#Perfect Binding Notebooks

[jungshookz]

y/n seems to have everyone wrapped around her finger and to be quite frank, namjoon's unimpressed

➺ pairing; professor!namjoon x y/n 

➺ genre; mostly sfw with a little something something at the end!! namjoon is a philosophy professor who suddenly has to share his precious lecture hall newbie professor y/n!! we all know i am a big fan of enemies to lovers/opposites attract and i love it even more when both of them are total nerds!! y/n’s approach to philosophy is so ridiculous and namjoon can’t stand her!! namjoon is so stuffy and y/n can’t stand him!! god damnit just kiss already!! 

➺ wordcount; 7.2k

➺ summary; you’re the newest professor joining the university, and all of a sudden, it feels like namjoon actually has someone to compete with for the first time. 

➺ what to expect; “Also, please stick to black, blue, and red ink for future note-taking and grading purposes. Pastel purple is not an appropriate colour for a higher education atmosphere. Thank you.”

➺ currently playing on cee.fm; what is this feeling? — wicked soundtrack 

»»————- 📚 ————-««

namjoon isn’t a fan of change. 

he’s always liked things in a particular way — he only likes notebooks with a seamless, perfect binding for the spines, he only likes ballpoint pens and never gel, he only uses traditional coloured highlighters and none of that strange, pastel-coloured junk, and he only likes to use a sandalwood scented essential oil diffuser in his apartment and his lecture hall 

most of his life has been planned out (he planned out how the next twenty years of his life would go when he was ten, and according to this twenty-year plan, he’s pretty on track) and he likes it that way, so yes, he isn’t a big fan of change when it comes to such an important timeline like this

he’s currently a professor at the university he got his phd from, and because part of his twenty-year plan included going from his bachelor’s degree to his master’s degree to his doctoral degree, it means that he’s actually the youngest professor on the staff’s roster (which, again, was part of his plan all along) 

he’s been teaching here for nearly two years now and has built a very solid reputation with his co-workers, he’s the school’s most sought-after professor when it comes to his philosophy classes — he teaches three undergrad classes and two graduate classes and every semester they’re always packed and students will always email him to try and get into the class when the capacity is full — and he’s pretty sure he’s getting a raise soon, which is great because he’s been meaning to splurge on a new electric tea kettle that lets you control the temperature and sings a little song when the water’s done boiling 

“alright, let’s bring today’s discussion to a close.” namjoon shakes his wrist, checking the time on his watch before nodding to himself — the lecture ends in five minutes, so he’s wrapping up right on time and he’ll be able to grab a coffee and a croissant before his office hours start, “what we’ve explored today is really just a glimpse into the vast and ongoing conversation about how to engage critically with your existence.” he hums, leaning back against his desk as he looks out at the sea of students in front of him, the sound of pen tips scratching on paper and typing on keyboards coming from all over the room 

“after you leave class today, i’d like for you to reflect on the choices you make — not just the big, life-altering ones, but the miniscule, everyday decisions.” he reaches up to adjust his glasses on the bridge of his nose, “are they leading you toward a life of purpose and integrity? or are they dictated by external pressures and unexamined habits? we’ll continue this discussion next time, but until then, i’d like you to keep questioning, keep thinking, and keep living philosophically. as always, i have office hours here from 3:30-6 if you have any questions. class dismissed.” he nods, and almost immediately the class breaks into packing up, murmurs rippling through the vast lecture hall 

namjoon smiles lightly to himself as he gives himself a mental pat on the back

yet another successful lecture!

he really does love teaching, and he’s so grateful that he’s able to do something that he actually likes for work 

shaping young minds is something that he’s always wanted to do, and he thinks he’s been doing a pretty good job as a professor 

…

oh, who is he kidding? of course he’s been doing a fantastic job as a professor! 

he smiles politely as his students trickle out the door, turning around to grab his wallet out of his backpack 

croissant time! 

»»————- 📚 ————-««

“hello, are you here for office hours?” namjoon isn’t surprised when he opens the door to see someone standing by his desk, looking around the empty lecture hall, “it actually starts at 3:30, so it would be great if you could come back in fifteen minutes and i’d be happy to answer any questions you have about the lecture.”

“oh, hi!“ you spin around with a smile, and namjoon returns a polite one as he sets his coffee and pastry bag down on the desk, “no, i’m not here for office hours, i’m here to check out the lecture hall for when i start teaching alongside you next week. you’re namjoon, right? i’ve heard so much about you, i’m y/n y/l/n and i’m really excited to start working together-“ you stick your hand out for him to shake and he immediately frowns, glancing down at your hand before looking back up at you with a scoff of disbelief 

“teaching… alongside me?” he tilts his head, reaching over to give your hand a shake after a moment of hesitation (it would be rude of him to turn down a handshake, and he has to admit you have a nice, firm handshake), “i’m sorry, what are you talking about?” 

“didn’t you get the email? i’m the newest philosophy professor joining the staff-“ you slide your tote bag off your shoulder and pull your phone out, “they told me i’d kinda be shadowing you before they can determine if i should lead my own lectures or not. so i guess i’m a co-professor for now, but eventually i’ll just be a professor. i’ve seen a few of your lectures online, i’m looking forward to working together and-“

“co-professor?” namjoon interrupts, holding his hand out to make you stop talking, “i’m sorry, this is the first i’m hearing of this.” he fumbles for his phone before looking through his email because there’s no way he would’ve missed an email as important as- 

okay there it is 

yep 

he totally missed that 

“i see.” namjoon pokes his tongue against the inside of his cheek, “okay, well… i guess you can just sit with the class and listen to the lectures. i don’t need an assistant professor, but you can help give out handouts or something-“

“well, that would make sense if i was a TA, but i’m not entering this classroom as a TA or an assistant professor, i’m entering it as a co-professor. we’re equals!” you point out, namjoon’s eyes widening when you pull a pen out from your bun and slap a copy of the class syllabus down on his desk 

he’s appalled to see that you’ve written all over it, and not only that, you’ve used multiple colours to take notes instead of the traditional black, blue, and red 

…pastel purple?!

“i took a look at the lineup you have, and to be frank, it’s a little stiff. your students are drowning in dense readings, and i don’t know about you, but i actually hated reading so much when i was in undergrad-“ 

“well, that sounds like it’s a you problem, because i liked reading and always appreciated when the professor gave us something dense and enriching to read-“

“why not swap out one of the medieval philosophy lectures for something a little fresher?” you suggest, using the back of your pen to point to the lecture he has planned in a few weeks, “maybe we can do a session on philosophy in science fiction? ooh, ethics in AI might be fun, no? it’s something they can apply to the modern world-“

“philosophy isn’t about chasing trends. it’s about discipline, rigorous thought, and engaging with foundational texts that have shaped human understanding for centuries, professor y/l/n-“

“it’s doctor.”

“what?”

“dr. y/l/n. i just graduated with my phd.” 

a moment of silence passes as namjoon processes all of this new information

processing…

processing…

“you-“ still processing… “you what? how old are you?”

“you should never ask a woman how old she is, but i’m two years younger than you. and i know that because i actually took the time to look at your profile on the university’s website after getting the email that we’d be working together for the rest of the semester-“

“rest of the-“ namjoon chokes, reaching up to adjust his tie, “okay, respectfully, dr. y/l/n, my whole point is that students have no business calling themselves actual philosophers if they can’t wrestle with aquinas and avicenna-“ 

“right, because thirty pages of medieval metaphysical debates on the essence of angels is going to determine whether or not a student can call themself an actual philosopher. i’m not saying to abandon the classics, i’m just saying it’s not gonna hurt to throw in a few discussions that’ll make philosophy feel a little more… alive to them!” 

namjoon resists the urge to roll his eyes as he takes a seat at his desk, keeping his eyes glued on the scribbles all over your copy of the syllabus 

there’s no way he’s gonna work with someone who thinks pastel purple is an appropriate colour to use when taking notes 

he reaches over to grab his coffee, taking a sip and- 

his coffee is cold 

he waited too long and now his coffee is cold, and he would’ve been drinking perfectly lukewarm coffee if it weren’t for the fact that you came and disrupted his whole schedule like this 

“anyway, i’m open to discussing spicing up the syllabus once you have the time. i don’t want to take up any of your office hours, i know you probably have students lined up outside already-“ you fold the syllabus back up into four squares before tucking it away into your tote bag (namjoon is once again appalled you don’t have a folder for your papers and seem to have based your organising system off mary poppins’ purse), “but it was really nice meeting you, dr. kim. you have my phone number and email when you want to arrange a meeting.”

“…right…” namjoon trails off, and for the first time is rendered completely speechless and doesn’t know what else to say 

all he knows is that there’s no way in hell he’s going to allow this co-professor business to happen. 

»»————- 📚 ————-««

you let out a breath as you shut the door behind you, your shoulders finally slumping 

you hated that whole interaction 

you can already tell that working with namjoon is going to be a pain in the ass 

you’d heard some things about him — you’d heard about how great of a lecturer he is and how he genuinely cares about what he’s teaching and what his students are learning from him, but you’d also heard that he was pretty stuck in his ways and not… super cooperative, which you already saw first hand 

at the same time, you had to admit that that was a quality that both of you shared — you’re not exactly a fan of being co-professors, you’d much rather just take the reins and lead the class yourself while namjoon sits off to the side, but you are the new one around here and you do want to be liked 

so you can play nice for now, because the most important thing you’re focusing on is securing your place as an official staff member and making a great first impression on your new co-workers and your new students 

you’d prefer for namjoon to like you, but he seems to be a tough nut to crack 

the both of you should at least try to get along, and you’re willing to do that as long as he’s willing to meet you in the middle 

so… let’s just hope he’s willing to meet you in the middle

your phone buzzes in the back pocket of your jeans and you pull it out, surprised to already see a text from namjoon 

okay

this is great!

the fact that he’s already opening a line of communication is a good sign, maybe this semester won’t be hell on earth after all 

the smile on your face slowly disappears when you finally get around to reading the texts, your eyebrows knitting together instead

Hello, Dr. Y/L/N. This is Kim Namjoon. Please save my number so that we may communicate with each other if needed. The semester has already begun, therefore I don’t think there has to be any changes made to my syllabus. We do not need to discuss this topic any further. Thank you.

you don’t even get a chance to really process his text before another one pops up 

Also, please stick to black, blue, and red ink for future note-taking and grading purposes. Pastel purple is not an appropriate colour for a higher education atmosphere. Thank you. 

