overblot—just the traces of excessive magical energy leftover afterwards.)

And finally, we come to the Mirror Chamber. Keeping in mind that the Dark Mirror can teleport people (both for enrollment and in general), the most notable visual qualities of this room are as follows:

Gates (coffins, the Dark Mirror)

Plants (chandelier, rose arches, standing lamps, windowpanes)

Mirrors (the Dark Mirror)

Containment (chains, coffins, the Dark Mirror)

It is very, very interesting that the four primary structures on NRC campus with a direct relationship to the items on this list also feature aesthetic similarities to the Mirror Chamber. Also of note is that although each structure chiefly embodies one item on the list, they all incorporate aspects of the other items:

Front Gate–

Plants: As previously noted, there are vines steadily attempting to overtake the fence and pillars + thorns sprawling across the top of the sign.

Mirrors: Structural design is mirrored across the vertical axis, carvings are mirrored across both horizontal and vertical axes.

Containment: Although open in this view, the front gate as a whole embodies the concept of NRC campus as an area that is closed off to the rest of the world.

Botanical Garden–

Gates: The entire building signifies a departure from the surrounding campus into a space especially designed for the housing and growing of plants.

Mirrors: Look at that thing. You can't have a building made mostly out of tempered glass and not have it be reflective as fuck.

Containment: Aside from the appearance of being held down by thorned vines, the building does, again, exist for the purpose of containing plants.

Hall of Mirrors–

Gates: Each mirror acts as gate leading to each of the seven dorms.

Plants: Previously-detailed floral decorations.

Containment: Again, each mirror contains a dorm. This, in turn, means that this building technically contains…nearly the entire student body.

Coliseum–

Gates: It's got one right out front lmao. But yeah, like the botanical garden, the building signifies a departure from the surrounding environment.

Plants: As mentioned earlier, the entire building has the appearance of being wreathed in thorned vines + further incorporation of thorns in the stage.

Mirrors: Previously-shown Dark Mirror comparison. Also, like the front gate, the structural design is mirrored across the vertical axis.

What does this all mean? NO fuckin clue. But if we consider how the very first battle of the game seems to take place in the Mirror Chamber, at least two of these locations have been (or will be) the setting for a major overblot battle.

(I will say…it's very funny that, despite Pomefiore being the first established dorm from a lore perspective, a lot of the campus has much more Diasomnia-esque aesthetics.)

[idkthisisjustforfanfic]

A STUDY IN YOU, chapter four

April 11th, 2018

The early signs of spring brought the Lower East Side to life. Clouds faded from the city and Max licked the ice cream cone in his hand. 

“I can’t believe we leave in less than a month,” he said, eyes shaded by big sunglasses, his legs crossed as you sat on the edge of the fountain. “I need to start packing.”

You laughed at your friend, licked your own cone and basked in the first warm day of spring. Naomi and Sophie were on their way, mid-day classes had them stuck inside when you and Max texted the group: we need ice cream pronto. 

You’d told your friends about the sudden change in plans regarding Cannes, blamed it on an email error and said that you were thrilled to hear from Dean Vasquez himself. Somehow, they bought it. 

“Too bad you won’t get to walk the red carpet,” you smirked at him, twisted your cone in your hand to make sure you were evenly distributing your licks. 

“Well we still have to dress like we’re walking it,” he made a face at you. “We can’t show up in sweatpants.”

“What ever would I do without you?” you said sarcastically--he couldn’t possibly think you weren’t aware of a dress code. 

“You’d wear sweatpants, apparently.”

You ignored his snarky remark, scanned the park to take in the sights of another change of season in New York. Flowers were starting to bloom, snow was officially melted, and, most importantly, you’d already interviewed at NBC and CBS. 

You’d heard back from them quickly, emails inviting you for an office tour and a chance to meet with execs. So far, so good. Now you just had to wait for a final decision, due by May 15th. 

So once Sophie and Naomi arrived the four of you meandered through campus, making your way to Grayson Hall for the mandatory Cannes trip meeting on the 6th floor. An amphitheater style lecture hall and a projection screen up front, the five faculty leading the trip chatted as students filed in. 

Laurie Anderson, Will Caddel, Jesse Anand, Marina Herrero, and, of course, Jason.

You found a spot in the second row, Max to your left and Sophie to your right. Naomi greeted her advisor--Laurie--and then fell in line. 

“How’s your weird relationship with Sudeikis?” Max asked as he opened his laptop, swiping through iMessages before he turned to see you. 

“It’s not weird,” you defended, uncomfortable with the child-like tone of your own voice. 

He looked at you expectantly. 

“Why do you think it’s weird?” You asked seriously. 

“Because sometimes when you guys interact it feels like you hate each other and other times it seems like there’s a high level of sexual tension,” he lowered his voice. Max had witnessed you firing off an email to Jason during the script draft debacle, he laughed and egged you on: you tell him, sister. 

But now you rolled your eyes, glanced over to Sophie who leaned closer when she heard the topic of conversation.

“Very cat and mouse,” she agreed. 

“I see him all the time, you guys. We’re friendly, I guess.”

“You spend a lot of time together,” Max noted. 

“For professional purposes,” you motioned around the room. 

Sophie made a face at that. “And take out after class and a drink at O’Hallorans.”

Max’s eyes went wide--guess the cat was out of the bag on that one. 

“For professional purposes,” you said again, a glance over to Jason at the front of the room. 

They followed your eyes towards him and you hit Max on the arm. “Don’t all look over there at once, Jesus.”

“Oh my god he was totally looking at you,” Sophie whispered. 

You kept your eyes on your laptop in front of you, tried your best to hide the excitement that bubbled in your veins. “Really?”

“No,” Sophie laughed, “but good to know your crush is going strong.”

“You’re an asshole,” you looked at Sophie, who wore a shit eating grin. “Aren’t we almost thirty? Do we have to play games like this?”

“Some of us are closer than others,” Max pouted. 

“Right,” you hissed quietly. “So grow the fuck up.”

A powerpoint flashed onto the screen at that, Will greeted the group and introduced the other faculty one by one. You couldn’t help but look around the room. Did anyone else in here stay late in his office? Did other students have his number and joke with him like you did?

It was no secret that Professor Sudeikis was highly sought after. His experience in the field directing two successful movies? His tenure as a staff writer on a popular sitcom in the early 2010s? 

And, aside from all that, there was the obvious: the glasses, the hair, the way he had a knack for making boring topics interesting and his ability to inject a hefty dose of sarcasm into any conversation.

They handed out an information sheet and went through the main details. Departure: May 7th. A red-eye to Barcelona and a connection to Cannes. The festival began the same day, you had tickets for two nights. A hotel downtown (not up to Max’s standards but still 4-stars), and, best of all, one night with nothing scheduled to explore the coastal city. 

Okay, maybe the best part was going to be the festival itself, but the thought of sipping champagne beneath palm trees had you and Sophie bouncing with excitement on your way out of the meeting. 

“Hey, actually,” you said to the group. “Give me a second, I’ll catch up.”

They watched as you turned on your feet and took a few steps towards him. You ignored the exaggerated whispers and waited a safe distance away when he laughed at something Will said. When he saw you, he looked back to Will. You could read his lips: Oh, can you hold on for just a second?

“Hi, sorry to interrupt,” you smiled up at him. 

He crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. “No, hi, that’s okay.”

That’s when it hit you. You didn’t really have anything to say. Whatever it was that coursed through your veins when you were near him--adrenaline, lust, stupidity--had hijacked your body and brought you up to the front of the room. Thank god most people had left. 

You were a creative. An artist. And yet, thinking on your feet didn’t come that naturally to you. At least not right now. 

“I just wanted to say thank, again--uh--you know--”

He nodded, the look on his face let you know he was amused by the way you tripped over words and shifted awkwardly in front of him. 

“For the coffee, the other night, right?” He filled in the blank, covered your tracks and knew it. 

“Yes, yeah--very much appreciated.”

“Of course,” he nodded. 

“I’m gonna go,” you threw a thumb over your shoulder, gesturing towards your friends who made no effort to pretend they weren’t watching your every move. 

Max waved at Jason, Sophie snapped her gum, and Naomi looked like a deer caught in headlights. You cleared your throat. 

“Okay--sorry--I’ll see you later.”

“Wait--Y/N,” he reached out and caught hold of your elbow, tugging you back towards him. “You didn’t tell them, did you?”

A rebound, this was your chance. 

“Tell them what?”

He smirked. “I’ll see you later.”

April 24th, 2018

You paced outside his office door, 10:06am.

He was late. 

His brow furrowed when he rounded the corner and fished for his keys. 

“Where have you been?”

“Good morning to you too,” he laughed. 

“Don’t your office hours start at ten?”

“They do,” he sighed, unlocking the door and letting you in first, watching as you stepped inside. “Is this internship panic? Just so I know what I’m getting myself into…”

“I emailed after my interviews,” you ranted, setting your bag in its usual spot by your chair across from his. “Thanked them for having me, said how excited I was to learn more about them. No one emailed me back.”

He twisted the blinds on the window, looked at you over his shoulder like he knew you weren’t finished. 

“And I know they don’t technically have to let us know until the 15th, but--I don’t know--don’t you think they should have at least said hey we saw your email good job in your interview?”

“Do you need praise?” He laughed a little, eyed you skeptically like he couldn’t read you. 

“If you’re going to be a smart ass I’ll go complain somewhere else,” you said in a huff, your eyes immediately wide when you realized what you’d said. “Sorry--I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yes you did,” he shrugged casually, a close-lipped smile when he let his eyes sweep over your figure. 

You took a deep breath, stared at the tile floor of his office and focused. In, out, in out. How did he not realize how serious this was?

“Hey,” he came around his desk, put his hands on your shoulders when he looked you in the eyes. “They will get back to you eventually…even if it’s a rejection.”

“Not helping.”

He chuckled and moved to sit on the edge of his desk. You tried not to frown at the loss of contact.

“You already got an offer from New Age, right?”

“Yeah,” you said despondently. “But they’re my last choice.”

“When do you need to let them know?”

“They said I could have until the 15th.”

“Great--so you have a back up.”

“I guess.”

A beat of silence in the tiny office, books on the shelves behind you and scattered papers on his desk. 

“Are you always this high-strung?” He watched you expectantly, you shrugged and slunk into the seat directly in front of him. 

“I’ll pretend that’s a compliment.”

“Just an observation.”

You looked up at him, noticed that there was less space between you than usual. He sighed, kept your gaze for a second until you asked:

“Are you this close with all of your advisees?”

He parted his lips but didn’t speak, scratched at the back of his neck awkwardly and then stood, walked around the corner of his desk. “I--uh--I don’t really know what you mean.”

“Nevermind,” you shook your head, feeling small and stupid and insecure. Too close, right? You tiptoed up to the line and now he pulled away. It felt less surprising than you hoped.

“Is there something else you needed this morning?”

You looked up at him, stood and slung your bag over your shoulder. A shake of your head, a huff of air from your nose in frustration.

No,” you turned to leave. “There’s not.”

The next few days were awkward. You hurried out of class and avoided his eyes when you handed out graded papers to the undergrads. 

No update on the internship front, and, therefore, even less reason to interact with Jason. At least, that’s what you told Sophie when you sat on her couch one evening and bit into a slice of pizza.

“Why are you making that face when I say his name?” She asked around a cheesy bite. “Is the honeymoon over?”

“He can be an asshole,” you shrugged, ignoring her jab. “He was annoying the other day.”

“Why?”

You took your own bite and chewed, thought about how to explain it to Sophie without adding fuel to her fantasy fire. 

“Can you not make a big deal out of it for a second? Can you just be normal and hear me out? You know, provide emotional support?”

She rolled her eyes a little at that, a soft smile when she nodded. “Yes. I’ll be an adult for 30 seconds.”

You let out a sigh, felt a wave of embarrassment at the thought of saying it all out loud. 

Was it weird? Was Max right? Maybe whatever tiny crush turned friendship—or whatever it was—had officially crossed a line that even you felt weird about.

“I showed up at his office the other day,” you explained. “I was stressed about internships and waiting to hear back—and it was fine, you know—he was nice and kind of reassuring.”

“Yeah?” She let her eyes narrow when she waited for more. 

“And there was kind of this moment, I don’t know.”

This got her excited. She sat up straight and her eyes lit up. “What kind of moment?”

“I don’t know,” you groaned, leaned back on the couch and took a bite of your crust. Messy words through a full mouth: “I asked him if he’s close with all of his advisees.”

You thought Sophie’s eyes were as wide as they could get, but they practically bugged out of her head at that. 

“And what did he say?”

“He got weird and quiet and said—“ you lowered your voice to sound like him. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You spooked him,” she nodded, still excited.

“What?”

She shrugged casually. “You acknowledged the elephant in the room.”

“I don’t know if I’d call it an elephant.”

“Y/N—has anything happened between the two of you?”

“What? Like sexually?”

Sophie nodded seriously, reaching for a wine glass she’d left on the coffee table. 

“No—it’s not—I don’t think that’s the type of thing happening.”

“Well we all know you have the hots for him,” she said quickly. “And I’ve seen the way he looks at you. It wouldn’t surprise me if—“

You cut her off, shook your head and sighed. “No, no, no, Sophie, do not go there.”

“Oh come on, you’re telling me you haven’t thought at all about it?”

“I mean aside from that dream…”

Right. The stupid dream that started this whole thing. It was random. Had you noticed that your advisor was handsome and funny and all of that? Sure. But you’d never thought about it seriously until, well…

Sophie lifted her eyebrows, silently calling your bluff. 

“I’m just saying—it doesn’t surprise me that he got weird seeing as we all know you guys are, I don’t know—complicated.” 

You chewed on her words and another slice of pizza, managed to successfully distract her by asking about the research she was doing for an independent study. 

By 9pm she’d put on some music, opened another bottle and laughed when you got a text from Max: will anyone else have room in their suitcase for my extra clothes?

You were tugging on your jacket when your phone chimed before 10. Sophie saw the way you smiled when you read the text, and for whatever reason, she didn’t ask.

Jason Sudeikis (9:56pm): Sorry I was a dick the other day. See you on Tuesday.

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AN: short and sweet but chappie five is.........a big one!!!!!

[saturnsummer]

Solhwi prompt:

Sol A tries to set up a date between sol B and joonhwi after his court 'confession' (even though she is lowkey jealous) assuming he was talking about her and confusion ensues... And if you can use the following dialogue-

"Sol, it's you. It has always been you."

love's complicated.

Sol A's not jealous. She really isn't.

But what was this twisting, nerve wracking feeling that she feels every time she sees Sol B?

notes: prompted by @confusedsoulsramblings ! i had so much fun writing this, i had to add a small bonus at the end. i had no intention on making this so long, but i guess it’s my trait to make long fics. spelling, grammar and incorrect information will be taken responsible by me. thank you all for support, once again! let me know of more prompts, questions or your reviews! feedback and criticism very much appreciated! thank you all, once again for the endless love!!

words: 3000 words.

ao3

Sol shouldn't be any less shocked during Yeseul's trial. When Prosecutor Jin cornered Joon Hwi with his question, she turned to look at her roomie at the same time she did. Then, she saw Joon Hwi’s eyes trail nervously, fluttering between them both. Sol knew his answer from the look on his face. 

It was never her to begin with.

She wasn't angry. She wasn't upset. She expected it. Sol B was sophisticated, graceful and beautiful. She knew how all the freshmen would nickname her "Ice Princess.". Could anyone disagree? Furthermore, coming from a family of lawyers and prosecutors, who wouldn't love her? She was a dream child. She possessed both the brains and the beauty. 

Joon Hwi was always open with his teasing and words. He loved teasing her over their first meeting at the bookstore. He loves visiting Byeol randomly, even when Sol isn't home. He often comments with sentences that could have secondary meanings, and was very much teased by Bokgi. Even though he infuriated her sometimes, she always smiled with him.

Sol felt special, if she was honest. She felt like the only girl that he had his eyes on. She couldn’t help but feel tingly inside and her heart blooming like flowers in spring. Yeseul spent hours convincing Sol that Joon Hwi likes her, and on some nights, she liked to fantasied to the thought of it. 

Of course, it means nothing to her now.

Sol sits alone in the study room, huffing out a sigh. She ruffles her hair and buries her face into her sweater sleeves. She can't believe that she can't study due to Joon Hwi liking her roommate. She doesn't like the twisting feeling in her stomach, and she doesn't know what it's called, too.

Was she... jealous? 

Sol shakes her head vigorously and slaps her face a couple of times. No, she thinks, and lets out a breathy laugh. She can’t be. As far as her feelings went, she never considered seeing Joon Hwi more than best friends. The chances of him liking her was held at a much higher percentage than her liking him, in Sol’s head. 

But thinking back, she couldn’t deny her feelings anymore. She couldn’t bury her feelings any further, especially now that she has accidentally dug them up. Her snarky remarks, the way she acted with him, the burning feelings she felt whenever someone spoke bad of him, her smiles that she would sometimes save for him. 

Maybe, she does had feelings for this second round judicial exam passer. 

But at the same time, she felt wrong. Her roomie was oh, so obviously in love with Joon Hwi, harbouring such toxic feelings felt wrong. It felt backstabbing and so betraying. She couldn’t be jealous. She can’t be, anymore. She should be happy, for her best friend to fancy such a perfect partner like Sol B.

Even if it meant that her feelings were not returned, she didn't mind. 

Because his happiness and smile was enough for her. 

-----

Sol did her best to squash those toxic feelings. She reminded herself that her roomie was in love with her best friend, and her best friend felt the same. She avoided every moment she was caught between them and always scooted away when Joon Hwi wanted to sit with her. She gave lame excuses (”I want to sit with Yeseul”, “Yebeom needs to help me with a case”), but her feelings only bubbled up stronger inside. 

She witnessed as her cold faced roomie soften in her speech when talking to Joon Hwi, the way her eyes softened when he would explain something to her, the way he gave the exact same smile to her when he witnesses her finally figuring things on her own. Or the eyes that he gives when he devours his ramyeon while Sol eats her extra pickles with equal fervour. 

If Sol was being honest and straightforward, she wanted to take out her anger on Joon Hwi. For leading her on to believing that he liked her. For being so flirty with her that even BokGi wanted to join in on the teasing. For playing her into this game, only to leave her hanging and lost and completely blindsided by his feelings.

But no, she couldn’t. She knew it wasn’t his fault. She blamed herself, for letting herself be lead by him. She blamed herself for falling for him, instead of focussing on her studies. She was always more rash and emotional. 

It was her decision to fall for his charms, not his. 

She can’t bring herself to blame him, knowing that Joon Hwi was always like this. Mumbling with low spirits, she sunk lower into her chair in the empty study room. She purposely didn’t want to tell anyone that she would be studying in the study room, in hopes that she could be alone. Heading back to her dorm was not an option, since her roomie’s presence would made her so guilty.

“Why the long sigh, sunbae?” She freezes at the nickname. Internally, a part of her lights up, recognising the voice, but even more the nickname that was said. As quickly as it came, it dissipated as she finally registered who it was, and her guilt ridden feelings came right back up. 

Joon Hwi walked in, with his bag slung over, his signature smirk on his face. Pulling a chair, he scooted it over nearer to Sol. Peering over her book, he leaned closer and grabbed the pen she was holding.

“Ooh, criminal codes. Are you having trouble?” He asks, leaning closer to her. 

Sol was so glad he was not looking at her. His body was so near hers, that she could smell the fresh cologne he wore, and the slight musk of sweat from a whole day of work. She couldn’t stay here any longer, while having a knot in her stomach. Leaping from her chair, she gathered her books, nearly scaring Joon Hwi and she quickly packed her things. 

“I... I just remembered that I needed to meet Yeseul for something!” She blurts out, before running out the room. 

She ran up to where the lecture halls were at, before going back down and escape to a part of their campus garden. She always took the same spot, a hidden corner hidden away by a tree that even Joon Hwi isn’t aware of. She frequented that area many times, when she was still insecure about making friends and found it particularly comforting.

“This is no good, I can’t run off every time I see him.” She mumbles to herself. She knew she was right. She knew Joon Hwi was smart to catch on about her not attending classes as usual with her seat next to him. Even though she still showed up for study group, she knew that he could sense the change in her mood. 

She needed a plan, and she needed it ASAP. 

-----

A week passed after her awkward encounter. Sol had gotten used to the twisted feeling in her stomach. After a week of debating in her head, she formulated her plan to get her feelings over and done with. 

She was going to have her roommate and Joon Hwi date. 

