#I've been in lecture for almost three hours

[sceletaflores]

working it out (on the remix)

pairing: art donaldson x patrick zweig x fem!reader

summary: you sit in the angry silence, gears slowly turning in your head as you look between your boys. you should have known that this wasn't going to work, clearly just talking isn’t going to get the three of you anywhere.

—or: three tennis players walk into a hotel room.

word count: 5.5k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, smoking, fighting as foreplay, mean!reader my beloved, the patrick and art gay agenda, threesome, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y'all!), not quite hate sex more like angry sex, double penetration, oral sex (m!receiving), choking, finger sucking, degradation, creampies, lowkey sub!patrick coded, switch!art ofc, porn with a plot, no use of y/n.

author’s note: oh em gee part three is here!!! i literally always say this but i had so much fun writing this one lol thank you so much for showing this series so much love right off the bat! i've loved loved loved reading all the ideas you guys have sent me for future chapters and trust when i say that i'll definitely be featuring as many as i can. okay bye! hope you love it! xoxo mwah.

tftw series masterlist!

Art is fuming. You keep glancing over at him to check that smoke isn't starting to blow out of his ears. It doesn't, but he's just as mad every time. Standing in the doorway huffing and puffing, arms crossed over his chest as he stares Patrick down from across the room. 

Patrick is the complete opposite, all relaxed body language and easy half-smiles as he coolly stares back. You’d make a fire and ice joke if you didn’t think it would send Art over the edge.

He’s sitting in the room’s single chair, window cracked open so he can smoke. He’s practically naked, wearing an unbuttoned long sleeve and the tiniest boxers you’ve ever seen. His bare feet are propped up on the corner of the bed you’re sitting on. 

You’re perched cross legged on the mattress, basically stuck in the middle of them.

You’re still surprised you even got Art to show up at all. You thought he almost flipped the table when you brought up Patrick at lunch, casually mentioning that you’ve been texting him for the past couple of days and you think the three of you need to talk. He was quiet for a long time before he finally asked if that meant Patrick was, has been, in town. You just shook your head yes.

You didn’t tell him you and Patrick slept together, you didn’t need to.

He went quiet again, stood up from his chair with an excuse of being late to class and stomped out of the dining hall. You texted him the address to Patrick’s hotel an hour later.

Art never responded, but his jeep was still waiting for you outside the biology building after your last lecture got out. He would always drive you back to your dorm since you’d get out so late, but this time he turned out of the campus lot and silently drove until you realized he was going to the hotel.

Now you’re here, and it's been almost ten minutes since you knocked on the door to Patrick’s room. And no one has said anything the entire time. No one has even moved, only Patrick every so often when he needs to flick his ashes out the window. A thick blanket of tense silence falls heavy over the three of you. It makes the room’s temperature feel that much hotter. The shitty air conditioner hums faintly in the background.

“So,” you say slowly, voice finally piercing through the quiet, “Am I gonna have to be the first to talk again or–”

“God, I don’t know,” Art cuts in tersely, not looking away from Patrick as he does, ”I can’t believe I don’t have anything to say to the guy that fucked my girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?” Both you and Patrick ask sharply, opposing tones of shock and amusement blending together.

Art's eyes narrow, a storm brewing in the blue of them. He’s still looking at Patrick, talking about you like you’re not sitting right in front of him. "Yeah, my girlfriend. Did I stutter?" His chest is puffed out just enough for you to notice, his mouth pulled down at the corners in a deep frown.

You blink, caught off guard. Art’s never asked you to go steady with him, you’ve never even been on a date. Unless you count fucking in the back of his jeep at a drive in theater a date, then sure, you’ve been on one date. Regardless, the possessive timbre of his voice has something warm simmering under your skin.

Patrick laughs, loud and abrasive. “Well, this is fucking news to me,” he says through a chuckle, eyes flicking between the two of you bemusedly, “I didn’t realize you guys were playing house, but that does makes a lot more sense now.” He gestures to your chest with his free hand, pointing out the dark blue sweatshirt you’re wearing.

‘Mark Rebellato Tennis Academy’ is stitched across the front in thin black thread; you'd stolen it from Art’s closet when you slept over at his dorm a few nights ago. He never asked for it back.

“It’s cute that you kept my shirt, Donaldson.” Patrick teases, lolling his head to the side lazily so he can look at Art through his lashes. A plume of smoke billows from between his lips, slipping through the open window slowly. “Even after you tried to turn my girlfriend against me and fucked her behind my back first–”

“Fuck you, Patrick–” Art starts, face twisted in a scowl. His hands ball into fists at his side, jaw ticking with anger.

Patrick doesn’t look deterred, leaning forward in his chair as he tries to talk over Art, “You’re such a fucking hypocrite–”

“I’m not anyone’s girlfriend,” you cut them both off, brows drawn together in frustration, “—and I’m not going to let this turn into some weird pissing contest between you two. We’re here to talk.”

Art scoffs agitatedly, casting his eyes to the ceiling. “Looks like the two of you have done plenty of talking without me,” he says bitterly. “Do you get off on this shit or something? On sticking your dick where it doesn’t fucking belong?”

Patrick smirks, leaning back in his chair, arms draped lazily over the armrests. “God, you really do think you’re innocent in this,” he laughs incredulously, leaning back in his chair. “You’re acting like you’ve got some moral high ground, but you don’t. You’re just as guilty of playing the game as I am.”

Art’s face darkens further, anger threatening to boil over. “This isn’t a game to me, Patrick,” he spits, tone hard and low, “I’m so sick of you treating everything like a goddamn joke.”

Patrick’s smirk doesn’t falter. “I never said it was a joke,” he says with a shrug, tone easy and nonchalant. “I’m just saying, maybe you should take a good look in the mirror before you start pointing fucking fingers. I’m not the only one who’s played dirty here.”

“Patrick–” you warn, sitting up straighter. You can feel the way the air changes, the way the animosity gets turned up. The last thing you need is for them to start throwing punches.

Art cuts you off, shaking his head in contempt. “You’re so full of shit. You don’t fucking care about her. You never did. You just want to win, because you can’t stand the thought of losing to me.”

Patrick groans loudly, throwing his head back with it. “We’re really going back to this again? Jesus Christ, give it up man. It’s not like she was ever really yours to begin with.” He takes another slow drag from his cigarette, eyes never leaving Art.

The jab hits its mark, you can see it on Art’s face. In the way he physically recoils, the way he takes a ragged breath through his nose, the way the muscles of his jaw work furiously. For the first time since you fucked Patrick, you feel like a fucking bitch. The familiar feeling of guilt wraps its tendrils around you, weighing you down into the mattress like a physical force.

It gives you an idea, the guilt. It's a filthy idea, one that has heat stirring between your legs at just the thought. It’s a good way to make this whole situation up to Art, a good way to let him get under Patrick’s skin the same way he’s getting under his.

You sit in the angry silence, gears slowly turning in your head as you look between your boys. You should have known that this wasn't going to work, clearly just talking isn’t getting the three of you anywhere.

You sigh, overly dramatic and long suffering, scooting down until your legs are hanging over the edge of the mattress. Art and Patrick watch you the entire time, eyes finally leaving each other to watch your hands settle on the hem of Patrick’s sweatshirt.

“You guys are being so difficult. Why did I think that you could behave enough to talk this out like big boys?” You tug it off in one swift move, tossing it to the side carelessly. Two sharp gasps ring out, two sets of greedy eyes roam the bare expanse of your torso. You hadn’t worn a bra today.

You smirk, standing from the mattress and hooking your thumbs in the waistband of your sweats. You push them down your legs slowly, making a show of it until you're only in the pair of light purple panties you slipped on this morning. Patrick smirks, flicking his cigarette butt out the window and yanking it closed. He goes to stand, Art pointedly takes a single threatening step forward as he does but you stop both of them in their tracks. 

“No.” Your voice rings through the small room, loud and commanding. Patrick sits back down almost immediately, his brow raising in confusion. Art does the same, freezing with one foot in front of him. They’re both hard, cocks tenting the fabric of their bottoms. Their boners point towards each other, you bite your lip to hide your smile. 

“You’ve been so bad, Ricky.” you scold softly, voice syrupy sweet as you lean back on the bed. “Dressed up like an easy whore in here waiting for us, being so mean to Art, fucking his girl…” You trail off boredly, palms braced flat on the bed behind you so you can lean back as casually as you can muster. You let your legs fall open, spread enough to let Patrick and Art see the wet spot slowly seeping into the fabric.

You can hear Art’s sharp inhale from across the room at your words, his girl. You’re still careful not to say girlfriend, that’s a whole other talk. Patrick squirms in his chair, practically itching with the need to say something. You level him with a hard look, a firm shake of your head keeps him quiet. When you finally turn your attention to Art, he meets your gaze easily, eyes already blown out and glassy. Even from here you can see the way his pupils swallow the pretty blue color.

You smile, lips curling up in a wicked smile. “Art,” you coo softly, reaching your hand out in offering, “come here.” 

Art’s walking towards you without a second thought, crossing the room in just a few large steps. You smile at him, patting the spot next to you. The bed creaks as he sits down, the mattress dipping under his weight slides you closer to him. ”I think,” you say slowly, resting your hand high up on his thigh, so close to the hard line of his cock straining against the fabric, “that we need to teach Patrick a lesson on manners.”

“What! No fucking way, that’s bullshi–” Patrick fusses from the corner, sitting up straighter in seat, the armrest gripped tight in his left hand.

“Shut the fuck up,” you snap, whipping your head to the side to glare at him. “This isn’t about you.”

He frowns, pushing out his bottom lip like an actual child. You just barely fight the urge to roll your eyes, an evil smile spreading across your face as you watch him honest-to-God pout.

“This is about Art,” you slide your hand up higher, cupping him through his loose shorts. You can hear his sharp intake of breath, a quiet ‘fuck’ falls from his lips as you apply more pressure to where your hand is steadily rubbing him up and down. “Plus, you’re already in the cuck chair,” you aren’t able to stop the small chuckle that falls from your lips, “you’ve got a perfect view.”

His pink lips part ever so slightly, eyes going wide and hungry at your words. You throw him one last devilish smile before you’re sinking to your knees in front of the bed. The scratchy carpet digs into your knees but you don’t care, not when Art is towering in front of you with the ceiling lights shining around him like he’s an angel.

You smile up at him, dragging the palms of your hands up and down his thighs. “Take your shirt off,” you encourage, slipping your hands up to toy with the hem of his shorts.

He complies beautifully, pulling his shirt up and over his head and tossing it aside, revealing the lean, toned muscles of his torso. You let your eyes linger on him for a moment, appreciating the sight before returning your attention to your task. Your fingers deftly undo the drawstring of his shorts, and start tugging them down. Art lifts his hips enough for you to drag them all the way down his legs, taking his boxers with them to free his hard cock.

Again, you slide your hands up the bare skin of his thighs, inches away from where he wants them. He’s so hard, cock standing straight up in an angry red line against his stomach. The tip drools pre-cum that leaks down the length of him slowly.

Art's breath hitches, his eyes locked onto you with a mix of anticipation and desperation. Your fingers brush lightly over his upper thighs, before you wrap your hand around the base of his cock, feeling the heat of his arousal pulse against your palm. His gasp is sharp, and you silently revel in the power you hold over him in this moment.

You glance over at Patrick, who is staring wide-eyed, his earlier irritation replaced with a raw, unfiltered hunger.

Your lips curl into a smug smile at the sight of his flushed cheeks and the way his chest rises and falls with each heavy breath. “See something you like, Patrick?” you taunt, giving Art a slow, deliberate stroke that has him groaning softly. Patrick’s eyes narrow, his jaw clenching, but he stays silent, his gaze locked on the two of you.

Art's hands grip the sheets beneath him, his knuckles turning white. "Fuck," he breathes out, his voice strained, "you're killing me."

You laugh softly, a dark, melodic sound, and lean forward, letting your tongue flick out to taste the bead of precum at the tip of his cock. Art moans, the sound vibrating through you. You glance up at him through your lashes, seeing the way his head tilts back, his eyes half-lidded in pleasure.

You slide your lips up the length of his leaking cock, teasing and slow. Art stares down at you, not breaking eye contact as he breathes raggedly through his nose.

“Tell him how it feels,” you whisper against the pink tip of his cock, sliding it back and forth across your lips teasingly. Art swallows hard, skin flushing in embarrassment.

“So good…” he whispers, eyes still locked onto yours. His blush goes from his cheeks all the way down to his chest, spreading pink and warm across the strong muscle of his pecs.

You smile, shaking your head softly. “Don’t tell me, tell him.” You jerk your head in Patrick’s direction once before you sink down until your nose is nestled against the soft blonde hair at the base of his cock, working your throat around the length of him. 

Art moans loudly, his hands coming up to tangle into your hair. You keep going, fighting his grip on you as you start to bob your head over his cock in a steady rhythm, working your hand in time with your mouth.

He forces himself to look at Patrick, catching his eyes.

Patrick looks fucked, lips slick and dropped open as he stares back Art, hungry gaze not wavering. His cock is still hard, pressed against the seam of his boxers and leaking a steady patch of wetness around the head. 

A silent challenge seems to pass between the two of them.

We doing this or what?

Art refuses to back down, hardening his resolve. “Feels so fucking good,” he groans, not looking away from Patrick, “her throat’s so tight, so– God, it’s so good. Best I’ve ever had.”

He’s rambling, not even making any sense but you hum in approval all the same, your tongue curling around the crown. Patrick doesn’t look like he minds too much either, pink tongue coming out to swipe along his bottom lip. "Please," he whispers, almost too quiet to hear. "Let me..."

You pull off Art with a wet pop, turning your head as best you can with his hand still tangled in your hair to fix Patrick with a steely gaze. "You don't get to make requests," you say, your voice hard. "You get to watch and learn."

Patrick's eyes darken, his lips pressing into a thin line, but he doesn't protest. Art lets out a low growl, his hand tightening its grip on your hair and dragging your mouth back to his cock.

“Stop fucking talking to him,” he demands, hips thrusting to fuck back into your mouth. You choke on the sudden fullness, wetness floods your panties as you moan around him.

Yes, you think, eyes squeezing close as you force your throat to relax around his cock, this is what I wanted.

You were waiting to see how long it’d take Art to snap, he lasted longer than you thought he would. The head of his cock punches against the soft, spongy part at the back of your throat. You fight to not gag around him, hands scrambling for purchase on his thighs. His balls slap against your chin roughly, sticking wetly to the drool that's starting to fall from the corners of your lips.

Art meets Patrick’s eye again, a smug smirk on his face as he jerks his head in a clear invitation, “Come here.” He grunts simply, dragging you up and down the length of his cock by his tight grip on your hair.

Patrick practically sprints from the chair, ripping his shirt off while he tries to kick his boxers off before he reaches the bed. He sits next to Art, chest heaving as he stares down at where your lips stretched obscenely over his best friend's cock. 

Art pulls you off by your hair, holding your face a few inches away from his spit covered cock. He tuts at you sympathetically, tilting his head to the side with a tiny frown at the sight of you all teary eyed. “Bet you feel real empty, right?” he asks sadly, shaking your head back and forth like a dog. “That greedy pussy wants our cocks stretching her open, doesn't she?”

You whine loudly, nodding your head as best you can as the meaning of Art’s words sink over you. You feel far away, like you’ve already been fucked six ways to Sunday. You cunt clenches around nothing, aching for Art and Patrick’s cocks bullying their way inside you. You’ve never done anything like that before, taken two guys at once, but God do you need it.

Art nods back, brows pulled together in faux pity. “Pat and I will help baby,” he says sweetly, “You just gotta get nice and stretched out first, need to fuck yourself open on Patrick’s cock so you can take us.”

“Fuck yeah,” Patrick breathes, already moving up the bed to lay flat on his back agasint the pillows. His cock sticking straight out from his body, pointing to the ceiling desperately.

Art lets go of your hair, cupping the side of your face tenderly. His thumb rubs against the soft skin of your cheekbone a few times, you know it’s a question. 

Do you want this?

You smile, nuzzling his palm and giving his thumb a playful nip. The answer to his question written all over your face.

Fuck yes.

Art smiles back, nodding his head once. You take the hint, rising from your knees to climb onto the mattress. You slide your panties off, tossing them aside as you crawl up the length of Patrick’s body, straddling his hips and wasting no time in sinking down on his cock.

Art settles next to the two of you, hand loosely gripped around his cock as he starts to lazily stroke himself to the sight of you and Patrick.

“Fuck!” Patrick hisses, his hands coming up to grip your hips fiercely as you start to ride him, not giving either of you anytime to adjust. The stretch burns, the lack of prepping before hand makes it sting. You don’t mind, too worked up to care. 

“God, you’re such a fucking slut,” He tries, but you cut him off bringing your free hand to wrap around the column of his throat just like he did to you back in the shower.

“You’re the slut,” you growl, fingers digging into his skin roughly. His eyes widen, plush lips going slack. You speed your hips up, the loud smack each time you drop down onto him echoes through the room. “You’re the easy fucking whore that soaked your panties watching your best friend fuck my throat."

Art huffs out a breath, hand slipping over his cock faster as he watches you ride Patrick. His eyes are trained on the way your hand is wrapped against Patrick’s throat. He slips his free hand down, pressing two fingers against Patrick’s cock so you slide down onto them on the next bounce.

“Fuck!” You keen loudly, grip tightening on Patrick’s throat. Art’s fingers add to the sting of your cunt, but your hips don’t stop moving, even as he slips in a third just as fast.

You get lost in it, in the feeling of Patrick’s dick fucking into you so deeply you swear he’s hitting your cervix with every roll of your hips, Art’s fingers stretching you that much wider.

Suddenly, Art drops his cock so his free hand can latch onto your hips, his strong grip forcing you to stop your desperate bouncing. His fingers slip out of you, you immediately miss the stretch.

Patrick groans in displeasure, his hips buck up like he’s trying to slide back into the warmth of your fucked open cunt. His leaking head bumps against your sensitive clit a few times before Art’s dropping his hand down, gripping Patrick’s cock to line it up with his own.

Art slides up behind you, his sweaty chest pressing firmly against your back. “Should be stretched out enough,” He whispers into the nape of your neck, pressing both tips against your fluttering hole.

The shock of it has your hand slipping off Patrick’s throat to anchor onto his shoulders in a feeble attempt to brace yourself. He sucks in large gasps of air, chest heaving as he stares down to where his cock is pressed snug against Art’s, his hand big enough to almost wrap around them both. He throws his head back against the pillows, eyes screwed shut, “Fuck, I can’t watch,” he gasps, voice low and ragged. 

Art laughs smugly, but it’s breathy around the edges and you can feel the way his hand shakes on your hip. “Close already, Pat?” He asks condescendingly, as his fingers dig in a little tighter. “You’re not even doing any of the work.”  

You try to focus on the sensation of Art’s grip, but your mind is a haze of overstimulation and the throb of Patrick’s cock against you. Art’s mocking tone sends a shiver down your spine, making you acutely aware of how close you are to the edge yourself. Your greedy cunt clenches around them, trying to suck them in you.

Patrick’s breath stutters, his hips jerking up involuntarily, making a strangled noise that’s half-groan, half-whimper. “Fuck you, man,” he manages to grind out, but his voice is trembling and strained, the bite in his tone gets undercut by how wrecked he sounds. You can feel the barely there twitches of his hips, like he’s physically pained from having to wait any longer.

A sharp cry rips from your throat as they finally start to slide in, both heads popping into your tight hole all at once. Your eyes screw shut at the stretch, thighs shaking where they’re spread over Patrick’s hips.

“Someone kiss me,” you gasp desperately, chin lowering to your chest. Art’s moving before the words finish leaving your mouth, gripping a fistful of Patrick’s hair and dragging him up to your lips. You whine into his mouth, letting his tongue slide between your lips to claim your mouth.

The familiar feeling of his lips on yours relaxes you the tiniest bit, letting Art lower you down a few more inches. It feels like hours as you sink onto them, Art’s big hands gently massaging your hips while Patrick’s greedy fingers pull and paw at your thighs.

It’s the quietest you’ve ever heard Patrick. His lips going slack in awe against yours as Art’s cock slides up next to his, moaning into your mouth when your hips go flush with his.

They feel so huge inside you, so thick you swear you can feel them in your stomach. Bullying your insides into making more room for the both of them.

“Fuck," you gasp, nails digging little crescent moons into Patrick’s shoulders. Every inch of you is alive with sensation, a burning mix of pleasure and pain. Art’s breath is hot and ragged against your ear, whispering sweet encouragements, “It’s okay baby, you’re okay, taking us so fucking good–” 

You nod, slowly starting to grind your hips back and forth, gasping when they rub up against the soft spot inside of you that has you clenching in pleasure– practically choking them off at the base. A high moan falls from your lips, hips swirling the tiniest bit faster that have both Art and Patrick growl out matching groans of approval.

“Just like that,” Art whispers into your ear, his breath hot and ragged. “Gonna make him come first, or are you gonna beat him to it?” The challenge in his voice sends a jolt of heat through you, your thighs starting to shake with every pass of them over that spot.

“God, ah! Art– fuck, mh, Patrick–” You slur, head already starting to go fuzzy

“Fuck,” Art gasps out your name sharply, pushing you down onto Patrick’s chest so he can start fucking into your loose, sloppy cunt. “God, you’re so fucking tight,” his hand grips the back of your neck to pin you down, throwing all his strength behind the snap of his hips.

“Shit, look at you,” Patrick chuckles weakly pinching your hips hard, trying to seem less affected than he really is. “You’re so fucking gone. All that attitude needs is some dick to fix it, huh?”

You crack your eyes open, blearily searching until you zero in on his face. He’s smiling smugly, eyes blown out and hazy.

“Shut the fuck up,” you spit weakly, raising your hand to shove your index and middle finger between his parted lips. You push back far enough to feel his throat constricting against your fingers, letting him gag on you. Your eyes trace the side of his face, down the slope of his nose to where his cherry red lips are lewdly spread around your fingers. 

You can distantly hear Art groan behind you, his hips speeding up impossibly faster. His hand squeezes your neck, fingers digging into your sensitive skin meanly. You hook your fingers behind Patrick’s teeth, dragging his face to the side to meet your eye. Patrick moans around your fingers, gazing at you pleading through half lidded eyes. Drool leaks from the corners of his mouth and down his chin, drenching your wrist. His hot, wet tongue sliding along the pads of your fingers feels scalding.

Patrick's hands are everywhere, pulling, pinching, caressing, his touch a maddening mix of rough and tender. The feeling of him inside you, alongside Art, is almost too much to bear, making you gasp for breath. Your moans are a symphony of pleasure and desperation, each one a plea for more, more, more the closer you get the edge.

“Shit, ah, Art, ah!” Your feet scrabbled uselessly against the sheets, the fingers of your free hand twist Patrick’s hair roughly. “I’m gonna come— Mm, ah! I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” Art goads, the rhythm of his hips not faltering, “Come on baby– fuck yeah– fucking soak these dicks–”

Your mouth falls open in a silent scream as you come, your vision whites out around you as the entire world shrinks down to the stretch of your gushing cunt around Art and Patrick. The slight burn of them, the fullness, the unrelenting pace of Art’s hips stinging the skin of your ass on each thrust. 

Patrick bites down on your fingers with a broken whine just as Art sinks his teeth into your neck, both of them groaning so loud it’s all you can hear. That and the faulty rhythm of Art’s hips snapping against the meat of your ass in loud ‘cracks’. 

They come together, and you can feel it.

You can feel every twitch and jerk of their cocks inside you as they spray the walls of your cunt with their releases. Spurt after spurt of hot come claiming you as theirs, filling you to the brim. Art doesn’t stop, working the three of you through your orgasms. Each thrust fucks more of their come out of you, the lewd squelch of it leaking from of your loose hole to gather around the base of their cocks in two matching creamy rings makes your ears burn.

