#if this gets one like I will take the quiz myself

[beneaththebirches]

Liability: Part 1

Pairing: College Student!Rafe Cameron x Cousenlor!Reader

Summary: Rafe gets himself into a bit of a bind with one of the professors at Duke and is forced to see an on-campus counselor, someone he was very set on hating. But she’s extremely hard to hate.

Warnings: Language, mentions of violence, mentions of drugs.

A/n: First of all, I want to mention that this fic is an AU type fic; it will only include Rafe’s mildly destructive behavior and daddy issues but this does not follow allow with the Outerbanks storyline. This is a repost from my original account @sublimecatgalaxy!

“So, what brought you to Duke?” 

My head tilts curiously at him, eyes trailing over his frame as he desperately tries to not tremble like a leaf. He’s either drunk, high or anxious (or all of the above), his eyes flickering around the dimly lit room, his eyes momentarily locking with the lava lamp in the corner of the room. When he looks around, he chooses to not look directly at me but instead at the wall behind me, knee bouncing anxiously as he reaches up to rub at the back of his neck. 

He resembles something close to agitation or anxiety and has since he walked in the room twenty minutes ago, not caring to say hi or introducing himself but instead just sat down on the couch across from me and decided to take his sentence in silence. It’s to be expected, especially from someone with his track record. I heard a little bit about him from the other faculty in the office and his professors, mixed reviews on his behavior but how, miraculously, his grades show the opposite.

Crossing my legs, I ready the notebook in my lap, pen tapping against the paper as I wait for him to answer my nth question of the night. After a few minutes of uncomfortable and unfortunate silence, he clears his throat and takes a deep breath before adjusting himself on the couch, eyes flickering up to look at the ticking clock on the wall.

“‘s a good college.” He shrugs simply, eyes flickering up to mine briefly as I let out a small sigh of relief at the sound of his deep voice. His back cracks as he leans back into the couch, biting at his lip as he watches my pen scribble aimlessly across my notepad. I can tell he wants to ask what I’m writing, which is the reason why I lifted the pen to draw a simple smiley face in the first place, knowing the thought of me analyzing him would drive him crazy.

“I’ve seen your grades, you should be proud.” The shocked uptick of his brows makes me laugh quietly to myself, taken back by his response to the simple praise. He nods sternly, a faint blush spreading across the tops of his cheekbones. “So why the self sabotage?” I quiz and his brows furrow cutely.

“What?”

“Keying a professor’s car?” His eyes immediately roll at the recollection of his transgressions, the events that brought him to my office three times a week. There’s a part of me that thinks he’s embarrassed, eyes low as he toys with the thick ring on his thumb but I can see the desperate need to defend himself behind his eyes, but instead he chooses the path of least resistance. 

“Got angry.” He answers simply but it’s not enough for me.

“Yeah, you have a history of that.” I sigh, placing his records on the table in front of him, giving up the gimmick of ‘good cop’, trying to get through to him as a counselor, but it took very little time to realize my coworkers were right- he’d never trust my authority- the little authority I have. He picks the papers up tentatively, almost looking at me with a ‘should I be seeing this?’ look but indulges anyways, flipping through the pages with a tight jar.

Folding my legs beneath me, a sad smile spreads across my lips as he tosses the sheets back onto the table in front of me, his fists clenching in his lap. I can’t tell if his anger stems from insecurities regarding his own actions or if he’s angry that others have had a view into his darker past. I can tell that he’s a closed off guy, that he doesn’t open up unless it’s mandatory and even then, he attempts desperately to not share, to not open up. 

“Look, Rafe, you have to do this- talk to me, I mean. You’re lucky you got mandatory counseling instead of mandatory jail time.” I laugh, trying to desperately ease the tension in the room but he doesn’t crack, just stares down at the packet of paper between us with uneasy eyes. But after a few minutes, my staring breaks through his tough exterior, a heavy sigh leaving him as he finally looks up at me, taken back by my comfortable stance. He mirrors me, folding a leg over his other before tossing his hands up in surrender.

“What do you want from me?” 

“Answer the questions I’ve gotta ask you, ask questions of your own- hell, talk about football or something that’s bugging you.” He cringes at the offer, his eyes fluttering shut to briefly imagine what it would be like if he had taken the punishment the professor originally wanted to force upon him but instead he’s stuck with the peppiest counselor he’ll ever encounter. 

“Are you an actual therapist?” He asks curiously, attempting to take a jab at my credentials but my smile only grows, happy that he’s taking a step in the right direction. 

“I have a masters degree in psychology.” My finger jabs up at the wall to his left, blue eyes following my direction to three diplomas on the wall.

I certainly never expected to end up in a university, tending to the most fucked up age group in the country- my generation. I wanted to go into forensics, to get into the grittiness of the mental psyche but you’d be amazed by the messed up shit you see on college campuses- the dorms, the streets late at night, the blackmail and betrayals. Some of the students that I see, like Rafe, are in mandatory counseling, probably to heal from academic issues or destructive tendencies. But others are girls looking for a way out of toxic relationships, young students who wish so desperately to come out to their parents, or the occasional meltdown where a student just needs me to listen.

 Maybe Rafe needs someone to just listen.

Either way, I’d never go back and change anything that led me to this couch right now.

“A masters- how old are you anyways?” He asks, suddenly confused at the math as he leans towards the diploma to look at the year it was dated. With a shocked huff, he turns back to me with wide eyes, elbows resting on his knees and I let out a small bashful laugh.

“I’m 23.” 

“Oh.” He mutters, shifting in his seat before adding, “I’m 20.” A fond smile stretches across my lips at his subtle attempt to connect, his quiet voice almost boyish and innocent. I’m not sure the connection was intentional or if he’s sizing me up but either way, the realization in our closeness in age sparks something in him, his discomfort seeming to fade more and more as our times goes on.

“I know. I have your chart.” I lift the binder from beside me into the air, waving it back and forth.

“What else is in there?” He asks, fingers rubbing along his jaw as his eyes seem to focus on his name that’s spelled across the front of the binder in big black letters.

“You’re 20, you have a 3.6 GPA, you’re majoring in Developmental Psych- which is interesting to me.” I snort, wanting nothing but to dive deeper into his psyche and understand why a smart, handsome athlete is majoring in something as specific as developmental psychology. They say people go into a psych degree to learn something about themselves, their past or their family. So, in Rafe’s case, which is it? “You’re a tight-end on our varsity football team, you came from the Outer Banks-” There’s a sense of tension that thickens the atmosphere around us at the mention of his hometown, his shoulders rolling and head tilting so he can direct his attention out the window to look at the setting sun,  his strong jaw squared. “I can also see that you spent two nights in jail, you’ve been arrested for drug possession and illegal possession of a weapon-” 

“You’ve got my full rap-sheet over there?” He snaps, voice no longer playful but instead he’s seething, brows furrowed as I pause, eyes widening at him briefly, almost asking him ‘may I continue’ without actually saying it. I fight the urge to ask him all of my questions at once; ‘why are you such a troublemaker?’, ‘why the need for drugs?’, ‘why’d you leave your hometown?’- but instead I bite my tongue.

“You’re not giving me anything else to go off of.” I whisper tiredly, anxiously looking up at the clock, wondering if we’ll even end up getting anywhere in this session and/or if I’ll be able to count it as a part of his punishment. A look of realization passes through his expression, his handsome face relaxing with a gentle nod. “You’re not exactly an open book.” He smiles sadly to himself, eyes focused down at his lap.

Take the path of least resistance, Rafe.

“What do you wanna know?” He gives in, clasping his hands in front of him as I grin, prepared to take full advantage of my power and make him laugh, something I’ve heard he doesn’t do often.

“What’s your favorite color-”

“Oh now you’ve overstepped.” He says, dead serious, but after a few moments of silence he breaks into quiet laughter, a shocked scoff leaving me at his teasing. “My favorite color- really? I keyed a car and this is my punishment?” He asks incredulously, scooting to the edge of his seat, the distance between us only lessening as I bite back a nervous smile, focusing on the job at hand- my job at hand.

“The point of counseling is to have breakthroughs and to form a relationship based on trust and open communication.” He cringes at my explanation, a look of discomfort passing through his eyes as he sucks in a breath. “You don’t seem like the trusting type but I’m willing to take my time.” My voice comes out ten times more flirtatious than I intended it to but it causes his whole body to pause, eyes looking up at me with a teasing look, the gears behind his eyes to turn. “To be honest, I have a bit of a habit of growing on people.” He snorts, biting at his lip.

“I gathered that.” He breathes, running his fingers through his hair before giving it a small tug.

“Are you saying I’m growing on you, Cameron- it’s been like a half an hour.” I tease, loving the innocent blush that covers his pale cheeks as he instantly tries to deny, head shaking immediately in defiance. It’s hard to imagine him doing all of the bad things I know he’s done, things that are more extreme and way beyond vandalism. He seems almost awkward at times, boyish and bashful as he’s slowly sinking into the comfort of my office and my prying- far from the man depicted in his records. 

“New record?”

“New record for sure.”

“Does that mean I’m free to go?” He quizzes and he blows out a breath, rubbing his clammy hands against the tops of his jeans. I ponder letting him go ten minutes early but there’s a part of me that isn’t quite ready to set him free from my clutches just yet.

“Sure.” His eyes light up at my agreement but before he can stand, I hold up a pointed finger at him, urging him to sit his butt back down. “On one condition.” He agrees almost immediately before knowing my true demand, head bobbing in an agreeable nod.

“Shoot.”

“Hand over your phone.” His face pales at my instructions, eyes staring at my open palm that sticks out to him, waiting for him to do what I said. He looks like a deer in headlights right before a catastrophic crash, tongue slipping out to wet his cracked lips as he stutters.

“Wha-”

“Give it.” I ask again, stern voice forcing a shaky, nervous laugh from him as he goes fishing in his pocket. He hands it over to me without any questions, his eyes watching me like a hawk as I go into his contacts, adding myself as ‘best counselor’.  “Only call or text if you’re having an emotional emergency and/or feel like doing something mildly self destructive.” I laugh but as I hand back his phone, he just shakes his head, brows furrowed in confusion as he stares down at the contact. 

“Why?” 

“Why what?” I ask and he shrugs. “Why care?” The nod he gives me is almost sad, my heart aching in my chest at the thought of him being so out of touch when it comes to having people that care about him, people that want to see him succeed and to not key professors’ cars. “Because, it’s what I do. Get used to it.” Slipping his phone back into his pocket, I make my way to my feet and he does the same, awkwardly shuffling towards the door. His hand hesitates to reach out towards the handle, neck craning to look back at me with a desperate expression.

“You know that’s like asking a fish to breathe air, right?”

“Better learn.” I shrug, crossing my arms across my chest as he huffs, pouting like a child. Reaching out, I push him playfully towards the door as he groans, head tilting back at his steps out into the busy hallway. “Behave!”

“You got it!”What a liar.

[the-void-has-questions]

So. I made a uquiz-

I think it’s functional??? I HOPE it’s functional- anyways if you take it lemme know what you get!! Or if it’s totally broken!!

[undyinglantern]

being closer to your 30s than 20s and having nothing to show for it is so

[asterdeer]

i took that raads???? autism test and got a decently highish score, like the “strong suggestion of autism” range, but then i took the masking quiz and got a 150 when the average score for nonbinary neurodivergents is 122. so. is that anything

[legoflowers]

choosing my major via ig poll

[shatterthefragments]

I SWEAR TO FUCK IF HE DOESNT FUCKING RESPOND THOUGH

[lyricalambrosia]

Quick update about where things currently stand regarding my writing:

College has really picked up the last 2 weeks, so i find myself swamped with assignments that leave me very little time to do much else between those and personal responsibilities. When i do have free time, I try to spend it relaxing by playing some of the new games that have come out recently, and other times i try to write where i can.

All this is to say that progress on cyfts is going extremely slowly, and i likely won't be able to participate in millionsummers week like i wanted to :/ i am still making progress on cyfts, but i think thats the only thing i can manage to work on right now because i simply do not have the time to start other projects.

[wqnwoos]

Your first and only semester as TA throws your previously unassuming college life into disarray, fuelled almost entirely by the brown-eyed and charming student who’s slipping closer to failing with every lecture. And in return for your mathematical assistance, Lee Chan decides he’s going to set you up with the guy you’ve been persistently pining over for a year and a half. It’s a simple equation: you teach him calculus, and he’ll teach you how to flirt. Except, as you’re both quick to discover, mathematical equations don’t translate over to real life as easily as you’d expect.

as part of the svt ta collab hosted by @camandemstudios !

⇢ pairing: lee chan x ta!reader

⇢ genre: fluff, idiots2lovers, minor angst?

⇢ wc: 10.2k (i’m just as surprised as u are)

⇢ a/n: so many people to thank (the whole collab server for all the sprinting!!) but especial thank u to cam (@/highvern) and em (@/gyuswhore) for hosting this collab. they put SO much work into this and i couldn’t be more grateful to be part of it, so thank you both for everything!!! and thank you to alta (@/haologram) for being my first official beta ever and managing to convince me to not trash the whole thing <3

“I NEED YOUR help.”

Those are probably the last four words you expect to come out of Lee Chan’s mouth. Because you’ve graded his assignments and you’ve seen his work and you’re pretty sure he’s doing above average in the calculus class you’re TA’ing this semester. 

So when he manages to corner you after one of the lectures to ask for some extra tutoring, you’re startled, to say the least. “You need my help?”

He nods, once. You cock your head to the side, and your surprise must show on your face, because he fishes a slightly crumpled looking paper out of his bag. You recognise it as the latest quiz, one that, fortunately, landed on the other TA’s marking pile. Scrawled at the very top, in Joshua’s unforgiving red pen, is a glaringly large ‘F - 27%’.

“It was only a pop quiz,” you say encouragingly, hiding your sympathetic wince. “Doesn’t count for anything.”

“I can’t afford to let my grades slip,” he counters quickly, like he’s prepared for this. “Which they are And I really don’t get this module. I just think some extra time could help, but I’m terrible at teaching myself.”

You look at him for a long moment. He can’t be more than a year or two younger than you, this boy with eager brown eyes and a hopeful smile; it’s almost charming, how he leans forward in anticipation of your reply, how worried he is about one small test. And — well. You’ve seen the grade sheets, and his grades are slipping. Not drastically, but this is your job, after all.

“Well,” you say finally, glancing at your watch. “Why don’t you come to the office hours tomorrow, and we’ll go over the quiz? And we can go from there.”

He smiles then, so sudden and bright you almost feel caught in it. “Perfect!” he agrees, as he takes his quiz back, shoving it haphazardly into his bag. “I’ll see you then. Oh, wait — my name’s Chan, by the way.”

You cast him an amused look as you zip up your own bag. “I know that.”

“Oh! Cool! Nice! That’s — yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow!” And as he backs away he stumbles over his own feet, catching himself before he topples over. He sends you a sheepish, flushed smile that makes you smile too. You’re always quick to smile at the students, and you send off the younger boy with a wave. Despite being a math major who loves her subject, you know just how much people despise it. Especially calculus.

“What’s got you thinking so hard?” A light voice interrupts your thoughts, and you jump, before turning to face Hong Joshua with a smile just as sheepish as Lee Chan’s was only moments ago.