Sol had figured that if there’s anything she does best, it’s to disappoint herself. Instead of losing face to her best friend and confessing to him about how she felt, she much rather have her feelings crushed instead. Because she knows that he will probably debate on who to choose and she couldn’t let him be the decision maker. He doesn't need to make such a difficult decision. 

Besides, Sol knew her roomie’s situation. With an overbearing and controlling mother, the least she could do to make her happy was to have the man she crushed on. He could at least help her in her studies, benefitting her mother’s dreams of being a judge one day and have him by her side forever. 

Sol knew the date was going to go well. Sol B had the hugest crush, Joon Hwi would have might as well admitted to her that he had feelings for her in front of the whole court room. All they were missing were private moments alone, without their textbooks and no mentions of school. Oh, and maybe a few glasses of wine and a fancy restaurant in town.

And so Sol found herself in the study room alone again, thinking about how to tell Joon Hwi about setting up a date between Sol B. 

Apparently, fate meant for it to happen now.

Because Joon Hwi strode in, a familiar smile on his face, in his hoodie. 

“Stuck again?” Joon Hwi says, nodding to her books on the table. She contemplates going into small talk and saying yes, but pushes her thoughts aside. No, she needed this out of her system. 

“Joon Hwi, how would you like to go on a date with Sol B?” She blurts out, literally making her point across. Joon Hwi is stunned for a moment, as he sets his bag on the table, leaning on a chair. 

“Well...what makes you think I would enjoy it?” Joon Hwi stutters back, clearly stunned. 

“Oh, I mean, well, you know how Sol B likes you, don’t you? And I think it’ll be nice for you to go on a date with her. You know get to know my roomie more.” Sol replies as casually as she can. A part of her hopes he says no, that he rather spends his time doing anything else. 

But instead, he just shrugs and nods. 

And her heart drops, shattering like glass into a thousand pieces. She maintains her bright smile on her face, and even gives a convincing laugh. Sol sits through the next ten minutes of her telling Joon Hwi when she’s free tomorrow and promising she won’t tell anyone, not even Yeseul. 

As best as she can, she excuses herself from him, hoping her voice isn’t shaky when she says “I hope you enjoy your date!” as she walks away. Her steps are shaky and she feels lightheaded. She doesn't notice how her eyes are teary, the same way they get when she cuts onions. 

Rushing to the washroom nearest to the garden, she locks herself in a cubicle and takes deep silent breaths. She concentrates on breathing and tries brainwashing herself. Come on, Sol, you can’t be upset for him. You should be happy! Joon Hwi is going on a date! And he’s going with the best girl you know! Why are you upset? She repeatedly chants this in her head, holding in her tears as best she can.

But it unfortunately isn’t enough when she finally cracks, letting the pent up sadness explode from it’s cage, her tears streaming down. She prays the bathroom is empty when she wails and sobs, crumbling to the floor in a heap of tears as she can’t help but get the image of her crush and roommate holding hands and kissing. 

For once in her life, she has never felt so hurt, but she couldn’t blame anyone but herself for putting herself in this situation. She landed herself in this ditch, and now she has to deal with the fact that her crush, her best friend, will be dating her roommate. 

Composing herself, she wipes her tears dry and washes her splotchy face. She rejects Yeseul’s offer for dinner, resorting to spending her night at the campus garden away in her hiding spot. She’s cold, but it’s nowhere near the numbness she feels in her heart deep down. When it gets too cold at 2am, she sneaks back into campus and goes to the long sofas in front of the Lady of Justice statue. 

She sits there staring into space for a long while, before carrying her bag to the, now empty and deserted, study room, where she crouches to the corner of the room. She’s reminded of the moments where he would sit with her so close, their shoulders brushed each other and their fingers always fumbled around for stationary. Everything reminds her of him, and she falls asleep, huddled in a corner, just as the rare rays of sun start to emerge.

She wanted him, but he wasn't hers anymore. 

-----

“Sol. Sol, get up.” She hears a familiar voice say. Having slept for less than six hours, she’s groggy and rubs her eyes. Her back hurts from being hunched over, and her joints are sore and stiff. Her vision comes to focus as she comes face to face with Joon Hwi.

“Ah!” She yelps out, startled by his presence and retreats back, only banging her head against the metal cabinets instead. She winces and rubs her head, soothing her pain. Joon Hwi sighs and holds out his hand. She swats his hand away. 

“Why are you here?” Sol asks Joon Hwi. Joon Hwi holds a serious expression as he steps back to let Sol stand on her own. 

“I take back what I said yesterday.” He says suddenly. 

“Huh?”

“I’m not going on a date with Sol B anymore. I don’t want to.” He blurts out. Sol takes a moment to register his words. Immediately, anger floods in. She can’t tell if it’s residual anger from being mad at him for playing her, or anger on behalf of her roommate. 

“What? What do you mean? But Sol B likes you so much! You should at least give her a chance!” Sol argues back, making her way to the other side of the table at the same time, dumping her bag there. She’s proper angry now, letting her emotions take charge of her actions. Her eyes are frustrated and her face frowns. Joon Hwi stops her and grabs her wrist, stopping her from moving away from him and pulls her back to the same side of the table that he is. 

“I don’t like her. And I don’t think I ever will.” He admits. Sol is breathless, taking in all this new information. But during the court, it was so clear that it was her roommate. She can’t do it, having Joon Hwi so close to her, wanting to be with him, yet getting told that he harbours no feelings for Sol B. The tension she felt was driving her crazy.

“But...” Her speech comes out breathless, almost suffocated out of anger and frustration. 

“Sol.” His voice is an octave lower, as he leans towards her, his face closing the distance. “Listen to me.”

“It’s you. It has always been you. From the beginning, it was always you.” 

Sol lets out a breath, almost suffocating from the tension. 

It...it was her? 

All this while...? 

“I thought... I thought...” She hates how her voice is so full of breath. She’s leaning against the table, and his hands have shifted from her wrist to the side of the table, trapping her.“I thought you liked her. I thought this entire while, she was the one you liked.”

“Maybe this will make you trust me.” 

And he presses his mouth against hers. 

Sol’s startled, not used to Joon Hwi being so dominating. But his soft lips against hers distract her. She removes her hands from the table, bringing them up to his hang around his neck. His hands slowly make their way to her waist as they move in sync. When they finally part, Sol’s face is blushed bright red. She feels his hot breath against her face.

“Believe me now, sunbae?” 

-----

bonus:

Sol B tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ears when she stops in her tracks to meet Joon Hwi.

“Hey, um, can we talk?” He asks awkwardly. She doesn’t know why she feels so calm, knowing that she should be feeling butterflies for having her crush talk to her. Nodding, they head to a spot until the staircases. 

“I don’t know how to put it...” Sol B realises where this conversation is going. In fact, she has been waiting for this day, ever since Yeseul’s court hearing. She knows what he’s going to say before he even says it. 

“You don’t like me, you like Sol A, right?” She completes his sentence. Joon Hwi fumbles in his speech and finds ways to defend himself quickly. But Sol B is quick to cut him off.

“It’s okay.” She says, the closest thing to a satisfied face she can make on her face. “I fully support you.”

“You’re... you’re not sad? Or angry?” Joon Hwi is cautious with his questions. Sol gives a slight scoff. If she’s honest, she doesn’t know. She doesn’t know what begin her crush for him, to begin with. She can’t remember if it was the way he answered questions, or the time he helped her put on her glasses. All she knows is that he didn’t like her, and she felt peace with that.

“I’ve seen the way you look at her. Your smile and your eyes are enough to prove it. Besides, that's who you were talking about in court, wasn’t it? You wanted to protect her.” She asks. He nods, eyes unable to meet hers. 

When Sol B went to bed the night before, she noticed that her roomie was nowhere. Assuming that she was out studying, she went to bed. But when she woke up the next morning, Sol B found her bed still the same state as last night. It was obvious she didn’t return to the dorm. 

“She didn't come back last night.” Sol B says and Joon Hwi’s eyes widen in panic. 

“What?”

“Check the study room. She might just be studying there.”

“Okay.” He says and turns around. But he turns around once more before jogging away.

“Thank you, for everything.” 

Sol B gives a suppressed smile as she watches Joon Hwi get further and further from him. She tries all she can to find anger, jealousy, sadness, brokenness, denial. 

But yet, all she feels is calming peace. 

[wh6res]

taeyong — part of the my bloody valentine collection.

prompt. when your soulmate gets a wound or cut, flowers bloom on the same spot in your body.

synopsis. you’re desperate to meet your soulmate. maybe you can put a stop to the flowers stubbornly blooming on your wrists.

warnings. tread cautiously. mentions of mental illness (depression, attempted suicide), swearing, manipulation, implied self-harm, dubious content, forced relationship, unconsensual touching near the end, ty pulling the sadboi agenda

disclaimer. a friendly reminder that i do not, under any circumstance, condone or support any acts like this. this is not love and this is not how a normal relationship should be like. the things i write are all fiction and should be treated as such and if you don’t like it, please do not read it and waste your time hating on it. the 9 members of nct 127 do not act like this in real life and shouldn’t act like this in real life.

by the time you’re graduating high school, you’re used to the sorry glances people sent your way. 

for someone so young, you have more flowers blooming on your skin than any adult. a few small pieces of it blooming in the corner of your cheek, near the jawline. a few of them on your thighs. 

but the most concerning piece is the one on your wrists that are fully covered by the flowers, your skin nowhere to be seen with all the lilies of the valley tainting your skin. 

yet the worse has got to be the summer before senior year. you had been halfway done with the college entrance examination for a local university. your parents said the pain you felt the first time will turn into a mild itch whenever the flowers form on your skin. 

it started small, absentmindedly scratching at something on your neck. initially, you thought it was the heat, your sweat, and the fabric of your clothes irritating the sensitive skin. but when you walked up to the proctor to turn in your exam, you knew that apologetic stare like nothing else—but his eyes had flickered down to your neck. 

when your friends blew up your phone, asking where you are to celebrate, you lied and headed straight back home, head ducked, collars upturned, hiding the lilies of the valley wrapped around your throat like some insignia. 

a year later, you end up studying soulmate theory in university. they say it’s a useless course as there can be no scientific explanation to soulmates. you like thinking you chose the course because of sheer interest but really, you’re just finding an explanation, some external reason that probably bore no results but you trudged forward anyway. 

you’re restless in the pursuit of finding him—or her, you couldn’t care less. the hurt you feel weighs heavy in your heart each time you feel them blooming on your wrist, mind plagued with worry. 

your roommate interrupts your deep thinking as she practically throws herself onto your bed. “i have an idea!” she cheers, determined. “why not part-time in the school clinic? that way if people come in, you can compare their cuts to your flowers.”

“now, you just might be onto something there.”

the hunt for your soulmate still wasn’t easy despite working in the university’s clinic and it only got worse each day. your schedule is killing you, you’re slightly getting behind in some subjects, and you practically live in the library. 

contrary to popular opinions, soulmate theory can be a fucking bitch to study about. what with learning psychology, astrology, and botany all together. it was interesting how all these things can be factors in how people are paired to become soulmates. interesting, but rather complicated in a sense, too. 

they say psychology and astrology dealt with two people’s compatibility. while botany, the meanings of the flowers themselves, was theorized to predict how the soulmate connection will affect their relationship—ultimately, roses were a really, really good sign. 

you have been busy messing up your hair, utterly frustrated and irate—astronomy’s messing with your head and you can’t go a minute without scratching your wrists as the flowers bloomed after the other. 

then something unexpected happened. 

a lanky guy dressed in an all-black ensemble walked into the clinic. well, it was more of a being carried between two guys by the arms rather than walked in. everything about his clothes looked way too big to fit his delicate frame and it hardly looked like it was for fashion style purposes. his skin hugged his body to the bone, eyes sunken, and he looked so frail that a tiny shove would’ve sent him sprawled on the floor. 

his name was taeyong and he lied on the bed unconscious, with handkerchiefs wrapped around his wrists like bandages—courtesy of his friends, who looked deathly worried for the fate of their poor friend. if he had lost any more blood, he would’ve died. you had never seen the clinic in such chaos, people running around, anxious. your leg muscles were sore from going back and forth from the nurse’s side to the cabinets storing all the medical supplies she needed. 

it had been a whirlwind, and after your superior had patched and properly bandaged his cuts, you were left to look after him in the meantime as nurse jung tried contacting his guardian. 

his friends—who you learned were named yuta and jaehyun, were snoozing outside on the bench across the hall, parallel with the clinic’s double-glass door, as they waited for their friend to wake up. 

depression. suicidal. taeyong has been like that for his whole life, jaehyun stated earlier. you can only shoot a sorry look at the unconscious boy lying on the hospital bed. 

it had already been dark outside when you came in to switch out his bandages for new ones—only to realize that his cut is exactly where you had been scratching earlier before he showed up. 

you retracted, unbelieving of what that possibly entails. along the way, you’ve pieced together that your soulmate is probably struggling through something heavy, something that weighed him down so much that it made him believe hurting himself is the only solution, what with all the flowers on your skin. 

“it’s him…” you mumble, wide eyed as you eyed the faded scars around his wrists, eerily aligned to the flowers blooming on your own. 

you didn’t want to overwhelm him, that much was sure. you didn’t want to chase him away if he gets uncomfortable. so for weeks you started leaving anonymous notes in his locker. not the sappy love letter types, just little words of encouragement that could make his day better. 

when their friend breaks out into the tiniest of smiles, yuta and jaehyun’s thankful eyes would scour around the halls. sneakily looking for you behind taeyong’s back. they understood where you’re coming from and hadn’t spoken a word of disagreement when you told them you didn’t plan to make yourself known as his soulmate yet. 

and as if the notes were not enough, you start giving him his favorite starbucks drink every now and then—on days the flowers didn’t bloom as much as it normally would. you turn up half an hour early before lectures so you can place it on the table where he usually sits with his two best friends. even if his class is on the other side of campus, you’d still go. 

but it only took three weeks of creeping around until you’re caught by your soulmate himself. 

“do you want something from me?”

you didn’t know what to say, cat got your tongue as you stood before him holding the drink. you couldn’t weasel your way out and say the drink’s yours, not when he caught you standing before his usual seat, not when you were already leaning forward to place it on his desk.

“uhm… i…” you stutter pathetically, not being able to meet the intensity of his eyes. 

“jaehyun and yuta aren’t exactly the most lowkey, especially with how much their eyes wander when i open my locker. so, do you want something from me? what are you playing at, stalker?”

the name he called you stung like a bitch but you can’t blame him for it. you knew him, he doesn’t know you. you’re giving him gifts anonymously. even if they were all from the goodness of your heart, from an outsider’s view, your actions still appeared sketchy.

“soulmate,” you correct him. 

you watch his features twist into confusion, only for it to morph into shock once he’s digested what you just said. eventually, he schools his expression back to indifference. his stoic face is so intimidating, you thought, biting your bottom lip and fidgeting on your toes. 

“what?”

“i’m your—i’m your soulmate.”

his eyes flicker downwards to peak a glance at the bouquet of flowers painted on your skin. colors as beautiful and vibrant as the day you got them, the stems of the bell-shaped flowers intricately woven into each other. for a split second, you even twist your arms a little, showing him the rock hard proof of your claim. 

ever since you found him, you’ve always contemplated for the better part of your limited free time about what his reaction will be when he finds out you two are soulmates. will he accept you? or worse case scenario, pretend you didn’t exist? the possibilities are unknown especially with someone who seems to be going through so much that the last thing they wanted is this person who thinks they’re entitled to be part of their lives because the universe made it be that way. 

not that you feel entitled… taeyong can reject you all he wants and you’ll give him the space he needs—

he’s crying. 

and not the simple, small tears slowly streaming down his face one by one type of crying, no, his tears were an onslaught. full-on sobbing as he threw himself onto you, wrapping his arms tight around your shoulders as he buried his face into your neck, words heavily muffled by your coat. 

“is it—” he hiccups. “true?”

you blink, from all the reactions you’ve gone through in your head, crying was the very last thing you expected from him—crying and hugging you like you’re the last person on earth and he’s been touch-starved until he found you. 

maybe that was the case. 

you wonder what jaehyun and yuta felt whenever taeyong ditched them to spend time with you—and that was pretty much all the time since he’s found you. he’s like a puppy, following you around wherever you go (unless he has classes) and had been neglecting his friends. whether it was intentional or not, whether his two friends were cool with it or not, you don’t know. 

you try your best to smile every time he runs up to you on the other end of the hall, spotting you coming out of your own respective classroom after lectures are done. 

he’s beaming like a child, inviting you to this cafe he wants to take you to—and pathetic ‘lil ‘ol you just can’t seem to say no to those huge expecting eyes.

but you’re not blind to the slight scowl on yuta’s face nor the razor sharp smile on jaehyun’s features. they want to hang out together, just boys, but now there’s this soulmate who’s suddenly more important than them—what happened to bros before hoes?

but they knew taeyong needed you. heck, he never once smiled like the way he did before he met you. it was like he’s become this whole new person with a child-like innocence reflecting his eyes. 

“so?” your soulmate prompts just as his two friends came over, flanking him. 

taeyong deflates the moment he sees the hesitance in your eyes. “uhm… i actually have a shift in the clinic, and nurse jung said the clinic isn’t some hang out place, so you can’t, uhh…” you trail, not wanting to finish the sentence. 

a little white lie can’t hurt anyone, right? 

taeyong shouldn’t depend on you all the time, not when he also has friends who care about his well-being and mental health just as much as you do. being soulmates didn’t mean he has to spend every waking moment with you and the faster he realizes, the better. 

when you dashed away before he could even mutter out a reply, you miss the frown on his face, his eyes never once leaving your frame until you turned the corner. 

people often favor the underdog. they have this gnawing urge in their gut to sympathize and unknowingly root for their own plot twist or happy ending. 

people look at you and your soulmate and think you have poor, suicidal and depressed and sad taeyong eating at the palm of your hand, following you around like a lonely duckling—the undeniable underdog in a coming-of-age movie, the person shoved around until some bigger, more capable person comes to their rescue (in this case you, unfortunately).

but appearances have always been deceiving. 

your little 3-week head start with getting to know your soulmate had only been on surface-level. you just wanted to help him but taeyong’s obvious attraction—can you even call it that? you’d like to think it’s more of infatuation—is off-putting for you. from standing way too close to putting an arm around you, from walking you to your lectures to walking you home, from the light headpats to having the guts to kiss your cheeks. 

it’s too much and it wasn’t as if you basked in the public display of affection. whenever you tried telling him off in the most gentlest of ways, taeyong would frown and curl in on himself, eyes glossy, darting around, and looking like a kicked puppy. 

you couldn’t leave him like that just because of some harmless skinship, right? he’s just excited and happy he’s found you. weren’t you also the first one to initiate? with all those notes and gifts you’ve given him? and now you’re backing away just because of a few touches?

“you know,” your roommate plops herself on the couch next to you, netflix movie playing as background. “you’re not obligated to fix him. you’re his soulmate, not his psychiatrist.”

you sigh, head diving into the couch pillows. “i’m not trying to fix him, i’m just…”

she raises a prodding eyebrow. 

“…i’m just trying to be there for him.”

taeyong likes to think that he wasn’t doing it on purpose. but the sense of rush and sick pleasure running up and down his spine whenever you force a smile and give in to his wishes proves otherwise. 

all his life he’s been pushed around. tasked to buy his old man beer and cigarettes and an assortment of drugs. if he turns up empty handed, guess who becomes a punching bag? and he has always been alienated throughout his school life. immature elementary kids aren’t exactly the kindest and would’ve picked on every single thing to appear cool to their friend groups. and poor little scrawny taeyong who didn’t speak and didn’t defend himself was just too easy of a target. 

“uhm… you don’t—don’t need to walk me home all the time.” do you think so low of him that you believe he doesn’t sense your fake little giggle?