»»————- 📚 ————-««

namjoon sighs to himself as he makes his way up the brick stairs to enter the philosophy building, reaching up to adjust his tie 

for the first time ever, he’s running a little behind (only by like, three minutes, he’s not that reckless) but it’s only because he spent the earlier portion of the afternoon speaking with the department head and practically pleading them to change their minds about this whole co-professor situation 

he’d gone into the office with many good arguments tucked into a neat little powerpoint presentation 

for example, he doesn’t need a co-professor because he knows what he’s doing and you would only slow him down 

also his students consistently have high grades and his classes are always packed each semester so there’s no issues with consistency or lack of interest 

sure, philosophy can be a stiff subject to work with but he thinks he’s done a great job at teaching it and upkeeping enthusiasm 

the point is he doesn’t need you, and if anything you should just be teaching your own class and the students who don’t make it into his class can all go to you! 

(maybe he shouldn’t have made that last comment, but it’s true.) 

but of course, because luck wasn’t on his side, his presentation didn’t convince the department head to change his mind 

apparently you were a “great addition” to the staff and that namjoon should feel lucky he gets to work alongside such a “smart, well-spoken young professional” who is “just as good at teaching as he is” 

ridiculous

totally ridiculous 

what’s even more ridiculous is the fact that you seem to have become a fan favourite despite only being here for literally a week 

your mug is already right next to his in the cupboard in the professor’s lounge

it’s clearly a handmade mug you probably made at one of those pottery places because the edges are a little bumpy which makes it wobble a little when you put it face down 

the outside is an eggplant purple and the inside of the cup is painted a shade of sage green and it looks like a child would drink chocolate milk out of it 

his mug is sensible and professional 

it’s plain white with his initials on the front printed in times new roman 

everyone knows it’s his mug and there’s never any confusion 

he even heard a rumour about one of the spare rooms in the philosophy department being cleared out for a new office for you if things work out 

and yes, he has his own office already, but he just thinks everyone is being a little hasty clearing out an office space just for you 

he can’t even imagine how you’d decorate the space 

you’re probably one of those people who have little trinkets everywhere and you’ll probably have like a miniature pool table on your desk to play with 

he shudders as he thinks about having to sit in oversized beanbag chairs instead of actual chairs 

“alright, alright, alright!” 

namjoon’s surprised when he opens the lecture hall door to an unusually bustling room, the students chatting animatedly as they flip through their notebooks

the air is alive with the rustling of papers, clinking of metal water bottles, and the occasional burst of laughter and he frowns as he sees a few of them leaning forward enthusiastically compared to the usual scene of them scrolling through their phones or talking to each other

he turns his head and sees you at the front of the room, perched casually on the edge of the desk twirling a purple pen between your fingers before shoving it into your bun, “now, something a little controversial...” you pause dramatically, “red ink for grading. ethical, or a crime against student morale?” 

namjoon’s jaw immediately clenches as he rolls his eyes — obviously this has something to do with the text he sent you the other day about your ridiculous coloured pens and your little ego’s been bruised and that’s why you’re being bratty 

but whatever, because if anything this is just proving his point — you’re an immature little kid totally unfit to be his equal! and he’s more than happy to let you make a fool of yourself in front of his students, so sure, go ahead and talk about your little purple pen for all he cares 

the room erupts in laughter and groans and namjoon silently makes his way over to the front to join you, pulling his chair back to see that you’ve already put your backpack down on it 

he picks it up and plops it down on the ground, using his foot to kick it under the desk before taking a seat and hanging his backpack on the back of the chair 

“i always feel like i’m being yelled at when i see red ink!”

“exactly!” you laugh, sliding up to sit on the edge of the desk with your legs swinging slightly, completely blocking the class from seeing namjoon, “it’s psychological torture. red ink doesn’t just mark mistakes, it screams them. it’s aggressive. but what about if i used green? or pink? or… pastel purple? would you feel a little different about your grade?” 

“it would feel… friendlier?”

“friendlier, right?” you grin, tapping your temple as you look out at the room of enthusiastic students, “then here’s the real ethical dilemma, kids — if something as small as ink colour affects how we perceive feedback, then what do we think that says about bigger, more serious choices? if we can reframe an experience with something as simple as colour, then what other biases are shaping the way we see the world around us? something to think about...” 

“are you just about done, dr. y/l/n?” namjoon raises an eyebrow, tapping his fingers against the desk as he leans back against his chair, “because i’d like to get started with class now, if you’re ready to go.” 

“ah! dr. kim, sorry — i know you usually like to start your classes with a silent ten minutes of quiet reflection of last week’s lecture, but i figured i’d warm up the class myself since this is my first day as co-professor.” you chirp, sliding off the desk before turning to face the class again, “very lovely to meet you all and i’m looking forward to getting to know each and every one of you as we progress with the semester!” 

“kiss ass.” namjoon coughs into his fist quietly, getting up from his seat before smiling warmly at his students, nudging you aside with his hip before clapping his hands together, “alright, class! medieval philosophy, let’s get into it…” 

you immediately roll your eyes when you turn to face away from the class, taking a seat next to the desk and crossing one leg over the other 

he’s just jealous because the students clearly like you more and you’ve only been here five minutes

but if this is how he wants to play, then you’re more than willing to play along.

»»————- 📚 ————-««

namjoon finds that the simplest things in life bring him the most pleasure

a hot cup of black coffee, the perfect scent of sandalwood in a room, the feeling of cracking the spine on a brand new notebook… 

but most importantly, a perfectly toasted buttery flaky croissant from the cafe on the bottom floor of the philosophy building

he’s eaten these croissants ever since he was a student here, and he always has a croissant after he teaches classes here on tuesdays and thursdays — it’s like a reward! 

“what do you mean there are no more croissants?!” namjoon slams both palms down on the counter, pulling away immediately when he feels that the surface is a little sticky 

gross 

“sorry, namjoon!” hoseok shrugs, “i just sold the last croissant to- actually, i think you know her, she said she’s the new professor in the philosophy department-“

you.

“i know who you’re talking about.” namjoon grits his teeth, looking at the pastry case for anything else that might satisfy his midday sweet treat craving but he doesn’t want a stupid sea salt chocolate chip cookie or a raspberry white chocolate scone, he wants his plain buttery croissant that you probably only bought to spite him! 

“yeah, her!” hoseok grins, setting namjoon’s coffee down on the counter, “she’s really nice, isn’t she? she said she likes the way i do my leaf design on her caramel lattes, no one’s ever complimented my leaves before- it just feels so nice to be appreciated for once-“ 

“no!” namjoon snaps, pointing a finger at hoseok, “you have to stop yourself from being charmed by her, it’s all an act and- and- next time she asks for a latte, you should do a giant- a GIANT frowney face-“ 

“well, i don’t think i’m going to do that but-“ hoseok frowns when he notices a vein starting to bulge out namjoon’s forehead, “hey, you seem a little tense! how about a cookie on the house?” he asks, using his tongs to pick up the sad-looking cookie before putting it in a paper bag for namjoon, “it’s just a croissant, namjoon. i know you like ‘em every tuesday and thursday but if it makes you feel better i’ll save you one on thursday! it seems like both of you guys like croissants so i can definitely save two of them-“

the both of them look over to where you’re sitting by the window with his croissant while you flip to the next page of whatever stupid book you’re reading, and namjoon’s gaze doesn’t waver in the slightest when you look up and over at them 

you smile brightly, raising the croissant in the air a little before taking a massive bite out of it, rubbing your stomach and nodding your head exaggeratingly 

namjoon’s eye twitches and he turns back to look at hoseok

“it is not just a croissant and you know that, hoseok-“ he snatches the cookie from his friend before shaking his head in disappointment, “she is a siren and you are a helpless, weak little sailor-“

“hey! what the hell, man?!” 

“WEAK little sailor!” namjoon exclaims as he storms away, angrily shoving the cookie into his mouth and wiping crumbs off with the back of his hand sloppily 

»»————- 📚 ————-««

“tae, have you seen my mug?” you frown, taking a few steps back to see if you can get a better view of the second shelf, “i usually have it on the first shelf but i can’t find it anywhere…” 

“is it not there?” taehyung — he’s the janitor here and you guys got along pretty quickly — hums, setting his mop aside before walking over to join you by the cupboards, “i swear i saw it there this morning, that’s odd. i’ll keep an eye out and let you know if i see it anywhere. you sure you didn’t leave it in your lecture hall?”

“no…” you trail off, shutting the cupboard doors gently with a sigh, “hm. i’m sure it’ll pop up somewhere. thanks, anyway…” 

you like to think that you’re a pretty chill person, but there’s just something about misplacing something that really irks you 

because then you start thinking about when the last time you saw the missing object was and then it turns into a spiral of how you could be so careless and irresponsible and lose something and also it makes you anxiously think about someone else using something that belongs to you and only you 

that’s your good luck mug!

you made it at a colour-me-mine in freshman year and you’ve used it ever since 

you’re convinced it has some kind of magical power because the mug always happens to be there when you get good news

it was there when you got accepted into your graduate program, your doctoral program, and it was literally in your hands when you got the email from the university accepting you as a new professor

so… hopefully it does pop up somewhere 

you used it yesterday after class and you remember washing and drying it immediately before sliding it back on the shelf 

you chew on the corner of your lip as you push open the door to the lecture hall, your eyes widening when you see namjoon standing there taking a sip from your mug 

you open your mouth to say something but he immediately brings a finger up to his lips to shush you — the class is having their silent time and the last thing you want to do is cause a scene, right? 

“that’s my mug.” you whisper through gritted teeth, and namjoon moves his hands to the side quickly when you reach up to try to snatch it out of his hands, “you have a stupid, boring mug already-“ 

“oh, but your mug is so much fun!” namjoon grins, taking another sip of water from it 

(it’s actually killing him having to drink from this cursed vessel. why are the edges so bumpy?! how do you drink from this stupid thing without dribbling all over yourself?!) 

“it is on, dr. kim.” you hiss, forcing a smile on your face when a few students look up from their desks, “it is so on.” 

“hm.” namjoon clears his throat quietly, the two of you standing side by side with your arms pressed together, “bring it, dr. y/l/n.” 

