#this semester it's one final project and one final paper. but the paper's just a reflection paper & it's due end of finals week

[bonestrouslingbones]

also i hate to admit it and i swear i DO understand the importance of them but fellas i fear i may be steadily morphing into a humanities hater

[orcelito]

Lying down to go to sleep and realizing I can actually sleep in for the first time in Too Long..... 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

[tired-stressed-trying-my-best]

hey, can somebody tell my brain that this is a really bad time for a manic-depressive spiral? because it doesn't seem to be listening to me and this is a really really bad time for a manic-depressive spiral

[kathaelipwse]

Hate You Less Every Day | K.Seungmin

Pairing: Seungmin x F.Reader

Word Count: 12,711 words | Reading Time: 45-ish mins

Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers | Angst | Slow Burn | Fluff | College AU

Trope: Grumpy x Grumpy | Forced Proximity | Academic Rivals | Soft for Her Only

Warnings: Mentions of past abuse, physical altercation, bruises, strong language, emotional vulnerability, first person pov {I, my, mine, etc}, NO PROOF READING WAS DONE.

Synopsis: You’ve hated each other since first year. He’s cold, sarcastic, and always seems one insult away from combusting. But when a university project forces you together — and fate keeps trapping you in the same orbit — cracks begin to form in the walls around your hearts. Turns out, there’s more to Seungmin than biting words… and more to this "hate" than either of you expected.

Author’s Note: For the girls who fall for the quiet, mean ones that secretly remember your favorite snack. If you’ve ever wanted to punch a man and then kiss him right after — this one’s for you.

-

The syllabus landed on my desk with a final, echoing thud, the sound reverberating through the otherwise quiet lecture hall like a death knell. Its weight, a deceptively thin stack of papers, mirrored the leaden dread that instantly settled in the pit of my stomach. My eyes, usually quick and efficient at skimming academic jargon, now moved with agonizing slowness across the printed words: "Semester's main project: group collaboration." Just three words, innocuous on their own, yet together they possessed the sinister power to unravel my meticulously planned, already stressful academic year. I gripped the edge of the desk, my knuckles white, as I desperately scanned the list of assigned partners. My heart, usually a steady drumbeat, now pounded a frantic, irregular rhythm against my ribs, each beat a desperate plea for a miracle. And then I saw it, the name that made my blood run cold, freezing in my veins: Kim Seungmin.

A strangled gasp escaped me, a mortified little sound instantly regretted as a few curious heads snapped in my direction. This couldn't be happening. Of all the hundreds of students in our vast, anonymous cohort, the universe, in its most twisted, sadistic sense of humor, had conspired to shackle me to him. My mind raced, frantically searching for an escape route, a loophole, anything. I’d honestly rather be hit by a bus – repeatedly, slowly, painfully – than endure a semester tethered to Kim Seungmin.

Our first, and frankly, only, true encounter had solidified our antagonistic dynamic during freshman year, carving an indelible scar into my university experience. It was a miserable, drizzly Tuesday morning, the kind that promised a day as dreary as my mood. I, perpetually clumsy even on the best of days, had been attempting to navigate the crowded hallway, juggling an armful of weighty textbooks and a steaming, scalding coffee from the campus café. Rounding a blind corner in the bustling corridor too quickly, my foot caught on an invisible crack, and I’d lurched forward, colliding with a solid, unyielding force. It was him. Seungmin.

My coffee, a dark, bitter cascade of liquid, exploded upon impact, drenching his pristine, freshly ironed white shirt. The hot liquid seeped instantly into the fabric, blossoming into an ugly brown stain right on his chest. "Oh my god, I am so, so sorry!" I’d stammered, my voice high with panic, my hands fumbling frantically for the few crumpled napkins I always carried. He hadn't uttered a single word. Instead, he’d simply stared at me, his eyes twin pools of glacial ice, promising an eternity of unadulterated damnation. His jaw was clenched so tight I could see the muscle twitching just beneath his skin, his perfect eyebrows narrowed into furious, accusatory slits, and the sheer, palpable disdain radiating from him was a physical force, pushing me back. Even after my torrent of profuse apologies, my desperate offers to pay for dry cleaning, to buy him a new shirt, to literally bow at his feet, his expression remained rigidly unchanged. He simply turned on his heel and stalked away without a backward glance, leaving me standing in a rapidly expanding puddle of my own making, utterly, completely mortified, the lingering scent of burnt coffee clinging to the air. That was three years ago, a lifetime ago in university terms, and he had never, not once, let me forget it. Every fleeting, accidental glance across the lecture hall, every unavoidable proximity in the cramped hallways, was met with the same chilling contempt. He’d perfected the art of looking through me as if I were a particularly annoying smudge on the wall, an inconvenience he tolerated only because he had to breathe the same air.