“but i like walking you home,” he pouts, jutting his lips just a wee bit more for extra measure. he makes sure his eyes are as round and glossy as can be, he noticed those puppy eyes are what gets to you the most. 

he can tell by your tense shoulders, the clear hesitance in your face, that smile that looked too sweet to be real, and your averting eyes. you needn’t say anything for taeyong to figure you out. he isn’t blind to the lack of comfort you’ve developed by being with him. 

he has to think of something or else you’ll be slipping through the gaps of his fingers.

he asked you out on valentine’s day. it wasn’t the simple, forgettable act of popping out the “hey, do you want to go out on a date with me?” question while holding a bouquet of flowers. taeyong made sure you’ll never forget this certain day that he had laid his claim on you—not that it needed to be vocalized, it was his wounds that made flowers bloom on your skin. the soulmate connection should be enough.

but taeyong wanted to go the extra mile.

with the help of his friends (yuta’s popular and jaehyun can be very persuasive), he’s got people handing you lilies of the valley every ten feet until you reach the auditorium in the main building. despite it blooming on your skin you’ve never really seen them in the flesh. they’re like dew drops, bell-like flowers growing in an elegant dip from it’s main stem and appearing no bigger than your thumb.

you were awed, but skeptical.

you meet taeyong by the end of your little journey, standing on a decorated stage with a bouquet of the flowers nestled delicately in his hands. the natural sunlight bleeding through the open windows giving him such a beautiful glow that you couldn’t take your eyes off him. he had smiled and timidly gave you the flowers while asking.

“will you be my girlfriend?” 

if only you’d look close enough, that sugar coated smile contrasted greatly to the sly flickers in his eyes. he knows how your actions are dictated by the reputation you’ve built. taeyong knows you'll say yes, because if you didn't, how could you have rejected your own soulmate who has made you the light of his life? he’s been nothing but kind to you and you’ve only pushed him away! you’re a monster! you should’ve saved him!

if him alone can’t make you say yes, maybe the pressure-induced stare of the whole student body can.

and as you shivered amidst taeyong’s suffocating hug, feeling the triumphant smirk against your head and his prodding nose as he sniffed your hair, you now understood why your body bloomed this specific woodland flower. 

lilies of the valley are beautiful.

but lilies of the valley are poisonous, too.

the flowers remind you of taeyong. 

making things official has only made things worse. taeyong has promised you that after being together he won’t try hurting himself anymore and that he’s a big boy and he can attend his therapy sessions alone. but the itching in your skin is as constant as ever and you just got off the phone with the receptionist of the clinic he goes to. 

“are things alright? i haven’t seen taeyong since three weeks ago.”

if there’s one thing you absolutely hate doing with your soulmate, it’s confrontations. for the three months you’ve been together, taeyong has always, always spiraled out whenever you confront him about something. be it the mildest or the most superficial thing, what started out small will turn into a complete whirlwind and he’d be in a fit of tears by the end of it.

every single time. 

you prefer happy taeyong than sad taeyong—if you can avoid it for as long as you can, you will. but you’re at your breaking point. him lying to you about his therapy sessions is the pin that popped the little balloon of security you’ve been protecting. 

when you arrive home, he’s already there, crouched and sifting through your bookshelf. it wasn’t a surprise or anything out of the ordinary, he possesses the key to invite himself into your apartment any time. “hey, you’re home!” he immediately stands, barreling towards you. 

he encircles his arms around you protectively as he pulls you flush against his body. you feel the tip of his nose prodding against your neck, hearing him inhaling your scent like cannabis. 

you learned to ignore it, this habit of his—but just because you do doesn’t make you any less uncomfortable than the first time he did it.

you don’t bother hugging him back. 

you were too pissed off to keep up with pretenses. 

“the clinic called, said you weren’t attending your sessions. why were you lying to me?” 

when pushed into a corner, you were never one to beat around the bush.

“i don’t like going alone, i told you that, remember?” he quickly replied, shoving you away. “i wouldn’t have to lie to you if you would just come with me for my sessions, don’t you think? you’re blowing this out of proportion when it’s all your fault.”

you wanted to pull at your hair. scratch that, you wanted to pull at his hair—no, not in that kind of way. 

“how the fuck—” you stop. taeyong hates it when you curse. cursing will do you more harm than good. you inhale through your nostrils, willing yourself to calm down. “how is this my fault? i told you i have to run errands for professor kim!”

“then quit working there! they’re not even paying you, it’s just for extra credit! which you wouldn’t even fucking need if you weren’t flunking astronomy so bad.” taeyong must’ve seen your features twisting into that of betrayal. he was there when you were crying your eyes out because you failed the exam. he knew the subject was taking such a big toll on you. 

how could he…

“don’t fucking look at me like that, kitten. you know it’s the truth.”

what is the point of this, some form of payback he’s subjecting you to? just because you didn’t come with him to his sessions? six months in this relationship and you already feel so drained, how would the universe expect you to keep up for a whole fucking lifetime together with him?

“why…” you choke, the tears building up in your eyes as your voice breaks. “so what do you want me to do, then?” you ask, because you genuinely don’t know. 

does he want you to choose? is that it? you didn’t want to lose the credits, but you didn’t want to lose this relationship either, no matter how much you’re drowning in the toxicity of it all. 

because this is your soulmate. 

certainly, the universe wouldn’t destine you to each other if it would only bring forth chaos, right? taeyong has mentioned time and time again that this is his first relationship. of course, he’s depending on you to show him the ropes. 

but it seems he isn’t really a big fan of how you do things. 

“quit.”

you shake your head defeatedly. “you know i can’t. i’d have to take the whole subject again next semester and—”

“i said quit, dollface.” the finality in his tone renders you speechless. “then fucking take the subject again next semester! i don’t care. that’s your consequence for neglecting your major. why the fuck do i have to suffer, too, if my soulmate is such a failure?”

his words cut deep, deeper than flesh, cutting through bone as your knees the urge to buckle and collapse before him. “taeyong, please—”

“honestly, i don’t even know what you’re doing with that professor. you always brush it off whenever i ask you!” the glare he sends could kill. “is this… is this why you’re so adamant about not quitting? then again… what kind of professor is willing to pass his students just by interning for him? i can’t believe i’m only realizing this now!”

this is bad. this is very, very bad. 

“whatever you’re thinking about is not true! trust me—”

but as if he can’t hear you, he dawdles on, trying to connect the dots when there is absolutely nothing to connect. 

“you suck dick for grades? how could you do this to me? how can you do that to yourself?” 

you don’t understand exactly why he’s crying again so you don’t say anything. not because his fierce accusations were right but because even if you try hard to convince him that nothing is going on with your astronomy professor, he’d still cry and whine and paint you to be the bad guy. 

“what… what use do i have in this world if my soulmate thinks i’m not enough? and i lost you to some guy who smelled like prunes of all people!” you would have laughed if the situation had been different, but taeyong was dead serious. “i’m useless. i’ve been useless with my family, my friends, and now you. i can never do anything right, can i? i can never make anyone stay. i can’t even make you stay!”

and like a switch that has been flicked off, your conflicted emotions vanish in thin air. gone are every trickle of anger, confusion, and irritation you felt as he makes a beeline to the coffee table, smashing the little ornamental fish bowl and pointing a shard against his dainty wrists. 

“no!” you tackle him to the ground, groaning when you feel the shard dig into your side yet you made no effort to get off of him. blindly, you reach, twisting his wrist to drop the piece of glass. “you promised!” you wail, clutching the collars of his shirt as you pull him close to you. “stop, stop hurting yourself.”

you feel him shaking his head, his own onslaught of tears staining your shirt as the negativity he’s been bottling pours over like a tsunami, dragging you under the currents with him. “no, no, no…” you splutter, snot running disgustingly down your nostrils. “it’s not true, none of that is true. you’re my love, my moonlight, i’d never betray you for anyone or anything!”

“but—but your professor, the internship—”

“i’ll quit. i’ll take the subject again next semester, it’s not a big deal, okay? don’t worry, i’m here. i’m so sorry!”

it was all too easy.

the thing with noble people like you is the foolish sense of responsibility lying underneath your skin, it’s gravitational pull so strong that you don’t bother to think before you speak, to think before you act, to think before you make promises, because what’s important isn’t yourself, it’s the person lying meek and helpless before you. 

quit, you say? taeyong wants something more.

the evil lying inside pandora’s box can never remain dormant, not when meddlesome people like you who think with a one-track mind pull the lid off its hinges, preaching how every evil can have their own redemption.

a hand finds purchase around your waist as an eerie blissful smile stretches on his lips, eyes clouded over. “really? i’m your moonlight?”

“yes—”

“would you prove it to me?”

he doesn’t make room for your hesitance to settle, he lunges, hands wrapping around your face to pull you into a kiss. it wasn’t like all the other kisses you’ve shared with him, no, this one had a dark, underlying purpose. his hands digging into your open wound to make it bleed, tongue sliding into your mouth the moment you gasped in pain.

your hands press on his chest, trying to push him away but taeyong’s thoughts are running wild. you blush in sheer humiliation when he lets out an almost pornographic moan. with a sinking realization, you’ve become hyper aware of something poking at your abdomen.

no, not yet. you weren’t ready yet!

“taeyong, wait—i’m not—”

“you said you love me, didn’t you?”

[ice-cream-writes-stuff]

I feel like twst Aurora would meet y/n by walking through the forest. Sorta like when Aurora meets Phillip in the original movie

(*Me, dancing like a duck*)

Twst Aurora/Sleeping Beauty Idea For Anybody To Read

(Song is from Hadestown, Flowers)

(Y/N) was given homework for Mr. Crewels class to find the native flowers of Twisted Wonderland. She would of gone to the botanical gardens for her research. If only it wasn't crowded with other students. So her best bet was either the mountains or the forest. The forest was the best option.

After finding a few flowers and writing them down on the note book she brought with her. Her mind wanders off to Yuu and Grim, hoping they were doing alright with finishing the assignment, if not, she could always share her notes with them.

"I wonder. I wonder... I wonder why each little bird has a someone. To sing to sweet things to. A gay little love melody."

A song starts travel through the air. Soft and sweet, gentle and wistful. It was quite simple and romantic song, the person who was singing was quite good. The song starts to end.

"I wonder, I wonder.. If my heart keeps singing. Will my song go winging. To someone who'll find me. And bring back a love song to me.."

(Y/N) sighs gently at the song, holding her book close to her chest. "Oh, that was beautiful.." She whispers, acting as if she was a maiden in love. Enchanted by the beautiful singing, (Y/N) applauds to the singer. Wherever they may be.

Carefully, (Y/N) gets up from her sitting position and pats down her casual clothes. Nothing too casual though, just a simple white ruffled off-the-shoulder smocked shirt and a (f/c) skirt that went to her ankles. The girl wanted to wear something else, but she didn't have much clothes. So this was her best bet. Hints of dirt smear at the bottom of her skirt, but she could care less.

Heading deeper into the woods. (Y/N) does her best not to trip on some trees roots and killing the urge to jump into piles of leaves. Finding the next flower was easy enough. It reminded her of a song back in her world. Humming the tune under her breath, she said a few peices of the song.

"Lily white and poppy red... Nothing gonna wake you now.."

Humming the instrumental bit, (Y/N) looks over her notes. Nodding at the small flower, she sees a patch of the last flower she needed to find. Poking at one of the small buds, she closes the book after. Placing it down on the grassy floor as she leaned against a old tree. Picking up a red flower from the ground and twirled into between her fingertips while the once crimson petals flutter to the ground, leaving only a stem.

"Dreams are sweet, until there not.. Flowers bloom until they rot and fall apart.. Is anybody listening? I open my mouth and nothing comes out. Nothing, nothing gonna wake me now!"

(Y/N) smiles, that one part of the song always made it harder for her to sing. If only she sang it right the last few times she tried. Maybe she wouldnt have her voice crack from all those failed attempts. 'Oh well,' she thought.

"Flowers, I remember fields. Of flowers, soft beneath my heels. Walking in the sun, I remember someone. Someone by my side. Turned his face to mine."

"And then I turned away, into the shade.." The female puts her hand out to feel the warmth of the sun light on her skin. "You, the one I left behind. If you ever walk this way. Come and find me lying in the bed I made." (Y/N) finished, a reminiscent look of longing in her eyes.

"Well, that should be the last of it." Picking up her book, she stands straight and re-reads through the notes as she walks back to campus. Until she bumps into a tree, not looking where she was going. "Ow." Rubbing her forehead, the dull throb ceases for a little bit.

"I thought I heard something?" A voice said not to far from her. (Y/N) turns around, only to be met with nothing? "I guess it was nothing." The person said sadly.

(Y/N) peeks behind the tree she bumped into. A young boy around her age sat underneath a tree. Wearing a simple white shirt with a black buttoned vest and light grey pants. His head covered in curly locks of golden sunshine hair and lips red as a rose. Little birdies and forest critters surround him as he talks with them about a dream he had.

He seemed to be caught up in his own little world. Reminding her of a certain someone back on her college grounds.

Not wanting to bother him with her presence. (Y/N) decided to find another route to get back to Night Raven. The young male starts to hum a familiar tone she heard earlier. 'So he was the singer! Dang, he's got range.'

"You have a nice voice!" (Y/N) said aloud, regret sinks into her gut once she heard him gasp. "Who, who are you? Where are you?" (Y/N) slaps her forehead because of her own stupidity.

"Dammit!"

The male winced at the sound and her voice. "A-are you alright?" "I'm fine! I'm fine! Just.."

"I'm dumb, really, really, dumb." Sighing, (Y/N) apologized for speaking to him and frightening him. Not moving from her spot. "It's, okay. I can tell from your voice that you didn't mean it."

"Oh, good.. But I meant what I said. Your voice is really amazing!" "O-oh? Thank you."

The little woodlan creatures watch the boy, his rosy cheeks reddening. Some of the birdies fly over to where the girl hid herself. Chirping at her in awe, certainly she was fit for him in their eyes. (Y/N) looks up to see the birds and gets the wrong message. "I guess I overstayed my welcome, I should get going anyway."

(Y/N) hums the song she sang before and starts to move her feet. "Wait! Please wait!" Freezes and questions him for why he didn't want her to leave. "You were singing too, right?"

"I heard your voice before. You sang about flowers, didn't you?"

"I.. I did. Why you askin'?"

[Twst Aurora] gulps back his shyness. "I think you have a beautiful voice too." [Twst Aurora] stated, standing in front of the tree (Y/N) hid behind. "..." The NRC student goes silent.

[Twst Aurora] heard a twig snap and looks down to see two pairs of shoes emerge from behind the tree. Slowly looking up, he sees a young girl around his age standing in front of him. A soft grin on her lips. "Thanks, as I said before, your pretty good yourself."

Blush coated the girls cheek as the two were face to face. Wanting to step closer to him, she takes a step back instead. Suddenly, out of nowhere. A few apple blossom petals fell on her hair and nose. Shocked giggles espaces her lips as more flower petals fell on her. Looking up, she sees little birds and squirrels squeezed together as they look down at them from a branch.

The male only stares at her smile and listens to her melodious laughter. A light hearted grin settled on his red lips. His heart fluttering like a birds wing.

(Ask box is open! Dang this is very sappy, someone draw this romantic display! I'm joking lol! Also, the reason why (Y/N)'s words are in bold, and [Twst Aurora] aren't. Is because the songs are supposed to contrast with one another.)

[7wanderingpaws]

Captain Bucheon 05

(gif is not mine!)

Warnings: language, tension, (a bit unedited)

Word count: 3.6K

story masterlist masterlist

tags: @wooya1224 @to-all-the-stories-i-love @jennxx3 @realllllrica @energeticsirens​ (let me know if you want to be un/tagged)​

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<– Previous

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Fifth: Birthday Party

The winter season had finally given way to spring, the cherry blossoms blooming around the campus. Your dorms still sucked, but one thing that was good was the beautiful pink trees welcoming you whenever you left or arrived from school or work. The entrance was full of cherry blossoms, and when you rushed to your early classes in the mornings, you'd catch cats curled up and sleeping on the fallen leaves.

Even though you enjoyed winter, you couldn’t deny the magical hope spring always managed to plant in you. If the smog wasn’t too severe (and in spring it always was) you could smell the distant scent of flowers, grass and life. Students and professors were scattered around the campus, making videos and pictures, the white and pink cherries a huge attraction even for the dullest person out there.

For some reason, however, this season also made you incredibly sad.

A very unnerving, in the corner creeping, emotion of yearning, longing, pining and all the other synonyms that expressed missing something you couldn’t quite pinpoint were eating you away. The sadness that made your mood so incredibly low and sad that you couldn't enjoy the cherry blossom season as much as you used to. It was a huge love of yours; every year during high school taking a long walk, wearing the uniform skirt not so horrible anymore while you and Yuyeon laughed at something stupid. That magical instance when the gentle breeze blew and the leaves created a pink rain fall--

Someone hitting you with folded paper was what snapped you out of your thoughts. You turned around, glaring at the intruder. “Yah, Oh Sehun!” you shouted, scowling.

Sehun was smiling brightly, your face expression entertaining him. “You looked like you were thinking too deeply. Didn’t want an accident.”

You rolled your eyes and watched him sit down on the bench opposite you. He put his backpack next to him before leaning on his elbows on the table. “Meaning?” 

“You don’t think, you just do stuff. Thinking could have damaged you further and we don’t want-“

Your fist landed on his bicep and he laughed harder, not even bothering to fake the pain. “You are so dead, Sehun!”

After he calmed down he pretended to tap the tears away around his eyes which made you roll your eyes again. “Anyway, you know it’s next weekend, right?”

You frowned. “What is next weekend?” 

Your question came out like a bite of an angry dog but you almost immediately forgot about your bicker when you spotted Yuyeon from afar; she was mingled among a small crowd of students but you could see whom she was talking to very well. After all, you saw the guy almost daily. Chul. 

They seemed to be deep in conversation and he was nodding thoughtfully, taking her every word. While she was explaining something, he looked up to run his eyes over their surroundings carefully which, in your eyes, looked a little off.

“Hey-“ Sehun waved his hand in front of your face, “I’m right here, don’t ignore me. And Yuyeon was supposed to tell you.”

You snapped your eyes back to Sehun, still frowning. “She didn’t tell me anything regarding next week.”

Sehun groaned like a kid. “You’re a terrible friend anyway! You should have known it’s my birthday!”

Your eyes widened and you scrambled for your school diary (that was a huge mess) and aggressively listed through the pages until you landed on the second week of April. With small letters, Sehun’s birthday was noted on the paper with a little flower next to it.

“I’m not a bad friend, look,” you pouted, pushing your diary in his face. 

With a sigh he was fast to push your hand away. “Well, mark it better. You’re coming for a little camping trip.”

“Camping trip? During school?”

Sehun looked at you dumbfoundedly before he started to giggle. “This is university, sweetheart, there is no such thing as school night anymore, and it’s funny that out of all people you complain when you’re the naughtiest kid on the campus. And besides, it’s on the weekend. You don’t work either,” he clicked his tongue and then proceeded to flick your forehead. “So no excuses.”

“Ouch, you DUCK!” you growled, massaging the throbbing skin with your fingers. “Why is your birthday in April out of all months!”

“Whoa, whoa, I could hear you guys from afar already,” a new voice chirped in and your eyes immediately snapped towards your best friend.

A little shocked at her cheerful attitude, you looked at the place you last saw her with Chul but, of course, he was nowhere to be seen anymore. The last thing you'd expect her to be like after a conversation with Chul was cheerful.

“It’s your fault, Yuyeon-ah. You forgot to tell Nari that I’m having a camping trip.”

“Oh,” Yuyeon seemed genuinely surprised as she sat down on the bench next to you. “It slipped my mind completely - and no, not your birthday but the trip!” She held her hands up quickly in defense before he could flick her forehead as well, Sehun’s scowling eyes sending daggers her way.

“Wonderful friends I have,” he muttered and shook his head in disappointment. “Well, you don’t have to come if you don’t want to. Thankfully I have friends who actually care,” he said and stood up, throwing his backpack over his shoulder.

Both you and Yuyeon followed him with your eyes, perplexed at his sudden change of attitude. “Where are you going?” you spoke up at the same time with Yuyeon.

“Have some stuff to do for class. See you, losers!”

“What did just happen…”

“Well. Whatever, Sehun is weird,” you dismissed, not sparing his retreating figure any more glance as you turned to your friend. Swiftly bringing out your phone from your pocket, you searched for one contact you saved in the morning, and pushed the device into Yuyeon’s hands, ignoring her perplexed expression. “I need a favor. You need to call the police for me.”

“What?” She was only able to raise her eyebrows and give you a pathetic look. “What is it about?”

“I need them to come during the festival, it’s the security measures,” you said, almost whining because you yourself hated this irrelevant task you were given. “And I can’t risk that someone particular will pick up the phone.”

Yuyeon sighed but she had a soft expression as she nodded. She still threw you a skeptical look. “First of all, it’s bold of you to think that you’d have the pleasure to speak to the captain of the police himself when I’m sure they have some lowly workers doing this kind of job. Second? Fuck Chul. The hell is he thinking - giving you all the trash work, as if he isn’t the student president.”