»»————- 📚 ————-««

the next few weeks seem to go by like a blur — maybe because you’re actually having a good time teaching the class and slowly growing more comfortable being a professor (you agreed to stick to namjoon’s syllabus only if he allowed you to teach your ethics of AI lecture) but also because this rivalry between the two of you seems to be keeping you on high alert 

after the croissant and the mug incident, the two of you only continued to one-up each other 

you replaced the sandalwood essential oil in the lecture hall with a refreshing peppermint (and you really doused it in the machine so it would take multiple cycles to be fully flushed out) and in response namjoon bought the entire jug of caramel syrup from the cafe so you’d be forced to pick another flavour 

and then you took all of namjoon’s sensible coloured whiteboard markers and replaced them with bright, fun ones forcing him to write in a fuschia pink and in response namjoon bought all fifteen croissants that day which felt kind of dramatic but at the same time you can’t help but kind of respect it

whatever

all you know is that you despise kim namjoon

every morning when you wake up, you’re thinking about how else you can terrorise him besides just taking the last croissant in the display case 

every night before bed, you’re thinking about how else you can make fun of his stupid powerpoint presentations and you even considered hacking his laptop and adding fun transitions to his powerpoints to throw him off

he hates fun transitions 

with that being said, you’re willing to put the fight on pause because today is an important day — it’s your first time leading a lecture! you’ve been prepping for this ethics in AI lecture and you’re more than excited to show the class (and namjoon) what you’re capable of 

and if all goes well, you will be rubbing this success in his stupid, handsome face. 

“handfphome?” you blurt out, toothbrush hanging out of your mouth as you blink at yourself in the mirror

oh 

oh no 

you don’t actually think he’s handsome, do you?

well, there was that one time he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows and when he turned around you couldn’t help but notice how broad his back was 

and that other time you were looking at his hands when he was pointing to something on his stupid powerpoint and you couldn’t help but think that he had such pretty hands 

and also he always smells really good — like a combination of smokey sandalwood and his natural musk 

and when you listen to him speak it’s really soothing because he has a deep voice that kind of makes you feel like you’re floating on a cloud being rocked back and forth

he’s also very intelligent and incredibly well-spoken

highly educated, charming in his own weird way (not with you, but you’ve seen the way he interacts with other professors), kinda funny sometimes, and you only know he’s single because you overheard two students whispering about it in the hallway — apparently they’d done a deep dive of his socials and there was no partner to be found, his instagram page was full of pictures of plants and quotes from philosophers 

so basically he’s a hot single nerd who’s really into philosophy and plants and you guys are only two years apart and hypothetically if you didn’t know each other and you saw him at the bar you would probably feel a little flustered if he flirted with you 

and maybe one time you watched him apply chapstick onto his plump lips and you wondered if they were as soft as they looked 

…

…

…

you take your toothbrush out of your mouth, your eyes widening in realisation and- 

“son of a BITC-“ 

»»————- 📚 ————-««

“would you let AI decide whether you get a loan? a job? parole? surgery?” you pause, letting the weight of the question settle over the students, “i know, it’s a crazy question. but maybe you already have… algorithms are making these decisions right now — sorting resumes, predicting crime, even diagnosing illnesses. AI is everywhere, and the question isn’t whether it should exist, it’s whether we should trust it…”

the only reason why namjoon is cooperating today is because you’ve (sort of) cooperated with his syllabus over the last couple weeks despite being a total menace to him personally 

yes, he’ll let you teach your ethics in AI lecture today because he’s interested in seeing what points you’ll bring up today

he can also tell you’ve been really nervous about leading your first lecture and he still remembers how nervous he was when he was in your position, so he’ll take it easy on you 

he caught you practicing your intro in the professor’s lounge and he slowly backed out so that you wouldn’t see him

and he’ll never say this to your face but from the intro alone it sounds like a pretty promising lecture

and it was kind of cute seeing you fumble with your cue cards and going over your lines with your eyes shut 

namjoon leans back against his chair as he listens to you speak, keeping his eyes on the back of your head as he crosses his arms over his chest 

sure, maybe you’re more than immature when it comes to buying his croissants and replacing his scented oils, but… 

oh god

does he respect you as an educator?! 

he pauses for a second to think, watching as you reach up to fiddle with a button on your shirt nervously 

also you actually dressed up today compared to your usual attire of a sweater and jeans and namjoon can’t help but notice that your ass looks really round in that pencil skirt 

he tilts his head slightly as his eyes continue staring at you from behind, the ooga booga man part of his brain wondering how it’d feel to grasp your waist and cup your ass as he- 

oh no

he feels his dick twitch in his boxers and he clears his throat quietly, looking down at the desk and focusing on a speck of dust instead 

oh 

what is this feeling? 

he’s pretty sure he hates you 

and he’s pretty sure you hate him, so it doesn’t make sense for him to suddenly be thinking about how sweet you smell and how pretty your smile is and how funny it actually was for you to buy the last croissant just to get on his nerves 

no 

nope 

you guys don’t like each other! 

that’s how this works!

you just came in here and totally messed up his flow and you just expect him to go along with it but he refuses to do that and after this semester is over he hopes they stick you in another building far, far away from him 

he doesn’t need anyone messing with his routine, and especially not some hotshot professor who just got her phd 

“now, some of my less adventurous colleagues-“ you step aside to reveal namjoon, and namjoon feels his jaw twitch when the class laughs lightly after you gesture to him, “would tell you that AI is a dangerous pandora’s box, something that we should fear. and sure, it’s got its problems… bias, accountability, control. but let’s not kid ourselves — human decision making isn’t exactly perfect, either. AI didn’t invent discrimination, it just inherited it from us. so can we teach morality to something that doesn’t feel?” 

“AI is a threat to ethical stability. we’re delegating moral decision-making to machines that lack genuine understanding, consciousness, or accountability.” namjoon butts in, standing up from his desk with a scoff, “how can we trust algorithms with decisions that affect human lives when they can’t even grasp mortality in any meaningful way?” 

you look at him, slightly surprised that he’s interrupted you this early in your lecture for a debate 

but sure, you’ll give it a go — the two of you haven’t actually debated over a subject before and you’re down to totally humiliate him in front of the class 

“dr. kim is a great example of what sounding like a doomsday prophet is, class.” you smile sweetly, fluttering your lashes at namjoon as the class breaks into a few giggles and chuckles, “AI is a tool. nothing more, nothing less. it doesn’t need to ‘grasp’ mortality than a calculator needs to ‘understand’ math. the ethical responsibility lies with us! blaming AI is like blaming a knife for stabbing.” 

“that’s a dangerously naive view, dr. y/l/n!” namjoon laughs, the two of you staring each other down as you stand at opposite ends of the desk, “AI systems are already making high-stakes decisions — these systems inherit biases from their training data and can operate in ways even their own creators can’t explain. if we don’t impose strict ethical guidelines, we’re ceding control to forces we barely understand-“

“you’re acting like we’re summoning some digital god that’ll enslave us all! AI doesn’t have agency — instead of fearing it, we should focus on improving transparency and fairness in these systems. ethics in AI isn’t about rejecting technology, it’s about guiding it responsibly-“

“guiding it-“ namjoon can practically hear his heart thumping in his chest as his frustration rises inside him, “guiding it responsibly?! and what happens when corporations prioritise efficiency over ethics? what- what about when governments exploit AI for mass surveillance? when biased training data leads to systemic discrimination? you’re placing blind faith in a system that rewards profit over morality- you’re playing a dangerous game, dr. y/l/n, AI isn’t just another tool, it’s a tool we may not be able to control. and your reckless optimism makes you too eager to hand over the reins-“

“maybe you just don’t like that i’m willing to embrace the unknown!” you throw your hands up into the air before pointing an accusatory finger at him, “maybe that unsettles you because you have everything planned to a ridiculous degree, like the temperature of your coffee and what time you eat your croissants-“ 

“what unsettles me is your inability to take this seriously!” namjoon presses his lips into a firm line, feeling his face heating up, “you act as if ethics in AI is some intellectual playground when in reality, it has life-or-death consequences-“

“oh, i take it very seriously, dr. kim, i just don’t think fear is the right response. fear clouds judgement, and i think you just like to have an insane amount of control over things-“

“well, excuse me! someone has to have control, someone has to make sure we don’t create something we can’t contain-“ 

“you always think you can contain things, don’t you?”

“and you always think you can push boundaries without consequences!”

“you’d be surprised how many boundaries can be pushed safely, dr. kim.” 

there’s a beat of silence between the two of you, the air heavy with something that doesn’t feel like loathing, but rather… 

you pause, remembering all of a sudden that the students should be debating with each other instead of watching their professors do it 

“uh-“ you turn back to face the class before letting out a chuckle, “let’s take twenty minutes to discuss this subject with the person next to you! dr. kim and i have to re-evaluate the structure of today’s lecture, please pardon us-“ 

the class breaks into discussion and both you and namjoon exchange glares as you head towards the door

the two of you stumble against each other and get caught in the door for a second, both of you wanting to be the first one out to lead the way 

“oh, get off me-“

“you get off me!” 

“what is your problem?!” you snap as soon as you leave the lecture hall, heading straight for an empty classroom nearby, “you’re supposed to let me lead this lecture, today was my day and you just couldn’t help yourself!”

when the hell is this going to end?! 

there’s no way the both of you can work together if he’s going to get this heated in a debate

and sure, he made some really good points and the nerd inside of you is saying that that really good debate session might as well been some form of foreplay but that’s beside the point 

“oh, please.” namjoon kicks the door shut behind him, “all we did was get into a debate, you should be glad i participated at all-“ 

“you know what, i actually do know what your problem is.” you whip around, jabbing a finger into his (firm) chest, “you’re just a little man who’s threatened by me because we both know i can do your job just as well — or honestly, even better than you can, and this is the first time you’ve had any sort of competition. i’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news but you just have to accept the fact that i’m going to be here and i’m sticking around for a long, long-“ 

“i’m going to kiss you, and if you don’t want that to happen, then tell me now and we can go back to the classroom and i’ll sit there quietly for the rest of your lecture.” namjoon interrupts, and your eyes widen as your breath hitches in your throat 

“wha-“ your voice cracks and you feel your face flush, “you- i’m sorry, what?”

“you heard me, y/n.” namjoon looks down at you, and you’re half expecting him to quit the act and say that he’s just fucking with you, but… “so what’s it going to be?” 

a moment of silence passes and you feel your thighs press together slightly when namjoon reaches up to loosen his tie slightly, his chest falling and rising in heavy breaths, “funny. you’re so quiet all of a sudden.” 

“i…” your lashes flutter as you stare up at him, “fine. you- we-“ you straighten your posture, trying your best not to show how flustered you actually are, “but make it quick because i have a lecture to-“

without another word, namjoon closes the distance between the two of you and in one fluid motion, presses his lips against yours and now you can finally confirm that his lips are as soft as they look 

you grip the front of his shirt to pull him closer, deepening the kiss with a fervor that matches the intensity of your back-and-forth over the last few weeks 

your lips move against each other’s as namjoon’s hands slide around your waist to pull you in even tighter, his body pressing against yours as if he can’t get close enough 

you’re breathless when the two of you eventually pull away, your cheeks flushed and your heart thumping wildly in your chest 

“this better not be some weird prank-“ you manage to blurt out, head still spinning from what was a very, very good kiss, “because i’m petty enough to call the catering company and tell them to nix the croissant deliveries entirely-“ 

namjoon laughs, leaning down for another kiss — this time softer, more deliberate — before pulling away with a playful eye roll 

“we’re gonna go back in and you’ll finish your lecture, and if you’re free tonight, i’d love to take you out for dinner.” he murmurs, and if you didn’t know any better you’d think he was being a little shy

it’s cute

“i’ll go out with you… on one condition.” you hum, reaching up to adjust his glasses for him 

“hm?” 

