#Symmetric group

[deimostes]

thing i keep thinking about

part 2

[riverwithoutbanks]

I thought I was losing my mind and overheating bc hello it’s cas day I feel some extent of that everyday about him bc god have you seen the guy so imagine today when my dash is full of him but I actually got a fever lmao

[a9saga]

i had the best, most epic awkward moment at work yesterday. i sit at a ~professional looking~ desk. it's not my desk in particular, but the the two guys who used to use it don't work in that center any more and the other two desks are regularly occupied by two other professional tutors. i have some of my own items in my desk that i have placed there, but for a while the drawers were filled with one other guy's stuff. he took most of it to the office he works at now because duh. there are a couple of non-personal items left behind like scrap paper and a pair of headphones. but anyway.

somebody asked me yesterday if we had a ti-84 charger. i said, "i don't think so", and student tells me, "yeah you do, it's in your desk in the top drawer," and i was like ".........have you been in my desk???" lmao

[cressidagrey]

delulu girl autumn

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: Caitlin Pritchard thought she actually stood a chance with Oscar Piastri at Haileybury in 2018. Reader, she did not. 

Notes: Big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble 😂

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

Caitlin had only been at Haileybury for a day when she saw him.

Tall-ish. Sharp jaw. Easy smile. Accent unmistakably Australian, like hers. But smoother somehow, more Melbourne than Gold Coast. And he was laughing at something—shoulders relaxed, eyes crinkling, head tilted toward the girl walking beside him.

Caitlin had stopped in her tracks.

Finally, she thought. Someone normal. Someone who didn’t speak in clipped boarding school vowels and ask what her father did before they asked her name.

She leaned over to the girl next to her in form. Mia, or Leah or maybe Thea? “Who’s that?”

The girl followed her gaze and blinked. “Oscar Piastri. He’s nice. Smart. Does motorsport. Always winning stuff.”

Caitlin hummed. “And the girl he’s with?”

“Felicity Leong. Genius. Bit intense. She’s been here forever. Lives in the attic room, actually. Kind of…weird, but she’s nice. Don’t cross her in a debate.”

Caitlin squinted.

Oscar had just nudged Felicity’s arm. She rolled her eyes and said something that made him grin, like she always knew how to make him grin. But she didn’t touch him. No hand-holding. No kiss on the cheek. Just two people walking side by side like they knew all the same secrets.

Huh, Caitlin thought. Maybe she’s just one of those super smart best friend types.

Maybe Caitlin had a chance.

By the second week of term, Caitlin had “accidentally” started showing up near the physics lab at the exact time Oscar had free period. She’d dropped a pen in the courtyard and watched—heart fluttering—when he was the one to pick it up.

“Thanks,” she’d said, flashing a smile.

“No worries,” he’d replied with a nod. Polite. Casual. Australian.

Home.

That’s all she needed. One moment. One shared flag. Surely, once they actually talked…

But every time she tried, Felicity was there.

Gorgeous, quiet, smart. The kind of girl who made the headmistress beam at assemblies and never got her phone confiscated. She always had her hair in a braid, and she somehow looked effortlessly expensive, even in a regulation uniform and the ugliest brown shoes Caitlin had ever seen.

Oscar walked her to class. Sat next to her in the common room. Gave her the last cookie at dinner.

But, Caitlin reasoned, that was probably just a long-time-friend thing. Or maybe she was the mom-friend and Oscar just liked the way she shared her highlighters.

Felicity didn’t act like a girlfriend.

She didn’t sit on his lap or link arms with him. She didn’t get jealous when Caitlin joined them for group study one night and asked Oscar (with perhaps a little too much lip gloss) if he wanted to split a Red Bull.

Felicity had just smiled politely and gone back to solving some ungodly advanced physics problem like Caitlin wasn’t even speaking.

Oscar, for his part, had blinked and said, “Nah, I’m good—but thanks.”

Not interested, maybe. But also not unavailable.

Caitlin just need to separate him from the satellite girl who always orbited his shoulder.

Caitlin had a chance. 

***

Caitlin wasn’t obsessed, okay?

She was just… observant.

Which was perfectly normal when someone as cute and talented and Australian as Oscar Piastri walked the same halls you did and occasionally smiled at you with that very symmetrical face.

So what if he was always with that girl—Felicity Leong?

That didn’t mean anything. Boys and girls could be close. Felicity was probably just his study partner. Maybe a cousin. Or a very intense academic rival he was contractually obligated to have polite conversations with. Sure, she always looked like she knew every thought in his head before he said it, and sure, he never looked at anyone else the way he looked at her—but that could just be stress.

Or sleep deprivation. 

Or mutual trauma bonding over too many A-levels.

Besides, Caitlin had time. She was charming. Australian. Had a solid hair routine. And if she played her cards right, Oscar might notice that she wasn’t just some new transfer who tripped over her own backpack in front of the science block last week.

She just had to be patient.

That Thursday afternoon, she was sitting outside the canteen with a few girls from her form when one of them mentioned something in passing that made her freeze mid-sip of orange squash.

“Can you believe Oscar and Felicity are graduating next year?”

Caitlin blinked. “Wait, what?”

“Oh yeah,” the girl said, balancing a yogurt pot on her knee. “They’re in Upper Sixth now. Well, technically. They skipped a year. Did, like, an insane amount of independent studying. Finished early. It was a whole thing last term.”

Caitlin frowned. “But they’re seventeen.”

“Yeah, and smarter than the rest of us combined. Oscar does racing on the weekends. He was gone last weekend for a competition, and I heard he won.”

Won. That word stuck.

Caitlin nodded slowly, storing it away. Racing. Trophy. Real-world stakes.

Interesting.

Later that day, she was cutting through the front quad when she ran into Oscar. Literally. Walked right into his shoulder as he came through the gate, duffel bag slung over one arm and a giant freaking trophy in the other.

“Oh my God—sorry!” she squeaked, stepping back.

Oscar caught her elbow lightly to steady her. “It’s okay. You alright?”

Caitlin blinked up at him, struck by how tired he looked—jet-lagged, probably—but still managing to smile like it was instinct. His curls were a bit flatter than usual, but he was holding a trophy like it weighed nothing.

It was golden. Shiny. Definitely taller than her forearm.

“I—yeah! You won?” she asked, trying to keep her voice from squeaking again.

Oscar laughed a little, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Hockenheim. Long weekend.”

Hockenheim.

Oh. He was worldly.

“That’s amazing,” Caitlin said, widening her eyes slightly. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I’m just glad to be back. Haven’t seen Fliss since Thursday, so—” He trailed off, smiling again, something soft flickering in his eyes.

But Caitlin cut in quickly. “Well, maybe I’ll see you around? If you’re not too busy being famous or graduating early or…” She laughed.

Oscar nodded, polite and vaguely distracted. “Yeah, maybe. I should—uh, I promised Fliss I’d meet her before dinner.”

Of course he did.

Caitlin watched him walk off with that massive trophy and the easy kind of stride that said he belonged somewhere. He didn’t look back.

But still.

He hadn’t said no.

Caitlin smiled to herself.

Still a chance, then.

***

Felicity Leong.

Gorgeous, effortlessly intimidating, lived in that weird attic room nobody else wanted, wore her uniform like it was tailored by Prada, and had this way of looking at you like she already knew what you were going to say���and how wrong it was.

People whispered about her. How she was on first-name terms with half the faculty. How she submitted essays a full week before the deadline. How she once corrected a physics teacher mid-lecture and was right.

But Caitlin didn’t get the big deal.

She’d seen her around with Oscar, obviously. Always hovering nearby. Always tucked under his arm at lunch or passing him a pencil looking like they were one collective brain. But Caitlin had told herself that was just proximity. Comfort. Maybe they were from the same side of Australia. Maybe it was platonic.

Besides, Felicity couldn’t be that smart.

People exaggerated. Nerds got hyped up all the time, especially when they were hot.

Then came double history.

Caitlin hadn’t even realized Felicity was in the class until Caitlin slipped into the seat next to hers—late, looking vaguely annoyed. Felicity meanwhile had a black coffee in one hand and three uncapped highlighters in the other.

Caitlin blinked.

“Oh,” she said, “Hi.”

Felicity didn’t look up from her notes. “Hi.”

Caitlin offered a smile. “I’m Caitlin. I just transferred—”

“I know. Caitlin Pritchard.” Felicity said, finally glancing over. “You’re in Samir’s economic class. You were late twice last week.”

Caitlin opened her mouth. Closed it.

“Well. Yeah. I had trouble finding the classroom”

Felicity hummed, scribbled something in the margin of her paper, and then underlined it twice.

Caitlin stared.

She wanted to say something else. Something casual. Charming. Something that might explain why Oscar seemed to orbit this girl like she was a fixed point in the universe.

So when the teacher walked in and launched straight into a discussion on colonial resistance movements, Caitlin pounced.

“Sorry,” she said, cutting across the room. “Can we go back? Didn’t the Sepoy Rebellion happen because of, like… pork grease? On bullets or something?”

A few people laughed. The teacher smiled thinly. “Yes, Caitlin, that was one of the catalysts. Though, of course, the issue was more complicated—”

“It was never really about the grease,” Felicity said suddenly, without looking up. “That was just the final insult. The British had already eroded Indian sovereignty through unfair taxation, disrespect of local customs, and widespread economic disenfranchisement. The cartridge issue was symbolic—it touched religion, identity, and trust. Which, when combined with long-standing resentment, triggered the uprising.”

Caitlin blinked.

Felicity continued annotating her page like she hadn’t just delivered a university-level mini-lecture.

The teacher looked delighted. “Exactly, Miss Leong.”

And that was the first time Caitlin realized two very important things:

Felicity Leong was terrifyingly smart.

She had grossly underestimated the girl Oscar Piastri smiled at like she was his whole damn world. 

Still.

Caitlin glanced sideways at her.

She could recover.

Probably.

Maybe.

***

Caitlin was still replaying the moment in her head when she flopped into a beanbag in the common room an hour later.

“‘It was never really about the grease,’” she muttered under her breath, mimicking Felicity’s deadpan tone. “Like, okay, Google Scholar, relax.”

Across from her, Aarya Kumar— vice captain of the debating society, and possibly the only person more feared in a podium setting than Felicity herself—arched an eyebrow.

“Oh no,” she said mildly. “Did you challenge Felicity?”

“I asked a question,” Caitlin said defensively. “I wasn’t trying to start a revolution.”

Aarya snorted. “With Felicity, it’s the same thing.”

Caitlin grabbed a nearby cushion and hugged it to her chest. “She’s just—she’s kind of cold, isn’t she?”

Aarya looked up from her laptop with the slow blink of someone deciding whether or not to waste time correcting an idiot.

“Cold?” she repeated.

“Yeah. I don’t know. Like, she’s obviously really smart and everything, but she’s a bit… sharp. She didn’t even smile when I introduced myself. She just recited my attendance record.”

Aarya leaned back in her chair, looking extremely entertained.

“Caitlin,” she said, “Felicity Leong is not cold. She’s clinical. There’s a difference.”

“Oh, sorry, clinical. That’s so much more warm and inviting.”

Aarya smiled like a shark. “She just doesn’t waste energy on things she finds boring.”

“And I’m boring?”

“No,” Aarya said, sipping her tea. “You’re just not particularly relevant.”

Caitlin stared. “Wow.”

“Don’t take it personally. She’s like that with everyone who isn’t on her shortlist of priorities.”

Caitlin frowned. “And who’s on the list, then?”

Aarya tilted her head, like the answer was obvious. “Well, there’s Oscar. And—actually, I guess it’s mostly just Oscar.”

Caitlin sat up straighter, hopeful. “So… they’re, like… best friends?”

Aarya raised an eyebrow. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

Caitlin clung to the ambiguity like a life raft. “Right. Because he is super friendly with everyone.”

Aarya didn’t say anything. Just went back to typing.

Caitlin leaned back, trying to ignore the way her stomach twisted.

Because technically, no one had said they were together.

No kissing. No hand-holding in public. No PDA.

It was probably one of those ultra-close platonic friendships. The kind that seemed romantic but wasn’t. Maybe they’d grown up like siblings. Maybe Felicity was just a little possessive. Maybe Oscar just hadn’t met the right girl yet.

Maybe—maybe—Caitlin could still be the exception.

It wasn’t like they were dating.

Right?

***

It started in the library.

Caitlin was flipping through flashcards, half-studying, half-scanning for Oscar (which was a completely innocent form of multitasking), when she caught the sound of his voice coming from two rows behind her.

“Fliss.”

The tone was casual. Familiar. The syllable dropped like second nature.

Caitlin frowned.

Fliss?

She peered around the bookcase just enough to glimpse him—Oscar, leaning on the edge of the table where Felicity sat, surrounded by a ridiculous number of open books and a mug that probably held black coffee and ambition.

Felicity didn’t look up. “What?”

“You forgot your physics notes in the study room.”

He held out a folder. Her hand came up automatically to take it.

“Oh. Thanks, Oz.”

Caitlin blinked again.

Oz?

Fliss and Oz?

Since WHEN were they nickname people?

She hadn’t even known he went by Oz. Nobody else called him that. Everyone else just said Oscar. Osc rarely, from some guys on the cricket team. 

Caitlin tilted her head. Okay, maybe it was a smart-people thing. Maybe if she ever helped him with physics, he’d let her call him that too.

And then Felicity, still scribbling, added absently:

“You’re not getting another cookie for this, by the way.”

Oscar laughed. “Didn’t ask for one, love.”

Caitlin’s brain stuttered.

Love?!

He said it so casually. Like it wasn’t a thing. Like it was something he’d said a hundred times before and would say again in the hallway or in front of God and Aarya and everyone.

Felicity didn’t even react.

She just circled something in her notes, then muttered, “You’re lucky I still have any goodwill left after The Great Béchamel Disaster.”

“You said you forgave me,” Oscar said, nudging her elbow.

“I lied,” she replied, but she was smiling.

A real smile. Small. Private. Quiet and warm in the way a person only smiles when they’re with someone who knows all their weird habits and loves them anyway.

Caitlin sat there in stunned silence, still holding her flashcard on Newton’s Third Law, like gravity had just personally attacked her.

Oscar Piastri had a nickname. And a backup nickname. And Felicity had one too. Multiple, probably. He probably called her things like “hey you” and “genius” and “mine.” Caitlin was spiraling. She hadn’t even gotten a solid hi this week.

She told herself not to read into it. Some people just had nicknames. That didn’t mean anything.

Did it?

…Did it??

She turned back to her flashcards with renewed determination.

She still had time.

Still had a chance.

Probably.

(Maybe.)

***

It was just after prep when Caitlin wandered into the shared sixth form kitchen in search of a snack and maybe a slightly flirty conversation with Oscar Piastri.

What she found instead was chaos.

The counter was covered in flour. Someone’s blazer was draped over a chair. The oven light was on, the whole place smelled like vanilla and sugar, and at the center of it all—like it was completely normal—stood Oscar and Felicity Leong, side by side at the counter, making cookies.

Oscar had chocolate smeared on his cheek.

Felicity was wearing a hoodie that she was drowning in, from the Richmond Tigers. 

Caitlin blinked.

“Um. Hi?”

Oscar looked up, grinning immediately. “Hey, Caitlin. Want one? They’re a bit misshapen, but Fliss says that’s ‘charm.’”

Felicity, still focused on placing the next tray in the oven, didn’t glance up. “Because it is.”

Two other students—Aarya and a boy named Samir—were sitting nearby eating cookies like this was a regularly scheduled Wednesday night tradition.

Caitlin stepped cautiously inside. “You guys… bake together?”

Felicity closed the oven and finally turned around, brushing flour off her sleeves. “Only when we both have a free evening and Oscar’s not flying from Spain or Monaco or whatever.”

“She says that like I don’t make time,” Oscar said, nudging her with his shoulder.

Caitlin watched as Felicity gave him a look. Not annoyed. Not even teasing.

It was warm. Familiar. Like this was their thing.

Oscar smirked. “Anyway,” he said, holding out a cookie, “these have caramel bits. Still hot.”

Caitlin accepted it, trying not to overanalyze the way Felicity casually stole a cooling rack from behind him and bumped her hip into his like it was second nature.

“Oh my God,” Aarya muttered to Samir behind them. “Is she still trying?”

“She must be,” Samir whispered back, mouth full. “This is brutal.”

Caitlin turned. “What?”

“Nothing,” Aarya said quickly, looking at the ceiling. “Just… nothing.”

Caitlin took a bite of the cookie. It was genuinely good. “I didn’t realize you were, like… domestic,” she said to Oscar, with what she hoped was a charming little laugh.

Felicity looked unimpressed.

“I make a mean pasta bake too,” Oscar said easily. “But Fliss doesn’t let me cook anything unsupervised since The Great Béchamel Disaster.”

Felicity nodded solemnly. “He thought you could substitute almond milk for béchamel.”

“It was a theory.”

“You nearly set the microwave on fire.”

Oscar pointed at her. “You said you forgave me.”

“I did,” she said sweetly. “After you bought me new pyjamas.”

Caitlin laughed awkwardly. “Wow. You two really know each other.”

“Since we were 14,” Oscar said. “It’s kind of hard not to.”

Caitlin wanted to ask more, but Aarya was now fake-coughing aggressively into her biscuit, and Samir looked like he was trying not to choke from suppressed laughter.

“Anyway,” Oscar added, smiling at Felicity again, “you wanna do the next batch or switch?”

“I’ll mix,” she said, already reaching for the bowl. “You always under-fold.”

Oscar rolled his eyes but obeyed. “Yes, Fliss.”

Caitlin watched them—Felicity focused, Oscar content just to orbit around her—and something unspoken flickered in her chest.

But then Oscar caught her eye again. Friendly. Easy.

He was still nice to her.

Still smiling.

And so Caitlin told herself—again—that if it was something romantic, someone would’ve said so. Or at least made it clear. They weren’t kissing. They weren’t holding hands. Maybe this was just… how they were. How they’d always been.

She still had a chance.

Caitlin took another bite of her cookie.

It burned her tongue.

***

Caitlin wasn’t technically stalking Oscar.

She just… happened to sign up for gym block at the same time as him. And then happened to show up early. And then happened to secure a treadmill with a very good view of the weights section.

That wasn’t a crime.

And honestly, she was doing it for herself. Self-improvement. Endorphins. Definitely not to stare at the way Oscar Piastri filled out a nike shirt...

He wasn’t even doing anything fancy. Just basic reps. But his arms? Defined. Shoulders? Unfair. And the fact that he wasn’t even out of breath while talking to someone? Offensive.

Also—he was lifting more than Samir. Samir was on the rugby team.

Caitlin glanced around like someone should be noticing this.

But no one cared. Because of course they didn’t. They’d all seen it before.

And then in came her.

Felicity Leong.

Hair braided. No makeup. Oversized red shirt. ARDEN written over her chest. Black leggings. Looked like she could do calculus while sprinting.

Caitlin tried not to stare.

But then she saw Oscar’s face light up when Felicity walked in and any hope she had left melted like protein powder in lukewarm almond milk.

They greeted each other with the kind of ease that made Caitlin want to scream into a dumbbell rack.

Then they trained together.

Felicity wasn’t flashy. She was fast. Precise. Focused. Caitlin watched her fly through circuits like her body was a machine and she’d never once felt fatigue. Meanwhile, Oscar was at her side, timing her sprints, correcting her posture, offering her his towel like it was nothing.

“Water?” he asked during their rest.

Felicity reached for the bottle, took one sip, and muttered, “You’re still folding your lunges.”

Oscar grinned. “Still bossy.”

“Still inefficient.”

Caitlin was starting to believe in soulmates and consider drowning herself in the gym water cooler at the same time.

And then it happened.

Felicity slipped mid-rep. Nothing dramatic—just a wrong angle coming down from a box jump—but the sound her ankle made was sharp, sickening, real.

She hissed through her teeth and staggered.

Oscar was at her side in less than two seconds.

“Shit,” he muttered. “Don’t move. Is it bad?”

“Twisted,” Felicity gritted out. “Might be sprained.”

He crouched beside her, eyes scanning her ankle, hands gentle as he tested the pressure. And then—before Caitlin could even process what was happening—

He scooped her up.

Like she weighed nothing. Like it was automatic. Like he’d done it before.

Arms under her knees and back, no strain, no hesitation. Felicity didn’t even protest. Just looped one arm around his neck like this was a routine Tuesday.

“C’mon,” he said softly. “Let’s get you iced.”

Caitlin gaped.

And no one else reacted.

Not Samir. Not the girl by the rowing machines. Not the PT. They barely looked up.

As if this happened all the time.

As if Felicity regularly got princess-carried out of the gym by her brilliant F1-adjacent boyfriend like it was part of the warm-down routine.

Caitlin blinked.

Her heart hurt.

Oscar was strong. Like—really strong. Quietly strong. The kind that didn’t flex, just lifted people like they were paper.

And Felicity?

Felicity was tiny. Not weak. Not fragile. Just built like the universe decided someone should be genetically optimized to be carried by Oscar Piastri.

As they disappeared into the hallway, Felicity mumbled something.

Oscar laughed and said, “It’s not my fault your centre of gravity is adorable.”

Caitlin still had a chance. 

Probably. 

***

Caitlin had known Oscar Piastri was cute.

Obviously.

That had been Day One material: waves, dimples, polite voice, Australian accent. It was instant. It was unavoidable. It was textbook crush.

What she hadn’t expected was the slow realization that Oscar Piastri was hot. Like… unfairly hot. Like betray-your-bestie-and-your-God hot.

It didn’t hit her all at once.

It was gradual.

It was the library, when he’d leaned over Felicity’s desk to hand her a flash drive and his shirt had shifted, and suddenly his forearms were right there, and Caitlin had nearly highlighted the entire Treaty of Versailles out of order.

It was the way he always ran one hand through his hair when he was concentrating—pushing it back, curls falling forward again five seconds later, like he was in a shampoo commercial directed by the gods.

It was the back muscles, which she first clocked during PE when he’d taken off his jumper and casually did push-ups like they didn’t reveal everything.

And then there was the shoulder stretch incident.

One Friday morning in study hall, he’d lifted both arms behind his head to stretch—and his shirt had ridden up just enough to show a sliver of toned lower back and hip. Caitlin had dropped her pen, her dignity, and a solid 80% of her vocabulary in the same moment.

Every time he laughed, it was a problem. Deep, full-body, throw-his-head-back laughter that made people turn and smile reflexively. Except Caitlin didn’t just smile. She short-circuited.

And God help her when he swore.

Oscar didn’t swear much—but when he did, it was low and Australian and effortless and usually muttered under his breath in the most devastatingly hot tone imaginable. Once it had been “bloody hell, Fliss”, and Caitlin had ascended into another dimension.

Even his hands were unfair. Long fingers. Casually spinning a pen. Good at everything. 

One time he’d run laps for warm-up and pulled his shirt off over his head as he walked off the field, sweat glistening, curls sticking, and Caitlin had genuinely seen a bird fly into a tree because the universe was clearly overwhelmed.

But the worst part—the absolute worst—was how unaware he was of it.

Oscar Piastri had the audacity to be hot and nice. The kind of boy who helped carry books and always shared his last cookie with Felicity without even blinking.

It was a public safety hazard.

***

It was a rainy Thursday afternoon, and most of Sixth Form had retreated to the study hall. The floor-to-ceiling windows rattled with wind, someone had put on a low jazz playlist, and everyone had resigned themselves to pretending they were productive.

Caitlin was “working” on a history essay (read: rewriting the intro for the fourth time), when Oscar dropped into the seat beside Felicity at the windowsill bench. She barely looked up from her notes, just shifted sideways to make room for him in the way of people who didn’t ask—they just expected each other to be there.

He leaned over her shoulder, reading something upside down.

"You need a break," he said softly.

"I need a functioning global economy," she replied, underlining a sentence in red.

Oscar snorted. “Come on. Fifteen-minute truce. Stretch. Look at a cloud. Touch grass.”

Felicity didn’t move. But she looked at him. And then, in the most deadpan voice imaginable, she muttered:

"Alright, Tin Man. Let’s walk."

Caitlin blinked from her corner of the room.

Tin Man?

Tin. Man.

Was that… a dig?

A pet name?

An insult wrapped in affection?

She stared after them as they walked out, Oscar brushing his hand lightly against Felicity’s as they passed through the door. He was grinning. She wasn’t—but there was a crinkle in her eyes that looked suspiciously like she was trying not to smile.

“What,” Caitlin said aloud, turning to Thea across the table, “was that? She just called him Tin Man.”

Thea didn’t even glance up from her colour-coded notes. “Yeah. That’s her thing.”

“Her thing?”

“She calls him that when he gets too sentimental.”

Caitlin blinked. “Wait, what?”

Thea sighed like she was explaining physics to a moth.

“When Oscar first came to Haileybury, some of the guys used to tease him for being a bit—cold. Like, he was brilliant at everything but didn’t show much emotion. You know, kept to himself. Never really… reacted.”

Caitlin’s mouth opened. “So they called him—?”

“Robot Boy,” Thea finished. “No emotions. You get it.”

“That’s—awful,” Caitlin said.

“Yeah. But then Felicity came along, and he started reacting.” Thea finally looked up, eyes sharp with amusement. “First time he ever raised his voice in public was when someone made a comment about her. You should’ve seen it. He went full protective rage blackout.”

Caitlin blinked, stunned.

“Anyway,” Thea continued, “he started thawing. Laughing more. Getting teased for having feelings, instead of not having any. So now when he gets too soft with her—like, says something sweet or looks at her like she put the stars in the sky—she calls him Tin Man.”

Caitlin sat in silence.

Outside, through the rain-streaked glass, she could just barely make out Oscar and Felicity under the trees. He was walking so close beside her their arms brushed with every step. Felicity said something, and he threw his head back laughing.

And then she bumped him—gently, with her shoulder.

He bumped back.

They kept walking.

They weren’t holding hands. 

So Caitlin still had a chance. Right?

***

Caitlin joined the dance club because she needed something.

Something that wasn’t academic. Something that wasn’t tied to being “the new girl.” And, ideally, something that would make her look effortlessly hot in a leotard.

She had a background in jazz, had done a few summer workshops in Sydney, and figured it’d be a good place to make some friends. Plus, Oscar might notice—if she mentioned casually that she danced.

So when she walked into the studio for her first Thursday meeting, wearing her black tank and brand new split-sole ballet shoes, she felt good. Confident. A little nervous, but in a cute way.

And then she saw her.

Felicity Leong.

Hair in a flawless bun. Dressed in a leotard and a worn black wrap top that looked somehow elegant. Not flashy. Not even trying. But immediately magnetic.

Caitlin blinked. You’ve got to be kidding me.

“Is she part of this club?” she whispered to the girl next to her.

The girl gave her a look. “She’s the senior lead.”

“Oh,” Caitlin said weakly. “Cool.”

Cool.

Felicity didn’t look like she was about to ruin lives. She was sitting against the mirror, stretching calmly, headphones in. Calm. Focused. Untouchable.

Then the teacher clapped. “Alright, let’s warm up. Miss Leong—lead us in pliés?”

Felicity nodded once, stood, and—

Transformed.

It was like watching a poem in motion.

No overthinking. No hesitation. Just muscle memory and precision. Her arms curved perfectly. Her turnout was textbook. Her every movement landed in that devastating sweet spot between softness and control. And her face didn’t change once—like grace wasn’t a performance for her, just a setting she never turned off.

She wasn’t just good.

She was ballet.

Caitlin barely remembered the warm-up. Her legs did something, sure, but her brain was short-circuiting.

Felicity flowed through port de bras like she’d been born with music in her veins. Executed a développé with the kind of restraint that said she could go higher, but didn’t need to prove it.

By the time they got to center work, Caitlin was pretty sure she’d stopped blinking.

“Felicity, would you mind demonstrating the adagio solo from last year?” the teacher asked.

Felicity gave a soft, almost reluctant nod. “Sure.”

And then she danced.

No music. No fanfare. Just her body moving like it had already heard the score.

Every extension was art. Every balance was deliberate. Every turn was smooth enough to make the world spin slower. When she reached the final pose—arms lifted, chin angled upward like she was made of light—nobody clapped.

Because everyone was stunned.

Even Caitlin.

She barely breathed until the teacher finally said, “Thank you. That was… as always, exquisite.”

Felicity just shrugged like it meant nothing and walked back to her spot like she hadn’t just outdanced God.

Caitlin sat down slowly.

Silently.

And had a minor identity crisis.

Because not only was Felicity Leong intimidatingly smart, casually attached at the soul to Oscar Piastri - she could also do ballet like she was on loan from the Paris Opera.

Caitlin didn’t know whether she wanted to cry, scream, or change schools.

So she settled on tying her shoes tighter and pretending it didn’t bother her.

Even though it absolutely did.

***

It was a rainy Tuesday evening, the kind that turned the Haileybury dorms into a sanctuary of hot chocolate, fleece blankets, and half-finished homework sprawled across common room tables.

Caitlin was curled on the edge of a beanbag, pretending to annotate her literature essay while sneakily watching Oscar argue with Samir about some Grand Prix controversy. It was one of those low-effort nights—everyone a little too tired to be productive, a little too comfortable to care.

And then Felicity walked in.

Hair down.

Caitlin almost dropped her pen.

Because up until that moment, she hadn’t even realized Felicity Leong had hair.

That’s how tightly she always wore it. Braids, buns, perfect French twists that looked regulation-ready even on Sundays. But now—

Now it was loose.

A dark, glossy sheet that spilled over her shoulders and down her back like a black silk curtain, nearly to her waist. Smooth, thick, flawless. It looked less like hair and more like something airbrushed onto a Vogue cover.

Caitlin blinked. Was she allowed to just—walk around like that?

Felicity padded over to where Oscar sat cross-legged on the floor, tugged a cushion closer, and dropped herself unceremoniously between his knees like it was a routine chore.

“Hands?” she asked, already gathering her hair over one shoulder.

Oscar grinned. “Clean. Promise.”

And with that, he gently took the mass of hair in his hands and began to braid.

Just like that.

Like it was something they’d done a hundred times. Like this was normal.

Caitlin watched, frozen, as he sectioned it expertly—two smooth parts, fingers moving with unconscious ease. He wasn’t even looking, just chatting with Samir about tyre compounds while looping her hair over and under like he knew it better than she did.

Felicity leaned forward a little to help him get the tension right.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t supervise. Just… trusted him.