Just as it gets to be too much, when the pleasure starts to give way into biting overstimulation, Art stops. You’re slumped against Patrick, shaking like a leaf when Art starts to pull out as gently as he can. You hiss when the head of his cock slips out, thighs clenching together.

“Sorry,” he whispers sweetly, giving your shoulder a gentle kiss. He practically man handles you off of Patrick’s cock, lifting your hips up and off of him.

Patrick groans, stomach twitching in oversensitivity as your slick walls slide against his spent dick. Finally he slips out, his drenched cock falling to slap onto his stomach. There come rushes out of you, dripping sticky and thick down your inner thighs. 

There’s sweat dripping down your temple when you fall onto the mattress, your back sticks to the sheets but you’re too out of it to care. Art collapses next to you, sandwiching you between him and Patrick. The three of you are quiet, chests heaving as you catch your breath. Patrick’s hairy thigh is pressed to yours, firm and toned. Art’s got an arm slung over your waist, his breath puffs hot against your neck.

“It doesn’t have to be one or the other,” you say breathlessly, voice raspy and hoarse. “It could work. We could make it work, the three of us.”

Art and Patrick are quiet, their silence heavy with contemplation. You keep your eyes trained on the ceiling, more nervous bringing this up than you thought you’d be. The room is filled with the sounds of your collective breaths, mingling with the lingering scent of sweat and sex.

Patrick chuckles, you can feel his curls brushing against your shoulder as he shakes his head in dry amusement. "Yeah, because everything about this screams 'healthy relationship,'" he quips, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Art lets out a soft, exasperated sigh, his grip on your waist tightening just a little. "We don't have to decide anything right now," he says, his voice low and steady. "Let's just...see where this goes."

You feel a rush of relief at his words, but Patrick’s hesitancy still gnaws at the edges of your mind. Patrick shifts beside you, his hand skirting lightly over your arm in a rare moment of tenderness.

"Guess we're in uncharted territory, huh?" he murmurs, his tone uncharacteristically serious. 

You laugh, finally daring to glance at both of them, a tentative smile forming on your lips. "Yeah, but maybe that's not such a bad thing."

Art and Patrick look back at you with matching grins wide enough to show their teeth, blonde and black hair fanning around their faces like halo’s under the room’s shitty fluorescent light. Your heart swells under the intense stare of two pairs of eyes, one blue and one green. You can feel the room start to fade away until it’s just the three of you and nothing else seems to matter.

Art leans down, giving your right shoulder a quick kiss. “If we’re doing this, we have to be honest with each other.” He looks between you and Patrick pointedly, but he’s still smiling. “No more bullshit games.”

Patrick snorts, letting his head fall back onto the pillows, “Yes sir.” 

You nod, not bothering to hide your smile. "No bullshit, no games," you agree, moving to squeeze Art's hand. He squeezes back in a silent promise.

The three of you lie there in a comfortable silence, the weight of your decision settling over you. It's definitely not going to be easy, but maybe, just maybe, it could work.

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[mon-amorie]

‎ ‎ ‎ ... ‎ ( ‎ Hotline ‎ )

‎ ‎ scene ‎ ─── ‎ on campus where anonymity breeds honesty, a late-night confessions app becomes your escape. a place where students anonymously share voice notes or texts about anything—stress, confessions, poetry, love, lust, loneliness—all sacred. naturally, you become drawn to a certain user, his words resonating deeply, almost bleeding through the screen. compelled by an unspoken connection, you send a reply

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ‎ ‎ ( pairing ) ‎ hyunjin x f!reader ‎ ( genre ) ‎ college au, slow burn, fluff, slight angst, academic burnout, profanity, contains mature content ‎ !mdni! ‎ ( wc. ) ‎ 28.7k ‎ / ‎ part two. ‎ back to nav.

゜・．・ note! ‎ ─ ‎ thought this was a super cute idea. got really into it (had to spilt it up in parts), so i hope you enjoyyy reading. please let me know your thoughts! took a while to finalize, so it'd mean a lot to me. lots of love, nana

‎ ‎ ‎"...and if we look at the second stanza, we’ll see how she contrasts grief with—"

You caught bits of everything, but held onto none of it.

Your mind had been elsewhere since morning, drifting in and out like radio static. The lecture, the notes, the faint scratching of pens. It all passed through you without actually sticking. You kept thinking about the bakery near campus, the unread emails piling up, the to-do list growing longer by the hour. It was all beginning to feel like too much, bit by bit.

The door creaked open. You payed no mind to it. But if you had, you might've noticed him.

A tall guy slipping in late, hoodie soaked dark at the shoulders. Damp hair curling onto his cheek. He didn't draw attention to himself, didn't offer excuses. Just eased into a seat a few rows back, his movements fluid, careful. His chest rose and fell, still evening out from the rush across campus.

You let your chin fall into your hand, your gaze sliding toward the window. The rain streaked sideways across the glass, soft but relentless. You let your eyes follow it, maybe hoping it would make things feel a little lighter.

"...so I'm going to give you the rest of the class as a study hall," your professor announced, barely fighting a yawn. "Catch up on readings, work on your papers. Just don't vanish."

A ripple of quiet relief passed through the room. Backpacks shifted. Chairs scraped. Someone whispered, "Bless," under their breath, followed by a soft chuckle. The projector clicked off, and in that dimmed silence, something inside you loosened.

You didn't wait.

As soon as the screen went away, your head dropped to your folded arms. Your shoulders slackened. Your grip on everything eased. The noise around you blurred into something soft and far away.

Barely a few seconds passed before—

"Yah, dead already?" came a voice, teasing but soft. A familiar one.

You didn't even lift your head. "Hey, Bin."

Changbin dropped into the seat to your left like gravity owed him something, juggling three bags and zero chill. His hair was damp from the rain, hoodie clinging to the curve of his neck. A paper coffee cup steamed between his hands, the scent curling faintly into the air around you.

On your other side, Chaeryeong landed with a theatrical sigh, like she'd rehearsed it. She slid her tote bag off her shoulder, reached across you, and gently shut your neglected laptop without a word.

"She's in mourning," she declared solemnly. "Fell in battle after that last psych quiz. May she rest."

"I salute you, fallen soldier," Changbin added, giving a mock salute.

You groaned softly, face still buried in your arms.

Chaeryeong grinned, already pulling a half-eaten box of pocky from her bag like it was part of her survival kit. "No, but seriously. You okay?"

"I'm tired," you mumbled. "And I've got like three papers due next week."

"Okay, but one of them's just a book response, right?" Chaeryeong offered.

You cracked one eye open, cheek still pressed to your sleeve. "The book is seven hundred pages."

Changbin let out a low whistle. "Yeah, no. Death sounds fair."

"Anyway," Chaeryeong said, grabbing her phone. "Can we talk about the girl who dropped a six-part rant on Hotline last night? All because her ex started dating someone from the chess team."

“I saw that!” Changbin perked up, popping the lid off his drink. “It’s so dramatic. Didn’t the girl cheat or something? And now she’s pissed he moved on?”

“She’s not mad he moved on,” Chaeryeong corrected, scrolling through her feed. “She’s mad he moved on fast and to someone who’s, and I quote, too niche. It’s so dumb.”

That earned a soft snort from you.

They both turned toward you, sensing the first sign of life.

“You use it, right?” Changbin asked, tone casual as he took a sip.

You blinked. “Use what?”

“The app,” he said. “Hotline. You’ve posted before?”

You shrugged, slow and noncommittal. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“Yeah, but you probably post those dramatic 2 AM voice notes,” he teased. “Like, ‘the rain reminds me of everything I never said to him’.”

You lifted your head just enough to glare at him. "God forbid a girl expresses her feelings."

He laughed, nearly spilling his drink.

Chaeryeong’s eyes flitted between the two of you, narrowed in curiosity. “Wait. Now I’m curious. What do you post?”

“I’m not telling you,” you said flatly, stretching your arms over your head until your spine cracked. “That defeats the point of anonymous.”

“Which means she definitely posts dramatic 2AM voice notes,” Changbin said smugly.

You rolled your eyes but didn't deny it. The conversation moved on without you, their bickering fading into background noise again.

The room buzzed with low conversation now that the lecture was on pause. A kind of collective exhale. Some students cracked open their laptops, pretending to be productive. Others leaned together in loose circles, whispering and laughing like this was a café instead of a half-lit lecture hall with forty minutes still left on the clock.

Behind you, a chair creaked.

Hyunjin sat slouched in his seat, hoodie up, pencil twirling loosely between his fingers. He hadn’t bothered with his laptop. Just a small sketchbook open on the desk, angled away from view. His bag sat untouched at his feet, the canvas edges still damp from the rain.

He’d slipped in late, quietly, after snoozing his alarm one too many times. Not that it mattered. He wasn’t the only one. He recognized most people in this class. Faces, names, friend groups that orbited each other in lazy, habitual loops. He didn’t talk to them. Didn’t need to.

After all, people only ever asked questions when you gave them answers first. And Hyunjin never did.

His gaze drifted over the room, not looking for anything in particular, until it landed on you.

You sat between two friends, head tilted, listening without really reacting. Like you were there, but not entirely present. Your fingers toyed absentmindedly with the frayed cuff of your sleeve. The kind of movement that said more than words. Like your brain was running in twelve directions, none of them clear.

He knew your name, though you’d never spoken directly. You were in his poetry seminar. Mondays and Thursdays, always a few seats ahead. Head bowed when tired. Notebook open and full when it mattered. He’d caught glimpses of your margin notes once, slanted in quick, neat handwriting. Thought about them later, for no reason at all.

He glanced down, sketchbook still open, finally letting his pencil move across the page. He didn’t try to define it. He just drew. Trying not to think too hard about the way you stared out the window like you were asking it a question. Like maybe you were waiting for an answer.

“It tastes like wood glue,” Changbin insists.

“You’ve eaten wood glue?” Chaeryeong shoots back, raising an eyebrow.

“Didn’t say that.”

“You implied it.”

Their voices curled around you like ambient noise. Familiar. Safe. Like the kind of background hum you’d grown up with in a house full of sound. You didn’t have to join in to feel like you belonged there.

Study group at four. Grocery run after. Need to text Mom back. I should drop that one class. Chae’s hair looks really good today. The bakery closes early. I should go.

Outside, a blur of students ran across the courtyard, three of them sharing one hoodie like it was shelter. In the back corner, a girl hummed quietly to herself, scrolling on her phone. Behind her, a guy slumped in his chair while his friend patted his back over a crush spiral. Small, silent scenes repeating everywhere.

And you sat there, wondering if anyone else in this room felt the way you did.

Chaeryeong tapped her fingers against the desk, looking thoughtful. “Okay, but wait. Do you think it’s possible to fall for someone just through words?”

You turned slightly, attention slipping back into the present.

“What, like texting?” Changbin asked, frowning. “Isn’t that just… long-distance?”

“Well, yeah,” she said, “but I mean on the app. Anons. No names, no faces. Just someone’s voice. Or their thoughts. The way they write.” She said it like she’d already fallen.

Changbin looked skeptical. “That sounds like catfishing.”

"I think it sounds romantic," she countered.

"You think free samples at beauty stores are romantic."

"And? Have you ever been handed perfume by a stranger who calls you 'miss' with a French accent? That's cinema.”

You laughed, eyes drifting to your desk.

Her question sat with you. Not just because of the app. Not even because of the weird ache you carried around like a second skin. But because lately, the idea of being seen without being looked at had started to sound like safety.

To be chosen, not for your academics or how you looked when you walked into class on a Tuesday morning, but for your voice. Your words. The kind of things you say when you think no one’s listening.

Maybe it was all the poetry readings getting to you. Or maybe it was just everything.

You rubbed your temple, the pressure pooling behind your eyes. And then, before you could overthink it—

“I think I’m burnt out.”

It’s not dramatic. Just quiet. Honest in a way that felt like a sigh. They both go still.

“Wanna skip next class?” Chaeryeong asked, chin in hand, voice casual but eyes flicking toward you with quiet concern. “You look like you could use a break.”

You glance at the clock, considering. “Don’t you guys have an exam after this?”

“So?” they say in sync, almost offended.

You huff a small laugh. “I think I’m just gonna stop by the bakery,” you say, sitting up and brushing your hair back from your face. “You two stay. I’ll grab something and bring it back.”

Chaeryeong frowns, clearly not sold. “You sure?”

You nod. “I need the walk.”

Truthfully, you need the air and the silence. The space to pull yourself back together.

Changbin pulls a crumpled bill from his pocket and slaps it into your hand. “Bring me an iced americano.”

“In this weather? I’m not your delivery service.”

“You offered,” he says smugly, ignoring the logic.

Chaeryeong grins as you turn to her. “I’ll take something flaky and not too sweet. Please? Oh, and maybe a batch of cookies if they’ve got any.”

“Damn, you hungry or—” Changbin starts.

“It’s for all of us, dumbass,” she mutters, elbowing him. He laughs.

You roll your eyes, but there’s warmth rising at the edges of your expression.

You stood, scarf in hand, wrapping it once around your neck. Phone tucked into your pocket. Outside, the rain’s picked up again. Steadier now, heavier. But there’s a comfort in it. Like if you just kept walking, maybe something in you would finally rinse clean.

Before you turned to leave, your gaze lifted just once toward the upper rows. That’s when you saw him.

Hood half-off. Headphones in. One earbud dangling. His phone glows dimly in his hand, thumb scrolling in lazy, distracted loops. The sketchbook still lies open beside him, spine bowed, edges curling slightly from wear.

You’re certain you’ve seen him before. In passing. In class, maybe. Familiar in the way foggy mornings are.

But you don’t stare. Don’t give yourself the time to linger. You miss the way he looks up, just briefly, as you step out of the lecture hall, offering the professor a quiet nod on your way out. His eyes follow the back of your head, watching the door as it closes behind you.

Then he exhales, shifting his gaze back down to the screen in his palm—

Only to catch his own reflection staring back.

𐪞

*ding*

The door chimed softly as you stepped into the bakery. A mid-morning lull. Only a few students were tucked into booths. Heads bowed, mugs cradled, music whispering through shared earbuds. The windows were gently fogged from the warmth inside, streaked by rivulets of rain. Soft jazz played low from a speaker near the display case.

The air wrapped around you like a blanket, rich with the scent of sweet dough and fresh espresso. Something about it made your shoulders loosen..

You exhale for the first time in what feels like hours.

The cashier, a boy with sleepy eyes and a polite smile, rang you up. Minho, his name tag read.

One iced americano. Two chocolate croissants. A small paper bag of cookies. You paused before ordering, hesitating at the register until the cold on your fingers convinced you to add a hot chocolate to the list.

“Here you go,” he said, sliding the bag and warm drink toward you with practiced grace. “Have a good one.”

“Thanks,” you murmured, clutching the bag like it held something more than food.

You found a booth in the corner, right by the window, and slid into the seat. The warmth from the pastries seeped through the paper bag, into your lap, grounding you.

Then your phone buzzed.

chae 🧡 — tell me u got the cookies ...

binnie — she want that cookie so effing badddd 

⤷  you — pls

you — got you both sweets, don’t be weird about it

chae 🧡 — french kissing you rn 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

(you) loved a message.

binnie — bro probably forgot my drink

you — i literally got it, wdym

binnie — oh

binnie — ok nvm ily

⤷  chae 🧡 — LMAO?

binnie — wait, what pastry tho?

you — choco croissant

(binnie) and (chae 🧡) loved a message.

chae 🧡 — chessss, u know me so well

binnie — BLESS

jisung —  ….

jisung — nah nah that's crazy 😭

jisung — did i die or something why am i not in this drop

you — you're sick

jisung — ok but i'm not DEAD

binnie — u sound like a frail victorian child. get off ur phone bro

jisung — i literally just wanted to feel something 😞

you — we'll bring you soup tmrw chill

jisung — finally. one decent person in this grp, yall suck

chae 🧡 — hope ur door stays jammed and that the tissues are just outta reach

jisung — :'(

you — anyway

you — see y'all in ten

A smile tugged at your lips before you even realized it. You tucked your phone away, fingers still warm from the cup in your hand.

The first sip of your hot chocolate tasted like a delicacy.

And for the first time today, the quiet didn’t feel heavy. It felt kind. Like a small, unexpected pocket of calm had been carved out just for you.

𐪞

The low hum of your mini heater filled the quiet of your dorm. Soft, steady.

The mirror in the bathroom was still fogged from your shower, and a towel hung crooked on the hook, like it had given up halfway through the fall. The air smelled like your new body wash and the faint trace of laundry detergent from the pile you only half-folded before flopping into bed.

By the time you curled under the blanket, you were already halfway asleep. Hair still damp against the pillow. Your body didn’t feel tired so much as done. Like you’d been holding yourself upright all day and had finally set it all down.

It was past ten. Maybe closer to midnight.

The glow of your laptop still lit the far side of the room, casting shapes against the wall. But you weren’t at your desk. The assignments could wait a little longer.

Your phone rested beside you, screen dark. You unlocked it.

Hotline.

You hadn’t even thought about it. It was there, waiting. Your thumb hovered over the app like it knew the path before your mind caught up. Like muscle memory had guided you.

So, you opened it.

The interface bloomed onto the screen, slow and gentle. No ads. No noise. Just space. Dark blues fading into muted purples, then warm orange and soft red. An ombre that looked like dusk. The kind of palette that made you exhale without realizing.

The posts glowed in soft contrast. Little fragments of thoughts, floating like signals in the dark.

Your gaze drifted to the small mic icon in the corner of the homepage. You hovered.

And then, without really deciding, you pressed it.

‎ ‎ ‎user074320 • now (recording) — For a moment there’s nothing. Just the low hum of your heater filling the silence. "…Dostoevsky once said, ‘It is better to be unhappy and know the worst, than to be happy in a fool’s paradise’”

A beat of silence.

“…Which is dramatic as hell for a guy who’s been dead since the 1800s, but like, he was definitely onto something.”

You exhale a breath that’s half a laugh, half just tired.

“I don’t know. I had a decent day. Laughed at something dumb. Saw a cute cat. Ate a cookie that was probably 90% butter. Got rained on, but in a main character kind of way, so… cinematic points, I guess.”

Another pause, like you’re deciding whether to keep talking.

“Still came home and immediately face-planted into my bed like I’d been sprinting uphill for hours. Like my brain’s doing laps while my body’s trying to power down. I don’t even know what I’m carrying, but it feels heavy.”

*whirr*

“…Anyway. If you’re listening, I hope today felt a little less heavy for you. Or that you had a good hair day. Or at least, I hope the soup you had was hot. That helps sometimes.”

Tap.

You didn’t relisten. You just let it post.

Then set the phone down beside you, screen still faintly warm in your hand. Your eyes closed for a second.

The app refreshed on its own. Your note now quietly sitting on your profile, timestamped and anonymous. Below it, the familiar scroll of recommendations began to fill the screen, one by one. Posts you’d probably forget in a few hours. Little confessions floating around like fireflies in the dark.

You scrolled. Mindlessly, absently. Not really searching just… keeping yourself company. Then paused.

A profile caught your eye. Not because of the username or the nearly empty bio besides pronouns, but because of the profile picture.

A blurry painting of flowers in a vase. Not neat or delicate. Just color and chaos, all messy strokes like someone tried to paint a feeling instead of a thing. Curious, you tapped.

The first post loaded, dated today.

‎ ‎ ‎user024025 • 15h — opened my notes app to study and ended up writing poetry about someone who doesn’t know i exist. so anyway. GPA stands for girl please acknowledge me.

A quiet laugh pressed into your pillow before you could stop it. And before you knew it, you were scrolling.

‎ ‎ is it weird that i want someone to know me so well they can tell what kinda of day i’ve had just by the way i say “hey”?

if you see this: drink water. stretch your back. your spine’s not supposed to feel like that.

‎ ‎ accidentally caught eye contact with someone while trying to sketch them and now i need to change campuses.

saw a couple slow dancing under the overhang outside the library during the rain. no music. just the sound of puddles. when will that be me????

‎ ‎ i think most people don’t actually want to be saved. they just want someone to sit next to them in the dark and not try to fix it. just… be there. and lately, i think that’s all i want too.

saw my ex get rejected by my friend who works at the bakery. what a good day to be alive. 7/10 pastry tho.

‎ ‎ sometimes i want to be held. other times i just want to be understood. today i wanted both but settled for neither. next question.

love when the universe throws me a bone. like yeah, i saw my ex. yeah, they tried to say hi. yeah, i pretended to be deep in a phone call with my grandma. (i was on the calculator app)

‎ ‎ i asked chris if i was annoying and he said “no more than usual.” it’s the little things keeping me alive.

got my coffee and accidentally said ‘you too’ to the barista when she told me to enjoy it. yah i’m never showing my face there again.

‎ ‎ you ever meet someone and immediately know you’d write poems about them that they’d never see?

group projects should come with therapy vouchers. and snacks.

‎ ‎ had a staring contest with a cat on the way to class. pretty sure it cursed me. failed a quiz an hour later.

i don’t want fireworks. just someone who holds my hand in grocery stores and knows how i take my coffee and doesn’t let me spiral alone at night.

‎ ‎ some days i feel like i’m here. like really here. i ask people how their weekend was. i nod at the right times. i drink my coffee before the ice melts. and it’s fine. it’s all fine. and then there are days like today. where everything feels like i’m two steps behind myself. like i’m watching my life happen through a window i can’t open. i think what gets to me the most is how no one notices. or maybe they do and just don’t ask. sometimes i just want someone to ask me something real. not like “how are you?” in the way people say it when they’re already moving on. like: “what do you think about before you fall asleep?” or “what memory do you wish felt less distant?“ but no one really asks things like that. so i write it here. not for attention or pity. just in case someone reads it and thinks, oh. me too.

Your thumb lingered on that one a little longer than you meant to. The date, just two days ago, stood out.

They weren’t sappy love notes or petty school gossip. Some were funny, in that quiet, offbeat way that made you smile before you even realized it. Others read like scattered thoughts—tiny moments most people would overlook. A few felt heavy. Not necessarily poetic, just emotionally fluent.

And somehow, the mix made it feel real. Like the person behind them wasn’t trying to be profound, just thinking out loud. And you’d wandered into the middle of it. A stream of consciousness, left open.

You hadn’t noticed how long you’d been reading until the screen dimmed and your eyes blinked back into focus. Your phone had grown warm in your hand, the heat pressed lightly into your palm.

‎ ‎ ‎1:03 AM.

The rain still tapped steadily on the glass.

Your chest felt different. Still heavy. Still stretched from the day. But in that quiet corner of the internet, nestled between strangers and static, you felt a little less alone.

Something about his voice, even in text, made you want to stay just a little longer.

‎ ‎ ‎

‎ ‎ [Three weeks later, Monday morning]

‎ ‎ ‎

The sky looked bruised, grey bleeding into dull blue. Wind tugged at the edges of your sweater, fingers stiff as you clutched your phone and bag tighter, breath visible in the air. The walk to class felt longer today, like the world was resisting your movement, nudging you to turn around and call it quits. But you kept going.

It was early. Too early.

Streetlights flickered lazily overhead, and puddles scattered like shards across the sidewalk caught the faintest blush of light. Some students trudged past on foot. Others biked through the cold with determined misery, scarves trailing like battle flags.

You don’t remember what song was playing through your headphones. Just that it had faded into background noise by the time you reached the stone steps of the humanities building.