“next week you let me lead a lecture on examining the moral dilemmas faced by superheroes in film and comics — like how batman has a no-kill rule and-“

namjoon immediately groans as he turns and heads towards the door, “oh my god, you are infuriating-“

“what?! it’s a good subject!” 

🎙️ ask y/n about her thoughts on the nature of consciousness (talk to my characters!) 

📚 why not explore the rest of the library while you're here? (go say hi to yoongi and y/n in la vie en bonsai!) 

💫 or perhaps you want something shorter to read? (drabbles and mini series!)

🌟 or something even shorter? (teeny tidbits!) 

[lady-luckk]

the starlit streets of gotham

# pairing: yandere batfam x magical girl reader

# synopsis: after meeting a strange cat you suddenly gain magical powers. now gotham has a new hero.

# warnings: this will contain dark themes such as obsession and possessiveness. if you are uncomfortable, please block me. viewer discretion is advised. minors DNI.

# notes: reblogs, comments, and likes are appreciated!

the rain came down hard, soaking the city in cold filth. it pooled in potholes, ran in oily rivers down the streets, and dripped from rusted fire escapes like the city itself was bleeding out. somewhere below, a scream cut through the night—sharp, desperate.

from the rooftop, a figure watched. a pink ruffle fluttered in the wind, its lining stitched with constellations that shimmered when the light hit just right. a silver staff rested in gloved hands, pulsing faintly, sensing the wrongness in the air.

magic wasn’t supposed to exist in Gotham. the city belonged to shadows and fists, to monsters that grinned too wide and men who broke their own bones to prove a point. but you had awakened anyway, flooding the senses with truths no one else could see—sickness festering beneath the pavement, the way darkness slithered between the cracks.

and tonight, that darkness had its hands around a woman’s throat.

in the alley below, three figures in clown masks had backed their prey against a brick wall. one had a knife. Another was laughing, a shrill, jittery sound that bounced between the buildings. the third just stood there, waiting, the way a wolf waits when it knows the fight is already over.

a breath. a shift in weight.

the silver staff raised, and a single whispered command slipped into the night. “moonlight bind”

the air crackled. silver chains of light erupted from nothing, coiling around the three like glowing roots. the laughter died. the knife clattered to the pavement. one of them tried to run, but the bindings yanked tight, pinning all three in place.

up on a distant rooftop, hidden behind the curtain of rain, nightwing watched.

his white eyes followed the way the figure landed lightly in the alley, boots touching down in the spreading neon puddles. the way they tilted their head, inspecting your work—not cruel, not hesitant. just making sure it held.

magic.

gotham had never been kind to the supernatural. It had its monsters, sure, but they bled when you hit them hard enough. magic was something else. something unpredictable. something dangerous.

And yet, here it was.

dick’s jaw slightly dropped in awe. he watched as the figure twirled the staff again, then leapt—up, out, into the storm—leaving only the dying glow of silver chains in the alley below.

for a long moment, he stood there, listening to the rain, watching the place where the light had been. his mind drifting your pink frilly outfit and one thought could only pop in his mind, “so cute.”

then he turned and disappeared into the night.

it was raining again.

not the dramatic kind of gotham rain that lashed against windows and turned the city into a blur of neon and shadow—just a slow, miserable drizzle that seeped into your bones and made everything smell like wet pavement.

you sat at your desk, tapping your pen against your notebook, only half-listening as the teacher droned on about something historical and probably tragic. the words blurred together. the clock above the whiteboard ticked too loud.

next to you, tim drake nudged my arm with his elbow.

“you look like you’re about to drop dead at any moment,” he whispered.

you sighed. “i wish.”

tim chuckled under his breath. “long night?”

he said it like he was joking, but with tim, you could never be sure. he had this way of looking at people—really looking, like he was piecing together a puzzle you didn’t even know you were part of.

“just tired,” you said. not a lie. not the whole truth, either.

tim nodded like he understood anyway. his foot tapped against the floor—he was always moving, always thinking. his notes were perfect—bullet points, underlined dates, little side comments in the margins. yours were a half-finished doodle of a cat and a blank space where information should have been. 

“you take notes like you’re writing a novel,” I muttered, eyeing the neat bullet points.

tim smirked, twirling his pen between his fingers. “some of us actually want to pass.”

you scoffed. “i do want to pass. I just think history should be more… optional.”

tim huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “yeah, that sounds like something you’d say.” He hesitated for half a second, then glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “i could help you study, y’know.”

you blinked.

for a moment, he looked like he wanted to take it back—ducking his head slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. his ears had gone a little pink.

you ignored the way my stomach twisted at that.

the teacher said something about an upcoming project. tim scribbled something down, and you let your gaze drift toward the window. the city stretched out past the glass, rain-slicked and endless, a dull orange glow swallowed by low-hanging clouds.

something felt off.

you didn’t know how to explain it.

like the air was heavier. like something in the city had shifted, just slightly, just enough that you could feel it in my teeth.

you shook the thought away and turned back toward tim. he was still writing, lost in whatever thought had taken hold of him.

you opened your mouth—maybe to ask if he felt it too, maybe just to say something stupid—but the bell rang before you could.

tim sighed, stuffing his notes into his bag. “you heading straight home?”

you hesitated. you should have said yes. should have made up an excuse. instead, you shifted in your seat.

“…dunno.”

tim’s gaze lingered, eyes deep and searching, like in this moment, i was the only thing in his world. his expression softened, the usual sharp focus melting into something quieter, something warmer.

then, barely above a whisper, like he wasn’t sure he wanted me to hear it—

“be careful, okay?”

the feeling in your stomach returned, but you forced a grin. “what, worried about me?”

he rolled his eyes but didn’t quite meet mine. “just—text me later, alright?”

“yeah, yeah.” you waved him off, grabbing my bag. “see you tomorrow, Drake.”

he huffed a laugh. “see you.”

you left before he could say anything else.

tim’s words stuck with you longer than they should have.

even as you left the school, even as you walked through the rain-slicked streets, you kept hearing them—soft, careful, like he was saying more than just be careful. like he knew something I didn’t.

you shook the thought away. gotham makes people paranoid. it gets under your skin, curls around your ribs, makes you see things in shadows that aren’t there. you weren't about to let it get to you.

but the feeling lingered.

the weight in the air, the way the city felt different, like something was shifting just beneath the surface. the streetlights buzzed too loud. the shadows stretched just a little too far. the drizzle had turned into a thin mist, blurring the edges of buildings, turning the world into something unreal.

you turned down the alley behind your apartment, pulling your hood up, ready to shake off the weirdness of the day—

and then you saw the cat.

small. black as the alley it sat in. watching you.

completely dry.

you stopped.

the feeling in your ribs tightened.

you should have ignored it. you really should have.

but the cat blinked—silver eyes, too bright in the dark, too big for its face—and suddenly, you couldn’t move.

you couldn’t look away.

and then—

it spoke.

not out loud, not like a cartoon. the voice was in my head, curling around your thoughts like smoke. "you can hear me."

you took a step back. the cat followed. its eyes were silver, too bright in the dark, too big for its face.

you wanted to run. every instinct in you screamed to leave, to pretend this never happened. but something in your chest burned, something you didn’t recognize, and your feet stayed planted where they were.

the cat took another step forward. the shadows stretched with it, bending wrong, twisting around its paws like they wanted to pull it back.

"gotham is sick," the cat said, and you felt the words more than heard them. "and you can fix it."

what the actual fuck—

you opened your mouth, but no sound came out.

the cat’s eyes widened, and suddenly your head was full of light. your vision blurred—flashes of the city, of darkness curling under its skin, of something old and rotten stirring beneath its streets. your chest tightened. your heart pounded too fast, too loud. the cat came closer, its fur brushing your leg, and the second it touched you—

everything exploded.

not fire. not heat. light.

silver, cold, endless. it rushed through you, into you, twisting itself around your bones, threading itself through your veins. your skin burned, but you didn’t scream. your head was full of knowing—of power, of purpose, of the city whispering secrets you had never wanted to hear.

you dropped to your knees in the alley, gasping, hands shaking.

the cat sat in front of me, tail curled neatly around its paws, watching.

"What… what did you do to me?"

the cat blinked. the rain didn’t touch it. "i gave you a choice."

you didn’t remember choosing.

but when you looked down at your hands, they weren’t empty anymore. a silver staff lay across your palms, glowing faintly in the dark. The rain turned to steam when it touched me. your breath came out in clouds.

and somehow, you knew—if you reached out, if you let it, you could pull the light into your hands and turn it into something real.

you could fight.

the cat stood, stretching lazily. "fix it," it said again, voice curling into the back of your skull. "or let it rot. the power is yours now."

then it turned and walked into the dark, swallowed by the city before you could ask anything else.

you sat there, rain pooling around me, heart still hammering.

the light inside me hadn’t faded.

and somehow, you knew it never would.

[camelots-daffodil]

I bind books right- usually notebooks or project Gutenberg classics etc, and occasionally fanfic when I just can’t live without it (or for friends)

Why is it so many people’s first response to be like ‘you should sell that’ NO. NO ITS A CRAFT. ITS FOR FUN. ILL GIVE IT TO YOU. I’ve made over twenty books but I only have 4 to myself. I’ll gift it you. To anyone. But selling that would a) be illegal, in the case of fanfic (rip to my friend to had to listen to my angry rant about the history of fanfic when he said that) and b) defeat the point!!! It’s a HOBBY. I do it along side work, and uni, for FUN. It wouldn’t be fun if I did it for money bc there would be pressure to make everything perfect when half of the beauty of a handmade book is the little imperfections that make them unique and NOT machine made.

I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it

[ts-witchy-archive]

Fun witchy things to spice up your school/uni/college year

School/uni starts in late Jan/late Feb here in Australia so leave me alone if you're already in the middle of your school year lol /hl. These are just a few things I did when I was in HS and intend to do now that I'm going to university next year.

Enchant your water bottle with cleansing/purifying energy. The water will cleanse your energy this way. I do this to help me chill the fuck out. I do not do well with academics and the last thing I need is to pick up other people's stress.