Caitlin wasn’t sure what was more shocking—the fact that Oscar Piastri could braid at all, or the fact that Felicity Leong, terrifying genius and dance prodigy, had somehow allowed a boy to touch her hair.

And not just touch it, but casually French braid it in front of other people like it wasn’t the most intimate thing Caitlin had ever seen in her life.

Oscar tied the end with a small black elastic from his wrist, then tugged the braid gently to make it fuller.

“There,” he said. “Symmetry achieved.”

“Better than last time,” Felicity said, glancing over her shoulder.

He tapped her temple with his knuckle. “I get better under pressure.”

Someone across the room muttered, “You two are so weirdly domestic, it’s terrifying.”

Neither of them looked offended.

Oscar just smiled. Felicity leaned back slightly against his knee. And they went right back to talking about whether or not the new history teacher was secretly unqualified.

Caitlin sat there, quietly imploding.

Because never, not once, had she seen Oscar that comfortable with anyone. Not in the flirtatious way she’d been fantasizing about—but in the quiet, unconscious belonging kind of way. Like he wasn’t even thinking about it.

But Caitilin still had a chance…right?

***

It started with a phone ringing.

Not a notification. Not the subtle ping of someone’s locked screen lighting up. This was a proper ringtone—some soft, instrumental chime that sounded like it belonged to a very calm person who did yoga and paid their taxes early.

Caitlin glanced up from her seat in the common room just in time to see Felicity Leong pull her phone out of her cardigan pocket.

“Sorry,” Felicity murmured, already stepping toward the hallway.

Oscar was sitting on the couch, legs stretched out, textbook balanced across his knees. He didn’t even look up.

Caitlin narrowed her eyes.

“Wait, where’s your phone?” she asked, leaning toward him a bit. “I thought I heard your ringtone earlier?”

Oscar didn’t glance up. “Dead. Forgot to charge it.”

“Classic,” Samir muttered without looking up from his laptop.

But Caitlin was still watching Felicity, who had now stepped just out of sight—though her voice still carried through the open doorway. Calm. Familiar. Just slightly exasperated.

“Hi Nicole. No, he’s alive,” Felicity said lightly. “Phone’s dead again. I’ll tell him to call you.”

A pause.

Then, quieter: “No, Oscar’s fine. Tired. He’s had a headache all day, that’s why he didn’t call. Yeah. I’ll remind him to check in tomorrow.”

Then Felicity laughed softly, eyes fond. “Yes. He misses you too. I’ll make sure he actually eats something green tonight.”

She listened for another beat, nodding, then added, “Love you too.”

Then she hung up and tossed the phone back onto the sofa.

Oscar caught it with one hand without even looking. “She say hi?”

“She said to tell you to eat a vegetable.”

“She’s so mean to me,” he said dramatically, eyes closed.

“She birthed you,” Felicity replied, deadpan. “She’s earned it.”

And Caitlin suddenly wasn’t paying attention to her annotated Hamlet anymore.

“Wait,” she said slowly. “Was that… your mum?”

Oscar glanced up like it was no big deal. “Yeah.”

“She called Felicity?”

Oscar blinked, confused. “Yeah?”

“Instead of, like, you?”

He shrugged. “She knows I never answer. Felicity always does.”

That… was apparently that.

Nobody else reacted.

Not Aarya, not Samir, not the Year 13 boy flipping through a copy of The Economist like his soul depended on it. They just kept working or scrolling or sipping lukewarm tea, as if it wasn’t insane that a boy’s mum had defaulted to calling a teenage girl for updates on her son.

“Your Mom just calls Felicity?” Caitlin repeated.

“Has since Year 10,” Samir said without looking up. “Honestly, Felicity usually knows where Oscar is before Oscar knows where Oscar is.”

Oscar shrugged. “It’s a system. If I miss three texts, she goes to Fliss.”

“I think Nicole called her during exams once because she couldn’t figure out Oscar’s calendar,” Aarya added. “Felicity had it memorized.”

Caitlin blinked. “But… that’s like… really personal, right?”

“Not really,” Oscar said mildly. “Just easier. Fliss keeps my schedule on her laptop.”

“She’s basically his external hard drive,” Samir muttered.

“His mum calls her,” Caitlin said again, dazed.

And yet… still.

Still.

She told herself maybe it was just one of those weird family dynamics. Maybe Felicity had just gotten swept up in the Piastris’ orbit because she was organized. Maybe Nicole liked her because she was polite and good at reminding Oscar to take his iron supplements or whatever.

Caitlin clung to denial with the strength of a thousand delusions.

Because maybe Felicity was just close with the family.

Maybe she was like… the childhood friend who became an honorary sibling.

It didn’t have to mean anything.

She definitely still had a chance.

Didn’t she?

***

The Winter Formal was two weeks away, and Caitlin was ready.

This was her moment. Her chance.

She’d been at Haileybury long enough to know that Winter Formal wasn’t just some dance—it was a statement. A social chessboard. The perfect opportunity to be seen, to be asked, to be unforgettable.

And Caitlin was not going to let it pass her by.

She’d already ordered a dress from Australia—a sleek, midnight blue satin thing with a thigh slit and delicate straps that made her feel expensive just looking at it. Her mum had mailed it express with handwritten instructions about which earrings not to pair it with. S She’d even practiced walking in heels on the quad during lunch.

All of this, of course, was part of Operation: Oscar Will Finally See Me As A Woman™.

So when the girls’ dorm corridor started buzzing with excitement and dress talk, Caitlin took her usual spot near the common room couch, flipping through lipstick swatches on her phone and casually steering the conversation.

“I feel like everyone’s going for red or black,” she said, examining a cherry gloss. “I want something classic, but… memorable, you know?”

Thea, who was painting her nails, nodded. “Honestly, I just hope someone asks me. Last year was so dry.”

“I heard Samir’s organizing a group to go together,” someone else said. “Just friends, but, like, cute coordinated outfits?”

“Ugh, that’s sweet,” Caitlin said, smiling. “I mean, obviously, if someone asked me, I’d say yes. But if not, I’ll just look stunning on my own.”

The group hummed in agreement.

Then the door opened, and of course, in walked Felicity Leong—casual, composed, hair in a clip, hoodie two sizes too big.

No Richmond Tigers this time. but once again something emblazoned with HP Tuners on it. Caitlin seriously wondered where she kept finding them. 

She looked like she was just passing through, but Thea called out, “Fliss! Are you going to the Winter Formal?”

Felicity paused. “Yeah, probably.”

Caitlin glanced over, trying to sound breezy. “Do you have a dress yet?”

Felicity shrugged like the entire concept of formalwear bored her. “I’ve got a few. I’ll pick one.”

“You mean, like… from your closet?” Caitlin asked, lips parting in disbelief. “You’re not getting one new?”

Felicity blinked. “I already own dresses. I don’t need another.”

Caitlin opened her mouth. Closed it. “Right. Sure.”

“So who are you going with?” Thea asked teasingly. 

Felicity just smiled faintly. “Don’t worry about it.”

Caitlin’s heart kicked. Her mind raced.

That could mean anything. It could be a friend. A joke. A bluff. There had been no announcement. And Oscar—Oscar still hadn’t said anything about going. She’d know if it were him.

Probably.

Hopefully.

Definitely.

…Right?

Felicity turned to go, already halfway down the corridor, when she called back casually:

“Don’t stress too much about the dress. The dancing is the best part.”

And just like that, she disappeared.

Caitlin sat very still for a moment.

Her lip gloss suddenly felt… desperate.

But no matter.

Felicity Leong could wear a paper bag to Winter Formal and still pull off mysterious. Caitlin, however, was going to show up looking like a star.

She still had time.

She still had a chance.

***

Winter Formal at Haileybury was everything Caitlin had dreamed it would be.

The great hall was transformed—strings of fairy lights hung from the beams, candles floated on tables like something out of a movie, and the DJ actually understood how to mix orchestral pieces with chart hits. Students filed in dressed to the nines, heels clicking on polished floors, laughter echoing across the velvet-draped room.

Caitlin felt stunning.

Her navy satin gown fit like a dream. Her curls were glossy, makeup dewy, everything rehearsed and poised. When she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror-lined hallway, she thought: This is it. This is my main character moment.

Oscar hadn’t arrived yet.

She was mid-conversation with Thea and half-scanning the crowd when the noise in the room dipped. Not stopped. Not hushed. Just… shifted.

She followed the direction of a few stares—and there they were.

Oscar and Felicity.

And Caitlin forgot how to breathe.

Felicity was in a deep forest green dress—floor-length, off the shoulder, with a subtle silk sheen that looked so expensive it had to be designer. Her hair was down for once, falling to her waist pin straight and thick. Her makeup was minimal, but somehow she still looked like she stepped out of a fashion editorial.

Oscar was in a classic black suit. Crisp white shirt. And he was smiling at her—her, meaning Felicity—like she was the only person who existed.

The room wasn’t silent, but it didn’t matter.

It bent around them anyway.

Caitlin stared. There’s no way they’re just friends.

But nobody said anything. There was no announcement. No hand-holding. So it was still ambiguous, right?

She had hope.

Until the dancing started.

The DJ called for a traditional waltz—something Haileybury insisted on every year for the old-money aesthetic—and most students awkwardly shuffled into pairs, giggling through their two-left-feet attempts.

And then—

Oscar and Felicity stepped onto the floor.

And they danced.

Not fumbled.

Not swayed.

They danced.

He led effortlessly, one hand pressed against her back like he was born to guide her. She followed with impossible grace, her green skirt swirling just above her ankles. They moved in tight, perfect circles, their footwork synchronized, their expressions focused and just barely smiling, like the moment was just for them.

And then—because of course—

He picked her up.

Clean, elegant lift. Like she weighed nothing. Like he’d done it a hundred times before. Her feet left the ground, and she laughed—actually laughed, head thrown back—and when he set her down again, she didn’t even wobble.

The room applauded.

Caitlin clapped too, mostly because she forgot how not to.

Thea leaned over. “Okay, they’re disgustingly perfect.”

Caitlin forced a laugh. “Yeah, I guess they… practiced?”

Samir, somewhere nearby, snorted. “They’ve been practicing since Year 9, mate.”

Caitlin blinked. “What?”

But Samir had already turned away.

Since Year 9?

That had to mean something else. Dance class. PE. Maybe Oscar’s mum had hired them a coach. It didn’t confirm anything.

Even when the slow songs began, and Oscar pulled Felicity close—one hand at her waist, the other brushing the back of her neck, foreheads nearly touching—Caitlin still thought:

Maybe he’s just that affectionate with close friends.

Even as he whispered something that made Felicity laugh and tuck her head into his shoulder.

Even as they moved in a slow, gentle rhythm that looked less like dancing and more like existing in sync.

Caitlin took a sip of her sparkling juice.

She still had a chance.

...Right?

***

The Winter Formal afterparty wasn’t technically sanctioned, but Haileybury looked the other way as long as nobody died, broke curfew, or set off the fire alarm like last year.

So a group of Upper Sixth students had ended up back in one of the common rooms, still in formalwear but now barefoot, jackets discarded, and half-asleep on beanbags and mismatched sofas. The music was low. The fairy lights from the dance still blinked lazily around the windows. Someone passed around leftover sweets from the dessert bar.

Caitlin was feeling… hopeful.

Oscar was lounging two cushions away, his jacket tossed over a chair, his tie hanging loose around his neck. Felicity sat cross-legged on the floor in front of him, sipping from a paper cup. 

Then someone suggested Truth or Dare.

It started off tame.

“Truth: who did you originally want to go to formal with?” “Dare: text your sibling ‘you up?’” “Truth: have you ever cheated on an exam?”

The group laughed, groaned, teased.

Caitlin felt herself relaxing. It was fun. Casual. Normal.

Then Aarya, ever the chaos agent, turned toward Oscar with a shark-like grin.

“Oscar,” she said sweetly. “Truth or dare?”

Oscar didn’t blink. “Dare.”

Aarya’s eyes lit up. “Kiss your girlfriend like you actually mean it.”

The room stilled.

Caitlin choked on her drink.

Felicity blinked slowly, then looked up at Oscar with one eyebrow raised.

He laughed softly. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet,” Aarya said, sipping her juice. “Here we are.”

Oscar leaned forward.

Caitlin’s heart started pounding.

And then—without fanfare, without hesitation—he tipped Felicity’s chin up with one hand and kissed her.

Not a peck. Not polite. Not friend-coded.

It was full-on, no questions asked, get-a-room kissing.

He kissed her like it was muscle memory. Like he’d done it a thousand times. Like he had no idea anyone else was in the room.

Felicity kissed him back with the same energy—slow and familiar and undeniably his.

When they finally pulled apart, Felicity just tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and stole a sip from Oscar’s drink like nothing had happened.

Oscar smirked and leaned back like he was settling into home.

The room erupted.

Whistling. Groaning. “You are horrible,” someone muttered.

Aarya grinned with no mercy in Caitlin’s direction.

“Oh my God,” Caitlin said faintly. “Wait, are you—?”

Felicity looked at her. “Together? Yeah. Since we were fifteen.”

Caitlin stared.

Aarya, feigning deep shock, added, “You didn’t know?”

The silence after that wasn’t cruel—but it was loud.

Caitlin tried to find her voice. “I just thought—no one ever said—”

Oscar blinked, genuinely confused. “I thought it was obvious?”

And somehow, that was the worst part.

Because to everyone else, it was.

The braids. The cookies. The phone call from Nicole. The dancing. The goddamn waltz lift. All of it had been real.

Caitlin had never stood a chance.

And now she knew it.

Fully. Completely.

Unmistakably.

***

@/caitlinfromoz: ✨okay so now that oscar piastri and felicity leong are publicly Official™ and married… a thread about how teenage me was DELUSIONAL and thought i had a chance ✨ (yes. i was that girl. i’ve grown.)

@/caitlinfromoz:  i transferred to haileybury in 2018. i was 17. oscar was cute. australian. quiet. smart. devastatingly nice to literally everyone. INCLUDING ME. obviously, i decided we were endgame.

@/caitlinfromoz: There was just one obstacle. Her name was Felicity Leong.

@/caitlinfromoz:  Gorgeous. Terrifying. Looked like she ate straight A’s for breakfast and ballet-danced in her sleep. Hair always in a perfect bun. Vibes of a girl who could ruin your life with a well-written paragraph.

@/caitlinfromoz: I tried to talk to her once in history class and said the Sepoy Rebellion was about pork grease. She proceeded to verbally destroy me and rewrite my understanding of British colonialism in one breath.

I still think about it at night.

@/caitlinfromoz:  nobody told me they were together because apparently “it was obvious” spoiler: IT WAS NOT OBVIOUS TO ME. 

@/caitlinfromoz:   I never saw them kiss. She didn’t sit on his lap. I spent three months thinking I had a chance. 

Reader, I did not have a chance.

@/caitlinfromoz: Things I ignored in pursuit of this delusion:

@/caitlinfromoz:  He was the only person that called her Fliss. (Side note: He also called her Love.) She was the only person that called him Oz. Or Tin Man. 

@/caitlinfromoz: His mother called her when he didn’t answer answer his phone. And that was generally accepted as normal. Nobody blinked. i thought she was just close with his family. 💀

@/caitlinfromoz: They made cookies together like an old married couple. They were the best cookies I have ever eaten. (He’s also not allowed in the kitchen without supervision. Something about The Great Béchamel Disaster?)

@/caitlinfromoz:  there was this one time i saw him french braid her entire waist-length hair in the common room while talking about tyre compounds. and i was like “they’re probably just childhood friends :)” girl.

@/caitlinfromoz:  also felicity could do actual ballet. like real swan lake coreography. i joined dance club to be graceful. she FLOATS. i left dance club two meetings later.

@/caitlinfromoz: but the REAL nail in the coffin was winter formal. i thought “this is it. this is where he sees me in a dress and FALLS.”

@/caitlinfromoz: and then oscar & felicity arrived like they’d just stepped out of a slow-burn fanfic and casually performed a literal waltz. with lifts.

@/caitlinfromoz: like, lifted her.

in time with the music.

in front of witnesses.

and i still thought “huh… maybe they’re just really good friends??”

teenage me was determined to die on that hill. and oh god, die i did 🥲

@/caitlinfromoz: Cut to post-formal hangout, someone suggests Truth or Dare. Aarya (bless her ruthless soul) dares Oscar to “kiss your girlfriend like you mean it.”

@/caitlinfromoz: He proceeded to snog Felicity like we weren’t all sitting 5 feet away in formalwear with Red Vines and sparkling juice. When they broke apart, she casually took a sip from his drink.

@/caitlinfromoz:  I had an out-of-body experience.

 turned to the group like: “Wait… they’re DATING??”

Felicity, sipping her juice: “Since we were 15.”

Everyone else: 👀

Oscar: “I thought it was obvious?”

@/caitlinfromoz: Reader, it was. I was just dense.

@/caitlinfromoz: turns out they’d been dating for over 2 years. everyone knew. except me. i think i stared at the wall for ten full minutes.

@/caitlinfromoz: to be clear: they weren’t hiding. everyone else knew. they just… were. no theatrics. no announcement. just two teenagers sharing tea, physics notes, and apparently a long-term romantic commitment 😃👍

@/caitlinfromoz: anyway. it’s years later. they’re still disgustingly in love. her hair’s still perfect. he’s still absurdly nice. and i’m now emotionally stable enough to laugh at my teen self.

@/caitlinfromoz: teenage me had confidence, delusion, and absolutely no awareness.

i salute her.

but she was so, so dumb.

RIP to her.

@/caitlinfromoz: thank you for attending my TED Talk on delulu girl autumn 2018 💀💀💀

***

@/nicolepiastri: This was a hilarious read. Thank you for the reminder that Oscar once thought almond milk could substitute béchamel. And yes, I called Felicity when Osc wouldn’t answer. I still do. Caitlin, sweetheart, I’m so sorry. You never had a chance. Loved the thread though 💕

➡️@/caitlinfromoz:  WHY IS OSCAR’S MUM HERE i was a CHILD i didn’t know i was just trying to thrive in maths and a floor-length gown

➡️@/NicolePiastri: You were lovely, but Fliss had already reorganized his entire life by the time you arrived. Including his sock drawer. And his heart.

@/f1roseshard:  SHE SAID "YOU NEVER HAD A CHANCE" I’M SCREAMING

@/chaosinthepits:  nicole piastri coming in like a mother with the final shovel of dirt for the grave 😭😭

@/oscarlovrs: someone frame this whole interaction and hang it in the haileybury hallway i’m serious

@/piastribetterhalf: @/NicolePiastri when did you start calling Felicity instead of Oscar?

➡️@/NicolePiastri:  When he forgot to tell me he’d landed and Felicity texted “Don’t worry, I fed him.”

@/caitlinfromoz: @/nicolepiastri ma’am with all due respect i would’ve loved a warning like maybe a little sign. a polite letter. a fortune cookie.

➡️@/nicolepiastri:  Replying to: @caitlinfromoz I thought the braid should’ve been a giveaway, darling x

@chaoticconstructors: “i thought the braid should’ve been a giveaway” IS THE GREATEST CLOSING LINE I’VE EVER READ

@/piastrisbuns:  what was felicity like irl?? did she ever TALK to people??

➡️@/caitlinfromoz: she talked. just… efficiently. like her words had a budget. she once ended a debate in 3 sentences and someone cried. i respect her. i feared her. i may still fear her.

@/chaosinthepits truth or dare. full snog. in front of everyone. my GOD. did you die. did you ascend.

➡️@/caitlinfromoz:  i think i dissociated tbh. someone passed me a cookie. i bit it and stared into space like i’d just seen a horse speak fluent italian.

@/oscarlovrs: be honest… was it at least a good kiss??

➡️@/caitlinfromoz:  listen. i’m woman enough to admit… it was an excellent kiss. cinema-worthy. soft hand placement. forehead bump. mutual giggling after. 

@/aussieoscarfans:  so you’re telling me his mum had her on speed dial he braided her hair slow danced with her picked her up IN FRONT OF THE SCHOOL and u still thought u had a chance?

➡️@/caitlinfromoz:  yes but in my defense: ✨delusion is a powerful drug✨ (i was 17. my brain wasn’t fully online.)

@/softpitwall:  Be honest. Did you ever consider throwing yourself down the stairs at school just to get Oscar to carry you?

➡️@/caitlinfromoz: no but I did once fake confusion near the physics lab hoping he’d walk me to class felicity appeared out of NOWHERE i swear she just sensed it 😭

@/formula1girlie: THE WAY I GASPED AT “he picked her up” 😭😭 you were fighting for your life against a woman who literally waltzed

➡️@/caitlinfromoz: i was fighting for my life against someone who could quote voltaire and do fouettés there was no battle. i was collateral damage

@/teamsoftlaunch: i’m obsessed with the idea that everyone else knew. like no one even thought to say “hey they’re dating btw”? lmao

➡️@/caitlinfromoz: i think Aarya tried once and then gave up. she probably put money on how long it would take me to catch on

@/piastrilicious: can you PLEASE drop a photo of what you wore to winter formal?? we need to see how hard you tried

➡️@/caitlinfromoz: i will NOT be bullied into posting that navy satin thigh-slit disaster okay fine here it is but please understand i believed it was my villain origin story

<attached image: Caitlin in full formal glam, looking gorgeous and heartbreakingly confident> caption: “she really thought she was gonna change the plot 💔”

@/flissleongstand: this thread is my roman empire. i think about felicity leong just shrugging and saying “yeah, since we were fifteen” DAILY

➡️@/caitlinfromoz: she said it so calmly. meanwhile my entire worldview collapsed in 0.2 seconds

@/oscpiastriluvr81:  GIRL YOU THOUGHT YOU HAD A CHANCE AGAINST THE GIRL HE FRENCH BRAIDED WHILE TALKING ABOUT TYRE COMPOUNDS??? 💀💀💀

➡️@/caitlinfromoz:  i didn’t think i had a chance. i built an entire ROMANTIC NARRATIVE. i was the main character in my head. he was the love interest. she was… a subplot. i was wrong.

@/oscarstanpage: soooo who dared him to kiss her 👀

➡️@/caitlinfromoz:  Aarya. if you’re out there: i forgive you. you were right. i needed the reality check.

@/piastricorners:  you had a crush on oscar when he was braiding hair and baking cookies?? be honest. you liked the domestic vibes didn’t you

➡️ @caitlinfromoz listen. there’s nothing more dangerous than a teenage girl witnessing an emotionally intelligent boy sift flour

@/thepiastrileongfiles: are you ok now

➡️ @/caitlinfromoz: i’m healed. i have a job, a dog, and the emotional distance to find teenage me absolutely hilarious. but i am blocking anyone who makes an edit about that truth or dare kiss with “ceilings” by lizzy mcalpine.

@/oscarp_brasil:  sooo how hot was the kiss. scale of 1 to my soul left my body

➡️@/caitlinfromoz: like if a jane austen novel and a wattpad fic had a baby. there was hand cradling, forehead touch after, she drank from his cup like nothing happened. i was spiritually vaporized.

@/mclarendownbad: @/OscarPiastri bestie ur fans need u to confirm the french braid thing

➡️ @/OscarPiastri I can do a Dutch braid, too. And a crown braid.

[bethanythebogwitch]

Wet Beast Wednesday: sea urchins

As I continue the slow grind of covering every living group of echinoderms for this series, it was inevitable that I would eventually encounter the only echinoderm I've actually studied. Sea urchins are among the most iconic of marine invertebrates, but many people just think of them as part of the scenery. I'm here to show you that there's more to these creatures than just being spiny lumps on a rock.

(Image: a purple sea urchin (Strongylocentrotus purpuratus) being held in someone's hand. It is a round, globular animal with a dark purple color. Light purple spines emerge from it all over its body, with the longest being around the middle. End ID)

(image: a long-spined sea urchin (Diadema savignyi). It is a black sea urchin with spines longer than its diameter. End ID)

Urchin is an old-fashioned word for hedgehog, and sea hedgehog is a fitting name for these round, spiny animals. Sea urchins tend to be fairly small, with a diameter of 3 - 10 cm (1 - 4 in), though some species have very long spines that make them seem larger. The main body of an urchin is round and enclosed in a (usually) hard shell called a test made of calcium carbonate. The test is covered with a slayer of skin and muscle that controls the spines and small, pincer-like structures called pedicellaria. Within the test are the internal organs. As with other echinoderms, sea urchins are radially symmetrical as adults, with five segments arranged around the center like pizza slices. The two main body holes are found on the top and bottom of the animals where the segments converge. At the bottom is the mouth and at the top is the anus. Each segment also has a hole near the anus used to release gametes and one will have a larger pore called the madreporite, which is used to control the amount of water within the urchin's body. The mouth is a unique structure known as Aristotle's lantern, consisting of five tooth-like structures (one for each body segment) that interlock together and sharpen themselves. Behind the teeth is a rasping tongue.

(image: a close-up of an urchin's mouth, showing the Aristotle's lantern. It is a hole surrounded by a fleshy lip. Five spade-shaped teeth are emerging from the edge of the hole. End ID)

Internally, most of the body is taken up by the digestive tract and water vascular system. The digestive system lacks a stomach, with the esophagus attaching directly to the small intestine. The digestive tract forms a loop as it passes through the body. The water vascular system uses seawater to form hydrostatic pressure that moves the tube feet. All starfish, urchins, and sea cucumbers have tube feet, small, transparent, tentacle-like structures they use for movement. Tube feet are hollow and retracted into pores on the skin normally. To be used, they have to be inflated with water, which makes them stick out of the body, where they can be controlled with muscles. Tube feet end in suction cups that can be used to grab into structures around them. Seawater drawn in through the madreporite serves as the source of pressure needed for the tube feet to function. In urchins, tube feet cover the body and are used for locomotion, moving food to the mouth, and moving objects on or off the body. The main body cavity is filled with circulatory fluid that uses special cells to move oxygen and nutrients around the body. The nervous system is simple, consisting of a central nerve ring around the esophagus that branches into nerves that connect to the rest of the body. Urchins have no eyes (except for the family Diadematidae, which have eyespots), but are sensitive to light. The gonads are usually small, but during mating season they can swell to fill much of the body cavity.

(Image: a drawn diagram showing a cross-section of a sea urchin, with the different organs and body parts labeled. End ID. Source)

Sea urchins are found in oceans worldwide, from intertidal zones to the deep sea and the tropics to the poles. They are bottom-dwellers who feed primarily on algae, which they scrape up with their teeth. However, they will also take a variety of food, including carrion, aquatic plants, and other slow-moving or sessile animals like sponges, polyps, bivalves, worms, and sea cucumbers. Urchins can play a key role in regulating algae populations through their ecosystems, but they also rely on predators to keep from overeating necessary algae. Famously, California's kelp forests were almost destroyed by urchins eating the kelp after their primary predator, sea otters, were driven to near extinction. Urchin's primary defense against predators is their hard tests and spines. As most of the edible portion of the urchin is within the test, predators have to get through both layers of defense first. The spines are hollow and each can be moved independently of each other, allowing them to be positioned toward a threat. Many species contain venom within their spines as an added layer of defense. This venom is rarely dangerous to humans, but can cause swelling and painful reactions. Another layer of defense is the pedicellaria, which are good at removing small animals and parasites from the skin. The flower urchin, Toxopneustes pileolus, has modified its pedicellaria into flower-like structures that extend beyond the spines and can deliver a sting that can be fatal to humans.

(Image: a flower urchin. It is a pinkish urchin covered with flower-like structures that extend to the length of the spines. It has placed some bits of shells on top of it. End ID)

Sea urchins possess distinct males and females, though the differences are internal, making it impossible to tell which is which based on visual examination. During mating seasons, the gonads swell as they generate gametes. Urchins tend to reproduce in groups at synchronized times (possibly correlated with the phases of the moon in shallow-water species) to maximize the possibility of fertilization. When ready to mate, the gametes are squeezed to empty their contents through the genital pores and into the water column. Sperm must find egg in the water to fertilize it. Most sea urchins provide no parental care, but in some species, the female will retain the eggs in her spines to protect them. The eggs hatch into bilaterally symmetrical larvae called plutei that drift with the plankton. As they develop, a section of the larvae will develop into a radially symmetrical adult rudiment. This piece will eventually break off and become the juvenile urchin while the rest of the larva dies. Because echinoderms start out as bilaterally symmetrical larvae, we can infer that they developed from bilaterally symmetrical ancestors and the radial symmetry of adults is a more recent development.

(image: a series of photos showing the embryological development of a sea urchin from a single cell to a cluster of cells, to a bell-like structure, to growing several arms, to the eventual adult developing and breaking off. End ID. Source)

Fossils show that the oldest sea urchins had large, club-like spines that they walked on, with the modern spines being a later development. Most of those urchins died out with the dinosaurs, leaving the pencil urchins of order Cicaroida as the only living members. All other living urchins are Part of the clade Euechinoidea. Amongst them, there are still some oddballs, known as the irregular urchins of clade Irregularia. These urchins have moved away from radial symmetry, with less symmetrical segments and the anus and mouth moving from being on the top and bottom to being on the sides in the heart urchins. Heart urchins have gone from bilateral symmetry to radial symmetry and are now going back to bilateral symmetry. Heart urchin mouths don't have an Aristotle's lantern. Instead, they use strands of mucus to capture food and cilia to pull the strands back inside. Sand dollars, also known as sea cookies or sea biscuits, are also in this clade. These are flattened urchins with short and very fin spines that resemble velvet. They are burrowers who spend much of their time buried under sand and as such are rarely seen alive. The name sand dollar comes from their tests, which are similar to old dollar coins and can often be found washed up on beaches. While still radially symmetrical, sand dollars also have a secondary form of bilateral symmetry, with a distinct front and back end that often look different. Irregular sea urchins also tend to have fewer gonads and associated pores than regular sea urchins.

(image: a red pencil urchin (Heterocentrotus mamillatus) nestled among coral. Instead of spines, it has a series of long, thick, red clubs. End ID)

(image: a purple heart urchin (Spatangus purpureus). It is an urchin elongated on one direction and with a few rows of long spines amongst short ones. On the surface facing the camera is a large hole that could be the mouth or the anus. End ID)

(image: a group of irregular sand dollars (Dendraster excentricus) partially buried in the sand. They are round, flat animals with a velvety covering of tiny spines. The are sticking out of the sand. End ID)

Sea urchins have been known to humans for as long as people have lived near the ocean. Stings can occur when people step on them and can cause pain and irritation, but are rarely medically significant. That being said, some people can have allergies to the venom, which could be a big problem. Spines left in the wound should be removed, as they can continue injecting venom. Urchins are a food source for people around the world, specifically the gonads, which are the only meaty part of the animal. The gonads are often marketed as roe or corals and can be eaten raw or cooked. Urchins are also used as a model organism in embryology due to the interesting and well-studied nature of their larval development. Urchins are vulnerable to pollution, habitat loss, and over-predation. Ocean acidification due to climate change poses a major threat to them, as it reduces the quality of their tests.