Inside, the contrast hit almost instantly. The stairwell was warmer, just barely. Echoes of your footsteps followed you up the narrow steps, and by the time you reached the second floor, the change in temperature was more noticeable. You pushed open the door to your poetry seminar, and warmth met you like a second skin. Soft. Immediate. A quiet relief.

The room was already half full.

You weren’t late, class hadn’t even started, but clearly, you weren’t the only one who’d chosen refuge here before the day officially began.

You made your way to your usual seat and set your things down slowly, your hands still stiff from the cold. Everything felt a little off-center. Not wrong exactly, just out of rhythm.

Lately, that feeling had been harder to shake. The kind of tired that didn’t come with yawns or heavy eyes, just a dull pressure that settled in your heart and stayed there. You were keeping up with your work. More than keeping up, really, but it still didn’t feel like enough.

And it followed you even now, as you sat there thumbing through your notes and pretending not to notice the unopened grocery list still sitting in your phone. Another reminder you’d snoozed: Buy Minho a birthday gift.

You’d been meaning to. Really. You wanted to find something personal. Something that said thank you without saying ‘thank you for giving me a pastry when I cried in your bakery and not making it weird’.

Because somehow, that moment, nearly a month ago, had turned into a quiet friendship.

You hadn’t planned to cry. You barely even remembered what tipped you over. Just that you’d walked in soaked from the rain, holding too much all at once. And Minho had noticed. Said nothing about your face or your silence. Just slid a pastry across the counter, as if to say it’s okay to fall apart here, and turned away like it was nothing.

But it wasn’t nothing.

Since then, he’d been… steady. Generous, even. Letting you help around the bakery during slow hours, never mind the fact that you didn’t have any real experience. Never asked much from you, just gave you things to do, space to exist. And somehow, that space he gave had started to feel like something you could lean into.

You liked that about him. The way he didn’t make kindness feel like a spotlight.

It was so different from what you were used to.

Your dad’s voice still echoed faintly in your ears from the night before. Something about your grades. Something about getting a “real” job.

You’d tuned most of it out after the first few lines, just enough to keep from getting pulled under. It wasn’t like you weren’t trying. He just had a way of making even your best efforts sound like placeholder. Like you were always one decision away from disappointing him again.

Still, despite all that, your thoughts drifted elsewhere.

To him.

He never said his name. Only posted every so often, like he didn’t want to be seen but couldn’t help sharing little pieces of himself anyway. You’d never liked a single post. Never interacted. But you read every one. Not because you had a crush, exactly. There wasn’t anything romantic about it. Just curiosity. Like watching someone through a fogged window and trying to make out the shape of them.

You were pulled back to the present when a gust of wind rattled the window behind you. Your pen paused mid-scribble. The clock ticked closer to the hour.

With a quiet sigh, you opened your laptop and notebook, settling in. Around you, the room had filled up fast. Low chatter. Laptop keys. The soft rustle of jackets being peeled off. You barely noticed when the door creaked open again.

He walked in, unhurried for once. Bag slung casually over one shoulder, cheeks still pink from the cold. Your gaze lifted just as he passed your row.

It wasn’t a moment, just a glance. Eyes met. But it caught him off guard.

Somewhere in his head, something slipped. You didn’t catch the subtle shift in his grip, or how he sat down with a stiffness he didn’t usually have. His face slightly redder than before.

The professor arrived a few minutes later, launching into the usual rhythm. Announcements, dates, some soft reminders about next week’s readings. The background noise of scribbling pens and laptop keys filled in the rest.

You let yourself tune in loosely, just enough to stay tethered, until—

“I want you to write something,” the professor said, her voice lifting over the murmur, “about someone in this class.”

Your head tilted slightly. That wasn’t the usual prompt.

“Doesn’t have to be literal,” she added quickly, grinning as a few groans rose up. “And it doesn’t need to be emotional or romantic, so don’t panic. Just something rooted in observation. The way someone carries themselves. A glance. A moment you noticed. Real or imagined, doesn’t matter. Just write.”

The room stirred with sudden interest. Chairs shifted. Voices rose.

You stayed where you were. It wasn’t that the assignment scared you. It was just that your brain couldn’t decide what emotion to land on lately, and the idea of having to funnel that through another person felt like a lot.

Then your professor clapped once, sharp and cheerful.

“Pair up. You don’t have to tell your partner who you’re writing about. But you do need to help them brainstorm.”

You blinked. That part hadn’t been in the fine print.

Chairs scraped. People turned to their neighbors, already half-laughing and claiming partners with ease. You glanced once to your right, then left, more out of reflex than expectation. Then—

“You,” your professor called, eyes meeting yours. “Still need someone?”

You gave a single nod, calm. She gestured past you.

“Hwang. You’re with her.”

Well, damn.

He didn’t move at first. Still a few rows behind, seated along the elevated stretch of desks. His fingers tapped a slow, barely-there rhythm on the edge of his notebook, like he was waiting to see if you’d look up first.

When you didn’t, he stood. Walked down the aisle with a kind of casual hesitation, like he wasn’t sure what to expect. And then just hovered.

You glanced up when you felt his presence at your side.

“Mind if I—?” He gestured toward the empty chair next to you, already halfway pulling it out.

You shook your head. “Go ahead.”

He sat a little too fast, the legs of the chair dragging with an unfortunate screech across the floor. Someone in front of you turned briefly at the sound. You didn’t laugh, but your smile almost gave you away.

Neither of you spoke right away. He glanced down at his notebook like he expected it to do the talking. It didn’t.

“…So,” he said after a second. “Poem. About a classmate.”

You nodded. He paused like he had more to say, then shook his head lightly. “You wanna go first? Or—wait. That makes it sound like I’m trying to dodge it.” He winced. “I just meant—”

You let out a soft laugh. “It’s fine.”

The professor had moved to the far end of the room, checking in with another group. Someone nearby kept clicking a pen like it was a nervous tic.

He gave a short nod, still unsure if he should be relieved or embarrassed.

The silence between you wasn’t tense, just unformed. Like the space before a new sketch, when the lines haven’t taken shape yet. You glanced at his notebook. He hadn’t written anything down either.

“Have someone in mind already?” you asked.

His eyes flicked up, then back to yours. “Not really. You?”

You tilted your head. “Still deciding if I wanna make someone up or not.”

That earned you a quiet smile. A real one this time. He nodded slowly, like he wasn’t expecting you to say that.

“I was thinking,” you added, “it might be easier to just write something loosely based. Not like ‘you wore a gray hoodie and sat four seats back on Thursdays,’ but more… the feeling someone gives you. You know?”

Your eyes flicked to him.

He looked at you a second longer than you expected, like he was still turning it over in his head. Then he nodded. “Yeah. That makes sense.”

It was hard to tell if he meant it or was just trying to sound agreeable, but the way he said it felt genuine. Careful, in a good way. Like he’d actually considered it.

You both drifted into writing, or at least the appearance of it. His pen hovered over the page more than it moved, tracing invisible lines that never quite landed. You caught him sneaking a glance at your notebook once, but you let it slide.

A moment passed before he added, like it had been sitting in his mouth too long, “I haven’t done a partner thing in a while. Sorry if I’m kinda…”

His voice trailed off, a hand waving vaguely like he hoped you’d fill in the blank for him.

“Awkward?” you offered, not unkindly.

His head snapped up, his mouth falling open in mock betrayal, but the spark in his eyes gave him away.

“I was gonna say a little out of practice, but yeah, that too.”

You smiled, just barely. “I don’t talk much in this class either.”

That seemed to ease something in him. His shoulders uncoiled, settling just a little.

“I’m Hyunjin, by the way,” he added after a beat, almost like the thought just caught up to him. Then, quick—“I mean, I know you know that. It’s on the roll call, obviously.”

You blinked, a soft laugh pulling out of you. “Yeah. I’ve heard.”

There was a beat where he probably could’ve moved on, but instead, he glanced at you, a little unsure. “Uh, what’s your name? I mean, I know it. But I—like… it feels different asking.”

You tilted your head, a slow grin tugging at your lips. “You already know it.”

“Yeah, but I wanna hear you say it.”

That threw you a little. You told him anyway, your name landing soft but certain between you. And when you did, he nodded, like he wanted to remember exactly how you said it.

“Okay. Cool.”

Class was still going on, but the two of you had slipped into this quiet side stream, slightly outside the flow of the room. Everyone else was still taking notes, listening to the professor, but it felt like you’d ducked into some parallel pocket of time.

You weren’t sure what you were going to write about yet. But maybe now, you had more to work with than you thought.

You glanced over at him. “What’re you majoring in?”

“Visual arts,” he said, scribbling absently in the margins of his paper.

That fit. His clothes weren’t loud or branded, but they looked chosen. Like someone who knew how colors worked or at least cared. You could picture him sketching on café napkins, or showing up to class with graphite smudged on his sleeve without noticing.

“You?”

“English,” you offered. “Not super surprising, since we’re here.”

He smiled, soft and easy. “It fits.”

It felt like the conversation might naturally end there, but then he surprised you by asking, “Do you write outside of class?”

You hesitated for a second. “Yeah. Sometimes.”

He nodded, a little too quickly, like he didn’t know what to do with his hands after asking. “Cool.”

“Do you?” you asked back, not teasing, just returning the energy.

“Yeah—uh, I do. Just for fun, though.” He shifted in his seat like he wasn’t sure where to put his hands. “Nothing serious.”

The quick glance he sent your way told you he wanted it to sound casual, but cared a little too much about how it landed.

You raised an eyebrow, like you were still deciding whether or not to believe him.

He reached for his water bottle like it was a prop he suddenly needed, unscrewing the cap, taking a sip, then pausing, realizing it was empty. He set it back down with overly careful precision, like that would somehow make the moment less awkward.

You gave him a look. “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“That. The whole…” you gestured vaguely toward the bottle, fighting a smile. “Was that supposed to be dramatic—?”

“No,” he said, sitting up straighter, ears just a little pink. “Forgot I finished it earlier.”

You nodded, feigning seriousness. “Right.”

That pulled a soft huff out of him, something close to a real laugh, but before he could say anything else, the professor called time. Pens dropped. Notebooks closed. Chairs scraped quietly against the floor as everyone started packing up, but for a second longer, Hyunjin lingered like he wasn’t quite ready to leave the conversation.

As he stood, he tapped the edge of your desk. Twice, quick and light. Just enough to pull your attention.

“I’ll… keep working on it,” he said, voice softer now. Somewhere between unsure and hopeful.

And then he headed back to his seat. Moving through the aisles, slipping back into his place like nothing had happened.

You watched him go.

Then turned to a new page in your notebook, and wrote the word: presence.

𐪞

“—I swear, he looked like he was gonna short-circuit.” You balanced a tray of clean mugs in your hands as you walked toward the dish rack. “He sat down so fast the chair made that god-awful scraping sound.”

Minho, halfway through dusting powdered sugar over a fresh batch of croissants, barked a laugh. “Please tell me someone clapped.”

“Almost. One guy turned around like he thought something fell. It was kind of tragic.”

He grinned as he moved the tray to the display case, sliding it in with practiced ease. The warmth of the bakery was a welcome contrast to the wind still sneaking through the door every time it opened. Outside, people passed with their shoulders hunched, while inside, the windows fogged gently around the edges. Jazz played low over the speakers, all saxophone and soft piano.

“What’s the guy’s name again?” Minho asked.

“Hyunjin.” you said.

Minho paused, hand still on the pastry tongs. “Wait—Hyunjin? Like, my Hyunjin?”

You blinked. “Your Hyunjin?”

He set the tongs down and leaned on the counter, eyes narrowing like he was putting pieces together. “Tall, handsome, kinda dramatic but pretends he’s not, draws a lot, goes quiet when he’s flustered?”

You stared. “...That’s weirdly accurate.”

“Oh my god,” Minho said, straightening with a wide grin. “You got paired with him?”

“I didn’t volunteer,” you said, laughing. “Our professor literally pointed at us like she was picking teams for gym class.”

Minho let out another laugh and shook his head. “That explains so much. He’s been off lately.”

You tilted your head. “Off how?”

He just gave a vague shrug and returned to wiping the counter. “Nothing. He just gets in his head. Keeps stuff to himself until he explodes in the most unhinged way possible.”

You raised a brow, amused. “So... normal?”

“Painfully.” He smiled as he passed behind you, bumping your shoulder lightly with his as he went.

That pulled a laugh from you, head ducking slightly as you dried your hands. “He’s... interesting.”

“That's a very polite way of saying what the hell is wrong with him.”

You snorted. “He wasn’t bad. Just... kind of awkward. But like, in a sincere way. Like he couldn’t help it.”

Minho made a face halfway between fond and pained. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

You shook your head, amused, wiping down the espresso machine as Minho poured steamed milk into a mug with far more focus than was probably necessary. The bell above the door jingled as another customer stepped in, and the two of you slid seamlessly into work mode. Greeting them, taking the order, moving like you’d done this together a hundred times.

You liked this part of the day. The quiet before the evening rush. The part where Minho didn’t hover, didn’t push you to talk, just let the conversation rise and fall as naturally as the light shifting across the tiles.

“I actually didn’t even say much,” you said after a pause. “Like, I wasn’t trying to be weird. But I think just existing near him stressed him out.”

Minho handed the latte to a waiting customer without missing a beat. “Sounds like he likes you.”

You blinked. “What?”

He shrugged, all fake innocence. “What? Who said that?”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t start.”

“I didn’t start,” he said, already grinning. “I’m just making an observation.”

“Well stop observing. We’re not in class.”

He chuckled, shaking his head.

The moment settled for a second. Minho’s voice cut through, quieter as he wiped his hands on a towel. “Did your dad end up calling?”

You didn’t answer immediately, hesitating. “…Yeah. Over the weekend.”

He glanced up. “And?”

You focused on the swirl of steam rising from the espresso machine. “Same thing as always. Asked about school. Then about jobs. Asked why I haven’t figured it out yet.”

“Ah,” Minho said, voice flat like a deflated balloon. “Classic hit single.”

That earned a faint smile.

As he moved past you to grab something from the lower shelf, he paused just long enough to reach up and pat the top of your head. Lightly, without ceremony.

“You’re doing fine,” he said.

You didn’t say anything. But your chest felt a little less tight than before. Suddenly—

The bell above the door slammed open with a jingle too violent to be casual.

“YAH— tell her she’s wrong!”

Changbin came barreling into the bakery like it was his second home, puffer jacket already half-off, finger pointed like he was delivering courtroom evidence.

“I didn’t even say anything yet!” Chaeryeong shouted as she followed behind him, nearly tripping over the doorframe with a bag of snacks clutched in one hand.

“No hello?” you asked, brows raised.

“Okay,” Changbin said, panting slightly. “You’re on the train. You offer your seat to someone. They decline. Do you sit back down or stand anyway out of guilt?”

“Sit down,” you said instantly.

“SEE?!” Changbin said, turning to Chaeryeong like he’d just won an Olympic medal.

She gasped. “No! You can’t sit after that. Now it’s awkward. Now they think you think they’re weak.”

You raised both brows. “You came here... to ask me that?”

“Obviously,” they both said in sync, like you were the slow one.

You blinked, then turned to Minho who just looked amused behind the espresso machine.

“Let me guess,” you said. “They’re ordering something now.”

“Croffle and a latte,” Chaeryeong said immediately. “Oh—and if you have the cinnamon twist—”

“We do,” Minho said, already writing it down. “And you owe her five dollars for emotional labor.”

The drama faded as fast as it came, the two of them now deep in an argument over which season of their favorite show was the best, half-bickering, half-laughing as they waited at their table.

Minho handed you a cup to pass over the counter. You called out the name.

A guy stepped forward to grab it. Young, most likely a student. Soft smile, the kind that aimed to be casual. He grabbed the drink, then slid a napkin across the counter. A number was scribbled on it.

Minho didn’t even blink.

His hand smacked down on the napkin so fast the customer jumped.

“She’s not collecting these right now,” Minho said, cool and unbothered, slowly dragging it back toward the espresso machine like it was a misplaced receipt, unnerving eye contact.

The guy blinked. Laughed awkwardly. “Uh... got it. Thanks.”

Once he was out of earshot, you turned, arms crossed.

“What?” he said, dragging the napkin off the counter and into the trash without breaking eye contact. “I’m protecting the peace.”

“You know that was insane behavior, right?”

“Just vetting the vibe,” Minho said.

“You crushed his confidence in one motion.”

“He’ll recover. Probably write a poem about it.”

You couldn’t even argue with that.

The jazz picked back up, the windows fogging further with the heat inside. Laughter spilled from the table where Changbin and Chaeryeong were now splitting the croffle and debating over who had the better music taste.

You turned back toward the counter just as Minho slid a drink in your direction.

“Didn’t ask for anything,” you said.

“Figured you needed one.”

You took a sip. Hot chocolate. Rich and sweet, still steaming.

“…You were right,” you murmured.

Minho didn’t look up. “Always am.”

𐪞

You dropped your bag by the door, kicked off your shoes without thinking. The air in your dorm was a bit cold, not enough to complain about, but enough to make you keep your socks on.

The lights stayed dim. Just the one beside your bed, casting a warm glow across the floorboards. You tossed your coat over the back of the chair, sleeves flopping to the floor, and wandered toward the kitchen corner to put away your groceries. One item at a time, methodical, like your brain needed something simple to latch onto.

What should’ve taken five minutes took thirty.

By the time you were done, your body felt heavier in that strangely comforting way. The kind of exhaustion that meant you were finally still. Showered. Fed. Sweats on. Nowhere else to be.

Your phone buzzed across the room, screen lighting up on your desk.

jisung: i think i left my soul in lecture today

you: it’s okay he didn’t grade that part

chae 🧡: was it the 75-minute slideshow with 300 transitions

binnie: WITH SOUND EFFECTS

jisung: bro the trumpet noise when he changed slides???

you: i thought i hallucinated that

chae 🧡: no that was real. i flinched

jisung: if he puts a slide whistle in next week i’m dropping out

binnie: no because the airplane sound? when the graph "took off"???

you: oh my god i forgot about that

jisung: i was THIS close to just standing up and leaving

chae 🧡: i think i actually blacked out during the bullet point explosion effect

you: no bc why did it sound like an m80 going off

jisung: he’s not making lectures anymore he’s making action films

binnie: i’m buying noise-canceling headphones just for this class

you: just raw dog the visuals?

jisung: survival of the fittest, every man for himself

chae 🧡: anyway whos bringing snacks tomorrow im not sitting through econ empty handed again

binnie: not me. last time my granola bar betrayed me

you: betrayed you how

binnie: the wrapper was SO LOUD i literally stopped mid-open because people turned around

jisung: rookie mistake u gotta open it during peak laughter, sound camouflage

chae 🧡: so true. snack acoustics.

you: they don’t teach you this in orientation

You laughed, a low breath of sound that barely rose above the hum of your heater. Flopped down onto your bed, pulling the covers over your legs, thumb still lazily hovering above the screen. The group chat was half comfort, half chaos. You didn’t need to contribute much. Just dropping in was enough.

You were about to close the app when another banner slid across the top of your screen.

‎ ‎ ‎ Hotline: New posts added to your recommendations.

Your thumb hovered.

You hadn’t checked the app all day. You hadn’t meant to forget it, but it had slipped beneath lectures, errands, and Jisung’s running commentary about how capitalism was killing his will to live. Still, something about the notification made your breath catch.

You opened it.

The interface bloomed into dusky colors. That soft blend of indigo and burnt orange. It always looked like a late evening sky. Quiet, fading.

You didn’t even need to scroll far. His profile sat right at the top of your feed, neatly slipped into your recommendations like the app knew.

Two new posts.

Your thumb hovered over the first one. It was time-stamped earlier that afternoon.

‎ ‎ ‎‎user024025 • 10h — i said something weird in class today. like i meant it to sound normal, and then it left my mouth and immediately committed social suicide. anyway. this is why i don’t speak unless absolutely necessary.

A soft laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it. Small, automatic. It was the kind of thing you might write down in your notes app just to get it out of your head. Something too stupid to share, but too real to delete.

Your thumb drifted down to the second post. It was newer. Less than an hour old.

‎ ‎ ‎user024025 • 32m — some days feel like static. everything buzzing, but nothing landing. couldn’t focus, couldn’t sit still. felt like i was glitching mid-sentence. but she didn’t flinch. just looked at me like i made sense anyway. smiled, even. like being a little off wasn’t the worst thing.

You read it once. Then again.

And again.

It wasn’t polished. It wasn’t dressed up like some people’s posts on the app. His words always landed that way. Like they’d been written in a rush, like he’d almost left them behind. They didn’t try to be anything. They just were.

Still, they stuck to you. They always did. And this one more than usual.

You wondered who he meant. The thought brushed against you so quickly you almost missed it. Something faint pulled at your chest. Maybe curiosity.

Your gaze flicked to the Echo button just below the post.

You knew how it worked. When you echoed something, it didn’t just show up on your feed. It stayed. The post would ripple, soft waves pulsing out from the original like a quiet thread tying you to someone you didn’t know. A notification would ping on his side, nothing detailed. Just a simple signal: someone had resonated. Someone felt it too.

Sometimes posts picked up echoes in layers, gentle soundwaves folding into each other. You’d seen it happen. The soft chime that followed, a sound that shifted with the mood, was never loud enough to interrupt but always just enough to feel. For heavier posts, it was a low, echoing bell. For lighter ones, a soft, upward chime that almost sounded like wind moving through glass.

It wasn’t something you usually did. Echoing meant it stayed. It would sit pinned to your own feed like a quiet mark you couldn’t take back. Lurking felt safer. Passing through felt easier.

But tonight, your thumb didn’t move away.

You tapped the ripple once. The animation bloomed gently, a soft wave that stretched outward and settled again. You tapped it a second time, just to feel the weight of it.

And before you could think about it too long, you followed him.

There was a space for a note, something small you could leave behind. People used it for quick thoughts, one-sentence replies that layered over time, quiet annotations shared between strangers. Most people said something. A word. A question. Sometimes whole sentences if they were feeling brave.

But you didn’t write anything. Just… something.

note to @ ‎user024025 • now — 🩶

Simple. Wordless. Nothing that could be misread. Nothing that could be traced.

You stared at it for a second longer than you should have, then locked your phone and set it face-down on the blanket next to you. The soft weight of it sat against your palm.

You turned onto your back and stared up at the ceiling. The quiet of your room pressed in around you.

You didn’t know what this was. You weren’t sure you wanted to. But still—you closed your eyes with a soft, aching pull in your chest and let yourself drift until the edges of it slipped away.

𐪞

If there was one thing that always brought Hyunjin back down to earth whenever his mind got the best of him, it was art.

Not in the lofty, vague way people often meant when they wrote about it in bios or pretended to feel in museums. He meant it literally. The drag of graphite across textured paper. The slight resistance of canvas under a brush. The weight of a pencil in his hand, familiar and grounding. The shift in the air when he locked into focus and the world got quiet. It was his reset button. Always had been.

In those moments, his thoughts didn’t vanish, but they softened. Became something he could sit with.

Tonight, he needed that quiet.

A half-finished still life sat before him, shadows and shapes slowly sharpening under the glow of his desk lamp. The warmth pooled across the page like a spotlight, soft and deliberate.

The dorm was calm, save for the low hum of a lofi playlist playing from Chan’s speaker. Some mix they’d agreed on ages ago. Chan sat across from him, hunched over his laptop like always, editing something with one earbud in and the other dangling by his shoulder. Comfortable silence.

Hyunjin had just showered. Damp hair clung to his forehead, shirt collar brushing against still-cooling skin. His knee bounced under the desk, restless and wired. He was trying to draw, really, but his mind refused to cooperate.

Exams loomed. Supplies were still unbought. Three still lifes were due before the week ended. And then there was poetry class. His pencil paused mid-stroke. He was genuinely considering skipping next time, just to avoid the fallout from earlier. From you.