“Nothing much,” you say, laughing awkwardly. Trying to look anywhere but at his honey brown eyes, you shuffle papers as you continue. “Just about how much people hate math.”

Joshua smiles that breathtaking smile, and your stomach quite literally does a flip. “Why? People bullying you for being smart again?”

You’d mentioned to him that you got made fun of in high school once for liking math. He refuses to let it go: you roll your eyes at him. “No. It was just a train of thought.”

“People who hate math are just not as cool as us,” he says, picking up his own folder, flashing you another smile.

(Us. Your stomach could be Simone Biles, with the amount of somersaults it’s landing today.)

“But anyway,” he continues, checking the time with a frown, “I gotta go. I’ll see you around, dude.”

Dude. There it is: just as quickly as you inflate, you deflate, watching him leave with a wrinkled brow. The problem with Hong Joshua is that he makes it incredibly easy to fall for him — and all the while, he’ll remain incredibly oblivious. You’re just another one of the sorry suckers who isn’t careful enough to nip it in the bud. But really, can you be blamed, when he looks like that? When he acts like that, all sweet and caring and let-me-hold-open-the-door-for-you?

You snap yourself out of your reverie with a sigh. Back to reality, as your mother always says — and your reality is the pile of algebra waiting for you back home.

“What I don’t understand,” Seungkwan says thoughtfully, pacing Chan’s room with his hands folded behind his back, “is why you’re putting on cologne to go to office hours.”

Chan hears the know-it-all tone under his roommate’s pretension, and he resents it. Running a final hand through his hair, and glancing himself over in the mirror one more time, he turns back to Seungkwan with a frustrated scoff. “Does it matter?”

“A problem shared is a problem halved,” Seungkwan wheedles, “In this case, it’d be a problem thirded. Three’d. You know what I mean - there’s three of us to share your problem. Right, Vernon?”

Vernon just blinks from his seat on Chan’s bed, slow and confused. “I don’t really know what we’re talking about. But sure.”

“Nothing,” Chan answers brutally, snatching up his bag. “We’re talking about nothing. Because I don’t have a problem, and Seungkwan’s just being nosy.”

“Look at him!” Seungkwan gesticulates loudly to Vernon, “look how dressed up he is. For class — for calculus! Nobody dresses up for calculus!”

“Ahhh,” Vernon nods slowly, drawing it out; and then he pauses, furrows his brows and asks mildly, “But isn’t that just because he has a crush on his TA?”

Chan hisses; Seungkwan triumphs. “I knew it!” he declares with glee, “I knew there was something! Who is she? Do you have a picture?”

“Nobody,” Chan grinds out, grabbing his backpack and jamming his feet into his worn-out shoes, casting Vernon a resentful look. “And I do not have a picture. But if I did, I wouldn’t show you. Goodbye.” And with that magnificent gesture, he shuts the door firmly behind him.

He’s not late to office hours. He never is. In fact, he’s three minutes early, but you’re already there, along with one or two other classmates he knows by sight but not by name. You’re leaning over one of their desks, talking rapidly as you gesture to the papers in front of them, lanyard swinging.

Chan doesn’t have a crush on you, contrary to what seems to be popular belief. Well. Not a big one. Like, a teensy tiny one, maybe. He thinks you’re pretty, and you’re smart, and you’re incredibly kind. But does he have a crush on you? No. Are his intentions here solely to get to know you better, in order to have a crush on you? Yes. In fact, that’s exactly what this is. Pursuing the butterflies in his stomach. Just out of interest, he reminds himself, as he pushes open the door and you turn around. Pure, innocent interest.

Within an hour of his entrance, you’ve explained every one of Chan’s mistakes — and there were a lot — in digestible detail. Twice as efficient and twice as digestible as Lee, the old, weak-voiced professor with an evidently wrong glasses prescription. He says as much to you, which has you laughing and shaking your head. (“Don’t,” you scold, even as you smile, “he’s so nice, though.”)

The professor is nice. Chan thinks you’re nicer.

He leaves office hours even brighter than he entered. Those butterflies are multiplying.

And, as it turns out in the very next week, when there’s yet another pop quiz — Chan is under the suspicion that Professor Lee doesn’t plan his lessons and just shoves last year’s quizzes at them instead —  he does actually need your help. His grades are getting worse. There’s always the other TA, Joshua, who Chan actually happens to know, but Chan thinks that his half-crush is worth following up on. At the very least, you could be a good friend.

Is pretending to need calculus tutoring in order to get to know a girl his finest moment? No. Because as much as he tries to justify this with his slipping grades, he knows perfectly well he could be doing excellently (well, averagely) if he put a little more effort in. But is that as appealing as the TA with the best laugh he’s ever heard? And so, somehow, with impressive persuasive skills he probably picked up from Jeonghan by accident, Chan manages to wheedle you into tutoring him, smiling as you hmm’ed and haa’ed and bit your lip nervously. 

“I’ve got a full list already,” you had said slowly, and he’d jumped in before you could go down the route of polite refusal.

“I know, I know, but seriously — I’ll be the best student you’ve ever had! I’m a good learner, I swear. I can study whenever you want.” 

Which is how he landed himself early morning sessions — and when you said early, you weren’t kidding. The times you’ve scheduled for him to start range between eight to ten, and he specifically didn’t book morning classes this semester because he loves his sleep. But still: his grades are slipping, and there’s a cute girl on the line, so he takes his success with warmth  — or perhaps it’s just the thought of spending more time with you, but whatever it is, he feels like he’s glowing, inside out. 

Your first tutoring session with Lee Chan goes surprisingly well. The moment he began halfway guilt tripping  you into tutoring him (“Imagine if my grades slip so far, I don’t get to graduate on time. Could you live with that?”), you knew he was something. And somehow, you still agreed to this, despite being loaded with all the shit a master’s student has on their plate, on top of TA’ing. Maybe you should work on saying no sometimes, but who are you kidding? You don’t have time to deal with your possibly self-destructive flaws, not when your to-do list is three miles long 

Despite your qualms, however, Chan turns out to be a great listener. He doesn’t act pissy when you tell him he’s doing something wrong, either, which is already better than half your students. 

“I probably seem really stupid,” he says with a quiet laugh, as he re-attempts a question from the last quiz.

“Not at all,” you say instantly. “Don’t tell Lee, but calculus is the worst, anyway.”

He lifts his head with curved lips — “Oh? From the words of the mathematical extraordinaire herself?” 

Immediately, you’re growing hot, shaking your head and laughing, looking away. “Oh, come on. Don’t call me that.”

Chan’s eyes don’t move from yours — it’s like you can physically feel the weight of his gaze, sometimes. You’ve never met someone with so much… presence. “Why not?” he asks. “Own it. Professor Lee says that about you all the time.”

“Okay, not me specifically,” you correct quickly, “he says that about Joshua too.”

Chan clicks his tongue dismissively. “Yeah, but Joshua’s a piece of shit anyway, so…”

Your surprise must be visible on your face, because when Chan looks back at you, he laughs out loud, louder than the other students in the library are happy with; they cast him dirty looks, but it’s like they bounce straight off him. He only lowers his voice a little, leaning closer. “Joshua and I are friends,” he explains, amused, “I’m not serious. But anyway, if you don’t even like calculus, what are you doing TA’ing it?”

You shrug. “I don’t know, just… Lee asked me to, so I was like, why not?”

“I can’t imagine anything worse,” Chan says bluntly, “than teaching a bunch of people how to integrate shit.”

A giggle slips out of you before you can prevent it; he makes you do that a lot. Laugh, without meaning to. “Well. That’s why I majored in Math. I don’t mind.” You hesitate. “What are you actually majoring in?”

His eyes do that thing again. Sparkle. He bites down on his lip, as if suppressing a smile. “Math.”

“What?” You can’t help it, you’re laughing again, louder this time and trying to stifle it. “You never said!”

“You never asked!” He mirrors your incredulous tone teasingly. 

“You just let me embarrass myself like that.”

“You didn’t do anything embarrassing.” 

You try to ignore his eyes on you again, picking up your pencil to doodle awkwardly in your notebook. “I thought you were like… on a sports program. Or in, like, accounting or something.”

Impossibly, his smile widens. “Those are two very different things.” 

The playful lilt to his tone does something to your stomach. “Have you finished your question yet?” You change the subject so sharply that he laughs again, sliding his notebook over to you.

You glance over it, blinking in surprise. “That’s perfect,” you say, pushing it back towards him. “Well done.”

That smile shifts into something more — well, if you didn’t know any better, you’d call it flirty. Lopsided and charming. “Yeah, well,” he says, packing up his stuff, “I‘ve got a great teacher.”

The tutoring sessions continue to pass much the same. Chan does his work, but keeps stopping to ask you all kinds of questions in between. Your favourite colour. Your favourite type of coffee. Your favourite movie, TV show, your hometown — somehow, his easy, open nature has you telling him all kinds of things, and more than that, you’re asking him all kinds of things in return.

“You know, I’m not like this with the rest of my tutoring roster,” you observe quietly, as you finish a story about your high school prom. “Like, at all.”

“Good!” he says, grinning at you. He’s wearing glasses today, you notice. He looks — nice. Cute. “That’d be like you’re cheating on me. I’m your favourite student.”

Slightly appalled, you nudge him. “Not true! I’ve never said that. I don’t play favourites.”

“I do,” he says just as swiftly. “I’m your favourite. I can tell.” He pats your hand. “It’s okay, you’re my favourite too.”

You pull your hand away, ignoring the swoop of your stomach. “Focus!”

“How am I supposed to focus when you’re right there?” 

“Easily,” you snap, “since you’re my favourite student.”

Chan positively beams when you say it, not even attempting to hide it as he returns to the problems in front of him. “As long as you can admit it.”

At the end of the session, Chan digs into his bag and slides a candy over to you, and you can’t help the smile that splits your face open. “No way,” you cry, picking it up, “I love these! How did you know?”

He smiles, not even glancing at the candy once, fixing his eyes on you. “You told me. Like, a week ago.”

You barely remember that Something swells up inside you, tight and hot and sweet. “Oh, wow. Thank you, Chan.” You hope he can hear how touched you are, because you can’t quite express it. 

“It’s nothing,” he says, with a small smile, one you can’t quite read. “We’re friends, right?”

“Yeah,” you say after the shortest of pauses. “Of course. We’re friends.”

He truly is something else. Almost your opposite, with his confidence and his openness and outright friendliness. You can’t quite put it into words, but something warm just pours out of him.

When you say as much to Minghao, your best friend, he laughs in your face. “Chan? Lee Chan?”

“He’s nice,” you protest lightly. Minghao somehow knows him, through Jeonghan or something or other. Briefly, you wonder how many people Chan knows — which really just proves your point. He’s annoyingly likeable, and even though you have to be forced to admit it, he is easily your favourite out of all the students you tutor. It’s barely even a competition; it’s not a competition. Your other students are fine, but they’re not quite Chan.

“Lee Chan is a little shit,” Minghao says with a hidden affection you’ve had to learn to detect. “But, yeah. He’s a good guy.” There’s a pause filled by the surrounding murmurs of people in the coffee shop you guys are in. It’s always overflowing with people, but it’s the only place that serves halfway decent herbal tea for Minghao, so the two of you always end up meeting here.

“How’s Joshua?” Minghao asks suddenly, doing the annoying thing where he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Still as sexy and gentlemanly as ever, is he?”

At the very mention of his name, you feel yourself growing hotter. “He’s fine,” you say shortly. “Busy.”

Your crush on Joshua has never been a secret from Minghao. Even if you’d wanted it to be, Minghao would’ve worked it out in two days, tops. But, as you keep reiterating, it’s just a stupid crush. It’ll fade. Just like your crush on Kim Hongjoong two years ago, and your crush on Kim Namjoon the year before that. You have a habit of letting things die out, and you’re very comfortable in that habit. 

“___,” Minghao says seriously, “you should tell him.”

“There are literally so many things I’d do before I confess. I’d rather memorise the proof of Fermat’s Last Theorem than do that.”

“You never know if you don’t try! And besides,” Minghao adds, softer, “even if he, you know, doesn’t feel that way, Joshua’s not... well, he won’t make you feel bad about anything. You guys can still be friends. Joshua’s nice.”

Which is the sentence that echoes in your head later that same day, when your meeting with Professor Lee and Joshua is over. Lee is long gone, leaving you and Joshua to go over a few minor details with your tutor schedules and office hour planning. Joshua just looks… really good, with all his files spread out in front of him, his silky voice talking about something stupid one of his tutees had done, his long, dyed hair slightly mussed. 

“…and then he asked me how to find where the line intercepts the asymptote!” he finishes, chuckling. You’re a little late with your laugh, too busy focussing on how the afternoon sun lights up his hair, making it look lighter than it actually is.

Joshua calls your name, his smile shifting into something more concerned. “Are you okay?”

Your words stumble into each other on their way out. “I — well, yeah. Fine. I’m fine — good. I’m good.”

You guys can still be friends. 

“Actually, Josh, I wanted to ask you something,” you say in a sudden emboldened rush. 

“Go for it,” he says, smile fading ever so slightly. “Everything okay?”

“I — ” You hesitate, and in that split second, your courage disappears. You stare at him, and your brain decides for you: unattainable. Untouchable. “I forgot,” you finish lamely, ducking your head and shuffling your papers. Surprisingly, you��re not quite at the level of mortification you thought you would be.

“Ookay,” Joshua drags out, still watching you with concern, before he shakes it off and starts to gather his things. “Well, just let me know if you remember. I’m here for you, okay? We’re friends, not just TAs!”

That fucking word again. Friends. Only this time, you realise suddenly, it barely even hurts. 

Maybe you’re just getting used to it.

“So…” Vernon says, sidling up to Chan in their shared kitchen, “how’s your TA?”

Chan sighs, looking mournfully at the spicy ramen he’d just made for himself. So much for peace. It must’ve been the smell that lured Vernon out of his bedroom, but he’s clearly an opportunist; killing two birds with one stone by prying into his life and poaching his food. “Joshua is fine.”

“That’s great, but I know that already,” Vernon says, as he helps himself to some of the ramen. Chan lets him, and that must be how his friend realises something is wrong, because he’s suddenly narrowing his eyes at Chan around his mouthful of noodles. “What is it? Did she turn you down?”

Chan drags out his words. “I haven’t said anything to her. She likes someone else. I can tell.”

Vernon considers this for a moment, characteristically quiet and contemplative. “Are you sure?”

“Well — not really. But I’m like, eighty percent sure? But also I don’t really know her that well, and Jeonghan once said to me she’s always super nice to everyone, so I don’t think she’s into me. But then I also don’t know if she’s into him either! Because she’s nice to me and him and apparently every motherfucker on the planet, so it’s, like, confusing, you know? But like. I think she is into him. She looks at him in a kinda way, so…”

Vernon chews with wide eyes. “Damn. That’s crazy, bro, what are you going to do?

Chan exhales deeply. “I don’t know. I think we’ll be better off as friends. I’ll probably just… give up.”

Vernon nods slowly, already backing away. “Good luck, dude. Here for you.” He raises an awkward fist in solidarity, and that’s when Chan glances at his bowl of ramen and realises it’s empty.