(image: tow sea urchins served as food. They are upside-down with the bottoms removed. The gonads are visible within as five orange, spongy structures that take up most of the body cavity. End ID)

[tikitakatia]

Fixer Upper — A. Putellas x Reader

"Couples Therapy"

WC: 1.4k

Summary: Alexia´s invited you to attend an impromptu therapy session that´s meant to help bring you closer together, much to your chagrin.

You should’ve known something was off when Alexia insisted on being early.

She’s never early for anything. Not brunch, not birthdays, not even her own surprise party, which she managed to be twenty minutes late for. The only time she runs on schedule is when she’s getting paid for it. So when she’s already dressed, keys in hand, and bouncing on the balls of her feet fifteen minutes before you’re supposed to leave, your internal alarm bells start softly ringing.

“We’re gonna be late,” she says.

You glance at your phone. “It starts in thirty minutes.”

“Exactly. What if there’s paperwork?”

“You hate paperwork.”

She just grins that stupid grin. The one she gets before she does something outrageous and claims it’s romantic. You eye her warily but still let her drag you out the door, because you’re a fool.

The office is in a coworking space downtown. It has exposed brick, too many succulents, and a suspiciously cheerful front desk attendant who offers you organic mints from a jar labeled "for emotional clarity."

The waiting room is... unconventional. No couch, no fidget toys, just scattered bean bags, color-changing LED lights, and a TV screen looping stock footage of couples doing yoga. You sit and wait, but as the seconds pass, you start to feel the creeping edge of concern.

“Is this a tech startup or a therapy office?” you mutter.

“Babe. Chill. It’s probably a modern approach or something.” Alexia’s already opened her complimentary LaCroix.

Before you can ask what that even means, a woman with aggressively symmetrical eyebrows and a t-shirt that says “LOVE IS A JOURNEY, LET US BE YOUR GPS” steps into the room.

“Hi! I’m Maya 😊” she says, the smiley face emoji somehow audible in her tone.

“Thanks for joining our guided couples session. If you’ll follow me, we’ll begin with a light partner diagnostic and then a few reflection prompts in the group circle.”

You blink. “Partner diagnostic?”

Alexia pats your leg. “See? Modern.”

You follow Maya into a room filled with more bean bags, a couple of ring lights, and a half-circle of already-seated couples. You take your seats. You try to stay open-minded and remind yourself that you agreed to this.

“Okay,” Maya says, clapping once.

“Before we begin, just a quick heads-up that we’ll be exploring five core compatibility questions designed to help you reflect and deepen your bond. This is a judgment-free zone, so feel free to be honest and vulnerable. Or silly! We love silly geese here!”

You watch as one couple high-fives. Another is wearing matching sweatshirts that say “Love is a Verb.” You suppress a shudder.

The first prompt comes with no warning.

“So! What’s one habit your partner has that drives you a little bit crazy but is also kind of endearing?”

You look at Alexia. Alexia is already smiling.

“She growls at her phone when she’s annoyed,” she says, without missing a beat.

“Like a little thundercloud trying to send emails.”

You stare. “I do not.”

“She does. It’s like grrrrr, but about as threatening as a pomeranian.”

“I swear to God, Alexia.”

Maya beams. “That’s such a vivid image! Okay, your turn.”

You cross your arms. “She steals my food.”

Alexia gasps, offended. “I protect you from health scares.”

“No, you order some healthy shit, decide that you don't like it, and then eat half my fries.”

“But amor, I love you.. And your fries.”

You glance around and see other couples who are nodding and laughing like this is all very charming. One woman is crying into a man’s shoulder about how she finally feels seen. You’re starting to feel... deeply unwell.

Maya claps again. “Let’s move on to the next reflection. Imagine your partner’s had a hard day. How do you support them?”

Before you can answer, Alexia grips your hands dramatically.

“Babe,” she says. “You’ve had such a long day being mean and scary. Do you want me to run you a bath or hide your laptop?”

“I will destroy every LaCroix in this building.” You hiss under your breath.

“She’s really opening up today.” She turns to the group.

You grind your teeth so hard your jaw pops.

“We love that emotional safety.” Maya nods solemnly.

The third question hits like a sideswipe: “If your relationship were a team sport, what would your roles be?”

Alexia lights up. “Well football of course! I’m still the midfielder. She’s defense. No one gets past her. Or speaks to her. Or makes eye contact.”

“I’m filing for free agency.” You deadpan.

A man across the circle pipes up, “My wife’s the goalie. She blocks all my bad ideas.”

You glance at him. He’s wearing socks with hotdogs on them and a fanny pack. You make a mental note to investigate further.

“Let’s keep the good vibes going,” Maya trills. “If your partner were a dessert, what would they be and why?”

You nearly choke. “How is that therapy?”

Alexia doesn’t miss a beat. “She’s a molten lava cake. Looks intense. Bad for your health. But if you wait it out... gooey on the inside.”

“You’re deranged.” You say as you stare her down.

“I’m romantic.”

You glance around again. One couple is whispering into a shared AirPod. Another has been feeding each other dried mango slices like birds. You feel like you’re trapped in a quack health influencer’s fever dream.

By the time Maya announces the final question, you’re already halfway to existential collapse.

“What’s something your partner doesn’t know you appreciate about them?”

You look at Alexia. And you know you could make a cutting joke. You want to. But instead, your mouth says something soft.

“She makes everything fun. Even when I don’t want it to be.”

Alexia blinks.

You add, “She’s chaos. But she’s mine.”

There’s a collective “awww” from the room. Alexia practically preens.

She says, “I was gonna say your ass. But that works too.”

You rub your eyes with both hands.

Maya beams. “Wonderful reflections, everyone. And just a quick housekeeping note, if you haven’t already, please complete the feedback form in the app so we can send you your 15€ Amazon gift card!”

You freeze.

Your brain hits a wall and reverses.

You glance at Maya. Then at Alexia. Then back at Maya, slower this time.

“Sorry,” you say, like someone testing the edge of a knife. “Did you say... app?”

“MindMatch!” Maya chirps. “Thanks again for being part of our beta testing group. Your responses really help us shape the user experience!”

There’s a faint ringing in your ears. You turn, mechanically, to Alexia.

She is suddenly very interested in the condensation on her LaCroix.

“This,” you say, with the voice of someone holding in a scream, “isn’t therapy.”

“It’s kind of therapy,” she says into her can.

“It’s market research.”

“It’s couples bonding through market research.”

“Alexia.”

She shrugs, not even a little sorry. “We got to talk about our feelings, didn’t we?”

“We got ranked on vulnerability and made to roleplay in front of strangers so someone in a WeWork could optimize user retention.”

“And,” she adds brightly, “we’re getting gift cards.”

“You are a millionaire. Why are you like this?” You ground out.

“I love prizes.”

You squint at her like you’re trying to set her on fire with your eyes. She smiles like she’s already won.

“You tricked me.”

She slides an arm around your waist as you start walking out. “And yet, you said I’m your chaos.”

“I meant that like someone might say that child has a knife.”

She leans on your shoulder. “Still counts.”

You sigh so deeply you feel it in your spine. “I want you to know I’m never trusting you again.”

“Lies.”

“I’m filing for emotional damages.”

“You smiled.”

“Out of shock.”

“You called me your chaos and said I make things fun.”

“I was having a medical episode.”

She stops just outside the building and grins at you. “Come on. It wasn’t that bad.”

You eye her. “I roleplayed a fake meltdown and told strangers about your food theft.”

“And now you’re stronger for it.”

“I hope your next smoothie explodes.”

She’s still grinning. “Wanna get dinner? I’ll let you order fries.”

“You’ll steal them.”

“Just a few. For bonding.”

You shake your head.

And you really do hate it, how easily she wins. How quickly she turns a disaster into something weirdly warm. You sigh again.

But your mouth betrays you and twitches up at the corners.

Because she may have lured you into a glorified dating app workshop disguised as therapy, and you may never recover from the secondhand embarrassment of being called “a thundercloud with trust issues” in public, but she’s yours.

And you’re hers.

And yes, she’s chaos.

But somehow, you're a molten lava cake.

And unfortunately?

She’s got a spoon.

[cupidlovesastro]

𝓿𝓮𝓷𝓾𝓼 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓼𝓮𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝔀𝓱𝔂 𝓹𝓮𝓸𝓹𝓵𝓮 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓳𝓮𝓪𝓵𝓸𝓾𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝔂𝓸𝓾

venus in 1st- the way you look , your aura, your energy, your presence, the impressions you give on others, the attitude you have about things, how put together you come off, your beauty, your charismatic spirit, your aesthetic, your clothes, your make up, your forehead, your hair or hairstyles, your masculine features/energy

venus in 2nd- your financial situation, your ranking in your work place, if you come off/dress rich, the things you own, house decorations, your room’s aesthetic, your work ethic, your career, if you own expensive things, your neck area, collar bone, your voice, your lips, jaw, your beauty

venus in 3rd- your way with words, how flirting/ talking is easy for you, the way you speak, the way your brain works, your social group, your siblings, your creative writing, your journal/ notes, the elementary school you went to, your neighborhood, your thought process, your shoulders, collarbone, hands, how youthful you look/act

venus in 4th- how you regulate or cope with your emotions, your family or the family you’ve created, your household, your furniture, your decorations, your family roots, your background, the way you mother people or your children, your motherly energy, your femininity, the way you express your femininity, your self care routine, your self care products, how you grew up, how your family treats you, your chest, your boobs, your rib cage, your round face shape, the softness in your features

venus in 5th- your relationship, your lover, your youth, your inner child or the fact you can express it, your children, your features that your children have/will inherit, your aesthetic, the way you express yourself, your art style, the art you make, your spirit, how easy it is for you to get along with people,how easy it is for you to attract people, how many kids you have, the people you’ve hooked up with, the way you express your happiness, your stomach, bellybutton, your confidence, thick hair

venus in 6th- your work out routine, your work out equipment, work out clothes, your health, your pets, work ethic, your organization or organized nature, your resourcefulness, the way that people need you, the service(s) you offer, the way you analyze things, your waist, hips, your youthful appearance,

venus in 7th- your relationship(s), your marriage, how fair you are or act, the way you go about justice, how giving you are, the contracts you have with businesses, your skin, your lower back, your symmetrical features, hair, your feminine features/ energy, your beauty, your aesthetic, the effort you put into your look, your music taste

venus in 8th- your sensual side, your sex appeal, your financial situation, the money or things you’ve inherited from your family, things that you own, your properties/house(s), your mysterious energy or aesthetic, the way your partner spoils you or the way you spoil your partner, sexual organs, your groin, the way people seem to lust over you

venus in 9th - your community, your religion, your culture, your traditions, the places you’ve traveled to, how often you traveled, your intelligence, the degrees you’ve earned, the college you attend to or used to attend, the philosophies you have, the beliefs you share or follow, the way you learn, how learning is fast or easy, your thighs, your waist, your height

venus in 10th- your career, the goals you’ve achieved, your popularity, your influence, your fame, your reputation, your status, your father or father figures in your life, the way you father your children, your masculinity, your masculine features/vibes, your bone structure, teeth

venus in 11th- your social group/ friends, the way you care about the world or a certain community, the amount of social awareness you have, the technology you own like iphone/ ipad/ laptops, etc, the way you dream big, your individuality, your uniqueness the people you surround yourself with, your calves, your ankles, your unique features

venus in 12th- your healing journey, the way you heal from things, your spiritual journey, your spiritual knowledge, spiritual experiences, you connection with spirituality, your connection with your after life, your connection with your subconscious mind, your manifestations, your feet, toes, feminine features, your empathy, your compassion, your emotional intelligence, your intuition

[iamthekaijuking]

This just in, starfish are a radially symmetrical head with a stomach.

God I love echinoderms

If you told someone that there’s an entire group of animals that develop butt first as embryos are born bilateral but then grow a radially symmetrical head like a cancer in their side that then bursts out and lives as a completely separate organism from its birth form and moves via hydraulic systems…

They wouldn’t believe you. Yet one of the most beloved cartoon characters is one of them.

[solxamber]

Romance Clichés with: Riddle Rosehearts

Cliché: The Grand Romantic Gesture

Others: Leona ; Azul ; Vil ; Kalim ; Idia ; Jamil

The moment you decided to court Riddle Rosehearts, you knew you had to bring your A-game. And by A-game, you meant memorizing all 810 laws of the Queen of Hearts.

Did anyone ask you to? No.

Did anyone want you to? Probably not.

But that didn’t matter. What mattered was Riddle noticing you.

The first rule you put into practice was Rule 178: "When presenting flowers, they must be in groups of three, six, or nine." So, naturally, you showed up at Heartslabyul one day holding a perfectly arranged bouquet of nine red roses.

"For you," you said, holding them out with a bow that lingered precisely three seconds, no more, no less (Rule 12).

Riddle blinked, his face shifting from neutral to the faintest pink. “You— You’re following the rules?”

“Of course,” you replied smoothly. “I wouldn’t dare present flowers improperly to the Heartslabyul Dorm Leader.”

Cater whistled from somewhere behind him. Trey raised a brow. Riddle, meanwhile, looked like he might short-circuit.

“W-Well, good,” he managed, clutching the roses like they were something sacred. “It’s refreshing to see someone with proper manners.”

You grinned, internally high-fiving yourself. Step one: complete.

You’d researched extensively for your next move. Rule 47: “A surprise tea party must include the guest bringing their own cup and saucer.”

When Riddle called an impromptu tea party, you arrived armed with not only a cup and saucer but a tiny tray of perfectly portioned sweets, arranged in compliance with Rule 290: “Desserts served at tea parties must be bite-sized and arranged symmetrically.”

The silence as you set them on the table was deafening.

Trey looked mildly impressed. Cater snapped a picture. Riddle, on the other hand, stared at you like you’d just recited Shakespeare in iambic pentameter while juggling teacups.

“You…” He cleared his throat. “You’ve been studying the rules?”

“Of course,” you said, taking your seat and stirring your tea exactly three times counterclockwise (Rule 723). “It’s only proper.”

“I—Yes, well—” His ears turned bright red as he took a bite of one of your desserts. “You’ve done well,” he muttered, almost too quietly to hear.

You didn’t miss the way his gaze lingered on you for the rest of the tea party.

By the time you hit Rule 810—“A declaration of admiration must be made with precision, sincerity, and a token of affection”—Riddle was this close to losing it.

You didn’t plan to deploy it that day. You were just practicing it in your head when you ran into him at the rose garden. He was inspecting the flowers, his brows furrowed in that way that somehow made him even cuter.

“Rule 810,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

Riddle turned to you, confused. “What?”

Crap. No turning back now.

You cleared your throat, stepping closer. “Rule 810 states that a declaration of admiration must be precise, sincere, and accompanied by a token of affection.” You pulled a small, hand-embroidered handkerchief from your pocket. It was decorated with roses and a tiny “R” stitched in the corner.

You held it out to him, your hands only trembling slightly. “I… I’ve memorized all the rules because I wanted to court you properly. Because I admire you. And because—well—because I love you.”

Riddle’s mouth opened, then closed. His face turned such a bright shade of red that you worried he might actually faint.

“You—” His voice cracked, and he quickly cleared his throat. “You… love me?”

“Yes,” you said, letting out a nervous laugh. “Honestly, after memorizing 810 rules for you, I don’t think I could possibly love anyone else.”

Riddle stared at you, his gloved hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. For a moment, you thought he might actually explode. Then, all at once, he stepped forward, took the handkerchief, and pressed it to his chest like it was something priceless.

“I—” He took a shaky breath. “You’re absolutely ridiculous.”

You blinked. “I—what?”

“Who memorizes 810 rules for someone?” he said, his voice rising slightly. “You’re—You’re maddening! Impossible! Utterly—” He cut himself off, taking another breath before meeting your gaze.

“…And yet, I can’t imagine anyone else doing something so utterly… thoughtful.”

You felt your heart leap into your throat as his expression softened. “You’ve done all this for me,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “And I… I’d be a fool not to accept such a heartfelt gesture.”

“So… is that a yes?” you asked, trying (and failing) not to grin.

Riddle’s blush deepened, but he nodded. “Yes.”

And then, to your utter shock, he stepped closer, reaching for your hand. “But I hope you realize,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips, “that now I’ll expect you to uphold all the rules of the Queen of Hearts from now on.”

You laughed, your heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks. “I wouldn’t dream of doing otherwise.”

Masterlist

[gyunotes]

Mutual Distraction - Mark Lee x F!Reader

"Try not to fall in love with me mid-rebuttal,” I murmured, flipping open the folder without even looking at him. He smirked. “Try not to humiliate yourself. I’d rather not have to carry both our arguments on stage.” I hate him. I really, really do. But I also kind of want to see what happens when we actually team up—because if our insults are this sharp, God help the judges."

cw : smut, enemies to lovers, slow burn?? or just two overachievers stress-fucking their way to an A+

There are exactly three things I hate more than public speaking: group projects, lukewarm coffee, and Mark fucking Lee.

So naturally, life decided to hand me all three before 10 a.m.

I was halfway through mentally writing an email titled “Why this debate tournament is my villain origin story” when my name got called — loudly and way too enthusiastically. 

“y/n will step in as Mark’s partner due to medical withdrawal from his teammate.”

Cue: mild cardiac arrest, a brain reboot, and the overwhelming urge to vanish into the air. 

I blinked. Then blinked again. Apparently, glaring at the universe doesn’t reverse stupidity. Tragic, really. 

Across the room, Mark looked up from his book like fate had just slapped him across the face with a hardcover — which, honestly, felt accurate. 

His expression screamed what the fuck?. Mine probably said the same.

I stood up anyway. Pair me with a brick wall and I’d still walk away with the win. Mark just happens to be a brick wall who thinks he’s a genius. Cute. He’ll learn. 

Still, as I walked across the stage toward him, I couldn’t ignore the simmering irritation bubbling under my skin — or the way his blazer fit a little too well. Ugh. Rude.

“Don’t look so thrilled, Mark,” I said with a too-sweet smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “Relax — I only bite if someone asks nicely.”

He handed me the case file like it was laced with anthrax.

“You have five minutes to prepare,” the moderator announced.

Mark didn’t say a word — just looked at me like I’d committed a crime against humanity. I stared back, resisting the very real urge to throw my pen at his annoyingly symmetrical face.

“Try not to fall in love with me mid-rebuttal,” I murmured, flipping open the folder without looking at him.

He smirked. Barely. “Try not to humiliate yourself. I’d rather not have to carry both our arguments on stage.”

I hate him.

I really, really do but I also kind of want to see what happens when we actually team up.

Because if our insults were this sharp…

God help the judges.

A sharp tap on the mic snapped the room to attention.

“Okay, let’s begin,” said one of the judges, adjusting her glasses and peering over the rim with a challenge in her gaze. 

“If social media is such a threat, why do billions still use it every day?”

She barely finished the question before I fired back. 

“Because addiction doesn’t look like destruction—not at first.” 

She let the words settle before continuing, her gaze sweeping the panel.

“It looks like dopamine. Like connection. Like validation in the form of likes and comments. But under the surface? It’s rewiring how we see ourselves and worse, how we value each other.” 

I leaned in slightly. “We don't fear the tool. We fear what it's turning us into.” 

I turned to Mark.

“You say people choose to be online.”

A pause. He lets the silence draw just long enough.

“But addiction always looks like a choice… right up until it doesn’t.”

He took one step forward.

“Social media doesn’t connect us.”

Another pause, this one surgical.

“It controls us.”

A pause—then the soft scratching of pens, the subtle twitch of impressed smiles.

Mark gave a faint shrug, turning slightly toward me with the hint of a smirk.

I didn’t look at him.

But my grin said everything.

Checkmate.

We won the debate. obvi.

And of course, Mark couldn’t let it settle for more than two seconds before opening his mouth.

“I’m just saying,” he drawled, tugging at the edge of his blazer, “we only won because I delivered the knockout line. The rest was just—set dressing.”

I scoffed, not even looking at him as I slipped my folder back into my bag.

“You mean the line you stole from a book” I shot back sweetly. “Congratulations, you plagiarized your way into glory.”

He laughed, low and warm. “You’ve got to admit, it sounded better coming from me.”

I looked up at him, my eyes flashing. “So would silence.”

Mark tilted his head slightly, smirk curling at the edges. “Admit it. You love when I win.”

“I love that we won,” I corrected, then added, under my breath, “and now I have to tolerate the ego inflation that follows.”

His voice dipped, just enough to turn the air between them warmer than it had any right to be. “So you do love something about me.”

I opened my mouth—whether to fire back or let something slip, even I wasn’t sure—but that’s when Professor Kim appeared beside them, clapping once, far too loud.

“Incredible, both of you! That was one of the sharpest debate I’ve heard in years.”

They both straightened instantly, too quickly, like school kids caught passing notes.

Mark’s smirk vanished in favor of a polite nod.

My smile was stiff.

“Thank you, Professor,” we said in near-unison.

The professor, thankfully oblivious, beamed at us and moved on to the next team.

Mark exhaled.

I cleared my throat.

And just like that, the moment was gone—left hovering awkwardly between them like an ellipsis neither of them knew how to finish.

“So you do love something about me.”

The words kept echoing in my head, like a song I couldn’t stop replaying. Ever since the debate two days ago—his cocky smirk, that glint in his eye, the way he leaned just a little too close when he said it—I hadn’t been able to shake it.

Get the fuck out of my head, Mark.

I scowled at the notebook in front of me, not absorbing a single word of the notes I was supposed to be taking. My pen hovered uselessly above the page, tapping a silent rhythm that matched the anxious flutter in my chest.

Why the hell was he in my head?

The shrill sound of the bell snapped me back to reality, like cold water thrown over my thoughts.

“Okay, class, see you Monday,” the professor called. Chairs scraped and conversations buzzed as everyone packed up.

I stood to leave, slinging my bag over my shoulder, when—

“Miss Y/N, could you stay back a while? I have something to ask you.”

My heart stuttered.

I turned slowly, trying to play it cool even though my pulse was sprinting. Behind me, Mark hadn’t moved either, his lazy grin already in place like he was expecting this.

Of course he stayed back too.

“Uh, sure,” I said, trying not to sound suspiciously breathless.

The classroom emptied around us, the chatter fading until it was just the three of us.

As I stepped toward the front, I could feel him beside me—his presence always too warm, too close.

"Relax," he whispered under his breath, just low enough for only me to hear. "I'm not gonna bite."

"Too bad," I shot back before I could stop myself. My eyes widened a little too late. Did I really just say that?

His smirk deepened, and now I really wanted the floor to swallow me whole.

“Right,” the professor said, oblivious. “I just wanted to ask if you two would be open to working together for the upcoming presentation. You both have strong points of view in the last debate. I think it could make for an interesting dynamic.”

I could practically feel Mark turning to look at me.

“That’s… up to her,” he said. And damn him, his voice was all casual and charming, like he hadn’t just been living rent-free in my head for forty-eight hours.

The professor looked at me expectantly.

I opened my mouth and forced a polite smile. “Sure. That’s fine.”

“Perfect,” he said. “You can coordinate the details together. I’ll expect a rough outline by Friday.”

With that, he gathered his things and left us there—in the silence, in whatever this thing was that buzzed between us like static.

Mark didn’t move. Just tilted his head, watching me with far too much amusement.

“What?” I asked, trying for exasperation, but it came out… flustered.

“That didn’t sound like a no,” he said softly.

“To what?”

His eyes twinkled. “To loving something about me.”

I groaned and turned to walk away. “God, you’re insufferable.”

But he followed, matching my pace with infuriating ease. “You didn’t say no, though.”

“Shut up, Mark.”

“See? You do love something about me.”

And I hated how much I almost smiled.

I was mid-scroll through my phone and minding my own business when my phone buzzed.

Unknown Number: Tomorrow. My place. 4PM. Outline work + snacks provided. Dress code: chill but cute.

I stared at the screen, blinking like the words might magically rearrange into something normal.

Then another text came in.

Unknown Number: Don’t act surprised. It’s Mark, obviously.

I nearly dropped my phone. Mark??

I hadn’t given him my number.

At least, I didn’t think I had. Had I blacked out during class? 

Then clarity. 

The professor.

Of course. “Pair up for the presentation,” he’d said. 

Apparently, giving Mark Lee access to my number was part of the deal now.

I fired off a reply with shaky thumbs:

You: How did you get my number??

Mark: The professor.

You: I’m reporting this as an invasion of privacy.

Mark: You can do that. After we finish our presentation on 20th century subtext and the unbearable tension between co-presenters. See you at 4, Sunshine.

Sunshine???

I stared at the ceiling and seriously considered deleting my entire identity.

This was dumb. I shouldn’t be nervous.

It was just Mark. Annoying, arrogant Mark who delighted in getting under my skin.

But my palm was sweaty against the strap of my laptop bag, and I’d changed outfits twice before settling on something that said “I don’t care” when it very much meant “God, I hope I don’t look like a disaster.”

I hesitated, then knocked.

The door swung open before my fist could land again.

Mark was standing there, wearing a black hoodie and an easy smile that immediately made me suspicious.

“You’re early,” he said, leaning against the door frame.

“You said four.”

“Yeah, but I thought you’d show up fashionably late.”

I pushed past him. “Sorry to disappoint.”

He shut the door behind me. “You never do.”

My brain short-circuited.

“Snacks are in the kitchen,” he said, like he hadn’t just casually flirted me into a state of semi-catatonia. “And yes, I remembered you hate raisins.”

I blinked. “You… what?”

“Your oatmeal cookie rant in class?” He looked at me over his shoulder. “Very passionate. I felt personally attacked.”

I blinked again. “Okay, wow. You actually listen.”

Mark grinned. “Shocking, I know.”

I followed him to the living room, trying very hard not to look like I was analyzing every surface of his house for evidence of his entire personality.

His couch was comfy. His bookshelf was full. And his kitchen smelled faintly of cinnamon, which I refused to find charming.

“Alright,” I said, settling on the chair by his desk and opening my laptop. “Let’s focus. No distractions. No attitude. No stupid smirks.”

Mark dropped into the seat beside me—beside, not across—and leaned back, looking way too comfortable.

“I make no promises,” he said, reaching for a cookie. “But I’m flattered you called my smirk stupid. That’s how I know you’re flustered.”

“I’m not flustered.”

“You’re a little flustered.”

“I will throw this cookie at your face.”

He held out a hand. “Go ahead. I love dramatic foreplay.”

I choked on air.

“Presentation,” I gasped, pointing at the screen like it could save me from whatever this was. “We’re outlining. Now.”

Mark grinned. “You’re adorable when you panic.”

“I’m going to murder you with a notebook.”

He laughed, leaning closer until our shoulders almost touched. “And yet… here you are. At my house. With cookies. And a suspicious amount of eye contact.”

I glared at him. “Let’s just get this outline done before I remember I have pepper spray in my bag.”

Mark raised his brows, pretending to scribble a note in his journal. “Add that to our conflict section. Threats, unresolved tension, will-they-won’t-they energy. We’re off to a strong start.” 

This is going to be a long day.

“We are exactly three bullet points into this outline,” I said, narrowing my eyes at the document on my laptop. “And somehow we’ve spent fifteen minutes arguing about font size.”

“Because it matters,” Mark replied, leaning back in the chair like he was relaxing at a resort instead of sabotaging my productivity. “Presentation is 50% aesthetics. You wouldn’t wear ugly shoes to a first date, would you?”

“This isn’t a date.”

He looked at me. Slowly. His eyes dragging from my face down to where my knees were curled under me on the chair. Then back up.

“No,” he said, voice a little quieter. “It’s not.”

My throat went dry.

There was something about the way he said it. Like he was daring me to contradict him. Like he wanted me to say something but all I could do was blink at him like my brain had taken the rest of the day off.

Silence settled between us. The kind that hummed. Soft and slow and almost... expectant.

I reached for a cookie to have something to do with my hands. “We’re never going to finish this outline.”

“Maybe,” he said, “we’re not supposed to finish it today.”

I turned to look at him.

He was closer now. His knee brushing mine. His eyes not moving.

“When are we supposed to finish then?” I asked. My voice came out softer than I meant it to.

Mark tilted his head. “Not sure. But I think we’re in the middle of something.”

“That’s vague.”

“That’s on purpose.”

Another beat of silence. The air between us was thick with it—whatever this was. Heat. Curiosity. The kind of pause where you both know what’s coming next and are terrified of how real it’s about to get.

I should’ve said something sarcastic. Broken the tension. Pushed him away like I always did.

But I didn’t.

Because he was already leaning in.

And I didn’t stop him.

Not when his gaze flicked from my eyes to my lips.

Not when he murmured, “Tell me to stop.”

I didn’t.

And then—

His mouth met mine.

Soft at first. Testing. Like he was waiting for me to pull away.

I didn’t.

I leaned in.

His hand slid up, fingers threading gently through my hair, the kiss deepening just enough to steal my breath—but not too much to feel rushed. It was warm. Messy in the best way. All tension and heat and finally.

When we broke apart, my heart was thudding so hard I was positive he could hear it.

I blinked at him.

He was smiling. Not that smug smirk. Something softer. Still teasing—but different now.

“So,” he said. “Still threatening me with that notebook?”

“Don’t tempt me,” I whispered, breathless.

“Too late.”

I swallowed hard, still trying to catch up to my own brain. “This doesn’t count as a study break, by the way.”

Mark grinned. “Then we should do it again. Just to make sure.”

Mark didn’t wait this time.

He kissed me like he was going to ruin me—hands gripping my thighs and lifting me in one swift, breath-stealing motion.

I gasped as he spun me toward the desk. My papers went fluttering to the floor in a storm of pages and forgotten priorities.

“Oops,” he murmured, setting me down on the edge of the desk like I belonged there. “Guess I’m not very good at group projects.”

My breath hitched, legs parting instinctively as he stepped between them. “You’re a dick.”