God. You.

You hadn’t even done anything dramatic. You’d just talked to him. Looked at him with this kind of soft, steady ease like you weren’t afraid of what you’d find there. Like you saw something worth addressing.

And that alone had left his brain in the blender.

He slouched deeper into his chair with a quiet groan, hand scrubbing through his hair. “I need to get a grip,” he muttered to no one.

Chan glanced up but didn’t say anything. Just gave a barely-there nod like: same here, man. Then went back to editing.

Hyunjin leaned back, stretching his arms overhead. Tried to shake it off. It was stupid. He didn’t even know you. Not really.

You’d always been in the periphery. First in lit, then in poetry. He barely noticed you at first. But once he did, it was like your presence had carved out space in his brain without asking. The way you laughed with your friends. The way you only spoke when it mattered. The way you looked quieter when the sky was gray.

It made no sense. And yet, somehow, it made all the sense in the world.

That was just how his mind worked. Half artist, half hopeless romantic. He could fall in love with a passing glance, obsess over a fleeting moment, turn a single expression into a whole scene he couldn’t stop replaying. Not in a dramatic way. Just in that quiet, gnawing way where small things felt sharp.

He shook himself from the thought and returned to his sketchpad, shading aimlessly. Chan was still editing, head tilted in concentration. Their “working shift,” as they called it. Muted playlists, shared snacks, the comfortable rhythm of existing next to someone without needing to talk.

The quiet didn’t last.

His phone buzzed beside him, a soft chime that cut clean through. He blinked, set his pencil down, and reached for it, already feeling the shift in the air before he even looked.

‎ ‎ ‎ Hotline: You have 1+ new followers, Someone echoed your post, @ user074320 left a note.

Something about it made his chest tighten. Too specific to be nothing, too random to mean something. Still, curiosity tugged at him. So, he tapped the alert.

The post loaded up. His own words, floating under that familiar color gradient. There, near the top of the thread, was the new note: a single gray heart.

No text. No flourish. Just a symbol, still and quiet and maybe even a little sad. His finger moved without much thought, tapping the note, which led him to the profile that had left it. That’s when he saw it.

The profile picture.

A cat. One he felt like he’d seen before. Familiar in the strangest way, but just out of reach.

The bio was short.

‎ ‎ ‎ “brain and heart full” | she/her

Something about it felt… unfiltered. Not cryptic, not curated. Just quietly present.

He scrolled slowly, like touching anything too quickly might ruin the feeling. Posts littered the page, text entries and voice notes scattered like thoughts left behind. It wasn’t curated. It was lived-in. Like someone used the app the way it was meant to be used. Not to impress, but to exist.

His thumb paused over the most recent voice post. He pressed play without realizing. Silence first. Then a breath. A heater humming in the background.

Then—

"…Dostoevsky once said, ‘It is better to be unhappy and know the worst, than to be happy in a fool’s paradise.”

Hyunjin’s heart stuttered. His eyes widened, breath stalling. The voice was low, thoughtful. A little amused.

“…Which is dramatic as hell for a guy who’s been dead since the 1800s, but like, he was definitely onto something.”

He jolted, sitting back like the words had physically knocked him. His hand scrambled to pause the post, thumb shaky on the screen.

“Holy shit—” he breathed, heartbeat lurching in his chest.

He practically launched backward from his desk, pencil clattering to the floor. His whole body buzzed, caught somewhere between panic and disbelief. It wasn’t just hearing your voice, it was the way it filled the room. Close and clear, like you were standing right there beside him.

Chan looked up instantly, yanking out his earbud. “Yo? You good?”

Hyunjin didn’t answer. He was already pacing, dragging a hand through his hair as if it might ground him.

“Oh my god. Oh my god. I think I’m gonna pass out.”

Chan straightened, the humor draining from his face. “What? What’s wrong?”

Hyunjin spun toward him, wild-eyed, holding up his phone like it was a detonator. “It’s her. Chan, it’s her. She followed me. She echoed my post. She left the—” he shook the phone, as if words alone weren’t enough, “—the little gray heart thing.”

Chan blinked, trying to follow. “Who?”

“The girl. From my seminar. The one I told you about. The one I got paired with for the writing thing.”

Chan’s face stayed blank. “…Okay?”

“I don’t even know how to explain this,” Hyunjin groaned, pacing faster now. “I’ve been like… maybe-sort-of-definitely spiraling about her all semester and now, she’s read my posts. She followed me.”

The last part came out in full caps, despite the fact he meant to whisper it.

Chan just stared. “Wait, wait, wait. Let me see the profile.”

Hyunjin all but threw his phone across the room.

Chan caught it, his eyes darting over the screen. Two seconds in, his eyes widened. “Bro.”

“What?” Hyunjin’s stomach dropped. “What?”

“Isn’t that—” Chan pointed at the profile picture. “Isn’t that Soonie?”

Hyunjin stared, confused, his brain buffering.

And then—

“OH MY GOD.”

He snatched the phone back, squinting at the image. Soft orange and white fur. The smug little face. The faintest tilt of a cat’s head that screamed superiority.

It was Soonie. Minho’s cat.

Minho, who did not casually share cat photos with just anyone. Minho, who only sent Soonie pics to people he liked.

“She knows Minho?!” Hyunjin yelped, his voice pitching high in disbelief.

Chan looked like someone had just told him the world was a simulation. “No way. This is literally a crossover episode.”

Hyunjin dropped onto his bed like gravity had doubled. “I’m gonna cry.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m not. I’m emotionally compromised.”

Chan snorted, grinning now. He leaned over to glance at the profile again. “Soooo? What’re you gonna do?”

Hyunjin stared at the ceiling like it held answers. “I have no idea. But whatever I was gonna do tonight… that’s canceled.”

He sat up suddenly. “Wait. What if she knows it’s me?”

“Why would she?” Chan asked, barely phased.

“I mean, not all of them were about her, but like, some of the stuff I said…” Hyunjin started flipping through his own profile, eyes wide with horror. “What if it was obvious?”

Chan raised an eyebrow. “I mean, it’s not like you wrote her name.”

Hyunjin groaned into his hands. “Okay, but I was so specific. Like weirdly specific.”

Chan snorted. “You mean poetic.”

“It wasn’t even that poetic.”

He shrugged. “It was a little poetic. It just wasn’t subtle.”

“I wasn’t trying to be subtle!” Hyunjin dragged his hands through his hair, still spiraling. “I didn’t think she’d ever see it.”

“But she did,” Chan reminded him, tapping the phone. “She followed you. Echoed your post. Saw it, and didn’t run for the hills.”

Hyunjin peeked at him through his fingers. “Do you think she liked it?”

Chan shrugged. “She didn’t block you. That’s something.”

Hyunjin dropped his hands into his lap, head falling back in defeat. “This is worse than freshman studio critiques.”

Chan leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “Okay, but hypothetically if she does know it’s you, is that bad?”

Hyunjin hesitated.

Then shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe? Yes? What if she thinks I’m weird?”

“So? You are weird,” Chan deadpanned.

Hyunjin glared at him. “Thank you.”

“But like… endearing weird.”

Hyunjin rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. He sat up slowly, phone clenched in both hands like it might disappear. “I didn’t think she even noticed me. Like outside of class. I always thought she just—” He paused, his throat tightening unexpectedly. “I don’t know. I thought I was background noise.”

Chan watched him for a second, then asked, more gently this time, “How long have you been into her?”

Hyunjin’s shoulders slumped. “Since the start of the semester. She sits a few rows ahead of me in lit. Always looks like she’s about to say something but never does. I don’t know, she just—”

His voice trailed off as he glanced over. “Are you even listening?”

Chan hummed, pretending to jot notes. “Keep going. These are solid lyrics. You’ll thank me when you’re famous.”

“Shut up.”

But Hyunjin’s mouth twitched, the smallest smile breaking through the panic.

He was too busy staring at the screen again. Your profile open, your posts still lingering. The little bio, the voice note that he couldn’t stop replaying in his head, like his brain was trying to burn it into memory before it could disappear.

“And if she knows Minho…” He flung the phone onto his bed like it had personally offended him.

Chan didn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, no chance. Have you seen that guy’s side profile—”

“Don’t say that,” Hyunjin groaned, dragging a pillow to his chest like he could physically shield himself from reality. “What if she read everything?”

“She one hundred percent did.”

Hyunjin buried his face in the pillow. “She knows I sketch people in class. She knows about my ex.”

Chan nodded solemnly. “You’re emotionally naked. Congrats.”

Hyunjin flopped onto his back, letting out a strangled sound. “I can never show my face in class again.”

“You have to show your face.”

“I physically can’t.”

“You’re literally writing a poem about her.”

“DON’T remind me.”

Chan lost it at that, laughing so hard he had to pull his hoodie over his face to muffle it.

Hyunjin just groaned louder, sinking deeper into the pillow, fully committed to his spiral. The room settled again. The kind of quiet that hangs when something real is about to surface.

“…Do you think she’d like me?” The words came out small, barely above a whisper, like Hyunjin wasn’t sure he wanted the answer.

Chan slowly lowered his hoodie, the grin softening. “Why wouldn’t she? You’re a good guy.”

Hyunjin didn’t answer right away. His thumb traced slow circles along the seam of the pillow, thinking, picking at the edge like it could offer a distraction.

“Yeah, but… I don’t know. What if it’s not enough?” His voice was steady, but there was a rawness tucked just beneath it. “What if I’m just this… collection of almosts?”

Chan tilted his head, his gaze steady but soft. “She sat with you. Talked with you. Shared something. Gave you her name. She even followed you.”

Each thing landed quietly, but with weight.

“She didn’t have to do any of that,” Chan added. “But she did. That’s something.”

Hyunjin looked at the screen again. That little gray heart sat there, faint and quiet, like a secret only he knew how to read.

Something cracked open in Hyunjin’s chest.

He exhaled, long and heavy, like he didn’t know how else to carry the feeling. “…What am I supposed to do with that?”

Chan stretched, grabbing the hoodie from his chair and tossing it to him. “You sit with it. You don’t freak out. And maybe…” He smiled a little. “Maybe you think about what you’d say if you weren’t trying to hide.”

Hyunjin caught the hoodie, turning it over in his hands like it could offer an answer. His eyes flicked back to your profile one last time, thumb hovering over the screen. He didn’t press anything else. Not yet.

But his mind was already rewriting what he might say.

𐪞

“I’m just saying, there’s definitely a hot guy behind that profile,” Chaeryeong insisted, grabbing a small basket as you both stepped into Lunevelle.

The plaza hummed with that easy, midweek kind of life. Lazy string lights swaying above patio chairs, low music drifting from a nearby café, the scent of roasted peanuts and expensive cologne tangled in the air. You tugged your sleeves over your hands, letting Chaeryeong lead the way as you filled her in on the Hotline situation.

Inside, Lunevelle gleamed in that curated, chaotic way: rows of glosses like tiny potions, shelves lined with serums stacked like artifacts, soft bursts of laughter as people swatched eyeshadows and debated undertones. It felt like stepping into another universe. One where real problems didn’t exist. Just hydrating primers and glitter.

“Someone who posts like that?” Chaeryeong said, slipping past a wall of toners with scary precision. "Definitely at least a 7.5. Minimum."

You raised an eyebrow, flipping a hand cream tester between your fingers. “You’re just inventing stats now.”

“Not at all,” she replied, scanning cleansers like she was decoding a map. “Guys who can write? Rare. Like, golden retriever who files taxes rare.”

You trailed after her, amused, as she turned a corner. Everything sparkled here. The floor, the lipstick rows, the mirror-lined shelves whispering buy it, you’ll be a better person. You picked up a random lip balm just to feel less like a bystander.

Chaeryeong stopped in front of a display of perfumes, eyes lighting up. “Wait. You need a signature scent.”

You blinked. "Do I?"

“Yes.” She spritzed a card and handed it to you like she was passing judgment. “You’re entering your mysterious era. Hotline boy requires olfactory intrigue.”

You took a cautious sniff and immediately recoiled. “Chae. This smells like expensive heartbreak.”

“Exactly,” she said, completely unfazed. “Emotional damage, but make it luxury.”

You choked on a laugh and reached for the rollerball version of your usual scent, dropping it into her basket.

Chaeryeong looped her arm through yours, steering you toward makeup like a woman on a mission. “Okay, but be serious. He followed you back. That’s basically a soft launch. You have to get married now.”

“That is not how any of this works,” you said, half-laughing.

She ignored you, already swatching lipsticks across the back of her hand with the intensity of a pro. “What’s his vibe? If you had to guess.”

You thought about it. “Quiet. Smart. Probably has good hands.”

Chaeryeong froze, halfway through swatching. “Pause. What do hands have to do with this?”

You shrugged. “Writers. Artists. Same difference. Nice hands.”

She blinked at you. Then burst into laughter so loud a worker down the aisle glanced over. “You are so gone,” she wheezed.

“I’m not,” you muttered, cheeks warming.

“Denial,” she said, adding a sheer gloss to the basket. “First stage of love.”

Then she found a heart-shaped blush compact and gasped like she’d discovered treasure. “Tell me this isn’t the cutest thing you’ve ever seen,” she said, cradling it like a newborn.

You peered at it. “It’s you. In makeup form. Small, dramatic, overpriced.”

She gasped dramatically, clutching it to her chest. “How dare you. I’m at least reasonably priced.”

Your laughter spilled over both of you as you wandered toward the mini skincare section. She picked up a travel-sized moisturizer and squinted at the label.

“Ten dollars?” she hissed. “It’s the size of a single Tic Tac.”

“Capitalism thrives on our despair,” you said dryly, tossing a mini sunscreen into the basket. “If I’m going broke, I’m dragging you with me.”

She grinned. “That’s the spirit.”

At some point, Chaeryeong slowed in front of a mirror, pretending to adjust her hair with exaggerated focus. You caught the flicker in her eyes. Strategic.

She wasn’t admiring her reflection. She was scanning.

You followed her gaze, subtle as you could. Near the cologne section, a guy was testing out a line of scents. Tall. Sharp jawline. Long black coat that moved when he did. A baseball cap pushed back over dark hair, revealing enough to catch your attention but not enough to give much away.

Chaeryeong elbowed you so hard you nearly knocked over a display of mini mascara wands.

“Target acquired,” she whispered, dead serious.

You raised an eyebrow. “Do you want me to wingwoman you or…?”

She waved you off, eyes still fixed on him through the mirror. “Please. I just want to observe from a safe, non-humiliating distance.”

“Oh, good,” you deadpanned. “Stalking. The foundation of every stable relationship.”

“Exactly,” she said, beaming. “Academia could never teach me this level of social maneuvering.”

You shook your head, smiling as you guided her away before she developed a backstory and assigned him a name. She kept sneaking glances over her shoulder like she was tracking a rare bird, nearly tripping over a stray basket left on the ground.

At checkout, she dumped both your hauls onto the counter like she was unloading a smuggled artifact. Travel-sized everything. A rollerball perfume. A suspiciously expensive blush you definitely didn’t need but had somehow ended up holding like it had chosen you.

“New plan,” she declared, nudging your arm as the cashier began scanning items. “Post-haul ramen. I’m starving.”

You blinked. “We were in here for thirty minutes.”

“And yet,” she said, solemn, placing a dramatic hand over her chest. “My body cries out for noodles.”

You stifled a laugh. “Fine. But you’re buying my drink.”

“Done.” She handed the cashier her card with flair, like it was her credit card and her resignation letter. “Just don’t tell Changbin. He still thinks I’m saving money.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your mouth. Somehow, the stress of the week felt lighter, tucked between perfume samples and the promise of warm food.

Outside, the night had cooled.

The sky was clear now, the rain from earlier leaving the pavement damp and gleaming under the soft light of the plaza. Your bags swung gently at your sides as you stepped into the evening air, your breath misting slightly in the cold.

You weren’t even five steps out before someone collided into your shoulder.

Three figures.

You staggered slightly, blinking against the sudden blur, only to hear a gasp so dramatic it could’ve ended an episode.

"Changbin!" Chaeryeong cried, clutching her shopping bag to her chest. “We literally manifested you.”

Changbin looked vaguely alarmed. “That sounds… dangerous,” he said, laughing as he shifted back a step, giving you both room.

Chan was just behind him, hoodie zipped halfway, hands stuffed into his pockets like he’d been waiting to be amused. He gave a polite nod, eyes flicking to your bags.

Hyunjin lingered a few paces back. Shoulders slightly hunched. Hood up. His posture was looser than usual, but his hands were fidgeting with the sleeve of his coat, tugging at a thread that probably didn’t exist.

He looked like someone deciding between walking home or vanishing into the sidewalk now that you’d seen him.

You offered the group a sheepish smile. “Sorry for the collision.”

“All good,” Chan said easily, giving you a grin that felt familiar in the way coffee shops and study playlists were. He nodded toward the haul in your hands. “Retail therapy?”

“At its most expensive,” you joked.

“I regret nothing,” Chaeryeong added, shifting her shopping bags like she was carrying treasure.

Then her eyes lit up. “Wait, this actually works out. We were literally about to hunt for food.”

At the word, Changbin’s head snapped up like someone had summoned him by name. “Food?” he repeated, already halfway invested.

“Ramen,” Chaeryeong said with a nod, like she was offering a sacred truth. “Few shops down. Cozy, life-changing, slightly overpriced. Want in?”

You caught it in the corner of your eye. Hyunjin, still quiet, still standing just outside the circle. His fingers shifted on the strap of his bag, but his gaze flicked up at the mention of ramen. Not quite a smile. Just a flicker.

“I’m in,” Changbin said, already turning in the direction of the restaurant like a man with purpose.

Chan looked between you and the rest, hands still tucked into his hoodie pockets. “You guys mind if we crash?”

You shrugged, already smiling. “The more the merrier.”

“Perfect,” Chaeryeong said before anyone could second-guess it. She looped her arm through yours with flair. “Let’s go.”

So you did.

Just like that, you were all walking down the plaza together, a slightly chaotic little group drifting past late-night shops and glowing storefronts.

The ramen place sat tucked at the far end, half-hidden behind hanging lanterns and a dark wood façade. It looked like it belonged somewhere much fancier than a college plaza. The kind of place that felt secret once you stepped inside.

The door swung open with a soft chime.

Inside, the world shifted.

Warm air hit your face, thick with the scent of slow-cooked broth and toasted sesame oil. Golden light hung low from paper lamps, painting the wooden walls in a honeyed glow. Most of the noise stayed outside. This space held only hushed voices, the gentle clink of bowls, and the soft shuffle of slippers against floorboards.

Some tables sat open near the front, but the real charm was deeper inside. Alcoves tucked behind narrow dividers, each with a sunken table and thick floor cushions. It looked more like a dream than a college late-night dinner.

The hostess greeted you all with a soft smile, hands folded politely. After a few beats of mild chaos—mostly Chaeryeong trying to convince her that “five can totally squeeze into one booth, I swear”—you were led toward the back, past hanging noren curtains and a gently humming heater.

The floor dipped slightly into the recessed area, and the heat beneath your socks was immediate.

“Take off your shoes,” Chaeryeong whispered like it was a secret, already kicking hers off and sliding in with practiced ease.

You followed, stepping carefully over the threshold and tucking your shoes neatly to the side, the warmth of the floor making you relax without thinking.

The seating settled naturally, like a puzzle clicking into place: you in the middle, with Chaeryeong on your left and Chan on your right. Across from you, Changbin spooled out into his seat like a cat, already messing with the paper napkin holder. And Hyunjin slipped in beside him, careful not to jostle the table.

Somehow, it didn’t feel crowded. It felt intimate. The divider muted the rest of the restaurant, turning your corner into a private bubble of clinking spoons and soft lighting. The lamp above your table glowed amber, casting halos across every sleeve and half-shadowed smile.

As soon as you were seated, the chaos started again.

Changbin dove in immediately. “Okay, so explain to me how you almost broke Lunevelle, Chae.”

She exhaled dramatically, tugging at the sleeves of her sweater like it was part of the story. “I almost tripped because I was distracted by love.”

“Love?” Changbin raised a brow, clearly entertained. “What, did a highlighter call your name?”

Chaeryeong swatted his arm. “No, idiot. A guy. And how do you even know what a highlighter is?”

“YAH, I’m not illiterate—”

You snorted into your sleeve, the edges of your menu curling slightly in your hands. Their voices were overlapping now, sparring with ease and rhythm like they’d been doing this forever.

“You should’ve seen him,” Chaeryeong went on, eyes wide. “Tall. Black coat. Hair that looked illegal.”

Changbin gagged. “Illegal hair. Fantastic. I’ll alert the authorities.”

Chan chuckled low beside you, and you turned toward the sound, half-curious. He looked relaxed, arm resting on the low table, eyes squinting a little with the smile.

"Is he like this around you too?" you asked, tilting your head toward Changbin.

“Unfortunately.” Chan leaned into his palm, still grinning. “We’ve known each other too long. I can’t take him anywhere.”

You laughed under your breath, your thumb tracing the edge of your menu. “Figured. You two in the same major or something?”

Chan shook his head. “Nah. Different departments. Just found each other early. Stuck, I guess.”

There was something easy about the way he said it. Like it didn’t need to be deeper than that. And you liked that. The idea that some people just stayed because they wanted to, not because they had to.

“What about you?” he asked. “What’s your major?”

“English,” you said, fiddling with the corner of your napkin. “Technically literature, but same deal.”

“Ahh.” He nodded like something had clicked. “Explains the bookstore energy.”

You blinked. "The what?"

He gave a half-laugh, more like a confession.

“Bookstore energy. You know, like you’re always about to recommend a novel that’ll emotionally destroy me, but in a character-building kind of way.”

You stared at him, then cracked up, half-embarrassed. “I don’t know if that’s a compliment or a red flag.”

“Both,” he said easily, his grin widening. “But I mean it in a good way.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but before you could, another voice chimed in. Quieter, a little hesitant.

"What kind of stuff do you read?" Hyunjin asked.

Your eyes flicked up, surprised to find him watching you.

His fingers played absently with the hem of his sleeve under the table, and his voice, though soft, carried easily in the cozy space.

You tilted your head slightly. “A little of everything. Lately… mostly poetry, I guess.”

Hyunjin nodded slowly, like he wasn’t surprised. Like he’d already guessed that. Like maybe he’d been waiting to hear you say it out loud.

You tried not to think about how still he looked when he was listening. Or how the space between you across the table suddenly felt more noticeable than it had five minutes ago.

“And you?” you asked gently, because it felt right to return the question.

He shrugged, gaze dropping to the table. “Sketchbooks. Notebooks. Whatever fits.”

His voice was light, but the tension in his shoulders gave him away. Like he was trying not to sound like he cared too much about the answer.

You smiled, soft. "That's fair."

The conversation could’ve ended there. Should’ve, probably. But somehow, it didn’t.

Chan leaned in a little, his shoulder brushing yours. “You guys have the same poetry seminar, right?”

You blinked. "Yeah. How’d you—"

"Hyunjin mentioned it." Chan smiled innocently.

Your stomach dipped, just slightly. The kind of shift you feel before anything’s actually said. You glanced at Hyunjin. He didn’t look up. Just traced the edge of his chopsticks along the table, like they might draw a line he could disappear behind.

Beside you, Chaeryeong popped back into the conversation like she hadn’t just been arguing about the superior gyoza dipping sauce. “Speaking of tragic poetry—do you think Mystery Coat Guy is thinking about me right now?”

Changbin didn’t miss a beat. “He’s probably filing a restraining order.”

“You’re evil,” she said, launching a paper napkin at him with perfect aim.

You ducked your head, laughing softly into your hands as their voices tangled together again, warm and too familiar to fully tune out. Somewhere in the middle of all that, you risked another glance across the table.