Draw sigils for academic success in the back of your notebooks and planners.

Try binding your hair or veiling this school year! It doesn't have to be for religious reasons, it can just be to protect your energy.

Colour code your books or folders to what you need from each subject and set the intention accordingly! For example, red for math because you need confidence and strength or green for science because you need some extra luck in that subject.

Do you remember the erasers with yes and no written on them? Yeah! Make one of those and flip it for on the fly divination! It actually works if you put enough intention into it and it's a fun way to pass time.

Use colour magick in your outfits and shoes/shoe laces! This is a lot of effort so I've rarely do it but I've heard a lot of good things from people who regularly do. Just be careful that you don't accidentally send a nasty lace code message with your docks (or other boots) and shoe laces.

More colour magick but get coloured pens that correspond with your wanted intention! The ink could be coloured or just the outside, it's up to you.

If you pack your own lunch try your hand at some kitchen magick this year! Deli meats, bread, butter, pasta, tofu, etc all have their own uses and meanings. You can do some amazing stuff with food! I really recommend you try it at least once :)

Set your computer's folders names to affirmations or intentions! "I have incredible grades" "I respect my physical and mental needs" "I have the perfect work/school/life balance" are all examples.

This is less about school/uni/college but enchant any jewellery you wear with protection or dedicate it to a deity!

Again, not super school related but do a glamour spell with your skin care and/or make up. It just puts me in a good mood and sets the tone for the day.

I hope you enjoyed! As always, suggestions and tips are more than welcome :)

[dioslesbianwife]

Your request are finally opened! I’ve been waiting for so long!! ToT I love your work btw <3

I was wondering if you could please write the Jofoes (Plus Diego Brando :3) with a Love binding stand user, who usually ignores potential suitors but practically falls head over heels for them!

sorry to keep you waiting!! thank you for requesting and i hope you enjoy<33

Dio

Dio’s never been rejected- until you. When he first approached you, your Stand activated with a snap- a glowing, heart-shaped aura that kept him just out of reach, no matter how alluring he tried to be. 

He hated it. “What trick is this?” he sneered. “You think you’re immune to me?”

But the moment you caught feelings… that aura flickered, then collapsed. You could barely meet his gaze. Stammering. Blushing. Your voice soft and reverent like he was the center of the universe.

“You’re not like the others… I don’t want to push you away…”

Dio's smirk turned feral. “Oh? So now you want me?” He cups your chin, voice low. “How tragic. You’ve fallen prey to your own Stand.”

He loves how love-struck and flustered you become around him. It’s proof- irrefutable- that even you couldn’t resist him in the end. And he’ll never let you live it down.

Kars

Kars doesn’t understand human love. At least not until you.

Your Stand was fascinating to him- a radiant, glowing force that rejected anything shallow or lustful. The fact that you’d never been in love? Interesting. But then… him.

You start acting strange. Breath catching. Avoiding eye contact. Your Stand begins responding to him, not for you- binding your feelings to his, glowing faintly every time he looks at you.

And Kars notices. “You’re compromised,” he says, voice smooth. 

And you just nod, heart pounding. “I couldn’t stop it…”

Kars doesn’t tease- he studies. And then he claims. “Then it’s fate. You were made for me.” He takes you as his eternal mate, fascinated that his perfection finally awoke something in you.

Yoshikage Kira

Kira didn’t approach you for your looks- he was drawn to your quiet. You reminded him of a peaceful life, of stability. But when your Stand flared the first time he complimented you, he backed off, a little irritated.

Then… it stopped flaring. You started leaning toward him. Glancing at his hands. Blushing.

“Your Stand only reacts to people who are unworthy,” he murmurs, gently brushing your wrist.

You look up at him, glassy-eyed. “I never feel this way. I don’t want to feel this way. But with you…”

Kira smiles, just barely. “Then it seems I’m the exception to your every rule. How satisfying.”

He’s obsessed with the idea that you, so untouchable, are wrapped around him.

Diavolo

Diavolo was cautious. He doesn’t trust easy. And when your Stand visibly rejected him the first time you met, he took it as a threat.

But then you started to shake around him. Not with fear- but awe. Desire. Devotion.

And your Stand shifted. Its hearts and threads of binding magic turned inward, like it was restraining you from getting too close.

He realized it before you did. 

You nodded. “I can’t control it. You make me feel safe.”

Diavolo shudders. He sees your power- how easily you could control others- and you gave it all up for him. He promises to protect you obsessively, even violently.

No one else gets to you. No one.

Doppio

Doppio is delighted. He was nervous around you- your Stand seemed so intimidating. Like a glowing net of hearts and chains that automatically pulled back from people.

But with him it was different. The glow was soft. Warm. You smiled at him instead of turning away. You even gave him a pressed flower from your notebook, whispering shyly, “I think I like you.”

Doppio melts. He's not used to people looking at him like that. And your Stand- your love-bound, divine power- says he is.

He calls Diavolo about it constantly. “Boss! I think they really like me!”

And Diavolo, amused but watchful, lets him have this joy.

You’re Doppio’s light. And now he’s yours.

Enrico Pucci

At first, Pucci saw your Stand as a divine gift- a way to test the world’s sins. It rejected those who weren’t pure, after all.

But then it reacted to him. Not in rejection but acceptance. Your aura shimmered with trust, adoration, faith. And Pucci felt his heart stop.

“You… you see me as worthy?”

You flushed. “I tried not to. But… I trust you. Completely.”

Pucci kneels before you, almost overcome. “You’ve been chosen, then. To walk Heaven’s path by my side.”

Your Stand was made for love but Pucci makes you feel safe in it. And that’s more holy than anything he’s ever seen.

Funny Valentine

Valentine was cautious. You were beautiful, yes, but dangerous. Your Stand deflected any false affection, and your aloofness was legendary.

Then he caught you staring. Lingered glances. Shaky confessions. And finally, you whispered:

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I never fall for anyone. But with you…”

His heart soared. “Then this must be fate,” he said, kissing your knuckles. “Love chosen by the universe itself.”

He’s deeply possessive. Gentle, but controlling. You’re America’s beloved now. His First Love. He’ll cross dimensions to keep you.

Diego Brando

Diego hated that he couldn’t charm you. Hated it.

Everyone fell at his feet- except you. You barely looked at him.

But one day, something changed. Your Stand sparked when he brushed your hand, not in defense- but in blooming infatuation.

You flinched. “Why… why is it reacting to you?”

And Diego? “Because you’ve finally realized what you want.”

He teases you constantly. Smug. Smirking. But behind closed doors, he’s tender. Proud. Addicted to how soft you become around him.

No one else gets this side of you. 

Tooru

Tooru noticed immediately. Your Stand- the way it danced around you like a protective charm, the way it blocked flirts and stares- was impressive.

But it failed to stop him.

You started slipping. Laughing at his jokes. Letting your fingers brush his. Dreamily doodling his name. Your Stand reacted with sparkling threads of affection instead of defense.

And Tooru relished it.

“You fell for me so easily,” he whispered one night, brushing hair from your cheek. “Your Stand couldn’t stop it, huh?”

You blinked up at him. “I didn’t want it to. Not with you.”

His smile is soft. “That’s good, because I’d never let you pull away now.”

[hauntedsprings]

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[redsummermoon]

Hi! I would love it if you wrote a Charlie x fem!reader where it’s the reader’s birthday, and Charlie is super sweet, he offers a present (idk what)... And I’m requesting this cause it’s my bday today (I know that if you choose to write it, I’ll never get it today but anyway it will be a late birthday present)

Thank you very much if you like it and write it🎁

happy very-very-very belated birthday!! 😓 we actually have close birthdays though!! im hoping you all will let me return to writing after all this time🤗

Birthday Poetry

Charlie Dalton x reader CW: female reader[0.8k words] 

The cave smelled faintly of wax and woodsmoke, candles flickering along the stone walls and casting soft shadows that danced in rhythm with the laughter of the Dead Poets Society. You were seated on a folded blanket with your legs tucked under you, a warm paper cup of cider in your hands and a crown of dried flowers, crafted by Neil and Todd, resting crookedly on your head.

Charlie had insisted on throwing you a birthday party in the cave, even though you told him you didn’t need one, but it had been perfect. Neil cracking jokes, making sure everyone had a good time, Meeks and Pitts presenting a homemade "cake" which was really just a mess of pastries from the dining hall stacked on a plate, and Knox gifting you a poem he swore wasn’t about Chris, even though everyone knew better.

Now, most of the cider had been drunk, the candles burned low, and the laughter quieted into soft conversation and sleepy yawns.

"Alright, alright, poets," Neil stood up and clapped his hands. "Time to let the birthday girl be."

"Good idea," Charlie agreed, as he was already looking at Neil with a silent understanding.

Todd gave you a soft smile and a little wave. “Happy birthday again,” he said, voice shy but sincere.

As the boys began gathering up their things and blowing out candles, Charlie leaned into your side and murmured, “Can you stay a little longer?” You turned your head to look at him. His voice was softer than usual, almost hesitant. “Just us,” he added.

“Of course,” you said.

Neil grinned like he knew something was up, because of course he did, and started herding the rest of the poets out of the cave. “Don’t be late for curfew,” he sing-songed before disappearing into the darkness.

The cave was suddenly quiet. The only sounds were the wind rustling outside and your heartbeat thudding in your chest.

Charlie got up and walked over to his satchel near the back of the cave. “Okay,” he said, almost to himself. “Now or never, Dalton.”

“What was that?” you teased, watching him with curiosity.

He turned, a small handmade notebook in his hands. It looked like something a child might make. Tied together with twine, the cover uneven and decorated with what looked like pressed flowers and clumsy hand-drawn stars. It was terribly made. It was also the most Charlie thing you'd ever seen.

“I made you something,” he said, suddenly nervous. He didn’t meet your eyes as he handed it to you, instead looking down at his feet. “It’s kind of dumb. But... also kind of not?”

You took it gently from his hands, fingers brushing his. “You made this?”

He nodded. “Open the first page.”

You flipped the cover open, careful not to damage the fragile binding. On the inside was a note, written in slightly smudged black ink:

“Happy birthday to the reason I believe in love poems.

Love, the guy who fell in love with you mid-sonnet,

Charlie Dalton.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “Charlie…” you whispered.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve been writing them. All semester, actually. Every time you smiled or said something clever or wore that stupid oversized sweater I love. Sometimes I just wrote a line. Sometimes a whole poem. And then I started copying down ones that reminded me of you. By other poets, I mean. Keating says plagiarism is still love if it’s in sonnet form.”