Chan allows himself one day to mope. He even cancels a session for the first time, shooting you a quick message to let you know he isn’t feeling great, and he wallows. Stays in bed the entire twenty four hours, scoffing all the ramen in the house, and now he owes Seungkwan and Vernon two packs each, but still — he feels better. He’s grateful he didn’t let it get too far, at the very least. You guys can still be friends, and one day this will be a funny joke he slips into conversation.

When he shows up to the next session, a few days later, he’s determined not to show any hint of awkwardness. He plunks his books down with a renewed energy, startling you as you take out your headphones. 

“I was going to ask if you’re feeling better,” you start dryly, “but I can see that’s clearly the case.”

“Yeah. Nothing big, I’m fine now,” he waves off your concern. Heartsick, maybe. It still twinges at him, when he sees your soft smile, faintly smells your trademark perfume, your colour coded notes in front of you. He doesn’t know when highlighters became so endearing, when he learnt that you always overuse the pastel green one. 

“Okay, so asymptotes,” you begin, and Chan scoots closer, a shit-eating grin on his face. 

“You’re my asymptote,” he says with solemn seriousness, “because I always tend towards you.” 

You fluster easily, Chan has noticed. You avoid his gaze, but you’re laughing, telling him how terrible his jokes are but still — you’re laughing.

Suddenly, in only a few minutes, the thought of getting over you is a lot more daunting than he imagined. You make it harder when you laugh at the stupid joke he quips a moment later, too; you always tell him he has an infectious laugh, but yours is like music to his ears, no matter how hard you try to suppress it in the library. 

“Come on,” you say, finally, gathering yourself together. “Asymptotes. It’s our last lesson for a bit. Are you going home for Thanksgiving?”

“Leaving tomorrow afternoon,” he confirms. “What about you?”

“Tomorrow morning,” you say. “Asymptotes will be the end of this chapter, so it’s perfect timing, really. We can start the new stuff after the break.”

Privately, Chan thinks the break really is perfect timing. He can wallow a little more, back at home with the comfort of his mother’s food and his father’s baseball reruns. He’ll come back ready to finish his tutoring, ace calculus, and be your friend. With firm emphasis on friend. For a moment, he considers you and Joshua as a couple, and honestly, as much as it stings, it’s cute. It makes sense. 

After the break, winter hits full force. Your first tutoring session at the library is with Chan, and you’re layered up to the max, treating yourself to coffee as a shield against the bite of the cold outside. Vaguely, you remember Chan saying something about how he only drinks lattes hot, and so you order one for him too, taking extra packets of sugar and a stirring spoon on your way out. You know he likes to do the sugar himself.

“I’m late, I know.” You shrug off your coat when you arrive at your guys’ usual table, shaking the raindrops off your coat and hair with an apologetic smile. “It literally started pouring just two minutes before I got here, but here — coffee.” You unload your arms on the table in front of him, slightly breathless, tugging a hand through your untamed hair. 

You catch Chan looking at you, something unreadable in his gaze, and you wince. “Sorry,” you apologise again.

“It’s okay,” he says, “I’ve just — I’ve never seen you so…”

“Messy?” you finish, laughing half self-consciously.

“Disorganised,” he corrects, and it feels gentler. “You’re kind of, like, windswept?” He pauses, quieter. “You look — pretty.”

You ran to the library a solid ten minutes ago. Your heart shouldn’t still be beating this fast. “Thank you,” you reply, just as quietly. There’s silence for a beat, fraught with some sort of tension, before you slap the textbook with too much enthusiasm, “So, uh, next chapter!”

“Next chapter,” he agrees quickly, and just like that, the weirdness dissipates, and it’s just you and Chan.

At least, until Joshua steps in the library. He’s browsing the section near you; you see him before he sees you, but only by a few seconds. You just have enough time to think how cute his scarf is, and then his eyes fall on you and Chan, and he waves with a smile. 

You wave back as he nears the table. “I don’t want to interrupt,” Joshua explains quickly, “just wanted to say hi. To both of you. How’s it going?” He directs his question to Chan, adding — “Is she running you to the ground?”

“She wouldn’t,” Chan says simply. He doesn’t say much else as Joshua says his goodbyes and disappears between the shelves, but you’re still a little harried-looking, dusting down your clothes unnecessarily. 

“So,” Chan says casually, as you return your focus to him and take a sip of water to try and cool you down, “how long have you had a crush on Joshua?”

You choke. Heat curls up your neck, and not because of your coughing — hot-faced and spluttering, you demand, “What are you talking about?” Even as you speak, you can tell your voice is pitched too high. Too defensive.

The younger boy gives you a look. “Come on. I’m not blind.”

You duck your head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Anyway, so this question about limits — ”

“You’re a terrible liar,” he sings, cutting you off. “You have a big fat crush on Hong Joshua!”

Eyes wide, you slap a hand over his mouth, glancing behind you in horror. “Oh my God, keep your voice down!”

Beneath your palm, Chan gives you the most self-satisfied, victorious look, and belatedly, you realise you’ve given yourself away. “Fuck you,” you say, without any venom, releasing him and leaning back, trying extremely hard not to sulk. “It’s none of your business anyway.”

“It is when you’re making googly eyes at him right in front of me. Your student.”

“I don’t make googly eyes!” you object immediately, horrified. “I’ve never made googly eyes.”

“Whatever you say, teach.”

“I don’t.”

“Okay.”

“I don’t!”

“Okay, I said.” He still has that smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. It’s infuriating.

Briefly, your mind flits back to the stumbling boy you’d spoken to when he’d first asked for your help, back in late September. You miss him, you think sarcastically. He was the total opposite of the guy in front of you now.

“So?” Chan leans forward over the desk with raised, expectant eyebrows.

“So what?”

“So, how long? A month? Two?”

Your cheeks grow hot with embarrassment. Again.

“Longer?”

 “A year,” you whisper, avoiding his gaze.

“A year?!” He practically yelps, and you have never wanted to bury yourself alive more than you do at this moment.

“A year and a half. Or something,” you confirm weakly, and then shake your head. You gently push his forehead with the eraser side of your pencil, forcing him back to his side of the desk. “But that doesn’t matter. I’m meant to be helping you with limits today.”

“I think you need more help than I do,” he says with sudden, sweet sympathy, patting your hand how he always does. You snatch it away and glare at him, but he ploughs on. “How have you not made a single move for a year and a half? You should do something about it. Move past the googly eyes.”

“Don’t want to. Can’t make me.” You tap your pencil against his open, untouched /textbook. “Now focus. On your work, and not on prying into my love life!”

He clicks his tongue softly, but picks up his own pencil again; inwardly, you let out a soft sigh of relief. Mortification still boils in the pits of your stomach — a guy you barely even know caught on so quickly. Are you really so obvious?

Chan works quietly for all of three minutes, and then he glances at you again. “I don’t want to hear it,” you say warningly, cutting him off before he can even start.

Amusement sparkles in his eyes. “I didn’t say anything!”

”You were going to.”

“I think you should make a move, that’s all.”

“I think it’s none of your business.” 

“You said we were friends now! I’m trying to help my friend!”

“I take it back. Strictly tutor and student. We’re no longer friends.”

“No, seriously. I think you could totally get him to fall for you.”

You audibly snort. “Chan, do you know how many people have a crush on Joshua? He wouldn’t look twice at me. And I’m fine with that.”

“I’m not!”

You groan, tip your head on to the textbook in front of you. Then you turn, glaring at him and his entertained smile — with a smushed cheek and sulky pout, you ask, ”Why is this such a big deal to you, anyway?”

Chan almost seems to fold in on himself when you ask that. For someone so open and friendly, he has a way of shuttering down that startles you a little. It’s subtle, but you’re starting to notice it; his avoidant eyes and the faint pink on the apples of his cheeks. “I don’t know,” he says, shrugging with obviously feigned nonchalance. “I guess — I think you deserve to be happy.”

Sometimes people say things that hit you straight in the gut. Wind you. Leave you just a little bit breathless with their sincerity. 

You open and close your mouth like a fucking fish. “Oh,” you say at last, stupidly, “that’s — that’s really nice of you, Chan.”

Whatever brief embarrassment he was experiencing, he seems to be over it. “I know. I’m the best. And that’s why I’m going to help you.”

You laugh again, amused and slightly endeared by his enthusiasm. “Okay, fairy godmother. Let’s get back to work, maybe.”

“No, seriously,” Chan insists, brown eyes sparkling. “I’m going to teach you how to flirt.”

The previous flattering you felt disappears in the space of a second. “Excuse me?” you say incredulously, but you’re laughing already, simply at the pure audacity. “Who says I don’t know how to flirt?”

“You did,” he says, matching your smile, “when you didn’t make a single move for a year and a half. But don’t worry. I’m going to help you.”

“I didn’t ask for your help!”

“No, but you need it, so I’m going to help you anyway,” he nods generously.

“How kind,” you say sarcastically, before thwacking his shoulder with your thinnest textbook.

Chan bursts out laughing as he dodges it, before switching back to that tone — the one that had you caving into him only a few weeks back, when he asked you to be his tutor. (Briefly, you wonder how it’s only been a few weeks. Part of you feels like you’ve known him forever.)

“Seriously,” he continues, “I can help you. I’ve literally never been rejected in my life.”

“Oh, yeah?” You snort, but honestly, you don’t doubt it. 

He tilts his head to the side. “Well, like, once in middle school. It doesn’t count. 100% success rate, baby.”

“99%, maybe.”

“That is not how statistics works,” he says smugly. “Thought you’d know better, teach.”

“You’re the worst.”

“I’m the best. I’m going to get you a boyfriend; literally just give me twenty minutes at the end of the rest of our tutoring sessions.”

“We only have, like, three left.” 

“That’ll be enough.”

Fuck it, you think. You don’t think this will help you with Joshua — nor do you want it to — but why the hell not? If it makes Chan happy, as it so clearly seems to…

“Ten minutes,” you sigh.

His eyes brighten. “Fifteen.”

“Fine,” you acquiesce after a short moment, waving your hand dismissively. “From next time, though. I don’t have time today.”

You try to ignore his Cheshire cat grin, but it’s infectious. You’re mirroring it by the time he slaps the desk victoriously, assuring you, “You won’t regret this, I swear.”

“I’m sure I will. So, limits — ”

“Limits,” he agrees, an infuriatingly triumphant smirk on his lips. 

You roll your eyes, but you’re still smiling. “You have no limits.”

“Lesson one,” Chan says, a little too gleefully, only a few days later. “Body language.” 

He watches you pass a hand over your forehead with a grimace. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“First tip is to not be doing things like that when he speaks,” Chan says lightly, pulling your hands away from your forehead. He places his index fingers either side of your lips, and gently, carefully, he pulls the corners of them upwards. “Smile.” 

You blink at him, and it is, unfortunately, the cutest thing he’s ever seen. “But,” he continues, shaking it off and pulling his fingers away, “you’re good at smiling anyway, so that’s not a key concern.”

Surprise appears on your features. “Nobody’s ever said that to me before. I usually get the opposite.”

Chan is slightly taken-aback, because you’re always smiling. You’re quiet, definitely, but you laugh super easy, and smile even easier than that. 

“But go on.” You change the subject quickly, and Chan realises that despite yourself, you’re getting intrigued now. 

“Tip number two,” he continues, magnanimously, “eye contact.”

“Absolutely not.”

“What? Why not?” The swiftness of your refusal startles him, but even as he asks, he kind of knows; you tend to avoid eye contact, especially when you’re shy, or embarrassed, or confused, or… well, a lot of the time. “You can practise.”

You look at him with horror. “Practise?”

“With me,” he nods, steeling himself already. “Now.”

“You’re joking.”

“I never joke,” he lies straight to your face, just to make you relax. Sure enough, your shoulders loosen almost instantly, and you let out half a smile. “Come on. Just for two minutes.” 

“Okay,” you finally agree, meeting his stare. Chan leans forward just the slightest bit, and for the first time in his life, he understands what it means to sink into someone else’s eyes. Your gaze isn’t intense, but it’s captivating, and he’s not sure if that’s his own feelings surfacing up again, or it’s just — natural. Either way, being this close to you is doing something funny to his ribs, the same thing that happened when you brought him coffee. 

He tries to distract himself. “Can’t believe we only have two tutoring sessions left.” His voice has lowered instinctively, taken on a slightly gravelly tone that seems to surprise you a little Your lips part for a second, and then you nod; he watches your throat bob as you swallow.

“Yeah,” you say, equally as hushed. “Time flies, huh?”

His lips are dry. The tip of his tongue darts out, and he watches as you seem to follow it. “Yeah. When you’re having fun.”

Chan goes home that night more confused than before, and it only gets worse when Seungkwan’s waiting for him in the living room, hands on hips. One look at him, and Chan can tell he’s going to play interrogator.

“I just don’t know if this is a good idea,” Seungkwan says, at last, after Chan slumps on to the couch. “Helping her get with Joshua. You’re going to break your own heart.”

Chan wrinkles his nose. “I am not. We’re just friends, Seungkwan. I’m over it.”

Seungkwan looks at him disbelievingly, and Chan rolls his eyes. “I’m getting over it,” he corrects himself. “But we’re fine. Don’t worry.”

“I’m your best friend,” Seungkwan replies instantly, “Of course I’m going to worry. You just — you open your heart so easily. Which is a good thing!” he tacks on hastily, “But she… well.” 

Arching a brow, Chan leans forward. “She what?”

“Let me put it this way. You’re a romantic, and from what I can tell, she’s a cynic.”

Chan has never given much thought to what other people think about you, not until now. In all honesty, he’d had a similar perception of you, at first. Extremely organised. Kind of stoic. Nice, but distant. But now, he’s sure that nothing has ever been further from the truth. You’re reserved, that goes without a doubt, but you’re not cold. You’re kind. Care immensely for your friends, even though there are only a few of them. Shy, but sweet, and he thinks it’s a fucking shame that people can’t see that. He’d thought you were distant, but he’s heard other people describe you as uptight. Snobbish.

All people do is talk, he thinks with a little contempt. 

He looks back at his roommate. “You don’t know her, Seungkwan. She’s not a cynic.”

His friend shrugs. “I trust you. Just… be careful.”

Your second “lesson” with Chan begins with him grabbing you by the hand and pulling you in between random bookshelves. 

“Stand here,” he instructs, before patting you on the shoulders. You can feel the warmth of his hands through your sweater. “Okay,” he says, “lesson two is all about conversation. He’s going to fall in love with your mouth — not like that,” he adds quickly, when he sees you biting down on your lip to hide your laugh. “Mind out the gutter, teach.”

You grin at him cheekily. “You’re the teacher now. Come on, then.” The truth is, these lessons are more entertaining than anything. You’re enjoying it, hanging out with Chan without having to remind him to finish his questions or double-check the textbook. 

“Be serious!” he complains, but his eyes have that usual sparkle to them. He glances at your clothes for a moment. “Nice sweater, by the way. You look good in blue. But anyway, quick tips — remember what he likes, compliment him, talk about what you have in common, stuff like that. Okay, I’m going to go over and I want you to imagine I’m Joshua. So you see me randomly in the library, what are you doing?”

You snort. “Running in the other direction.”

He holds a finger up, hiding a smile at your silly answer. “Bzzzt. Wrong answer. You lose ten points.”