Hyunjin wasn’t looking at you. But his hands stilled. Just for a second. Just long enough for you to wonder what that meant.

In the background, Chaeryeong had declared war over appetizers.

“I swear on my mother, Bin, we are not ordering plain edamame again—”

“It’s healthy!”

“It’s depressing!”

Chan raised a hand like a weary coach breaking up a team fight. “Split the order. Half gyoza, half… whatever Changbin’s weird health phase is.”

“I accept these terms,” Chaeryeong said, nodding solemnly like she was signing a treaty.

The waitress returned mid-laugh, clearly amused by the chaos, dropping off thick menus and a wooden clipboard for drinks. Changbin snatched the list with the determination of a man making history.

“Okay, team,” he announced, tapping it against the table. “We have a decision to make. Shots?”

You nearly choked. “Changbin. We haven’t even ordered food yet.”

“Exactly.” He looked dead serious. “Empty stomach. Maximum efficiency.”

“You’re going to pass out before the noodles even show up,” Chaeryeong muttered, raising an eyebrow.

Chan shrugged. “One round won’t kill us.”

You and Chaeryeong exchanged a glance. The kind that spoke in full sentences.

She sighed like she was giving in to fate. “Fine. One round. But we’re ordering actual food first before Changbin’s spirit leaves his body.”

Menus were passed. Orders were shouted over each other. Someone demanded extra broth; someone else lobbied for dessert mid-meal. The entire table fell into a kind of organized chaos that only made sense among people who felt safe with each other.

The heater against the wall filled the alcove with slow, gentle warmth. One by one, people started shedding layers. Chan shrugging out of his thick jacket, Changbin tossing his hoodie beside him, Chaeryeong stretching out her legs with a dramatic sigh as she slid off her fuzzy cardigan.

You pushed your sleeves up, tucking your legs beneath you, comfortably folded into the glow. The playlist hummed softly through overhead speakers. A slow roll of Japanese city pop, syrupy basslines and dreamy vocals giving everything that floaty, out-of-time feeling.

When the drinks arrived, a neat row of shot glasses and a bottle of soju that looked far too unassuming for what it was about to unleash, Changbin clapped once, loud enough to startle a nearby table.

“Alright! Round one, let’s go!” he declared, already pouring like an enthusiastic bartender with zero training.

“Wait—” Chan reached for his glass. “Drumroll. It’s law.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Drumroll!”

Chaeryeong immediately started smacking the table like she was in a percussion ensemble. You joined in, then Chan, the rhythm gaining speed until even Hyunjin caved and tapped a lazy beat with his knuckles, a half-hidden smile curling at the edges of his mouth.

Changbin raised his shot glass like he was about to deliver a campaign speech. “To retail therapy, ramen survival, and future mistakes we can blame on peer pressure!”

“Cheers!” everyone chorused, the clink of glass sharp and bright before the burn hit your throat.

It was smooth. Sweet at first, then sharp as it settled. You winced just slightly, and when your eyes flicked up, you caught Hyunjin watching you, the corner of his mouth quirking into something crooked and unreadable.

Food arrived in waves. Bowls of steaming ramen, plates of crispy karaage, glistening gyoza, and enough side dishes to make the table creak. Everyone leaned in, elbows bumping, sleeves rolled, stealing bites and swapping side-eyes when someone went in for seconds.

Somewhere between noodle slurps and laughter, Changbin struck with zero warning.

“So,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and leaning in like this was about to be classified information. “I’ve got tea.”

Everyone immediately went silent, heads snapping toward him. Even Chaeryeong lowered her chopsticks. “What level of tea?” she asked suspiciously.

Changbin looked around theatrically, despite no one in the restaurant paying them any attention. Then, in a voice so serious it could’ve passed for academic, he said, “You guys know Wooyoung, right? Works the front desk at the campus gym?”

Chaeryeong sat up straighter. “The Wooyoung? Trainer, flirts with everyone, weirdly good at dance?”

“Yeah, him.”

“Okay?” you said slowly. “What about him?”

Changbin exhaled, like this physically pained him to hold in. “Apparently, he got caught hooking up with one of the student coordinators. During a wellness event.”"

You choked on your water. “During?! Like, mid-yoga?!”

“Not in the class,” Changbin clarified, “but like, ten minutes before his scheduled shift. In the storage room.”

“No,” Chaeryeong whispered, scandalized. “The one with the mats?!”

“The very one,” Changbin said, solemn as ever.

Chan let out a sharp laugh. “Man really said mind, body, and soul.”

“And the worst part,” Changbin continued, lowering his voice even more, “is the student coordinator was already dating someone. Long-term. Like three-year relationship. Everyone thought they were going to graduate and move in together.”

“Nooooo,” Chaeryeong moaned, clapping a hand over her mouth. “You’re lying.”

“I wish I was,” Changbin said, looking deeply pleased with himself.

“Who told you this?” you asked, stunned.

“I have sources,” he replied cryptically, sipping his water like it was wine.

“You’re the worst,” Chaeryeong said, practically vibrating. “But also, give me names.”

“I value my life too much.”

“Coward.”

Laughter crackled around the table again, louder this time, more unhinged. The kind that makes your cheeks hurt and your chest feel warmer than the soju ever could.

As the buzz settled back into the glow, the playlist shifted. Something breezy and sparkling, the kind of upbeat tempo that made your feet itch to move. You barely had time to register it before Chaeryeong turned to you with a gleam in her eye.

“Come on,” she said, grabbing your wrist. “Dance break.”

“Wait—what—no, no—”

But she was already pulling you from the booth, into the small open space near the front of the restaurant where a few other diners were casually swaying in their seats. The lights blurred slightly from the alcohol and warmth, and the air pulsed with synths and sugar-sweet vocals.

Chaeryeong twirled you clumsily, both of you laughing like kids at a sleepover. You stumbled over your own feet, tipsy and too full, dizzy from the sudden movement and everything that had led up to this moment.

From the table, Changbin whooped like a proud father filming his child’s recital. Chan banged his hand on the table like he was front row at a concert.

And Hyunjin—

He wasn’t laughing, but he was watching. Smiling, yes, but not like he was entertained. Like he was remembering. His chin rested in his hand, hair falling slightly into his eyes, and for a long, steady beat, his gaze never left you.

You felt your pulse stutter. You almost missed a step.

When the song faded and you and Chaeryeong stumbled back, breathless and flushed, Changbin immediately shoved his phone in your face. “Behold: cinema,” he said, showing you the wobbly video. “You’re welcome.”

You lunged for the phone. “Delete it right now or I will throw it into the broth.”

“Justice for the arts!” he cried, holding it out of reach.

“You’re both insane,” Chan said, but he was laughing too, his face crinkled with warmth.

More shots were poured. More toasts shouted—to surviving exams, to not texting your ex, to chaotic retail purchases that may or may not fix your life.

It was one of those rare, glowing nights. The kind that doesn’t become a memory so much as a feeling. Soft around the edges. Warm at the center. A small collection of golden hours folded into the corners of your chest.

As the night wound down, shoes were pulled back on with lazy groans and wobbly balance, receipts were stuffed into pockets, and the group spilled out of the restaurant in a loose, slightly tipsy drift.

The air outside was sharp with the bite of early nightfall. It kissed your cheeks, slipping into the spaces left behind by the restaurant’s warmth, making you pull your sleeves down again without thinking.

Chaeryeong and Changbin immediately launched into a half-serious argument about the nearest convenience store.

“I know it’s down this way,” she insisted, already marching in the wrong direction.

“I have the map app open right now,” Changbin groaned. “Trust the system!”

“You are the system, and I don’t trust you,” she replied without missing a beat.

They veered off down the sidewalk, still bickering. Chan lingered behind with you, hands in his pockets, exhaling slowly like he wasn’t ready to break the night apart just yet.

He leaned a little closer, not enough to invade your space, just enough to make it easier to hear his voice. “Hey,” he said, casual. “Let me get your number? Just in case. Group stuff. Or whatever else.”

You smiled, a little flushed from the drinks, a little warm from the moment, and handed him your phone. He typed his number in, then added a little star emoji next to his name, holding it up like it was official documentation. “There,” he said. “Now I sparkle.”

As you slid your phone back into your pocket, something caught your eye. A flicker of movement just past the soft glow of the restaurant window. Hyunjin.

He stood a few feet away, just near a small flower stand tucked between the ramen shop and a dimly lit store. The bouquets were cheap, wrapped in plastic, cellophane crinkling in the breeze, but his hand hovered over them gently. Fingertips brushing along the edge of a petal like he didn’t even know he was doing it.

He looked distant, untethered. Like someone replaying the night in his head before it had even ended.

You hesitated. Then, before you could second-guess it, you walked toward him. “Hey,” you said softly.

He turned, eyes widening slightly, like you’d pulled him back from somewhere else entirely. His hair shifted in the breeze, falling into his eyes before he pushed it away with a lazy flick.

You held up your phone, the screen glowing faintly in the dark. “Mind if I get your number too?”

For a second, he just stared at you. And then he smiled. Not the polite one. Not the cautious, halfway-there version he gave most people. This one was quiet, almost shy.

“Yeah,” he said. “Of course.”

You passed him your phone, and he typed in his number slowly, like he wanted to get it right. His hands were graceful, slightly cold when they brushed yours as he handed it back. You glanced down. A little black heart sat next to his name.

From the corner of your eye, you caught Chan watching, a barely-there smirk tugging at his mouth, but you didn’t acknowledge it. Couldn’t.

Hyunjin tucked his hands into the pockets of his jacket, half-looking at you, half-looking away. “See you in class?”

“Yeah,” you said, breath catching in your throat. “See you.”

And for the first time that night, maybe for the first time since you met, he looked at you like he wanted to. Not like he was trying to figure you out, or keep a distance.

But like the space between you didn’t feel so uncertain anymore.

The others were starting to regroup down the street, Chaeryeong shouting something about chocolate milk while Changbin protested dramatically in the background.

You turned to go, but paused—glancing back over your shoulder. Hyunjin hadn’t moved. But he was still watching.

You jogged back toward the group, where Chaeryeong immediately looped an arm around your shoulders like you hadn’t just had a moment that rearranged the molecules in your lungs.

“Let’s go get milk,” she mumbled, sleepy and satisfied. “And water. Lots of water. I feel like a raisin.”

You laughed, letting her lean into you. But the laughter didn’t erase it. That hum in your chest, that electric thread stretched taut in the space behind you.

Still tugging.

Waiting.

As you walked farther down the street, the sounds of your friends blending into background noise, you heard quiet footsteps behind you. Chan and Hyunjin had fallen into step together.

Chan bumped his shoulder gently into Hyunjin’s, voice low but amused. “You gonna pretend that didn’t just happen?”

Hyunjin gave him a small, lopsided smile. “I’m not pretending anything.”

Chan nodded like he already knew. Then, softer, almost teasing. “She’s got bookstore energy, huh?”

Hyunjin looked ahead, expression unreadable, but the smile stayed.

“Yeah.”

゜・．・ hope you enjoyed! want to support?

part two • follow/reblog • leave a request • my other works

🏷️ ‎ @kkatsvy‎‎ ‎ ( ty for the support on starting this acc, love you sm )

[yanderedrabbles]

Letter from your Yandere Valentine

You. You. It's always been you. Tempting, treacherous you.

God, I hated you at first. Always so pretty, so put together, so fucking alive. You had it all - the friends, the good grades, the effortless charm.

Every damn day I would spend hours imagining what it would be like to have just one day in your body. Just one day where I could be... perfect. Or as close to it as one person can get. You don't get it. You've never had to long for something as much as I have. Never had to be the loser, the kid at the back of class, the one person without a Valentine's card in their locker.

I know you had your own problems too. But it's total bull to say all problems are created equal. What did you have to worry about? Denting daddy's Mercedes?

I hated you. But... I wanted you. I still want you.

We ended up at the same college. I don't think you know that. Thousands of undergrads, why would you notice me? Even if we did go to high-school and elementary together, I was probably just a face in the back of your mind. As unnoticeable and unimportant as any background character.

I thought college would dim your sparkle somehow. Maybe you'd be one of those people who peakin high school and then it's all down hill from there. Chain smoking and cheap liquor and payday loans. I wanted that, honestly. To see you ripped down.

But no. You thrived. Had the picture perfect college experience. When I was stuck working two jobs to cover my tuition, you were studying in some fancy café and going out every weekend. When I was so haggard with stress that I could barely see straight, you were at pilates or out hiking or lounging in a sauna.

How is that fair? Hmm? I put in the work until my hands were fucking raw and all I got for it was minimum wage and leftovers.

And don't get me started on Valentine's. Fucking Valentine's. I'm almost glad they beheaded the guy way back when. I'd do the exact same thing if I could.

Every Valentine's day, you'd have a date. Rarely ever the same person, but somehow all of them had a propensity for huge gestures. Do you remember the one guy who hired a whole horse and carriage for you? Or the girl who took you on a late season ski trip?

Do you want to know what I got for Valentine's? Cafeteria mashed potatoes and mandatory overtime. Romantic, right? I'm swooning at the memory.

I tried to work on myself. Tried to overcome the differences in our birth and get on your level. What an education in disappointment that was. Turns out it's pretty fucking hard to spend two hours at the gym and three in the sauna when you're scheduled to work fifty hours a week and still attend lectures.

You graduated with honours. With a dozen glittering trophies for volunteering and leadership and student organising. You couldn't even hold them all.

I think that was the day I hated you the most. I couldn't stop thinking that should be me.

I thought I was rid of you after that. Thought I could finally go about my life without constantly comparing myself to an impossible ideal. Ha! As if I'd get so lucky.

I saw you again on at the start of February. Newest hire at the office, bright eyed and busy tailed despite the miserable fucking weather.

What are the chances of that? We're both working at the same company, in the same department.

I expected to hate you all over again. But then you introduced yourself to me. Actually shook my hand.

And oh, how I understand those idiots and their grand gestures. Their desperate need to please you.

All my life I've watched you from afar. Seen other people dazzled by you and never fully understood why. Always wondered why I seemed to be the only person bitter and jealous towards you.

I get it now.

You sparkle. You look in my eyes and I feel like I'm part of your world, like I belong in your fancy country club and at your VIP table. When you look at me, I don't feel insignificant anymore.

How do you expect me to let that go? I've spent decades watching from the sidelines and now I finally get a taste. How am I supposed to be normal about it?

I can't let you go. I don't care what it takes, I'm going to be part of your life.

It was always supposed to be me. Not your parade of dates, not your one night stands, none of them. It was always supposed to be me.

Why else would our lives run parallel? Why else can I always find you in a crowded room?

You're meant to be mine. I'm meant to be yours. I don't care what I have to do to make it happen.

Your Valentine,

X.

[indulgentdaydream]

Rooftop Angel

Jason Todd x Reader | Fluff Word Count: 1,314 Warnings: not proofread. a dangerous amount of banter. lowkey stalking but like not in a toxic way more so playing a prank.

Is this anything anyone requested? No. Is this something I thought of writing almost a year ago walking home after classes one night but never wrote? Yes. Did I decide that nickname at his very last line and went back and immediately added it in everywhere else. Maybe.

Is this the first fic I've written since before I was in the ER in July? Also yes. I'm not sorry maybe I would be if I was paid for this.

A cool breeze brushed across your cheeks as you walked down the sidewalk, the street lamps illuminating the dry concrete and the scattering of fallen autumn leaves.

You kept your hands in your jacket pockets to keep them warm, trodding along contentedly with your headphones playing music, filtering out the dreadful sounds of small bursts of late night city traffic. Your last class ran late. A three-hour lecture that ended at 9pm. Usually you'd go and get on the bus right away, but having not eaten before class, you'd stopped to get dinner at one of the late night shops on campus. Afterwards, since the next bus was going to take a half-hour to arrive, you'd decided the 25 minute walk didn't seem too bad.

You were grateful to have the opportunity to take the walk, giving you more time to yourself before you returned to the pile of dishes you knew you had left yourself in the sink.

You kept your eyes on your surroundings, like your boyfriend always told you to. Gotham was no good at night for anyone. Yet, there was no one else on this street, so there was probably no reason to worry this time around.

He also told you to stop wearing your headphones while walking around. Consistently. He just doesn't understand the peace it brings since he doesn't do it.

Halfway through your walk, your music suddenly faded to silence, before your ringtone began to play instead. You sighed at the loss of your alone with music time as you pulled out your phone to see who it was. At the sight of Jason's smiling profile picture, you perked up again, immediately tapping your screen to pick up and shoved your phone back in your pocket, the sound connecting to you headphones.

"Hello," you said cheerfully.

There was no response.

You frowned and pulled your phone back out. The call was still there. You quickly remembered how your headphones had been kicking out on phone calls lately. You sighed and slipped them off, bringing the phone to your ear instead.

"Hi, Jay," you repeat happily.

"Hi, chickpea," his voice filtered through. "What'cha doing?"

"Walking home," You smiled. "I grabbed dinner at Bel's after class and the bus was late. Where are you?"

"Stopped by yours, but realized you weren't home. I'm out and about again."

You frown, "Oh, I'm sorry. I should've texted you."

"That's fine, love," Jason let out a small chuckle, "Staying safe?"

You nod, "Mhmm. Course I am."

"Yeah? Good." He sounded unconvinced. "What was that pause at the start?"

"What pause?"

"The pause that always happens with your headphones."

You purse your lips, "I had them on in case you called."

"Riiiiight," Jason drawled.

You groan, realizing you were caught after having promised him the umpteenth time only a few days ago that you'd be more vigilant, "I promise I was watching around me."

"But you weren't listening."

"I would've seen them!"

"Not if they were coming from behind."

You pause, glancing behind you as you walked. There was no one else on the street except a man that had just left his apartment. He looked tough, rugged jeans and a black sweater with the hood pulled up over his head. He began walking down the steps and you felt a spike of panic before he turned and began walking in the direction you came.

"Mhmm," Jason hummed knowingly, filling your silence. "You're lucky he turned the other way."

"Seriously," you muttered, agreeing, and faced forward again.

You turned Jason's words over in your head. You slow to a stop. You stood for a second before looking out across the other side of the street, then the tops of the buildings.

Jason voice filtered into your ear again, grabbing your attention, "You listening to me, chickpea?"

You whip around to stare up at the top of the building to your right. You catch the slightest glint of red before it disappear behind the edge of the roof.

"Well don't do that," He said.

You couldn't help but smile, still looking up at where you'd last seen him, "Why not?"

"You'll give me away," he argued. "Keep your head down and keep walking."

You smile to yourself, but do as he says. You whisper into the phone to avoid any prying ears in passing alleyways, "Stalker."

"I am not a stalker," He sounded like he was pouting at being caught, embarrassed. "You weren’t where you were supposed to be. I got worried."

You let out a small laugh, "Come walk with me. Walk me home."

You hear the hesitation in his reply, "No can do, love. You know I don't need you associated with the Red Hood."

Scoffing, you kick a pebble, "You hate me."

"I could never hate you."

"Hmph," you can't help but glance up as you pass an alleyway, catching a glance of him jumping across it, a shadow against the light polluted sky. "Just take the helmet off and zip up your jacket."

He chuckles, "And what? Carry it at my side instead?"

"I'll put it in my bag."

"It'll be too big."

"I'll put it under my coat," You counter. "I can pretend to be pregnant. Or have a beer belly."

Jason's laugh made your cheeks warm against the cool air, "I'm wearing my domino mask tonight."

"Then take it off."

"What about my eye black?"

"I've got some make remover in my bag."

He hummed, "You've just got the answer to everything, don't you?

"I'm smart."

"That you are, darling."

"Smarter than you, apparently."

He barks out a laugh at that, "That's okay. I like 'em smart."

You blush at that, a smile tugging at your lips.

"I make up for it though," He continued.

"By being handsome?" You retort.

He hesitated and you knew he was blushing, too. "No, by being more careful."

You roll your eyes at him. There was really no harm.

You reached your apartment building, just passing the last alleyway. A hand clamped down on your wrist that held your phone to your ear, tugging you into it, pulling it away from your ear at them same time. You moved to scream when a gloved hand cover your mouth, pressing you into the wall, deep in the shadow of the two buildings. Not pushed, or shoved, just pressed.

Your eyes fixed on Jason's amused eyes, his faceplate raised to show his face. He taps the hang up button on your phone with his thumb, slipping it back in your pocket to rest his hand on your hip.

He slips his other hand off your mouth and you're already glaring, "You're not wearing your domino mask."

Jason grinned, "Sorry, love." He leaned down and kissed your cheek, the metal along his chin brushing your jaw. "I'm serious, though. Please stop wearing your headphones when walking around."

You huff slightly, slumping against the wall in defeat, "Fine."

Jason hums again and tilts your chin up with his fingers, pressing a kiss to your lips, "Thank you."

You kiss him back, easily accepting the affection from him, "Come inside?"

He gives you an apologetic smile and shakes his head, "I've gotta get going."

You huff dramatically, "You hate me."

Jason chuckles, "Well maybe if you hadn't stopped for that garbage food."

"But it's so good."

"I swear," he shook his head. "If I don't lose you to an easily avoided mugging it's gonna be heart failure from whatever that stuff is."

You grin and lean into him, "I'll see you tomorrow then?"

"Bright and early," He kissed you again, letting it linger. "Love you, chickpea."

You cupped his face as you kissed him back, "Love you, too, Jaybaby."

With a squeeze of your hip, he took a step back and closed his faceplate, watching you leave he alley and turn the corner, entering your building.

[thekissofaphrodite]

I Grew this for you, Ives.

Luke Castellan X Daughter of Demeter! Reader

Summary: Your secret meetup with your boyfriend, Luke, might have been interrupted by Percy Jackson.

Warnings: MakeUp...MAKEOUT- I MEAN. Language (Tell me if i missed one!)

Author's note: It might be kinda weird that the title doesn't match the summary but trust me, it's worth reading. + If you saw a fic from another blog the same as this i requested it and decided i wanna make the fic myself.

___

New kid, New responsibility. You were known as being motherly towards every kid that stepped in Camp Half Blood. And Maybe, Just maybe, Percy Jackson considered you as his Camp Mom, It wasn't new for older campers seeing a new 12 year old boy follow you around and look up at you with big puppy eyes along with Grover's confused look, but oh well.

Ever since your Godly Mother, Demeter has claimed you, Luke has called you Ives since then. It all happened when three years ago, you ended up in Camp Half blood after your mortal father has been killed by a chimera, much to his sacrifice, You might have offered some small offerings to your Brother In Law, Hades, to watch him in the underworld. Your first week into camp half-blood, Chiron had announced that Capture the Flag will be the first game for the day, you were teamed up with the reds (Much to your disappointment) you were near the cabin fire when two boys from the blue team had cornered you (One of them was luke) you raised you hands to cover yourself but then, Two ivy vines sprouted out the soil and blocked them, horror washed over you when one of the vines that you 'accidentally' summoned strangled one of the boys, Luke was able to escape and still..Blue team one.

While they were celebrating, The red team started ranting angrily about how you made them lose, You sat in a corner, your head leaned against an oak tree as you sobbed, then, a bright greenish-yellow light appeared with gold sickle with a few sheaths of wheat above your head, No one was there, not until a group of campers saw you, they ran and moments later, almost dozens of campers were in front of you, including chiron.

"All Hail Y/n Y/L/N, Daughter of Demeter"

Bunch of flowers started sprouting near you, The forest and plants looked much more healthier in your eyes as every one knelt down, Including Luke, Who gave you a mischievous wink.

"....And this is the mess hall, You're always designated to sit with your cabin mates but that depends, most unclaimed kids just sit with their friends" You said, Glancing at Percy, The young boy just nodded shyly and coughed,trying to hide his blushing cheeks.