You laughed wetly and sniffled, turning another page. There was a small poem there, one of his, you could tell. It was messy and unpolished and heartbreakingly sincere. You wiped at your eyes with your sleeve.

“Hey, hey,” Charlie said, alarmed. “Why are you crying? Are you.. was it bad? Should I not have?”

“No, Charlie,” you said, voice thick. “It’s... it’s perfect. This is the most thoughtful, beautiful thing anyone has ever done for me.”

He sat down beside you quickly, scooting close. “You’re crying, like, a lot, babe.”

“I can’t help it,” you laughed through the tears. “It’s too sweet. You’re too sweet.”

He gave you a sheepish smile. “I was afraid it’d be too much. You’re usually the quiet one in this relationship.”

“I love it,” you whispered, leaning in and resting your head on his shoulder. “I love you.”

Charlie froze for a beat, then wrapped his arms around you and buried his face in your hair. “God, say it again.”

“I love you,” you said, softer this time, just for him.

He kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering. “You make me want to write a thousand more poems.”

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, your eyes still glassy. “You’re not gonna make me cry again, are you?”

He grinned and leaned in. “No promises.”

And then he kissed you. Gently, reverently, the way someone might kiss the edge of a prayer.

When you finally pulled apart, he whispered, “Happy birthday, my muse.”

You laughed, brushing his hair back from his face. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously in love,” he corrected, placing another kiss at the corner of your mouth.

[satisfictionbindery]

So took the plunge and bought a kit to get started, and thought, "First one will always be the first, so make it memorable" and so I did; I make a Bookbinding Journey Journal!

Took a few days to decide what exactly I wanted in it and formatting the pages and testing out, and finally was happy and went ahead!

Space for 50 binds in total - I don't expect them to be perfect by any measure of means but I do want to have a chronological reminder to see my own growth!

My bookbinding journey actually soft-started a while ago when asked to make a prop for a friend's short film. I had considered getting into binding a long long time ago...but as a notorious notebook hoarder I didn't want or need to add more to the pile. And then I chanced found fanbinding, specifically @renegadeguild both through researching for the prop and also as part of my studies in Fandom Culture! Which actually came at a wonderful time as I was also in the process of getting physical copies of two of my favourite fanfics from the Authors! @nieded and @dustandhalos ! And there really is something about holding a physical piece of work that you love in your hands, reading fanfics online is one thing, but to have a tangible piece of work (and art!) In your hands just can't be replicated by a screen!

And so, with a culmination of all these things; we're taking the dive! Time is precious at the moment, I'm in the final weeks of my undergraduate course, and my assignments take priority, but I certainly look forward to this journey and hobby!

[dhampling]

ASTARION GETTING INTO BAKING AND ASKING YOU TO SAMPLE ALL OF HIS BAKES

this was such a fun one i love it he is simply a silly guy who wants to be a man of many talents thank you for the request avo I LOVE YOU

He looks at you expectantly. 

The small wodge of cake on the plate in front of you crumbles to dust as you squish it. Astarion pinches his nose. Eyes closed, a beleaguered sigh.

“Too much sugar.” You grimace. 

“It’s going to disintegrate if you do that.” 

You quirk a brow. Astarion looks down at his creation pitifully.

The sweet smell of fresh-baked goods, now somewhat marred by the unimpressive result on the counter in front of you. Kitchen scattered with cooking implements; his apron smattered with still billowing clouds of flour. 

“Clearly the recipe was incorrect, that’s all.” He hums. Looks at the cake for a moment with a stewing resentment in his eyes then turns on his heel. 

“You followed it exactly?” 

His head moves from side to side in a deliberating err.

“Kind of? Not really?”

-

Over the coming weeks he spends endless nights in your small kitchen working to figure out the art of baking, driven by the underwhelming response to his initial offering. 

Astarion argues that it’s his prerogative. With the tadpole so newly gone he wants to broaden his horizons, he purrs, glass in hand; now that he can try anything, why shouldn’t he?

The obvious answer here is that he can’t taste the fruits of his labour. 

No matter the freshness of the produce, nor the quality of the flour grain; it all resembles ash past the threshold of his fangs. 

 You’re frequently dispatched to the market to gather more treats for Astarion to experiment with - the textures, the smells, the way they come together in the binding heat of the stove - and despite a rocky start, you find yourself more and more impressed with the results.

He observes each time he comes to you with a platter of treats, notebook in hand; eyes glued to your face whilst you meticulously try each and every little morsel. 

What began as plain muffins and oat biscuits evolves quickly into bites of his own creation. 

He figures out how to make a creme filling; the perfect ratios for butter pastries, how to temper chocolate and the best ways in which to use it. You use the best descriptives you can manage to help him understand the texture, the taste; the consistency of everything that makes its way into your mouth as he fervently jots every last word down.

The big one - which he absolutely succeeds with - is your birthday cake. Richly decorated and built on the densest sponge you’ve ever tasted, topped with raspberries, almonds, fresh cream, vanilla. The anticipatory stare across the table as he watches the first forkful lift to your mouth and the sweetest kiss he receives as you smile into his. 

He enjoys it. A hobby, definitely. Not the kind of thing he’d pursue for gold - if only for the fact he can’t enjoy a single bite of his own creations - but if he can keep you in the finest of baked goods then he considers every delighted groan from your starving mouth a success. 

[purenonsens]

Got a tiny Aubrey Beardsley book at flea market last weekend. Leather bound with cardboard case, illustrated, German edition. I have another one of these (a tiny artbook published in Poland), photos for size ref. I associate book miniatures mostly with funny/ smutty stories or pictures (I like how it makes them a dirty little secret you can keep in your pocket heh) or poems, but haven't seen such stuff in bookstores in forever. Both are from the '80s, I wonder is there a market for such publications nowadays? Do people still buy tiny books??

Also I know fanfiction book binding is A Thing, but somehow I only ever saw big projects that get this treatment? When this is a perfect size to make your flash fic/ one-shot a miniature book (threw an illust or two in there for good measure) and let it burn a hole in your or somebody's else pocket. Maybe I should consider doing miniatures' binding as commissions, damn. I only ever did simple notebooks for friends, but it looks fun and I have all the tools... Also I really want to make a cute tiny zine now...

[christopherisfoive]

hiii can you do #19 with hyunjin or lee know please🙏🙏🙏

Hi Sweet Bean ☕️—your order’s up! Thanks for brewing creativity with me at StayGround. Drop by anytime for a warm refill of inspiration.

Tangled Margins One-shot · University AU · Art-major Hyunjin × Book-worm Literature Student

The Langford Grant, a once-a-year golden ticket, bankrolls two seniors to spend the summer in Oxford tracking how visual art and literature feed each other. The catch: applicants must prove “organic creative chemistry.” Past winners? A filmmaking couple who finished each other’s metaphors in the interview. A sculptor-poet duo who got engaged onstage (still legendary on the alumni page).

You—Y/N L., English major, paid library assistant, notorious introvert—have the research plan: cataloging forgotten marginalia in 16th-century folios. What you don’t have is an artist or, apparently, chemistry.

Hyunjin, final-year fine-arts phenom, absolutely has the art. Rumor says his oil portraits make professors tear up. What he doesn’t have is a literary angle convincing enough for the Langford board.

The application closes in ten days.

Friday night after closing, you’re shelving in Special Collections when someone knocks on the glass, charcoal streaks on his forearms like war paint. Hyunjin smiles—half apology, half dare—and asks if you’ll unzip the case that protects the 1579 Arcadia.

Hyunjin says sheepishly, “I need the ornamental initials for a triptych. I’d, uh, sketch fast.”

“Sketching is the easy part. Paperwork’s the monster.”

Ten minutes becomes an hour. He works in rapid graphite; you hover, terrified he’ll smudge history. Conversation wanders—favorite first lines, color palettes hidden in antique bindings—and when the lights flicker for shutdown he blurts:

“We should enter the Langford.”

You laugh because you’re strangers. He keeps talking:

“Your folio obsession plus my visuals? Perfect cross-discipline story. They love a… narrative.”

He doesn’t say fake dating. He doesn’t have to. The committee’s romance fetish is legend. A silent beat stretches between you; the idea feels implausible—until you picture Oxford libraries and call numbers in roman numerals.

You cross your arms. “Ground rules, then.” He grins, sketch already forgotten. “Rule one: no accidental library fires.”

“Rule two,” you counter, “we let people assume whatever sells the chemistry—but we don’t actually lie.”

“Strategic omissions,” he decides, offers a charcoal-marked handshake. You take it.

Ink still drying on the pact, you both return to your worlds: you to annotated brackets, him to canvases that smell of linseed and storm clouds.

Word travels the way rumors do: a barista posts you and Hyunjin bent over the same notebook, latte hearts untouched. Comments: power couple?, lit-boyfriend goals? You neither confirm nor deny. Easier to ride the wave.

Week 1 – Library table D-12 Hyunjin copies marginal doodles; you draft a paper on intertextuality. He sketches you absent-minded, doesn’t show the page. A passing grad student winks, then whispers to another: “They’re adorable.” Your pulse jumps; you bury it under footnotes.

Week 2 – Studio 3B Oil fumes, Mahler low on a dusty speaker. You read aloud from Sir Philip Sidney while Hyunjin blocks in figures. He asks you what color “longing” is; you say “the inside of a walnut shell.” He paints it without blinking.

Week 3 – Presentation rehearsal To sell the committee, you’ve built a joint piece: Tangled Margins—six canvases echoing folio pages where lovers once scribbled poems in the gutter. Your voice-over will read the found verses while his brushstrokes bloom on screen. It looks… alive.

Somewhere in the rehearsals the staged closeness becomes muscle memory: passing him turpentine without looking, his hand steadying your elbow on studio ladders. Your roommate jokes you sigh Hyunjin’s name in sleep; you roll your eyes too quickly.

Two nights before the Langford interview, you arrive at the studio with Turkish coffee and catch Hyunjin video-chatting a classmate:

Classmate (grinning): “So the bookworm’s working out?” Hyunjin (snort-laugh): “Honestly, it’s perfect PR. Committee will eat the ‘unlikely duo’ vibe.” Classmate: “But sparks?” Hyunjin: “Dude, it’s an act. We need the grant, she needs Oxford. Win-win.”

Act.

The word punches harder than you expect. You backtrack, coffee cups rattling in their cardboard tray, and flee before he turns.

Phone pings minutes later—

HYUNJIN: “Everything okay?” You mute the screen.

The next morning your annotated script lands in his locker with a note: “Run the presentation solo. Good luck.”

You hide in the stacks, revising a new author’s note that scrubs your existence. It feels like ripping sentences out of yourself, but anger keeps the blade steady.