Yuyeon mentioning Chul when they were just meeting minutes ago didn’t sit well with you. She didn’t mention talking to him whatsoever and you concluded she didn’t have the intention of doing it at all. Observing her for a little longer, you decided to deal with that problem later. She was your best friend. She would never do something to harm you.

After explaining all the details to Yuyeon, she finally called. It took almost fifteen minutes with the whole call procedure until you could talk with the relevant person in charge. To your and Yuyeon’s surprise, they already knew about the topic.

“Oh, so the event has been reported? And you already have a team to send for that day?” Yuyeon was repeating everything the person on the other side told her, giving you a surprised stare.

You shrugged, albeit worriedly before muttering under your nose: “Why did that fucker-“

“Alright, great. Thank you!” She put down the phone with a huff. “Well, that’s that. They already knew about this.” Her knee was going up and down, her teeth gnawing on her lower lip, tearing the dried skin. “Is Chul testing you or something? Why is he making you do stuff only for it to be already resolved?”

You shrugged again. “At least it’s done. Thank you,” you murmured, widening your eyes into those of a puppy before you pushed out your lower lip, pouting.

Yuyeon rolled her eyes and flicked you on the forehead. What was it with your friends flicking you today?

You scrubbed at the red spot on your forehead as she said: “Don’t mention it. What wouldn’t I do for this troublemaker, huh?” She smiled at you and pushed your phone into your hand. “Are you confident about running? And MCing for that bitch?”

You deflated even more. Your body was not built for running. And Siamsa requesting you to be the MC was just as suspicious as the whole police thingy being already resolved. “Nope! But who cares! It’s Oh Sehun’s birthday and you didn’t even bother telling me about the camping trip?”

She looked surprised for a moment before she realized something. “Oh, right, it slipped my mind. I have class projects and well… sorry. I was supposed to tell you.” Yuyeon looked apologetic and you wanted to ask what was the issue but decided against it.

“It’s okay. But I think he is legit mad.”

“I know.”

><

After that, the days became a blur. You tried your best to juggle running between studying sessions. Sometimes you would stay in the dorm room but the squeals of girls on the corridor would irritate you to the bits which eventually led you out of the dorms and into a coffee shop. 

Assignments were piling up and Sehun’s trip was happening just before the midterms which wasn’t the best news. You tried hard to focus but the unstable job you had was also giving you a hard time. There had been another case where you didn’t manage to bring a box to the right door yet… much later you received a confirmation text. It was giving you stress. And you started to regret taking up the job at some point. Someone must have been delivering them. You were suspicious of this for a while but was too preoccupied with the task at hand to try to catch the culprit.

Well, could they be called a culprit when, in fact, they were doing you a favor? If more than anything, it was the unsettling feeling that you were being played by someone you probably didn't know, since Chul was doing anything but talking about this job.

Instead, he was always hot on your heels, were it the running practice that you swore you’d give up, because coach Lim was relentless, or he was bothering you about the damn MC thing, bugging you about doing well and trying to be your best possible version. Just thinking about having to pretend in front of Siamsa, when you knew she was Baekhyun's ex, and a complete piranha behind the scenes, made you go nuts. It had certainly been a while since you wanted to be done with something this much and at the same time dreading the moment it would come.

If that wasn't giving you anxiety, you also had to make sure not to go to the running track outside of your scheduled training. The possibility of running into Baekhyun was scaring you. Unable to pinpoint why exactly, you just decided to ignore the topic, despite finding yourself daydreaming about facing him again. Daydreaming about certain moments with him that actually happened, but they were buried deep inside you, hidden under stocks and stocks of much more memorable memories than those created with him.

Since you never saw him after that incident where you slapped him, you were more relaxed (and a little guilty).

Currently, you took the empty beer bottle in your hands, music blasting loudly as you stood up on the top of the table, enjoying the cheering from your small audience that you stole away from the birthday boy, Sehun.

You pushed me away with your very hands

Once were so wanted by me

As soon as Yuyeon recognized the lyrics, she jumped up to join you, taking an empty soju bottle in her hand and made a microphone out of it. You were fast to drape your heavy arm around her neck and shouted:

What can I do?

What should I do?

I no longer have your breath with me

But I am still loving you

Sehun was facepalming in the background because you had been high on this song since last year, after the harsh breakup. He knew the signs very well and he could only sigh harder when he saw a message from the only person missing at the late night party:

Just arrived

Coming in now

“Oh, dear,” he scrunched up his face, looking at you exaggeratedly rolling your hips to follow Rain's dance moves. He had to admit you were too good at those moves.

As soon as you heard cat calls, your hands went flying up to your hair, lifting it up to reveal your neck before you pushed your bum out, sliding your hands lower, outlining your breasts.

“Jesus, she is on fire!” someone shouted.

You giggled loudly and Yuyeon slapped your butt, making you squeal before the both of you continued with the song that made you want to weep and give up yourself to someone at the same time; give up yourself to a certain someone.

With the way you used to look into my eyes

You dramatically turned to Yuyeon who mimicked you, both of you staring into each other's eyes before you turned back to back, feeling her bum pressed into yours. With a swift sway of your head, you got rid of your messy hair that was obscuring your sight, spotting a mop of messy blond hair before singing:

Please turn back to me and just feel my heart

And could you please tell me

Your eyes locked with Baekhyun's who was standing motionlessly on the doorstep, staring at you with an unreadable expression. 

That you still love me

The words left your mouth, and you became breathless. 

Was it the booze? Or did Byun Baekhyun just look hundred times more appealing to you after drinking? What was the captain even doing there in the first place? Wasn't he a little old to be here celebrating Oh Sehun's birthday with the kids that he thought you were?

Not daring to even blink, you continued your charade, enjoying the way his eyes wandered down your body when you swayed your hips to the rhythm, rolling your hips to the surface of the table and enjoying yourself a little too much. You were wearing hip jeans and a crop top, the textile straining over your breasts just the way you wanted it to be tonight. The revealed belly and the dimples on your lower back just above the belt of your jeans was teasing enough to bring a little craze to the audience you earned. Your want doubled with the knowledge that Baekhyun was present.

Eventually, you turned to Yuyeon and finished singing the heartfelt song, while your brain was trying to ignore the fact that the person you imagined in this song was present in the room.

“Hey, thanks a lot for dropping by,” Sehun greeted Baekhyun when he walked over to him. Baekhyun had a slight smile on his lips.

“Happy birthday, buddy,” he wished and bumped fists before patting him on the shoulder. “You decided to keep a low image this year?” asked Baekhyun when Sehun pushed a red cup into his hand and sat next to Sehun, once again angled the way so that he could see your eyes the whole time.

Sehun raised a thick eyebrow before tipping his chin towards yours and Yuyeon's direction. “Is that what you call a low image?”

Baekhyun shook his head, but he was amused. He let his eyes wander back to you for a moment, just when you were getting off the table. One guy held your hand, helping you down while bulging his eyes at your breasts. Baekhyun suppressed the annoyance bubbling inside of him at the sight. “Did she have a lot to drink?”

“Well, she had enough to become her old self,” mumbled Sehun, taking a calculating sip from his beer. “Enough to want to make a scene, so I'd watch myself if I were you.”

“She hates me. I don't think she'll even acknowledge me.”

Sehun let out a snort and Baekhyun shot him a curious look. “That whole fucking song was about you. She acknowledged you just fine.”

Baekhyun let out a breathy laugh of disbelief. The images of meeting your heated gaze over the crowd while you were rolling your hips around left him just a little breathless. You were too sexy for Baekhyun. And too forbidden.

Before the both of them could fall into silence, Sehun said: “Did you resolve anything with Siamsa? I love you, dude, but I can't let your stupid ex ruin Nari anymore.”

Baekhyun wasn't surprised at the change of the topic. Sehun had been bugging him after he found out you were requested by Siamsa herself to be the MC of her short stage during the university festival.

Baekhyun was restless about the whole deal, especially after her unexpected visit at his place. About that he didn't tell the younger male, not wanting him to worry even more. “Don't worry, Sehunah, I have it under control.”

“Well, make sure you really do,” muttered Sehun as he leaned closer to Baekhyun. “She acts strong, but she is anything but that.”

><

It was two hours later when you found yourself in the crowd, dancing by yourself. Yuyeon wasn't around anymore, being snatched away by a guy while you were drinking shot by shot, enjoying yourself and at the same time desperately trying to stay sober because Baekhyun was lurking around. And that made your heart beat too wildly; the alcohol had nothing to do with it.

There were so many bodies around you, sweating and grinding against each other. It almost made you want to turn back until you felt someone’s front pressed to your back. Under normal circumstances you’d immediately pull away but his scent wafted over your senses and you just knew.

It was him.

His breath was on the back of your hair, a little irregular, and then you felt his feather touch on the inside of your arms as he trailed his fingertips over the sensitive skin of the inside of your elbows until he let them dance over your wrists and pushed the fingers through the slits of your hands, interlacing your fingers.

Spikes of electricity shot through your insides and you hummed though you knew he couldn’t hear you over the loud music. Involuntarily you pressed yourself back and his breath fanned your neck as he lowered his head.

There were so many things you should have done immediately; push him away or walk away but despite your turbulent emotions that kept clashing in a fight with brain and heart, you felt safe in his arms, in his presence and his touch. His nose traveled your cheek and he nuzzled the side of your face with his. Your heart was about to jump out of your rib cage. The urge to just turn and kiss him was so strong but ugh. You still hated him so much. So, so much. To the point you wanted to scream and shout and at the same time kiss him senseless and let him have his way with you.

“Why is it that whenever I try to avoid you, you appear?” he murmured into your ear and you tried to shimmy away from the ticklish feeling. “Why is it that whenever I’m with another one, you’re the one I see behind my closed eyes?” You felt the lightest of touches of his lips that were parted, so smooth and so alluring, teasing you on the side of your cheek. “Why is it always you, Lee Nari?”

You almost thought it wasn't real. It couldn't. Baekhyun would do anything but a move on you.

But one swift turn and you faced him, his eyes focused on yours. “And why is it always you, Byun Baekhyun?” you squeezed his fingers gently, still interlaced with yours. 

“You should go and rest, Nari, you had enough to drink,” he told you suddenly, moving closer. He realized that booze was talking more than what he would have said under normal circumstances.

Breathily, you zoomed in on his lips, bewitched by the way they shaped whenever he said certain words. The would pucker and form a cute pout and-

“Nari, let's get you to sleep,” he repeated.

“Do you still want me, Baekhyun?” you asked instead, almost eagerly.

Baekhyun wasn't surprised, yet he didn't answer. You were intoxicated and he expected some kind of confrontation, but the longing in your eyes spoke volumes and he knew you wouldn't be slapping him tonight. He had only two cups of beer but he already knew he was acting braver than he should have. The need to kiss you and just be with you only grew and alcohol made his well preserved restraints weaker.

“You don't want me anymore, right?” you said, misunderstanding his silence. You stepped away. “If I would have wanted to build up the bridges you would have said no and still play with my feelings,” you whispered, heart-broken. Even though I still want you so bad…

><><><><

A/N: I do not know when will be the next update, sorry about that. Ive been focusing a lot on AY since my writing juices are overflowing for that story for now. Sorry to make you wait and I do hope you stick around ☺💛

This chapter is a little breaking point; next chapter the festival is going down! Poor Nari...

Here is my new curiouscat if you want to let me know your thoughts ^^

[mytwistedhome]

🍎 Neige Leblanche 🍎

Neige x G/N Reader

I felt very compelled to write something for Neige. We know nothing about him, but I really love him. He seems like such a sweet baby :’)

You walked alongside Vil; few words passed between the two of you, as it seemed you both had different thoughts occupying and overcrowding your minds as you tried to make your way across the campus. It was such a beautiful day, yet it was a shame you couldn't fully be present to enjoy it. Still, Vil's silent company provided at least some merriment.

But, then, all of a sudden, you heard the faintest little voice rise and fall from a distance. The sound was so quiet, yet it was enough pull you out of your head and ground you for a moment to listen to your surroundings. The voice continued, on and on, never ending, as if in a song. It was so lovely; you couldn't help but fall into a trance, and you craved to hear it more clearly, for the quiet noises were hardly satisfying.

Unconsciously, you began to slow your steps down in attempt to better hear that pretty voice. You slowed until you were almost still, and in seconds, Vil had strayed far ahead of you.

When he noticed, Vil turned around with a glare in his eye to see you appear so dazed, seemingly unconcerned by your present environment. "What are you doing?" he called out to you, stopping himself in the hope that you might catch up.

"Vil," you called back with ease and responding to his question with one of your own, "Don't you hear something?"

Vil tilted his head slightly to convey his confusion. He silently listened to the sounds of the air for a couple moments before he curtly replied, "No."

You blinked twice and took a small step further back, a bit shocked and even hurt at the bluntness of his reply. His tone made you grow weary and skeptical of yourself, causing you to think that, perhaps, that noise was entirely in your head or simply nothing at all... Maybe you were just hearing the songs of birds, or wind-chimes, or something else that buzzed beautifully in the air.

But then, again, that voice sounded in your ears once more, so pristine. You could've sworn that it was a voice you were hearing, not a glamorous fabrication of nature. Oh, it was so alluring... You didn't want to pull away from it. Again and again, you felt that desire to hear it ever clearer, though you wished not to admit that to Vil.

Instead, you told him, "I'm sorry, but please go on without me," the expression on your face was pained and earnest, "I fear I'll only slow you down."

Vil frowned at you as his brows deepened; you could sense the displeasure from the core of his bones, through the air, and into your own lungs. Your fingers trembled, worried as to what he might say, but the simple word of approval: "Alright" was all that passed between his softly pursed lips.

A breath of relief was released from your chest. Your face relaxed, and a faint smile graced your face, filled with gratitude for his allowing you to stray away. But, before he could question you, and before you could think of another thing to say, you turned yourself around and rushed away.

Once safely concealed from Vil's line of sight, you slowed down once more in order to carefully follow the direction of that lovely voice. It was much crisper now that you were slightly closer, and you could clearly hear every note of the fragile tune. You let the voice guide you further, using the clarity as your map while your shoes clicked against the stone tiles of the campus. You tried to keep yourself as quiet as possible, so as not to disturb the pretty voice or have it, perhaps, be frightened away...

You soon found yourself towards the back of the school's campus---a place that you've wondered countless times before. Yet, this time, it was entirely different, for it was exactly the place of which the voice was coming from. Right in the center of the little garden where the wishing well dwelled, there was a strange boy leaning over and humming into it, the source of that beautiful sound.

Startled by the sight of a stranger, you quickly hid yourself behind a thick tree, peering out from the side and observing silently.

He was gorgeous; that was clear to see. He took your breath away with his beauty. The sun gleamed against his black, ebony hair, giving it bright reflections as it also tinted his cheeks and nose with a glittering, gleaming shine. His long, dark lashes cast the perfect shadows over his fair cheeks, and his full lips moved delicately with the sounds of his sweet voice as they curved upwards into a charming smile.

He was so lovely. You were mesmerized. You couldn't help yourself but to keep watching.

Your gaze traveled down to observe his attire. He wore a comfortable sweater that was elaborately decorated, and on top of that, he had on a white blazer that was clearly a part of a uniform. But... you had never seen such a uniform being worn at Night Raven. What could such a student being doing on this campus? He seemed so out of place.

You don't belong here, The thought was gentle in your mind. What are you doing in this place?

Though the strangeness of his presence concerned you a little, you still gazed at him in admiration. You couldn't help it; he was so striking.

You began to notice that the flowers around him seemed to come alive and bloom even further, and blue birds and doves started flying down near him, some even landing close to him on the ledge of the well. How impressive that was! You figured he must be so skilled in the language of animals, for even the little chipmunks began to scurry around his feet. It reminded you much of Silver in the way that he would often so effortlessly attract woodland animals.

You grinned as loving warmth spread through your chest, caged alongside your rapid beating heart. The scene was just too sweet. In an act of careless bravery, you stepped out from behind the tree and stood right next to it, leaning your should against the bark to have the most comfortable view.

For a moment, everything was at peace.

Then... All of a sudden, the boy looked up from the well in a state of terror, having somehow noticed your presence. He looked up and straight at you with his wide and trembling eyes.

Your eyes grew wide as well to have his attention fixated on you. "Oh!" the sound escaped your lips right before you closed your hands over your mouth. A rush of heat surged up to your cheeks, flushing them pink.

In panic, you turned, and you fled, sprinting quickly with the adrenaline that your heart was pumping, pumping, pumping.

[jackiesjailbreak]

helpless ; ushijima x fem!reader

A/N: so like ,,, remember when i said i had an ushi fic that connected to that would be enough? it’s here! it won’t really connect until like the third chapter, but still. this is pure, pure fluff, so i hope you all like it <3 also okay i know it’s y/n but she lowkey DOES have a personality but it’s not overbearing she’s just like,,,gentle bohemian flower girl i’m SORRY // also thank u to @janellion for beta reading this MWAH

summary: ushijima meets y/n, the girl from his university’s newspaper who he believes is the human personification of a gentle breeze, and his life is turned upside down.

word count: 1.2k

tags (send an ask, comment, or a dm to be added!): @lissa-writes-and-does-matchups @janellion @over5feettall @lavieenblancetnoir @moonnddust @rienin

also tagging the wonderful ushi simp herself, @kuronekomama

I. wonderboy

        Ushijima sees you as sunshine and flowers. He sees you as support and tenderness.

       Your liveliness, your modesty, your kindness; he sees something pure, beautiful, and ultimately, perfect. He’s so lucky to have met you, and he knows it -- especially since he never would have introduced himself in the first place had it not been for you.

        He had noticed you before, the way you would nudge him softly and slide your notebook over to him in class, because god knows he wasn’t paying attention to what was on the board, he was just thinking about the practice he had later that evening. You didn’t even know him, had never talked to him before, but something in your brain told you that the boy next to you was probably going to fail the class if you didn’t intervene. He whispers a low “thank you”, paying attention to your writing, how planned out and meticulous your note-taking was, several different colors adorning the page. If he wasn’t so confused by the odd wave of feelings that rushed over him, Ushijima would say it was cute.

      He only actually talks to you when you come to one of his practices, a camera looped around your neck and notebook tucked under your arm. You tell him you’re Y/N, from your university’s newspaper, and you’d really love to sit in on a few of his practices to take some pictures for a volleyball spread, and maybe an interview, if he’s up for it. 

     Ushijima’s confused at first, his brows furrowing a bit because he doesn’t realize why you’d want an interview with him out of all the people on his team, until he remembers he’s the university’s new rookie ace who everyone’s had their eye on since he was in high school. He nods down at you then, his low voice feeling like it’s rumbling right through you, “Yeah. That’d be fine. Do you want to do it after practice, or?” 

      You smile brightly, then, and Ushijima is very confused as to why it makes the sides of his mouth quirk up too -- maybe it’s because you look more radiant than the sun right now, but he can only process that as a fact, not as a thought of affection.

      “Perfect! Thank you so much -- and, ummm, after practice should be good! Do you mind if we go to the cafe next door? It’s still on campus so it won’t be too much of a walk, but I figured it’d be more comfortable to do an interview somewhere where we can sit down.” He realizes you’re rambling but he doesn’t really mind; he enjoys the company of people who can talk a lot, being a man of few words himself. Instead he simply nods, letting you talk; when he sees how brightly you smile and how animatedly you talk, his brows furrow, looking at you with a sort of bewilderment. He feels the same type of adrenaline-rush-excitement he does before he goes into a game, but he can’t quite understand why -- but before he can figure out why and before you can figure out why he’s looking at you so oddly, his coach is yelling at him to get back to practice. 

       His practice goes by quick, and you get some breathtaking shots of him. When he’s up in the air he looks so graceful but somehow so strong; you snap pictures of him soaring, connecting with the ball to form hits you know could break your arm if they hit you the wrong way. You can feel your cheeks heating up as you watch him through your lens, fighting back the mixed expressions of excitement and awe that threaten to bloom on your face. This feeling, though, unlike with Wakatoshi, isn’t lost on you. You know what it is, because you’ve felt it every time you see him staring off into nothing in class, every time he tilts his head in confusion at his paper or slyly plugs his headphones into his laptop and changes his tab to watch volleyball highlights. You initially chalk it up to admiration about how driven he is, but you know it’s something more when you catch yourself studying the way his hair falls and the way his lips move when he’s mouthing the words of his textbook (he does that often, you note, probably to help him retain information better).