"Looks like someone has a crush on you" Luke appeared behind you with a grin, Percy's eyes immediately went wide, making you chuckle.

"Crushes don't hurt, it's admiration afterall" You whispered before giving percy a light kiss on his cheeks, leaving luke shocked.

One of you halfsiblings, Althea, called you over. Apparently, another one of your half sibling's EX boyfriend from the Dionysus cabin used a lard grapevine to ruin the bathroom door inside the cabin while you sibling is showering out of rage and jealousy.

Now, As head of your cabin, It's either you spent one whole hour being lectured by Mr. D out of his favoritism or...Plead with one of the Hephaestus kids to fix it for you.

What a day.

Giving Luke and Percy one last smile, You left.

__

"C'mon Felix! This is the only time that i've asked for a favour out of all the favours i've done for you, You'd do it for me" You pleaded as you followed him back and forth inside his cabin's workshop.

"Look, Y/n, I love you as my friend, but i can't do it, not right now"

"What if i give you a 25$ gift card from burger king and......" You scouried your pocket hoping to find something, Your eyes lit up as you felt a bill in your palms "50 dollars...and...." You then went to pat your bra and pulled out a coin. "A Peso"

You then placed it in his soily hands, Felix's face remained calm, he then took the money.

"It's warm..." He said kinda horrified...You pulled the peso out of your bra for the gods sake!

"Take it or leave it."

He then rolled his eyes and grabbed his toolbox.

"Lead the way"

You squealed and hugged him before pulling him to your cabin.

As you watched him repair the door in silence, Felix broke the silencce by purposely dropping a hammer to the ground, the loud clattering sound made you flinch a little, he smirked "Thinking about Luke?"

You snorted, as if tho you weren't actually thinking about him, "No, i'm thinking about Percy"

"The new kid who broke Clarisse's spear? he's badass"

"mhm, Son of Poseidon"

"Speaking of, How's Luke?"

There was a moment of silence before you replied.

"Fine"

"Just 'fine' ? No ungodly things happening?"

"No" You could've bursted out laughing.

"I don't believe you, C'mon tell me some elaborate details"

You raised your brow, a mischievous glint appearing in your eyes.

"Actually, if you finished that, i'll tell you"

The Hephaestus boy huffed and went back to work

After an hour, Felix finished repairing the door and bid you a goodbye (Along with a side-eye)

__

It was now 11 pm, the Campfire sing-along ended almost an hour ago, and you were in your cabin, re-arranging your stuffed toys for the 5th time, (Making one plushie lay beside you will cause chaos among the plushies)

"Carrie..You go here and..Princess should be right....here, Done!"

All of your plushies were in order when you heard a knock from the window near your bunkbed. then, you saw luke, still in his usual camp shirt, unlike you who was in your rather inappropriate pajamas.

His eyes first landed on you, he then grinned before groaning and landing on your soft bunk bed.

"Hey ives-"

"Luke, what're you doing here?!" You hissed, afraid that your half siblings might caught you two.

"Can i not see you?"

"You can, but not at this time" You huffed, But he was still grinning before pulling a flower pot, with a rose.

"I grew this for you, Ives" He whispered, His eyes carefully scanning you expression before you chuckled.

"You know i can grow this in seconds?"

"Mhm, But still, I love you 'till the very last rose in this entire world wilt into ash"

A smile graced upon your lips before luke grabbed your cheeks and kissed you, the flowerpot fell into your bed, the soil staining your new bedsheet, You couldn't care less.

You deepened the kiss by pulling Luke by his neck, and a groan escaped his lips, his calloused hands then slowly went up your shorts making you moan a little, His hands became closer and closer and closer until-

"Luke?"

You two pulled away, Luke's hands were still in your inner thighs, he took a peak into your window and saw Percy, in his cute pajamas with messy blonde hair.

"Percy" Luke breathed.

"What's up?"

"The Apollo cabin seemed to be having a party, the noise is too loud and i can't sleep, i was wondering if you could go see it "

You then peaked into your window, your cheeks were pressed against luke's

"Y/n? Wait..what are you guys doing? and...why are you in her window?" Percy asked, his drowsiness seemed to have vanished.

Luke couldn't even answer percy himself, he started chuckling softly before burying his face into your neck and smothered it with kisses.

Percy then stood still before realizing, he cleared his throat, but before he could leave you called him.

"You know what? I think Luke could actually take a look at those Sun Brats" Luke immediately groaned and looked at you.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. Go help the poor boy"

"Yes Ma'am"

He then got up and just as he was about to climb down your bunk bed you stopped him.

"Nah uh, You can leave where you entered"

The dark haired boy chuckled, and and started climbing down the window, before he could jump back to the ground you kissed him one last time, But this time, the kiss was much more passionate. You could've sworn percy made a gagging face before turning around.

"I love you Ives"

" 'Till the very last rose in this entire world wilt into ash" You said, Luke's eyes soften.

You watched as he and Percy went to the Apollo cabin to resolve the chaos.

The flower potted rose sat in your bed, You took it, and glanced at the beautiful red beauty, You sniffed the fragrance before placing it near your window as you felt Hypnos' warm palm caressing you to sleep.

__

The next day, The first thing you did was bang into Felix's cabin, Giving him every detail from last night as Luke, along with percy watched you from afar.

A/N:

Hey Guys! I've been gone for too long and i just watched the new PJO series and i have to be honest, I fell in love with Charlie as Luke so here's a little treat for you guys while i finish my other fics, i do hope you guys like it!

[frid4y]

you wouldn't call yourself dumb when it comes down to it, but your not the brightest tool in the shed. mainly because your focus isn't on school, and more on.. everything else. you would much rather go to a party or watch yourself in the mirror instead of sitting in a boring lecture.

but not everyone sees it your way, especially not your university, which is threatening to kick you out if you don't get your grades up. when you first got the letter, you only stared at it in shock , then spent an hour crying to your dad on the phone, who couldn't do much to help you. bribery is a crime after all.

he only had one solution, which was hiring you a tutor. at first, you were against it. now you had to listen to some nerd talk about math your not gonna need again? absolutely not. yet, that was until you met your tutor. he was hot, all six feet of him. those hazel eyes staring down at you with a scrutinizing gaze behind his black rimmed glasses. kento was his name, and you never wanted to forget it.

due to your ignorance, you thought it would be pretty effortless to get into his pants. batting your lashes a few times and running your hands along his biceps, gasping at how strong he looked and asking if he goes to the gym. it's usually that simple, men are easy. but, you would be lying if you said you were able to even get a reaction out of him. his response being to "keep it professional" and "i'm you tutor, you shouldn't be behaving in this manner."

three long excruciating months of sitting in the library and talking about subjects you had no interest in. you pulled all your best tactics, but he just never gave in. until one fateful night. you didn't have the energy to get up from you dorm, so you just told kento to come over. he was reluctant, but you promised you had no alternative motives. such a liar, anyone could've seen that. but he didn't.

you intentionally put on the smallest pair of pajamas you own, leaving almost nothing to the imagination. about 15 minutes into your studying session, you noticed kento's face was extremely red, and he was avoiding looking at you. you felt the smile threatening to form, but you couldn't let him know that. "kento? are you okay? you look as red as a tomato!" you say, placing a "concerned" hand on his upper thigh, feeling the muscle twitch under your hand.

his breathing gets heavier, and you look down where your hand is, your eyes landing on the forming bulge in his jeans. jackpot. the smirk that was hidden by your faux worry is now plastered on your face, and you see those hazel eyes darken as they flick between your tits and your face, his glare intense. your screwed, but you've been waiting for this fucking moment.

"the little whore thinks it's fun to tease, huh? f-fuckk... you don't know how long i've been waiting to put this bratty mouth to good use." kento grunts, his hands in your hair making a makeshift ponytail as his hips thrust up, grinding his cock into your mouth. the sight of your lips stretching around his length to fit it all in makes him go crazy, watching how his pre-cum and your saliva coat his dick. you maintain eye contact with kento, watching how his lips part in hazy satisfaction, then come together to muffle what you assume was a groan.

you feel tears brimming at your eyes, and kento sees them, the view only spurring him on and causing his cock to twitch in your mouth. "wonder how daddy would feel if he found out his daughter was slutting herself out for her tutor.. and parading around in these tiny fucking outfits— shitt, c'mon princess, don't tap out on me now.." he coos, pulling his cock out of your mouth with a wet pop as your nails dig into his thigh.

kento watches as you catch your breath, strings of spit connecting your lips and his tip. he smirks as watches your lashes flutter rapidly, every breath heavy and deep. “feel better baby?” he coos, tugging your bottom lip slightly with his thumb. when you nod, he smiles. “good, cause we’re not done. now say ahh and open up..” he taps his cock on your cheek, waiting for you. his cock twitches against your face causing pre-cum to smear across your cheek. when you open your mouth again, kento slips himself back in, your lips wrap around his cock eagerly as your tongue slides over his tip.

“good girl—and just when I thought you were incapable of listening. seems like you’ll only listen when your throat is stuffed with cock.” he teases, guiding your head farther down, the sound of your gags purely music to his ears. “wonder how much more I can fit in that pretty little mouth..” you can only make incoherent sounds as if in response, completely filling up you throat as your nose comes in contact with his pubic bone.

kento's grip on your hair tightens, his breathing getting heavier. you watch as he leans back and his head tilts up.. he's getting closer. he moans, his tugging almost bruising as his jaw slacks and his cock presses right against the very depths of your mouth, hips stuttering as his orgasm comes rushing out of him. you swallow his cum as quickly as it comes, earning a breathy whimper from him.

“i knew you would give in, just a slut like the rest of them.” you grin, kento rolling his eyes.

“shut up and get onto the fucking bed.”

[moon-ttokki-x]

haii! I <3 ur work sm omigosh------- can you do a college/university au with jisung where the reader has really bad testing anxiety and she literally can't focus even though this is a huge final grade and she needs to do well or she'll have to repeat the class, and she's just like internally freaking out? +comfort and fluff at the end+ <33 idk, this has just been sitting in my head all day..

hihi !! this came at such a relatable time tbh . . . i've been preparing for exams and this was such a relaxing request to write . wish i had a jisung tho hehe :>

pressure - (bsf!han jisung x fem!reader)

pairing: bsf!han jisung x fem!reader

summary: when your testing anxiety gets the better of you, jisung is right there to help you back up .

genre: college!au, mentions of vomiting, mentions of eating or drinking, reader has a panic attack, jisung is so sweet and helpful, seungmin is an absolute little shit, changbin and felix cameo

a/n: somehow my jisung fics always end with soup or hugs . . . if someone could figure out why, that'd be great . . .

skz masterlist

"I don't get it," you groan, letting your head crash onto the textbook laid out in front of you. "This makes no sense whatsoever."

"Fair," Jisung admits from next to you. He adjusts his glasses, which are slipping off the bridge of his nose. "But still. It just takes a little bit of time to understand-"

"I don't have time!" You cry out. Changbin and Felix hurriedly shush you from the other side of the table, and Seungmin looks up from his book with an annoyed glare. You shoot it right back.

"Don't glare at me," you mutter venomously. "Lucky fucker, you finished your exams early. But some of us still have work to do."

"No shit," Seungmin replies coolly.

You almost flip the table.

Jisung sympathetically pats your shoulder as you sink down into his shoulder, sighing in defeat. Seungmin preens himself, pettily victorious. You feel pathetic, moping into your friend's shoulder while the rest of your exam materials scatter the table like a paper bomb.

"Do you want me to explain it to you?" Jisung says softly. "You still have a couple hours until you go in. Don't worry, okay?"

You just shake your head and close your eyes. He puts an arm around you and motions pointedly to the three boys scattered around the table.

Changbin takes Felix's hand and Seungmin sighs before taking his feet off the table. Felix mouths a sweet 'good luck' over his shoulder before the three of them exit the library.

You lift your head slightly, head feeling like a ball of lead stuck on your shoulders. Your body feels so stiff from the long hours of sitting and revising, but you straighten up and try to focus again.

Pressing your hands to the sides of your head, you zoom in on the paragraph you've been trying to understand for the past hour. Ten minutes ago, you could actually read what the words said, but now it all blurs together in a fog of letters. Before you know it, your thoughts are racing.

This exam is really important.

You've been studying for it for such a long time, doing a little bit of content every single day in order to keep up with the pace you'd set for yourself. You'd heard it repeated day after day, by everyone from other students in your course, your lecturers, your professors, and everyone in between. This exam really matters. It determines most of your grade for this year, and if you don't pass it and receive a good score, you'll have to repeat the class.

You can no longer feel Jisung's hand on your back, rubbing its familiar soothing circles. You can't hear his voice, whispering soothing phrases and attempting to reassure you. Your palms are clammy and you feel so hot, so cold...

You want to rip your skin off and you shake your head in frantic, erratic motions, as if you can rid yourself of the thoughts seizing control from you.

All you can hear is yourself in your head, racing, panicky thoughts flooding your mind like a constant stream of freezing, icy water. Every time you come up for air, you're shoved back down by another current, drowning. The weight of expectations and the importance of the exam and the stress and the burnout and the potential consequences of not doing well, not doing enough, all pounces on you at the same time.

Bile rises in your throat like an acidic wave.

Jisung calls your name as you rush out of your seat and bolt from the library, pushing his hand off yourself as you flee. You turn round corridors and push past people, your vision blackening at the edges. A dull buzz rings in your head and you only just make it to a bathroom, throwing yourself against the door and bolting into the cubicle. The smell of disinfectant and the faint scent of perfume fills your senses and you retch over the toilet bowl.

Tears spill down your cheeks and your knees throb from the impact when you dropped to the ground. You feel so dizzy, so sick, and you fight not to throw up your entire system, you're so overwhelmed. A sob escapes your throat.

There's a skid and thud and suddenly Jisung is next to you, breathless. He locks the cubicle door, the space enough for both of you to sit, and pushes his dark hair out of his face, kneeling down next to your trembling figure.

He places a hand on your back, peeling strands of sweaty hair off your face. Rubbing those familiar circles again, he coos into your ear, gentle and not judging as you look up at him with teary, red-rimmed eyes. You can barely gasp his name.

He studies you with a look of worried concern. "You done?"

You nod weakly.

He slings an arm under you and around your back, helping you to stand up. Unlocking the cubicle door, he helps you to the sink and you rinse your mouth with shaking hands, fatigued and dizzy. Jisung remains a steady presence beside you, gently encouraging and whispering praise as you dry your hands.

"Let's go back to the dorm," he says softly.

You shake your head anxiously, black dots swimming in your vision. Your knees buckle and Jisung moves you so you're leaning against the wall.

"Please," he says quietly. "I'll ask Changbin to pack up your exam stuff. You already have your exam materials prepared. Just, please take a while to rest. You look terrible."

You shake your head but Jisung doesn't give you much choice. Not that you had one to begin with; you can barely walk without his help. It takes around half an hour for him to help you through countless hallways corridors, and stairways.

He unlocks the door to his dorm; he's pretty much dragging you next to him at this point. You're too dizzy, tired, and nauseous to know where you are, but you trust Jisung enough to care for you.

He helps you brush your teeth; you started to keep some spare personal items at his place because of how often you came over. He did the same for your dorm, and you sigh as he helps you change clothes into a looser outfit. You collapse on his bed while he heads to the kitchen.

You hear the domestic noises of dishes clattering, the kettle flicking on while the noises of Jisung shuffling around reach your ears in a muted haze.

You're about to fall asleep, your weak frame sinking into the mattress when he reenters the room. The smell of broth fills the air.

You sit up as he places a tray with a bowl of broth, a banana, and a bottle of water on the bedside table.

He sits down next to you, holding a spoon. "Changbin's got your stuff and he says he'll wait near your exam room til you have to go in. You have two hours to rest up and eat."

You sigh on a long, shaky exhale, face pale. "Thank you, Sung."

"Here," he says with a grin, pressing the spoon into your hand. "You need some fuel after throwing your guts up."

.

You come out of the exam room in a daze; you turn the corner and find Jisung waiting there, leaning against the wall, his bottom lip caught between his teeth in a comical, hopeful expression.

He pushes off the wall and takes the clear plastic bag of pencils and pens out of your hand, swiping it and shoving it in his hoodie pocket.

"So?" He says. "How'd it go?"

You pause, blinking. Letters dance in front of your eyes. "I- Well. I didn't throw up again, at least."

He whoops, almost smacking you in the face as he throws his hands up. "Let's go. Good job, Y/n." He pats your head. His wide eyes fix themselves on your own, clearly still able to see the anxiety behind your gaze.

You both pause in the middle of the hallway. Jisung straightens up soberly as you exhale deeply.

You still feel a little bit dizzy, definitely tired and fatigued from not only the exam but the mental exhaustion you've been fighting for the past few months. You worked so hard, and your anxieties haven't dissolved completely; you still have to get your grade back. But the main part is over, at least. Now, you can relax, take some medicine to settle your stomach from earlier, and maybe eat something good to celebrate.

Once you feel better, of course.

You look at Jisung; he's staring off into the distance, clearly not minding the silence at all. His hair flops into his face, glasses slipping off the bridge of his nose, humming something to himself. You recognise the melody, just about making out the pitches of his current favourite song.

You step forward and fall into him, arms finding that familiar place around his waist. He doesn't blink, and his vision stays unfocused in that dazed look, but his arms circle around you like a protective blanket, hands rubbing soft, warm circles on your lower back.

"Sung," you say softly, voice slightly croaky.

His chin comes to rest lightly on the top of your head. "Mmm?"

"Thank you for taking care of me."

He chuckles, pulling you back gently with one hand on your shoulder. "You're okay. I get exam anxiety too. I know it can be a lot, but you should be proud no matter what your result is. You worked so hard, Y/n."

You nod, gazing at him. He pats your back and then tickles your side, making you giggle. You push his hands away mock-disapprovingly.

"Come on," he chuckles. "Let's go get something to eat. You must be starving after all that."

a/n: div by @cafekitsune

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[i-drop-level-one-loot]

If you're comfortable with doing smut, can you do a yan! best friend fic where reader says one night "I'm still a virgin" (yk because he never lets them go out) so he almost immediately changes that.

Will oblige <3

(Reader) cracked open another beer, a small frown on their tipsy face as they sat on their living room floor.

Not three hours earlier, (Reader) had been excitedly trying to sneak out of work after clocking off, hoping to do so without being caught by their best friend. (Reader) had seen their best friend getting chewed out by their management, so a small (not so) guilty part of them hoped that he would be stuck staying late to make up for whatever it was that he had done wrong. But as (Reader) silently clocked off, Max's voice right behind them startled (Reader) so bad they released a squeak.

"Why do you look so guilty?" He had meant it as a joke, but (Reader's) uncomfortable attempt at a smile caught him off guard.

"Heyyy.. I thought you were working late?"

"No? Why would I be?"

(Reader) swallowed hard, a tight smile still twitching on their lips. "Ah, the stars told me so! I knew astrology was a sham!" They replied sarcastically, unable to contain their annoyance.

"Is everything okay, (Reader)?" Max asked in a concerned tone, leaning in to better read (Reader's) expressions.

"I was just... hoping to go out drinking tonight. I was pretty excited to get home quickly and get changed."

Max's concern melted into another happy smile. "Oh, that sounds like fun!"

"Really?!" (Reader) was sure that Max would lecture them on the dangers of public drinking, or the disturbing hygiene levels of pubs, which is why they wanted to sneak out in the first place. Max was an amazing friend. An understanding, ride-or-die kind of man, (Reader's) sidekick since middle school, extremely hot, and the only person (Reader) felt they could trust with (almost) any secret.

There was only one problem..

Max was controlling. He was never mean about it, and (Reader) never felt like their friendship was abusive, but he was so nervous about everything that (Reader) didn't have much of a social life outside of work and it was starting to drive them crazy. He even moved in to the apartment right next to (Reader) so that whenever they tried to go out without him, he always knew.

"Of course! Why don't you start heading home, and I'll go pick up some beers?"

(Reader's) heart sunk. "S-sounds good.." they feebly attempted to appear pumped, smiling while raising a fist.

Which is why (Reader) was now in their comfortable pajamas getting drunk on the floor in front of their couch, increasingly becoming more and more frustrated while their best friend watched TV, oblivious to (Reader's) bubbling anger.

The dumb comedy made Max chuckle, the booze turning him silly. Usually it was contagious, but at that moment his laughter grated on (Reader's) nerves.

Max finally got the hint that (Reader) might be upset when they loudly crushed their empty can in irritation. "What's going on down there, (Nickname)?"

"I wanted to drink at a bar." (Reader) grumbled, reaching for another drink.

"What? Why?" Max asked, honestly confused as to where this was coming from. "Bars aren't safe, especially for cute people like you. Do you know how many people only go to bars to try and take home drunk people?"

His words snapped (Reader's) patience. "That's what I was going for."

"What?!"

(Reader) jumped to their feet, exasperated. "Oh my GOD, Max. I have needs! I want to fuck, Max, I. Want. To. Fuck." They ran their hands through their hair, leaving Max shell shocked and bright red. "It's getting pathetic, like, really sad. I can't even masturbate, because I'm afraid you'll hear me through the walls."

They collapsed back onto their ass, hands covering their heated eyes.

"You've chased away everyone I've ever had a crush on. I've never had a real relationship. I'm still a virgin. I just wanted to go out and have fun..." (Reader) whined, almost on the verge of tears.

Max slinked off the couch towards (Reader's) curled up form, gently prying (Reader's) hands away from their eyes. "Why didn't you ever consider me?"

"What?" (Reader) pulled away, falling back onto their elbows as Max continued crawling over them.

"I spent so many years praying you would look at me like a man instead of just as your friend. If you were so pent up, why didn't you ever turn to me?"

(Reader) flushed, their dumb little drunk mind having difficulty understanding what Max was trying to say. "Y-you're only saying that because you're drunk." They stuttered, the feeling of their friend's breath tickling their lips making them squeeze their thighs shut instinctively.

"Do you remember, when we were in highschool, and you told me that you liked Robin? That less than average looking basketball player?" Max leaned in, trapping (Reader) with his arms as one knee forced apart their legs, pressing against their crotch. "Do you remember how hard I worked to constantly keep you two apart?"

(Reader) bit their lip to contain a moan. Why were they so turned on right now? They tried to convince themselves it was the alcohol, but the scent of Max's favorite aftershave was making them quiver.

"There's nothing embarrassing about being a virgin, (Reader).." Max tugged on their ear lobe with his teeth, "but if you want, I'll gladly take it for you."

Despite his words of consent, Max's lips were on (Reader's) before they could answer, hungry and dominating, tasting every corner of their mouth while he rubbed his knee against (Reader's) fully aroused sex.

Pulling back, Max smirked at the blushing mess under him, wiping some of (Reader's) saliva off his lip with his thumb. "I never wanted to be your friend." He pulled off his shirt, while smiling almost teasingly.

'This isn't like Max...' (Reader's) half gone mind puzzled. It was like he was possessed.

"Do you know how painful it was, being in love with someone as oblivious as you? How many times you would invite me to sleepovers, and I would spend the entire night watching you sleep?"

His large hands reached down to his zipper, drawing (Reader's) attention to the noticable bulge straining against his pants. "I wanted our first time together to be after you finally fell for me, but..." he pulled down the zipper, and released his erect cock out over the top of his boxers. "... I have the rest of our lives to make you love me."

(Reader's) eyes widened at the size. They hadn't seen a dick that big in real life before, their only frame of reference for erections being in porn. "I don't think that'll fit." They spoke quietly, almost in a whisper.