“When did I have ten points to begin with?” you argue, but still, you’re struggling to suppress your giggles. 

“You didn’t. You’re in the negatives.” He flicks you gently on the forehead. “Try again.”

“Ow,” you complain, pouting. “Okay, I’m meant to say hi.”

“Ding! Ten points. Back to zero.” Chan waits expectantly, and you look at him in confusion. He motions with his fingers. “Go on. Say hi.”

“I am not roleplaying with you!” you hiss, horrified, pushing his arm gently. He stumbles back exaggeratedly. “We do math, Chan, not drama!”

“Actually I do math and history,” he corrects nonchalantly, “and history is dramatic.”

Flummoxed, you repeat after him — “History? Since when do you do history?”

“Since, like, three years ago…?” He laughs at your expression, but you can’t bring yourself to mirror his lightness, for once. 

You feel rooted to your spot. “You’re a double major?” Something uncomfortable stirs in the pits of your stomach, and you know you’re not being rational — there’s no reason why this should jar you so much, but you feel jarred. “How did I not know this?” you ask, more to yourself. You turn to him, head moving so sharply he almost steps back. “Did you ever mention this?

Chan’s smile is fading. “I don’t know. Probably not.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know,” he laughs awkwardly, “it never came up. It’s not a big deal!”

“It is to me,” you insist, “Chan, you’re my friend! I should know this stuff!”

“It’s not a big deal,” he repeats, his brows furrowed. “Seriously. You know me better than half my friends already, and we’ve only been friends for like, a few months.” He attempts a smile — “You even know about the whole story behind that girl rejecting me back in middle school, I don’t tell that to everyone.”

“Yeah,” you say distractedly, “I guess so.”

Chan looks at the time. “Don’t you have a meeting now? With Joshua?”

You tilt your head, confused, your mind still on his history major.  “I do?”

“It’s Wednesday,” he reminds you, and you snap out of it, checking the time yourself. “You’re going to be late,” Chan laughs, gently pushing you towards your bag. “Go!”

You wave at him as you gather your stuff haphazardly, calling an, “I’ll text you later!” ok your way out. 

“Remember my top tips!” he calls back, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. You laugh and flip him off, bundling yourself out the library — only to run smack into another girl leaving at the same time. 

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” you apologise, helping her pick up her pencils. “I wasn’t looking!”

“It’s okay,” she assures you quickly. “By the way,” she adds, “you and your boyfriend are so cute!”

“My… boyfriend?” You hand her stuff back to her with a furrowed brow.

She beams at you sunnily. “Yeah! I always see you guys on your cute study dates over there, it’s soo sweet. The way you guys look at each other is, like, to die for.”

“Thank you,” you say automatically, before opening your mouth to correct her. But it’s too late, she’s gone and you’re left standing in the exit with a thousand thoughts rushing through your mind, ones that preoccupy you all the way back to yours and Joshua’s shared office. 

They only multiply when you see Joshua, and feel absolutely nothing. There’s no typical dip in your stomach, no stuttering heartbeat, just a familiar smile and nothing else, which is when you realise — you haven’t been feeling anything like what you used to feel.

At least, not around Joshua.

“That’s the first time you’ve been late, like, ever,” Joshua observes, “Were you with Chan?”

“Yeah, I — uh, how did you know that?” You cut yourself off to stare at him in surprise.

“Our tutoring schedules are right there,” he smiles, nodding to the pinboard next to him. You almost sigh in relief. A normal explanation, finally. Something that makes sense. These realisations and observations are nothing more than —

“But you always have a certain look after you see him anyway,” Joshua continues obliviously. “Your eyes get all shiny. You smile more.” He pauses, grins at you knowingly, “You guys are close, huh?”

“I — I don’t — ” You stutter feebly, because suddenly everything is hot and you need to lie down. “I don’t feel well,” you almost shout, way too loud; Joshua startles, but nods. 

“Okay,” he says, worriedly. “We can reschedule, but do you need a ride home?”

“No!” you snap, before taking a deep breath. “Sorry. No. I think — the fresh air will be good for me.”

Joshua lets you go, and you feel close to tears the whole way home. 

You can’t stomach this, you think, curled up in a ball under your duvet. It doesn’t make sense; you may be a math major, but none of this is adding up.

“I like Joshua,” you say out loud, and it sounds hollow. It sounds false. It doesn’t bring anything with it. 

Slowly, tentatively, you say, “I like Chan.” 

That brings so much, but more than anything, it brings warmth. Warmth like the serious brown of his eyes, his rough hands, his smile, his laugh, the way he chews his lip when he’s thinking hard about a question. 

You stick your head in a pillow and let out a scream.

Chan doesn’t know if he should invite you to the end of semester party that Seungcheol is throwing, considering his absolute failure in getting over you, but he does it anyway. He invited you to the Halloween one, and you turned him down, saying you had plans with some other friends, but he reckons it’s worth trying again, so he does just that.

Your response comes within minutes. 

[16:43] you: isn’t that the night before our last tutoring?

[16:44] chan: i know! but i’ll be on time i promise i wont even drink that much [16:44] chan: it’ll be like a celebration!!

[16:45] you: of what?

[16:45] chan: you put up with me for a full semester :)

He watches your typing bubble appear and reappear multiple times with a frown, until:

[16:48] you: i don’t “put up” with you chan

A smile. A big cheesy one that has his cheeks aching a little.

[16:48] you: we’re friends, aren’t we?

No matter how hard he tries, that still stings. 

The party sneaks up faster than expected, and Chan agrees to meet you there, because you’re coming with Minghao, and he agreed to help Seungcheol set up before he knew you were coming. Which is, you know, whatever. He’s not a little upset that he doesn’t get to pick you up in his car and do the whole opening-your-door-for-you thing — not at all, no matter what Seungkwan tries to imply.

Joshua probably would’ve, he thinks miserably, as people begin to arrive. That’s what you’d once said, ages ago, that you liked about him. 

‘He’s sweet,’ you’d said, ‘and he, like, holds doors open for me.’

‘The bar is in hell,’ Chan had said in response, making you snort with laughter, hiding your face. 

“No moping at my party!” Seungcheol yells as he sails by, carrying a load of ping pong balls — they’re setting up beer pong in the other room, but for once, Chan doesn’t feel the need to take up Jeonghan’s challenge. He dithers by the door, looking up hopefully every time someone enters, and every time, it isn’t you. 

Until it is. You come in just after Minghao, and Chan’s breath is quite literally taken away. It’s horrifyingly cliché, how gorgeous you look — you always do, but he’s never seen you dressed up before. Not like this, with a blue dress that falls to your mid-thigh, hair done to perfection. Makeup too, that makes your eyes look bigger and softer, that matches your outfit exactly.

Something swells inside him when he sees you on your tiptoes, craning your neck this way and that; instinctively, he thinks you’re looking for him. And when your eyes finally land on his, you smile so big that his insides turn molten; hot and tight and full, so incredibly full. He moves towards you without even realising, a moth to a flame. 

“You look — ” He swallows. Hard. “Amazing. You look amazing.”

You open your mouth to reply, but before you can, Minghao mutters something in your ear, gesturing to a room on the right before tugging you away. Chan watches as you send him an apologetic wave — and then you’re gone, melting into the sea of people that Seungcheol somehow knows. And he’s tugged in completely the opposite direction, casting one longing look after you.

About an hour into the party, you see Chan with someone else. A girl. Short, dark-haired, bright-eyed — pretty. So pretty.

You’re not one to get jealous, usually. But that’s the only word to describe the way your stomach drops and your heart twists. Green-eyed monster, rearing in your chest. She makes him laugh, and he touches her arm when he does, and honestly, it’s a completely innocent picture. They’re probably just friends, and you’re usually so secure in yourself, but with Chan — you feel everything but secure. It was only last week you allowed yourself to acknowledge you were halfway to falling in love with him.

Joshua was familiar, at least. This is not, which is why it took you so long to accept it. 

You smooth down your dress (“You look good in blue.”), and watch as Chan leans down to hear her over the music. Maybe it’s the second drink in your hand, which you’d only taken after being egged on by Mingyu — he’d handed you his “professional” jungle juice. It tastes like shit, but recent events have brought with them a desire to get absolutely fucking wasted.

Tragically, you’ve managed tipsy at best, but it’s still enough to have you over-emotional, and with one last look at Chan and the pretty girl, you escape the watchful eyes of Minghao to the balcony of Seungcheol’s disgustingly wealthy place to cry. Which you do, with shaky, gulping breaths, and blurred vision.

When you’ve calmed yourself just the slightest bit, you glance at yourself in your phone camera, lit up by the yellow lighting inside. The girl in the mirror is almost unrecognisable — drunk and face streaked with cheap mascara (advertised as waterproof but clearly not).

God, your head aches. When did life become so fucking complicated?

You know when; you know exactly when, that little snarky voice in the corner of your head tells you, flashing you an image of a certain brown-haired boy with his stupid smile. You know that this mess started somewhere around when he waltzed into your life, brandishing his flirting tips and stupid math puns.  What you don’t know is when he slipped his way into your heart, when you somehow gave him the power to crush it in his fingers. 

That’s what it feels like. Lee Chan has your heart in the palm of his hand, and he doesn’t have a fucking clue.

The thought makes you feel slightly sick — or maybe it’s the overconsumption of the jungle juice that Mingyu cooked up, but whatever it is, your stomach churns uncomfortably, leaving acid climbing your throat. You cast a contemptuous look at the mixture in your red solo cup, and with a sigh, dump the rest of it over the balcony next to you. You ignore the call of hey, fuck you! that comes from below, instead sinking to the floor, hugging your knees and leaning your aching, hot against the cool metal railing to blink away the tears that burn behind your eyes.

Momentarily you consider how at the start of the year, you’d never have expected yourself to be here, not in a million years. At the SVT frat house, hidden in a corner to weep over a boy. A boy that isn’t Hong Joshua — a boy that is, technically, in some ways, your student.

“Fuck you, Lee Chan,” you say bitterly, and as always, you can’t bring yourself to mean it.

“Why’s that?” A familiar voice has you snapping your head towards the balcony doorway. Tall and smiling as always, Joshua regards you with a look of mixed sympathy and pity. You resent it. 

“Fuck you too!” You try to scowl at him; it doesn’t quite work, and you’re too drunk and tired to muster up the energy to be angry at him. Joshua didn’t really do anything; the only crime you can hold against him is obliviousness. He’s not the one holding your heart in his hands. You don’t think he ever really was — at the very least, what you felt with him was never like this. There was never so much.

Joshua doesn’t say anything, just laughs and sits next to you on the floor. Both of you have your backs pressed to the railing, and he nudges you softly with his shoulder. “Everything okay?”

You swallow thickly. “No.”

He smiles ever so slightly, nodding to your tearful face. “Yeah, I mean, I figured.”

You let out a watery giggle. “God. I’m such a mess.”

Joshua hums, like he’s actually considering your words deeply. “You aren’t, really. You’re like, the least messy person I know.”

You sniffle a little. “What?”

“Come on, ___, you’re like the most put-together person in this whole university. It’s kind of refreshing to see you outside of that.”

“What, you enjoy seeing me cry?” 

“No, of course not,” he says quickly, bumping your shoulder. “Just. In general, I mean. You’ve been happier lately.”

You gesture to your tear tracks. “This is happy?”

Joshua clicks his tongue at you. “I think Chan is really good for you,” he says finally, quietly. Like he knows he’s broaching a forbidden topic — which he is. You flinch at the very sound of his name. “He makes you happy. That’s what I mean. You should give yourself a shot.”

“No,” you say immediately, automatically. “I can’t.”

“You could,” he says, without reproach. “If you let yourself.”

You let that settle. Silence falls — or at least as much silence as you can get when you’re metres away from a house party. “I used to have a crush on you, you know.” You don’t look at him, facing straight ahead thoughtfully.

Joshua smiles, rueful. “I know.”

You snap your head round, and your disbelief must be etched onto your face because he laughs. “I could tell,” he shrugs. “You got flustered so easily, sometimes.”

The slightest of groans. “I do that, apparently.” You hug your legs to you again, resting your cheek on your knees as you look at Joshua, sitting by your side. “I almost asked you out, too.” 

“I probably would’ve said yes,” he confesses honestly, but still, somehow, you don’t feel anything. “But then I saw how you are with Chan. And that is not like this,” he continues gently. “The way you looked at me back then is nothing, compared to how you look at him.”

“Don’t tell him.” You’re not afraid to beg.

“God forbid you let yourself feel something, right?” Joshua laughs a little, but his eyes bore into you with sincere sympathy. “Why are you so afraid of your own feelings?”

You don’t know what to say. But you’re saved from having to think about it, because Lee Chan himself sticks his head through the door, something shifting on to his face when his eyes finally land on you. 

“There you are! I’ve been looking for you for — ” he freezes for a second, the exact moment his eyes land on Joshua sitting next to you “ — ages,” he finishes, slowly, before taking a step back. “I should go.”

“No, stay,” Joshua says, quickly, standing up. “We were just finished.”

Chan fidgets with the end of his shirt as Joshua leaves, casting one more empathetic smile at you, and the moment the older boy is gone, Chan steps closer towards you. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I didn’t realise he was — you’re crying.” His change in tone is so abrupt, from apologetic to dead serious in half a second. ”What happened?”

“Nothing,” you say, too high-pitched. “I’m fine now. It’s fine.”

“Was it Joshua?” he demands, already looking back in the direction his friend disappeared to. “What did he say?”

“What? No. It wasn’t him.” You try to change the subject. “I am older than you, you know, I don’t need to be babysat. I hope you didn’t interrupt your fun just to come looking for me.”

He smiles, but his eyes don’t. “Only by a year. And anyway, I have more fun with you.”

You hate that your mind flits back to that girl, the laughing one. “What about your friends? I saw you with, um, what’s her name? The pretty one, dark hair?” 

Subtlety is not your strong suit. 

Chan just blinks at you. “You mean Jana? Yeah, she wanted me to play beer pong against her and her girlfriend. But I did that.” Something untwists in your stomach. He steps closer, fishing a tissue out of nowhere, and with the tenderest touch, wipes at the makeup staining your cheeks.

He’s so close, you can see every individual eyelash. “Why? Were you jealous?” he asks lightly, referring to Jana as he uses one hand to cup your cheek and remove the dark mess under your eyes more carefully.

“No!” Your voice is harsher than intended, jerking out of his grip. and his eyes flick to yours with worry.

“I was kidding,” he says softly, frowning, “Is everything okay, teach?”

Alcohol blurs your rational thinking. You lean your forehead against his chest with the deepest sigh. “Sorry. Sorry.” A short breath. “Chan, I’m so tired.”

He wraps his arms around you, rubbing your back up and down. “Are you drunk?”

You shake your head. “I was tipsy, but I only had two drinks. I’m sober now. Just… exhausted.” 

“I can take you home,” he murmurs against your ear; he’s so warm, he always is, but his touch sends goosebumps all over your skin. “Is that what you want?”

You lean back, look him in the eye, but neither of you let go of each other. Eye contact. From lesson one. “What’s the third lesson?”

“What?”

“Tomorrow. Our last lesson. What’s it on?”

He’s silent for a minute. “I don’t know,” he replies, at last. 