       And yes, you might have jumped at the chance to take on the volleyball spread when your advisor pitched the idea, knowing you’d be able to watch the boy you had only ever had chance interactions with. Yes, you might have said a silent thank you to whatever higher power there was when you realized that he was the ace, a superstar one no doubt, meaning it wouldn’t seem weird for you to single him out for an interview. 

       Yes, your interview goes well with him, and you can’t keep the radiant smile off of your face. He notices how gentle you are when you speak to the waitress about your order, how soft yet somehow firm you speak, how it seems you command the entire room so elegantly in your flowing sundress. Still, though, Ushijima thinks of these as facts -- unchanging, obstinate, and simply true, devoid of any emotional bias. He doesn’t fail to notice, though, how his heart races when you hand him his coffee cup and your fingers brush, or how his mind feels hazy when you speak with that beautiful lilt, or how he suddenly short circuits when you look him directly in the eyes and smile that ridiculously beautiful smile of yours while you bring your mug up to take a sip of your tea. He takes note of all these, but doesn’t quite understand what it is just yet -- he’s really only ever felt these ways before a game, but he’s smart enough to know you’re not the same as volleyball. 

       Soon enough the interview turns into more casual talking -- about your majors, about how you’re much more passionate about your photography and art than your current pre-med track, about how he thinks you should just go for it (because he’s not really used to being in something that isn’t a guaranteed success for him), and about how you can’t really do that, though your soft smile betrays how endearing you think it is that he thinks you could ever succeed in something like that. You manage to pull a bit more words out of him than he was expecting, prompting him to talk about his high school days and how he intends to go pro. 

       You both leave feeling content; you ask for his number, to follow up on some of his answers for clarification and also to arrange a study session, brought on by you giving him a gentle nudge and reminding him that there is a GPA requirement to stay on the volleyball team, wonderboy (he didn’t react badly to the nickname, which both surprises and elates you). While he leaves feeling emotions he’s never truly felt before, you leave with your heart fluttering and eyes gleaming. 

       Because yes, you think you have a huge crush on the wonderboy that is Ushijima Wakatoshi and honestly? You don’t really mind it.

[jeon-googi]

Flower Boy

— pairing: (ATEEZ) San x Reader

 — genre: slice of life, Barista au

— words: 3k

— rating: SFW

— warnings: none~

— notes: HELLO! It’s been awhile, and I am so sorry for my lack of posting and writing. A lot of stuff has happened, from me graduating Uni early (whoo!), to a few deaths in my family, life has really gotten to me. It makes me very happy to see so many people still liking and reading my stories though, so thank you for all the kind comments and tags! I have a few stories in the works including a spin off of Soulmate! Until next time! (I rewrote a part of the ending and wanted to start off fresh with this so I hope you don’t mind!)

-

 You smiled triumphantly, finally finishing the last stretch of your midterm paper, stretching your arms out in front of you in your cramped work space. It was nearing Spring Break and that meant the amount of school work was becoming borderline atrocious. Luckily, you planned well enough and weren’t experiencing the detrimental study cram like your roommate Irene. 

“Irene c'mon you have to take a break!” You stood up, walking to her side of the dorm which somehow was even more destroyed than yours. Irene groaned as she rubbed her face, leaning back into her chair.

“Yeah a break would be nice…” she mumbled, her eyes red from lack of sleep. You smiled as you pulled her up trying to think of somewhere the two of you could go for a small break. 

“There’s that new cafe nearby! The one Seonghwa from Psych works at?” You offered, gently tugging on your shoes near the door. Irene nodded as she followed suit, tugging on a light jacket. One of your friends from psych, Seonghwa, and a gaggle of his rowdy friends all somehow landed themselves a job at a new cafe by campus. 

“You and Irene should totally come! Drinks on me.” He had offered one day.

The walk was short and sweet, the trees on campus starting to bloom gorgeous blossoms and the light sunny air put a pep back in both you and Irene’s steps. The cafe was a modern looking place, flowers adorning the outside patio. You also noticed the abundance of well dressed girls that filled the place as well. Shaking your head, you pulled the door open for both you and Irene, the bell above alerting the bustling baristas to your presence.

“Welcome to Cafe- Oh! Y/n and Irene! Welcome!” A boyish laugh sounded from behind the barista bar as you spotted Seonghwa’s tall figure operating the espresso machine. 

“Hey Seonghwa!” You waved back as did Irene, filing into the line to the counter. From your spot, you could also spot familiar faces of his friends, Hongjoong his red haired best friend, and Yeosang from your literature class. You could understand now why so many girls were filling the small cafe, everyone here was absolutely gorgeous. You finally reached the counter where another boy leaned, making conversation with every customer, his figure so tall he had to lean down to operate the ipad for orders. Your heart sped up a little as you gave a wave to him, a large smile breaking his face. 

God he was hot.

“Hey your Y/n right? Your friends with Seonghwa?” He asked, cocking his head in a boyish manner as he spoke to you. You nodded a bit lost for words, “Yeah and you’re...you’re San right?” You winced, hoping you got it right. He nodded happily and grinned, “That's me! Now what could I get you?” He asked with a sly wink. You fumbled for a quick order, something along the lines of an iced latte. As you reached for your card, San reached a hand out to stop you, his large hands surprisingly soft.

“No please it’s on me.” 

You went to argue but he quickly passed the order to Seonghwa who shrugged and motioned you and Irene to a nearby vacant table. You and Irene quickly took your seats at the table, trying to ignore the glances of jealous girls at your interactions with the guys. 

“They sure have a crowd going.” You mused, smiling as you spotted some of the waiters entertaining groups of girls. Irene nodded in agreement, her eyes particularly locked on the back on Yeosang’s head. You nudged her and she bashfully laughed it off, the two of you getting lost in conversation before a cough broke you both away. Again, San stood before you, grinning as he held two iced beverages he carefully placed on the table. You both thanked him gratefully as he kneeled down, placing his elbows on the table.

“So ladies what's the plan for today?”

It seemed to be in the cafe’s style that all the baristas and servers would make small talk with the customers, which you didn’t mind of course. You and San unexpectedly went back and forth, travelling from topic to topic. You found yourself getting lost in conversation with each other enough so that Irene interrupted the two of you. 

“It’s getting a bit late isn't it Y/n? We still have some studying to do.” Irene said smugly, sliding her jacket back on her shoulders. Your eyes grew wide as you glanced at your phone, noticing you had been talking for a good while now. 

“Oh shoot yeah, sorry San, I didn’t mean to keep you from your work-”

“No it’s no problem I had fun.” He brushed off your apology with a smile. You and Irene quickly gathered your belongings to leave, giving the baristas one last wave before exiting.

“Wait Y/n!” You heard a call from inside, stopping you in the middle of the door.

“Hm?” You asked, turning back to see a grinning San behind the counter.

“I work Mondays, Wednesdays, and the weekends. Come see me again!”

The hoots from the other boys behind the counter was enough to make your face turn a slight shade of red,

 “We’ll see!” you called back before closing the door behind you. 

After large study periods and quite a few tears, midterms passed as quickly as they began. The refreshing feeling of knowing you had an entire week to yourself was pure bliss to say the least. Irene had planned a trip with a few of her friends, and of course, felt terrible you wanted to stay on campus.

“Y/n c'mon it would be so much fun!”

You shook your head, “It’s okay Irene go have fun! I’m going to just relax here and do absolutely nothing.” you admitted with a content grin. She shrugged, and before you knew it, you were left alone. With so much spare time on your hands, you weren't sure what you wanted to start with. You had a few books you wanted to read, some recipes you wanted to try...or, you could also swing by San’s cafe as well. It had been awhile since you first visited and you couldn't deny the lingering effect he had on your mind. His black hair, smile, the way he rolled his sleeves up when making drinks. A blush stained your cheeks as you shook your head, 

‘Here you are, thirsting over some guy you met once.’

But hey, one visit wouldn’t hurt right, and it just so happened to be the weekend. 

Packing up a small tote bag with a book, your notebook, and a few pens, you headed out down the scenic route to the cafe. The flowers were even more in bloom than the last time you were there, gentle white daisies and yellow poppies. There was another tall man conversing with a family on the front patio of the cafe. He noticed you walk up and gave an energetic wave.

“Hey your Y/n right?” He smiled, a cute golden retriever air about him. You nodded, adjusting the bag on your shoulder, “Yeah, your in my stats class right? Let's see... Yunho?” 

Yunho nodded happily, a large dopey grin on his face, “That's me! To be honest you came in on the perfect day-” Yunho politely excused himself from the family to make his way closer to you, your height differences astonishing this close. 

“What do you mean-” You were about to ask before Yunho hushed you,  glancing back towards the cafe and pushing you behind the cafe's hedge, out of the window's line of sight. He surveyed the front of the store before blowing out a breath.

“Whew alright he didn’t see us.” He said relieved.

“Who didn't see us?” You asked, also trying to peer your head over the bush.

“San. Ever since you came in, he has been looking forward to seeing you, and well, it’s been awhile since your last visit and he’s kind of depressed about it. Today has been the worst, but as luck would have it, you’re here!” Yunho rushed out quickly, giving you a smile of encouragement. You were a bit confused to say the least, but also a bit surprised. 

“He wanted me to come back that bad? I thought he was just being nice-”

“San is nice to everyone, which makes him pretty popular. But the way he stared at you from behind the counter said it all.” Yunho admitted. “I’ve known him for awhile, and I’ve never seen him act like this. If you're not interested it’s totally fine I just wanted to let you know this will really make his day.” With a reassuring pat on the shoulder, Yunho went back to entertaining the guests on the patio, leaving you with a pounding heart. It would be a lie to say it didn’t make you excited, you mean, you did find San very attractive and kind as well. 

‘Lets just see how this goes..’

You walked back to the patio, opening the door gently, the bell alerting your arrival. There was no line like usual, so you had a clear shot from the door to the counter. San was behind the counter again as well, but his back was turned as he was finishing up some drinks for the few other customers inside. You approached the counter with a smile as you waited patiently for him to finish. He quickly turned around, not entirely too focused on who it was before him, but rather typing quickly on the Ipad. His voice was not in his usual tone as he started, “Thank you for waiting, what can I get started for you?”

You laughed brightly before moving yourself closer to the counter, his face being a few heads higher than your own so you could look up into his eyes, 

“Hi San.”

San jumped back with a yelp, a few towers of paper cups falling with his flail, “Y/N? What are you doing here? Today? You showed up-er- here wow uh..” He stumbled over his words, a bright red flush dusting his cheeks. You couldn’t help the laugh that trickled out of your throat. 

“I finally finished my midterms, sorry I wasn’t able to make it in sooner.” You apologized. 

San shook his head quickly, “No no no don’t apologize it’s totally fine-” his hands nervously ran through his hair, pushing it back away from his forehead. 

“I’m just glad-” he stopped to clear his throat, “I’m just glad you came back in.”

You smiled at that. San had a way of being so earnest, even at times like this.

“This time I am paying for my drink Mr.” you warned, already pulling out your card. San’s usual grin graced his features again as he held his hands up in surrender, “Fine you got me this time.” 

You ordered another iced drink, and took a table near a large window within the shop, the sunlight not too harsh yet still warm against your skin. You heard footsteps approaching and you grinned, but looked curious when rather than San bringing your drink, it was Yeosang. 

“Yeosang, hi.” You smiled. Yeosang gave you a polite smile as well, placing your drink down on the table as well as a warmed pastry.

“San got called into the back for a while, so he wanted me to bring this to you since he can’t come over and talk for awhile.” Yeosang said in his gentle voice. You laughed a bit at the situation, picturing in your mind no doubt San’s pouting face. 

“Thank you very much Yeosang. Oh, and Irene wanted me to tell you she says hi.” The startled look on his face was perfect as he quickly excused himself back to the counter. You smiled and shook your head, pulling out your book to start your reading. Chapters in, you noticed the chair in front of you being pulled out. A tired San deflated once in the chair, allowing his head to hang back. You winced at the stiffness in your joints as you set your book down, watching the tired barista. 

“Rough day?” you asked sympathetically, placing your chin on your hand. San shook his head as he sat up, leaning onto the table with his elbows. “Just busy. We’re training some new hires, so I have a lot to do.” He sighed but his smile easily came back. 

“But I am glad you came by today.” He grinned. San’s eyes alway crinkled when he smiled like this, and he always had a laugh on his lips, in a way, you were a bit jealous he could uphold such an attitude. You both made small conversation, enjoying the time you guys finally had together. Before you knew it, the sun was beginning to set, casting the cafe in an orange hue.

Seonghwa emerged from the back, spotting you two chatting away at the table, “Sorry to interrupt but, it’s closing time guys!” He smiled, obviously eager to leave. Your eyes widened as you realized indeed, you were the last one in the establishment. 

“Oh my god I’m so sorry I didn’t realize-”

Seonghwa shook his head, “No you’re good. In fact since San was supposed to help me close, I’ll just have him walk you back to your dorm instead. I’d feel guilty just kicking you out like this.”

San whipped his head around, totally ecstatic over the fact one, he got to leave early, and two of course, walk you home.

“C’mon Y/n let's go!” He grinned, pulling your hand along with him. You laughed as you quickly collected your bag, giving a wave to Seonghwa.

The air outside was warm despite the night creeping in. You walked alongside San down the road to your university, an air of comfortable silence between you two.

“Why did you start working at the coffee shop?” You asked.

“It was always Seonghwa’s dream to have something like this, ever since we were in grade school. I just wanted to help make his dream..I don’t know a reality I guess?” San admitted sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. You nodded, honestly in awe of such kind words. 

“I’m sure he appreciates you very much.” You smiled up at him, causing him to turn away bashfully. He cleared his throat as he glanced back down at you, “Well I mean how about you? I want to know everything about you.”

The walk back to your dorm was filled with conversation with San, ranging from classes to hobbies and favorite foods. It was so easy to talk to him, you found yourself drawn into him with every word and you couldn’t ignore the fluttering of your heart anytime he said your name. Before you knew it, your dorm was in sight. 

“Thanks again for walking me back. I appreciate San.” You smiled, toying with the strap of your bag. 

“Of course! I didn’t want you to walk alone.” San grinned, slipping his hands into his pockets. The air grew stagnant, and both of you fidgeted in the silence, not quite wanting your time together to end. 

“Y/n-”

“San-”

The two of your stopped, realizing you talked over each other so easily before breaking into giggling grins. 

“You first.” San smiled.

“Well I just want you to know, I um...I really like hanging out with you!” You admitted, casting your eyes down to his shoes. “I really like hanging out with you, and I would like to keep hanging out with you. If you don’t feel the same way though I totally understand-”

“Can I kiss you?”

 You stopped, your eyes quickly scanning up from the floor to San’s face, the heat rushing to your cheeks.

“Can you what?”

San smiled, a boyish carefree smile, one that stirred butterflies in your stomach.

“Can I,” his hand found yours, holding it between the two of you, “kiss you?”

You felt yourself nodding before the words even escaped your mouth. San waited, his face only inches now form yours. His breath was shallow, and you found yourself a little giddy at how nervous he suddenly looked. He was only inches away.

“Yes, San-”

You were cut off by a gentle sensation on your lips. It was soft and tentative, like he was holding himself back. San’s hand cupped your cheek and your own hand rose to his chest. He pulled back, his breath light on your face. 

You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks as San chuckled, grabbing onto your wrist and pulling you into his chest, his arms wrapping around you so naturally. 

“I really like hanging out with you too, Y/n.” 

Your face was pressed into his chest, the faint smell of coffee and pastries still lingering on him. 

“But..” You could feel San shifting, leaning down so his face was closer to yours, “I’d rather hang out with you as your boyfriend.” 

Your smile widened as you stared back at him, your hands softly travelling to hold his face. He gently leaned into your touch, his smile mirroring yours. 

“I’d like that too.” You whispered back, your forehead resting against his. The two of you stayed like this, giggling and whispering between each other without care. Eventually San begrudgingly acknowledged he had to leave, but not without a few pouts. 

“I’ll see you soon yeah?”

You nodded, your fingers slowly drifting apart.

“I’ll bring you breakfast tomorrow.” You smiled, earning a large grin from San. It only took him two brisk steps to be in front of you again while you laughed. 

“San you really gotta head home-”

“I just wanted to see you like this. One last time before I go.”

You raised an eyebrow at him.

“Like how?” You watched as his hand returned to your cheek, stroking it gently. 

“Smiling.”

“Smiling?”

“Smiling, because of me.” 

-

-

On her trip, Irene grinned as she stared at her phone. It was a blurry selfie of you and San, looking all lovey dovey at the café, while half of Yeosangs face was in the frame.

‘Told you we’d get them together!’-Yeosang

Laughing she grinned and replied back.

‘About time :)’-Irene

[honsoolie]

don’t rush | 03

pairing: Yoongi/reader

genre: slight enemies to lovers, college au, fluff, smut, classical pianist!yoongi, violinist!reader, they’re both actually really into each other but won’t admit it

warnings: mentions of alcohol (everyone is sober!!), explicit smut, fingering, oral (f receiving), min yoongi has a dirty mouth 

words: 6k 

rating: +18

summary: You know, when Min Yoongi’s face isn’t screwed into an accusatory scowl, he looks exactly like the kind of guy you’d have no trouble falling in love with. Or, the conservatory au where Yoongi helps you get over your stage fright. In more ways than one.

a/n: ahhh i hope you’re as excited for this chapter as i am ;) start from the beginning? 

You never realized how easy it was for your life to fall into a smooth common time rhythm, now that the semester was in full swing. School, music, dodging your friends (usually to go practice), and now, Yoongi. You find yourself slipping into the gentlest of cadences. Spring is coming, the flowers are blooming. There’s a new spring in your step, from the warming weather or the constant daily dose of Yoongi, you’re not sure. 

You go to classes, pay your dues in the library. Write the papers that need to be written. You throw yourself into practice. At times you wake up in that half-awake morning sleep, fingers twitching with whatever phrase you were perfecting the previous night. The same cancelled plans, weekend meetups whenever you can manage. 

You study with Yoongi. Or at least, that’s the pretense that you operate under when you go to his apartment. By now, you’re there more often than not. (To be fair, it’s much a much better place to study than your room, what with the in-and-out bustle of your roommate. And, well, it’s Yoongi. ) 

On the nights that aren’t as busy, and you’re not filled with the swelling dread that the impending Bach Festival brings, you practice that Brahms piece with Yoongi in the dingy practice rooms. Much to Yoongi’s dismay, you had started your meetings (lovingly) calling “weekly jam sessions.” Although they were neither weekly nor really jam sessions. Most of the time that you spent in the practice room with him was either laughing at whatever joke he had just cracked, or thumbing through your score, trying to pick up where you had left off. The time you had left until your performance at the Bach Festival was quickly decreasing and you never really found the time to practice the Brahms to properly do it justice, but that wasn’t the point. 

The point, like Yoongi had said, was to get you to find the joy in the music again. Secondary to that was hopefully finding the bravery and confidence to play in front of other people, and Yoongi’s plan was slowly working. After all, you can’t really worry about your intonation at the same time that you’re groaning at Yoongi’s shitty dad jokes. If you didn’t know better, these jam sessions really serve to be a shoddy excuse for what should really be called a date. 

When Yoongi invites you to meet him in the practice rooms, to practice this romantic piece of music, and offers to get dinner with you afterward, how could you call it anything but a date? 

Especially when he insisted on holding your hands if he deemed it too cold. He would shake his head in mock disdain, chiding you in a way that felt nothing like criticism. 

Where are your gloves, y/n?  

Or God forbid that Yoongi decided that your evening attire wasn’t suitable for the still-frigid weather, and you ended up going through the whole night wearing one of his jackets. Every time you turned your head or moved ever so slightly, you would again be surrounded by the fresh-laundry-cute-piano-major smell of his clothing, and it would take every muscle in your body to not swoon right then and there. 

~

Your first violin teacher had always said to you, “You can’t hide from the metronome. The metronome always tells you the truth.” As a child, it wasn’t bow maneuvers or intonation or memorizing pieces that escaped you. It was keeping the simple rhythm, keeping track of the steady downbeat. You could have been learning the most straightforward pieces, but would get tripped up at simple syncopation patterns or start rushing at the wrong places. And that was something that plagued you into your life as a music student. It was difficult to corral your tempo problem, sometimes derailing orchestra rehearsals or struggling with the same sections over and over during your own practice. All because you would stray away from the gentle tick of the metronome. 

Yoongi, however, kept the time for you. Like the metronome, he didn’t lie to you. He kept you grounded. 

When your thoughts would begin to race and run miles ahead of your heart, Yoongi would look into your eyes with that reverent tenderness and tell you it was going to be okay. Then he would pull that wry smile of his and everything melted away. Sometimes, words weren’t necessary and rather, he would pull you into a tight hug that left both of you breathless.