Max smiled wider, his eyes almost watering with how hot they had become. "It will if you make sure it's wet enough." And for the first time that night, (Reader) understood what Max was saying. They sat up, nervously bringing their face closer towards Max's exposed dick. With experimental touches, their fingers danced along his shaft. At first they were scared that in their drunkenness they couldn't make Max feel good, but soon what little was left of their mind was overcome by desire. (Reader) kissed the tip before thrusting Max's cock as deep into their throat as it could reach. They had imagined themselves doing this so many times that (Reader) thought they knew what to do, but the smell and taste, the building yearning in their groin, and his pleasured moans... There was so much happening all at once that it made it hard to focus on just sucking him off.

(Reader) looked up into Max's eyes, searching for approval, searching for a sign that they were doing a good job. Apparently looking up was the right thing to do, because Max cried out suddenly and pulled himself out of (Reader's) mouth. "God, you're so cute! I can't hold it anymore, (Reader)..."

Max stood to remove his clothes entirely, before getting back on his knees to tear off (Reader's) pajamas. As their pants came off, it was received that they hadn't been wearing any sort of undergarments, which made Max pause, eyes widening and scarlet face deepening.

"Is.. is something wrong?" (Reader) asked fearfully.

"You're more beautiful than I imagined."

As (Reader) soaked in his words, Max was already positioning his drool lubricated member against (Reader's) hole.

He slowly entered his best friend, and laughed as he felt their body swallow him up. "God, you have no idea how long I've wanted to do this!" The second he was fully submerged he began fucking (Reader) hard and fast, unable to hold himself back, especially when their pleased gasps and cries of pleasure sang from their lips unconstrained. (Reader) clawed at Max's back, not knowing where to put their hands but needing to touch him everywhere.

"Fuck, you look so sexy right now. I love you so much, (Reader)."

(Reader) felt their walls subconsciously constrict at Max's words. They thought about every single time they had ever noticed how attractive he was, and how they would chastise themselves for thinking about their best friend that way.

"I love you too."

Max leaned back, pulling (Reader) up with them as he continued pumping in and out of (Reader) like a machine. "Say it again."

Something was getting tighter in (Reader's) stomach, and they felt like it was going to pop.

"I love you too!"

Max's speed picked up, like a desperate animal. "Again."

"I love you, Max!"

A hot feeling spread throughout (Reader's) insides as Max came inside them, his thick cum triggering their own orgasm.

His hold on (Reader) did not loosen, keeping his grip cemented as though they would disappear if he let go. Even after (Reader) passed out he didn't pull out, simply lying back with (Reader) now on his stomach. Max finally had them, the person he had been head over heels for for the past decade. And as he fell asleep what replayed in his now sober mind wasn't how (Reader's) body felt on his, but their words, echoing on loop in his mind.

"I love you too!"

[maxpilote]

I started replaying Mass Effect because I wanted to romance Garrus Vakarian. But because I'm a weird ass, I couldn't JUST play Mass Effect 2 and 3. And because I play at weird hours and have access to the internet, I've had a running commentary going on my Facebook.

Things I have said about the Mass Effect trilogy, thus far:

I love the first Mass Effect game but Bioware is a coward for not letting my romance Garrus Vakarian until the sequel. LET ME HUG MY DINOSAUR BOYFRIEND!

Garrus in ME1: You know, you've shown me that it's always worth doing the right thing, even if it's a hard decision. I'm going back to C-Sec. Garrus in ME2: My moral compass died so now I'm Batman.

Garrus: I hope you know what you're doing. That's the secret. I don't.

Do I love Mass Effect 2 as a game? Yes. Do I hate the cover system almost as much as I hate certain CEOs? Also yes.

I'm sorry but a fucking Batarian lecturing me on my moral choices is a fucking laugh.

I'm really trying to be mostly paragon but that reporter really be testing my patience. I did not come back from the dead for this bitch to needle me.

Honestly, the biggest difference between ME1 and ME2 is that Shepard not only has more of a personality, but can also swing wildly to both extremes of said personality. Yea, I'll help this guy not bleed out. But I'm gonna be a bitch about it. And that's paragon. ME 2 Shep just woke up from being dead and is frankly over everyone's shit.

Seriously. Shepard woke up from being dead and decided that she was just fucking over all this bullshit. Even the paragon options have an edge of anger to them. lol

Bruh. After you break Jack out of prison, a guy named Billy sends you a very cheerful message saying that he has to kill you because you shot at him. LOL Okay. Go off, dude.

The struggle with paragon and renegade actions is constantly mixing up my right and left! lol

There should have been a side quest where you're doing something important and then Billy shows up. And it's just played for laughs. Oh, that would have been a perfect little addition to the Citadel DLC.

I ran out of witty things to say because I did the Kasumi loyalty mission. Not only did she make me wear a dress, but the mission was bugged and I had to restart the final fight three times.

I forgot about the greatest character in Mass Effect 2: The asari matriarch working in the bar on Illium who has a Krogan dad and really likes asses.

I kick a guy out of a window and Garrus "Archangel" Vakarian said that I was being harsh??? We will talk about this later!!

Every now and again, Miranda says something I agree with and then I want to punch myself in the mouth.

What I thought my Shep should have said after the Samara recruitment mission: "I don't know what the fuck an Ardat-Yakshi is but I know it's about to be my problem."

Me: I hate Miranda. Miranda: I hate myself. Me: Okay. It's not fun if we both do it.

Samara: Shepard, you're going to be bait for my murderous daughter. You'll need to go in alone and unarmed. Garrus, standing five feet away: Excuse me??

I can barely flirt with Garrus and he's an awkward dork. I think Samara has way too much faith in my ability to be smooth. Ma'am, I just got back from a mission where I head butted a krogan!

I love Kal'Reegar. You got a question? Best go ask the nerds. He's just there to kill shit.

Shepard. Everytime you touch a Prothean artifact, something goes terribly wrong. MAYBE STOP TOUCHING THEM!

FFS WHY is Cerberus letting me keep an INERT PROTHEAN ARTIFACT on my COFFEE TABLE!? They have to know my history with these things.

[crusty-chronicles]

Hands Off!

Synopsis: What happens when someone tries to woo Hiei's very stupid S/O. What happens when they move in to kiss. Absolute madness is what.

An: For you BBY gorl 🫴 @notxxan3

Hiei wouldn't describe himself as a jealous creature. He wouldn't classify himself as someone caring at all. Especially when it came to your human affairs. He didn't bat an eye when you went out and came back with my food. He didn't care when you would leave for hours on end to attend 'school.'

You were perfectly capable of taking care of yourself. Well, strength wise that is. When it came to the most mundane of tasks, you were completely hopeless. You'd almost burnt down your house several times cooking. But that was besides the point.

Your routine and what you did in your free time wasn't his concern. All he cared about was having your attention when he came back from his duties in demon world. To relax on your soft bedding and relish in your affections. Your warmth that rivaled his own. Your nonsensical questions about why tables these days were too easy to break.

You brute... but you were his all the same.

But all that went out the window when he came back and saw another human cozying up to you. Arm partially thrown over your shoulders from behind the couch while you were looking at papers. The look in their eyes was all too familiar to the fondness he had for you in his.

It took everything in him to not reach for his sword. He knew it wasn't your fault. Your tiny brain was never one to jump to conclusions. In fact, you never really understood most social cues. He knew you were completely oblivious to the other human's advances.

At least, he hoped you were completely oblivious.

So in order to keep his growing irritation at bay, he called for you. Using your name when he addressed you. His own way of showing affection.

"Y/n."

He would have found the way your head snapped in his direction endearing had it not been for the person next to you. He would've called you 'fool' at the way your eyes lit up upon seeing him, lecturing you for forgetting he'd always come back. But instead he glared daggers at the human who seemed to glare right back.

"Hiei!" Your smile was pure as you turned to the person next to you. Gesturing at Hiei enthusiastically in a way that made him feel like an idiot for being insecure.

"That's my boyfriend!"

So much affection in your words that he had to turn away. Not wanting you to see the red burning on his cheeks. You'd called him yours. You couldn't have been anymore blunt, but he always did like that about you.

"He's kinda short, no?" The other human commented.

If you weren't sitting right there next to them, Hiei would have torched the couch with his Dragon of the Darkness Flame. If they weren't human, he probably would have killed them for daring to enter your shared space. But they were your guest. Whether he liked it or not, he had to be civil.

That didn't mean he couldn't give out his own remarks in the meantime.

"And you're irksome."

A scowl from the other human before you got up to greet your partner. And Hiei couldn't help but enjoy the upset look on their face as you placed a his on his cheek.

That's right.

You were his.

And you'd always be his.

"This is one of my classmates." You introduced, pointing at the now agitated human.

"You know how I've been failing lately? Well, they're gonna be my tutor. Isn't that great?"

Hiei didn't waste a second giving his response.

"No."

This human obviously had other ulterior motives coming here. Namely flirting with you. Which was unsurprisingly not going in their favor. How could it when you'd always cry for the three eyed demon when he was gone too long?

When you wore his Heriseki stone with pride everyday. When you asked to stay with him in the demon world.

"C'mon don't be mean. They're only here for a couple of more minutes. Please, I don't wanna flunk outta college." You begged.

It was just like you to be unaware of the growing hostility between the two of them. Sometimes he cursed your foolishness. Your inability to tell what other people were thinking.

"Ten minutes. Any longer and I'll escort them out myself." He relented. It was almost worth seeing your smile. Almost.

Why?

Because he just couldn't stand that human insisting on touching what wasn't theirs. Using your hand to write down an answer. Leaning over and resting their head on your shoulder to point something out. Hugging you from behind when you got an answer right.

Now that was almost the straw that broke the camel's back. What saved that human was you leaning away and towards Hiei. Saying 'thanks but I only let my close friends hug me.'

By that time, your entire house was unbearably warm. Hiei's anger manifesting through his spirit energy. Increasing the temperature in a way that made it uncomfortable to the other human, but familiar for you. You had been living together for a while now.

"It's getting kind of hot in here, isn't it?" Your classmate asked nervously.

"Not really. It doesn't feel all that different. Anyways, I'm used to heat." You responded, scribbling down another answer.

That's right. You were used to his heat. His habits and his reactions. Your lives were entangled with each other. And no weakling could ever jeopardize that, he was starting to realize.

Not by a longshot if your reaction to getting their number was anything to go by.

"Make sure to call and tell me how you did on your test. Maybe we could go celebrate?" Hands reaching for yours.

"Sorry. I'm not allowed to have phones. I keep breaking them somehow???? I'll just tell you if I see you at school."

You didn't even consider taking them up on their offer. Hell, you didn't even let them grab your hands. Already opening the door for them to leave.

A smug feeling residing in Hiei's being. Looks like he didn't have to worry about you after all. That didn't mean he couldn't feel irritated about someone trying to take his mate.

He stood behind you as you tried to bid your classmate goodbye.

"So, I guess I'll be seeing you." They said hopefully.

You nodded happily without a thought between your eyes. Not noticing the way they subtly started to lean closer.

"Yeah! And thanks again for helping me!"

But Hiei sure as hell noticed. Blood boiling as they tried to cup your face and press their lips to yours. Before you could even tell what was going on, you were behind Hiei in an instant. His sword drawn with the tip pressed against your classmate's throat.

"How about you kiss my blade instead?"

Their eyes widened in fear. An ear shattering scream before you took Hiei's sword and closed the door.

"Hiei! No killing. You know better," you scolded.

Your roommate already halfway down the street still screaming.

"Do you expect me to stand idly by and watch as someone makes a move on my human?" He argued, stepping closer to you.

"They were flirting with me???" You paused and shook your head, as if to rid the thought before continuing.

"I love you. You don't have to worry about me liking someone else. Besides, you scared off the only person who was willing to tutor me."

Hiei rolled his eyes at your response before moving even closer.

"Then have Kurama help you. I don't want another living creature to even think they have a chance at winning your heart." And with that, he leaned up and kissed you. Proving to himself and you that other human didn't matter.

That you really shouldn't give a damn about them because he was right here.

And that maybe, just maybe he was a jealous creature after all.

---------------------------------------

An: Also in honor of the live action. A fic countdown if you will.

[lightninginhersoul]

Okay some nuance on the Robby/Langdon/Santos mess now that i have had some time to reflect but before my second viewing of episode 9:

Robby was right to call Langdon out of the room and give him a lecture. Just because it is EXTREMELY common for interns and residents to be yelled at (at least once, by both residents and attendings according to at least 5 very close friends who are/have been residents) does not mean it should be. If Robby is trying to build an ED where that doesn't happen, that's great!! He is doing the right thing to address it right away. I wish someone had done that for my friends when they were in situations like that. The real point of contention is probably the "I've seen you riding her all day" thing where yes, Robby doesn't want Santos to become a punching bag (correct action) or for Langdon to be only effectively teaching others but not her (again, correct thing to step in for, he saw Langdon not praise her for getting a question right when he should have).

However, Robby doesn't have all the information, that this is at least the third time Santos has disregarded her senior resident (who is in fact responsible for what the intern does and depending on whose patient it is, the medical outcome) and that as a response to lighter criticism done correctly earlier, Santos has become even more resistent to listening to Langdon. He absolutely should have spoken to her in private about it, but he isn't wrong to be concerned that she will continue cutting him out and genuinely kill a patient. ALSO Robby, buddy, you just did a little bit of the same thing!!!! I get you wanted Langdon to listen to you but the WHOLE ED FROZE because you shouted to shut the fuck up. You ALSO need a break! Recognize it.

For Langdon, it is absolutely his responsibility to know when he needs a break. Clearly Amber made him upset - he had to call and hear his son in the middle of the shift. He was triggered, upset that his patient had been seizing for three whole minutes without someone even calling for him, and overwhelmed. Totally get him being in a bad space to then when he asks what happened, for Santos to cut off Mohan and say she messed up and Mohan saved the patient! But he is the teacher and he needs to find his calm now that the patient isn't actively in danger, take a minute to self regulate, and then talk to Santos. He also can't stop teaching her because he is upset with earlier actions - every case must be a chance to teach, and trying a new teaching style on her would be a better call. It is his job to teach, and he doesn't get to shut down or critque her answers when we have seen him be more encouraging with every other younger doctor and med student (although she also keeps answering questions wrong and he does in fact get to say those are wrong - this is expected behavior)

However, like I said, this is super risky of Santos. The reson July 1st isn't actually dangerous to go to the hospital is because new interns are supposed to run basically everything by a resident until everyone is sure they can handle some procedures by themselves. The safeguards are not currently working in the Pitt and Langdon needs to know that he won't lose a patient because his intern didn't check what to do next or even call him into the room. Langdon has every right to call her out for her now repeated actions. She almost killed a patient a few hours ago after not checking in with him! He doesn't want to let it slide that she is trying to circumvent him - they still have hours to go and this is becoming a dangerous pattern. He also doesn't have all the information about what just happened - he genuinely thinks that Santos has now tried to override Mohan, ANOTHER resident! This is now a serious concern if it isn't just him because that means they have an intern who isn't trying to learn. He doesn't know that Mohan took actions to regulate jumping ahead with treatment - he wasn't in the room (when he should have been).

Mohan did a great job, no notes there other than needing to have someone call Langdon in earlier. She was right that he shouldn't have treated Santos like that, she was right to listen and try something according to logic from another doctor, and she was absolutely right to not give all the saline at once but do some of it, wait for lab confirmations, and then commit to the rest of the action. Good job queen!

But this is still a problem, and Santos doesn't seem to acknowledge the actual root of the issue. Sure, her saying that Langdon doesn't think she has what it takes might just be to help further win over Mohan, but it could also be her projecting and not actually listening to Langdon! There are rules and protocols for a reason, and you can't just skip over them on day 1. Robby said it earlier to Collins! Residents can't override attendings, and interns can't override residents. There are reasons for this. Santos has potential but she has threatened a patient with harm, made a serious medical error, and made other incorrect judgement calls. She isn't perfect, and I won't even focus on the scalpel because that was obviously a mistake but that can happen - it isn't a judgement issue. She is running around making assumptions and everyone she has spoken to has said the same thing - slow down, learn, do your job, get a feel for the place. She very much gives me gunner energy, especially with how she's been acting with the med students. It's in fact almost more dangerous that she was right this time because it will make her feel like she can continue to act independently even when she has years to go.

Santos was right this time! She judged the situation and came up with an idea and the logic was sound and based on experience. She's smart, creative, she has self-confidence and speaks up, all good things. She also is clearly still triggered from earlier and she is behaving as such. (Again she shouldn't even threaten a patient like she did with the yikes guy but that's a different post). She doesn't want Langdon to go off at anyone else perhaps, to keep the target on herself because she's done that before maybe? Or maybe she wanted to see if Langdon would praise the actions if someone else did it, as proof that she's not being treated fairly. Or maybe something else we don't know yet!

She is clearly good at finding allies (although equally good at losing them, as we have seen throughout the day) and she wants to help patients so badly that she lets her eagerness override protocol which has come back to bite her. She lost Garcia as an ally after accusing Langdon of benzo abuse, and she needs another one. In this one moment, she got Langdon to lose his cool which is maybe evidence for her drug use theory (i seriously doubt it, but this is for her perception of the situation), got proof that the same actions would be trusted by someone else (a resident with experience who still altered the verbal orders because Mohan has the experience to know not to jump in headfirst if you can avoid it), won herself a solid ally in Mohan, and helped a patient. A very solid read of the situation or very good instincts to get her what she wants. If it was instinctual, it was likely informed by her still being in a headspace to focus the attention and anger on herself, a common trauma response.

Most of her actions so far have all come from good places but they are still leading to incorrect actions. Worried about drugs going missing/vials having an issue? Good place, worried about patient care. But coming on so strong without a documented pattern (more than two incidents that could be coincidental) reads more like picking a fight that has serious consequences in order to make herself look good. I think she is worried! But she isn't thinking it through. Same as giving bipap - worried about the patient and wanting to help, but resulting in severe consequences. And threatening a patient - good place, worried about the daughter (and the show is VERY WRONG about mandatory reporting so i get that she feels like someone needs to do something), but that is a serious abuse of power. This is all ramping up and I'm worried about everyone involved!

Okay now that I have written WAY too many words on the situation, I think I'm done for now unless someone caught something else I didn't here or we get more coming up. I don't want Santos to have it all blow up in her face, I don't want Langdon to lose his fellowship, and I don't want Robby to continue to get further strung out (although that is DEFINTELY going to happen, this man is in a Bad Place today and then gave a whole lecture on burying your feelings). I am most of all worried about Dana! And Pittfest! And all of the concerning plot threads!

[twirlingsmilingwriting]

Paper Talks || Young! Coriolanus Snow X Plinth! Reader pt. 1

TLDR: You knew that people would try to gain your attention and trust because of your families status but Coriolanus always seemed to go above and beyond the usual hallway waves. Are his feelings true and genuine or is he just as shallow as the rest?

Warnings: Capital people talk, reader is a little bratty, She/Her pronouns reader

A/N: This is part ONE of THREE planned stories. So basically I got requests for this same parring of Snow X Plinth! reader and one wanted angst the other wanted fluff so this is the set up story to those two. The story will break off and diverge from this point and you'll get to choose the ending you want. Will they fall in love or will it burn to pieces? YOU CHOOSE!

Based on THIS ask

Word Count: 2.1 k

Taglist: @simpovereveryone

The academy was rather boring most days. Constant busy work 24/7 about things I already knew just didn't ever seem to rub me the right way. What was the point in this education if it felt like you were never actually LEARNING anything? I sighed tapping my pencil ever so slightly against my desk while I listened to Highbottom ramble about whatever painfully vague topic he wanted to yap about today. That man drank so much I swear, not only could you smell the liquor off of him but you could see it, like a weird mystifying haze around him and in his eyes. He must've been mixing something in his cup because liquor doesn't do that much damage. I, honestly, needed whatever he was having to get through this lesson.

Finally, like a saving grace, the bell rang and we were excused from the lecture hall. A few people waved and smiled while I walked through the halls and I did the same back. While I was from the districts, the capital people still seemed to treat me fairly, to my face that is, because of one thing and one thing only, my last name.

Plinth.

We were new money and we sure had a ton of it. An ever-looming fear of mine is that people don't actually like me but just want to get closer to me so they can get a piece of my family's fortune. Easily, I can see why people would want to get closer to me. It didn't help when my last year in the academy came and my father announced there would be a "Plinth Prize", a scholarship of sorts that would help other students pay for university. My father is a very charitable man for offering up a chunk of our wealth to others but it made me a lot more paranoid at school. What if people were just trying to get closer to me so I'd put a good word into my dad? The thought caused a deep sinking feeling of anxiety to sit in the pit of my stomach. Shaking my head, I dusted away the emotions, grabbed my food and tried to find a spot to sit in the cafeteria.

Looking over the area, I saw the broad stocky build and curly brown hair of a boy sitting alone at a 4 person table. Oh, Sej... Sej is my twin brother, obviously not identical twin but he was my twin. I placed my food onto the table with a 'plop' and eagerly sat down to eat.

"Sejanus"

"Y/N"

We both nodded and continued to eat. It was a weird sibling thing we did. Hello's get boring when you have to say them all the time so we just say each other's names then move on. I started absolutely demolishing my sandwich. Words can not describe how delicious a sandwich is after having to listen to Highbottom's intoxicated rants for hours on end. That's when I noticed something, Sej wasn't eating. His eyes were distracted, focused on something behind me. I cocked my brow up in confusion before slowly turning my head to see what he was looking at.

I don't know when he got there but the tall, lanky frame of a man clad in our school uniform was walking to where we were sat and promptly stood at the edge of our table. Curls so blond they were almost white framed his face with a smirk painted across it. His eyes switched between the two of us slowly as if they were slithering inside of his head. Coriolanus Snow. I don't think I've ever actually talked to him before but we did share a class. Sej smiled and said hi to him and he nodded back before asking,

"Is that seat taken?" his head motioned to the seats beside us and I was about to say 'yes' but I couldn't beat the enthusiastic nods and "Oh no it's absolutely free please come sit down," from my brother.

I watched dumbfounded while he reached over and slightly pulled out the chair next to him for Coriolanus. The blond man ignored this, the fabric of his sleeve touching my hair every so slightly while he slid behind to take the seat next to me. That pissed me off, just a little. I hate when people touch my hair. Spend so long to make it look presentable and then people go in and mess with it UGH. My brothers smile faded slightly before it perked back up again as he excitedly started to strike up a conversation with Coriolanus who couldn't seem to keep his eyes off of me. I felt his gaze burning my skin like thousands of little coals. Who knows what kind of comments he might have been making in his head. I looked back down at my sandwich and started to eat it again, but a lot slower.

Sejanus and Coriolanus went back and forth with some banter, clearly, Sej was a lot more interested than Coriolanus was. I felt kind of sad for my brother at times. I don't think he realized how easily people could use us. He trusted too freely and it seemed like he really liked Coriolanus. While other students would try to be kind to us to our faces, that didn't stop them from laughing at us behind our backs. I've only overheard their snickers and chuckles about how we were 'dirty district' twice but that was twice too many. Sej couldn't see through the plastic personas. He leaned over the table, directing his full energy and attention to holding this conversation with Coriolanus who wasn't even holding eye contact with him. He was cut off mid-ramble when Coriolanus spoke.

"Sejanus... you never told me you had a sister"

Oh god, I've been noticed. ABORT MISSION. ABORT MISSION.

"Actually, she's my twin sister. I assumed you would've already known she-"

"I think I have a class with her... Y/N right?"

Why were they talking about me like I wasn't right there? Sejanus was about to open his mouth again when Snow tapped my shoulder, forcing my attention to him. I got to get a better look at his face up close now and I couldn't deny the absolute gravitational pull those blue eyes had. Silently, I swam into the oceans of those blue eyes. I knew I had to get out before I drowned. I swallowed hard and nodded.