You cock your head to the side, questioningly, and it’s like something in him snaps, and the words come rushing out, stumbling into each other — “I’ve been making these up as I go along. On the spot.”

“Oh,” you say, surprised but too numb to feel it properly. “Why?”

He squeezes his eyes shut for a second, looking defeated. “I don’t know. Well. I do. I just don’t know how to tell you.”

Something clicks for you. I’ve got a great teacher. You’re my favourite too. You look — pretty. I think you deserve to be happy. You look good in blue. 

“Chan,” you say, taking an abrupt step back. Your voice is hoarse suddenly, scratchy with yet another realisation. “What colour is my dress?”

He looks utterly perplexed by your swift change in subject, but he obliges you anyway. “Blue. Why?”

“Do you remember,” you begin, voice shaking ever so slightly. This is the precipice. You’re taking the leap. God forbid you let yourself feel something — well, you are. “Do you remember a week ago? Lesson two?”

“Conversation,” he nods, and you can see his mind working a hundred miles an hour. 

“I was wearing that sweater, and you said — ”

“You look good in blue,” he finishes at once. His eyes flit between you and the dress, and you see the exact moment it dawns on him; the light of comprehension. “But you — Joshua — ”

You shake your head at the question he doesn’t ask. 

It’s like he’s frozen. A minute or a century passes, you’re not sure which, before his eyes meet yours again, filled with something heavy, raw, tender emotion. “How long?”

“Long enough,” you say, and then you’re kissing him, or he’s kissing you, you’re not sure who moves first, or if you move at the same time, but whatever it is — you’re melting into him and he is melting into you, and it’s like your heart gives a happy little sigh. Your shoulders relax, and the tension of the past few weeks evaporates in a few gentle touches.

You break apart with a soft little ‘tch’ sound, and he looks at you with full eyes and the shyest smile you’ve ever seen him wear. 

“You know, technically, you’re still my student,” you say, slightly breathless, entirely giddy. 

He rolls his eyes, tugging you back in already, sliding his arms around your waist. “Yeah, for a week.”

“And a half,” you add, as he begins to kiss up your neck. “You’d better ace your exam next week, after all our hard work.”

He presses his nose into your neck, huffing out a laugh. “I can’t believe that’s what you’re worried about. Now, of all things.”

“That’s what you should be worried about,” you say, bringing a hand up to his hair, running through it with your fingers as you’ve wanted to for so long. “That, and walking me home, maybe.”

“I fully intend to do at least one of those things,” he says, landing a chaste kiss on your lips. “We have a lot to talk about, you know. Starting with me asking you out. Properly.” 

A hint of mischief appears in your smile. “Do well in your exam, and I’ll consider it.”

Chan pulls back, a familiar, confident smirk on his lips. “You have yourself a deal. But until then…”

“We’re still at a party,” you say, dodging his lips with a laugh, even though you really don’t want to. Not at all. “We can’t be that couple.”

He drops his forehead against yours. “We can be whatever the fuck we want. Nobody’s looking, anyway.”

And so you let him kiss you, again and again and again, until he walks you home, and does the same at your door, and the same in your living room. Over and over, making up for all the times he wanted to but couldn’t, he whispers. Your whole body softens at the weight of his hands, travelling the small of your back, cupping your cheek, squeezing your hips. His lips are on yours, and yours are on his, and everything makes sense. Everything adds up.

a/n: (yes another) i hate this so much but i think i’ve been dealing with it too long so im just going to. throw it out there. thank you for reading!!! i’d love to hear what you think!!!! hopefully i’ll venture into longfic more often <3

[dat1angel]

Danny the tiktok star

DPxDC au

So Danny, as any high school teen would do, makes videos on the latest video sharing social media site. In this case that's tiktok, although if we look at the time that Danny Phantom came out Vine might be more appropriate...

Either way, he makes silly little videos that range from funny jokes, A Day in the Life at Casper High, Space Fact Friday, POV: You live in Amity Park, roasting whatever ghost happens to be attacking that day, ect. He gains a small following of people who like his content but it's nowhere near being able at call himself tiktok famous. Until one post...

"Hello, my name is Danny, and this is my Official Application for Bruce Wayne to adopt me"

He jokes about how he is a young teen male with black hair, blue eyes, and a questionable home life which makes him the perfect candidate for a Bruce Wayne adoptee. The video goes viral so Danny leans into the bit and starts making more of that content. Photoshoping myself into a Wayne family photo, What I would wear to a Wayne gala, Taking a 'Which Wayne Are You' quiz.

When the Wayne kids find his account they think it's hilarious and keep an eye for new posts from him. One day Tim is stuck in a boring WE meeting so when he gets a notification that Danny posted a new video he will gladly take the distraction. He wasn't expect what he would find...

The video opens with the camera facing Danny, but he's not in any of his usual filming locations. It's hard to tell what exactly is happening around him but there's shouting in the distance and the sound of sirens. In fact, it looks as if Danny is leaning against an ambulance. Danny looks unusually pale and has what looks like a shock blanket wrapped around his shoulders. The camera is shakey and when he speaks his voice comes out weak.

"Hey guys... It's Danny. You know how I joke a lot about being adopted by Bruce Wayne?..."

Danny pauses and takes a shakey breath. It seems like he loses his grip on the phone for a moment because the camera fumbles before being held upright again. It's not a great view, but viewers can catch a glimpse of a destroyed building in the background, firefighters still working to get all the flames doused. When Danny starts speaking again he seems to choke on the words.

"W-Well, something happened and.. I'm k-kinda and orphan now? So uh..." Danny gives a small sad sounding chuckle that fades into a light cough, "this is my official application for Bruce Wayne to adopt me. Internet, do your thing..."

The video ends.

[thatbadadvice]

Dear Advisor,

I tend to be a very reserved and shy person so making friends is super hard. Recently I’ve been wanting to socialize more , but I genuinely don’t know how. Is there any advice that you have that can make me look more approachable and not be scared to talk to people. I’m so stressed about being alone and not having any friends, but I just find it so hard to go up to people and make a conversation. I tried once but it became super awkward. I just really need good advice from someone on how to approach a person and continue a conversation.

Dear Awkward Anonymous,

It would be so easy to get into a whole deep let's-skeetshoot-therapy-on-the-internet session and try to help a total stranger unpack all of the GA-FUCKING-ZILLION ways in which social awkwardness shows up in a person's life. It seems easy, and it even seems meaningful and worthwhile, but to do so I would have to presume a bunch about your life, and make a bunch of assumptions about the ways in which my own experiences maybe/probably track with yours, and it would be a whole big wank-fest, and frankly ... it would be awkward. I'd be like you, standing there at the party, hoping that what I'm saying resonates or lands or even vaguely tracks with anything a stranger has ever known or experienced, presuming (probably rightly!) that it doesn't, and then flailing and blaming myself when I didn't emerge from the interaction with all the world's gold stars.

So here's what: stop talking to other people as a primary social occupation. Going up to people and just talking is fucking terrifying. The Bad Advisor says this as a Certified Extrovert™ who rarely shuts the fuck up.

Instead, find a thing to do with other people that involves some sort of task or goal or activity. Talk about the thing you're doing together, when you're doing it. If it feels okay, maybe introduce one or two of your own relatable-to-the-activity experiences in the process. See who picks up on it. Ask the people who pick up on it genuinely interested questions in response. This is what we awkward people call: engineering a conversation. It is the way, I am told, humans make connections with other humans. I have seen it work in my own life.

Depending on where you live and your ability level and skill set, I bet you have some options! You could seek out an open board game night, pub quiz session, knitting/quilting circle, or mutual aid meetup that's looking for volunteers. Especially look for social activities with strangers that involve a dedicated, pre-prescribed activity (such as a hiking or mall-walking group, stuffing envelopes for a political candidate or cause you care about, planting trees at your local park, or tasting tea/wine/beer/etc.). (Somebody is going to say join a ballroom dancing club or suchlike; I am personally terrified of this, but if you have a higher tolerance for strangers touching you and fewer than two left feet: it's literally an option. Line-dancing, on the other hand ... absofuckinglutely.)

Even if what's available in your area isn't your precise and specific interest, it might be worthwhile to check out something you are decidedly meh about -- you might not be the only meh person there. You can bond over shit that's boring or shitty with other people who find it boring or shitty! Some of my best friends, arguably my very best friends, came out of experiences we mutually loathed or found at least moderately and mutually miserable.

Consider especially finding an activity where you yourself are the manager of operations and/or have a designated task to take care of that is unique to your position! This doesn't have to be complicated or skill-dependent; can you become a voter registrar in your area? Well, bam! You've got paperwork people have to fill out and a good reason to jibber-jabber with folks who have to ask you the questions. Other ideas: join your local neighborhood association board, become a notary public, or see if your local pet rescue is looking for intake line volunteers. Do you have a trustworthy, especially outgoing friend who might agree to play "social glue" for you a couple of times at their activity-centric events? Make it explicit! Ask them if they'll play friendly wing-person for you at their D&D game, fantasy sports league, or some such.

Alternately: Do you have a unique and fun and shareable skillset you can share with others? Are you pretty good at drawing, programming? Simply a font of endless Merlin or NFL or Real Housewives knowledge? You might start a local Discord or other online social group to discuss and share your interests, then move it to the real world in a few weeks once folks get comfortable. You get the idea.

Most of all: Look for stuff that has more-than-just-talking opportunities available outside the designated group jam for you to maintain connections. Perhaps a group chat, a Discord, a Slack, what-have-you, where you can take more time to consider and draft your responses and posts? Connections with humans get made a thousand ways, and talking raw-dog with strangers is but one.

It takes a true social unicorn to be simply good at talking and only talking to other people. There are some of these one-horned wonders out there, to be sure — but let me assure you that the vast majority of folks want to be accepted and seen just as much as you do, and they're staring at the ceiling at night thinking just as much (more, probably) about all the weird, wonky shit they themselves threw at you than they are anything you ever said to them.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

What about Coryo and childhood friend reader who are very close and spend all their time together. They gossip about a classmate getting rumorly pregnant and the conversation turn into sex and they talk about experiences (lack of) and end up doing stuff and learning together about pleasure. I’m a sucker for virgin reader and coryo smut

Request: Virgin coriolanus and reader touching each other in secret

Request: young snow with prompt 2 ehehe ‘’No one needs to know.’’

Warnings: 18+, smut, ooc!Coriolanus, virgin!Coryo, virgin!reader, mutual masturbation, p + v (just the tip), let me know if I missed some

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

‘’Some people should not be allowed to procreate. The world does not need more superior thinking brats like Arachne Crane,’’ Coriolanus said concerning the rumors about your classmate’s alleged pregnancy. 

It wasn’t a very nice thing to say, but you had to agree with him. 

‘’Who do you think is the unlucky father?’’ you asked, getting deeper into the gossips instead of focussing on the subject you were studying. ‘’Festus?’’

Coriolanus shrugged, taking a pen and scribbling down some notes. ‘’I don’t know. Probably. I doubt it’s true, though. Because if it were, Arachne’s dad would arrange a marriage to cover up the pregnancy. Can’t have his darling daughter pregnant with a bastard.’’ 

The conversation died down and you both went back to your textbooks. Exams were in a few weeks, and you needed good grades to get into university. You also promised Coriolanus to help him and make quiz cards. If he doesn't get the best grades, the Plint prize will go to another student and he won’t be able to attend university with you. 

‘’Have you ever…?‘’ you asked in the quiet of the bedroom, curiosity hanging in the air. 

Your question had him confused at first, but it clicked and he shook his head. ‘’No.’’ Coriolanus cleared his throat, uncomfortable to dive into a private subject. ‘’I mean, I have…you know. Myself,’’ he corrected, always honest with you. ‘’Just, not…with someone. Have you?’’

By your parents’ request, you were preserving yourself for marriage. You never understood why they insisted on you being pure or how it was any of their business, but you respected their request.  

You shook your head. ‘’No.’’ Grabbing a piece of paper, you searched for your pen, which seemed to have gone missing on Coriolanus’ bed. ‘’Do you have a pen I can borrow? I’m gonna get started with the flashcards.’’

He grabbed a spare one from his desk and handed it to you. ‘’Why did you want to know?’’ 

‘’Just curious.’’ 

You began writing down some questions, your pen gliding over the flashcards. 

It wasn’t until your pile of flashcards tipped on the side and fell on the bed that you realized how many you had made. You chuckled at the little mishap, and the sound of your laughter caught Coriolanus' attention.

‘’Wow. How many are there?’’ he asked, looking over at the scattered flashcards.

You shrugged, gathering the flashcards into a neat pile. ‘’Lost count. Are you ready to be quizzed?’’ 

He closed his textbooks and joined you on the bed, sitting criss-cross. There was a nervous look on his face, but you reassured him. 

‘’Don't worry, you've got this, Coryo.’’ You gave him an encouraging smile. ‘’If you get ten right…I’ll reward you with a kiss.’’ It was meant as a joke, but Coriolanus didn't get it.

‘’A kiss?’’ the blond repeated, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. He expected a cookie or a strawberry, not a kiss. 

‘’Unless you don’t want me to kiss you—’’ 

‘’I didn’t say that!’’ 

The sun started to go down when you made it through half the flashcards. As expected, Coriolanus did a great performance. He was always on top of his subjects, focussing on his academics instead of social life. All his hard work was paying off. 

It also meant that you owed him a kiss. 

Biting your bottom lip, you suddenly felt shy. Why did you make that deal?

‘’You do remember we were each other’s first kiss, do you?’’ Coriolanus reminded, sensing your hesitation. 

Although it happened three years ago, the image was vivid in your mind. It was your fourteenth birthday. You asked him to kiss you as a birthday present so you wouldn’t have to lie to the girls at the academy when they asked if you had kissed anyone yet. Any other boy would have laughed, but Coriolanus just nodded and pressed his lips on yours. 

You took a steady breath, telling yourself you had to honor your promises, and leaned over the space between you to kiss him. You counted to five, then pulled back slightly. Coriolanus opened his eyes, their ocean blue hue appearing brighter from up close. They were so beautiful — he was so beautiful.

Before you could break your staring, Coriolanus cupped the side of your face and drew you back in for another kiss. You kissed him back by instinct, but you were confused. Was he not satisfied by your kiss? Maybe you should have counted to ten instead of five? 

The delicate brush of his thumb against your cheek pulled you out of your thoughts, luring you into a bubble of warmth and tenderness. His lips were soft against yours, and the faint scent of roses enveloped you. He always smelled of roses. 

His hand settled at the small of your back, pulling you closer across the bed. You let him guide you, pawing at the front of his button up to hold yourself up at his height. A soft gasp left your lips when Coriolanus slipped his tongue to deepen the kiss, a rush of emotions flooding through you. You tangled your hands in his hair, letting your pulsions lead until you were both breathless.

‘’What are we doing?’’ you asked quietly, almost a whisper. 

You were delving into uncharted territories, taking untraveled roads of your friendship without knowing where they would lead you. 

Coriolanus didn’t respond, not knowing what to say. 

Your fingers brushed his curls from his eyes as his nose brushed yours, eager to get his lips on yours again. He glanced at you, searching your eyes for some guidance, but you were just as lost as him. 

‘’I want to kiss you again,’’ Coriolanus confessed, the hand on your back moving to your hip. ‘’I want… I want you.’’