Evening brings the pre-interview mixer—mandatory. You show up alone, hair still smelling of old vellum. Hyunjin’s across the room, tie crooked, looking lost. The committee notices; whispers swirl. Chemistry doesn’t do long-distance.

Professor Han corners you: “I hope everything’s… steady? The board likes harmony.” You give an arch library smile that means mind your own manuscripts.

But your chest aches every time Hyunjin’s laugh tries to find yours and you pretend not to hear.

Interview day. Auditorium smells of nerves and copier ozone. Hyunjin steps to the lectern alone; your chair at stage left stays conspicuously empty. His PowerPoint loads—blank where your text should roll.

He clears his throat, searches crowd until his gaze snags yours near the back. Suddenly he closes the laptop.

Hyunjin speaks to the small crowd before him, “Our proposal was built on conversation between image and word. I can’t present half a dialogue.”

Murmurs everywhere. You freeze; pride and panic duel in your ribcage. When the chairperson prompts—“Do you forfeit?”—Hyunjin answers,

“No. I’d like to invite my co-creator up… if she’s willing to speak for herself.”

A spotlight seems to hit row seven. Your legs move before your brain agrees. At the podium you hiss, “What are you doing?” He murmurs, “Finishing the story. Honestly, this time.”

He pulls from his portfolio a fresh canvas—wet paint glimmering. It’s a facsimile of that Arcadia page, but the margin bears your hurried handwriting beside his painted hand reaching for it. Between the hands, one sentence:

“Real stories refuse to stay in the margins.”

Your breath catches. Committee members lean in like listeners at a campfire. Heart hammering, you open your annotated copy and read aloud the poem once scrawled by a long-dead reader. Your voice shakes, then steadies when Hyunjin continues the recitation, alternating lines. By the final stanza you’re both facing each other, not the board.

Silence. Then—applause that feels like stertorous thunder in an old chapel.

In the hallway, you shove him.

“Perfect PR, huh?” Hyunjin winced, “I was stupid. The act stopped being an act weeks ago, and that terrified me.”

“Words matter. You used them like props.” You huffed turning away.

“Let me rewrite?” He fishes a fountain pen from his pocket, caps trembling. “Starting with I’m sorry, on whatever page you choose.”

Your anger softens—like a spine relaxed after too much tight binding. “Draft a longer apology,” you say, but fingers brush his pen, lingering.

He exhales something like a prayer. “Then we talk? Somewhere not haunted by grant committees.”

You point down the corridor. “Special Collections is empty after five.”

Closed sign flipped, lights low. Among folios and dust motes, he sets sketchbook aside.

No audience now. His sorry tastes like coffee and relief. Your reply is a fistful of his collar. Glass-case reflections blur as kisses deepen, as spines arch against marble tables older than railroads. Blazers slip off, parchment-quiet; his hands trace under your shirt like finding hidden marginal notes.

When he finally unbuttons, each gasp echoes but not loud enough to wake the ghosts. The world narrows to warm skin, cool wood, the scent of old paper turned suddenly electric. Somewhere a loose page flutters to the floor—new history for some future curator to puzzle over.

(Door stays locked. You’re certain.)

The Langford email pings at dawn: Congratulations, grant recipients.

Summer time has arrived. Oxford cloisters, endless daylight. You draft chapters in a window seat; he sketches gargoyles on loose sheets. Some evenings you swap tools—he tries adjectives, you ruin charcoal with smudged fingerprints. All evenings you return to the same college dorm, laughter ricocheting off stone.

The rumor back home evolves: “Did you hear? The folio girl and the painter boy eloped to England.” You two don’t bother to clarify. Let margins do what margins do—hold whispers, hide kisses, keep stories alive.

And when you sign the first joint exhibition catalogue—Painted Verses: Hwang & L.—neither of you uses charcoal or fountain pen.

You both sign in ink the color of a walnut shell.

[khalaris]

I made these notebooks as Easter gifts for my niece and her step sis. They're the first full bindings I've done from start to finish and whoo, that was a lot of work!

They're not perfect (one is a bit crooked and I forgot to put the headbands on the other one) but I'm quite proud of how they came out.

[stereopticons]

On This Day in Schitt's Creek: April 18

2019

King of My Heart [david/patrick, G, 836] by @mickeysmyheart

ewdavids said:king of my heart by taylor swift song fic Tumblr prompt that I centred around Patrick's feelings throughout meeting and being with David with lyrics from King of My Heart by Taylor Swift.

Night Cream [david/patrick, E, 960] by xoxxblitz

Patrick looks done for. He’s sweating all over, blue button down shirt still on his shoulders. + Messy BJ’s!

Perfect Snapshot [david/patrick, T, 3,284] by kt_rose28

David and Patrick take engagement pictures together! Post “The Hike” (5x13)

2020

Afterwards [david/patrick, E, 5,250] by sheafrotherdon

The wedding's over. They've said their goodbyes. Their honeymoon's a week together in the apartment without anyone bothering them, and David doesn't know how to be this happy, and sad, together, at once.

easy as knowing all the words [david/patrick, NR, 758] by @banesapothecary

"You signed me up for what?"

kings and queens will have to wait (won't get by on mere imagination) [ted/alexis, G, 773] by earnmysong

Cracking the binding on her carb-stamped notebook, Alexis puts pencil to paper and begins outlining the highly-anticipated upcoming chapter of her life. ~ Unpacking after her move, Alexis makes an interesting - and comforting - discovery. [Post-Series]

Nobody Gets Left Behind or Forgotten [david/patrick, G, 1,373] by loveisallyouneed21

David starts to miss his family and Patrick helps him feel better.

Now I'm a spinning 33 [david/patrick, T, 593] by @sloganeeer

Footloose and fancy free Now I’m a spinning 33 Complete devotion Is that the cost of love’s commotion? Joel Plaskett, "On & On & On"

some things never change (and others do) [david/patrick, G, 2,759] by tuatarasa

It felt weird to think about the fact that his name was on the front of the store because while sure he made the creative decisions, the reason the store was a viable business was because Patrick handled all the boring buisnessy stuff. The store was just as much his as it was David’s which is why the next words slipped out of his mouth without any thought, 'Should we rename the store?'" or three times changing the name of the store was brought up and the one time David finally stopped.

Wine Night [david/patrick, G, 587] by @khughes830

Stevie and David try to have wine night as often as they can. But David is a newlywed... so sometimes he is late.

2021

If You Could Only See [david/patrick, E, 3,351] by @blackandwhiteandrose

David knew exactly the aesthetic that he was trying to achieve; he could see it all so clearly in his mind. It had been a passion project since he’d started to take photography seriously as a hobby. While he figured Patrick would do just about anything to support him, he had not anticipated that his husband would be such a willing participant. OR: David and Patrick dabble in erotic photography

Lebanon [gen, G, 300] by Rosey_Peach

when my two lovesick arms started flapping, there's nothing my ankles could do [rachel/twyla, G, 800] by budd

Rachel takes an impromptu trip to Café Tropical after her conversation with Patrick during "The Barbecue" where she meets Twyla for the first time.

2022

[Podfic] Heart of Gold [david/patrick, M, podfic] by HowOldAreWe

Or David is a hooker with a heart of gold, AKA the Pretty Woman AU you never knew you wanted. Canon compliant up through season one. Instead of running out of gas at the Amish Farm when fleeing Schitt's Creek, David makes it to NYC where he becomes a high-end escort in order to make ends meet. He's the consummate professional until he meets Patrick Brewer and takes a chance on his own fairy tale.

He is risen. [david/patrick, G, 485] by @cheesecurdsgravyandfries

Knowing David wouldn’t wake up for awhile, Patrick let himself enjoy his tea, a scroll through social media, and a few chapters of his latest read, before starting to make Easter breakfast.

You Have Reached Your Destination [david/patrick, E, 15,294] by NotTheLoveGuru

"In the history of Tuesdays, this particular Tuesday was the Tuesday-est of all..." The boys meet a few weeks earlier than expected under very unexpected circumstances.

2023

Ponder [david/patrick, T, 92] by @wearpersistencewell

Patrick meets someone interesting. Based on a schittscreekdrabbleblog prompt.

Stats:

No fanworks for 2017, 2018, or 2024 2019: 3 fics/5,080 words 2020: 7 fics/12,093 words 2021: 3 fics/4,451 words 2022: 3 fanworks (2 fics, 1 podfic)/15,834 words 2023: 1 fic/92 words Total: 17 fanworks (16 fics, 1 podfic)/37,550 words

[dancerinthestorm]

A perfect afternoon spent getting lost in Tolkien.

Reading „The Silmarillion“ is rather slow going as I keep getting distracted by the book‘s gorgeous illustrations and taking notes of every single phrase making my brain go ✨💫✨. But I love every second of it.

(Might need to get started on binding a few more notebooks soon though the way the first one keeps filling up already…)

[skzdust]

Contingency

Part 1

Welcome to a new series! This is my first mafia au, so I hope you all like it! It starts off a bit slow but next chapter things will really pick up ;)

Summary: You accept a job from your best friend Seonghwa getting information on Ateez's rival group, SKZ. You decide to get to the organization through one of their members: Lee Minho. You find yourself falling for him, and things get even more complicated when SKZ's resident hacker seems to have his sights set on you as well.

Pairing: Lee Know x I.N x Reader

Includes: Seonghwa being a good friend, coffee shop meetings, Lee Minho being hot

Word count: 1.5k

Taglist (Comment on a post/send an ask if you'd like to be added): @weirdowithaphone, @caught-in-the-afterglow, @palindrome969, @skzstan12345, @katsukis1wife, @tsunderelino

Reblogs, likes, comments all appreciated!!!

Part 2 | Part 3

Masterlist

-----

“You’re looking for a job right now, yes?” Seonghwa raised his eyebrows, leaning forward on his elbows.

You blinked. “Blunt, but yes.”

“Perfect.” A smile lit up his eyes.

It often did. Seonghwa may have been a member of ruthless criminal organization Ateez, but he was warm and sentimental and kind. Although you supposed you hadn’t seen him at his usual work of interrogations—you doubted his victims got that same side of him.

“What is it?”

“Well… it’s something for us, actually.”

You were confused. “Doesn’t Hongjoong usually keep things internal?”

“That’s…” Seonghwa cleared his throat. “That’s the issue. We can’t send one of our own. I can’t tell you too much, but Hongjoong… he’s planning something, and he wants to know how much information a certain other organization has on us. We can’t risk one of ours getting captured by them.”

“Another organization?” Your eyes widened as you realized who he must mean. “You’ve gotta be kidding. Their screening process is infamously insane. I’ll never get far enough in to get the information you need in time.”