Mark smirked, his hands sliding under my thighs, fingers warm against bare skin. “And yet, here you are. Moaning for the guy you claim to hate.”

“I didn’t moan.”

“You will.”

His mouth was back on mine—deeper now like neither of us had time to pretend anymore. His hands were everywhere. Tracing up my back, down my hips, slipping under my shirt with ease. I could feel his grin against my lips when I gasped as he touched my boobs.

“God,” I whispered, arching into him, “you’re—so annoying.”

He kissed down my neck, slow and deliberate. “But you’re wet for me anyway.”

I hated how easily those words undid me.

“Tell me,” he said, voice dark and low, breath ghosting across my collarbone, “how long you’ve wanted this.”

I hesitated just a second too long and he pulled back slightly, just enough to meet my eyes.

Mark’s gaze was hungry. But not just with lust—he needed the truth.

So I gave it to him.

“Since the first time you smiled at me,” I breathed. “Which is annoying. Because I hate your smile.”

He growled softly. “You love my smile.”

And then he was kissing me again, yanking my shirt over my head, dragging his hoodie off with one hand. We were heat and skin and tangled limbs and barely-restrained want.

“You look so fucking good like this,” he murmured, trailing kisses down my stomach, fingers hooking into my waistband. “On my desk. All soft and needy.”

“I am not—”

He slipped two fingers between my thighs and pressed.

I whimpered.

Mark looked up at me, all teeth and heat. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

My head fell back, hips lifting toward his touch.

“Say you want it,” he whispered, voice thick with heat, fingers still teasing. “I need to hear it, baby.”

“Mark—” My voice cracked. “Please.”

“Please what?”

I met his eyes, breathless, desperate. “Please fuck me.”

He didn’t make me wait.

He pulled off the rest of our clothes in a tangle of laughter and curses between kisses. His touch was reverent and rough in equal parts slow when he wanted me to feel everything, fast when he couldn’t hold back.

When he finally slid inside me, we both gasped ourforeheads pressed together, mouths parted, like we couldn’t believe this was finally happening.

“You feel so fucking perfect,” he groaned, rocking into me, his grip bruising on my hips. “So tight. So fucking mine right now.”

I clawed at his back, biting down on a moan as he pushed deeper, slower, dragging every sound he wanted from me.

“You like it messy, huh?” he murmured, voice hot against my ear. “Books on the floor, your legs wrapped around me, taking every inch like a good girl.”

I gasped, digging my nails into his skin. “You’re—ngh—such an asshole.”

He chuckled, breath ragged. “And you’re gonna come all over my dick anyway.”

God help me, I was.

 His hands, his mouth, his voice in my ear saying everything I didn’t know I needed to hear.

“Let go,” he said, thrusting deeper, “Come for me. Make a fucking mess of this desk, sweetheart.”

And I did.

Hard.

Everything shattered..breath, thought and my body curling into his as he held me through it, kissing my shoulder, my jaw, murmuring, “That’s it. That’s my girl.”

He came right after, groaning into my skin, pulling me down with him into a heap of tangled limbs and breathless laughter.

We stayed like that for a long minute—skin slick, hearts racing, the outline forgotten, pages scattered like snow around us.

He kissed the top of my shoulder and whispered, “We should really finish that presentation.”

I huffed. “You ruined my books. This is war.”

He laughed, pulling me closer. “Then let’s call it makeup sex later.

fin

© 2025 gyunotes

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Color Theory

Color theory is a set of guidelines for mixing, combining, and manipulating colors. Color theory includes ideas like:

Color harmony: Color harmony describes color pairings that are visually pleasing and provide a sense of visual order. Color schemes based on complementary and analogous colors are generally perceived as harmonious. But, since humans respond to colors differently depending on personal preferences and life experiences, there are no universally “right” colors for achieving harmony.

Color temperature: Color temperature deals with breaking colors down into warm colors (associated with sunset and daylight) and cool colors (associated with overcast light). Experimenting with combinations of warm and cool colors can help you mix colors to achieve a particular effect.

Color context: Colors appear to behave differently when viewed in different contexts. For instance, a rusty orange may seem dull and subdued when placed beside a vivid yellow, but when paired with a dark purple, the orange suddenly seems much brighter.

Color Wheel - a circle diagram that illustrates the relationships between different colors.

Sir Isaac Newton developed the first color wheel in his 1704 book Opticks.

Newton created an asymmetrical color wheel with 7 colors—red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet.

In 1810, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe developed a symmetrical color wheel with just 6 colors (eliminating indigo) that is similar to the one we commonly use today.

Artists and designers use color wheels to create color schemes that produce a desired artistic effect.

Primary Colors - colors that combine to make a range of other colors.

Traditionally, these are red, yellow, and blue.

In the RYB color model, the primary colors form a triadic color scheme—a group of three colors spaced evenly apart from each other on the color wheel.

When mixed, these three primary colors form many other colors.

More accurate color theories actually use different primary colors.

The CMYK color printing model deals with printed colors—cyan, magenta, yellow, and black. It is a method of subtractive color mixing in which printed colors absorb (i.e. subtract) light and combine to form a range of colors, including red, blue, and green.

The RGB color model applies to colored light—like the light that emits from a phone or computer screen; its primary colors are red, green, and blue.

The model is a method of additive color mixing, meaning that different colors of light combine (i.e. add) to form other colors, including cyan, magenta, and yellow.

Secondary Colors - the result of mixing two primary colors.

In the traditional color model, the 3 secondary colors are:

green (yellow + blue), orange (yellow + red), and purple (red + blue).

Tertiary Colors - the combination of one primary color with one secondary color.

There are 6 tertiary colors on the traditional color wheel:

magenta (red-purple), vermillion (red-orange), amber (yellow-orange), chartreuse (yellow-green), teal (blue-green), and violet (blue-purple).

Complementary Colors - colors found opposite each other on the color wheel.

Complementary color schemes include blue with orange, red with green, and yellow with purple.

These contrasting colors can make a bold statement when paired in fashion, film, photography, and other forms of art.

Analogous Colors - colors that are next to each other on the color wheel.

Analogous color schemes include yellow paired with chartreuse and green; red with vermillion and orange; and blue with teal and violet.

The 3 colors in each pairing share a common hue, so they appear to match.

Color Temperature - the way to measure the color of visible light.

The unit used to measure color temperature is degrees kelvin.

The best way to understand color temperature is to visualize a piece of metal being extended into a fire.

The color of the metal will change depending on how long it’s held in the fire and how hot it gets.

The metal will range from red to warm white to blue as it heats.

This is also the general range of colors from one end of the color temperature scale to the other.

The Kelvin Temperature Scale. The kelvin scale consists of units of measurement that relate to the color of a light source. The higher the Kelvin number, the closer it is to replicating bright sunlight. In general, higher temperatures on the kelvin scale, the whiter or bluer a light appears. The lower the number, the more yellow and red the light appears.

In order to understand the kelvin range and how kelvin color temperature applies to different light sources, it’s useful to review a few identifiable lights and their kelvin color temperature value.

Candlelight, for instance, generally has a color temperature of around 1500K.

The sunrise and sunset are usually measured around 3200K.

An overcast sky usually has a color temperature of around 9000K.

The current color temperature scale in use is known as the correlated color temperature (CCT) scale and is based around the color emitted by an incandescent bulb.

Sources: 1 2 3 ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[w1w2]

A Game of Almosts

Part 2 - Three Words, Eight Letters

Karina x Fem!Reader feat. Winter

Word Count: ca. 8k

Synopsis: Amid the elite halls of Yonsei University, Y/N and Karina navigate a friendship laced with unspoken tension, lingering glances, and the weight of everything left unsaid. As their world of luxury and power shifts around them, Y/N begins to question whether waiting for Karina will ever be enough.

Req by 🐻 anon

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

The sun hung high over the sprawling campus of Yonsei University, casting long shadows across its historic, ivy-clad buildings. This wasn’t just Korea’s top university, it was a symbol of power, a place where the children of billionaires, politicians, and entertainment moguls walked the same halls, each one groomed for greatness. Every corner of Yonsei whispered of old money, of dynasties built over decades, of futures already mapped out before students even set foot on campus.

To study here was an honor. To rule its social scene? That was a privilege granted to only a select few.

At the very top stood as everyone called them The Power Group.

Six women. 

Y/N, Karina, Giselle, Ningning, Yeji, and Ryujin, who embodied wealth, influence, and an effortless magnetism that made them the undisputed elite. Their last names were printed on the glass towers of Gangnam, their families' businesses controlled entire industries, and their mere presence could elevate a casual gathering into an event worth talking about.

People watched them from a distance, careful not to stare too long, yet unable to look away. They were untouchable, unattainable, yet endlessly fascinating, a world of their own, one that everyone wanted to be a part of, but no one could reach.

At the center of it all was Y/N.

A girl whose smile had the power to melt even the coldest hearts. She was the embodiment of sunshine, effortlessly charming, perpetually warm, and with an energy so infectious that people found themselves drawn to her before they even realized it. With a heart-shaped face and expressive eyes that sparkled with mischief, she had a beauty that felt both delicate and undeniable. Though she exuded an air of playful confidence, there was a sincerity in her laughter, a softness in the way she carried herself that made her impossible to resist.

Where Y/N was light, Karina was ice. 

Karina was the epitome of poise and control, a woman who carried herself with an effortless grace that made her seem almost untouchable. With a strikingly symmetrical face, sharp eyes, and a tall, elegant frame, she had the kind of beauty that felt almost unreal, like something sculpted rather than born. She was intelligent, meticulous, and always composed, a perfectionist raised in the world of corporate dynasties where power was a game of patience and precision.

On the surface, Karina was cool and calculating, her emotions kept under tight lock and key. But those who truly knew her, an exclusive, almost nonexistent list, understood that beneath the icy exterior was something far more complex. There was a quiet protectiveness in the way she handled the people she cared about, a depth to her loyalty that she would never admit aloud.

Yet, even among their circle, Karina remained an enigma, a woman who could command attention with a single glance yet remained just out of reach, her true feelings buried beneath carefully crafted indifference.

The rest of the Power Group played their roles seamlessly, each one an essential piece of the empire they had built. They weren’t just a group of wealthy, beautiful women. They were a force, a dynasty in their own right, each member carrying a presence so distinct yet perfectly in sync with the others.

Giselle, the sharp-tongued genius, was the strategist of the group. With a razor-sharp wit and an uncanny ability to read people, she knew exactly what to say and when to say it. Her words could be a weapon or a lifeline, depending on how she chose to wield them. Effortlessly cool and disarmingly intelligent, Giselle never had to try too hard, she was the kind of person who naturally drew people in, even as she kept them at arm’s length. Her family’s influence in global finance had given her a mind trained for power, and though she often wore a laid-back smirk, everyone knew better than to underestimate her.

Ningning was the wildcard, the unpredictable one, the kind of girl who could go from laughing over expensive champagne to stirring up trouble in the blink of an eye. She was as bold as she was stunning, her confidence carrying an almost reckless charm that made her impossible to ignore. She thrived on chaos, on pushing boundaries, on keeping things exciting. With a devil-may-care attitude and a mischievous glint in her eye, Ningning kept even the most composed members of the group on their toes, never letting anything get too serious for too long. But behind that playful exterior was a woman who knew exactly what she was doing, she was no fool, and she never played a game she couldn’t win.

Yeji and Ryujin were a force of their own, a duo that balanced sharp wit with sheer intimidation. Yeji, the composed and calculating one, had an air of quiet authority that demanded respect without ever needing to ask for it. She was the group’s silent observer, the one who saw everything, always three steps ahead in any situation. Where Yeji was refined and strategic, Ryujin was bold and commanding, carrying herself with an effortless confidence that made people hesitate before daring to cross her. Together, they were an unshakable presence, whether through influence, intelligence, or sheer dominance, they knew how to make people fall in line without needing to lift a finger.

Together, the six of them weren’t just a friend group, they were an empire, an unspoken hierarchy that the rest of Yonsei University unconsciously bowed to. They didn’t need to declare their power. It was simply understood.

Though the Power Group was impenetrable, an undeniable shift occurred when it came to Y/N and Karina.

Their connection ran deeper than the others’, woven into the very foundation of their lives. They had grown up together, their names tied to each other since childhood, their families intertwined through business and legacy. To the outside world, they were simply best friends, a natural pairing, two daughters of conglomerates who had known each other longer than they had known themselves.

But there was something more.

Something lingering in the way Karina’s gaze would hold onto Y/N just a second too long, her normally unreadable expression softening, as if caught in a moment she didn’t want to admit to. Something in the way Y/N’s teasing carried an edge, her playful words laced with a challenge, as if daring Karina to acknowledge what they both pretended wasn’t there.

Their interactions were effortless yet loaded, a shoulder brush that sent shivers, a shared look across a crowded room that spoke volumes, a casual touch that lasted a second too long. There was an unspoken understanding between them, a connection so deep it blurred the lines between what was friendship and what was something else entirely.

And yet, they denied it.

To the public, Y/N and Karina were just two childhood friends, inseparable but strictly platonic. Their names were often thrown together in whispered gossip, speculation running wild about whether they were more than what they claimed to be. But Karina dismissed the rumors with a flick of her wrist, a smirk tugging at her lips as if the idea itself was ridiculous. She was practiced in avoidance, in brushing things off, in controlling every narrative that threatened to slip out of her grasp.

Y/N, on the other hand, never confirmed nor denied anything. She simply laughed. A knowing, teasing kind of laugh, the kind that gave people nothing yet made them wonder even more. If someone asked, she’d raise an eyebrow, a playful smirk on her lips, as if amused by the question itself.

But their friends saw the truth, hidden in the stolen moments, in the tension thick enough to suffocate.

They saw it in the way Karina’s fingers would tighten around Y/N’s wrist whenever she tried to walk away, her grip just firm enough to hold her there, just gentle enough to pretend it wasn’t out of desperation.

They saw it in the way Y/N’s mood would shift depending on Karina’s presence, how she could be laughing one second, but the moment Karina entered the room, everything else faded into the background. Her eyes would instinctively find her, drawn to her like gravity.

They saw it in the way Karina’s face would soften, how the ice that usually shielded her from the world would melt away whenever she looked at Y/N, when she thought no one else was watching.

It was a game they had played for years, balancing on the line between too much and not enough, pretending that the tension wasn’t suffocating.

A push and pull, a cycle of longing and denial. A storm brewing just beneath the surface.

Long before they were Karina and Y/N, before their names became the subject of whispered gossip and admiration, they were simply Jimin and Y/N, two children born into privilege, yet seeking something only the other could provide.

Their friendship had been written in stone before they were even old enough to understand it. Their parents, both titans of industry, had long moved in the same circles, their empires intertwined through business, influence, and unspoken alliances. From the moment they were born, their lives had been parallel, two heirs growing up in the same opulent spaces, expected to walk the same gilded path.

Their earliest memories were of summer afternoons spent running through the vast estate of the Yu family, their laughter bouncing off the grand marble walls of Karina’s childhood home. The estate itself was something out of a dream, endless gardens stretching toward the horizon, a private lake reflecting the golden hues of the sky, corridors so vast that their younger selves could get lost in them for hours.

Y/N remembered the feeling of Karina’s small hand gripping hers, leading her down secret hallways, through hidden doors, into spaces only they knew. She remembered midnight escapades, the two of them sneaking out of bed, tiptoeing past their parents’ grand dinner parties, muffling their giggles as they stole sweets from the lavish dessert trays before making their escape into the gardens.

And then there were the quiet moments, the ones that stayed with Y/N the most.

Late nights spent whispering beneath silk sheets, Karina’s voice hushed but full of curiosity as they spoke about the future, about what they would become, about whether they would always be together like this. The warmth of Karina’s head resting against her shoulder, the steady rhythm of her breath as sleep slowly took her away. The way Karina’s eyes, so guarded in front of others, would soften in the dim glow of their shared childhood, revealing something fragile, something real.

Jimin.

That was what Y/N called her back then. The name only Y/N was allowed to use, a privilege she had never taken lightly. No one else, not their parents, not their friends, not the world that worshiped Karina, would ever be allowed to utter that name the way Y/N did, like a secret, like a promise.

Even as children, Y/N knew.

She knew that what she felt for Karina was different. It wasn’t just friendship, wasn’t just the deep-rooted bond of two girls who had grown up as sisters in all but blood. It was something bigger, something unspoken, something that made her chest feel too tight whenever Karina pulled away, something that made her crave the moments when Karina’s walls would crack just enough for Y/N to slip through.

But Karina? Karina had always been careful.

Even as a child, she was cautious, measured, never allowing herself to feel too much, never letting anything slip beyond what she could control. She cared for Y/N, that much was obvious, but even back then, Y/N could sense Karina’s hesitance. The way she would let herself get close, but never too close. The way she would reach for Y/N, but never hold on for too long.

It had been that way ever since.

And no matter how much Y/N wanted to believe otherwise, some things never changed.

The shift came on a night that should have been just like any other.

They were alone in Y/N’s dorm, the warmth of the room wrapping around them like a fragile cocoon. The city lights outside flickered through the tall windows, casting soft, golden shadows along the walls, making the space feel more intimate than it was. The faint hum of traffic from the streets below filled the silence between them, a distant reminder that the world outside still existed, even if, in this moment, it felt like it had faded away.

They had been drinking champagne stolen from an exclusive event earlier that evening, its expensive bubbles still fizzing in the half-empty glasses on the coffee table. Neither of them had really been trying to get drunk, but there was something about the stolen luxury, the quiet rebellion of it, that had made it taste sweeter. Y/N sat with her legs folded beneath her, her head resting against the back of the couch, while Karina lounged beside her, legs stretched out, fingers absentmindedly twirling the stem of her glass.

There was a stillness to the moment, a rare kind of quiet comfort that neither of them ever spoke about but always cherished. Karina looked different like this, softer, more open, the usual tension in her shoulders gone. The dim lighting smoothed out the sharp edges of her face, made her seem almost fragile, almost reachable.

It was in moments like this that Y/N let herself wonder.

Wonder what it would be like if Karina let herself want this, want her. If she would ever stop hiding behind carefully measured glances and playful denials. If there would ever be a day when Y/N didn’t have to guess, didn’t have to settle for almost.

Maybe it was the champagne. Maybe it was the exhaustion of pretending.

But this time, she reached for her.

Her fingers brushed against Karina’s wrist, a slow, deliberate touch that trailed upward until she could feel the warmth of Karina’s pulse beneath her fingertips. A quiet inhale, barely audible over the space between them. Karina didn’t move, she didn’t pull away, but she didn’t lean in either. Her stillness spoke louder than words.

Y/N exhaled softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You know,” she murmured, her fingers still resting against Karina’s skin, “sometimes I think about what it would be like if we didn’t have to pretend.”

She felt it then, the slightest tremor in Karina’s wrist, the way her pulse jumped under Y/N’s touch. For a second, just a second, it felt like the whole world had stopped breathing.

Karina’s lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to say something, but she didn’t.

She just stared.

And then, as if snapping back into herself, she laughed.

A quiet, airy sound that should have been lighthearted, but felt like a wall being rebuilt in real time. It was carefully crafted, forced in a way that made Y/N’s stomach twist.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Karina said, shaking her head as if Y/N had suggested something as absurd as moving to Mars. Her tone was easy, playful, the same way it always was when she was dismissing something that mattered. “We’re just… us.”

And just like that, the moment was gone.

The air between them, once charged with something fragile and electric, turned cold.

Y/N let her hand fall away, curling her fingers into her lap as if trying to erase the touch entirely. She forced a grin, mirroring Karina’s effortless amusement, pretending it didn’t sting. Pretending it didn’t feel like she had just been made a fool of.

But something inside her cracked, something small, but significant.

Because in that instant, she realized that as long as Karina refused to acknowledge what was between them, as long as she kept pretending it wasn’t real, Y/N would always be the one left feeling foolish.

And for the first time in her life, she wasn’t sure if being "just us" was enough anymore.

Y/N didn’t bring up that night again.

She didn’t reach for Karina’s hand, didn’t press for answers, didn’t let herself fall into that same cycle of almosts and what ifs. Instead, she let Karina’s laugh echo in the back of her mind, let it settle like a dull ache in her chest, and convinced herself that this, whatever this was, would never change.

Maybe Karina thought Y/N had accepted it. Maybe she thought Y/N would always be there, waiting, willing to play along with the silent, unspoken push and pull they had fallen into over the years.

But if Karina thought Y/N would stay in this emotional limbo forever, she was wrong.

Because it wasn’t just that one moment in the dorm. It was every moment after it.

The way Karina still acted like she always did, possessive, territorial, constantly hovering, but never in a way that meant something real. She was always there, standing too close, fingers ghosting over Y/N’s wrist, whispering things that made Y/N’s heart stutter, but the moment anyone else acknowledged it? The moment Y/N wanted more?

Karina erased it.

She would lean in but never stay, touch but never hold, watch but never claim. Always there, but never enough.

And Y/N was tired of it.

She was tired of being treated like something Karina couldn’t let go of, but couldn’t keep, either. Tired of the stolen moments, the fleeting touches, the way Karina’s eyes would soften when no one was looking, only for her to turn cold the moment anyone else noticed.

And then came the final push.

It was an extravagant evening, one of those dinners that only the richest, most powerful students at Yonsei could attend. The restaurant was luxurious, private, their usual crowd filling the most exclusive table in the room. The air hummed with quiet conversations, laughter spilling over the rim of expensive wine glasses, servers moving like shadows between tables, ensuring that every need was met before it was even voiced.

As always, the Power Group sat in their usual formation, Giselle effortlessly charming the room, Ningning and Ryujin caught up in some playful argument, Yeji sitting back with that knowing smirk of hers. And, of course, Karina beside Y/N, like always.

The conversation had drifted to them.

To Y/N and Karina. To the way people always seemed to watch them a little too closely, to the way they moved around each other, to the rumors that never seemed to die no matter how many times they denied them.

Y/N wasn’t paying attention at first.

She was too distracted by Karina’s fingers, idly toying with the stem of her wine glass, her nails tapping lightly against the delicate crystal. Too caught up in the way Karina’s knee brushed against hers under the table, just the faintest touch, one that she could have pulled away from but didn’t.

But then she heard it.

“You and Y/N are basically a couple, right?”

It was said so casually, so teasingly, that it shouldn’t have mattered.

But it did.

Because for the briefest second, Y/N let herself hope.

She let herself believe, just this once, that maybe, just maybe, Karina wouldn’t dismiss it this time. That maybe, this time, Karina would acknowledge it. That maybe, for once, Karina would meet her halfway.

Instead, Karina barely reacted.

She scoffed, rolling her eyes, her lips curving into an amused smirk as if the mere thought of it was laughable.

“Don’t be stupid.” Her voice was light, dismissive, so easy. “She’s just my best friend.”

Best friend.

Y/N felt the words like a physical thing. A cold, sharp knife to the gut.

The room didn’t change. People kept talking, the music still played softly in the background, waiters continued pouring wine. Everything remained exactly the same, except for the way Y/N’s world tilted slightly, just enough to make her feel like she was falling.

She should have been used to this by now, Karina’s refusal, Karina’s indifference when it mattered, Karina’s ability to shut down every possibility of them with a single sentence.

But tonight, it felt different.

Tonight, it felt like a slap in the face.

Because tonight, Y/N was done pretending that it didn’t hurt.

She swallowed, forcing herself to breathe through the sting, to hold herself together, to smile like it didn’t matter.

And then, without a word, she pushed her chair back, excused herself, and stepped outside.

The cool night air hit her instantly, sharp against the heat still clinging to her skin. She exhaled slowly, pressing her hands against the railing of the balcony, staring out at the cityscape below. Seoul stretched out before her, bright, endless, indifferent.

She waited. Some foolish part of her still believed Karina would come after her.

But Karina didn’t. She never did.

The next morning, Y/N made a decision.

She wasn’t ready to cut Karina out of her life completely. Maybe she never would be. There was something about Karina, something in the way her presence felt like home and destruction all at once, that made the idea of walking away seem impossible. 

How could she sever something that had been a part of her for so long? How could she erase years of intertwined memories, of laughter shared under childhood blankets, of whispered secrets, of lingering touches that never quite meant enough?

No, she wasn’t ready for that, but she was ready for something else.

She was ready to stop waiting.

Waiting for Karina to change, to wake up one day and finally realize that Y/N had been there all along, standing at the edge of her world, waiting to be let in. Waiting for Karina to want her back, to stop treating her like a secret too fragile to acknowledge in the light of day. Waiting for Karina to choose her, to finally say the words Y/N had spent years aching to hear.

But Karina wouldn’t. She never had and deep down, Y/N was starting to wonder if she ever would.

So when she walked into her economics lecture next morning, shoulders still heavy with the weight of last night’s rejection, she didn’t expect anything out of the ordinary, just another dull class, another assignment that barely held her interest, another hour spent trying to convince herself that she wasn’t thinking about Karina.

She barely paid attention as the professor droned on about their upcoming group project, listing off student pairings with the kind of monotonous tone that made the words blur together. Y/N let her eyes drift, staring absently out the window, watching the way the early morning light cast golden reflections over the rooftops of Seoul, painting the city in soft, muted hues.

And then she heard it.

Her name.

Snapping back to attention, she sat up a little straighter, blinking as her professor continued.

And then he said another name.

Kim Minjeong, known as Winter.

The name rang out through the lecture hall, crisp and clear, cutting through the haze in Y/N’s mind. She blinked again, tilting her head slightly, as if she hadn’t heard correctly.

She knew the name. Everyone at Yonsei University knew the name and for the first time in what felt like forever, Y/N felt something other than heartbreak. It wasn’t a grand revelation, it wasn’t an immediate, earth-shattering moment of clarity. It was something smaller, something quieter, but something real.

Maybe relief. Maybe curiosity. Maybe fate nudging her in the right direction.

Whatever it was, she took it as a sign. Winter was different.

Where Karina was sharp edges and suffocating tension, an endless cycle of push and pull that left Y/N feeling strung along, dizzy, and uncertain, Winter was easy, like exhaling after holding her breath for too long.

She didn’t smother. She didn’t confuse. She didn’t make Y/N feel like she was standing on unsteady ground, teetering between hope and heartbreak, waiting for something that would never come.

Winter was steady, a quiet presence that carried weight without ever demanding it. She wasn’t cold, not exactly, but there was a kind of measured detachment to the way she moved through the world, as if nothing could rattle her, as if she had long ago learned how to exist without needing the validation of anyone else. People noticed her, but not because she sought their attention, she simply had a presence that made it impossible to look away.

Y/N had seen her before, of course. Everyone in Yonsei knew Winter.

She was a music major, but she didn’t fit the stereotype of an eccentric artist, the kind who wore their emotions on their sleeve, who poured every thought and feeling into the world without restraint. No, Winter was the opposite of that. She was contained, unreadable, effortlessly charismatic yet somehow distant, like she existed on an entirely different wavelength from the rest of them.

People whispered about her.

Rumors surrounded her like an aura of mystery, but Winter never entertained them.

They said her family was old money, deeply entrenched in Korea’s entertainment industry, controlling the very foundations of pop culture itself. They said her parents had already mapped out her future for her, had crafted a carefully constructed path for her to follow, one that led straight to the boardrooms of an empire she didn’t want to inherit.

Winter was supposed to be next in line.

She was supposed to be sitting in business meetings instead of lecture halls, supposed to be preparing to take over one of the country’s largest entertainment conglomerates. But instead, she spent her time in soundproofed studios, fingers dancing over piano keys, lost in the kind of passion that had nothing to do with profit margins or market trends.

And yet, here she was.

Forced to take economics, forced to sit through courses that held no meaning to her, forced to solve equations for a future she didn’t want. Y/N could relate to that.

Maybe that was why, when they sat next to each other for the first time, when Y/N turned to her, hesitated for a split second before offering a small, uncertain smile, Winter simply raised an eyebrow, smirked, and said, “Guess you’re stuck with me.”

There was something so effortless about it, something light, something freeing in a way that Y/N hadn’t felt in a long time.

And just like that, Y/N felt the first piece of herself begin to realign.

Their first meeting outside of class took place at a quiet coffee shop nestled between the bustling streets of Sinchon, a small, tucked away place that smelled of freshly ground espresso and warm vanilla. It was the kind of café that only locals knew about, a haven away from the crowded student-packed chains near Yonsei’s campus, somewhere discreet, somewhere safe from wandering eyes and unnecessary attention.

When Y/N stepped inside, the soft hum of music playing through the speakers mixed with the occasional clinking of porcelain cups, the atmosphere calm, intimate, undisturbed. It was a stark contrast to the chaotic whirlwind of emotions she had been drowning in for the past few days, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she allowed herself to exhale.

Her eyes instinctively scanned the room, and there she was.

She was already seated in a corner booth by the window, bathed in soft afternoon light, her fingers idly twirling a pen between them. In front of her lay an open notebook, pages slightly curled at the edges, an untouched latte sitting beside it, the foam still perfectly intact. She looked effortless, like she had been there for hours, like she belonged in a painting, a quiet scene frozen in time, detached from the world rushing outside.

Y/N approached the table, sliding into the seat across from her.

Winter barely glanced up before speaking, her voice smooth, laced with the slightest hint of amusement. “You’re late.”

Y/N blinked, glancing at her phone. “I’m five minutes early.”

Winter smirked, finally looking at her fully, dark eyes twinkling with mischief. “Exactly. I’ve been here for ten.”

For a moment, Y/N just stared at her.

And then, before she could stop herself, she laughed.

It was a small thing, nothing extravagant, nothing loud, but it felt like the first real breath she had taken in days. Some of the tension in her shoulders, the weight pressing against her ribs since that disastrous dinner, began to ease. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

They started with economics, diving into topics that Y/N had expected to be mind-numbingly dull, supply and demand, market failures, the intricacies of elasticity. But Winter made it bearable.

She had a way of twisting even the most boring concepts into something absurdly funny, throwing in sarcastic remarks and offhanded analogies that made Y/N laugh more than she actually took notes. At one point, Winter compared monopolistic competition to a high school popularity contest “You think you’re special, but at the end of the day, you’re still competing with five other people for the same spot” and Y/N had to bite down on her lip to stop herself from laughing too loudly.

For the first time in weeks, she wasn’t overanalyzing every interaction, wasn’t waiting for something to shift beneath her feet. It was easy.

Then, somewhere between discussing oligopolies and price discrimination, Y/N noticed something.

Winter wasn’t paying attention. Not entirely, at least.