Have me, you wanted to tell him. Take all of me, but a small voice at the back of your head reminded you of the promise you made to your parents. 

‘’If you don’t put it in, you’re still gonna be a virgin,’’ he said, as if he had read your mind. 

Coriolanus used his desk chair to block the door, ensuring no one would come in. Tigris was out and Grandma'am was tending to her flowers, but he didn't want to risk it. You felt also more comfortable with the door blocked and his makeshift curtain slightly closed. The Snow penthouse was so high, it was impossible to see inside from another building.

You began taking off your clothes in a comfortable silence, your dark pink dress joining Coriolanus’ button up and trousers on the floor. Left in your undergarments, you sat on the bed facing each other. You bit your bottom lip as you averted your eyes from your friend’s half naked body, uncertain if you should be looking. 

Holding your breath, you reached back and undid your bra while Coriolanus removed his white boxers. It wasn’t as nerve-wracking if you both undressed at the same time. You felt your face flush as your eyes lowered to his cock, seeing it soft and resting against his thigh. There was light blond hair at the base, which matched the hair on his head.  

Coriolanus’s cock twitched as he glanced at your chest. Your breasts were full enough to not be considered small and your nipples were perfectly peaked. You were the prettiest girl he ever laid his eyes on. 

Not giving yourself time to feel shy, you followed suit by taking your last layer off, lifting your hips to pull it down. There wasn’t much room to move around so Coriolanus helped you get your panties down the rest of your legs, and dropped them on the bed. 

‘’Thanks.’’

You fought the reflex to clamp your legs shut the way a lady should, and instead parted them, revealing your glistening core. From this position, your labias were parted like a flower, completely exposed to your best friend's eyes. 

You dipped between your folds to collect moisture and started rubbing your clit with the tip of your thumb. 

Coriolanus scooted closer to you, and effortlessly gripped his hand around his cock to stroke it nice and slow while he watched you. He followed your pace, leaned his head back when he swiped his thumb over the leaky red tip, and tried not to make any sound. 

You looked over at Coriolanus, and your core clenched. Now you understood what Clemensia was talking about in the girls locker rooms. Without stopping your motions on your clit, you brought two fingers and slowly slipped them inside of you, making you gasp. You usually started with one, but you needed something bigger that you didn't want to admit out loud. 

Closing your eyes, you let your imagination run free, imagining Coriolanus' cock inside you, filling you up. ‘’Ah, Coryo,’’ you slipped, letting go of your clit to grope one of your breasts and pull on your taut nipple. 

Coriolanus couldn’t stop the groan from escaping his lips when he heard you moan his name. He picked up speed as he stared at you, the springs on his mattress creaking underneath. This is why he always did this in the shower. 

When you opened your eyes, you pulled out your fingers andrested your hand on Coriolanus' knee. ‘’Can I try?’’ 

The room hung in a momentary silence, the weight of your question settling between you and Coriolanus. His usually composed demeanor faltered, and he was momentarily lost for words, caught off guard by the words that left your mouth. 

‘’I-if you want to.’’ He removed his hand from his cock and followed with his gaze as your hand bravely traveled up his thigh. 

Gently, you wrapped your hand around him. It was heavier than you thought, and warm. You began moving your hand up and down, but it wasn’t slippery enough for your liking so you dipped your fingers between your folds to collect some of your arousal to lubricate your strokes. 

‘’That’s better,’’ you said to yourself. 

Coriolanus wanted to kiss you. That was hot. 

Not wanting you to be neglected, he grabbed your ankles and pulled you closer, draping your legs over his so he could play with your clit and breasts. Lewd noises filled the room, coming from both of your mouths. It was a blessing Grandma’am had hearing troubles because the walls at the penthouse were thin. 

As you began to work towards your climax, you directed Coriolanus’ cock toward your pussy and pressed his tip against your folds. If you don’t put it in, you’re still gonna be a virgin, he had said. The pressure situated onto your pussy felt so delicious. 

Sensing what you were trying to do, Coriolanus got a better idea. He moved your hands away and rubbed his tip against your puffy clit. The tingling sensation began to overwhelm you, bringing tears to your eyes while he continued to stroke your folds and clit with his cock. 

‘’Ahh! Yes, Coryo— That feels so good!’’ 

The both of you were making a choir of beautiful whines and moans as you could feel your release approaching quickly. You came with a cry when you felt his tip pushing through without getting in fully, quivering against him.  

Coriolanus couldn't look away from your core, overwhelmed by how warm and wet you felt around him. He continued to rub himself against you until white strings dribbled out of the head of his cock, painting your pussy with a beautiful mess. 

‘’That was…’’ you panted out, looking down at yourself. ‘’No one needs to know, right?’’

‘’No one needs to know,’’ he confirmed.

''Should we get back to the flashcards?''

—

All and more taglist:  @kenqki  @hawkegfs  @gillybear17   @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade   @mellabella101 @vxnity713  @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart  @xyzstar  @graceberman3   @mikeyspinkcup @jackierose902109 @daisydark @laurasdrey @mischieftom @fanatic4niall @peterholland04 @idkwhattonamethisblogs  @lexasaurs634  @notasadgirlipromise @zoeynicolas @thejuleshypothesis @multi-fandom-bi-bitch @lexasaurs634  @notasadgirlipromise @thejuleshypothesis  @katherinejess  @rafesgirlstuff  @lafleshlumpeater @iamluminosity

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[ms-demeanor]

*screaming*

*continued screaming*

Okay. So. My introductory Visual C# class.

The professor for that class was Alice. Alice was the person who spoke in the introductory video and the person who we were supposed to email if we had any issues.

But all of the assignments, lectures, and quizzes were written and delivered by Bob. On the youtube channel "Bob's programming academy." The quizzes included Bob's name, like "if you do X will it return the string ProfessorBob, Professor, Bob, or Professor.Bob?"

This class was really frustrating for me because it was structured in such a way that you could easily pass the class with zero knowledge of the subject - it was totally based on quizzes that you could take an unlimited number of times and we *had* weekly programming assignments but they weren't graded so there was no incentive to do them (and look, if I wanted to teach myself programming with no incentives I could fail for several years to do that on my own, I don't need to pay fifty bucks a unit for that; the reason I am in a *class* and am not self-taught is because I need external motivation. That's why I sought out a class).

Also when there *was* a problem with an instruction that was unclear in one of the videos for the assignments, or if I thought I'd done something correctly that was very much incorrect, it wasn't Alice who had created the instructions, it was Bob - in 2017 no less - and I didn't really feel like I could ask Alice for help with an ungraded assignment that she hadn't written.

So. Now. My Python class.

Today is the first day of class. Professor is Charles.

I go to the mandatory attendance quiz and it is word-for-word the same mandatory attendance quiz as the C# class, down to the final question "what is your personal email address so I can keep in contact with you after the semester?"

I look at the syllabus.

Class grade is based on quizzes. We have assignments but none of them are graded. There's no textbook, just a series of videos from Professor Bob's Programming Academy.

So I'd been toying with staying at this school and trying to take more CS classes instead of going to another school, just to try to keep my records easier to manage, but since it seems like that *ENTIRE DEPARTMENT* is five Professor Bobs in a trenchcoat, I will probably be going somewhere else (and once again trying to force myself to do projects that I already know are *good for me to do* but *useless for the class and a massive time suck*)

I should drop this class. I should drop this class and apply for the other school so that I can start taking classes there in the spring because if I take this class and then go into the object oriented programming class in the spring and it's another professor bob sock puppet and I end up taking twelve units of programming classes where all I learn is how to google answers in a short time frame (something I already know how to do thanks) I am going to fucking lose it.

Also, again: I have a Bachelor's Degree. I spent five years at a community college when I was getting that degree. I took probably a dozen online classes starting in 2005 and going until 2011 in the process of getting that degree.

THIS bullshit, this "I'm your professor but actually I'm not and all the materials were created by someone else in the department or came directly from the textbook publisher and there is no writing and there are no assignments everything is multiple choice quizzes that are automatically graded" is *dogshit.*

This is NOT how online classes worked back in my day, not even online math classes, and as much as I know adjuncts are getting fucked over by academia in general, this isn't something that these professors should be getting paid as much as they are to do. Alice checked whether or not students turned in a hello world assignment and gave a pass/fail grades for three discussion boards that were responses to youtube videos. Nothing else in the class required her input. If this is the level of instruction that students are getting then the class is already automated and the students shouldn't have to pay for it.

This is crap. This is an incredible level of crap.

[munson-blurbs]

Hi <3 for your trope-or-treat, how about dum-dum and butterfinger with Eddie, aka my favorite dum-dum

Idiots in love/Shy!Reader/Eddie Munson

A little offended that I'm not your favorite dum-dum, but it's fine.

Warnings: fluff, a bit of suggestive language

WC: 728

Divider credit to @saradika

Eddie can’t stop staring. 

It’s not on purpose; really, it’s all Mrs. Byrd’s fault. She had insisted on handing out candy after a pop quiz, calling it a ‘treat after a trick.’ You could’ve picked one of the fun-size chocolate bars like Eddie had, but no. 

You’d chosen a lollipop. 

The same goddamn lollipop that you’re currently twirling around your mouth, occasionally pulling from between your lips with a soft pop. You’re talking with Lucas, nodding sympathetically while he laments about having to take his sister trick-or-treating tonight. 

“What about you?” Lucas asks, taking a bite of his turkey sandwich. “Any fun Halloween plans?”

You shrug. “Eddie and I are gonna watch some scary movies once he’s done at the party.” Tina’s annual Halloween party is the perfect place for him to sell, but he never sticks around to hang out with people. 

“Really setting the mood,” Jeff teases Eddie, earning him an elbow to the ribs. 

You’re used to their jokes—calling you and Eddie ‘Mom’ and ‘Dad,’ saying that you two bicker like an old married couple, humming Here Comes the Bride whenever you walk into Hellfire. But it wears on you, especially given your ridiculous crush on him. 

You can’t stop thinking about Jeff’s off-handed comment, even when Eddie breezes through your doorway. He’s got a VHS copy of The Amityville Horror in one hand and a bag of snacks in the other. 

“You ready to hang out with Jody?” He punctuates his statement with his signature devil horns gesture, tossing a bag of Gummi bears in your direction before popping the movie in the TV. As the opening credits begin, he flops onto the couch and, incidentally, your lap.

“Get up!” you grunt, laughing as you try to push him off of you. “You’re squishing me!”

Eddie pouts and remains in place. “But how else am I gonna protect you from the Satanic influences?” He drops his register an octave to match his Dungeon Master voice.

“You are the Satanic influence!”

“Fair enough.” But, still, he doesn’t move; instead, he looks up at you and wistfully remarks, “you still look beautiful when you’re upside down.”

You wrinkle your nose, feeling your body heat up at his unexpected compliment. “Did you drink at Tina’s party?”

“Not a drop.” 

Given the lack of alcohol on his breath, you’re obliged to believe him. “Then stop being an idiot.”

“I’m…I’m not.” Confusion creases his brows, and he finally sits up. He situates himself next to you, bringing your legs over his thighs and forcing himself to look into your eyes. “Okay, I’m gonna do this, and I’m sorry if it fucks everything up, but…I have, like, this big, stupid crush on you? And I don’t know what to do about it except tell you, because I feel like I get weird around you, a-and I don’t want you to think that I don’t like you. Because it’s the opposite, y’know, like I really like you–”

“Eddie.” You interrupt him gently, allowing yourself to play with a lock of his hair. “Eddie, I like you, too. I didn’t think you felt the same way.”

He exhales, visibly relieved that his confession didn’t end in humiliation. “I didn’t want to ruin our friendship or anything, but Jeff told me that if I didn’t tell you soon, he was gonna kick my ass.” He chuckles, shaking his head, curls dancing in front of his face. “Can I kiss you? I-Is that okay?”

You answer for him, gathering all of your courage to press your lips to his. He adjusts you so you’re straddling his waist, His hand is on the back of your head, bringing you impossibly close to deepen the kiss.“Shit,” he mutters, abruptly pulling away, “I promised myself I’d take you on a date before we, y’know, do stuff.” His cheeks go red, his cheek pinched between his teeth. 

You glance over at the movie playing on the TV, then back to him. “Does this count as a date?”

“It can if you want it to.” Eddie’s fingers brush against your arm, the slight touch sending shivers throughout your body. “Do you? Want it to count as a date, I mean?

“Yes, please.” 

His lips are back on yours as soon as you finish affirming what he already knew, grateful that he won’t have to hold back any longer.

--

[beneathashadytree]

MESSING AROUND - JOSUKE HIGASHIKATA X READER

Warnings : just two teens being in love and all over each other, reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : puppy love n fluff <3

Word count : 1.1K words

Additional notes : This came to me in a dream. Love the idea of teenagers being sneaky and lazy teehee

Tip jar if you’d like to buy me a Ko-Fi!

Masterlist

They tiredly rubbed at their eyes. What was this, the tenth, or the hundredth time at this? In all cases, it felt like it was a never-ending cycle that they were doomed to stay in.

“Josuke, would it really kill you to study for an hour straight?” Nudging the textbook on the coffee table, they tried to bring his attention back to the long-forgotten syllabus. “We’ve got a quiz in 3 days.”

“Still plenty of time, if you ask me,” he shrugged, not looking away from the television screen where he was trying to beat his high score (again) in one of his video games. “That’s a whole, uh, 72 hours.”

“If you hesitated while doing simple math, then I fear how you’ll face a few calculus problems.” Rolling their eyes, they sidled up to his back. “Come on. Didn’t Miss Tomoko threaten to smash the console if you don’t get at least a B+? With the looks of things, we’ll be lucky if you pass at all.”

Still without looking at them, he scowled. “First off, thanks for your obvious belief in me.” He could be petty when he wanted to, and this seemed like one of the times he wanted to pout and get snarky. “Second of all, she wouldn’t.”

At that, they arched an eyebrow at him. “Oh really? Did you forget that time she threw the television out of the window to keep her word when you flunked that history test?”

A few moments of silence, save for the sound effects coming from his game, and the furious tapping of buttons. “Alright, maybe she will. But still, we have a lot of time to go through the material.”

“Three days. Half of one you’ve already wasted, mind you.” They sighed, carefully wrapping their arms around his midsection and snuggling up to his broad back. A cheap trick, yes, but how else would they grab his attention without outright snatching the controller from his hands? “C’mon, Josuke. Miss Tomoko asked me to come over while she was out for this reason. I don’t wanna let her down, y’know?”

Josuke audibly swallowed, and they had to hold back a smug laugh. They had him right where they wanted him. “H-hey, who are you dating, me or my mom?”

They snorted, teasingly squeezing his waist. “My supposed-boyfriend’s got me right with him, and he’s been practically ignoring me for two hours. I’d say the answer’s currently neither of you.”

Instantly, the controller flew all across the room, landing somewhere unknown as his character on the screen crashed into explosives and died. Bingo, they wickedly thought to themself as Josuke finally turned around in their arms, his handsome face blocking out the ‘GAME OVER!’ flashing behind him.

Heavy eyebrows furrowed and lower lip jutted in a subconscious pout, he leaned in, caging them against the back of the sofa with his arms. “Dirty move.”