Now, here we were, bound by the cruel, unyielding dictates of academia, forced to become "collaborators." I took a deep, shaky breath, trying to mentally prepare myself for the inevitable onslaught. Our first "collaboration" meeting was set for that afternoon in one of the library’s designated group study areas, a glass-walled box that offered no escape. I arrived a full fifteen minutes early, determined to project an air of professional calm, to be the unequivocally mature one in this impending disaster. I spread out my notebooks, pens, and laptop, trying to look busy, in control. He sauntered in precisely five minutes late, his backpack slung with an almost arrogant carelessness over one shoulder, his expression as unreadable and cold as a blank slate. He didn't acknowledge my presence, didn't make eye contact. He simply pulled out a chair opposite me, the screeching scrape of the legs against the tile floor grating against my already frayed nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard. He settled in, crossing his arms, his posture radiating an air of bored indifference that was somehow more irritating than outright hostility.

"So," I began, clearing my throat, the sound ridiculously loud in the quiet study zone. "For the project, I was thinking we could start by brainstorming some ideas for the theoretical framework, and then perhaps divide the research tasks based on our initial findings?" I tried to keep my voice even, professional, my tone a polite invitation for cooperation.

He didn't even let me finish. His eyes, though not directly on mine, were sharp and dismissive. "Let’s just get this over with," he cut in, his voice flat, devoid of any warmth, resonating with a familiar, barely concealed disgust. "The sooner we finish this, the sooner I don't have to look at you. Or hear you. Or, god forbid, smell your cheap coffee again. Is that even what it was? Smelled more like regret."

My jaw tightened, a muscle throbbing with instant irritation. I could feel a flush creeping up my neck. I took another deep, fortifying breath, counting slowly to three in my head, reminding myself of the scholarship, of my future. "Look, Seungmin," I forced a strained smile, trying to inject some semblance of humor into the abysmal situation, "I know we're not exactly going to be braiding each other's hair or exchanging friendship bracelets, but we have to work together. For the sake of our grades, can we at least try to be civil? Just for the next few months?"

A humorless smirk, sharp and cutting like broken glass, played on his perfect lips. "Civil? What's the point? It won't change the fact that you’re probably going to be a dead weight, clinging to my academic success like a barnacle to a ship. Knowing your track record for… 'accidents'." His gaze flickered meaningfully to my hands, then to the clean, empty table between us, a clear, unwelcome reminder of the coffee incident. The implication was that I was inherently clumsy, unreliable, and bound to mess up.

A sharp, furious retort sprang to my tongue – something about his own questionable social skills, his perpetually sour expression, his inability to interact with another human being without radiating hostility – but I bit it back, hard, my teeth digging into the inside of my cheek. "My GPA is just as high as yours, Seungmin, if not higher, actually," I stated, my voice losing its cooperative edge, becoming colder, more defensive. "I assure you, I'm perfectly capable of doing my share, and I won't 'drag your grade down'."

He leaned back further in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, his posture radiating an air of superior disdain. His gaze swept over me with an almost clinical detachment, as if evaluating a specimen under a microscope, or perhaps a particularly persistent pest. "Right. Just try not to trip over your own feet this time, or spill anything important. Or accidentally set the library on fire with your sheer lack of grace. My patience is already thinner than a single strand of hair, and frankly, I don't have enough spare brain cells to deal with your particular brand of… enthusiasm for misfortune."