Because while Y/N had been scribbling notes in her textbook, Winter had been doodling in the margins of her own notebook, her neat handwriting fading into tiny musical notes, unfinished lyrics scattered between economic formulas.

Y/N tilted her head, watching the way Winter’s pen tapped absently against the paper, as if she were lost in another world entirely.

“You really don’t want to be here, huh?” Y/N mused, a teasing edge to her voice.

Winter let out a slow sigh, leaning back in her chair. “What gave it away?”

Y/N grinned. “The fact that you just spent the last ten minutes composing a song about opportunity cost.”

At that, Winter let out a quiet chuckle, tapping her pen rhythmically against the table. “It’s not a bad song, actually.”

Y/N raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Let’s hear it, then.”

Winter didn’t hesitate.

She merely smirked, her eyes meeting Y/N’s, holding her gaze for just a moment too long.

And then, she hummed.

It was soft at first, almost absentminded, a simple melody that rolled off her lips effortlessly, like it had been waiting to be sung. It was unpolished, wordless, but there was something about it, something delicate yet captivating, something that made the air between them feel just a little heavier.

Y/N froze.

Because for a second, just a second, she forgot.

Forgot about Karina, forgot about the ache in her chest, the lingering sting of being dismissed, forgot about every moment she had spent waiting for something that would never come.

In that instant, there was only this.

Only the girl in front of her, singing about opportunity cost like it was poetry.

Maybe this was what she needed. Not romance, not another emotional gamble that left her questioning her worth, not someone who would make her feel like she was standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting to fall.

Just someone steady, someone safe, someone who didn’t leave her drowning in uncertainty.

It wasn’t romantic. Not yet, but for now, it was enough.

Karina noticed immediately. She didn’t say anything, not at first. Not with words, anyway.

But Y/N felt it.

She felt it in the shift of the air whenever Karina entered a room, the way her presence became sharper, heavier, like a storm pressing against the edges of something fragile. She felt it in the way Karina’s eyes lingered too long, her stares colder, more calculating, filled with something unspoken, something dangerously close to unraveling.

Karina had always been collected, untouchable, unreadable, moving through life with an effortless grace that made it seem as though nothing could shake her. But now? Now, she was fraying at the edges.

It started small.

An irritated sigh when Y/N excused herself from their usual lunch table a little too quickly, claiming she had to finish up work on her project. A tension in Karina’s shoulders that hadn’t been there before, the way she tapped her fingers against her thigh in agitation whenever Y/N laughed at her phone a little too much. The sharp, clipped tone in her voice when she asked, almost too casually, "Who are you texting?"

At first, the others chalked it up to stress.

Midterms were approaching. Business meetings with her family’s company had been piling up, leaving Karina with even more weight on her already burdened shoulders. It was easy to assume she was simply dealing with pressure, after all, she was Karina Yu, the girl who carried expectations like armor.

But then it became clear.

Because the moment Winter’s name came up? Karina tensed, she would grip her pen too hard, look away too quickly, straighten her posture like she was bracing for impact.

The moment Y/N laughed a little too much at her phone, answered a text too eagerly, made an excuse to leave a conversation early? Karina would go silent.

Her expression wouldn’t change, not noticeably, at least, but there was a shift, a quiet yet undeniable pull in the air around her. Her jaw would tighten ever so slightly, her fingers curling against the table as if she were trying to suppress something before it could escape. She would press her lips together and pretend she didn’t care.

But everyone knew, because Karina was unraveling.

And one night, she broke.

They were at Karina’s apartment, the usual post-dinner hangout spot for their group. The others had already left, retreating back to their own lives, their own worlds, leaving behind only half-empty wine glasses and the distant hum of city lights filtering through the floor to ceiling windows.

Giselle had stayed behind.

She stood in the kitchen, casually leaning against the cool marble counter, watching as Karina sat at the dining table, staring blankly at the untouched drink in front of her. She wasn’t drinking, she wasn’t doing anything. Just sitting there, still as a statue, her thoughts tangled in something Giselle could already guess.

It had been a week of this. A week of Karina shifting between moods, of her icy exterior cracking, of her usual composure faltering just enough for those closest to her to see the storm underneath.

And Giselle, ever the observer, had finally had enough.

"You’re jealous."

Karina’s head snapped up, her eyes narrowing instantly. "What?"

Giselle sighed, setting her glass down with an exasperated clink. She tilted her head, studying Karina like she was a puzzle missing just one crucial piece.

"You’re jealous of Winter."

For a split second, Karina didn’t react.

And then, a scoff. A small, humorless laugh, low and empty, as if the very idea was so ridiculous it wasn’t even worth entertaining.

"That’s ridiculous."

But Giselle wasn’t buying it.

She pushed off the counter, stepping forward, voice lowering slightly. "No, what’s ridiculous is how you’re acting."

Karina’s fingers curled into her palm, knuckles white against her skin.

"You’re shutting down," Giselle continued, crossing her arms. "You’re lashing out at people who don’t deserve it. You’re sitting here sulking instead of actually doing something about it." She arched an eyebrow. "It’s pathetic."

Karina scoffed again, shaking her head. "Y/N can be friends with whoever she wants."

"Friends?" Giselle let out a dry laugh, sharp and knowing. She took another step forward, pressing just enough to make Karina flinch ever so slightly.

"Yeah, sure. Because that’s all you two have ever been, right?"

Silence.

A silence so heavy it felt like it crushed the space between them.

Giselle leaned in, voice dropping to something almost gentle, though the weight of it was anything but. "She’s slipping away from you."

Karina’s jaw clenched. Her nails dug into her palm, pressing deep enough to sting.

She knew. She knew Y/N was pulling away, knew she was tired of waiting, tired of being led in circles, tired of holding onto something that Karina refused to define.

She knew, and yet, she couldn’t bring herself to stop her, because if she admitted it, if she said the words out loud, then there would be no more hiding. No more pretending that Y/N wasn’t the only person who had ever made her feel like this, no more pretending that she didn’t want her, no more pretending that she hadn’t already fallen, long before she ever realized it.

And that terrified her.

Giselle exhaled, shaking her head, her voice turning softer, not out of pity, but something else. Something almost sad.

"If you’re not going to do anything about it, then let her go."

Another silence, another wound left open.

Karina didn’t answer, because the truth was, she wasn’t ready to let Y/N go. She just didn’t know if she was ready to fight for her, either.

Karina had spent years perfecting the art of control.

She had been raised to master it, to curate her image with precision, to hold her emotions under lock and key, to never let the world glimpse anything that could be used against her. She was composed, poised, untouchable. She dictated her own narrative, never allowing anyone to see her falter.

Her emotions did not rule her, she ruled them. At least, that had always been the case.

Until now, until Y/N and Winter.

She wasn’t sure when it started, when the cracks first appeared, when the tight grip she had on herself began to slip. She wasn’t sure when watching Y/N with someone else became unbearable, when the sight of Winter standing too close, speaking too softly, looking at Y/N like she was something to be treasured, started making her stomach twist in ways she didn’t want to acknowledge. She wasn’t sure when she started feeling like this.

All she knew was that the first time she saw them together, really saw them, outside of class, it hit her like a slap to the face.

It was in the campus café, a place where she and the rest of the Power Group often lingered between lectures, occupying the best seats by the windows, their presence effortlessly commanding the space. They owned it in ways no one questioned, moving through it like it was simply another extension of their world.

Karina hadn’t meant to notice them.

She hadn’t been looking for Y/N, hadn’t been seeking her out, hadn’t been scanning the room like she always did or so she told herself.

But then she heard it.

Y/N’s laughter.

Not the polite kind, not the forced chuckle she used in social settings when she wanted to appear engaged, not the half-hearted giggle she offered in conversations she wasn’t actually interested in. But the real kind.

The kind that started soft before bubbling over, filling the air with something light, effortless, genuine. The kind that made her eyes crinkle at the corners, made dimples appear on her cheeks, made everyone around her feel like they were in on some private joke. The kind of laughter that Karina used to think belonged only to her.

Her fingers froze around her coffee cup, grip tightening just slightly as she turned her head, too quickly, too sharply, as if drawn by something involuntary, instinctual.

And there they were. Y/N and Winter.

Sitting together in a booth by the far window, away from the usual noise of the café, caught in a moment that shouldn’t have felt as intimate as it did.

Karina’s gaze locked onto them, drinking in the details before she could stop herself. Y/N, leaning forward slightly, her fingers brushing against Winter’s wrist as she grinned, Winter, smirking, eyes steady on Y/N, gaze unwavering, as if she were studying her, memorizing her.

Something hot, sharp, unfamiliar coiled deep in Karina’s chest.

Winter was looking at Y/N like she wanted her. Like she knew something no one else did, like she had already figured out what Karina had spent years running from.

Karina’s stomach twisted violently.

It was too much.

Before she even registered the movement, her body was already reacting, a sharp exhale, her hands gripping the table as she pushed back her chair a little too hard.

The sudden scrape of wood against tile was loud, cutting through the comfortable hum of conversation.

Too loud.

People turned. Her friends turned. Y/N turned and Karina didn’t meet her gaze.

She didn’t look at anyone, didn’t bother to smooth over the moment with an easy smile or an excuse, didn’t try to mask the fact that something was very, very wrong.

She just grabbed her bag, turned sharply on her heel, and walked out.

Not waiting, not explaining, not acknowledging the fact that she had never run from anything in her life. 

Until now.

“Karina?” Ningning called after her, blinking in confusion. “Where are you going?”

Karina didn’t answer.

She didn’t stop, she didn’t even know where she was going. All she knew was that she couldn’t stay here. Because if she stayed, if she kept watching, if she let herself sit there for even a second longer, she would have to admit… She would have to admit what this really was.

The next time they saw each other was at Giselle’s apartment, an informal gathering meant to finalize the details of an upcoming event, something routine, something familiar, the kind of thing they had done so many times before that it should have felt effortless. It should have been just another evening spent in the comfortable presence of their closest friends, a seamless continuation of the rhythm they had all fallen into over the years, where conversations flowed easily, laughter came naturally, and unspoken tensions were carefully avoided.

But tonight, nothing felt easy.

Karina sat stiffly in her seat, her posture rigid, her fingers curled against the fabric of her pants as if she were physically restraining herself from reacting, from speaking, from looking at Y/N for too long. There was a restless energy simmering beneath her skin, an irritability she couldn’t shake, an ache she didn’t want to name.

She had spent the entire day trying to push down the lingering unease that had taken root in her chest, trying to convince herself that the image of Y/N and Winter laughing together at the café wasn’t burned into her mind, replaying itself over and over like a cruel reminder of everything she refused to acknowledge.

And yet, despite her best efforts, it followed her here.

It pressed against her ribs every time Y/N spoke, making her jaw tense involuntarily, the sound of her voice feeling too familiar, too distant all at once. It crawled up her spine whenever Y/N’s phone vibrated, whenever she glanced down at it with a small, knowing smile, fingers typing out a response that Karina knew was meant for Winter. It clawed at her patience every time Y/N reacted to something in the room that had nothing to do with her, nothing to do with them, and yet somehow still felt like a personal slight, like proof that Y/N had already begun to slip away, piece by piece, step by step.

She wasn’t sure why she thought this would be any different. She wasn’t sure why she had expected to sit across from Y/N tonight, in the same space they had always occupied, and not feel the weight of her absence in a way that felt devastatingly personal. She wasn’t sure why she thought she could handle this.

But then, Y/N said something, something lighthearted, something innocent, something that should have barely registered in Karina’s mind.

It was probably a joke. A passing comment.

Any other day, Karina would have laughed. Any other day, she would have let it slide, smirked, teased Y/N back, turned the moment into something fleeting and forgettable.

But tonight, her control snapped.

Her voice came out harsher than she intended, sharper, laced with something bitter and possessive, something she didn’t even fully understand herself.

“Well, maybe if you spent more time focusing on this instead of… other things, we’d actually get somewhere.”

Silence fell over the room in an instant, heavy and suffocating, the energy shifting so suddenly that it felt as though the walls themselves had shrunk, trapping them in the thick weight of unsaid things.

Y/N’s laughter, which had been so effortless just moments ago, vanished.

For the briefest of moments, she just stared at Karina, a flicker of surprise flashing through her eyes before something else took its place, something colder, something Karina had never been on the receiving end of before.

And then, Y/N let out a short, humorless laugh.

Slowly, she placed her phone down, fingers deliberate, controlled, as if she were holding herself back from doing something she might regret.

“Other things?” she repeated, her voice deceptively light, though the sharp edge in her tone was impossible to miss.

Karina shrugged, as if she wasn’t bothered, as if she wasn’t feeling the painful clench of something deep in her chest, something dangerously close to unraveling.

Y/N narrowed her eyes. She leaned forward slightly, gaze locking onto Karina’s, the space between them charged with something volatile, something that had been building for far too long.

“Say what you actually mean, Jimin.”

The air between them felt like a live wire, buzzing, waiting for one of them to ignite it.

Karina refused to look away.

She wasn’t sure if it was stubbornness or fear that kept her frozen, refusing to flinch, refusing to admit to the emotion clawing at her throat.

But then, Y/N scoffed. She leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest, exhaling slowly, like she had just come to some final, quiet realization.

“That’s what I thought.”

The tension in the room grew unbearable.

From the corner of her vision, Karina could see Ningning shifting uncomfortably, glancing between them with wide eyes, sensing the shift in the air. Yeji pressed her lips together, exhaling through her nose, exchanging a look with Ryujin, like they had been waiting for this to happen. Giselle, ever the silent observer, sat back against the couch, watching, waiting, as if she knew that whatever was happening between them was long overdue.

But Y/N wasn’t finished. Not yet.

She tilted her chin up slightly, her expression unreadable, though Karina could feel the underlying challenge in her gaze, the way she was silently daring her to speak, to do something, to admit something.

“You don’t get to do this.”

The words cut deeper than Karina expected, slicing through something she had spent years fortifying.

She already knew what Y/N meant.

You don’t get to be jealous, you don’t get to be angry, you don’t get to act like you have a right to me when you refuse to claim me.

Karina’s expression remained carefully blank, but Y/N saw right through her.

She always did.

Then, Y/N spoke again, delivering the final blow, the one that hit Karina harder than anything else. “You want control, but you don’t want commitment.”

The words lodged themselves into Karina’s chest, burned beneath her skin, left behind something raw and unspoken.

Before she could stop herself, before she could regain her composure, before she could reinforce the walls that had been cracking all night, she flinched.

It was so quick, so slight, that no one noticed.

No one except Y/N.

For just a second, just a fleeting, painful second, her expression softened, but just as quickly, it was gone.

She inhaled deeply, as if grounding herself, as if settling into something she had already accepted long before this moment.

She stood up.There was no hesitation, no second glance, no waiting for Karina to stop her. She grabbed her bag, slung it over her shoulder, and turned toward the door and before anyone could react, before Karina could swallow her pride long enough to speak, before she could piece together the right words to fix what she had just shattered.

Y/N walked out.

And Karina?

She didn’t go after her. She never did.

[trippinsorrows]

lessons in love + two

authors note: lord, the way ya'll love this concept blows my mind. everyone and they mama, it feels like, has been waiting on this lil' meetup, so i just hope it doesn't disappoint. and yes....if you know me, know how i write, you know some stuff in here lays down foundations

words: 4k

masterlist

warnings: brief moments of angst. also, roman is still a dick.

Solana has learned to embrace the loneliness.

And perhaps it’s less an embrace, and more of a forced acceptance. Acknowledging something that’s unchanging and unmoving. 

Over the years, she’s tried to make friends. Tried to be social. Especially after her mother’s murder, the loss of her best friend creating a large, gaping hole in her chest she thought actual friends her age could sort of help fill. Never entirely. 

Never that.

But, for every attempt she made, every girl she managed to find some sort of connecting bridge of shared interest with, there became a new target. 

A target for her father. 

In those moments of his unbridled rage, where his heavy fist rained down on her, blow after blow, kick after kick until blood would sometimes spurt from her mouth, a threat would be made.

“And if you tell anyone, that new friend of yours is as good as dead! You hear me, you ungrateful bitch! Dead just like your fucking mother!”

And Solana believed him. Believed with everything in her that he would make good on his promise. That he would find a way to end the life of her friend. Of anyone she befriended. So, the little joy she received from connecting with other kids and teens as she got older was a pleasure she had to deprive herself of. Had to deny herself. Solana pulled away. Stopped interacting. Stopped trying. Stopped being.

With herself and by herself was the only option and has been for years. 

Forced acceptance.

“Hey.”

Solana's heart thuds against her chest, her stomach tightening and dropping as she looks up from the sketchbook in front of her. 

Striking blue eyes and a handsome face. Features perfectly symmetrical, thin lips pulled into a small smile. An almost identical snapshot seen in the likes of Abercrombie and Fitch ads.  

He's so cute.

Solana struggles with conversation as it is, and the person before her doesn’t help with that one bit. 

Austin Theory stands on the opposite side of the table, football team issued backpack slung over one shoulder, gaze landed directly onto her.

“H—hi,” she stammers. Solana first “met” Austin when they were in the same group during orientation weekend. And despite sitting next to each other at various points due to assigned seating, he never once said one word to her. Not that she said a word to him. Or, anyone really. No, Austin was too busy flirting with some of the other girls in the group. Blonde, brunette, hazel and blue eyed. Skinny. The kind of girls Solana would always see walking in packs in the hallway. Who always hung out with the jocks.

The popular girls, and Solana is many things, but popular has and never will be one of them.

So, for the life of her, she can’t understand what someone like him is doing approaching someone like her.

And, then it hits her. 

She looks around the table, reaching for her textbook. “Do—do you need the table?” Without an answer, she reaches for her bag, preparing to load it up. “I can mo—”

“Move?” He finishes for her, chuckling quietly. “Now, why would I want that?” The surprises continue as he pulls out the chair opposite her, plopping down. “Then I wouldn’t be able to talk to you.”

Oh. 

“Me?” She points to herself. This has to be some sort of joke. Why in the world would he ever want to talk to her? “Wh—”

“Sable, right?”

She shakes her head, borderline tempted to not correct him. “Umm, S—Solana.” 

He sucks his teeth, making a sort of clicking sound. “That’s right.” Nodding to himself, she shifts under his gaze, his lazy smile returning. “Nice.”

Solana is almost certain her cheeks burn brighter than the red of her textbook. If she didn’t know for a fact that only celebrities are eligible, she’d swear she’s being Punk’d.

“I’ve seen you around, you know.” Her eyes widen, her chest tightening. “You’re so….quiet.”

It feels like he has another word he wants to use, but she’s still too stunned by the fact that he’s even speaking to her right now for her pick up on such things. “I dig it.”

“Oh?” The dumbest response that makes his smile widen and her embarrassment multiply. 

“Yeah.” He nods, leaning over, Solana naturally inching back in her chair. “Maybe you and I could, uh, hang out sometime, yeah?” 

What….the….hell?

The Punk’d thing seems more and more an option, Solana’s eyes darting around the library, as if searching for a camera crew or someone holding some type of recording device. She finds nothing but the boy across from her with bright blue eyes and a surprisingly friendly demeanor. At first glance, Solana had chalked Theory up as just being another pretty boy. A jock who lived for the limelight and praise. And, perhaps all that is still true along with the fact that he’s actually a nice guy.

If only she was allowed the space to see what that could look like. Where this could go. 

A friendship.

“Maybe.” It’s the safest answer she can provide. Not a yes. Not a no. Just something in the middle. 

An acceptable answer, clearly, as his smile widens yet again. “Cool.” Solana watches him stand up from the seat, adjusting his backpack. “I’ll see you around, Solange.”

It’s an interesting wrong name to use, one that makes her smile because it feels so innocent, nothing malicious. Nothing to bother correcting. He doesn’t wait for her response, just turns to walk away, Solana offering a small wave to his retreating form. “Bye….”

One of the most unexpected encounters she’s had since starting college, for sure, nothing beating the unexpected pairing of herself with Roman Reigns, of all people. 

But, a nice one, nonetheless. 

One that keeps that small smile on her face as she digs through her bag, pulling out her CD player and headphones. Some music needed to help her prepared for the arrival of Roman himself. 

She can only hope that it goes as well and nice as her interaction with Austin.

Hopefully. 

----------

It’s not hard to spot her. 

She’s sitting at a table by herself, head down, pen in hand, focused on the notebook or whatever in front of her. Roman sighs, already dreading this whole thing, but there’s something even more irritating about where she decided to sit, for whatever reason.

Second floor, in the back, near the tables where few occupy. A "dead" area to most college students, the majority preferring to use the tables and computer area on the first and second floors. Rarely do kids bother climbing up three damn flights of steps if avoidable. But, not Solana. 

Of fucking course not. 

“Hey.” He greets, sighing when she jumps, dropping the pen, clearly startled.

This girl is so damn jumpy. 

Roman drops his backpack on the table at the same time she sits up in the seat and removes her headphones, reaching to probably hit pause on the CD player sitting on the table.

“H–hi,” she stammers, moving to close her sketchbook, shoving it to the side. Roman has to bite back a smartass reply. A lot of things annoy him, passivity being near the top of the list, and this girl is the walking definition of passivity. “You’re—” She glances at the large clock on the wall behind him. “You’re early.”

He gives her a pointed look. “You want me to leave?”

Her eyes widen. “No, I just—” She stops, looking down, pushing some of her hair behind her ear. “Sorry.”

Roman rolls his eyes and starts to pull his notebook and laptop out of his bag, laying them out in front of him when he notices she’s not moving. Still sitting there, looking down. “Solana.”

She jumps once more, and this time, Roman can’t hide his irritation.

“Why the fuck do you keep doing that?”

A noticeable wince and yet another, “I’m sorry...”

“Jesus Christ,” he curses, running his hand over his face. “Just forget it.”

She doesn’t say anything at first, and it’s unsurprising. She’s someone of few words unless it’s unnecessary contrition. However, something fucking weird and annoying flicks within him in sensing her guilt. And something else close to sadness. Like he hurt her feelings. 

Why he picks up on that, or why it’s even something that he considers given he’s never been one to give a fuck about anyone outside of a few folks is beyond him.

But, he senses it.

He does.

Solana remains with her head and eyes down, quietly moving to put her CD player, headphones, and an album back in her bag. An album that catches his attention, Roman finding himself asking, “is it any good?”

At that, she looks up, brown meeting brown. “Huh?”

It takes a lot for him to bite back a smart ass reply as he gestures with his chin to the CD. “Is it any good?”

Why he's even asking her is yet another 404 file not found. He doesn't care. Not really. But, there's something preferable about her not looking so....sad and dejected like she was at his objectively rude tone.

Again, the why....is beyond him.

Solana looks down at said CD, fingers running over Usher’s name, written in gold lettering. She shakes her head, clearly thinking about her answer. “Yeah, it is.” He’s partially taken back when she actually follows up with a question of her own. “You....you like Usher?”

Roman shrugs, continuing to lay out the necessary books and items needed to get started. “A couple songs.” He wouldn’t call himself a fan, per se. Just someone who, as he said, likes a couple of his songs. And since the album released this past March, he’s had his cousins and Naomi on his ass about listening to the whole thing through versus the singles that have been dropped over the summer. 

“Well, it’s….it’s really good,” she continues, Roman noticing the way the tension in her shoulders seems to melt, the way she maintains eye contact. Even the faintest hint of a smile on her face. “The—the latest single is petty good, too.”

“What is it?”

“It’s umm, it’s a duet with Alicia Keys.” Her cheeks suddenly redden, eyes darting down. Again. “Called My Boo.”

He makes a sound, acknowledging, “I think my cousin and his girlfriend were listening to that the other day.”

“I like it,” she offers, eyes shutting as she admonishes herself. “I’m sorry, you didn’t—”

“Alright, you gotta stop with all the fucking I’m sorry’s.” Because the fact that more have been offered to him in a less than ten minute timespan than what he’s received in his 19 years on this earth is quite insane to him. 

She opens her mouth as if to say something—and he knows exactly what she’s about to say—when she stops herself, murmuring, “bad habit, I guess....”

“It is,” he confirms. “Doesn’t make sense to say sorry all the fucking time if you haven’t done anything.” She says something in a low voice, something he can’t make out. It almost sounds like it’s in a different language. “What’d you say?”

She looks up, eyes widening, something indecipherable flashing in her expression before she shakes her head. “Nothing.” Solana clears her throat, Roman slightly curious what she said but also with whatever that flash was. “We should, umm, we should get started?”

He wants to say something else, wants to push her on what she was going to say, but something stops him. Mostly because what does it matter anyway? 

Knowing her in the little time that he has, it was probably just another “I’m sorry” or variation of it, and Lord knows he’s heard more than enough of that from her to last him a lifetime. 

“Yeah,” he finally agrees. Roman watches as she reaches her in her bag and pulls out a book, spine and edges worn, colorful tabs and sticky notes poking out of the pages. “Damn.”

She looks over at him, pushing some of her hair behind her ear. “I, umm, I marked sections I thought we could use.”

“So, you’ve read it already? All of it?”

Solana nods. “Several times.”

At that, he stills. “Seriously?” And without thinking about it, he asks, “why?” Roman doesn’t hate reading. Not at all. It’s formative and pertinent in the accumulation of knowledge, but reading a classic one time is more than enough for him. He can’t imagine reading it several times unless forced. 

“It’s—it’s my favorite book,” she answers. That small smile makes a reappearance. “They’re filming the movie right now actually. There’s already a show—”

“The one from the nineties, right?” She nods, as he offers, “yeah, I saw something about that when I was looking up stuff for it. Figured I’d just watch that instead of reading it.”

She presses her lips together, as if readying to reply, only to stop herself. But, this time, Roman doesn’t ignore it. “What?”

Her eyes widen slightly. “Nothing.”

He shakes his head, pressing, “naw, tell me.”

It’s not that he cares. He doesn’t. Why should he? Roman just dislikes things that are unknown and unlabeled, and her now giving him a second instance of an unspoken truth doesn’t sit well with him. For whatever reason. 

“It’s just….” She shifts in her seat, hands on the table as she fiddles with the pages of the book. “I think….to fully understand it, you should read the book.” As if believing her words to be offensive, she almost backtracks. “I mean, the show is really good and worth a watch, but I just think the source material will give you a better understanding. Not that you couldn’t understand just from watch—”

“Solana.” Roman has picked up on the undeniable fact that this girl is either not saying anything at all or everything at once. There is no in-between. “I get it.”

He does, and while he doesn’t fully agree, he can respect her take. Disagreement or not.

“Oh.” She seems surprised, like she was expecting some other sort of reaction. Like for him to be angry or offended, which he can’t exactly blame her. Roman is fully aware of his reputation. One he’s 1000% earned.

However, being overtly pissed with someone so small and….innocuous isn’t his thing. For some reason, Roman can’t really imagine anyone being overtly upset with the girl across from him. She’s the walking definition of innocence. 

They transition into less talk of adaptations versus source material to identifying the main tenets of the assignment, subjects and topics that need to be covered as per the assignment rubric. 

It’s not often that Roman is impressed, but there’s something that takes him back about how focused and able Solana is to break it all down. Section by section, she outlines potential views they can utilize. Points out the ease, or lack thereof, for both. 

She doesn’t stammer. Not really. Only when her gaze lifts from the textbooks or notebooks that writes into, taking notes, documenting everything in her handwriting, neat and girly. When she has to look at him, or when she reaches across the table and her fingers accidentally graze against him. That’s when he sees more of her nervousness emerge, but outside of that, when she’s assignment and book focused, she’s in the zone. It’s abundantly clear how passionate about and just how much she loves this damn book. Enough to where she can step out of that hollow shell and into the light, somewhat of her personality shining through. 

He feels like he sees more of her.

“Big Uce!”

Roman turns to his left, catching the way Solana jumps at the loud, obnoxious voice of his cousin. 

Naomi sucks her teeth, hitting him on the arm. “Would you shut up, fool?” She shakes her head, arms crossed. “This is a damn library.” 

“So?” Jimmy matches her energy, waving off her warning, looking around past the group of them that includes himself, Jey, Bayley, and Naomi. “Ain’t nobody here. They all on the first floor.”

“Yeah, why ya’ll up here anyway?” Jey asks, tossing up the apple in hand. 

Roman sighs, leaning back in his chair, shirt rising up a bit. He put on about 15lbs of muscle over the summer break, and it shows in the way some of his clothes have started to fit a bit more snug. “This was where she was.”

Gesturing over to Solana brings the focus of the group onto her, earning that blushing, flustered expression. Roman seeing more of that earlier, timid, reserved version of herself reappear, something about that irritating to him. 

His damn cousins have the worst fucking timing. 

“Hey, lil bit,” Jimmy greets, welcoming himself in the seat beside Solana. Jey sitting on the other side of her on the edge of the table. “Sola, right?”

She hesitates. “S—Solana.”

At that, Bayley’s interest piques. “That’s Spanish.” 

Solana nodes, shifting in her seat, as if trying to maximize the space between herself and the twins. “Y—yeah, my uhh, my mom was Mexican.”

Roman most definitely takes note of the was. Past tense. No longer here.

Huh.

Maybe they have more in common than he realized. 

Bayley says something in Spanish, Solana nodding, responding in the same language. She gestures to the four of them, clearly offering introductions.

“Aye, now we got three native speakers in the group!” Jimmy applauds, clapping and rubbing his hands together.

“Jimmy.” Naomi closes her eyes, the bright orange tips of her nails a contrast to her deep complexion as she rubs her temple. “You don’t speak Spanish.”

“Yes, I do!”

“Being able to order your meal in Spanish from Taco Bell does not count, dumbass.” 

“The hell it don't!” 

In the midst of questioning just why he puts up with his cousins, Roman catches the way Solana covers her mouth, clearly trying—and failing—to hide her laughter.

For some reason, whatever reason, it makes him smile. Small. Subtle. So subtle. But there.

It’s there. 

Naomi gives Jimmy the hand, speaking directly to Solana. “Please ignore him. He’s fine as hell but dumb as hell, too.” 

At that, Jey snorts, taking a bite out of his apple, but not before adding, “sure is.”

Bayley rolls her eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. If he’s dumb, you’re dumber, ding dong.” 

It’s the comment that breaks the camel’s back. Laughter tumbles out of Solana’s mouth, and it’s a sound that makes something calm settle in Roman’s stomach. There’s something nice about her laugh. Soothing, almost. Especially as her hand drops from her mouth, revealing her smile. 