“You fell for it, though.” Grinning, they hooked their arms around his neck, tugging him a little closer. “Can’t believe I had to fight for your attention this long.”

“It slipped my mind that we’re finally alone,” he moaned pitifully, nudging their nose with his. “Next time I get distracted from you, punch me in the balls.” At the sinister look he saw in their eyes, he pulled back for a second, alarm on his face. “On second thought, I take that back. Don’t.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll keep my hands to myself.” Cocking their head to the side, they toyed with a few loose strands of hair at the nape of his neck. It was so rare to see his hair anything other than immaculately styled, so the rare chances that they got to touch the soft strands were deeply cherished—by the both of them, it seemed, if the current redness of Josuke’s cheeks was anything to go by. “Or would you rather I keep my hands on you?”

Their boyfriend buried his face in their neck, partially out of embarrassment, and partially out of a desire to press achingly gentle kisses against their exposed skin. “Mm, I don’t know,” he mumbled, “So long as you’re not too rough with me, I’d prefer that, yeah.”

“Oh? So you like to be treated gently, big guy?” Their voice came out a little breathy as he lightly nipped at that one spot on their neck, and they hoped that it wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he had them weak in his arms. Just a little more…

More kisses rained down on them, trailing up to their jaw and sucking at the skin there, just lightly enough to tease them without leaving a mark. A sigh escaped their lips, and their hands trailed down his back, gripping at his yellow tank top in hopes of regaining their sanity. Strong arms embraced them tightly, and arched their back into him.

“Yeah, so what?” he mumbled against the corner of their lips. “Got a problem with that?”

At the very last second before their lips met, they turned their face to the other side and pulled away. “Actually, I do. Because we’re not doing anything at all until you finish studying chapters one through four.”

Groaning, Josuke made to reach out for them as they slipped from his embrace and began to walk off. “Babe, you can’t be serious—“

“I am,” they coolly said, as if they hadn’t been seconds away from pulling him ontop of them. “Would you like me to call your mom and tell her you’re fooling around instead of getting your shit done?”

He shuddered, visibly recoiling at the thought and slumping back in place. “Don’t. She’ll probably put a ban on you ever visiting me when she’s out.”

Still a little shaken up and their nerves slightly tattered by the onslaught of intimacy, they hurried to his room, calling out behind them in a sing-song voice. “Well, these calculus problems aren’t gonna solve themselves!”

Collapsing onto his bed, they muffled a laugh as they heard him swearing and slamming his heavy notebook open, grumbling under his breath the entire time. In the meantime, they curled up into his freshly-made sheets and snuggled their head into his fluffy pillow.

“It smells like him,” they whispered to themself, their face flushed as they squeezed the pillow a little. Somehow, having their boyfriend’s familiar scent surrounding them from everywhere warmed them up to their fingertips, and sent their heart racing in their ribcage. “Wish he’d hurry up and join me before Miss Tomoko gets home…”

Taglist: @blondeboyfriend @mrsgiovanna @boorishbrambling

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[lilgarbitch]

Running in Circles- One

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Reader

CW: Slight angst, slight fluff, anxiety...I think that's all so far

Word count: 6k

Author's note: This is the first story I've written in a very long time so I will take any criticism given. This is also the first time I've written anything on Tumblr so bear with me as I figure all of this out. I just missed writing so much and discovered how beautifully organized this site is compared to others so I gave it a go, and I hope you all enjoy<3

Y/N

I sit hunched over, elbows resting on my knees as my leg rapidly bounced up and down. My chin was rested on my fist, with a stressed scowl covering my face as I sit in the lounge area of our tour bus. I realize I’m shaking my whole body by bouncing but I truly don’t care, it eased the racing thoughts of the show we’re about to play. 

Tommy walks into the living area and gives me a slightly pained look, I try to sit up and let his presence distract me from the stress, waiting for hum to say something, but it just takes over my body once again and I fall back against my seat with a loud huff and shut my eyes. 

“I know you always get stressed out for shows, but…Hun..” he sends a small pout my way, “you look like you haven’t slept. You’ve been dreaming of us touring with someone big for so long…But it almost looks like you’re regretting it.” Tommy looks at me with pity filled eyes. 

I let out a long exhale, rubbing my hands against my fishnet-covered thighs, trying to soothe myself. 

“I am excited, trust me. I-” I pause to squeeze my eyes shut and try to push the stress away again. “I just… can’t wrap my head around it…especially who we’re touring with.” 

He gives me a look telling me that he was slightly confused. I had never fully explained myself to Tommy. He knows nothing about what’s truly been on my mind for the past few years. He doesn’t know who I write about in my lyrics. And there’s a reason for it. It’s utterly embarrassing for me to say any of it out loud. 

I wave him off with a small ‘it’s nothing’ before getting up and pacing around the tour bus. We were about a half hour away from the venue for the first show of our first big tour. I look at myself in the mirror and run back to my bag, deciding to change my outfit once more. I just want to feel good enough for first impressions with the band, so I can’t have myself thinking too much about my appearance. I look through my bag, look down at myself, then back at my bag. I grab my phone and check the weather before picking out a few pieces of clothing and walking back to the seating area. Anthony now sitting with Tommy. 

“Is Cam still sleeping?” I ask, my mind getting sidetracked, seeing all my bandmates but my drummer. 

“No, he’s in the back playing on his phone,” Tony absentmindedly replies, staring out the window. I give him a nod before remembering what I was holding. 

“Okay, so. It’s going to be a little chilly out today, but I’m sticking to my skort and fishnets. Do I wear my sweater-” I say holding up my oversized knitted sweater, “Or my lace top with a cardigan?” I proceed to hold that pairing up. Tony turns to me and eyes both choices and you can almost see the gears turning in his head as he visualizes what both outfits would look like, causing a small humorous smirk to form on my face. 

I glance towards Tommy and he’s tapping a finger against his chin, before replying, “The sweater would be warmer, yeah?” and I nod. “That one, then.” 

“Dude, I’m asking which would look better, not which I would survive better in” I laugh. I love my band. I can fully say that I view everyone in the group as my family. My brothers. But it has reached a point where I am purely treated as a little sister and not their lead singer. 

I turn back to Tony as he’s still deep in thought, but he finally spoke. 

“I agree. But only because the lace top with the fishnets may clash, and the sweater still lets your neck tattoos show,” he answers as if I gave him a pop quiz. I giggle before turning around and heading to change. I look at my outfit after, and agree with Tony. The short skort shows off my leg tattoos which I hate covering up, and the sweater covers enough to keep me warm, but shows off the cybersigilism print on the front of my throat, the barbed wire on my left collar bone as it hangs down on that shoulder, and the sleeves, even though are a little too long, I rolled them up enough so they aren’t going to get in the way, and so they show off the detailed skull on my left hand and the more cybersigilism print flowing onto my right. 

I give myself a final look over in the mirror, take account of if I’m comfortable enough, and if there’s anything I’m going to think too much about out of insecurity. Giving a small smile to myself in my reflection, I leave the bathroom and walk towards the front. 

“ETA 5 MINUTES” Cameron shouted from behind me, both scaring me and bringing the dreaded stress and fear back into my body. I let out a small shriek and Cam laughs out an apology, patting my back as he passes me and goes to sit with the rest of the boys. With a long exhale, I sit down with them all as we pull down a dirt road and head towards the bus park. We have 3 hours until doors even open, so I let out a sigh of relief that I see no other busses around as our bus halts to a stop. Maybe I can eye this place out and find a good place to relax (aka finding good hiding spots to get away from everyone when things get too much.) 

I feel a small pat on my shoulder, waking me from my daze as the boys get up and start heading out of the bus. I stand and follow, trying my hardest to calm my nerves. If this was a situation where I was just a fangirl about to perform with her favorite band, this would be so much easier. But it’s not. 

We all step about and stretch our legs, finally feeling solid ground after hours and hours on a tour bus. Feeling better, I head off towards the venue, stopping as I notice something in the distance, towards the front of the venue. A group of people forming, getting here early for the concert which caused a wave of confidence to rush over me. Even though I know most are here for Bad Omens, they’re here early. Meaning they still want to see our band, whether they know anything about us or are just open to new music. I walk further until I’m heading in through the back doors. I eye up the green rooms and backstage. I search out all available bathrooms because it’s always good to know. And then I walk towards the actual stage, seeing where I will be performing today.

Our crew should be pulling up any minute now so I start mentally mapping out where everything will go.

Suddenly, I heard doors opening and footsteps behind me, making me jump, but when I turned around, I was thankful it was just the boys and our crew carrying our things in. I grab my custom mic stand (that I just had to splurge on for this tour) and walk with everyone onto the stage and help set up what I can. We thankfully have a large enough crew, so the boys and I are eventually able to walk away and scope out the area more. 

Once we finally felt settled in enough, knowing where everything we need is, we stepped outside for some fresh air and to let off some pent-up stress and emotions that we didn’t need on stage. 

A few feet from me, Tommy and Tony are chatting about whatever the hell guitarists talk about, occasionally letting out their practice growls, as they’re my backup vocalists for a few parts of songs, while Cam and I are doing an odd preshow ritual that we started way back when. I’m doing my vocal exercise, making sure my screams and growls are up to par for today, while also making sure I can hit my clean vocals well, with Cam letting me know if anything sounds harsh. And while I do all of this, I have my hands extended out, palms up, with Cam beating on them with his fingers like drums. It’s a good exercise for both of us, as we need to be able to do our own thing, while listening to the other to make sure we work together, but also so we don’t get distracted by external noise. 

We get so stuck in our own zone that we, or I guess mostly I don’t even notice the other tour bus pull up close to ours. Cam stops beating on my hands, bringing me back to reality as I look up at him. I follow his eyes and land on the new bus in the lot. I instantly feel my heart and stomach drop down to my ass. My breathing stops as I see a few heads starting to file out of the bus. They don’t immediately see us, but when they do, they send a wave and a smile. 

At first, I only see long, slightly messy hair, instantly recognizing it as Jolly, Mr. Joakim Karlsson himself. Tommy and I have talked about him a lot, just pure adoration of how he plays. Tommy has even become good friends with him over the last few year, helping us even get this spot on the tour. Then I see one of the Nicks. Nick Folio, the drummer, causing Cam to leave my side and immediately use his gift of being an extrovert to walk up and start chatting with him. Next to him was the other Nick, Nick Ruffilo, their bassist, who had the sweetest smile on his face as he waved to all of us, and we just couldn’t help but mirror his actions. 

But now, the stress was fully hitting me. It hit me that the only way I could get through today and even the rest of the tour was to do what I do best. Put on a complete front when stressed. It was what I’ve always done when I was in uncomfortable situations. Even in childhood, I could pretend to be someone who was completely not myself, just so no one would see what I was truly feeling. I know it’s going to throw my bandmates off guard, but they’ll catch on. Unless I want to look like a maniac to the new group, I can’t let my true feelings show. 

As I was planning out in my head my plan, thinking of ways to make it foolproof, the man of the day stepped off the bus. With hair like Levi Ackerman, looking beautifully styled even though you could tell the only thing he’s done was run his hands through it. With his arm and throat tattoos on full display as if I were walking around a goddamn art piece. He looked ethereal. To me, at least. I now realized that I had once again fully stopped breathing and forced myself to calm down. Before Noah could even glance my way, I slowly backed up toward Tommy, letting him know that I was going to be right back, trying my hardest to sound okay and not cause any concern. With that, I sneakily slipped past him, praying that no one saw how suspicious it looked, and sped walked back towards the venue, to a bathroom as far out of reach as possible.

I walked in and locked the door behind me. My breath started picking up and I immediately did everything I could to stop a panic attack from fronting. I ran my hands under cold water, trying to shock my body back to reality. I did my breathing exercises. I did everything I could. But the second I glanced at myself in the mirror, it was as if I allowed my brain to go back in time. 

I couldn’t be happier right now. Tommy and I were walking around a metal festival. I had just forced him to watch Erra’s set with me and now he was taking me to see a band he had listened to here and there. He was excited to show them to me and I was just happy to be here, seeing bands I love and seeing new artists that I would absolutely be adding to playlists tonight. We stopped and stood in a spot where we thought would be perfect. There were a few people in front of us, but we were close enough to the barricade and stage that we could see the whole show perfectly. 

While we waited for their set to start, Tommy and I chatted about the bands we had seen that day. We both mentioned a few we enjoyed that we never heard before, then talked about how some bands put on performances that we either loved or thought could have been a lot better. We even threw some ideas back and forth of what we saw and heard that could be implemented into our own band. We were just joking, giggling, and having the best time. It was a little sad that we had to wait until the next day of the festival for Tony and Cam to join us, but I truly enjoyed spending today with just Tommy, as I definitely felt closest to him out of all of them, knowing him a lot longer than the others.

We were talking about the lineup for tomorrow and what bands we wanted to see and who we wanted to show to Tony and Cam. I was mid-sentence when I heard people beginning to cheer around us, which brought a giant smile to my face, out of complete and utter love for the environment at concerts, and then to glance up at the stage, trying to see who had stepped out. It was the drummer. He was cute. He flashed the crowd a sweet smile, waving at everyone, before sitting behind his drum set. Then came the guitarist and bassist. I eyed all three up and down, a little shocked at how attractive everyone was, but also knowing Tommy, it made a lot of sense as to why he wanted to be so close to the stage. 

The three of them got everything ready, and I was about to turn to Tommy to mention how hot they all looked when the voice in my throat died and my body stiffened as the lead singer walked on stage. No words could explain the feeling that overwhelmed my body as I saw that confident, long-haired man stand right before me. 

He started addressing the crowd, hyping everyone up, including Tommy, but I didn't hear a single word he said. No matter what I tried, I couldn’t regain control over my body. I did my best to shake out the stiffness, trying my hardest to look like a normal person in the crowd, but there was nothing I could do to get my brain to start working again. 

I watched as he moved around the stage. I could see the love that he had for performing. But absolutely nothing could knock me out of the daze I was in. It was like nothing I had ever felt before. The emotions were so foreign. I completely forgot where I was after a while. The only thing my brain allowed me to focus on was him. Everything about him. I felt like an owl, using all my senses to focus on every single thing he did. I knew I probably looked like a madman, or at least I felt like one, but there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop myself. 

After some time, probably a few songs, he was closer to the crowd, looking through it as he sang, and we locked eyes for a moment. But it almost seemed like he did a double take, before forcing himself to go back to serenading the whole crowd. It was most definitely because I looked utterly insane, but in that moment, I didn’t care. The feeling that shot through my body when we did make eye contact was like nothing I had ever felt before. 

Time moved by at such a weird pace in my daze, so before I knew it, the set was over and he was thanking the crowd and the festival for having them. As he bowed and was about to leave the stage, our eyes locked again, and a shiver was sent through my body. I saw him blink a few times before sending a final wave to the crowd and walking off stage. 

The second he was no longer in my line of sight, reality finally came back to me. I blinked a few times and let out a deep breath as if I had been holding it the entire time. Tommy started talking and caught my attention, so I turned to him as if nothing happened. 

“So… what’d you think?’ he asked, nudging my arm with a smirk. I gave him the best fake smile I could before replying, “Oh, that was amazing. Why didn’t you warn me about how hot everyone was?” which caused him to let out a chuckle.