"Y/N. Y/N Plinth. And you are... Coriolanus?"

"Please, call me Corio." His smirk turned to a cheesy smile and he tipped his head slightly, extending his hand out for me to shake. I looked down at his hand and then back up at him while I nervously took it and shook it. His hands were as cold as icicles. The feeling almost made me shiver. He gave my hand a squeeze when I tried to pull away like he was trying to keep me there. I did not like that one bit. When he finally released my hand he didn't take his eyes off of me once.

"Sure, Corio..." I mumbled out before trying to return to my almost-finished sandwich. Sej took that as his opportunity to continue blabbering on to Coriolanus.

~

The passing days started to notice a frequently rising increase in Coriolanus Snow bombarding my days. He started to become one of those faces that would wave at me in the hallways but he always wanted to stop and talk and compliment my appearance. Just the other day he moved seats in our shared class to sit next to me, conveniently on the day we had to start a group project with our "table partner". I didn't like how he seemed to be infecting every inch of my life. Sejanus even started to invite him to the mansion so they could hang out and I'd have to see those icy blue eyes cross my vision whenever I went downstairs for a snack and of course, he had to talk to me.

A part of me wants to believe how that Corio was genuine and was trying to be our friend but I couldn't help the impending sense of doom I felt whenever I thought about opening up to him. Today was unlike the others. To start, when Sej and I walked to school together, Coriolanus crossed our path and walked with us. His body hung close to mine as he and Sejanus talked over my head. Corio kept trying to drag me into their conversation but I was trying to minimize the amount of Snow that was being left on my person. When I made it to my first class that's when I noticed a white rose placed on the side of my bag. It must've been from Corio. He must've slipped it in my bad while we were walking this morning. I'm just a girl! I couldn't help the way my face lit up bright red with a blush from this action.

Just as my face felt hot so did my temper. I couldn't let myself get distracted here. I knew what he really wanted, right? I twirled the stem of the rose between my fingers, carefully trying to avoid the thorns, and watched how pretty it looked spinning. Humming softly, I closed my eyes and watched as the rest of the day went by fast.

~

Corio and I sat sitting next to each other in the library trying to study for class. He started insisting on these study dates after we had that first group assignment together. I don't understand why he felt the need to sit there and explain all the questions to me. I knew what he was talking about. The fabric of our pants touched each other lightly as it was the one barrier that stopped our knees from touching. Coriolanus continued to ramble on about the question we were on and was explaining the steps to solve it for the 100th time and I was starting to get seriously bored. With a heavy sigh, I pulled my paper closer to me and started to solve the problems at a lot faster of a speed than we were going at. I had done about 4 questions by the time he was done explaining that one to me and that's when he realized, he had pretty much been talking to the air.

"Y/N? Y/N? Are you listening?"

He spoke, leaning ever so closer to me. He started snapping his fingers in from of my face and I felt this anger start to boil in me.

"Darling, I'm trying to show you how to solve this."

Finally, when he placed his hand on my thigh and I heard the word 'Darling' escape his lips did I snap. My head shot up and I looked over at him, shooting daggers in his direction. I hissed under my breath,

"Corio, do you think I'm stupid? I know what you want "Darling, " I let the darling roll off my tongue sarcastically and mockingly. "and it's not me. You're not sly Snow, I know you're flirting with me and I suggest you scurry along here before I put in a bad word to my father about how this boy in my class can't seem to leave me alone in peace to do my school work. Are we clear?"

Coriolanus took a step back, his mouth agape from the shock of what was just said to him. He took a sharp inhale before a smirk spread on his face, similar to the one he had the first day he sat next to Sejanus and I. There was a plan behind that smile I just knew it.

"That is where you're wrong I'm afraid. I love your feist though Ms. Plinth, simply another challenge, and don't forget, Snow always lands on top."

His body glided so elegantly through the air as he stood up from his seat next to me, placed his hands on my shoulders, and leaned down to look over my shoulder, leaning down so close I could feel his breath against my neck. If my heart was beating any faster it might have turned into an engine an raced out of my chest.

"By the way Y/N... the answer is 3 not 67, I can't even process how you'd make that kind of mistake but if you ever need help with math, let me know. I'm sure you would've gotten it right if you were listening."

He whispered in my ear before standing up and leaving the room. The whole interaction caused a shiver to go down my spine in shock before the anger came rushing back into my veins. Who does this man think he is? And what a cringy tag line, "Snow always lands on top"? please. We will just have to see about that one.

[riddle-me-fear]

Jon let's be honest how much did you sleep last night? Also Ed how often does Jon fall asleep during his work?

[tw: nuclear explosives mentioned, topic of death/dying]

Jonathan Crane | The Scarecrow

Last night I- I... Last night...

Edward Nygma | The Riddler

Go on. Tell them.

Jonathan Crane | The Scarecrow

I uuh... I wasn't blackout drunk, was I?

Edward Nygma | The Riddler

Fortunately not, that would have been much more of an inconvenience to me. ... You don't remember at all, do you?

Jonathan Crane | The Scarecrow

Naah wait, I can... I should r'member if... When... What day wus it?

Edward Nygma | The Riddler

It was Sunday, not that that's going to jump-start your memory. You've been at the lab the entire day, and far into the night.

Jonathan Crane | The Scarecrow

R-right I... I wus workin' on a new formula...

Edward Nygma | The Riddler

Since I started to worry, I came looking for you. Didn't take very long, as I was certain where you'd be. You were knocked out cold - I actually checked if you still had a pulse, because you looked like a corpse, face-down, laying on top of your notes, spread all across the table. Also, absolutely nothing would wake you up. Somebody might as well have set off an atomic bomb in the middle of Gotham, you'd have slept right through it.

Jonathan Crane | The Scarecrow

Aaww lookat'chew actually worryin' 'bout me. But wait, I remembah wakin' up in bed next to you, how'd ya get me home? I know ya can't lift anythin' fo' shit.

Edward Nygma | The Riddler

Ahah! How hilarious that is, coming from you. I've gained some muscle over the past year, mind you. I don't know how you do it, but despite being a literal skeleton, you're still heavier than me!

Jonathan Crane | The Scarecrow

Reckon' it's tha height.

Edward Nygma | The Riddler

Possibly. Well, anyway, Waylon helped me get you home. I almost felt bad for calling him so late, or early, you could say. Almost. You'll have to make it up to him at some point, because I definitely wouldn't have handled you with such care. He even bumped his head on the car - twice - when laying you down on the back seat and picking you back up once we arrived at home.. He even carried you up the stairs and set you down in the bed, I'd just have dropped you on the couch, or the floor even, you wouldn't have noticed the difference. And through all of that, you didn't even flinch - not once was there even the slightest chance of waking up.

Jonathan Crane | The Scarecrow

Musta been real tired.

Edward Nygma | The Riddler

You don't say. Hmm, I wonder why that could possibly be. How much sleep did you get the nights before that, Jonathan?

Jonathan Crane | The Scarecrow

Ey! I slept at least six hours. On uuh... on Wednesday.

Edward Nygma | The Riddler

I do hope I don't have to tell the man with a literal PhD in psychology and chemistry what that does to your mind and body, or do I?

Jonathan Crane | The Scarecrow

I do kno', so ya can spare me the lecture. ... Wait, you said yesterday wus Sunday, but yesterday wus Monday, wusn't it?

Edward Nygma | The Riddler

Nonono, I told you which day it was that you dozed off at the lab. That was two days ago, as of the moment you awoke.

Jonathan Crane | The Scarecrow

... I slept fo' two whole days?

Edward Nygma | The Riddler

I don't see how that comes as a surprise to you, after you actively avoided sleep for around three days.

Jonathan Crane | The Scarecrow

... Fuuck...

Edward Nygma | The Riddler

Well, that answers your first question. Unfortunately, dear anon, this happens more often than I would like - which is to say I would like this not to happen at all. However, I have to say, it doesn't happen nearly as frequently as it used to. Remember when you still worked at the University, or at Arkham? You practically lived in your office.

Jonathan Crane | The Scarecrow

Well, it wus convenient! Don't 'ave ta pack everythin' up jus' ta head on home an' do tha same shit I can do at ma office. Jus' saved me sum time.

Edward Nygma | The Riddler

Time you should have used to sleep! You're not as young as you used to be, Jon! We both know you're not going to make it until 60, not if you keep going like this. I mean you already look 20 years older than your actual age.

Jonathan Crane | The Scarecrow

Yer naht tha peak of health eitha, so shove it up yer ass, Ed!

Edward Nygma | The Riddler

Ughh, you're worse than an infant sometimes. Can you at least try to be more responsible about your health? It's not that I care, really, I can live without you, obviously. I just... I'd personally find it preferable if you didn't. Die, I mean. I'd appreciate you living for at least a couple more centuries, if possible.

Jonathan Crane | The Scarecrow

...

Edward Nygma | The Riddler

Jon?

Jonathan Crane | The Scarecrow

I can't promise ya anythin'. ... But I'll try ma best.

Edward Nygma | The Riddler

... Thank you...

Jonathan Crane | The Scarecrow

Afta all, It'd be dreadfully boring without me, I bet, you'd go nuts.

Edward Nygma | The Riddler

Oh absolutely, I would, one-hundred percent.

[robron-til-the-end-of-time]

Prompt: John somehow convinced Vic it wouldn’t be a good idea for Rob to stay with her. Aaron sees Robert sleeping rough with loads of cans around him, and it’s cold.

This was also sent to @nooneelsecomesclose17 but I've given it a go! Slightly different, but I hope it suits! ___

Aaron was shocked when he unlocked the door to the cabin first thing in the morning. He wanted to get an early start as things with John seemed… odd. At the moment beating a chunk of metal seemed like a great idea to get his temper out. What he hadn’t anticipated was the sleeping bag on the floor. His body knew who the intruder was before his brain caught up. “Robert?”

“What time is it?” Robert said, flinching at the light. It was clear he’d just woken up.

“Just gone seven,” Aaron said. “Are you sleeping here?”

“No,” Robert said, getting out of his sleeping bag. He was fully dressed and looked very bundled up against the cold. “Course not, I just like the ambience.”

“Robert…”

“My charming brother told Vic it might not be such a good idea for me to crash at hers,” Robert said. “I nicked the key off Jimmy. I’m out of other options.”

“Seriously?” Aaron said, his heart sinking. “You’ve got…”

“What, nowhere to go?” Robert said pointedly. “My husband married someone else, my sister wants nothing to do with me, all my other relatives are dead, and I have to stay in the village to keep reporting to my parole officer. So, no, Aaron. I haven’t got anywhere else and I don’t need the lecture.”

“You stink of booze.”

“Aaron…”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Aaron pushed.

“Because sleeping on the stone cold floor of a cabin still beats prison many times over,” Robert said. “Forget what you saw, I’m not your problem.” Robert sighed, running his hand over his face. He could do with a shave too, Aaron noticed. Aaron reached into the draw of his desk and found a spare key to his flat.

“Go to mine,” Aaron said. “Least you can do is have a shower. The water pressure’s really good, some irritating control freak made sure of it when he was having it built.” Robert almost smiled at that.

“What about John?” Robert said. “I don’t want to ruin things for you.”

“He isn’t home,” Aaron said. “To be honest, I have no idea where he is or what he’s up to these days. Take the key, Robert.”

Robert was proud, but a hot shower did have its allure, so he did. ___

Aaron had been right. He did feel better after a proper hot shower, much more alive. It’d been three nights on the cabin floor with broken sleep and his back was suffering for it. Once he’d dried off, he started feeling curious about the flat, how Aaron lived these days. He wandered around, not really seeing Aarons personal touch there, but then… six years was a long time. He couldn’t help himself, honestly. Robert went into the bedroom. He knew which side Aaron would sleep, he always had and Robert pressed his face into the pillow, breathing in his familiar scent. God, he ached for it, ached for him. The scent of Aaron felt like home.

He shouldn’t have done it, he knew that, but the lure of a soft mattress and feather pillows had him. He got into bed, pressing his face into the pillow Aaron slept on. He was asleep in seconds. ---

Aaron walked into his bedroom with amusement a couple of hours later. He hadn’t exactly expected Robert to crawl into his bed, but he wasn’t surprised by it either. His face looked so much more relaxed in sleep, younger, less… well, less scheming and shifty, Aaron supposed. Ah well, he’d leave him to catch up on his rest for a while. Aaron didn’t waste time thinking about what John would say if he walked in. He also didn’t consider that, without even thinking about it, he’d chosen what was best for Robert over John. It had been automatic.

[naraven]

Dear Stray Dog Anon,

Your matchup has been complete! After some deliberation, Doctor, we think you would best have this person as your next assistant:

THORNS

cw // she/her doctor (anon goes by she/her), slight yandere, drugging, slightly obsessive, slightly possessive

A most reliable operator and pharmacologist, I can see the two of you getting along well on the battlefield and in a lab together!

Thorns will be the first to tell you that he's not a very likeable person at first. Not that he cares, but you're... likeable in a way that he's never seen before.

You command him well. Almost every time you depart with him on the team, everything seems to be well timed and perfectly placed. You know how he works in combat to a T. You celebrate by giving him an awkward thumbs up, despite the confidence in your voice while coldly dropping him down into the fight not even half and hour ago.

And off the field, he notices more and more the oddity that you are. For some reason you despise any gifts you've been given. Any present or surprise gift has you smiling shakily, giving the impression that you're just a bit shy, yet reel back in what looks like fear the moment you think you're alone.

When Thorns met you for for the first time, he tested the waters. He offered you a drink, mixed in with his newest concoction, and found himself secretly pleased with the curt rejection.

"It's not for you. I want to see the effects of my creation."

And he's even more pleased when you bring it to your lips hesitantly, and then gulp it all down in three large swallows. Soon enough, he had you testing out his more... adventurous ideas under the guise of research.

On a rare moment where you have some free time, you go to see what he's up to in his lab. As usual, he's cooking up something that results in what he thinks is a rather mild explosion.

When he sees you running up to him, he mentally prepares himself for a scolding from the Doctor herself. Turning, he opens his mouth to defend himself, before-

"What was that? Are you okay- wow, you smell like a barbecue, haha!"

He pushes you away when you start smelling the soot in his hair. Tussling his hair to shake out the dust, he pushes you back when you get closer to him again.

As The Doctor of Rhodes Island, he gives and takes knowledge. Granted, he isn't an Infected, but hearing you give mini lectures between breaks in your office had him learning more about Originium that he had ever expected. The visuals on your tiny whiteboard served to further help him grasp certain topics.

Both of your favorite activities to do together is to wake up a bit early, go up to the roof of the landship, and feel the wind blowing back in silence. The clouds passing by, the cool breeze, and the nostalgia of it all. You only return back inside when the sun becomes too bright and work has to be finished.

"Doctor? It's the Doctor!"

Thorns turns around when he hears a bright, high voice call your moniker. A group of young, Infected patients come running as the two of you were walking around the Rhodes Island landship for a quick break from paperwork and the droning of the radio.

"Doctor! I haven't seen you in so long!"

"Who's this, Doctor?"

"Doctor, that candy you gave me the other day got stolen by my sister, can I have another one?"

He sees you wobble as one of the kids tugs at your overcoat. Throwing up your hands in mock surrender, you get down on a knee to approach them at an equal level.

"Alright, one at a time. Sorry, I've been busy with a lot of work. This is Operator Thorns, say hi! He's super smart and cool, so be sure to treat him well! And here, a piece of candy for all of you."

The children cheer, only for a Medic operator to turn the corner and bring them all back to their rooms. They all complain and whine, all of them wailing to have you come back with them.

"Doctor? Sorry about them, they all just underwent a couple tests. I'll get them off your back."

She seems really tired. Thorns remains standing off to the side, combing through his choppy hair.

"Well, I would love to, guys, but Thorns and I have a lot to get done. Maybe if you kids are good, I can drop by later, okay?"

A chorus of "okay!" echo back, and they all burst into excited chatter, leaving you and Thorns to continue your little walk.

"I didn't know you had such high opinion about me."

"Haha, well, we've been working together for how long? Shouldn't some kind of mutual respect be forming between us?"

You elbow him playfully, and he fiddles around with some test potions.

"Here. Catch."

"Woah!"

Carelessly, he tosses you a small vial. Instead of the usual yellow thick liquid, this one is purple and seems a lot thinner.

"And... this is?"

He straightens out his cuffed sleeve. Raising your brows, you throw your head back and belch at the taste.

"Ew. That might be the worst one you've given me yet."

Thorns is quiet. "Is it?"

"Yeah? Why, is it not... supposed to be?"

"No, I wouldn't know what it would taste like."

Scrunching your nose, you sniff the leftover content of the liquid inside. It smells... kind of burnt.

"Did you mess this one up? It stinks. Funky."

Thorns gestures for you to pass him the vial, and he takes a sniff himself.

"Hm. It was perfect."

Huh?

"Then... What even is that?"

He pops the vial shut, and suddenly you feel a surge of vertigo.

"Thorns, what the f-"

You can't even finish your sentence before he opens his arms. You fill into the gaps between his body, and you panic when you feel your fingertips getting numb.

"Operator Thorns, what do you think you're doing."

He sets you down. Strangely, you stay fully conscious, and the dizzy spell a moment ago is gone. Only the numbing sensation spreads, and soon your entire arms lose feeling.

"Don't worry. This feeling won't last long. I suspect the numbness to be gone within three or four hours, and nothing else will happen."

You struggle to feel... anything.

"I... don't even know what to tell you."

"Then don't. You keep your words brief during operations."

"That's because it's necessary." You snap. "I'm losing my patience here. Get me back to my office or something."

"I can't do that."

"Why?"

Because... I need you for just a couple hours more, he wants to say. You've been busy doing work without engaging with him, and you sleep in more and more. I want to be with you for just a little longer, where you can't run, where we can just talk.

I need you away from other people. I need you to stay with me. I want you, I need you, I crave more of you.

"Because." He starts. "You need me."

[xstargirlslutx]

Cock Warming || Theo Nott

Day 5 of Kinkmas

Kinkmas Masterlist

TW: grinding, slight exhibitionism, teasing, use of y/n, public sex, rough riding

Words: 1,171

You were sitting on Theo's lap in the common room, visiting with Pansy who sat adjacent on the other couch. Theo was reading a book, hardly paying attention to the conversation you two were having.

For a while, you and Pansy were just talking about school and the upcoming O.W.L.S., until she switched the topic and made you laugh. You shifted slightly as you giggled and repositioned yourself to be more comfortable.

You heard a heavy exhale behind you but it no mind, you were too busy laughing anyway.

"Oh Y/n, we really need to get the whole group together again, go out for butterbeers or something."

"Oh I know! We've all been so busy studying for the o.w.l.s., I've barely had time to do anything."

"Other than snogging Th-" You cough loudly,

"None of that either, mind you." Pansy smirked,

"Well you need to fix that then. Might help.. take the stress off before exams."

"You're talking as if I'm not here," Theo mumbled.

"That's because you're supposed to be reading obliviously since you insisted on staying with me all night."

"Note taken." He laughed,

"I think I'll run to the restroom real quick, before I piss myself." Pansy said, still laughing. She winked at you and walked down the hall.

As soon as she had disappeared Theo marked his place in his book and set it down on the couch.

"Maybe she's right darling.. It's been far too long."

"We've been far too busy."

"Well I'm here now." You shifted yourself to look at him better, he stifled a groan, "-Bella, you've got to stop doing that."

"Doing what?" You smirked, and he blew out from his mouth,

"Stay quiet."

"Wh-" Suddenly, Theo reached his hand down and undid his pants. It was only a matter of moments before he slid your panties to the side and sunk into you. "Ah- Theo-" You bit down on your lip at the lack of warning, "We can't here-"

"We're not." And he was right- technically. He didn't move one bit. Your skirt covered everything that was happening, but it didn't hide your face growing increasingly red. You could barely think straight, feeling so full of him. You missed it after so long, and you couldn't wait to be back up to your room with him later.

Pansy returned shortly after, with Draco, as well. You turned and buried your face in Theo's neck out of embarrassment, yet he was back to reading like nothing was happening. Except this time, he had one arm securely wrapped around your waist.

"Look who I found!" Pansy chimed, "He was doing nothing alone in his room so I thought he could hang out too."

"Perfect." You forced a smile. Immediately as Draco sat down he noticed something was off about you.

"Are you okay, y/n?" He asked,

"-Yes, yes of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"I mean, it's a little cold all the way over there, isn't it? Don't you two want to come sit over here by the fire?"

"We're fine." Theo interjected, and Draco smirked knowingly.

"Very well."

"Um, so what do you guys think of that new professor?" Pansy asked, trying to change the subject.

"He's alright, bit of a downer in class though, won't let us talk to our friends until he's done with his lecture."

"Isn't that what most teachers would expect?"

"Maybe, but most of them have given up trying to quiet us down." You all laughed and Theo squeezed your hip. You mumbled an apology to him and reached back to play with his hair. He smiled slightly but kept his attention on the book.

The three of you talked for an hour longer, enjoying catching up after the chaos of the end of the school year. Theodore stayed a bystander, calming reading his book despite your attempts to arose him with your movements.

Eventually Pansy said, "I think I'm going to turn in guys, it's getting pretty late."

"Yea me too, we have an early practice before school tomorrow, I want to be well rested. Don't forget that either mate." Draco said, referring to Theo, almost knowing he wasn't going to get any sleep tonight.

"Well goodnight guys, we need to hang out again soon, after exams." You smiled, and they waved goodnight before exiting the common room.

You glanced around to find there was nobody left except the two of you. "I could fall asleep like this you know? All warm and full.." You had almost forgotten he was still in you, simply feeling complete.

"Oh really? Hm.. well I don't know if I can let that happen yet.. You still need to fix what you did to me earlier."

Heat filled your cheeks once again and you decided to make a bold move. You shifted and spun yourself to face him, not once letting it slip out. "Mm.. Theo, you wanna do it here? We may as well.."

Theo loved it when you were like this, giving him your innocent eyes yet begging for the nastiest things.

"I thought you were embarrassed by this darling, what happened?" He smirked and set his book to the side.

"Shut up-" You rocked your hips back and forth, suddenly desperate for friction.

"Fuck tesoro, you want me to fuck you right here? Where somebody could catch us?"

"I don't care- they're all asleep.."

"So bad.." He gripped both of your hips and wasted no time fucking into you with short but rough thrusts.

"Fuck- Theo- Gods- Ah~" Your words were interrupted by his sporadic movements, hitting your cervix just right.

"Shh.. darling- don't- want to wake- anybody up- now.." Though he preached for you to be quieter, he was slowly coming undone himself, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Mm.. Theo- I'm close."

"Fanculo, bambina, already?"

You whimpered and nodded quickly, and he sped up, slid a hand down under your skirt, and rubbed fast circles on your clit.

You fell apart above him and buried your face into his shoulder to mute the sounds that were bound to fall out of your mouth.

"Mm.. fuck yes-" He moaned and released just after you, only sliding in once more and then staying there.

"Could we- go back up to your dorm?" He asked, and you nodded and began climbing off him, but he pulled you back down onto him.

"Mm, no.." He stood up and you wrapped your legs around his waist, keeping in the same position. "Good girl.."

The two of you made it back to your dorm room, and he laid you both down on the bed, keeping his dick in you the whole time.

"Can we stay like this tonight?" He asked, and you nodded nervously. "It's okay, darling, it'll be good I promise." He reached his hands and unbuttoned your shirt to make you more comfortable. "Just relax and go to sleep.. I know you're tired."

You nuzzled your head into his chest and quickly fell asleep, feeling full of him and as comfortable as ever.