He’d thought before that she's pretty, but there’s something beautiful about her in that state. Seeing her smile. 

Something breathtaking. However, it’s quickly washed away and replaced with that other side of her. Quiet, shy, and clearly insecure. She shifts back into being overtly apologetic. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Girl, what are you apologizing for?” Naomi cuts her off, shaking her head. “It’s—oh my God, you like Usher?” Her eyes landing on the album that sits besides Solana’s notebook redirects her attention and sentence. 

“Who doesn’t like Usher?” Bayley says, Naomi reaching for the album, the biggest smile on her face.

“He is fine as hell.”

“Hey!”

“Boy, be quiet,” Naomi dismisses, looking back at Solana. “You got good taste.”

Solana’s blush returns. “Th—thanks.” 

Bayley then asks. “Who else do you listen to?” 

“Everything.” It’s a surprisingly quick and seemingly easy answer for someone who struggles with just basic sentences. “I love Christina Aguilera though, and Alicia Keys.”

“Make that excellent taste,” Naomi revises her previous statement, gesturing between herself and Bayley. “You need to hang out with us sometime.”

“Yeah, Soso.” Jey adds, Jimmy nodding in agreement. “You seem like you’d fit right on in with us.”

“Don’t insult her like that,” Roman speaks up, breaking his silence, Solana’s gaze switching to him. “And, that’s not her name.” 

“She don’t mind,” Jimmy ignores him, looking at her. “Do you, Soso?”

“Ya’ll are irritating,” Bayley shakes her head. “Ignore them, girl. We suspect they were crack head babies.” 

“Better than being—”

“Finish that sentence, and I’ll kick your ass right here and right now,” Bayley threatens. Roman chuckles. She’d make good on it, too. Since they were kids, Bayley has always been the one to always back up what she says. If she makes a threat, trust and believe she’ll make good on it.

It’s one of the things he likes about her.

A hard feat considering there’s few things he likes in life, even lesser when it pertains to people.

Naomi reaches in her Juicy Couture purse, handing over her hot pink, bedazzled Nokia. “Put your number in. We’ll text and make plans.”

Roman can see it. The hesitation that appears in Solana’s face. Reluctance. Nervousness, almost. It’s similar to when he’d asked her before for her phone number.

“Her phone isn’t working.” What causes him to speak up, to answer for her, he isn’t quite sure. Not even a little. “Email works better.”

“Oh.” Naomi frowns, pulling her phone back to her before shrugging. “That’s cool, too.” She motions to Solana’s open notebook. “Can I…..”

Shaking her head, as if still in shock from Roman speaking for her, Solana grabs a pen and reaches both that and her notebook to Naomi.

“Give her my email, too,” Bayley instructs as Naomi writes away.

“Ours too.”

“Shut up,” Roman mutters. 

However, Naomi most certainly writes down everyone’s email, including the twins. She starts to hand the notebook back to Solana only to stop mid-movement. “Oh my God, ya’ll are meeting like every Wednesday, right?” And before Solana can answer, Naomi is already jumping the gun. “You should join us then.”

Offering the answer and clarification clearly missing, Bayley explains, “we watch the guys practice every Wednesday, since our cheer practice is in the morning.”

Jimmy joins the persuasion party. “Yeah, come on, Soso, what you doing after this? Why don’t you come now?”

Roman’s focus is on Solana the whole time. Watching the way she shuffles between confusion, excitement, trepidation, reluctance, and finally, a sort of regret.

“Sorry, I, umm, I have plans this evening.”

With who?

It’s the strangest, most out of pocket thing to cross his mind, but the exact thing he thinks following her almost nervous answer. 

Naomi frowns. “Damn. That’s okay. There’s always next week.”

There’s that flash again, something Roman is almost certain is fear, but why?

That’s what gets him. It shouldn’t, because why does it even matter? It’s not like he cares. 

The twins jump off the desk, looking at the clock on the wall behind the table. “Damn, we better get headed to practice, or you know Coach Booker gon’ have all our asses.”

“Sure will,” Bayley agrees, a sort of satisfaction in her voice and face. “Solana, make sure you email us, alright?”

She nods, that small smile returning. “O—okay.”

“See you round, Soso!” Jey calls out, the rest of the group walking off, heading towards the steps.

“Stop calling her that,” Roman warns, standing up, having almost completed packing his backpack. Looking over, he sees Solana stand as well, two things catching his interest. Once again, he’s taken back by just how small she is. He’d be surprised if she’s even 5’0. But, beyond that, there’s something that makes him pause seeing the wince on her face as she stands. Like she’s in pain. 

His voice is even, asking, “you alright?”

Her head snaps up, eyes widening slightly. “Y—yeah, of course.” 

Roman is a lot of things. Intelligent and perceptive near the top of that list, if not at the top, which is why he knows that she’s not being honest. 

She’s lying. 

But, why?

However, before he can think about it more, can maybe even press, for reasons beyond him, Solana mutters out a quiet goodbye before turning on her heel and almost rushing out. That’s another thing. Why is this girl always in a damn rush?

A rush that, in glancing down at the desk, makes Roman realize she’s left something behind. 

Her sketchbook. The thing he saw her drawing in when he first arrived. 

Roman starts to go after her, but the watch on his wrist reminds him that doing so will only make him late for practice, and the last thing he feels like hearing is Coach B's loud ass mouth scolding him like he’s a fucking child. 

Fuck that.

Roman grabs the sketchbook, unzips his bag and stuffs it in there.

He’ll just have to email her and arrange to give it back to her tomorrow or something. 

Heading down the steps and out the library, confused but also not allowing himself to think too much about the fact that the initial irritation he had about having to meet with Solana in the first place doesn’t accompany the thought of seeing her again, sooner than their agreed upon Wednesday meetings. 

Not at all.

[maya1525]

Kissing Practice 🍃💨

18+ MDNI

Pairing✩࿐Fem!Reader X Satoru Gojo & Suguru Geto

WARNINGS✩࿐Fem!Reader giving & receiving oral, cream pie, rough fucking, fingering, choking, group sex, cursed technique usage during sex. Substance use, language, smoking, shotgunning.

Word count✩࿐11.3K

BONUS✩࿐Everyone is high out of their minds

Summary✩࿐Young Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto are friends with the other female Jujitsu Sorcerer in their class. The innocent Fem!Reader gets high with both men and accidentally asks if one of them could teach her how to kiss. She ends up getting more than she bargained for.

A/N✩࿐ Here’s my playlist of inspiration✨(sorry Spotifers, I’m a YouTube Premium Girl) This was an idea I had on my mind shortly after watching the first few episodes of season 2. I didn’t plan on it being this long! I hope you enjoy it!

Sex is like a sinful pool of honey, tonight you dipped your toe in to test the waters, but you weren’t able to take your toe out. Instead, the pool of pleasure had a mind of its own and pulled you under. You couldn’t breathe, regardless you didn’t care. You were drowning in it, and your whole body was lost in pure ecstasy. You felt like you hit a revelation within yourself, who knew that sinful acts could be so exhilarating? You felt hyper-aware of your body and you felt even more in tune with yourself. Tonight you will share your soul with Suguru and Satoru, and the three of you will be forever intertwined.

“What’s up Y/n? The za too good for you?” Satoru teased with an annoying smirk, as he playfully poked your cheek. He had caught you midway through spacing out. Your mind whirled trying to muster up a good comeback, but you couldn’t respond quickly enough. “Suguru look at her, she’s completely out of it,” Gojo said to his friend humorously. Now Geto was eyeing you with amusement.

“Roll us another hun, this one’s almost done.” The black-haired man instructed as he handed you a brown paper wrap.

A few previous smoke sessions ago, Suguru admitted that he likes it when you wrap the blunts. So now it’s your job whenever you smoke with them. You don’t mind it though, you like the praise he gives you whenever you wrap a good-looking dart.

You obediently leaned forward on the edge of the couch to reach the coffee table. You began to break the large green clusters down into fine pieces. Pulling the weed nuggets apart with your sharp fingernails. You set the stems off to the side as you added small sage green crumbs to the wrap. You made sure all the little clusters were consistent in size and spaced out evenly on the paper. Even though you guys were almost done smoking the first dart, you felt incredibly buzzed.

“Cat got your tongue, Y/n?” Suguru said as the corner of his mouth tilted upward. “You’ve been quiet for a while.” His voice rang out like smooth honey.

“Mmh, nothing. I’m just high.” You mumbled to yourself without thinking, earning a chuckle from both men.

“Damn, you’re such lightweight Y/n! That’s a knee-slapper.” Satoru wheezed as he leaned over and slapped Geto’s knee aggressively. The two jostled you a bit when they hit each other. Furthermore, their rough horseplay didn’t deter you from finishing up the wrap. You carefully brought the brown rolled-up paper to your mouth and began to lick its edge from left to right. Once it was damp with your saliva you closed the blunt. Holding it delicately in place to keep its shape, it was perfectly symmetrical.

“How’d I do?” You directed your attention to Geto handing him your accomplishment. After breaking the clusters down, your fingers became a sticky crumbly mess - it would feel wasteful to wash it off. You began to lick your weed-covered fingers clean. Out of the corner of your eye, you could feel Gojo watching you intently as you brought your dainty fingers to your lips.

Geto eyed you briefly and then to the blunt with approval, “It looks great Y/n, you did an amazing job.”

“Yeah? You think so?” You beamed up at him; feeling warmth well up in your chest at his praise. Out of everyone you met, his words always seemed to have a great effect on you.

“Of course! You always do it perfectly. Wanna do the honors?” He gave you a sly smile as he handed it back to you. “I’ll light it, hun.” He whispered lowly.

You blushed slightly and nodded, you brought the blunt up to your lips and leaned in close to Suguru. His long slender fingers clasped the lighter and his thumb rolled over the dial, sparking a flame. As he brought the flame close to your face, you felt his left elbow lean against the couch next to your soldier. He was so close to you, that you could feel his warmth coming off of his body. You couldn’t help but notice how amazing he smelt. His scent reminded you of the warmth of fall, with a hint of something mysterious.

Once the end of the dart caught fire you inhaled and sucked on the blunt greedily as the tangy smoke filled your mouth. You swallowed the smoke down into your lungs and handed the wrap to Suguru.

Immediately, you began to cough from the rip you just took, your whole body shook as you felt your lungs twitch with irritation. You heard both men laugh at your feeble attempts to stop, but you had no luck. You felt your cheeks warm up with embarrassment as you covered your face shyly. Your whole body shuttered with each feeble cough that escaped from your lips. “S-stop *cough* laughing at me!” You croaked meekly.

“You’re such a pouty little child. How cute.” Geto chuckled, his attractive laugh echoed in your mind.

“I’m not…” you coughed once more, peaking at him through your hands and throwing your head back against the couch cushions impulsively. The music that played on the TV felt as if it was hitting you in waves. You feel high out of your mind and when you get like this, you notice words are hard to muster up.

“Not cute? Pshh, don’t be such a liar.” Satoru’s voice rang out, you felt his smooth fingers gently pry your hands away from your face to peek at you.

You shifted your attention to Gojo so your body was facing his. You felt your knees touching the side of his thigh. “Aww. So you think I’m cute?”

“Oh come on, don’t give me that shit. You’re hot and you know it. A girl with your type of looks has me confused though,” he paused taking a hit from the blunt, blowing its strong-smelling smoke in your face as you batted your pretty eyelashes up at him. “How do you not have a boyfriend yet? Is there anyone you like?” He coughed after taking that rip, it was a bit too pungent.

You felt your cheeks flush at his words. “Umm, well I can’t tell you that! If I do, it might not come true!” You giggled playfully, poking Satoru’s cheek the same way he poked yours earlier.

The icy-haired man arched a brow at you with amusement, “Not come true? Isn’t that the rule for wishing on stars?”

“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing.” Suguru retorted while he French inhaled; the cloudy smoke rose from his mouth and into his nose in the most captivating manner. “So you going to tell us who this mystery guy is or what?” He teased as a strand of his inky black hair fell to the side of his face.

“I do like someone.” You admitted, now getting both men’s attention. “But I feel too embarrassed to do anything about it.”

“Oh come on, why do you have to be shy? Grow a pair and make a move! It’s easy, I’ll show you!” Satoru chuckled while bringing his face closer to yours, forcing you to look into his hazy ocean-blue eyes. You noticed how easy it was for Satoru to corner you and get you all hot and bothered by his actions. In response, you swatted him away playfully and leaned over to Suguru to take the blunt. You inhaled it, letting the smoke stay in your mouth for a brief moment before letting it exhale through your nose.

Gojo snatched the blunt from you. He inhaled from the dart and blew out three impressive smoke rings. With his cursed technique, he made the rings transform into a three-dimensional sphere. The large smoke bubble floated into the TV and popped, causing the room to get even more foggy.

“Don’t tell me it’s Nanami.” Geto croaked out mid-cough and laugh.

Satoru chuckled, “Man, can you imagine if Y/n and that strait-laced Kento got together?” Gojo addressed Suguru while stealing a glance at you.

“Yeah, she’d have to say goodbye to smoking with us, that’s for sure.” The Suguru responded, but then he shifted his attention back your way. “Why would you feel embarrassed to admit your feelings to him? What type of a guy is he?”

“Well, I’ve never been in a relationship before… and I feel like my lack of experience would be embarrassing.” You muttered bashfully while stealing the blunt back from Gojo. You wanted to avoid their eyes and look busy.

Overanalyzing yourself when you’re high is one of your weaknesses. You felt clouded out of your mind at this point, if only you were sober enough to come up with a good response. It mildly frustrated you, that the feelings you felt were too hard to verbalize. All while it felt like your body was vibing to the beat of the music, as if you were melting into the couch. It began to get hard to focus like an anchor was resting on your soul. Yet at the same time, you also felt like your state of consciousness was elevated to a higher plane of reality.

“That’s such a lame excuse.” Gojo blurted out, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Hmm, maybe it’s different for girls.” Suguru backed you up. “Some guys find innocent girls hot, I think you’ll be fine.” He winked at you when you glanced over at him. Geto lounged on the couch with his legs spread out and his palm resting on the back of his neck coolly, his warm faded gaze glued on you. The way he presented himself, spurred a random desire within yourself. The irrational thought of you climbing on top of his lap just to see his reaction, crossed your mind.

“So… how innocent are you Y/n?” Satoru eyed you with a cocky grin.

“I’ve um-“ you cut yourself off trying to focus on the correct words to use, “only ever hugged and held hands before. And that’s it.” You muttered, feeling a hot wave of mortification overcome you. You couldn’t believe you just admitted that to them!

“Oh? So you haven’t even kissed anyone?” Suguru asked nonchalantly while his narrowed gaze was fixated on you.

“No, would one of you like to teach me?” You blurted out jokingly, then immediately regretted it. You panicked in your clouded state, normal people don’t joke like that with their friends! How embarrassing, they’re going to turn you down and how will you ever recover? You practically just dug yourself your own grave.

“Yes.”

Both of the men say in union and for a split second, they exchange an irritated glare towards each other.

To your bewilderment, you couldn’t believe that both would like to kiss you. The alarm you felt earlier was immediately replaced with the thrilling feeling of fireworks going off in your brain.

“So which one of us would you want to teach you? I could give you a personal lesson right now Y/n.” Gojo’s seductive voice drew you in as you felt his hot fingertips lightly graze over your left arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“I-I can’t choose between you two.” You stammered nervously, “Do you think you both could teach me?” You asked, not wanting to hurt either of their feelings.

“At the same time?” Gojo inquired curiously.

“Right now?” Getou asked with a hint of excitement.

You could feel both of the men’s eyes burning holes in you. You noticed they were both sandwiching you on the couch, when did they close in on you? “I’m down to learn right now.” Your mousy voice broke the thick silence in the smoke-filled room.

In a frantic whirl, both men had you situated above one of their thighs. Suguru and Satoru sat side by side so their shoulders touched. You straddled Getou’s left leg and Gojo’s right. The look of anticipation on your face did little to hide your excitement yet overwhelming nervousness.

“Let’s start with something easy hun.” Suguru stated as he eyed you with desire, “I’m going to shotgun smoke into your mouth. You don’t have to worry about kissing yet. Just get used to the feeling of my lips.”

“Aww no fun, I just wanted to dive right in and make out with her,” Satoru whined playfully while turning the volume up on the TV. His blatant interest in you caused you to look down with an adorable blush on your face. “Damn, no need to be so bashful Y/n, you have nothing to worry about,” Gojo responded, reaching up to rest his left hand on your hip. His thumb rubbed comforting circles on you. The bold action stirred up an unfamiliar sensation in your stomach.

“When I press my lips against yours, inhale. Geto instructed while bringing the dart up to his lips. You naturally held your breath with the fluttering sensation of butterflies clouding your emotions.

Suguru’s hooded dark amber eyes glinted toward yours as he gingerly brought your chin closer to his. This was your first kiss and you wanted to memorize everything about it. In your smokey state of consciousness, you felt as if this moment was going in slow motion. As his face got closer to yours he closed his eyes, and you instinctively did the same. His smooth lips ghosted over yours which caused sparks to fly inside of your mind. You parted your lips while he opened his mouth to blow the harsh smoke into yours. You naturally inhaled just like you were supposed to. His lips softly brushed against yours, he delicately kissed your plump lower lip and pulled away. A subtle smile danced across his handsome features, as thin wisps of smoke slithered upward between your faces.

You felt as if your heart was beating a million miles per minute, Suguru handed you the blunt; purposely grazing his fingers against yours in the process. “Now do what I just did to Satoru.”

You brought the blunt up to your lips, inhaled, and held the smoke in your mouth as you shifted your weight onto Gojo’s lap. You gripped his broad shoulders for balance. In return, his hand that was on your hip snaked its way to your lower back, pulling you into him possessively. A surprised gasp came out of you as a sliver of smoke escaped from your lips. Satoru gave a hazed smirk at how easily he could fluster you. He leaned forward and pressed his soft lips against yours. You parted your lips to blow the foggy smoke into his awaiting mouth. You felt him suck the air out of your lungs, causing you to battle him for oxygen. You mustered up the courage to kiss him the way Suguru kissed you. Timidly, you kissed his upper lip as he greedily sucked your lower. You felt his molten tongue barge into your mouth and glide across your tongue. Feeling his tongue for the first time spurred a primal arousal deep inside of you. Not only was your head buzzing, but your lower region buzzed with excitement as well.

Gojo pulled away from your mouth as a small strand of saliva broke that connected your lips. With his free hand, he brought his thumb up to your lower lip to wipe off the little bit of drool. He kept his hot gaze on your lips for a brief moment before you felt Geto’s comforting hand guide your slim waist over to him.

“You’ll kiss her again Satoru. But right now it’s my turn.” Suguru spoke out huskily. He took the blunt from you to take a quick puff before handing it over to Satoru. With his tender grip on your waist, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against yours. The strong-smelling smoke entered your mouth once more. Your mouth watered at its taste as you sucked it in. This time you made sure to kiss Suguru back while he moved his lips against yours expertly. You hesitantly brought one of your hands to the back of his head and gently tangled your slim fingers in his black cascading locks. As soon as you did that, you felt his hand on your hip glide down to your thigh. He squeezed your plump skin lightly, causing a muffled mewl of surprise to get swallowed by his lips.

The way he kissed you was a little different compared to Gojo’s style. Suguru seemed to focus on sucking and biting. While Satoru was playful and liked to utilize his tongue. You copied the way Geto moved his lips against yours; you alternated between nibbling and sucking his lips gently. You felt a rhythm form between you two the longer you kissed him. You memorized the feeling of his smooth lips and sharp teeth against your lips. You felt a bit more confident in the way you kissed Suguru, so you pulled away with a mischievous smile. You leaned over to kiss Satoru, who was watching you two intensely.

He immediately darted his tongue into your mouth and you greeted it with your own. His tongue wrestled yours for dominance and he easily overpowered you. You mirrored the way Gojo kissed you by using his style against him, which fired him up even more. He felt a bit more desperate with his kisses, while Suguru seemed to be slightly possessive. Being this close to Satoru made you realize how much you desired his scent, he smelt fresh and clean like a summer’s breeze next to a waterfall. You felt Geto lean in close to the two of you and latched his hot mouth onto your exposed neck. A muffled gasp of pleasure escaped from your lips and into Gojo’s mouth.

“Got tired of watching?” Mumbled Satoru cockily as his lips danced across yours for another hot kiss. No one has ever done that to your neck before. Suguru gently smooched your tender skin which caused chills of excitement to run across your body. His molten mouth felt so sensual on your sensitive neck. You suddenly felt so needy, and in your buzzed state, you decided to follow your instincts. You reached up to grab a hold of Getou’s broad shoulder, pulling him closer to you. All while you kissed Gojo, you made sure to tangle your free hand in his white hair. It felt like your body and your energy were colliding and entangling itself with theirs. You were able to sense their intense desire and excitement towards you, which felt like overpowering waves.

Your thoughts were interrupted when Suguru pulled away from your neck. He gently guided your face away from Satoru’s so he could steal some kisses from you. His mouth gently nibbled yours as he moved his lips against yours passionately. Gojo didn’t take it lightly when his dark-haired friend stole you from his grasp. So in return, he leaned forward and began to roughly kiss and suck on your neck. Knowing that he’d leave a few angry red marks. The hand Satoru had on your lower back, snaked its way to the inside part of your upper thigh. The feeling of his hand between your legs activated a wanton desire inside of you. Gojo delicately traced his fingers along your thigh, all the way down to your knee and then up, dangerously close to your center. He tested the waters and snuck his fingers underneath your skirt this time. His hand slid upward to the hem of your underwear but then darted lower to grip your leg firmly. This bold gesture caused your center to fire up with excitement. Suguru picked up on what his friend was doing to you so he brought his hand underneath your skirt too, but higher up of course. He rubbed his thumb in soft circles on your squishy thigh.

Gojo then pulled away from your neck to steal you back from Suguru. In return, Geto gently kissed your neck while he stroked the inside part of your thigh. You moved your mouth against Gojo’s with a sense of urgency now, you wanted them to touch you more. With two mouths working on you, you felt overwhelmed with sensations. Everything felt amplified, because of how high you were. It felt as if you were hyper-aware of every little touch and caress each man did to you. You didn’t want to ask them to take it further, so in your blurred state of consciousness, you felt bold enough to make a move. You hesitantly brought your hand down to Suguru’s firm thigh as you feverishly made out with Gojo. You slowly traced your fingers higher up his leg until you felt a firm bulge in his pants. A sudden wave of nervousness washed over you causing you to freeze.

“Tch, no need to be so nervous Y/n…” Geto purred, he kissed a trail up your neck and whispered in your ear, “I can show you how to touch it if you want.”

“Show me.” You whimpered into Satoru’s mouth as you felt Suguru’s hand caress the top of yours. He guided your hand along his clothed shaft, he felt so hard and girthy. He controlled your hand with a bit more pressure. You heard him inhale sharply as your dainty hand rubbed his length. While you persistently stroked Geto’s growing dick, your mouth battled for dominance against Gojo’s. He wiggled his tongue into your mouth with immeasurable desire. It felt as if the room was on fire with passion, your clothes suddenly felt so restricting. Suguru’s pants seemed to get tighter the more you rubbed on him.

Geto greedily stole your mouth off of Satoru’s to kiss you excitedly. Gojo placed feather-like kisses on your neck and exposed collarbone, and you felt his hand inch it's way higher up your skirt. You sensed Satoru’s hot fingers lightly prodding your pussy lips from the outside of your underwear. The pleasurable sensations drove you wild, you could feel your panties dampen tremendously.

Your curious fingers traced the outline of Suguru’s cock and you were able to feel his bulge twitch when you neared his tip. “Fuck.” Geto hissed out in satisfaction.

“I want to do so much more to her Suguru…” Gojo groaned while giving your neck a heated and sloppy kiss.

“Y/n’s pretty innocent. We don’t want to spoil her if she has her heart set on another guy,” Geto mumbled against your lips.

Gojo hooked his finger into your panties, his finger glided over your slick folds in the process. “Mmh, Satoru!” You moaned quietly as he dipped the tip of his finger into your tight wet hole.

“You’d rather have the guy you like do these things to you, hun, wouldn’t you?” You felt him tug at your lace underwear with his reddish lust-filled eyes. “I don’t think I could hold myself back if we continue. Do you want us to take things further?”

You studied the flirtatious look on Satoru’s face for a brief moment, as you gathered your thoughts. You weren’t sober enough to think this over the way you would’ve liked, but the thought of experiencing more intimate pleasure with these two excited you. Without meaning to; you lightly squeezed Geto’s penis, causing his alluring dark eyes to light up as he flashed you a killer smirk. You felt Satoru’s fingertips sweetly stroke your pussy lips and a small needy whimper escaped your lips. “I-mmh.” Another sweet moan interrupted your sentence when you felt his finger gently rub over your clit.

You looked over at Geto whose dark eyes had a mischievous glint in them. “What is it dear?” Suguru teased with a sly smile on his handsome face.

“I want- ahh.” This time Satoru pressed on your clit with a bit more pressure, causing sparks of ecstasy to bubble up inside of you for a split second. Both Geto and Gojo were extremely turned on by your sexy little sighs and gasps of delight. They both wanted to make you feel good. Yet, the greedier side of their personalities wanted to claim you as theirs and deflower you, before you ended up with the guy you liked.

You removed your hand from Suguru’s bulge and ghosted your fingers over the button on his pants, you looked up at him for permission. “Teach me how to be a good girlfriend-“ You got cut off with a feverish kiss from Suguru, and you felt his hand grip your ass firmly. You pulled away to finish your sentence, but when you did Gojo sneakily pressed his lips onto yours, as his fingers teased your dampening pussy lips. “Don’t hold back.” You said almost innocently with a sweet smile on your pretty face.

“If that’s what you want, then unbutton our pants dear,” Suguru instructed, while bringing the blunt up to his lips.

“Fuck.” Satoru growled as he leaned forward to give you a heated kiss, he deliberately grabbed your hands and led them down to the tent in his pants. “Unbutton mine first.” He murmured urgently into your mouth. Excitement rose inside of you. You obediently did what he ordered and your nimble fingers worked at freeing his dick from its confines. Once his zipper went down, the bulge in his boxers seemed to grow even more. Like a delightful present just for you. You felt the heat coming off of his hidden shaft. You looked up to see Gojo giving you a buzzed smile with the blunt in between his lips. “Go on, take it out to play.” His blue eyes looked at you with a burning passion in the dark hotboxed room.

Without thinking you lowered his gray boxers down to see his large and lengthy dick spring free. Your mouth instinctively watered at the sight of his delicious-looking cock. Even though it looked heavy, it surprised you with how it stood up on its own. Before you could reach out and touch it, Geto guided your hands over to his crotch. You knew what he wanted and undid his restraints as well. Within seconds his elongated dick stood up proudly like Gojo’s. Both men’s cocks were quite similar in length, but Suguru’s leaned a little to the left and Satoru’s to the right.

It looked like both of their horny rods were pointed toward you. They wanted you just as bad as you wanted them. You softly placed your left hand on Geto’s dick and your right hand on Gojo’s. Their smooth girths felt hot to the touch, both men naturally bucked their hips into your soft hands. This entire situation felt completely taboo and that turned you on tremendously. Your curious hands examined each man's shaft. Your fingertips felt every vein on their velvety dicks. It intrigued you when they would occasionally twitch in your hands.

Satoru put his hand over yours and pumped your smaller hand at a quick pace. “Can you keep this up, babe?” You got the idea and nodded when he removed his hand from yours. You jerked off each man in union. You loved how they would quietly groan to themselves in pleasure while you jacked them. Both men watched you with delight, and out of the corner of your eye, you could see Gojo handing the blunt over to Geto.

You suddenly felt a small amount of hot slick wetness drip down onto your right hand. Satoru’s tip had leaked a bit of precum. You wiped your thumb over the head of his dick to watch more clear liquid ooze out. You looked over to Suguru’s tip, to see that he had a small droplet of milky white cum rolling down the side of his penis too.

“Get on your knees.” Geto’s smooth voice interrupted your ogling, so you did what you were told. Now that you were at eye level with both men’s rods, it made you realize how much larger they actually were. “Lick my tip, sweetheart,” Suguru instructed while inhaling on the blunt. He blew the delicious-smelling smoke down onto you, as you brought your face closer to his upright cock.

His dick practically loomed over your face with its impressive length. You made sure to keep pumping Gojo’s length as you brought your pert lips to Suguru’s clean-scented shaft. Your mouth water with anticipation. You brought your heated gaze to Geto’s, while your molten tongue gingerly licked his tip.

Geto hissed out in pleasure when he felt your slick tongue glide across the head of his cock. Pride welled up in his chest knowing that his dick is the first one you put your mouth on.

Once your tongue came in contact with his precum the taste reminded you of tears. You licked his entire tip and worked your way lower down, so he was coated in your drool. His shiny penis reflected the light that came off of the tv in the dark smoke-filled room. You were about to put him inside of your mouth when Satoru guided your head over to his needy dick.

“Suck me.” Satoru hummed softly while affectionately tangling his fingers in your hair. You lowered your mouth down to the tip of his hot cock. You made sure to pump Geto in your left hand, he was so slippery from your saliva. Jerking him off was effortless and you were able to glide your hand along his shaft quickly. You gently beckoned Satoru into your mouth with your sultry tongue. You were able to feel his dick throb against the roof of your mouth. You naturally wanted to make Satoru feel good, and you forced yourself to take him towards the back of your throat. Panic set in quickly when it became hard to breathe. Your throat instinctively squeezed the head of Gojo’s cock as you gagged on him.

“Easy babe…” Satoru groaned out sexily, vigorously enjoying your enthusiasm, “You don’t have to choke yourself. Take your time getting used to having a dick in your mouth.” He purred, just his voice alone made you dampen in your underwear.

You moved your mouth higher up his dick to focus on sucking his tip. You swirled your tongue around him curiously, he let out a pleasured exhale. “Mmh… yeah. Do that again.” He muttered as his brilliant blue eyes looked down at you with heated ratification. Suguru handed him the blunt and Satoru drew a greedy breath from the slowly shrinking dart. You swiveled your tongue around his sensitive tip while maintaining eye contact with him. Smoke flared from his nose as the tip of his tongue grazed over his top row of teeth with satisfaction.