He wasn’t always easy on you. If he knew you were acting unreasonably fretful, he would tell you the truth. Didn’t feel the need to dress it up in gentle words or beat around the bush. Then he would tell you a sex joke that he probably got from a joke book and then the weight on your shoulders was lifted, albeit briefly. Sometimes the tough love approach works. (Although, at times, it seemed like that this whole stage fright ordeal was the only thing that he could be direct with you about.) 

The pressure was mounting, advancing on all sides. Dr. Kim gave you more-than-firm reminders in the form of tight-lipped smiles every lesson, circling dates and deadlines on the lesson notes marked with your name. Dr. Yang greeted you in the hallways, jesting, “Can’t wait to hear the Bach!” Your university email inbox was flooded with music department newsletter updates, promoting the upcoming festival in every. Single. Email. Staring at the “OPEN TO THE PUBLIC” notice printed at the bottom of the e-flyer probably wasn’t doing anything to help you perfect the Baroque interpretation on Bach’s partita, but there it was, looking back at you. Taunting you. 

There was only so much time until your fated performance, only so many hours left to practice, only so many days left until finals week descended upon your campus. Two weeks, if you wanted to get technical about it. 

And Yoongi somehow made it all bearable. 

Like all things in life, adjusting to Yoongi took time. He set new baselines for you. New thresholds on what was friendly banter, ever toeing the carefully drawn line. 

Ever since that pivotal study date (You know, the one where Yoongi held you down and told you he was going to make you beg? Kind of hard to forget.), the signs inexplicably became more and more mixed. Or you were just living in a constant state of denial. 

Because all of the things that he said and did with you, none of them could be considered flirting. You didn’t want to give into that belief. It felt too self-indulgent, too good to be true. It felt like setting yourself up for failure. 

Because if you did, well, that would warrant action. If you decided what he said with you was flirting or something-more-than-just friends, then you would have to do something about that. 

You would either have to take his carefully extended invitation, or reject him. Neither of which you were willing to do. The space that the two of you had come to exist in became precious to you, even if you remained only as friends. Ever before you ever spoke with him, you had spent a great deal of time admiring from afar. Pining is all you’ve known, at least when it comes to Min Yoongi. Wouldn’t it be easier to take the path of least resistance? 

And of course, what if you were wrong? Reading all the signs wrong, falling again into the trap of wishful thinking. Things in real life are never like reading off a score. There are no dynamic or expression markings telling you how to broach this kind of conversation. 

By now, the unwillingness to speak on the matter is irrefrangible. Like an ancient tradition, some unspoken agreement to ignore the elephant in the room. 

Yoongi wanted you, you wanted Yoongi. At least, that’s what you wanted to think. That’s what all the signs pointed to. But it was too late to mention it now. You and Yoongi let it drag on, well past midterms and trundling on in the slow march toward finals. And the Bach Festival. 

Unless, of course, this was a total non-issue. Maybe this was how he talked to all your friends. Maybe this was just how Yoongi was nice. Maybe he just has a totally dirty sense of humor… that clicked perfectly with yours. 

Here’s the catch. Interpretation isn’t always all that simple, especially with Bach. You have to get historical context, you need to know enough about esoteric Germany to know how to interpret the markings on Bach’s scores. It’s not always so easy, but that makes things all the worse. 

It’s all the maybes and what-ifs that plague you when you’re restless at night and the only thing you can think about is Yoongi. Maybe he’s into you, maybe he’s not. What if he’s actually repulsed by you and he just wants a study partner? What if this whole study buddy thing is just a ploy to get you to spend time with him, because what if he’s actually just as into you as you are into him? Maybe he just wants to be friends, but what if he doesn’t? 

What if Yoongi is actually an alien, and he’s trying to decipher how to act like a human being, and that’s why he acts like that? 

What if. 

You would have better luck divining your future with Yoongi in your coffee dregs rather than lay awake, staring at the mildewing ceiling tiles. 

~

You (8:18pm): want to work on the Brahms tonight 

You (8:19pm): we can get boba if it’ll sweeten the deal 

 Yoongi (8:23pm): sure

Yoongi (8:24pm): I was going to go out later tonight so we can practice for like an hour

 You (8:26pm): oh 

 Yoongi (8:26pm): I’ll make it up to you though, i promise. Boba on me? 

Yoongi (8:27pm): you should come out with me, namjoon will be there 

Yoongi (8:27pm): taehyung too 

Yoongi (8:27pm): we literally all know each other, let’s gooooo pls 

 You (8:28pm): i wish but it’s literally thursday dude 

You (8:29pm): have a drink in my name :) 

 Yoongi (8:30pm): will do 

Yoongi (8:31pm): meet me in 115B in twenty minutes, what boba do you want? 

~ 

So Yoongi does have a sense of fashion outside of sweatpants and beanies after all. White button-up, but only a few buttons are actually done up. Sleeves rolled up to his elbow. Dark jeans, and god, that belt . The need to cry or get on your knees right then and there is overwhelming. 

Wow, everything works for him. Every time you think you’ve done the impossible task of not having a visceral reaction in his presence, he does something like this. You never know what specific flavor of Yoongi will appear before you at any given time. 

Yoongi, aloof college student. Yoongi, dark and mysterious man who buys you a drink in a hazy bar. Yoongi, the concert pianist with hands of steel and a heart of gold. Yoongi, the love of your life—no. No, we are not going there. 

It’s a crush, it’s a harmless crush, nobody said anything about love. 

You try to get your head out of the mushy-falling-in-love gutter by doing what you do best. Flirting with him, teasing him, poking fun at him for the littlest things. “You clean up well, don’t you.” You all but sneer, incongruous with the heat spreading across your face. “You’re late.” 

“Well, I was taking care of an important errand. Look,” He shakes your iced drink in front of him. 

You take a sip, refreshing despite the still-frigid weather. “Fuck, we’re so bad. We shouldn’t be eating in here.” 

“We’re not technically eating, are we?” 

“You’re right.” He never, ever fails to make you laugh. Or everything he says is funny. “Let’s get started, I don’t want you to be late,” you say, fiddling with the music stand. 

“You should cooooome out, y/n. Don’t be so boring for once.” 

You gasp. “I’ll pretend like that didn’t hurt. And I won’t know anybody there, and I’m not even dressed to go out, and it’s Thursday .” You gesture to your evening loungewear, your barren face. 

“Okay, but just this once. You’ll have to come out with me next time.” It sounds like a promise, or maybe a demand, when he says it. 

Come out with me next time. Again, you wonder if he knows the implication behind his words, if he really ever means what he says. 

You pull your music out of your backpack, the plastic sleeve of your binder crackling underneath your touch. It’s a familiar sound. You set a pencil on your music stand, like you’ve done thousands of times before. 

“Let’s get started, Yoongi.” He takes a seat at the piano bench, smiling contentedly. You smile back at him, and for a still moment, everything feels just right. 

~

Yoongi isn’t usually late to class. He usually comes in a couple minutes early, headphones on and deaf to the warble of students around him. You know this, because you’ve always made it a point to show up especially early to the classes you share, just so you can watch him scroll through his phone for the few precious minutes before class starts. 

Today, he stumbles in right after Dr. Won, wearing last night’s clothes and a bucket hat undoubtedly covering a messy bedhead. He’s missing his usual coffee, and the bags under his eyes belie the smile he gives you. Yoongi says nothing as he sinks into the seat beside you, cradling his head in his arms. You sense the opportunity to tease him, and pull your phone into your lap. 

You (10:06am): it looks like someone had a rough night 

 Yoongi (10:08am): you should mind your own business and pay attention 

Yoongi (10:09am): i don’t look that bad do i :( 

 You (10:10am): just tired that’s all 

You (10:11am): still drunk or something? 

 Yoongi (10:11am): nope painfully sober 

Yoongi (10:11am): let’s get day drunk after this >:) 

 You (10:13am): no <3 

Maybe his questionable inebriation lowered his inhibitions, which might explain his knee nudging yours underneath the desk. Looks like he didn’t forget your previous conversation. It’s not an accident; accidental knees are nowhere as insistent as Yoongi is being now. You nudge your knee back, as if to say, two can play at that game.  

Yoongi (10:14am): still touch starved? ;)

 You (10:16am): fuck off >:(  

Your theory is confirmed when he inches his hand closer and closer to you, finally resting his hand on your knee. His thumb draws languid circles on the inner part of your thigh, insistent but gentle, playful but...  possessive. It’s a lot to take in at once. 

However, you don’t need alcohol to stoop down to his level. You’ll never let him get the upper hand on you without a fight, no matter how much the butterflies in your stomach would like to contest that. 

You take his hand and place it back in his own lap, trying your best to stay discreet. You keep your eyes trained on Dr. Won, but your gaze still slides back to Yoongi. When you look at him, he’s looking at you in contempt. “Is that a challenge,” his eyes seem to ask.

Slowly, tentatively, you slide your hand from the desk into your lap. It doesn’t get Yoongi’s attention at first, until you gently greet his hand with yours. He’s still looking at you with those same taunting eyes. 

Sometimes you can’t stand how cocky he is. And other times, like these, you love it. You just want to take him down a notch. Your journey underneath the table continues when your hand comes to rest on his thigh, trailing your fingertips along until you find the inner seam of his pants. He’s warm and solid under your touch. It feels overwhelmingly real, and you wonder if you have the guts to finish what you started. 

You try to keep a neutral face, like this isn’t affecting you at all, like you do this all the time with other cute piano performance majors. The smile breaks through your facade anyway. You bite the inside of your cheek red in an attempt to stop it, and you renew your efforts to continue taking notes. 

Your smile turns into a stifled gasp when Yoongi guides your hand higher up his thigh, his hand dwarfing yours. He doesn’t stop until he reaches the half-hardness between his legs, holding your hand in place.

 Blatantly, you realize, your actions have consequences. This is real. This, whatever this is, with Yoongi, is real. Neither of you can fake it anymore. 

The blushing starts up again, creeping down your neck. The heat spreads through the rest of your body, settling in the pit of your stomach, replacing the nervous knots that were there not an hour ago. This was most definitely not what you were expecting. Was fake-drunk Yoongi really going to take the flirty banter this far? You thought that was just part of being friends with Yoongi. Do all his friends get to touch his dick? 

You really should have thought this through more, but you’re going to finish what you started. 

You use the heel of your hand to trace along the length of his cock, dragging it slowly just to tease him for his contempt. You’re suddenly thankful that nobody can see what you’re doing from your angle in the classroom. He shifts into your touch, still not quite looking at you. Yoongi picks his pen up again, scrawling on the blank corner of your notebook. 

“I’m a horny drunk,” it reads. You roll your eyes. Everything is a joke to him, you posit. 

You continue your gentle teasing. Eventually, Yoongi rocking back into your touch. Not once do you tear your eyes off the Powerpoint slides projected across the room. This is the only time in your life you’ve ever cared so much about the beautiful simplicity of Bach’s fugue subjects. 

But in the end, no matter how hard you try, you can only focus on one thing at once. And the task at hand (literally) was to tease Min Yoongi to full hardness. You were fairly successful. 

Yoongi picks his pen up again. “Just so you know,” he writes, “ I’m about to blow a load.” He places your hand back in your lap, patting it for good measure. You don’t miss the way that his hand trembles. 

“I’m a girl with a mission,” You retort, as petulant as you can be with a pen. “Let me finish the job.”  

“Continue your mission after class.”  

Oh. Friends don’t do this with each other. 

You scribble over your correspondence with your pen. 

~

You wish you could take the extra time to explore the inside of Yoongi’s apartment, despite how many times you’ve been here already. Maybe there would be something new to decipher, now that you were here under different pretenses. You catch scant glimpses of the familiar quaint kitchenette and the neatly organized rack of shoes, but you’re now preoccupied with Yoongi’s hands on your waist, tugging your shirt out of where it was tucked into your pants. You see the same guitar on the same wire stand and the same MacBook sitting idle, but your view is obscured after Yoongi presses you up against the door. 

It’s a feat of mental strength to stay upright, and he hasn’t even done anything yet. 

~

After class, Yoongi had shot up from his seat, hand in his pocket, likely readjusting himself. His eyes were glassy. He had looked so, so wrecked. 

“Come with me,” He said, voice strained. To the untrained ear it might have sounded like a voice heavy with sleep, or maybe too many drinks too late at night. 

But to you it sounded like a voice rough with lust, or (a lot of) wanting. All for you. 

 He had grabbed you by the hand and led you back to his apartment, as nonchalant as you can be about this kind of thing. It was an unspoken truth what you two were about to do, like this was the natural order of things. Like you were just fulfilling the inevitable. Like you were always meant to fall into his arms like this. It almost makes sense. 

He had grabbed your hand and led you along the looping hallways out onto the sunny walkway like he had done this hundreds of times before, like the both of you have been touching each other like this for months—rather than just hinting and skirting around the innuendoes, the half-worn glances, the knowing smiles. 

The walk back to his apartment was silent and full of untapped sexual tension coming to a head. Even if the hammering in your chest allowed you to speak, you wouldn’t have. It passed by in a blur, the denial giving you tunnel vision. 

Yoongi is holding your hands in his, like this is a much more intimate moment than it should be. “You still don’t have gloves,” He murmurs against your lips, but he doesn’t close the gap. It sounds more like a promise rather than a statement. 

He’s warming you up from the inside out, erasing the cold from the walk here. Spring was still slowly waking up. The sun takes time to melt the snow. 

He rolls his hips against yours, more insistent than he was in class. When he does, you can feel precisely how wanting he is. All the contemptuousness is gone from his eyes. Whatever replaces it isn’t something you can give a name to.

He can’t—Yoongi can’t hold your hands like that and look solemnly into your eyes like that. Yoongi can’t look at you with that kind of reverence, because that was what made you fall into this deep dark pit of confusing feelings in the first place. But you don’t have time to consider it because he’s rolling his hips against yours again. 

“Look,” he gasps, “Look at what you did to me.” When you look at him again, his pupils are blown wide, all fucked out and desperate and wanting. If it was physically possible, he might be more desperate than you, from the look of it. 

“I thought you said you were a horny drunk.” You tease, and to steer the conversation away from the way he had been looking at you. That’s a conversation that you’re not ready for—neither of you are ready for. 

 After these weeks of back and forth, you’re finally going to make him say what he’s really been thinking all along. You’re done being the cat chasing after the mouse.

The Yoongi in front of you is a far cry from the one before, teasing you for not having been laid in months, showing you just how dirty his mouth could get. 

“No, this is all you…” He breaks off into a breathy moan, muffled by your hair. His hips are still slotted against yours, and your ability to ignore that is diminishing by the second. 

Who knew that the stoic Min Yoongi could ever produce such a whimper? 

“I have to get to class, can’t be late…” You tease, trailing a finger down his chest, but you’ve already made up your mind with what you’re going to do with him. 

You’re going to stay. 

You can worry about the loose ends later. 

“Please stay, just a little longer, please.” He guides you over to the couch, clutching your hand like a damn lifeline. When he straddles your hips, you’re reminded of the last time he held you down, when you were studying together. That memory seems faint now. It’s funny how context can change everything. 

“You won’t be late, I promise,” He says, voice coarse. “And I’m going to fucking show you what this mouth can do.” 

“And you have to promise not to ever drink that much again, what the fuck.” You chastise, your breath hitching at his promise, but you don’t really care. Not if it gets Yoongi like this. Your hand comes to rest on the waistband of his jeans. 

“I didn’t have that much, I was just up late… thinking about you.” He starts to unbutton the collar to your shirt, slotting his leg between yours. Yoongi traces the cup of your bra with a daintiness that reminds you of the way he runs his hands over the keys of the piano before he reels up to play. Knowing that these hands that create his beautiful music are the same hands that are currently on your body produces a shiver that sparks down your spine. 

You try not to put too much stock into what he’s saying, he’s always been all talk. It’s just words to get you in the mood, set the scene. Yoongi has always been all bark and no bite, teasing you with empty, joking promises. That was his whole gimmick, if you could call it that. 

He knows you like dirty talk (you made that abundantly clear from that last conversation), you’re a warm and eager body in front of him, you can do the math yourself. There’s no need to read between the lines for this one. 

The gasp you make when he starts mouthing down your neck is involuntary, as is the way that you thread your fingers through his hair when he moves his way down your chest. 

Yoongi’s hair is uncharacteristically soft, like silk, or the little sigh of satisfaction he makes when he finds the sweet spot he’s looking for. You briefly consider asking him about his haircare routine when he closes his mouth over your nipple. Hot, wet, and everything you needed to forget about the long afternoon ahead of you. 

“Please, please.” He pleads again. “Please stay. I’ll make it worth your while.” 

“Okay,” You gasp, “Okay, I’ll stay.” 

“Good, because I’ll make you eat your fucking words,” Yoongi says, gritting his teeth. He’s fully unbuttoned your shirt now, and you are all but bare to him, save for your bra. “What were you thinking? Touching me like that? In class? What if someone saw? But you don’t care about that, right?” 

He doesn’t wait for your answer, however, instead opting to kiss bruises into your collarbones, adding to the faded violin hickey on the left side of your neck.

You are a deer in headlights, frozen in place, completely pliant underneath his touch. Even if you weren’t pinned underneath him with his hands and legs, then you are underneath his piercing gaze. You know he can probably see more than just your shocked, open-mouthed expression. He can probably see your longing written all over your face, or maybe the special kind of glee that comes from wish fulfillment. You might as well confess your feelings for him now, because your expression has all but told him the truth. 

“Did you forget what I said to you the other day? I’m supposed to be the one teasing you until you’re fucking desperate to come, not the other way around.” You shake your head no, lost for words. Who’s going to tell him you’re already desperate to come, sans teasing? 

He starts to push your pants past your thighs, kissing at the skin that’s now bare—and you squirm, whine, whimper into his touch, just to show him how much you want this. Want him. 

Somehow, it feels better like this, with the way he’s left your clothes half on, half off. The collar of your shirt is undone. There is a trail of four socks leading to the couch. It… it…  almost suggests that Yoongi is in such a rush to have you that he can’t be bothered to undress you properly. Like he needs you that much. You ignore the following twinge in your heart. 

All you can focus on is the fine bead of sweat on his hairline as he sways on top of you, ghosting a hand over your panties. When you finally feel him nudging against your clit with insistent, slow pressure, you make a strangled gasp. 

Faintly, you hear yourself cry out into the filtered indoor air, just above the sound of the heater humming. It doesn’t sound like your voice, but you’re too far gone to care or investigate further. All you can focus on is the increasingly hopeless need between your legs, and the person that’s currently about to attend to that. You’ve never heard yourself make noises like these before, let alone meet someone who’s able to make you so desperate. 

Your desperation makes itself tangible in the way that you writhe against him, straining against the warm weight of his body, too much and never enough. It feels like your body is making up for lost time, getting revenge for all the almost-touches, almost-confessions. All those quiet moments in the still night where you should have kissed Yoongi but didn’t, never closing the gap. 

Even now, when you’re right up against his body, it doesn’t feel like enough. Should it scare you that it doesn’t like enough, and you’re almost certain it never will be?

He laughs, almost coldly. It sounds nothing like the morning that you met him. This is a different kind of cold, a different kind of cruelty. “You sound like a little bitch in heat. What, you can’t be a little patient?” He checks the time on his watch, because of course, Yoongi is the kind of guy to wear an analog watch. “We still have time before your next class.” 

At your silence, he softens. He takes his hands off of you, much to your dismay. “Is that—okay? Can I call you that?” You should be embarrassed at the enthusiasm in your nod, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to care. 

Yoongi leans over you again, grinning. “Don’t worry, I like it. I like having you like this. All desperate and,” Yoongi drags a finger downward , “Wet.” 

“Fuck, don’t tease. Don’t-” You’re absolutely shameless now, but it doesn’t matter, as long as you can get some kind of relief. 

“Are you sure? Then it would be over so, so soon.” Yoongi returns to your clit, tracing light circles that only serve to incense you. “Can you even take it?” He pulls your panties askew, blowing gently on the exposed skin. You shiver, now realizing just how wet you are for him. 

“Yes, yes, please, I can, just give it to me–” His finger meets little resistance when he finally pushes a finger inside your needy cunt, immediately setting a punishing rhythm. 

“This is what you wanted, hmm?” He kisses the crook of your thigh, settling ever closer to you. “I told you I would get you to beg.” You can hear the smile in his voice. 