“I figured it would be a good surprise.” he shrugged out as we walked away from the stage and towards the next set. My mind was racing a mile a minute but I tried my best to keep my composure as we continued to talk.

“So, who was your favorite?” Tommy randomly asked as we stood at a different stage, waiting for Of Mice and Men to start. 

“Uhh..” I trailed off, not wanting him to know I already had an answer. 

“It was Noah, wasn’t it.” he cut me off with a smirk. 

“Was that the-” 

“The singer? Yeah. I could totally see the heart eyes you got when I saw him look at you.” he laughed out, causing my face to redden. All I could do in response was nod. I mean, it’s a simple crush, wasn’t it? We all fall for random artists, so there’s no reason for me to feel weird about it. As long as I completely ignore the fact that what I just felt was nothing close to what I felt when I used to fangirl over boybands in middle school. 

A year later

‘This isn’t a normal crush.’ I kept repeating in my head. I was currently writing lyrics for new songs, trying to find emotions in me to write about, but all I could do was dwell on that feeling I got that day, and the feelings that came after it. 

I look at my paper filled with messy writing, which was surrounded by other papers of the same misfortune, all with the same feeling behind it. One talking about losing control to a man who never knew me, another begging to “be his sweet dreams.” My eyes land on another, catching the words, ‘I want to feel your heartbeat on mine,’ causing me to let out a loud groan and fall back into my chair. I rub my hands down my face and let out a dry sob. I was so tired of this. I’ve become a fucking cliche.

I heard footsteps behind me and turned to see Anthony with a small sheepish smile on his face. He crouched down next to my chair and looked up at me. 

“Do you need some help?” I know he thinks my frustration is coming from the struggle of writing, and not who I’m writing about, and I’m going to keep it that way. 

“Please. I can’t keep looking at these. And if anyone could help me, it’s going to be the other hopeless romantic in this band.” I answer with a sad chuckle. He nods and motions me to stand up so he can sit at my desk. I do so, sitting in a chair a few feet away and just staring up at the ceiling as I hear him rustle the papers around. 

“Oh for fucks sake, dude, who the hell are you writing about,” he asks rhetorically. He knows I never answer, the embarrassment being too much, so I just reply with a tired giggle and let him do what he can to fix this part of my mess. 

I blink a few times, finally back in the bathroom. Reality crashing into me, finally grounding me once again. My hands are cramping as I look down and see that I’ve been gripping the sink so harshly, I don’t know how I didn’t break it. I loosen my grip and stand up straight, shaking off my nerves. I take an actual look at myself in the mirror, fix my makeup with my finger a little, before taking a deep breath and unlocking the door, ready to at least confront today. I can deal with the future later. I run my plan in my head a little, deciding that I can at least pretend to be an extrovert for a little while, just to ease the awkward tension that I know will build if I keep acting this way. 

I walk back through the hallway of the venue, then outside, towards the group of guys who were all chatting, and let out one last exhale of stress before putting on my confident front and joining the rest of them. 

Thankfully, it seems I was gone for barely 10 minutes, as their crew bus wasn’t even here yet and they’re still chatting about interests and things they have in common. I walk close enough that I have now caught the attention of a few of them, and I give them the best confident smile that I can. I walk towards the other band of boys and give them a small wave. 

“You must be Joakim!” I say, him giving me a proud smile for using his real name, and I internally thank myself for pronouncing it correctly. I give him a small side hug, feeling comfortable with him since I know that he and Tommy have become good friends lately, and I would love to be one as well. I then face to his right. 

“And you must be the Nicks! Uhhh Folio and…” I pause and fake to look at my hand like I was reading something, then quickly back up at them, “Ruffilo!’ I say with a smile. They give me a teasing look, making me break. I show them my hand, laughing, it not having anything more than my tattoos on it.

“I’m kidding, guys. I am really happy to meet you all and have been looking forward to this ever since I heard we were going to be doing shows with you.” I give them both a warm smile as I give Ruffilo’s arm a friendly squeeze. They both chuckle at my terrible joke, making me feel good that I’m at least breaking the ice well enough. I’d rather embarrass myself through my jokes than my feelings. But here comes the hard part. I take the deepest breath I could through my nose so they can’t tell how hard this is for me. I take a few steps to their right and meet face-to-face with Noah. I hold my arms behind my back, knowing that my hands are definitely shaking right now, and give him a warm smile. 

“And you must be the famous Noah Sebastian.” I try giving him my warmest smile and a small nod of acknowledgment. His mouth parted slightly before closing and giving me a fake warm smile back. Almost completely mirroring mine. 

“And you must be Y/N.” my breath softly hitches as I hear his deep smooth voice, and it being directed towards me was causing small shivers down my spine. I play it as cool as I can and nod before he continues, now facing my whole band.

“We’re really excited to play with you guys. We’ve actually listened to Praising Deities for a while, even before Thomas and Jolly met. So I was super excited to hear that our teams were able to come together and make this happen. And I truly hope that we all enjoy spending the next few months together and become good friends.” He finishes, giving us all a warm smile, his eyes trailing over all of us, but lingering on me the longest, making my heart race.  

Tommy, Tony, and Cam all thank him and continue on with compliments and getting to know the other band, Jolly and the Nicks responding back the same way. But that just left Noah and I alone in our own little worlds. We listened to the others chat about things, occasionally answering if someone asked us something, but we didn’t contribute much. I couldn’t get my mind away from the thought that I was barely a foot away from the man that has been infiltrating my thoughts daily for the past few years. 

At some point, I guess I had dazed off, thinking about anything and everything and just staring down at the ground while everyone chatted. It went on for a few minutes before I felt someone to my left nudge me. I blinked a few times before turning to them, only for my eyes to widen slightly, seeing that it was Noah and that he was closer than ever before. He leans down until his face is near my ear.

“You alright?” He mumbles into my ear, sending shivers down my spine, once again, at how deep his voice got when he was trying to keep quiet. I take a deep breath before giving a half-assed nod. He clears his throat, standing up straight, and then places a hand on my lower back, pushing me through the crowd of our bandmates. I really didn’t know how to react, so I just let him, until we were far enough from them that we could have our own conversation. When he stopped, I looked up at him, slightly confused. 

“I- uh I just figured you needed to get out of there. I was starting to get overwhelmed and saw you staring off in the distance, so I figured you needed a way out of there as well.” He answered my silent question, rubbing his tattooed hand on the back of his neck, almost looking shy. 

“Oh!” I let out a fake airy laugh. “ Yeah, I uh just have a lot on my mind… I was honestly waiting for our manager to come out and tell us to do our soundcheck, just something to get away from the questions. I..uh..it’s been a stressful day, so as much as I’d love to have a good chat with all of you, it’s probably going to have to wait until I’m more settled in with..all of this,” I finish, motioning to the tour busses and venue. He seems to be listening intently when I talk and gives me a small nod when I finished. 

“No, I get it. To be completely honest, I still get anxious on the first show of a tour..” he pauses for a moment, before looking like he had an idea. “Here. You go head inside, I’ll be right back.” He quickly moves towards his tour bus. I shoot him a confused look but realized he was already so far away, so I just do what he says and start walking back inside. On my walk in, I continue my deep thinking. How I’m actually really happy that I’m playing off my anxiety toward him super well, and was surprisingly able to have a conversation with him without freaking out. And I was especially thankful that he had more confidence than me, actually starting the conversation. Maybe I can survive this. Maybe I can get over all these weird feelings over the next few months. I mean, having a natural human conversation with him seems to be okay for me, so hopefully my brain will start seeing him as a normal everyday person…right?

Still deep in thought, I make it inside and head towards the backstage area. As I walk, my reflection catches my eye, and I turn and take a good look at myself in the full-length mirror they have in there. “I look sane enough” I quietly tell myself as I fix my outfit a little before letting out a deep breath, forcing the rest of the stress out of me. I’m glad I put extra thought into my outfit today. I know I’m gonna have days where I’ll jyst want to put something comfy on to perform, but with first impressions and it being the first day of the tour, I’m pretty proud of my appearance.

Since it was the first day, and I liked my look, I pulled out my phone and took a quick picture (or a few, trying to find the right pose) and then headed towards the couch. I open Instagram and click on the picture I like the most. One where my tattoos show and the lighting was good enough. Then I type, “Day 1 jitters slowly easing away. Can’t wait to see you all out there <3” in the caption, making a face at how that was somehow the best idea for a caption I could come up with, but not really caring and hitting post anyway, after tagging the band’s account. 

Almost instantly, I started getting likes and comments and was about to put my phone away until a few caught my eye. They all mentioned Noah. Some asking weird personal questions, some wanting to see how we were all getting along, and some even asking when a collab was happening, which made me chuckle. Then I saw a few with account names that had either ‘Bad Omens’ or ‘Noah’s’ in them and each had some snarky comment to make. One mentioning how I was probably sleeping around since I was going to be touring with 7 other boys, which I just rolled my eyes at. If it hasn’t happened yet, I doubt I was ever going to do anything like that. I don’t like mixing work and play, and I absolutely would never see any of my boys like that. The thought alone made me grimace. 

But then I thought about it more. I’m going to be spending the next four months with Bad Omens. I’m going to be spending the next four months with Noah. Singing my songs. The songs I wrote..about Noah. Fuck.  And Noah is currently on his way here by himself. We’re going to hang out by ourselves…Why did I let him tell me to wait in here? What happened when speaking to him that I just forgot about the debilitating obsession I got all those years back. Hell, what am I even doing here?

Almost as if on cue, the doors open and I hear a single pair of footsteps walk towards me. My knee began to bounce and I tried my best to hide my attention in my phone as he got closer.

“Hey,” he said softly, not needing to be any louder since it was just me in here. I looked up from my phone and saw that he brought a Nintendo Switch with him. I giggled as the sight brought me out of my mental battle. Such a large, tatted man, looking down at me with excitement as he held a colorful, handheld gaming device. He walked closer to me until he sat down about a foot from me and gave me a smile, which I mirrored back as authentically as I could. 

“Whenever my nerves are getting bad, I always force one of the boys to play with me until soundcheck. So I figured..” he trailed off as he motioned the switch towards me. I let out a small laugh before responding. 

“You know, that might actually help. Are you sure you don’t have anything you have to be doing? I don’t want to be using up your time-” 

“No! I mean… I have a lot of time. You guys still have, what? An hour? before soundcheck, and I can do everything I need during that time’ he rushed out, catching me a little off guard a little, causing me to giggle. 

“Okay. Okay. If you say so.” I laugh out as I reach my hand out. He gives me a smile and places the controller in my hand before setting the body of the switch on the table in front of us. We go back and forth deciding on what game to play and eventually just settle on Mario Kart. 

Tommy

The boys and I chatted for a good 20 minutes or so, or what I thought was only 20 minutes, before we realized that Y/N and Noah never came back. I noticed first, then slowly the rest of them did, a few of us sending each other confused glances before Tony mentioned needing to look for them, as we probably had to get ready soon. I agreed and we all started walking back.

We all headed towards the door to the back of the venue, Cam being the one to open it. As soon as we stepped inside, we all heard arguing, causing a few of us to share concerned looks before speed walking towards the voices, leading us to the room backstage. The second we got close enough, we saw Y/N leaning over Noah, trying to knock a tiny switch controller out of his hands, as he was yelling about how she was cheating. 

“WHY’D YOU PICK RAINBOW ROAD FOR YOUR TURN, JACKASS! YOU OBVIOUSLY KNOW THE TRACK WELL! SO YOU’RE THE CHEATER!” Y/N yells, still occasionally elbowing Noah’s arm, but his tight grip on the controller and focus on the screen not faltering once. Noah’s laughing more and more every time she tries messing with him. 

“YOU’RE LITERALLY TOUCHING MY CONTROLLER! THAT’S AGAINST THE RULES!” Noah yells back as he starts shouldering her back into her spot. The boys and I just watch in awe as these two argue over a racing game, which I do fully understand, especially since I have played against Y/N before and boy, does she get competitive. I see Y/N catch us in the corner of her eye and she smirks. 

“Noah, the boys are here for you,” she tells him, and the second he glances up at us, she instantly smacks the controller out of his hands, it landing on the thankfully carpeted floor, and she lets out an almost evil cackle. Noah shouts as he loses the controller and immediately reaches for it as fast as he can. He sits back up, fumbling with the controller to get a good hold of it, and goes back to playing, only to let out a ‘WHAT THE FUCK’ which causes her to laugh even harder. 

“I WAS IN SECOND PLACE AND NOW I’M IN TENTH,” Noah shouts towards her before turning towards us. “She is vicious!” he warns us, causing all of us, but mainly Tony, Cam and I to just laugh because if anyone already knew that, it was us. Cam and Ruffilo walk closer to them, standing on each side of them, watching as they finish the race. I can tell by the teasing scowl on Ruffilo’s face and the excitement in Cam’s that Y/N was winning. After a few moments, with Noah and Y/N looking like they were both about to fall out of their seat, Y/N jumps up and Noah falls back as Cam and Y/N cheer and high-five each other. The boys and I all clap for her and she gives an over-the-top bowing performance, before turning to Noah, who’s throwing a fake pity party. This causes her to sit back down and try to ease her laughter. 

“Awe, I’m sorry, Noah,” she says with a fake pout. He lets out a huff in response, causing her to have to stifle a giggle. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the stage manager walking towards us, and I look over to Y/N. The movement catches her eye as well as she glances at us, getting the hint that we need to head for soundcheck. She stands and walks around Noah so he’s looking at her and leans down. 

“I’ll make this up to you next time,” she tells him with a smile as she turns and walks away, Cam following her. As I was about to turn to follow, I managed to catch Noah’s eyes trailing down Y/N’s body, eyeing up her tattoos, and then just her, as she walked away. I had to hold back a snicker as Tony and I walked away from the group and headed on stage.

Part Two

[honeytonedhottie]

studying methods + tips⋆.ೃ࿔*:･✍🏽

LEITNER SYSTEM ; an effective way to study with flashcards

create flashcards

all ur flashcards should begin with box one or whatever box number (check the example)

for example ; in a box/pouch you'd label it ; box one cards to be reviewed everyday, box two cards to be reviewed every other day etc.

review each flashcard, quiz urself on what u recall/explain the info on each side

if u answered correctly move the card to box two and if u answered incorrectly, move the card to box one

the time frame should be dependent on the amount of time before ur quiz/test that u have to study.

HOT TIP ; treat studying like it's a job and you're getting paid for it. work agreed hours and take arranged breaks as though its a real job.

MORE WAYS TO STUDY ;

add color or diagram your notes and if ur not taking notes, TAKE NOTES

summarize your notes and summarize concepts (if u can explain a concept, thats how you'll know if u studied it enough)

make a concept map

pretend to be a teacher and ur explaining a concept

HOW TO MOTIVATE YOURSELF TO STUDY ;

i watch time-lapse studying videos to motivate myself to study bcuz then it feels like im studying with another person. or i'll set up my phone and film my own time-lapse of me studying to motivate myself.

implementing something that u love into studying. for me i love pink and just being a girly girl so i implement pink into my studying by using super cute stationary and that rly motivates me to use my pink tools.

i dont always study in the same locations, sometimes i'll study in a cafe or in the library instead of just studying in my room bcuz sometimes, all we need is a change of scenery.