You mustered up a bit more courage to take more of him into your mouth. This time you tried to calm your breathing as you alternated between sucking and moving your tongue along his shaft. He was much too big to fit in your mouth entirely, so you placed your right hand on the base of his shaft. “Can you move your head up and down Y/n?” Satoru instructed. You obliged, as you bobbed your head on his girthy cock. You found it easier to get used to having him deep in your throat with your quick movements.

With more confidence in having a dick in your mouth, you switched over to Geto’s erect cock. You licked his tip lovingly before engulfing him in your wet mouth. Suguru relished in the slick warmth your mouth provided. You sucked his tip and slowly worked your way down to his base. Feeling him that deep in your throat caused you to gag slightly, this was a tough feeling that you would have to get used to. You pushed the choking feeling aside, you wanted to make Geto feel good too. You held him there for a brief moment while he sweetly tangled his fingers in your hair.

“You’re doing so good, keep it up.” He cooed huskily; you felt your eyes well up with tears from the mild suffocation. Suguru couldn’t help but admire the way you looked as you struggled to have him in your throat. You felt his penis pulse inside of you, causing you to make a small muffled cough. Your time on his dick was cut short, “I think it’s time we advance this lesson a bit further.” He groaned out in pleasure as you sucked him like a straw. He reluctantly moved you off of his dick.

“Get undressed for us?” Satoru purred, his statement was more of an order than a suggestion.

You stood in front of both men as you unbuttoned your blouse. You could feel their eyes watching you intensely. Once you slipped your shirt off, you let your skirt pool down to your feet. There you were; standing before Gojo and Geto partially naked, yet entirely aroused. They admired your sexy bra and skimpy underwear. Your body looked so appetizing for the men, you felt like a rabbit on display for a pair of starved wolves.

With Gojo’s six eyes, he could sense how wet you already were. Suddenly, you became weightless and floated in the air. A surprised squeak escaped your lips, as you tried to comprehend what was happening. You felt your body direct itself without command and positioned above Gojo’s lap. A dashing smirk flashed across his face and within seconds he expertly pushed your panties to the side and placed his slippery dick against your entrance.

“Is this what you want?” He teased with a cocky laugh.

Feeling his dick against your needy opening sent waves of excitement rushing through your veins. You felt Gojo’s technique release and gravity pulled you down further onto his hot and ready dick. The tip had barely inserted itself into you causing discomfort at the stretch. Your knees dug into the couch on either side of him, and you hovered above him to prevent more of his meaty cock to penetrate you.

Geto picked up on your displeasure, “Slow down Satoru, she’s a virgin. Perhaps we should prepare her a bit more thoroughly.”

“Mmh, don’t be such a wet blanket Suguru. I was only teasing her.” Gojo chimed as he pushed his pelvis upwards, forcing about an inch of his dick to invade you.

“Ahh!” You whined at the stinging ache between your legs. Even though the pain was prominent, you couldn’t help but get aroused at such a close feeling with Satoru.

Gojo’s blue eyes began to glow, indicating his technique was at play. Your body floated off of his lap and upward. Your legs spread apart without your control, your left leg rested on Geto’s right shoulder and your right leg went over Gojo’s left. You felt your cheeks heat up in this vulnerable position.

Now both men were between your legs with a lustful look in their faded eyes. You could feel your pussy buzz with excitement. Suguru took the initiative and slid your panties to the side; exposing your pretty pink pussy. Your lips are slick with arousal, causing both men’s mouths to water. They couldn’t wait to try a taste. “Is it ok if we touch you down here?” Suguru hummed as he ghosted his index finger across your folds. Earning a needy sound to come from the back of your throat.

You nodded desperately, “please.”

Geto maintained his focused gaze on your red-hot cunt. He faintly traced the folds of your slippery lips with his pointer and index fingers. Gojo brought his hand to the inside of your thigh and lightly massaged the sensitive crook between your legs. His skilled fingers rubbing your crease, made you realize how sensitive you were there. You unintentionally squirmed underneath his hand. Small whimpers of delight escaped your lips when he massaged a bit deeper into your thigh. All while Suguru’s ghostly touches drove you up a wall, you wanted him to touch you so much more.

The burning passion these two men made you feel, felt incredibly intense. In your buzzed state, every touch they did to you felt amazing. Even though the teasing only just began you couldn’t stand it. Your entire body craved for more. As if Geto could hear your thoughts he lowered his mouth down onto your pussy. Before he came in contact with you, his dark eyes met yours, “You want me to eat you?” You felt his hot breath waft over your sensitive core.

“Mmh-hmm.” You mewed with excitement, the anticipation burned you up.

With his warm gaze fixated on yours, you saw the corner of his mouth tilt upward, “I’ll eat you only with one condition.” Suguru paused, almost drooling over your appetizing snack. “Who’s this guy you like?”

You felt your face heat up, “why do you wanna know-ahh!” Suguru slid his hot tongue up your pussy causing a delectable sensation to overcome your train of thought.

“Sorry couldn’t help myself,” Geto gave a mischievous smirk as he pulled a couple of inches away from your desperate cunt. “I only ask, because what Satoru and I are about to do to you… will cause you to lose interest in any other man you thought you liked.” Suguru stated in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Do you think you’ll still like him, after this?” Gojo asked while snaking his hand to your ass, gently squeezing your squishy flesh.

Their words slightly confused you. The way Geto phrased his statement and how Gojo asked that question; you couldn’t help but think that they might have deeper feelings for you. Otherwise, why worry about what you feel and who you like? You suddenly realized what tremendous power you had over them. “Mmh, I’ll tell you later.” You looked down at the men between your legs with a newfound confidence you didn’t know you had. “Also can you pass the blunt?” You flashed them a heart-stopping smile, rendering both Satoru and Suguru speechless.

“Here babe,” Satoru floated the blunt up to your lips with a tempting look in his hooded eyes. You inhaled as the smoke-filled your senses. Once you exhaled, the blunt sailed back down to Satoru’s lips. It was all so clear now, you felt like a queen atop her throne, looking down at her peasants. You felt it in your soul that both Gojo and Geto had deeper intentions for you, and the thought of that made your ego skyrocket.

With that being said, Suguru leaned forward and plunged his sneaky tongue inside of you. Pleasure shook you to your core and you instinctively clenched around him. He twirled his tongue around inside of you as his nose brushed against your clit deliciously. He retracted his tongue and smooched your clit hungrily, gently sucking and swiveling around your delicate bud in the process. His hot mouth drove you wild and amazing pleasure clouded your senses.

Satoru grew impatient even though Suguru had just started to devour you. Therefore, he leaned forward and began to kiss and suck on the inside parts of your thighs. While his kisses trailed up and down your leg, you felt his hand roughly fondle your ass.

Suguru focused on pleasuring your clit, he sweetly sucked on your sensitive bundle of nerves, which made you writhe around in delight. Small cute gasps escaped your lips while he snacked on you. You felt one of his long fingers gently prod your damp opening. Geto felt his dick rage upwards upon feeling your wet readiness.

“Can I finger you?” Suguru asked you sweetly. You looked down to see his handsome face at your core. The way his dark narrowed eyes locked with yours, and how his long hair messily fell in front of his face. Made you feel incredibly needy between your legs. It’s as if he had some sort of enchantment over you.

“Yes, but be gentle.” You blushed shyly while enjoying the way Gojo was massaging your plump ass cheeks. Satoru gave you a devilish sneer while he snaked the hand that was on your ass to your upper back. He expertly undid your bra with one hand, and your tits bounced free. Both Gojo and Geto eyed your breasts as if they were the most wondrous things they’d ever laid their eyes on.

Suguru then rested his mouth back onto your clit as he gingerly inserted the tip of his index finger inside of you. He went in ever so slowly until he was knuckles deep. Despite trying to relax, you couldn’t help but tense up at the stretch inside of you.

“It’s ok baby…” Suguru mumbled onto your clit, the vibrations from his voice felt scrumptious on your cunt. “Just relax. It’ll feel better soon.” He cooed as he gradually slid his finger out of you and it felt you could breathe again. But the time of having his finger out of you was short-lived when he stuck it back in lazily. This time the pain wasn’t as prominent, it helped that Geto was softly sucking your clit in the process.

Suguru knew that he’d have to prepare you thoroughly until the time came for you to take his and Satoru’s dick. The way your walls clenched around his finger, made his cock leak more precum down his shaft. He made sure to be extra careful with your virgin pussy when he started to pump his index finger into you at a quicker pace. As his plunging finger increased in speed you couldn’t help but feel excited. The ache of pain was still there, but you were able to move past that point. Now the natural sensation of pleasure was becoming more prominent.

“How does it feel?” Geto asked while giving your pussy sloppy kisses.

“It feels better.” You sighed, now being able to relax onto his mouth and hand a bit more easily.

“Good. Satoru, care to join me?” Suguru asked while taking his mouth off of your core, his lips were shiny from the mixture of your arousal and his saliva. Gojo perked his head up from off your thighs, you glanced down to see the masterpiece of hickeys he left on your thigh.

Satoru brought his right hand up to your face, “Suck ‘em.” He ordered and you obediently obliged. His pointer and index fingers invaded your mouth. You greeted his digits with your tongue as you sucked them off graciously. He playfully lodged his fingers down your throat, and to your surprise, you took them without a problem. Earning a pleased smile from the white-haired man. Once his fingers were well coated with your saliva, he removed them from your mouth. He placed his index finger at your entrance, right next to Geto’s.

“Ready?” Suguru asked you with a genuine smile.

You nodded anxiously, and with that, both men simultaneously inserted their pointer fingers inside of you. The stretch was more noticeable than Suguru’s single finger, which caused slight unpleasantness. However, the pain vanished once you started to focus on the erotic feeling have having both men finger you. You leaned back in the air to get more comfortable. You felt yourself saturate onto their pumping fingers, the extra lubricant helped them set into a faster rhythm. Small sighs of satisfaction escaped from your mouth once they sped up.

“Shit, she’s so wet.” Groaned Satoru as he shoved his finger into you extra deep, earning a sultry whine to come from you.

“Mmm, you like it when it goes deep?” Gojo muttered while deliberately pumping his finger into you while Geto pulled his finger out. This new sensation of their fingers repeatedly plowing into you, made you clench around them needily.

Geto’s finger in. Gojo’s finger out. Gojo’s finger in. Geto’s finger out. This rhythmic pattern collided into your core forcefully. You felt entirely euphoric at the overwhelming pleasure.

You felt Suguru’s free hand reach up to lightly caress your breasts. His fingers focused on your erect nipples as he teased and played with them. Satoru brought up his other hand to stroke your clit. He rubbed it around in little circles, causing you to become an overstimulated mewling mess. Having both men worship you felt incredibly sensual. Even though experiencing pleasure with more than one person is considered taboo, this entire situation felt entirely perfect.

“I need to taste her,” Gojo grunted as he removed his hands from your privates. Suguru leaned over to kiss your thigh, giving his friend a chance to eat you. Gojo didn’t pass up on the opportunity and dove right into you. He hungrily snacked on your dripping cunt, you felt his tongue slither along your lips. You tasted heavenly to him, he slurped up your wet arousal. He had a wicked tongue and plunged it into you at an incredibly fast speed. He flicked his tongue up inside of you, which caused more sparks of electricity to run through your veins. “Oh! Satoru!” You whimpered out. What had he just done?

You felt him smile cockily against your privates, “you like that?” He mumbled while keeping his blue glowing eyes locked with yours.

“Mhh-hmm.” You affirmed nodding your head. He zapped his tongue over that spot inside of you briefly, but then he teasingly pulled away. Earning an annoyed glare from you. “Keep going.” You whined, giving him your best pleading look.

“Oh?” Gojo hummed, as he gave your slippery cunt a ravishing kiss. “I think I want to hear you moan my name a couple more times before I do.”

“You’re arrogant Satoru.” Geto chided while leaving loving hickeys on your left thigh, mirroring Gojo’s.

“Shut the fuck up, and don’t be jealous when Y/n cums on my face instead of yours.” Satoru snarked as he plunged his tongue back into your pussy. He scooped his tongue inside of you, loving the way you’d squirm under his mouth.

“Mmh-Satoru…” You moaned when you felt him reach that delectable spot inside of you. He used a bit more force, which roused more pleasure within your core. “Gojo, please-“ he pounded his tongue against your G-spot relentlessly. You instinctively tried to close your thighs together, but both men between your legs prevented that. You had no idea that having Gojo eat you would feel so… incredible. Like a flash of lightning, you felt yourself release onto Satoru’s greedy tongue. He drank you enthusiastically while stroking his lengthy rod.

Suguru forcefully moved Satoru away from your core so he could steal a taste of your delicious nectar. His hot and skilled tongue easily slipped into your cunt. He slurped what was left of you and then he grabbed your waist and pulled you down into his lap.

“I can’t take it anymore, I need to be in her now.” Growled Suguru, as he positioned your petite body down to his raging dick.

Your body rejected his actions and hovered over to Satoru’s lap, “Who decided that you’d take her virginity? I want to.” Gojo retorted with an arched brow, as his iridescent eyes glowed blue. He possessively wrapped his arms around you.

Geto directed his attention towards you and gave you a heated kiss. “You want me to do it? Or him?” You could taste yourself on his lips.

Due to how buzzed and turned on you were, it honestly didn’t matter who did the deed at this point. “Someone just fuck me now. Flip a damn coin if you guys want.” Your soft voice spoke out in the steamy hotboxed room.

“Good idea.” Satoru purred, as he dug in his pocket to pull out a shiny silver coin. “If it’s heads I get to take her virginity, but you get to finish in her. If it’s tails you take her virginity and I get to cum in her.” Gojo exclaimed, then handing the coin over to you. “Care to do the honors babe?” He gently nibbled on the crook of your neck, earning delightful shivers to crawl up your spine.

You took the coin from Satoru’s large palm and flicked it with your thumb. It shot into the air vertically and you caught it with your right hand. You opened your palm to reveal, heads.

Satoru gave your waist a celebratory squeeze, “That’s what I thought.”

“Don’t get carried away Satoru,” Geto advised, rolling his eyes with a wry smile. He decided to prepare himself another blunt since he wouldn’t be enjoying you at the moment.

Gojo knew exactly what position he wanted you to be in when you took his dick for the first time. He shimmied his pants and boxers off, while simultaneously taking his shirt off. You felt his skilled hands then pull your wet underwear off and down your legs. He turned you around in his lap so you straddled him, like the way he had you before. You couldn’t help but admire his lean and toned body. You felt him rub the head of his cock against your slick entrance. However, instead of shoving it in like you were anticipating, he crashed his lips against yours feverishly. You kissed him back eagerly and held onto his broad shoulders for balance. His tongue tangled with yours passionately, all while you felt him slowly inch the head of his dick inside of you. This time it wasn’t as painful, probably because you got fingered thoroughly.

Excitement overcame your senses while the two of you made out, your needy little pussy wanted to feel more of Gojo’s long rod. Therefore, you lowered yourself a bit further down onto his sprung dick. Satoru gasped with surprise when you took the initiative, he was exceptionally pleased, to say the least. You felt his infamous smile against your lips as his left hand gripped your plump ass firmly. He was about two inches inside of you. Now you were able to feel the slight sting of being stretched. You pushed the feeling aside and felt confident enough to take more. Your breath hitched, and it felt like the room was getting hotter. You glanced over at Geto who eyed you seductively with the blunt between his lips. He was watching you two with a lustful expression as he lazily jacked himself.

“Anxious aren’t we?” Gojo hummed, enjoying the snug squeeze that surrounded the upper part of his cock. With his other hand, he gripped your waist a bit more securely and forcefully brought the rest of his length inside of you. Pain struck you like a slap to the face, he was much too big for you. You tried to cry out in discomfort but no sound came out. As a reaction to the strain, you dug your nails into his shoulders. Knowing you’ll leave little crescent marks behind.

“She’s so fucking tight.” Satoru hissed out in pleasure, fully relishing in your comforting tightness. His lips collided with yours, he made sure to not move in you just yet. He brought his face over to your ear and whispered, “How are you holding up? Does it hurt?” He said almost tauntingly, his shimmering blue eyes looked at you friskily.

“You’re too big.” You mewled pathetically; as soon as those words left your mouth you felt his dick twitch up inside you. Earning a small whimper to come from your throat.

“Oh, dear. Regretting the consequences of your actions? Want me to stop?” He cooed with fake sympathy while giving your neck some love bites.

Your cheeks blushed, “N-no…” You murmured, “I want to go through with this.”

“Good girl.” Satoru hummed in the crook of your neck. He then pulled away to study the desperate look on your face. “No need to be insecure, you just need a little time to… adjust.” He lifted your waist so his cock exited your body. The second his shaft was out of you, you felt so empty. He then brought you back down onto his dick swiftly, filling you up completely.

This time you let out a pain and pleasure mixed moan. Gojo repeated the action to you again, you noticed he entered your pussy much easier this time. He set into a rhythm of pulling out entirely, and then sliding back into you. Each thrust was more pleasurable than the last, you felt yourself instinctually moisten around his intruding cock.

“Mmh, you’re getting so wet for me.” Satoru groaned softly, “I bet you couldn’t get this wet for the guy you like.” Gojo sneered while bullying his rod inside of you with a bit more force. This time you both moaned out in delight.

“Why should it matter if I like another guy? I’m having sex with you aren’t I?” You retorted breathlessly with slight annoyance.

“Oh, so should I feel honored that you’re letting me dick you down? Must mean you like me or something.” Satoru grinned at you cockily with a playful glint in his eyes.

You blushed, “What, no...” You gasped and tried to look away shyly. In response, Satoru gripped your throat roughly and angled your jaw so you looked at him. When he wrapped his hand around your neck, you couldn’t help but enjoy the feeling. Your pussy subconsciously squeezed his dick inside of you.

Satoru felt that and smirked at you knowingly through his clouded gaze, “What’s his name?” Without warning, picked up the pace and began to rapidly bounce you onto his elongated dick. He watched the look on your face change into one of pure bliss as he fucked you ruthlessly. “Is it me?” His cock ramming into you persistently made it hard for you to focus. “Or Suguru?”

“N-no. I don’t want to tell you. Mmh… Satoru!” Having him fuck you so vigorously made you go dumb with pleasure.

“Tell me.” Gojo eyed you, while he shoved his length into your wet heat. Loud moans escaped your lips as his heavenly dick claimed your pussy.

“Mmh! So good….” Was all you could muster up, while he pounded you with ease.

“Tell me,” Satoru repeated himself with a hint of strain in his voice. The grip he had on your throat tightened as he bounced you on his shaft with impressive speed.

“Yes! Keep… going.” You whined out wantonly, you could feel your walls clench around his rod with appreciation.

“Only if you tell me,” Gojo grunted, his pumping dick became erratic as he chased after his sick pleasure. The thought of fucking you in front of his friend boosted his ego tenfold. He was in love with your sexy moans. Especially the way your slick and tight pussy felt, you took his dick so perfectly. He didn’t care if he made it obvious that he had deeper feelings for you. He knew if he fucked you good enough, you’d have no choice but fall for him. He’ll make you forget that other guy you liked.

The incredible ecstasy Satoru made you feel caused uncontrollable tears of desire to spill from your eyes. Never in your life have you felt such amazing euphoria. You could feel your release boiling to the surface.

“You cryin’?” Satoru mocked, while he relentlessly hammered his elongated dick up inside of you. “So it must be me then, huh?” He grunted with a smug look on his face. His white hair fell messily in his reddened eyes. Knowing that he had you crying because of his cock made pride well up in his chest.

All you could do in response was shake your head ‘no’. You didn’t want Satoru to know the truth, especially if he got it out of you in such a lewd manner. When you planned on confronting your feelings, you didn’t expect the truth to come out through a brutal fucking.

“Perhaps let me have a try? I think I can get the truth out of her.” Suguru spoke out, reminding you that he was still watching the both of you.

“Go ahead. I’m about to cum anyways.” Gojo traded you for the blunt that was in Geto’s fingers. He floated you off of his glorious dick without hesitation and directed your body over to Geto. You immediately missed the way Satoru was fucking you, but you were also looking forward to having Suguru inside of you.

Suguru reached up to embrace you on his lap sweetly. You noticed that he was still fully clothed. You hastily tugged at the hem of his shirt. He got the idea and popped his top off with a dashing smirk. You couldn’t help but blatantly admire his muscular physique.

Speaking your thoughts a quiet “fuck me.” Came from under your breath.

Geto was also cherishing your small naked body hovering over his, “You’re so impatient.” He eyed you while the corner of his mouth tilted upward. “If that’s what you want-” Suguru then lunged forward with you scooped up in his arms. He swiftly laid you down on the couch and situated himself between your thighs. “Then that’s what you’ll get.” Without warning he shoved his long and eager cock inside of your hot cunt.

The overwhelming feeling of being filled up made you arch your back in delight. “Oh! Yes!” You cried out in satisfaction.

Suguru groaned softly in your ear, you felt so slick and inviting for him. “You feel amazing.” He then gave the shell of your ear a tantalizing kiss.

Due to how saturated and horny you were, Geto didn’t have to hold back or wait for you to get used to his dick. He gently guided your legs over his shoulders and plowed into you furiously. His toned hips slapped against your smooth thighs, causing clapping sounds to fill the room. You two fit so well together, it’s as if your body was made for his.

“Shit, Satoru got you so fucking wet.” He hissed under his breath. Suguru never looked so handsome; the way his sultry narrowed eyes looked down at you with approval made you wetter if that was even possible. His long hair fell in front of his face to form a cascading curtain that shielded you from Satoru’s hungry gaze. Suguru surrounded you, his entire being dominated your senses, and you felt high off his glorious presence.

“It’s me isn’t it?” Geto muttered while bringing his hand down to your clit. He rubbed fast circles over your sensitive bud, making you writhe underneath him in delight.

“Oh! Suguru!” You whimpered out, the combination of his pumping rod inside of you and his teasing fingers made your pussy squelch him deliciously. Geto couldn’t help but let out a small groan of pleasure in return.

“I’m the guy you like, aren’t I?” He murmured while increasing his speed. You weren’t able to look away or avoid his gaze, so you closed your eyes and focused on his perfect dick. “Look at me,” Geto commanded as he slowed his thrusts down into sloppy ones. "Tell me you're mine."

With his speed dying down, it brought you back to reality. “I'm yours! Now, fuck me Suguru!” You whined, desperately moving your hips against his, yearning for more friction.

“I am.” He winked down at you with a devilish grin. He set into a steady rhythm of shoving his lengthy cock inside of you nice and deep. Even though his thrusts were prolonged, he still had so much power behind each one. Your whole body shook every time he came back into you.

You were able to hear the gushy slick sound of his dick entering and exiting from your cunt. If someone were to walk by the dorm’s door, they would know what exactly was going on. Those lewd noises filled the room along with the smoke from Satoru’s blunt.

“Satoru, her mouth looks like empty. Better come fill it.” Geto stated in a matter-of-fact tone, as he leaned back onto his knees. You immediately missed the closeness of having Suguru on top of you. But having Suguru pump into you at this angle was quite enjoyable. He kept your legs resting on his shoulders as he pounded into you vigorously.

Satoru got to his knees next to your head and brought his girth to your lips. “Open up dear,” Gojo asked almost sweetly, he gently placed his hands on your head and guided the head of his cock to your mouth. You opened for him and sucked his tip, you felt him push more of his length into your mouth. Soon enough he was down your throat while you choked on him. You did your best to calm your breath, but it seemed difficult. Especially when Suguru would ram into you forcefully, causing your whole body to move. Each thrust from Getou would make Gojo’s dick jostle in your throat roughly. It felt too suffocating, yet so arousing at the same time.

Gojo was much too big for you, and it didn’t help when you would feel his tip twitch down your throat with delight. “Keep it there. Just like that.” He groaned softly while eyeing you with ratification.

Geto’s thrusts began to get more erotic. He pumped his hips against the back of your thighs, causing loud slaps to echo through the room. His lengthy cock rammed into you persistently, you soon realized that you liked getting fucked rough. It felt extremely heavenly each time he slid back into you. You became breathless as he plowed into you rabidly.

You looked so ravishing in Suguru’s eyes, you took his dick excellently, all while deep-throating Gojo. He knew that you were on the verge of release, and wanted to make sure you came together. Yet, another side of him wanted to make things a little more interesting.

“If you cum within ten thrusts you gotta tell us who you like.“ Suguru instructed while admiring the way your breasts would bounce each time he plowed into you.

“Anh-m. I dnh-“ you tried to say through Gojo’s meaty dick. Satoru pulled his cock out of your comfortable throat, so the tip of his penis rested against your lips. His rod was slick with your saliva. “And if I don’t?” You flashed Geto a playful smile.

“Daring aren’t you? Trust me, you will.” Suguru chuckled, “But if you happen not to, then we can drop the question. And you can pick our punishment. Deal?”

“D-“ Satoru cut you off while he impatiently shoved his dick back in your throat. He loved the way he could see the outline of his penis in your neck.

“Sorry hun, but if you don’t swallow all my cum, then you’ll owe me another round at my place.” Satoru winked down at you flirtatiously.

“Mmh-hmm.” You hummed with agreement. Gojo then leaned forward to grab a hold of one of your nipples to tease.

“Okay let’s start the countdown.” Suguru stated with a hazed look in his eyes, “Ten…” He slammed his cock into your dripping cunt deliciously, causing you to moan onto Gojo’s dick shamelessly.

“Nine…” Suguru’s long fingers swiveled over your clit briskly, while he kissed your right ankle that was resting on his broad shoulder.

“Eight…” Geto’s thrusts were quick and decisive, making your pussy squelch him with an intense neediness.

“Seven…” He grunted out, Suguru was on the verge of release but he knew he could wait it out until you came first.

“Six…” Satoru’s left hand gripped your hair tightly, while his other hand was big enough to fondle both of your nipples at once; sending waves of delight to your core.

“Five…” Gojo fucked your throat with a sense of urgency now, he was getting close and couldn’t wait to feed you.

“Four…” Geto’s dick hit your G-spot with intense precision and your walls fluttered around him with ecstasy.

“Three…” So close, you were so close you were able to see stars. The stimulation from Suguru’s plunging dick and Gojo’s teasing fingers, made mewls of pleasure come from your throat and around Satoru’s girth.

“Two…” You couldn’t take it anymore, the way Suguru pounded against your sensitive spot relentlessly sent you over the edge and you drenched his cock in your release. You held nothing back and unleashed the waterfall that you held within you.

“One…” Geto groaned out, as he filled you to the brim with his seed. You were able to feel him shoot his massive load up against your cervix, knowing that it would reach your womb in no time.

“Shit… get ready to drink it all babe,” Satoru growled out while plunging his shaft down your throat one last time. His thrusting hips came to a stop as a copious amount of his juice filled your mouth. You felt his hot liquid squirt down your throat sporadically. You did your best to swallow it all, but his seed filled your mouth faster than you could drink. Small strands of his milky white cum slid out from the corners of your lips and down your chin quickly.

“Aww too bad, you were so close,” Geto uttered breathlessly, as he slowly pulled his length from your drenched cunt. He couldn’t help but watch in pride as his cum mixed with your release flooded out of your pussy like a burst dam. You felt it run down your bubbly ass cheeks and onto the couch cushions below you.

Satoru gingerly removed his softening cock from your mouth, his time well spent. “It looks like you owe me a round two back at my place.” He smirked down at you as he wiped some of his cum off of your chin with his thumb. He brought his finger to your mouth and you obediently licked it clean. His gaze was full of pride and approval. The redness in his eyes was less prominent, meaning he must be sobering up already.

“I look forward to it.” You eyed him briefly while hunching up on your elbows. Even though you lost both bets you felt as if you were on cloud nine.

“So do you still have feelings for that guy?” Suguru asked inquisitively, as he helped you sit up on the couch.

You couldn’t help but let out a small giggle, “Yeah, I do.”

A flash of disappointment flickered in Satoru’s eyes, “even after that?” His voice sounded slightly insecure.

“As you said, I’ve lost interest in other men.” You glanced toward Getou’s warm gaze, then you shifted your sight over to Satoru, whose blue eyes glinted towards yours.

“So you like Suguru and I?” Gojo eyed you curiously.

You nodded hesitantly, “Yeah, the ‘guy’ I like is you two.” You nervously glanced between them both. “You’re not planning on using me, right?” You asked trying to hide the wavering in your voice.

“Of course not,” Satoru was quick to answer, “the truth is, shortly after getting to know you I admitted to Suguru that I wanted to be more than just friends with you. And he thought the same.”

Your heartbeat increased, “really?” Your mousy voice was barely audible.

“So I proposed an ultimatum,” Suguru replied, “because we both had deeper intentions with you… I felt like it would be fair if you decided which one of us you wanted to pursue. And we weren’t allowed to straight up ask you out or make a move on you, unless you did first.”

You let out a small laugh, “wow you two might’ve had to wait forever because of how timid I can be.”

Suguru chuckled and gripped your thigh softly, “Yeah, good thing we got you high enough to ask us how to kiss.”

“That’s right! All of this wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t ask.” Satoru smirked while draping his arm over your shoulders comfortably.

You gave both men your gorgeous smile, “So as long as I can say I belong to you both, do what you want with me.”

Surugu leaned down to press his lips against yours, “You should’ve asked us how to kiss sooner.”

✩࿐ Like my style? Check out my other creations! ✩࿐

[yallbaby]

Flicker of attention

Synopsis 𐙚 Lee Heeseung was untouchable—admired by all, close to none. But you weren’t just another admirer. Slowly, your quiet persistence chipped away at his indifference. And when he finally noticed you, everything changed.

Genre /// Fluff, slow burn, fem!reader, pining!reader x popular!heeseung, academic love, library Au ⋆୨ৎ

Author's note : English is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes that could've been made. not proofread, feedbacks mean a lot <3

Wc 2.8k ⋆˚.

Lee Heeseung was perfect.

He was the kind of guy who didn’t need to try. The kind who moved through life with an effortless grace, never stumbling. He was tall, with a figure that made him look like he belonged on the cover of a magazine rather than in a cramped high school classroom. His face, sharp and symmetrical, was the type that made people stop and stare. But what made him truly captivating wasn’t just his looks—it was the way he carried himself.

He was intelligent but never boasted about it. Teachers praised him, yet he never sought their approval. He aced tests without studying, as if knowledge simply flowed into his mind. He was athletic but never bragged about his skills. He had a natural talent for everything he touched, from basketball to music, but he never showed off. He was quiet, reserved, and utterly untouchable.