“Oh, shut up.” You cover your face in your hands, laughing despite yourself. “Not everything is a competition, you know.” 

He works you open with skill because, of course, Yoongi is good at this too. It’s not enough for fate to make him a diligent student, a talented pianist, and have a heart of motherfucking gold. No, he just has to be good in bed too. How are you supposed to resist falling for him? Was it ever worth the effort to try? 

“But it’s so much more fun like that. You know, I don’t appreciate this backtalk.” He presses deeper on that sweet spot inside of you, and you keen, eyes fluttering shut. “Seeing as I’m the one who’s going to make you come, and all.” All the light is gone from his voice now. 

“You’re going to be good for me, right?” Yoongi says, as if the answer could be anything other than a firm, enthusiastic yes. He tightens your grip on your hips, his blunt nails digging into the soft skin. 

“ Yeahyesyesyesyesanythingyouwant,” you whimper. You don’t even have to pretend like you want this dearly, as you’ve had to in the past with less doting partners. How long have you held your breath, waiting for something like this to happen?

“And I thought you were worried about being late? You didn’t get enough? Don’t worry baby, I’ll make sure you get your fill.” His playful condescension sinks to the lowest parts of your stomach. 

“Yoongi,” You whine, “You’re going to kill me.” You attempt to draw your legs up in a belated attempt to preserve your modesty, but Yoongi yanks you further down the couch. 

“No, no, I’m not done with you yet.” Yoongi finally takes your panties off, inadvertently streaking your arousal down your thigh. He throws them off to the side. In doing so, you can see your arousal dripping down his wrist in the afternoon glow. 

“This, Yoongi says, with stars in his eyes, “Is payback.” 

The hot lick of his tongue feels nothing like revenge. 

Yoongi is still keeping you trapped in the same place, nowhere to go. You’re nowhere closer to a release than before. The initial thrill of his mouth on you is gone when you realize that he’s not evolving past the featherlight touches with his hands. You roll your hips against him, as if to to pout. 

“Please, Yoongi,” You gasp. 

“What? Please, what?” He smiles. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you, and you’re not sure whether to love or hate him for it. 

“You—you can’t—just leave someone like this.” You all but shove your pussy in his face, relentless in your pursuit of some kind of relief, no matter how small. But he won’t give it to you. The kitten licks he’s giving you aren’t enough. The uncharacteristically coquettish kisses he trails down the inside of your thighs, leaving gooseflesh in his wake, aren’t enough. You’re insatiable. 

“Like what? I think I like you more like this.” You know he’s reveling in this, much like how he’s likely reveled in your desperation in the past weeks. Nothing he’s doing is providing relief to the need, the ache. Everything he does only serves to stoke the fire brewing in the pit of your stomach. 

“Yoongi, I need you.” Maybe if you keep hinting at what you want, he’ll give it to you. Because you’re not about to fucking beg for him. Again. 

“I’m going to need you to be more specific.” He drives his point home by dragging his fingers against the upper wall of your pussy. Your answering moan should be specific enough. 

“Come on…” You whimper, thighs trembling. You’re not sure if it’s from the pleasure or the lack of it. 

“Come on… use your words.” Yoongi stills his hand. 

“Just—ugh— touch me. ” you urge, whinier than you intend, exasperated and desperate. You need this release. You need it so much your vision is blurring. “Make me come,” your voice smaller, “Use your mouth, your hand, I don’t care anymore.” You throw your arm over your eyes in defeat. 

Yoongi has all the puzzle pieces laid out in front of him. He’s seen your wanting expression, now that you’ve all but admitted that you want him to give you an orgasm. How could he not see your puppy love for what it is? 

He chuckles, light as bells. “Was that so hard. And for the record, next time, you’re gonna come on my cock.” And just like that, it’s like a dam has broken. No more denial, no more teasing, no more waiting, and Yoongi is touching you in full now. 

You try not to look at him with his head buried between his legs. One, the pleasure is so immense that you can hardly stop your legs from trembling, let alone stop your head from lolling back against the couch cushion. 

Two, you’re scared. Of him looking at you, catching his eye. Of him seeing your face from below. Scared to face the truth, just a little bit. Min Yoongi, the concert pianist that you have been eyeing all semester, is servicing you with his mouth. It even sounds ridiculous in your head. 

Three, you’re not really even sure if this is happening. It is entirely plausible that you’re going to wake up tangled in your bedsheets in the dead of night and realize it was another night of mistaken belief. 

Next time. Maybe. What if. 

The few glimpses you do catch are of the dark hair caught between your fingers, handholds tethering you to the couch, to him. You can also see the indents his fingers make in your thighs, he’s holding you in place. His knuckles are white with the effort. 

“I’m-I’m gonna come. Yoongi, fuck, I’m—” When you finally crest over the edge, you all but levitate off the couch, every muscle in your body straining under the force of your orgasm. 

The sound he makes sounds almost like “you’re mine,” but you ignore that for now. You sit up, blinking in the sunlight. It might be nearly noon now, but you don’t care. Your afternoon lecture is low on your list of priorities right now. You smile wolfishly. “Your turn.” 

There’s no way to pretend anymore, no more mental gymnastics, no more what-ifs, buts, or maybes. You might as well dive in headfirst. 

[circuscarnage]

Picture Perfect.

Hello! I saw a picture of Rooks room and get inspired to write a yandere fanfic. Sorry if he seems out of character, I haven't written for him since the game released. I’ve also been wanting to try my hand at writing a yandere fic for a while so I hope you enjoy. 

TW: Stalking. A lot of stalking.

Words: 2755.

Potions wasn't exactly a subject that you excelled at. It wasn't that you were bad at it... you just had trouble getting your head around the instructions. It's not everyday you are flung through a magical portal and expected to partake in activities meant for trained wizards who have been here for more than five seconds. So a little struggling here and there was to be expected. But to completely mess up and almost set half the school on fire? That was a new record of stupidity, even for you. 

Divus was not impressed. The way he lightly tapped his cane over his crossed arms was enough of an indication. He was just about to teach this stray puppy some discipline. But thankfully for you, someone came to your hour of need. And that someone came in the form of the boisterous Rook Hunt. Sweet talking his way into your conversation seamlessly and rescuing this poor soul from punishment.

"Monsieur Crewel," He started. "You must forgive our petite colombe, they are not accustomed to this world, and still have much to learn." He placed his hands gently on your shoulders, firmly keeping you in place. "May I suggest some personally tutoring? After all, who better the guide this innocent creature through the hurdles of life than yours truly?"

So it was settled. Instead of being placed with a heavy detention, Rook would be you personal tutor. Helping recover your grades and ensuring that you never repeat your little mistake ever again. You both agreed to meet in the Pomefiore dormitory, where he would escort you to his room in order to study. 

As expected from Pomefiore, their rooms were nothing short of elegant. The room was quite grand. Cream coloured walls lined with gold coating the exterior, giving the room a very regal vibe. They had the same satin sheets that matches perfectly with their uniform. And the bed canopy above only added an extra layer of elegance. The stained glass window embedded in the wall illuminated a section of the room with rainbow light. He even had his hunting equipment decorated on the wall. His trusty hunting bows seeming as casual as a family picture. It looked extremely glamorous, and extremely expensive. 

You kept your books clutched to your chest as he invited you further into the room. "Thank you again, Rook. Without your help, there's no doubt Crewel would make me do one of his impossible tasks." You turned to face him. "How were you able to persuade him so easily?" 

Rook smiled, closing the door behind him. "We share an eye for the divine. Fashion and beauty come second nature to us. I am also one of his top students. He places his trust in me to guide his little 'puppies' in the right direction." Rook laughed, finding it endearing that Divus saw himself as a trainer, rather than a teacher. He walked himself over to his desk, pulling out the chair, and gestured you to sit down. You placed your belongings on the table and sat down, thanking him. 

Before you started, Rook removed his hat, and went to place it on the stand. "Let's start with the basics, shall we? Firstly-" Rook suddenly stopped mid-sentence. He stared off into the distance, thinking for a moment. His hat still sitting firmly in his hand, before he finally placed it down. He checked his pockets, patting them down gently at first, but then becoming a tad more frantic. He patted down his jacket as well, as if he was missing something. He breathed out a smile. "Ah... sacre bleu..." 

"Is everything okay?" You queried, quirking your brow at him. It was unlike Rook to be disorganised. He always knew where everything was, so seeing him in a state of surprise was a first. Rook met your gaze again, giving you an apologetic smile before speaking. "You must forgive me, petite colombe. It seems I may have left something important in Monsieur Crewel's classroom. I hate to leave at such short notice, but I must retrieve this item of mine."

"It's alright." You reassured him. There was plenty of times where you had left something behind, it was perfectly understandable. "Take your time. I can go over some notes by myself if you want?" Rook clapped his hands together happily. Expressing his delight to your sedulous mind. "Tres bein! Such a diligent student. So eager to learn, yet has trouble expressing so. Like a flower yet to bloom yo-"

"Rook. Go." You ushered him out of the room with a smile. If you hadn't stepped in, he would have continued his rant on beauty for the rest of the day.

As Rook left the room to retrieve said item, you opened your book to a random page and started to reread over your notes. At least this way, you wouldn't bore yourself to death waiting for him to come back. Might as well do something productive. Before long, your eyes started to get tired. Without Rook being here to help you, it felt strange being in his room, like you weren't supposed to be there. Some time had already passed yet he hadn't returned. You sighed, leaning back in the chair. Whatever he misplaced must have been important. Not wanting the boredom to consume you whole, you searched the room for something to do.

Without a doubt, the hat on the stand had caught your attention. You stared at it, resisting the temptation to try it on. Just as you reached out your hand, you quickly retreated it back. Another time, you thought. Today was a day of no distractions. You were going to do work, and Rook was going to help... whenever he came back. Given the unpredictability of Rook, who knows how long he would take. He had left his phone in his room, so there was no way to contact him. Sitting back down in the chair, you let out a heavy sigh.

That's when you saw it. Hidden away in the very corner of the room. Something that was slightly off.  A stray corner of wallpaper was peeling off the side of the wall. It was only a small section, easily overlooked by anyone who passed by. But for someone who was obviously looking for something, it wasn't hard to miss. Rook didn't seem like the type of person to allow his room to fall into a state of disarray. Suffice to say, it caught you off guard. 

Something about how that one corner was different was completely throwing off your concentration. There was no way you would be able to focus with something that distracting in the back of your mind. It was decided, in order to gain a better working environment, something needed to be done.

You stood up from your seat and made your way over to the bed, removing your shoes before carefully stepping on top of the satin sheets. They sank under your weight, making you briefly loose your footing, but you manged to make it to the wall without falling over. The Pomefiore dorm really went all out with the bedding. Soft and smooth to the touch, yet emitting a sort of poisonous aura. It dragged you in, insisting for you to lie down. As if someone could lie in peaceful slumber, forever in a death like state.

You shook those thoughts from your head. Now was not the time to think about that, there was a wall in desperate need of fixing! Standing up on your tip toes, your hand glided up the wall to secure the loose wallpaper. Just before you sealed up the wall, something else caught your attention. There was something behind the plaster. A corner of a white scrap of paper was peaking out from behind it. Why the heck was there something behind the wall? Was it something that he didn't want others to see?

You looked towards the door, seeing that Rook hadn't come back yet. What was taking him so long? His lengthened disappearance might as well be a blessing at this point, considering the blatant curiosity that festered inside you was starting to eat away at your moral compass. It is awfully rude to look at someones personal things without asking, but it was basically staring you right in the face, begging to be looked at. Surely, it wouldn't hurt to take a small peek, would it? No longer being able to subside the pestering need to be nosy, you peeled back a little more of the plaster, surprised at how easy it came off. 

There was no denying the cold feeling that started to creep it's way up your spine. Slow and sultry, like someone trailing their fingers up your back. What you had expected to be a simple joke to be laughed it, turned out to be much darker then you could have ever dreamed. You couldn't believe what you were looking at, blinding rapidly, praying that it was just a trick of the eye. But every time you opened your eyes, there it was, staring back at you. That's when you noticed that there wasn't only one. Another corner peeked out. 

In a marvellous flourish of motion, you quickly tore the wall paper off, revealing an entire collage of horror behind a thin wall of plaster. There was more of them. Completely covering the back wall. But these weren't pieces of paper. These were pictures. 

Pictures of you.

How Rook was able to capture them without you knowing baffled you. He had taken shots from all angles, close up and distant, capturing every moment perfectly. You studied the pictures closer, being able to remember the exact date of when they were taken. One was from the day you were having lunch outside with your friends, smiling and laughing in ignorant bliss, unaware of the danger that lurked just beyond your line of sight. Another was from one of your walks, going around Night Raven campus without a second thought. Enjoying the peaceful scenery away from the usual chaos. Oh my god. He even managed to snap a shot of you while you were asleep.

Your hands instinctively slammed on the wall as you felt your body lurch forward, suddenly feeling very disorientated, and extremely unsafe. Rook could be somewhat of a stalker at times, but this was just too far. The little games he would play with the other students were nothing more than playful motions, they never borderline on obsession. So why. Why this? Why now? And most importantly, why you?

"Beautiful, is it not?"

Hearing those words broke you from your bystander state and placed you back within the clutches of the predator. You completely froze. Standing still on his bed, not even being able to look him in the eyes. You knew that you were in the wrong by snooping through his things. But if you knew what was in store, you wouldn't have done it. Discomfort radiated off you rapidly, filling the room with unimaginable dread. Neither of you said anything for a moment. But when Rook spoke, it shot through you like an arrow.

"My collection." His voice had gotten louder. He was much closer than before. On the side of the bed just behind you. You didn't even know he moved. "I've travelled my entire life and seen beauty in all it's shapes and forms. The Savanaclaw students are beast-men, their animalistic instincts interest me greatly. The students at this academy are all so distinct with their unique magic. But you." The way he spoke, letting you linger on every word he said, unsettled you greatly. "You had your own beauty in being simple. Standing out because you blend in with the background. A simple buttercup in a world of exotic flowers. It's a wonder how you managed to catch my eye, more so than that of Roi de Poison." He placed his gloved finger to his chin, taking a moment to think about his next words. "You have a certain... Je ne sais pas... Vulnerability. Something that a hunter like myself can't resist..."

As he said that, he reached out his hand, gently twisting it around your wrist. You shuddered at his touch, not wanting to be here anymore. Whatever was going on, you wanted no part in it. You wish you never saw this. Wanting nothing more than to rewind time and remain oblivious to his obsessive actions. That would be better. Going about life without knowing of the danger that was always three steps behind. 

Plucking up the little courage you had, cautiously you turned to face him. You expected to see him looking at you with a sour expression. But he didn't. He didn't look angry. Why didn't he look angry? You just exposed him for stalking. Someone in their right mind should have at least changed their expression, or do something. But Rook didn't. He just continued to smile at you as he always did. As if nothing was wrong. You looked back to the pictures, and then to him. His timing was too perfect. Leaving suddenly and then catching you in the act. Leaving you bored and in need to do something. He didn't plan this... Did he?

"Did..." It was hard trying to conceal the fear in your voice. Still uneven and shaking from the realisation. "...Did you want me to find this?" Your voice was only just above a whisper, yet Rook heard it clear as day. His keen eyes picking up the slightest of sounds. He clapped his hands together happily. "Tres Bien! As expected of my petite colombe, you were able to find the clues and uncover the mystery. Your beauty surely knows no bounds. All good hunters know how to cover their tracks and remain undetected. I wouldn't let something like a stray piece of paper cause my undoing." His eyes flickered to wall, scanning over the pictures once again. It was clear that he was proud to own such a collection, but his gaze never stayed focused on them for long. Too soon his eyes would return to grace upon your features, taking them in intensely. "Even though I was able to capture your beauty within these images, it can never compare to the real thing. A replication of a painting is worthless compared to the original. That's why I had to have you."

Gently he began to pull you towards him. You tried to fight back. Squirming under his touch, hoping to be let free. But no matter how much you wriggled, how much you battered your fist against his arm, or how much you protested, he was easily able to seal you in his arms. He didn't even flinch. Being able to pull you in with one wave of his hand, like it was nothing. He only chuckled in response. There was no where for you to run, you both knew that. You had accidentally cornered yourself standing on his bed. You considered making a break for it. But then you remembered how fast Rook could be. It was sometimes scary watching him in PE, being able to easily sprint past Savanaclaw members without breaking a sweat. There was no way you would be able to outrun him. Not like you could run anyway, being clutched to his chest. Smothered in unrequited love.

All thoughts of escape fled your mind as his grip tightened. Digging his gloved fingers into your skin without breaking his smile. He was enjoying this. Having you be at his mercy. It was like being a rabbit surrounded by traps. One wrong move and something would end up broken. With a delighted expression, he tilted your chin upwards, forcing you to make eye contact with him. Half-lidded emerald eyes that sparked with delusional longing. "I want to capture that look of your face forever. Belated innocence... Such a pretty face would be wasted on those who can't appreciate it's beauty. My heart pulsated with admiration. You've completely captured my heart. My mind, body, and soul sing for your embrace. Every action I have taken has been in your name. And every action I shall take will be laced with your image. Won't you be my personal muse?"

[fascination-street-writing]

To Discard and Discover | Trish Una x F!Reader

She smells of roses and lemongrass - of a home you have not yet found. The scent of her perfume penetrates your mind; at once, you have been found in a flower field during the Giugno blooms.

100 Follower Giveaway 1st Place Piece

Content Warnings: P-TSD & Math Class

“Have you ever thought about going back? You know, to finish your degree?”

Fugo lifts the saucer of tea to his lips, careful to blow on the scalding steam before taking a sip.  He raises an eyebrow as he looks to Trish, who sits across from him at the dining table, awaiting his response. Sighing, he speaks: “Maybe. Maybe not. I doubt any reputable university would take me in after what I did.”

Trish murmurs to herself. She chases a sliced cherry tomato with her fork. Il Pranzo has become a shared pastime between her and the strawberry-blonde boy. “I’m sure Giorno could pull some strings,” she insists. “You could probably go anywhere you wanted.”

“It’s not honest that way. Besides, I don’t have a reason to go back. There’s no degree requirement to work for the Don of Passione . . . But, what about you?”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

He sets his tea down. “The new schoolyear starts in a month. Haven’t you thought about returning?”

Trish stiffens. “Do you think I should?” she asks.

“That’s not for me to say,” Fugo tells her. “Bruno will encourage you to, and the schools near where you live are good. Well, as good as any school in Napoli can be. Above all else, it might be a decent distraction – a chance to gain back a little normalcy in your life.”

It is a difficult subject, and one that weighs on her like a vice. She has struggled to acclimate to the new normal after everything that transpired in the early spring of this year. Returning to school had simply not been a possibility for her, though not for a lack of trying.

She has found trauma to be a tantalizing friend indeed – and one that never quite seems to leave her side.

The sound of your laced shoes slapping against the waxed floors is lost to the rush of bodies that swarm the corridor. The faces of your peers are unnamed to you, because in your sixteen years of life, you never cared to commit them to memory.  Your first session of the day is classe di matematica. It is a grueling subject to most, but you find it easy enough.

An unfamiliar pink-haired girl stands before your teacher at his desk. You cannot help but to notice her rigid posture; she stands as though she has been frozen in place by the scrutiny of his eyes as he takes in her appearance. It is obvious that she is a transfer student, and a nervous one at that. To you, she is nothing more than another face with a name, and you will not care to remember it.

Filing past clusters of your fellow classmates, you make your way to the back of the room and secure your territory. While the table creaks under the weight of your bookbag and leud pencil carvings mar its surface, you find solace in its position beneath the window overlooking the courtyard.

Students continue to file through the door. You look to the clock: class will not begin for another five minutes. Impatient, you sigh and turn your attention to a flock of pigeons gathering on the cobblestone pathway of the courtyard. Watching the scuffle of five birds, all for a discarded heel of bread, is far more enticing than pretending not to eavesdrop on any of the conversations filling the space of the room.

The clocktower chimes and the pigeons scatter, no doubt startled by the deep vibrato of the prerecorded bell-sound echoing throughout campus. You open your notebook and click your used pen. Your classmates take their seats, all the while avoiding the second chair at your table. You do not mind it, for you know it is not repulsion that keeps your peers at bay. The truth is much simpler: every student has at least one friend within the class whom they would much rather sit with than yourself.

Head hung low, you wait for the selection process to end whilst avoiding wandering gazes. When you hear the tapping of a pencil against the table, you are shocked to see the pink-haired girl standing before you.

“Can I sit here?”