Seonghwa shrugged. “We’re putting the offer out to a few people. You’re not the only bounty hunter we know.”

You held one hand to your chest. “Wow, and here I thought we were best friends.”

“We are!” Seonghwa took your other hand. “Ateez knows other bounty hunters, but you’re Park Seonghwa’s favorite.”

“How sweet.”

He let go of your hand to make a heart between both of his. “Anytime.”

“So… I need to find SKZ’s file on Ateez and deliver it to you? For how much?”

Seonghwa jerked his head, indicating he wanted to say something in your ear, and you leaned in. He whispered the amount, and your eyes went wide.

“Deadass?”

“Deadass.” His eyes twinkled.

“For that money, you can consider them infiltrated already.”

“There you go! That’s the spirit!”

—

You went over your plan in your head for the thousandth time as you waited in the coffee shop. You had no way of knowing exactly when he would show up, so you couldn’t be distracted.

You spotted him as soon as he walked in. Nothing about him explicitly screamed “criminal underworld”, but the way he carried himself, the subtle quality of the leather jacket he wore, the shifting of his eyes across the space as he analyzed for potential threats all told you this man was just like you—dangerous.

You knew Ateez’s papers on your target—at least the ones you’d been granted access to—could only tell you so much, but you reviewed a few pieces of information you’d gleaned from the file as you watched him get in line.

Lee Minho loved coffee; his usual order was an iced americano. He had a fondness for cats. He’d had two girlfriends in the past three years.

Lee Minho had good aim; he could shoot a man in a snowstorm at night with one bullet. He had shot a man in a snowstorm at night with one bullet.

Lee Minho had the highest kill count in SKZ.

You added one to your mental list: Lee Minho was hot.

It was self-indulgent, but it would definitely make your plan easier for you.

You looked back down at your notebook, trying to look busy as he did another glance around the room. You tapped at the binding with the eraser of your pencil, biting the inside of your lip as you pretended to focus intently on something.

As the barista called out, “Minho!”, setting down a cup on the counter, you began to pack up your things. By the time the drink was in his hand, you were standing up, and by the time Minho had made it to the door, you were walking at a brisk pace, staring at your phone intently. So intently, in fact, that you walked right into him.

He reacted in moments, his hand moving to your arm, holding it tightly so you didn’t lose your balance. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m—I’m good, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t—”

“No worries.” He cut you off smoothly. “No harm done.”

“You sure you’re okay?” You looked at his coffee, which he’d held away from his body. “Nothing spilled?”

“Nope. Are you okay? All… good?” His eyes darted up and down your body, and his gaze lingered on your bag for a moment too long. You knew he was likely scanning for weapons, but a piece of you hoped he was checking you out.

“Yes.” You adjusted the bag on your shoulder, and his eyes snapped back to your face. His smile was reserved, but genuine. “I’m sure I’ll see you around if you’re here often, but have a nice day.”

“Yeah, I’m here a lot. Have a good day!” You tried to be peppy. That was your persona right now: y/n l/n. A kind, good person.

He nodded his head in a goodbye, then walked out the door. You followed him out and went off in the opposite direction, satisfied with the interaction.

—

You didn’t want to take the plan slow, but you knew that you’d have to if you wanted to get all the information Ateez had requested. Minho would suspect something if you were overly clingy or moved too fast. So, the next day, you resolved not to talk to him as you set up your laptop and notebook. You’d look up when he passed your table—one you’d selected right next to the part of the bar where customers picked up their drinks—and smile sweetly, and that would be it.

You weren’t counting on Minho looking around as he waited for his americano, seeing you, giving a small smile, and walking over. You hurried to close the more suspicious tabs on your computer, despite the fact that he approached from the opposite direction.

“Hello.” He tilted his head, as if analyzing you. “You’re here again.”

“I am.” You closed the last one and turned your full attention to him. “So are you.”

“I like the coffee here, it’s better than a lot of other places, and I usually need a lot of caffeine.”

You took a sip of your own drink. “It is good. What do you need caffeine for?” It was an obvious question, and you knew the answer, but it was something an uninformed civilian would ask.

He gave a brief laugh before saying, “It’s complicated, but I do business stuff with a bank. I work a lot of late nights. What do you do?”

You fought to keep a laugh of your own off your face. He clearly wasn’t used to giving that lie, and while it would’ve fooled a random person, you knew the truth, which let you monitor his tells.

(Which were shifting his weight between his feet, speaking a little too loudly, and the immediate subject change.)

“Mm.” You said instead, nodding. “That sounds important. I’m in tech stuff. Coding.” You raised your eyebrows. “It’s complicated.”

“Is it?”

“It is.”

You smiled at each other for a moment before the barista called out, “Minho!”, and he went to get his drink. He stopped by your table again.

“My name’s Minho.” He held up his coffee. “If you couldn’t tell from that.”

“I’m y/n.” You tilted your laptop screen down. “Am I gonna see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” He smiled, just a bit bigger. “Maybe we can sit together.”

Something bubbled in your chest—something real. Your plan had been to start dating Minho as a ruse to get close to SKZ, breaking up with him as soon as you had the information you needed. So you told yourself the feeling was just excitement that your plan was working. It had nothing to do with Minho specifically. You’d feel this way over any plan working.

You knew you were lying to yourself, but you shushed that portion of your brain. You could not catch feelings for Lee Minho.

“I’ll save a seat for you… wait, here.” You ripped a piece of paper off one of your notebook pages and scribbled your name and number.

You knew it was unnecessarily risky to use your real name verbally, let alone write it down with your number, even if it was a burner phone. But no one you worked with or around knew it, and you’d grown to miss hearing it.

You knew it was worth it when Minho mumbled it as he read the paper. “Y/n.”

You smiled. “Yeah, in… in case you want to call me or something.”

He put it in his pocket, his eyes glinting. “Y’know, it’s pretty risky to hand out your name and number to strangers.”

You shrugged. “I don’t hand out my name and number to most strangers.”

He leaned in a few inches. “And what if I’m the dangerous kind?”

You smirked. “Then at least you’re hot.”

He gave a real laugh as he leaned away. “You’re funny, y/n. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.”

You watched him walk out of the coffee shop, hands in his pockets.

You were glad the plan was working. That was all.

[bettsfic]

Do you have any preferred notebooks? Anything better than Moleskine which I don't think would be hard (!!??)... The ink bleeding through to the page behind is so distracting. Random question but I figured you'd be perfect to ask!! Thank you

i've been waiting my entire tumblrlife for this, anon. stationery is one of my most persevering special interests.

just to caveat, i still use a moleskine for my personal journal, but i only write in it once or twice a month so they tend to last years. i bought my current journal in 2017 before enshittification and so i haven't had a problem with the paper. i use a felt-tip pen on it mostly, but even the few times i've tried fountain pens, i haven't had any bleed-through. it's really unfortunate they've gone downhill.

and i mean, for context, i beat the shit out of my moleskines. and look how they've held up!

the one on the left i used from 2011 to 2017. it went all around the world with me and i carried it everywhere for 6 years. i taped every stupid scrap of paper i came across into it and that's why it's so beefy. the elastic band has stretched too far is all; i need to find something sturdier to keep it shut.

the one on the right i started in 2017 and i'm about 2/3rds through it. i tape some stuff in but not as much as i used to. at one point it was in my backpack in the overhead compartment of a plane and some guy's water bottle spilled all over it. i was devastated. but it slurped that shit up and kept trucking. you can't even tell it's waterlogged anymore.

my mom bought me a special edition van gogh moleskine for my birthday last year that i was planning to use for my next journal. i just tested the paper against the 2017 journal using a kaweco sport bold tip, and the van gogh paper does indeed bleed significantly more than the 2017 paper. a real shame. i'm probably still going to use it though, because i've kept the proud tradition of "use notebooks people buy me for my birthday as my next journal" since i was 14. also, i'll probably end up starting it when i'm 37, the age van gogh died.

last august marked my 20th anniversary of my journaling habit, btw. i was going to write a newsletter about it but it started spiraling into a whole-ass book and i had to set it down.

a close and higher quality alternative to moleskine, much beloved by bullet journalers, is leuchtturm. their A5 hardcover is very similar to the classic moleskine pictured above. i don't use one because i have no use for lie-flat notebooks for anything other than a personal journal (which is covered for the next decade or so), but i love buying them as gifts.

my commonplace notebook is the A4 rhodia top spiral, which i've mentioned in my newsletter before. there is something truly magical about this notebook. when i bought it, i carried it around with me everywhere even though i had no idea what to write in it. i started commonplacing before i even knew what that was, simply because the tactile and aesthetic sensation of filling each page was so satisfying. i go through 1-2 per year.

this isn't a notebook proper, but my research binders are B5 maruman clartes with their corresponding loose leaf paper. again, like the rhodia A4 top spiral, the sensation of writing on the paper and organizing the binder is very satisfying and so it encourages me to take a lot of notes.

maruman also makes the famously amazing mnemosyne series of notebooks. i haven't used one before but i really like them, and as soon as i need a high quality top spiral notebook that the A4 rhodia can't fulfill, that's what i'll be moving to.

my purse notebook is a field notes reporter's notebook. these are new so they haven't stood the test of time the way the others have, but i love the size and the binding, and afaik field notes is one of the few american stationery brands that hasn't fallen prey to a quality drop in paper. i also love field notes classic pocket notebook but have never been able to make a pocket notebook habit stick. it took me a long time to realize tiny notebooks don't encourage me to write in them, because a lot of my notebooking is about the thrill and aesthetic pleasure of seeing an overwhelming amount of text on a page.

my planner is a hobonichi techo weeks, which is the same size as the reporter's notebook and also goes in my purse. this is my first year using a hobonichi planner and i really love it. like the others, its quality encourages me to use it. i've found hobonichi overall is a really good notebook brand.

my sketchbook (which i don't use very much) is a strathmore 500 series mixed media softcover. i bought it before i realized how deterring i find lie-flat books and i think i would be more motivated to draw by investing in one of their wirebound ones, even though all the artists i follow on youtube tell you not to do that. i keep meaning to change it into a collage notebook instead, i just haven't had the time or desk space to do it.

and an honorable mention: before the pandemic, back when i did things and went places, i used a grand voyageur traveler's notebook from paper republic. i'm actually very sad i don't have much of a use for it anymore, but maybe one day i'll do stuff again and return to it. it's weird that i don't see paper republic mentioned often (ever) in bujo spheres, when i think their products are better than traveler's company (although i haven't tested one for a significant period of time; people swear by them though).

hopefully one or two of these stand out to you!