That was what made him so desirable.

Girls admired him from a distance, stealing glances when they thought he wasn’t looking. They whispered about him in hushed voices, fantasizing about what it would be like to be the one to break through his icy exterior. He was the school’s unreachable star—the kind of person who could shatter hearts without even trying.

You were no exception.

You liked him. More than you wanted to admit. But unlike the others who simply admired him from afar, you refused to be just another nameless admirer. You told yourself you were different. That if he just got to know you, if he saw the real you, he’d realize you weren’t like the rest. That you weren’t just another girl in a sea of admirers hoping for a glance, a smile, a sliver of attention.

But Heeseung?

He didn’t even look at you.

The first time you tried to talk to him, he walked past you like you weren’t even there. As if the words you had worked up the courage to say had evaporated into thin air before they could reach his ears. The second time, he didn’t even bother responding. He didn’t nod, didn’t acknowledge you—nothing. Just silence. As if you were air.

The third time, you were almost sure you heard him sigh before ignoring you altogether. A quiet, nearly imperceptible exhale, like you were nothing more than an inconvenience. Like the very act of acknowledging you would be a waste of his time.

But none of that discouraged you.

If anything, it only made you more determined.

You didn’t throw yourself at him.

You didn’t giggle excessively when he walked by, didn’t fawn over his every move like he was some untouchable deity. You didn’t bat your eyelashes or find excuses to brush your hand against his in the hallways. That wasn’t your style. Instead, you treated him like he was just another classmate—normal, approachable, no different from anyone else.

Casual greetings in the hallway. A quiet “Hey” as you passed him by. Occasional comments during class when you were assigned to the same group, nothing forced, well nothing desperate. You never lingered, never tried too hard. And though Heeseung never acknowledged you at first, never gave you the satisfaction of even a glance, you started to notice.

He didn’t push you away.

If you sat next to him in the library, he didn’t move to another table. If you found yourself walking beside him after school, he didn’t tell you to leave. He never spoke first, never initiated a single interaction, but he never actively avoided you either. It wasn’t much—just tolerance, indifference at best—but in a world where most people didn’t even get that from him, it was something.

That was a start.

One afternoon, you spotted him in the library, his usual spot near the window bathed in golden light. A thick book rested in his hands, his long fingers curled around the edges of the pages. He was always like this—quiet, absorbed, lost in a world far removed from the noise of the school. It made approaching him feel like stepping into sacred territory, but you did it anyway.

"You’re always in the library," you remarked as you slid into the chair across from him, setting your own book down. "You like quiet places?"

For a moment, there was nothing. Just the steady tick of the clock on the wall, the muffled rustling of pages being turned somewhere in the distance. You half-expected him to ignore you like he always did, to pretend you hadn’t spoken at all.

Then—

"Mhm."

It was a single sound. Not really a response, barely even an acknowledgment. But it was the first time he had ever directly communicated to you, and for a fleeting second, you felt like you had won something.

You forced yourself to stay composed, biting back the urge to grin. "I think I do, too," you mused, flipping through the pages of your own book even though you weren’t reading a single word.

Heeseung didn’t reply. He didn’t look at you, didn’t give any indication that he cared whether you stayed or left.

And he didn’t tell you to go.

That itself, felt like a victory.

From that point, your interactions with Heeseung had shifted. While he still didn’t seek out conversations with you, he no longer pretended you weren’t there. Whenever you spoke, he’d offer short, clipped responses, but at least they were responses. There was no longer the stony silence that had greeted you before. In some strange way, it felt like progress.

It was on a quiet afternoon that you found him again in his usual spot by the windows in the library. You had grown accustomed to seeing him there, always surrounded by books, his head down, fingers flipping through pages with a steady precision that seemed almost otherworldly. You wondered how someone could immerse themselves so completely in something, but then again, you didn’t have the luxury of such focus.

Without overthinking it, you walked right up to his table and took a seat across from him. You didn’t even hesitate. If he noticed the way you slid into the chair, he gave no indication, his eyes still glued to his textbook.

"Hey," you said, leaning back in your chair casually. "If I sit here long enough next to you, do you think I’ll absorb some of your genius?"

Heeseung exhaled sharply, a breath that almost sounded like the beginning of a quiet chuckle.

You were encouraged by the sound—anything that wasn’t complete indifference was progress in your book. You took a chance, pushing the conversation further.

"Or maybe... I’m just searching for ways to stay with you," you added, your tone light but with a hint of something deeper. You didn’t know why you said it exactly, but the words left your mouth before you could stop them.

This time, Heeseung’s eyes flickered up from the book. The moment he met your gaze, the air between you seemed to shift. His eyes were no longer distant, but focused, a flicker of something unreadable in them. You could feel the tension growing, the brief silence stretching uncomfortably between you. For a second, you thought he might just go back to ignoring you, but he didn’t.

Instead, he leaned back slightly in his chair, just enough to study you more intently. There was no hint of warmth in his gaze, no invitation to continue. He simply observed you, his face still mostly neutral, but his expression somehow more thoughtful than before. It was as if he was weighing something, trying to figure you out, trying to decide what to make of this little exchange.

You could feel your pulse picking up. Why did it suddenly feel like he was looking through you, as if seeing something you didn’t know you were showing?

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of silence, he spoke, his voice low but clear. "...You’re persistent."

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the sharpness in his tone. For a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. His words hung in the air, neither an insult nor an approval, but something in between—an acknowledgment. His eyes still held you captive, a quiet intensity in them that made your stomach do strange things. The weight of his gaze felt different now, like he was seeing more than just your surface.

You tilted your head slightly, trying to keep the lightness in your tone despite the tension building between you. "You say that like it’s a bad thing."

He didn’t immediately respond. He just studied you, his gaze never wavering. It was almost like he was measuring you, piecing something together in his head. His lips parted for a brief second, as if to say something more, but then he paused. His eyes softened just slightly—so subtly that you almost missed it—and with a barely perceptible shake of his head, he spoke again.

"It’s not."

The words were quiet, almost reluctant, but the faint smile that tugged at the corners of his lips was unmistakable. It was small, almost imperceptible, but it was there. The weight in your chest seemed to lift, replaced by something lighter, something that made your heart skip a beat. Was this real? Had Heeseung, the quiet, distant genius, just—smiled at you?

You sat there for a moment, stunned. His gaze was still on you, as if waiting for your reaction. Your mind raced, trying to make sense of it, but all you could focus on was that small, rare smile. It was the first time he’d given you anything like it, and it was more than you had ever expected.

For the first time, you realized you might just be getting somewhere.

From that point on, something shifted between you and Heeseung. It wasn’t drastic, nothing that would make people think you were suddenly best friends, but there were subtle changes. Small shifts that hinted at something more. He still wasn’t particularly warm, not the kind of person who’d start a conversation for no reason, but you noticed. When you spoke, he listened, his eyes moving toward you just a bit faster, his focus a little more evident. When you joked, sometimes—just sometimes—he would smirk, a fleeting curve of his lips that made you wonder if he actually found it amusing. You’d even caught him glancing your way during class, his expression unreadable, but the fact that he was looking was something.

But it was on one particular afternoon when things felt... different.

You had been sitting in your usual spot in the library for weeks now, a quiet observer of the space around you. The routine was comfortable, but today, you didn’t show up. You had something to do, something that took priority, and as you were heading home later that day, you didn’t think much of it. You certainly didn’t expect Heeseung to notice.

But the next day, as you slid into your usual chair across from him, you were met with an unexpected comment.

"You weren’t here yesterday."

It was said so casually, almost offhand, as though he hadn’t been paying attention to you at all, but the words still caught you off guard.

You blinked, looking at him in surprise. "You noticed?"

Heeseung didn’t answer immediately, his gaze lingering on the book in front of him. His fingers fidgeted with the pages, flipping them aimlessly, but there was a slight tension in the way he moved, a hint that maybe he hadn’t been as nonchalant as he appeared. After a brief pause, he finally muttered, "It was quieter than usual."

You couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at that. "Oh come on, am I really that annoying to you?"

Heeseung didn’t answer right away. He just stared at the pages in front of him, his expression unchanged. But you could sense a slight shift in the air, a change in the quiet that surrounded you. You waited a beat before deciding to push a little further, just to see what would happen.

With a teasing grin, you leaned forward slightly. "Did you miss me, Heeseung?"

The words hung in the air for a moment, and you almost thought he wouldn’t respond at all. Then, finally, he scoffed, a sound that should’ve been dismissive, but there was no real bite to it. He looked up at you, eyes still distant but... softer than before.

"Don’t push your luck," he said, but the words were half-hearted, and there was something in the way he said it that made you feel like he didn’t mean it at all. It was more of a defense, a small, safe distance he kept between you, just enough to keep the conversation from getting too close.

But you could tell.

He had missed you.

The way his gaze lingered on you, the slight hesitation in his voice, it was all there, even if he didn’t want to admit it. Heeseung might not have said the words outright, but you knew. And that small shift, that barely perceptible change, felt like another step forward.

Maybe you had become a part of his routine after all.

After that, the dynamic between you and Heeseung shifted even more. He didn’t just tolerate your presence anymore—he seemed to expect it. It wasn’t like he went out of his way to ask for your company, but there was something in the air now, a silent understanding. He no longer acted indifferent when you were around, and the subtle tension between you both seemed to have settled into something more familiar, almost comfortable. You’d find yourself slipping into the seat across from him in the library with ease, and he’d never bat an eye. You were part of his routine now, and somehow, that felt like progress.

Then, one afternoon, something happened that you definitely didn’t expect. You were both lost in your books, the quiet hum of the library filling the space between you. The usual silence stretched on until Heeseung’s voice broke it, low and unexpected.

"You’re not like the others."

Your heart skipped a beat. You glanced up at him, blinking in surprise. The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning, but Heeseung didn’t look up from his book. You were still caught off guard, unsure of how to respond to such an abrupt observation.

"What do you mean?" you asked, your voice a little softer than usual, as though his words had caught you off guard more than you were willing to admit.

Heeseung didn’t answer immediately, his jaw tensing just slightly, like he was debating whether or not to continue. His fingers absently turned a page in his textbook, but the tension in his posture told you he wasn’t as absorbed in his studies as he appeared to be.

"You don’t try too hard," he finally said, his voice quiet but steady. "You don’t pretend to be something you’re not."

The words hit you harder than you expected. It was a compliment, but it wasn’t said like one. It wasn’t the kind of praise people give when they’re trying to win someone over. No, it felt... genuine. As if Heeseung was acknowledging something about you that he found rare or different.

Warmth spread through your chest, the simple recognition of who you were coming from him settling in a way that made you feel seen. You smiled a little, trying to keep the moment light.

"And?" you teased, leaning in just slightly, your voice playful. "Do you like that about me?"

For a moment, you thought he’d brush it off, like he usually did. Maybe give you a sarcastic remark or a quiet scoff and go back to his book. But Heeseung didn’t do that this time. He paused, his eyes flicking up to meet yours, and the moment his gaze locked with yours, everything seemed to freeze. His eyes were steady, intense, a look you’d never quite seen before. There was something raw in it, something real, that made your breath catch in your throat.

"Maybe," he said, the word so soft, so quiet, you almost wondered if you’d imagined it. His voice barely above a whisper, but the weight of it hung in the air, heavy with something unspoken.

Your heart stopped.

Maybe.

It wasn’t a confession. It wasn’t a promise. It wasn’t a "yes" or a "no." It was just that one word, hanging between you like a delicate thread.

But coming from Heeseung? It was everything.

The way he had looked at you, the way he had said it—like there was something there, something he wasn’t willing to put into words, something more than just indifference or simple acknowledgment.

In that moment, the air between you felt charged, thick with the possibility of more, and you could feel it. Maybe it wasn’t a confession of any kind, but it was a small, fragile step closer to something you hadn’t quite figured out yet.

And for now, it was enough.

[claramelooo]

CHECKMATE (4/20)

Finally!!!! They will met again, and you'll have a deja vu sensation 😉

Happy AAA week!!

Enjoy <3

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Warnings: +18, tension, slap kink and sex with Carol (dont get used to it)

Pairing: Governor!Agatha x Fem reader

Summary: Your first day of internship with Barkley is surprising and awakens unexpected sensations

Music recommendation:

War

noun

1. a situation in which two or more countries or groups of people fight against each other over a period of time.

You still weren’t sure if the blazer fit quite right, or if your hair looked as flawless as it had in the downstairs bathroom mirror. But now it was too late to turn back, and honestly, you’d faced scarier things than the first day of an internship—even if, right now, that felt like a lie.

The cold, symmetrical hallways of the building reminded you of a giant chessboard—the white lights above cast precise, almost clinical shadows.

Billy walked beside you, looking completely enchanted by every piece of furniture around. 

You, of course, knew exactly where you were stepping. Jennifer Barkley was the strategist behind brutal campaigns.

You’d spent entire nights devouring articles, watching interviews, trying to figure out how she operated behind the scenes. She was despicable, sure. But Billy was right, this was the opportunity of a lifetime.

Maybe part of you just wanted to get closer to power. To chaos. To the kind of woman who never apologized.

What you didn’t expect was to find her there.

Her.

Agatha Harkness.

The favorite candidate.

But for you, she still was that woman. The woman from the bar. The woman at the emergency exit. The woman who left you breathless, nameless, and with no illusion of control.

Two whole weeks had passed, and still, you woke up tasting her.

And now, there she was.

Standing still.

Arms crossed, blazer flawless like she’d been born in it. Her gaze cold and sharp as a blade—locked on you and only on you.

But you knew another side of that gaze.

You knew the heat, the tear glossed pleasure in her eyes. The look she gave you when she felt you with your tongue. When her body trembled under your hands. When her voice broke against your mouth and everything dissolved into heat.

And now she looked at you like you were a threat, like you were her mistake.

And you know what? Fuck that.

Because you were angry too.

She lied about who she was. Lied with every unsaid syllable. With every touch that felt just a little too casual. With the way she stole your breath and left you there, thinking it had been just another night—when it clearly wasn’t.

And now she was here, staring at you like you were the traitor?

Your pride spilled out of your pores. You lifted your chin and straightened your shoulders.

If she wanted war... fine! Because now you knew who she was. The fucking queen of the game. However, even queens bleed when they bite the wrong piece.

You met her firm and unwavering gaze. You let her see every inch of your indignation, your contempt. The desire still burning under your skin—but this time, without any submission.

She took a step forward, as if she couldn’t help herself.

But then she stopped.

Jaw clenched, eyes flicking away. Her fingers gripped a folder so tightly you almost heard the paper tear. She looked like she might explode, but her face was carved in stone.

Cold. 

Regal, but unstable.

You could almost hear her voice again in your ear, hoarse, desperate, moaning fractured words like a prayer.

And it only made you angrier, because she knew. She knew who you were—even without a name. She knew that night was real.

Now she was here, trying to bury it. Pretending you were just another girl, that it didn’t hurt, it didn’t matter.

That you weren’t a threat.

Jennifer appeared at the doorway, eyes sharp with impatience. “Good afternoon, everyone.”

Her voice filled the hall like she was stepping onto a stage—heels clicking, pencil skirt perfectly aligned, blonde highlights framing her mature face.

She was a woman who knew exactly where she stood and the power she carried.

“Politics…” she continued, walking slowly between the lined up interns, “is more than inspiring speeches and pretty headlines. It’s about structure. Reading the room. Knowing who you need to be in every space you enter.”

She smiled, a shark’s smile.

“You’re not here to hold coffee. You’re here to observe. To learn. And maybe, if you’re smart, to survive.”

A nervous laugh rippled through the group.

You didn’t laugh.

You were too busy trying to keep your eyes anywhere but on Agatha Harkness.

But it was impossible.

Her gaze burned into you. You could feel it—like every second under those gray eyes peeled away another layer of your armor.

You crossed your arms, planted your feet, and pretended not to see.

Jennifer stopped next to Agatha, who was still clutching that damn folder like it might explode at any moment. Her face was unreadable, no trace of the pleasure, the raw tenderness you’d once known. Just rage, control, and... something else you refused to name.

Jennifer clapped once.

 “Agatha Harkness, our future governor, has graciously decided to join us. It’s a rare opportunity, so pay attention.”

The woman stepped forward, and you bit the inside of your cheek.

Every cell in your body wanted to run. Or scream. Or just ask what the fuck she thought she was doing, looking at you like that when she was the one who demanded silence.

But you didn’t move.

You stayed.

“You.”

Jennifer��s voice sliced through the murmurs.

You froze, looking up, feeling every eye land on you. But none more piercing than hers.

Jennifer studied you with narrowed eyes. “You’re studying Political Science with a focus on critical theory, correct?”

You nodded. Your voice nearly broke... nearly. “Yes, ma’am.”

She walked toward you with the feline poise of someone always a step ahead.

“And you’ve got a high GPA.” More a statement than a question.

“I do.” You held your posture. Whatever this was, you wouldn’t let Agatha see you waver.

Jennifer reached for the folder Agatha had been pressing to her chest like it held state secrets. Agatha swallowed hard, hands trembling as she handed it over. Barkley read something inside, then gave a slight, amused smile.

“You know what’s interesting? A young girl with your profile applying on her own for a political internship focused on image strategy… In my days everything was more difficult…” She looked nostalgic.

“I…” You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

What were you supposed to say? Deny it in front of everyone and destroy your career before it even began?

“What was that, dear?” Jennifer looked straight at you. “You applied, didn’t you?”

Ice shot down your spine.

No, you hadn’t applied. But you didn’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

Lying felt entirely appropriate.

Jennifer smiled, pleased. “Good. Because I’ve just decided you’ll be with me in the image department.”

A short silence, thick as oil. And you saw Agatha react. Subtle—just a slight lift of her chin, like she’d been slapped.

You couldn’t help it.

You smiled back, small and sharp.

You wouldn’t be intimidated by those hypnotic blue-green eyes.

As the rest of the interns were assigned, you barely heard the names. Your mind spun around everything that wasn’t being said.

Jennifer started speaking again, something about “ethics and public image.”

But all you could think was: she’s angry. Angry at you, like she has the right.

And you?

You were tired of feeling smaller than you were.

If she wanted to pretend that night never happened… fine! Great, really! But let it be clear you will not be another piece on her board.

You were here to play too.

[...]

"I still can't believe she chose me." You said, leaning against one of the lobby columns, the intern badge hanging from your neck, and your heart pounding like you had just stepped out of a boxing ring.

Billy, next to you, held two iced coffees—one for him, one for you. He had that smug little smile, the kind that screamed I told you so.

“See? I told you you had potential. And…” he handed you the cup, his hands as shaky as his voice, “that’s why I signed you up.”

You turned to him slowly. “Excuse me, what?”

He raised his hands in a dramatic gesture of surrender.

“Look, you were going to waste this opportunity over your idealistic identity-pride thing, which is great, it really is! But it doesn’t guarantee success, let alone a stable career. And you know Barkley is a legend. I just… anticipated the inevitable. You were born for this!”

You stayed quiet for a moment. He wasn’t exactly wrong, but your pride still stung. “Billy!”

“Yes, I lied to you. And no, I don’t regret it! Because look at where you are now. Image department, handpicked by Barkley herself. And…” he leaned in like confessing a charming crime, “you’re glowing, and I know you felt it too! Don’t even try to deny it!”

You scoffed, but a smile slipped out. “You little shit.”

“Yes. A visionary little shit.” He clinked his cup against yours in a toast and winked. “Go enjoy the moment, but don’t disappear on me, okay?”

“To the moon and back, remember?” you said, raising your cup.

“To the moon and back." Billy echoed, tapping his cup to yours.

“I need to pee. Caffeine’s killing me,” you said, tossing the cup into the trash.

Billy nodded as he watched you walk away, your heart finally slowing down a bit. But it wasn’t enough, you needed more.

Silence. Air.

You walked into the women’s bathroom, your head buzzing, thoughts crashing into each other. The faint scent of soap, distant voices echoing from the hallway… everything felt louder, more intense.

You braced your hands on the sink, staring at your reflection.

Shit. Too much happening.

Jennifer had chosen you.

Agatha was there.

A governor candidate. That look. That touch. Everything came back like a storm.

The soft click of the doorknob echoed through the bathroom. A discreet sound, but heavy with weight. You didn’t even look up at first—too busy trying to breathe, trying to digest the day, trying to make sense of the universe’s twisted humor.

But then you saw them.

Two crystal-blue, grey-green eyes. 

Fixed. 

Sharp, ready to cut.

Agatha Harkness stood in front of you, and there was nowhere left to run.

The door shut behind her with a muffled thud, like sealing fate within those four walls.

There was no audience now. No team, no protocol, no filter to soften her presence. Just the two of you and a silence thick as smoke.

She didn’t speak right away, she just stared.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Her voice was lower than you expected. Deep. Tense. And still, absurdly sensual. The voice that still haunted your silent nights, two weeks after that damn night.

And then she said:

“Melinda.”

Your heart stopped for a second.

That name.

The name that only existed in that bar, on that night, in that kiss that stole your air and your reason.

How did she know?

You saw her hand move—precise, restrained—slipping into the inner pocket of her blazer. When it came back out, she tossed something into the sink with a gesture tight but full of venom.

The fake ID.

The fucking fake ID.

Holy shit.

The plastic hit the sink with a soft snap, but it sounded like thunder in your ears.

“You dropped this, honey.”

The venom was in her voice. In the honey. In the way she threw each syllable like a dagger.

You swallowed hard, but refused to back down.

“Before or after I fucked you, Governor Harkness?”

The older woman’s eyes burned into yours; she took dangerous steps forward, like a calculating feline.

"Exactly. Candidate. And soon-to-be Governor of Washington," she said, her voice thick with arrogance. "I could walk straight to Jennifer right now and have you thrown out of this building."

You felt your blood heat, your entire body bracing against the threat.

But you didn’t move an inch.

You stepped forward too.

Lifting your chin high, every ounce of wounded pride bleeding through your skin.

"Or," you said coldly, "I could find any half-assed journalist and tell them I was harassed by the next governor of Washington." A razor-edged smile curved on your lips. "You’d look incredible on the front page of The Times, don’t you think?"

Her jaw clenched. For just a second—just long enough—you saw the hesitation flash in her eyes.

"It’d be your word against mine. No proof. Just rumors."

"You’re a woman. In politics," you said, each word a slow, deliberate blow. "You really think that’s not enough to bury you alive? I thought you were smarter than that."

Bingo.

You saw the fracture crack wide open across her perfect facade.

And for a moment—you won.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" she spat again, already pulling away from you.

"I didn’t actually apply for this, if that’s what you’re thinking." The words spilled out of you, part defense, part confession.

"I don’t give a fuck." She snarled, but her voice broke on the last word—and that crack, that tiny fracture, made your bitter smile bloom.

You let out a harsh, humorless laugh.

"Do they know you talk like this?" you taunted. "Do they know the perfect family woman, the champion of traditional values, the flawless public figure has such a filthy fucking mouth?"

She sucked in a breath, fighting something you could almost taste in the air between you.

"No, of course they don’t." You pressed harder. "They have no idea you like to fuck college girls up against emergency exits and toss them away like trash afterward."

The explosion in her eyes came fast.

The slap was faster.

It cracked through the silent bathroom like a gunshot, your head snapping to the side, your cheek burning, throbbing. You hit the wall, cold tile against your skin.

Silence.

Then, low and vicious between gritted teeth. "Fuck you."

Slowly, with every ounce of dignity you had left, you turned back to her.

Rage and pride burning in your chest.

"I say that." You whispered, your voice like a knife sliding between her ribs.

"You’re going to stay away from me. Got it?" she hissed, stepping closer, close enough for you to feel the fury radiating off her. "You’ll do what you’re told. You’ll look at anything—anyone—but me. You won’t even think about me."

You let your gaze roam across her face. The tense brows.The tight lines bracketing her furious eyes. The way her lips trembled—betraying words she couldn’t say out loud.

But your traitorous eyes drifted lower.

To her mouth.

That mouth. The one you could still feel against your skin. The one you hadn’t forgotten for a single fucking second.

"Oh, don’t worry, Governor," you breathed, voice thick with mockery and something far darker. "I’ll be your nothing.”

[...]

The first day was nothing but meetings, introductions, and assignments. Jennifer was terrifying—but that was what being a woman in politics meant. You knew damn well that if Barkley were a man, she’d have her dick sucked. 

You stormed into the dorm. Hands still trembling, face still aching.

Agatha.

Fuck her.

You walked in to find Carol sprawled on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table, laptop balanced on her thighs.

Come here and sit next to me

Don't look at me while I'm breaking

After what I'm gonna say

I understand if you hate me

You moved toward her violently, ripping the laptop off her lap and climbing on top of her.

“What the—”

Carol tasted hot, impatient. Her mouth rushed to meet yours, but it wasn’t her you wanted. She wasn’t the one burning like fire in your chest.

It was Agatha.

What do I do when I love you and want somebody else?

What do I lose if I don't choose and keep it to myself?

Agatha with her blade-sharp eyes. With the slap that still tingled on your cheek. With poison in her voice. With the silence that followed after she touched you like you belonged to her.

You needed to forget.

But everything inside you begged to remember.

Carol’s hands gripped your waist as you straddled her, your thighs clenching her sides with barely restrained desperation. She tried to speak, but your mouth silenced her. You wanted to swallow the quiet. Swallow the echo of that voice still ringing in your head.

“Please…” you whispered.

“So needy…” Her fingers dug into your hips, nails biting into your skin. “Missed me that much, huh?”

You didn’t answer, you couldn’t. If you opened your mouth, you’d moan her name and that was unacceptable.

Instead, you bit Carol’s shoulder hard and she let out a little grunt.

“Ah, you little bitch—” she snarled, flipping you over, reversing your positions.

There was something dangerous in her eyes now.

“What do you want?” she whispered, gripping your jaw tightly between her fingers.

You took a deep breath, the taste of iron blooming on your tongue—blood, maybe, or just the ghost of Agatha’s slap.

You took Carol’s hand to your cheek, felt the warmth of her palm, then dragged your tongue across it in one slow, open stroke.

“Hit me.”

I got bad, bad, bad kind of butterflies

Like when you got something to hide

Lies, tellin' you that I'm alright

Tonight, tonight

Bad, bad butterflies in my chest

There's something I gotta confess

Yes, somebody's stuck in my head

And I, and I

Carol smiled. Slow, sadistic and delighted.

“You’re so fucking hot when you beg like that…”

Her hand cracked across your face hard enough to make your ears ring.

You moaned, eyes fluttering shut—and there she was again.

Agatha. Agatha. Agatha. Agatha. 

Her sharp nose, those glacial blue eyes, the impassive expression as her hand met your skin.

Carol slapped you again, and you arched beneath her, lost between pain and ecstasy.

“More.”

I know I said we were friends

And when I said that, I meant it (swear, I meant it)

Somewhere between now and then

It became more than just a friendship

She obeyed. Each slap heavier than the last and finally, you let the tears fall. Because this is what you deserved, wasn’t it? After today. After her. You needed to feel closer to her.

Carol grabbed your hair, yanked your head up to meet her gaze—but all you saw was Agatha.

“You’re mine,” she growled.

You smiled, trembling, and lied.

“Yes.”

What do I do when I love you and want somebody else?

What do I lose if I don't choose and keep it to myself?

But in your heart, as Carol used you, as her nails dragged down your back, you were thinking of only one thing.

Agatha would do it better.

“You’re completely fucking insane,” Carol laughed, her hand still tangled in your hair. “And I love it. I love you, baby girl.”

These words. They were all you ever wanted to hear from her, but now, that didn’t matter anymore.

I got bad, bad, bad kind of butterflies

Like when you got something to hide

Lies, tellin' you that I'm alright

Tonight, tonight

Bad, bad butterflies in my chest

There's something I gotta confess

Yes, somebody's stuck in my head

And I, and I

 

You crashed back into her, hands digging into her sides like you could rip something out of her that might finally erase her. But there was no space inside you for Carol anymore. 

Not now, not ever.

Because it was Agatha clinging to your skin.

Agatha, with her expensive blazer. With her razor-sharp disdain. With fingers that had already been clinging to you.

You moaned against Carol’s neck, eyes squeezed shut, searching for relief that never came.

Come here and sit next to me

You tell me: Baby, just say it (say it, say it)

Warnin' me it's a mistake

I just know I gotta make it

“You’re so sexy when you’re like this,” she whispered, awed by your raw hunger. “What happened, princess? Someone humiliated you again?”

You moaned softly against her lips, letting the sound escape like a release. But it wasn’t. It was a prison, a fucking dark cave you’d clawed out with your own hands.

“Shh… it’s okay.” She kissed your eyelid, pressing her knee hard between your legs. “Carol’s gonna give her little slut what she wants, real humiliation.”

You didn’t answer. Just shut your eyes tighter, turned your face away. Blood rushed cruel and hot under your skin.

And there they were.

Those blue-green eyes.

That strong nose.

That mouth that devoured you like it wanted to destroy you.

Real humiliation. Yes. Agatha would say that. Agatha would do all that.

But without pleasure, with coldness.

And better, oh, you were so sure.  

With that quiet fire that burned on the inside—and burned you, too.

Bad, bad, bad kind of butterflies

Like when you got something to hide

Lies, tellin' you that I'm alright

Tonight, tonight

Bad, bad butterflies in my chest

There's something I gotta confess

Yes, somebody's stuck in my head

and I, and I

Carol was there, touching your body, marking your skin. However, Agatha owned your mind.It was her face you saw with every sting of pain. She was the one shaping the hollow inside you.

And you gave in. Not because you wanted to, but because you needed the bottom. You needed to hit the floor of shame, rage, and desire—all at once. You needed something to break, even if it was you.

And when it was all over—when the living room was silent and all you could hear was your own heart pounding inside your ribs—you pulled away from Carol’s hot body and stared at the ceiling.

Eyes empty. 

Mouth slightly open.

Still aching. Still pulsing.

Alive.

You knew.

There was no turning back.

Not after what you’d done. Not after what you let happen tonight.

If Agatha Harkness thought she could show up, fuck you with her eyes, then toss you aside like you were nothing. if she thought she can mark you and then pretend she's never touched you before.

Then let her come.

Let her bring the poison.

Let her bring those icy and silent eyes full of war.

Because if it’s war she wants…

It’s war she’ll get.

Even if it consumes you.

Even if it destroys everything.

~*~

Poor R... the Harkness hurricane is already making her all crazy.

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