Your mouth turns dry, as if you have swallowed the very same stale bread the pigeons quarreled for. You do not mean to, but your eyes trace the delicate lines of her face, from her piercing green eyes framed by thick lashes to the soft pout of her pink, glossy lips. You wring your hands together. She’s pretty, you think to yourself. She’s unfairly pretty.

“Hello?”

You clear your throat. “O-Oh, uh . . .” You stumble over your words, suddenly conscious of the light red hue dusting across her cheekbones. “Yeah, go ahead.”

You wait for her to laugh, to wallow in your self-inflicted humiliation. Instead, she smiles, revealing two rows of straight, white teeth, and sits beside you. She smells of roses and lemongrass – of a home you have not yet found. The scent of her perfume penetrates your mind; at once, you have been found in a flower field during the Giugno blooms.

“I like your hair, by the way.” Unconsciously, you bring a finger to your hair and touch it, as if in disbelief that she would compliment your appearance, let alone your hair. “Sorry, that probably came across as creepy, didn’t it?”

“N-No, it’s okay,” you insist. Heat rushes to your face. Her flattery burns you, and yet, you gladly kneel before its flames. “Uh . . . Thank you.”

She hums and turns to face your chattering teacher. You clutch your pen. It hovers over the blank page of your notebook. The hour flies by; class draws to an end, and you have retained nothing. How could you, when the smell of her perfume alone has bequeathed to you the insatiable desire to be wherever it is that roses and lemongrass might coexist – perhaps in the garden of a cottage overlooking the Tyrrhenian Sea.

You notice how she has begun backing her bag. It is your cue to gather your own belongings. The bell rings. You hurry to stand, eager to be away from the girl who garners your attention.

“I’m Trish, by the way,” she tells you. You are still. “Thanks for letting me sit here. It was nice meeting you.”

Trish. Just like the model from America; it suits her, plenty. The corners of your mouth turn upwards into a grin. Her kindness is infectious, and it leaves you longing, gasping for more. As you watch her leave, her form engulfed by the sea of taller students, you are left with nothing more than a contemplation: perhaps there is one name you will remember.

“I don’t understand – what does any of this have to do with math?” Trish sighs, dropping her pencil in frustration. A manicured finger hooks into a pink curl and twirls it with such vigor; you fear she will tear out her own hair. “None of this makes sense.”

“Well, it has more to do with logic than math,” you try to explain. You offer your workbook to her. “It’s actually quite fun, once you get the hang of it.”

She rolls her brilliant green eyes. “Maybe for someone like you. Not everyone can be as smart as you, you know.”

“I-I’m really not that smart,” you deflect. You tap the unfished equation scribbled in her notes. “Let’s just go back to the beginning . . . Un cavaliere always tells the truth, so they can never lie. But un fante always lies, so they can never tell the truth. You meet Persona A and Persona B . . .”

You guide her through the problem. The sound of shuffling papers signifies that everyone else in the class has finished their work; your teacher waits for Trish, and Trish alone, who grips her pencil tightly. You know she feels it – the unspoken ridicule from your peers. To them, she is the incompetent new student from Calabria who cannot comprehend un cavalieri e furfanti puzzle.

“Dannazione, sono un idiota,” she hisses. “Nothing makes sense.”

You frown. “You’re not an idiot just because a silly math problem stumped you.” The insistence falls from your lips. Her silence sends a frigid chill down your spine. “Please, don’t say that about yourself. Let me help you work through it. We assume Persona A is un fante.”

Your teacher clears his throat. He peers over the rim of his half-moon glasses, observing the way you coax Trish to complete the problem. He sets aside the book that had been clasped in his hand, and he stands to approach her, to offer his aid at the behest of a struggling student with such unique circumstances. At the sight of the pencil falling from her fingers and the smile upon her face, he stops.

“I’ve got it. Persona B is un cavaliere, which means both Persona A and Persona B are.” She pauses for a moment to contemplate her words. “That’s a contradiction! Our assumption was wrong, so if Persona A is un cavaliere, he’s telling the truth, so Persona B must be un fante.”

Your confirmation is something sacred to her, not unlike the Rosary given to her on the day of her mother’s funeral. Even when shakily spoken Hail Marys fall from her lips and her fingers tremble over the amber counting beads, there is little room in Trish’s mind for meditation when her thoughts, as of late, are always of you.

She blushes as you meet her gaze. “I meant what I said,” she begins. “You are smart.”

You bite your lip and look away, though her eyes follow. “That’s not true,” you say. “You don’t have to butter me up so much.”

She clasps your hand gently beneath the table. Her palm is soft, and you want to turn your wrist to enlace your fingers with hers. You stop yourself. “If I’m not allowed to call myself an idiot, then you’re not allowed to say you’re not intelligent.” You open your mouth to rebuke her words, but she cuts you off. “Despite what I said, I know I’m smart; just not at all things, like math.”

Her thumb brushes against the back of your knuckles as she pulls away. An incidental touch, you ponder. She turns her attention to your teacher, who stands before the chalkboard writing out the correct steps of the puzzle. You feel hot – unbearably so. A sudden bulge in your throat makes it hard to breathe. You ask to be excused to the bathroom. You did not need to hear the rest of the lesson, anyways.

It has been nearly two months since that day in classe di matematica. Indeed, the air outside has turned crisp and rain showers frequent the weather patterns: the season nears wintertime. Trish’s acclimation to life in Napoli has been far easier than her guardian Bruno had anticipated – dinnertime conversations about daydreams and schooldays have made him grateful for your involvement in the pink-haired girl’s life. Weekends spent with you, consisting of coffees, shopping trips, and stops at gelato parlors, remind her that she is safe.

Because of you, she can be a teenager again.

As you enter the classroom, you find her seat empty. Class carries on, but you cannot focus, for you are reminded of the loneliness that came before meeting Trish. You decide a sip of cool water might help to clear the haze unsettling you so.

You bring the uncapped water bottle to your lips, only to cry out in shock as the metal flask contorts in your grip like puddy. Its contents billow over the mouth of the bottle and saturate your skirt. The bottle does not make a sound as it fumbles to the vinyl floor; you are too bothered by the sloshing of your clothes to notice the way in which the metal frame slowly bends back into its shape – or the laughter of your fellow classmates.

Your teacher ushers you to the bathroom. Your wet loafers squeal as you hurry down the hallway. Prayer cards and posters promoting abstinence adorn the walls. The door latches behind you. Hiccups and choked sobs echo throughout the tight chamber of the communal space. It smells of roses and lemongrass – it smells of her.

You reach for the paper towel dispenser and blot at your skirt. It does little good to salvage the pleated fabric and it leaves an incriminating stain. Though you hesitate, you rapt your hand against the closed stall door and call out to her: “Trish? Are you okay?”

Her wails diminish. Her shadow peaks out from the crack between the floor and the bottom edge of the door. She sniffles before revealing herself. The hue upon her cheeks is unlike the bashful blush of infatuation that frequents her skin. Her distress pains you.

"I missed you in class,” you say, unsure of what to do for the girl you have come to endear. You chide yourself immediately, wanting nothing more than to cast yourself out of her presence for your insensitive comment. Spoken words are never quite simple.

Her bottom lip quivers and her eyes well with tears again. You fear you have upset her. And yet, her arms extend towards your body. Suddenly, you are embracing; she holds you in a grip akin to a vice. Your fingers trace shapes against her clothed back. It is something you might have done to soothe a weeping infant. In the privacy of the bathroom, you pretend she is your lover – that every sojourn for velveteen dresses and freshly churned gelato on Sabato pomeriggio meant something more to her.

But she is not your lover – and you are not hers.

Reluctantly, you pull away. Her breath fans your face, and it is only now that you notice the dainty freckles of her cheeks for the first time. You step backwards until your thighs hit the sink. For a moment, you think she had frowned upon your separation. It is another of many illusions that your mind has weaved as of late, no doubt.

“Thank you,” Trish says, rubbing the back of her hand against her eyes. Smudges of black mascara coat her skin.

You fiddle with the hem of your damp skirt. You realize, as you glance over the girl’s uniform, that her skirt is wet as well – from her own tears or the second-hand spillage from your water bottle, you know not. “I didn’t really do anything,” you insist.

"You’re here. That means everything to me.”

Paying no heed to the nagging sensation within you that wants to pry into the cause of her anguish, you offer her a clean paper towel. She accepts it with a faint smile. You settle for ignorance, because you know she will confess to you someday – beyond her passing comments of a deceased mother and a toxic, absent father.

Prepared to return to class, she laces her arm with yours and takes a deep breath. You decide that you will wait as long as she needs.

The brown paper-bag filled with paint bottles feels heavy in your grasp. It weighs on your shoulder, slipping down with every step taken towards the direction of your home. The figurines of your mother’s nativity set have begun to peel and crack, and you have promised to aid her in restoring the heirlooms. It is only right; religious preferences aside, the ivory statuettes will one day be your inheritance. And it will make a fond memory for you of your mother.

Shielded by the umbrella of a patio table, Trish sits before that which you recognize as a café you have frequented several times together: Caffè Anami. You long to be one of the glossed pages of the magazine she thumbs through – to feel her touch and to be adored the same way you adore her. Outside of her usual school uniform, she wears a floral-patterned dress. You do not question its monetary value; she comes from strange wealth, and her choice in civilian attire is only one of many indicators.

You begin to approach her, a practiced greeting wrought of cordiality ready on your tongue. But kindness turns to bitterness as the front door to the café opens and a boy with messily-styled black hair and wild violet eyes pushes past new customers and struggles to balance two to-go cups of coffee and a bag of pastries.

"They didn’t even offer me a cupholder,” you hear him grumble aloud. You stop. “How am I supposed to carry all this? Does it look like a have a third arm?”

Trish rises and reaches for the bag of pastries. “There,” she tells the boy. “Crisis averted.”

Free of burden, they both take their seats at the table. As Trish divides the baked goods amongst two napkins, the boy watches her careful movements with what you describe as pure reverence, for she is the personification of grace and beauty, and he knows this. They converse with each other, and you cannot help but to observe how Trish has made a habit of touching the boy’s arm nearly every time she speaks to him.

Your stomach churns at the unpleasantry before you. In all your time pining after the pink-haired girl, you had never considered that she may have had a partner of her own. But you see it now: how could you have been so blind? She had not mentioned the scraggily haired boy before. Talks of saccharine kisses, gentle touches, and of course a boyfriend never came from her rosy-colored lips. She hid this from you. Perhaps, this whole time, she truly knew of your affections. At the risk of losing a friend (for you assume you were nothing more to her), she forbade herself to speak of the boy, lest she drive you away – there could be no other explanation.

It hurts, so much in fact that a knife to your heart would be preferable to the pain swallowing you whole. Gauging his appearance, you decide he does not deserve someone as elegant as she . . . Though, considering your tattered jeans and hand-me-down blouse, neither do you. You swipe at the tears threatening to spill and you choke down the lump in your throat. Readjusting the shopping bag over the perch of your shoulder, you leave, broken and unwell.

Behind you, Trish’s melodious laughter – a wicked song indeed – resonates. You could not block out her sweet chorus even if, deep down, you truly wanted to.

Your knees sink into the plush mass of the faux-fur rug beneath you. Your saucer of hot tea rests atop the coffee table, untouched; the steam rises and coils into the air. Trish’s guardian – Bruno, she called him – sets a tray filled with biscotti before you. You might have found him intimidating if not for the warmth laced within his sapphire-blue eyes. He closes the double-doors to the study, leaving you and the pink-haired girl alone.

The silence in the room is cut by the scratching of pencils to paper and the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner, tucked between a lounger and a houseplant. You scan over your completed portion of the study guide. Earlier that day, your insegnante di matematica had formally announced an exam slotted to be proctored at the end of the week. After he distributed the studyguides, Trish turned to you with an unassuming smile and asked if you would like to come to her house and study together. If not for the existence of her boyfriend, you would have looked for a deeper implication. Instead, you agreed with a curt nod, and accompanied her home at the end of the day.

“[Y/N]?” You look up from your work to meet Trish’s gaze. “Are you upset at me about something? You’ve been acting like you want nothing to do with me lately.”

You hesitate to respond. It would be better to lie, to hide your feelings and come up with an excuse: it’s not you, I’m just stressed about school, that’s all. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a boyfriend?” you ask instead, blunter than you probably should have been. Her brows furrow, as if she misunderstood you. “We’re friends, aren’t we? Doesn’t that mean we should be honest with each other?”

“Boyfriend? Who told you I had a boyfriend?”

“No one. I saw you two together. I-I wasn’t stalking you, honest – I was walking home from the store the other day and I saw you at Caffè Anami with him . . . I can’t understand why you’d hide something like that from me. You know you can trust me, don’t you?”

The corners of her lips turn into a grin and she shakes her head. “His name’s Narancia,” she tells you. “And he’s not my boyfriend. He’s practically a brother to me.”

You are not sure whether to feel relief or mortification – relief, for your chances with the girl have not been thwarted; mortification, for your accusation has backfired, leaving you utterly and completely embarrassed. “I-I’m sorry,” you spit out. “I just – I didn’t think – I –”

She places her hand over yours, just like the day when you had helped her through the cavalieri e furfanti puzzle. “It’s all good. Besides, he’s not exactly my type.”

She takes her hand away and scribbles something down in her study guide. Her top row of teeth juts out to graze her bottom lip, and it is only then you notice something different about her appearance: she is wearing a darker shade of lipstick. Trish catches you staring.

“What’re you looking at?” She is luring you, and you have already fallen into her snare.

“Uh, I like your lipstick,” you confess. “That’s all.”

“Oh, thank you.”

You set your pencil aside. You feel as though you might burst, that it might kill you if you do not tell her how you feel. But words do not come to mind – nothing more than silly quips or dull compliments; and so, you settle for the former.

“Can I try it?”

Trish pauses. You fear you have overstepped unspoken boundaries. After all, only moments ago, you had accused her of keeping secrets. Yet, you too have kept one secret to yourself: that you love her, as much as one sixteen-year-old girl might love another. To your delight, she nods and smiles, casting her schoolwork aside to meet you halfway over the coffee table separating your bodies.

She tastes of the biscotti – almond, you think – and earl grey tea. She blossoms at your touch, as if you are the sun and she a posy in a garden somewhere. You forget the ticking of the grandfather clock, for the shared beating of your hearts is deafening. You think to pull away, but she chases your lips and captures them again. She cups your face, caging you in place – not that you mind.  

You separate only when you have both grown desperate for air. The sight of her flushed face leaves you in awe. Your belly flutters. She raises a finger to her smudged lips and beams. You long to ask her if she too dreams of roses and lemongrass, of a cottage overlooking the sea in the countryside far away from the bustle of Napoli. But you know better than to overwhelm yourselves with adolescent thoughts of the future – her, especially.

As for Trish, she reminds herself to thank Fugo for convincing her to return to school. Though her past haunts her still, she is indebted to her new life. For, without suffering first, she never would have the girl from classe di matematica who stole her heart on the very first day.

She turns to her schoolwork. “We should get back to it,” she insists. You cock your eyebrow and giggle, bashful and appeased.

“You’re right: we should.”

| 3964 Words |

* Please note that the woman in the photograph is meant to resemble Trish - this is not an assumption of the reader’s appearance.

[blizzardfluffykpop]

Carnation

Summary: A flower can change a meeting and change the whole world. At least, (Y/n)’s and Changgu’s world.

Do or Not Series

Fluff

Word Count: 1,251

Yeo One [Changgu] X Reader

Today is the day I move into a dorm with a roommate. Last year, I got a dorm all to myself, this year is different, and I’m nervous. What if they’re mean? What if they are noisy? What if they are gross and make me clean up after them? I throw my head back and try to forget about my nerves as I watch the birds above fly in the sky. I look around from my spot on the bench to see the flowers are in full bloom. I kick my feet out in an attempt to relax. It works pretty well until I’m startled by a handsome face.

I look up at them from my seated position and smile. “Yes?” He grins, and my heart skips a beat, “Well, I thought you were really pretty so, I got you a flower that matches you.” I grin and accept the flower and put it behind my ear. “Thank you so much! I promise to take care of it!” He smiles and bids me goodbye, and my brain screams at me to get his number. But by then, he’s already gone, and all I have is this flower to remind me of him.

--

A few hours later, I’m settling into my dorm, and it seems my roommate has already chosen their bed. Since there is luggage lying around along with a few comforters lying on the bed. It makes moving in easier yet makes me nervous all over again. I sigh and place my flower in a glass bottle with water. At least I have this to keep me calm. I stretch out my bones and get to work on setting up my side of the room.

By the time I hear the knob jingle from a key unlocking it. I’m already lying on top of my bed and scrolling through my phone. I sit up straight and throw my legs over my bed and get ready to introduce myself to them. When the door opens, and I’m greeted by a familiar face. “Hey, it’s you from the park!” I say with a big smile on my face, and he grins back, “It’s nice to see you again.” We shake hands and introduce ourselves to each other. “It’s nice to meet you, Changgu!” He grins, “It’s nice to put a beautiful name to a beautiful face.” I blush, so this is how this year is going to go. I can honestly say I am not disappointed.

He sees the flower he gave me in the vase and smiles. “Ah, you kept it?” I nod, “I couldn’t throw away a sweet gift from a nice-looking man.” He grins, and that’s how our first week on campus starts by exchanging small hello’s and getting to know each other’s patterns. The more I found out about him, the faster my heartbeat got, from how he sings in the shower to how he gestures with his hands while he talks. I find it endearing, and I can’t seem to get enough of his voice.

--

Which is how I find myself hanging upside down on my bed as Changgu lies on his stomach on his bed. “No, you wouldn’t believe what Wooseok did today--!” He whines, and I laugh, “What?” He laughs as he tells me that Wooseok acted like he was older and was teasing him for being short, and I gasp, “He didn’t!” He groans, “He so did!” I laugh even harder, and he grins, and we catch the time on the clock at the same time. It reads 2 am, “What do you say to some tea?” he asks me, and I shrug, “Sure!”

We both walk to the kitchen in the dorm and are surprised to see it’s empty. We boil enough water for both of our cups, and he leans against the counter with his arms crossed. A smile dances across his lips as he says, “You know,... I still think you’re really pretty.” I can’t help but grin and tell him with confidence, “I think you’re beyond handsome, Changgu.” His cheeks are beat red as I face him straight on. He leans off the counter and stands in front of me. He asks, “What do you say to tea and a date?” I scrunch my nose up in mock thought, “I would say a 100 percent yes.” The water finally boils, and I pour it into our cups. We put the pot away and rush up to our dorm with hot tea in hand.

We sit on his bed and drink our tea slowly and place it on his bedside table. “So, where do we go from here, flower boy.” He smiles, “Wherever you want.” Nervously, I place my hands on either side of his face and kiss him for the first time. He kisses back and pulls me in closer. My heart skips three beats, and I can’t believe I waited all this time. Not kissing someone like Changgu sooner was a mistake, but I can say I’m never making that mistake again. When we pull away, he tells me, “You won’t believe how long I’ve wanted to do that.” I place my forehead against his and ask, “Was it worth the wait?” He grins and pulls me in for another kiss. Between kisses, he tells me, “Definitely.” We pull away to finish our tea before it gets too cold. Our cheeks are bright red, and when we finally say good night, my heart aches to stay up longer.

I wake up to find Changgu has already left for class, and I look at the flower he gave me, oh so long ago. When it hits me, I should get him a flower after class, so he has one to care for as well. I change for class and grin to myself as I write a cute little note for it and find a nicely colored ribbon to match. When class finally ends, I’m overjoyed, and I rush to the park we met at and look for the perfect flower.

It takes about twenty minutes before I find one up to my standards. It’s a red carnation that I attach the note to with a ribbon and head home. When I hear, “Hey!” I whip my head around to see Changgu. I wave and hide the flower behind my back and walk over to where he is seated on the bench. “What are you doing out of class so early?” I ask him usually his classes go to five, and it’s only two. “Professor Min called off today.” I nod and tell him to close his eyes, and he does so willingly. I grab his hand and place the carnation in between our hands. I tell him to open his eyes, and he looks down at our hands. He grins, and I tell him how it matches his rosy cheeks and red and white striped shirt. He pecks my lips, “I promise to take good care of this!” I place the flower behind his ear, and slip the note off of the carnation and hand it to him. He grins and reads it to himself and pulls me into his arm. And that’s how we spend the next hour leaning on each other and telling each other stories. Giggling and sharing a few kisses, maybe flowers do come in handy after all. If they can bring two people together, could you imagine what the possibilities are for them?