My hands clenched into tight fists under the table, my nails digging into my palms, the physical pain a dull anchor against the sharp sting of his words. This was going to be an impossibly long, agonizing semester. We forced ourselves through the initial brainstorming session, the entire process punctuated by his relentless passive-aggressive comments and my increasingly strained, brittle politeness. Every single suggestion I made was met with a skeptical hum, a dismissive wave of his hand, or a thinly veiled criticism disguised as constructive feedback. "That's… an idea," he'd say, his tone suggesting it was the worst idea he'd ever heard. Or, "Are you sure you understand the parameters? Because that sounds wildly off-topic." Every time he spoke, it felt less like a productive conversation and more like a tiny, precise cut, each one a fresh wound.

As the meeting finally, mercifully, drew to a close, I began packing my things with an almost frantic speed, relief flooding through me like a cool, cleansing wave. "Okay, so I'll work on researching the historical context of the topic for the first section, and maybe you can look into the contemporary case studies for the second part of the draft?" I suggested, trying desperately to end on a cooperative, forward-looking note, a futile attempt to salvage some semblance of normalcy, to make it seem like we were two rational human beings capable of collaboration.

He merely grunted, already halfway out of his chair, seemingly desperate to escape the vicinity of my very existence. He paused beside the table, his shoulders squared, his eyes, dark and piercing, finally locking onto mine with an intensity that made me instinctively flinch, a sudden predatory gleam in their depths. His voice dropped, losing its usual mocking, sarcastic edge, becoming a low, chilling whisper that was somehow infinitely worse than any shouted insult, cutting deep into the thin veneer of my composure. "If I never see you again," he articulated each word slowly, deliberately, his gaze unwavering, "it still won’t be long enough."

He said it with such absolute conviction, such raw, unadulterated animosity, that it momentarily stunned me into silence. For once, my mind went blank, devoid of any snappy comeback, any witty retort to deflect the blow. My shoulders slumped, the last vestiges of my manufactured composure crumbling, leaving me feeling exposed and raw. All I could manage was a weary sigh, a heavy exhalation of defeat, and a slow, deliberate roll of my eyes, a silent admission that he had, for once, truly disarmed me. He watched my reaction for a second longer, a flicker of something unreadable – was it satisfaction? A cold triumph? – in his dark gaze, before turning sharply and walking away without another word. He disappeared around the corner, his retreating figure seeming to dissolve into the bustling library, leaving me utterly alone in the vast, echoing silence of the study area, the bitter, undeniable truth of his hatred hanging heavy in the air, a suffocating shroud. This project wasn't just going to be difficult; it was going to be pure, unadulterated torture. And somehow, I knew it had only just begun.

-

The initial dread of working with Seungmin had, against all odds, morphed into a fragile, strained routine. Weeks blurred into a grueling cycle of forced proximity and thinly veiled animosity. Our project, a complex analysis of ancient civilizations, was slowly, agonizingly, progressing. Every collaborative session felt less like an academic meeting and more like a minor diplomatic battle. Seungmin remained consistently cold, his every utterance a barbed wire fence between us, his expressions a constant, unyielding mask of disdain. I’d perfected the art of the subtle eye-roll and the tight-lipped nod, a silent, mutual agreement to endure for the sake of our grades, our coveted GPAs looming large as the ultimate prize. It was a miserable truce, a slow poison, but a truce nonetheless.

Then came the announcement that sent a fresh wave of ice-cold dread through me: the university's annual geology excursion. A mandatory, week-long camping trip to study rock formations and ecosystems, miles from campus, very useless yet helped in the grades. The moment the detailed itinerary landed in my inbox, my heart sank lower than a geologist's pickaxe hitting bedrock. Group assignments for tents. I scrolled down the PDF, my eyes scanning the list of pairings, my heart a leaden weight in my chest with each name I passed. And then I saw it, stark and undeniable, right below mine: Kim Seungmin. Of course. Just my luck. The universe truly did possess a cruel, sadistic sense of humor, determined to see just how much misery it could inflict upon my existence.

The bus ride to the remote campsite was a torturous blur. Jammed shoulder-to-shoulder with excited, chattering students, I mostly tuned out the cacophony, opting for oversized headphones and a grim, determined silence. Each bump in the road felt like a premonition of the discomfort to come. Upon arrival, the campsite was pure, unadulterated chaos – a sprawling expanse of muddy ground where tents were being erected like mushrooms after rain, equipment unloaded haphazardly, and hundreds of students milled about, their youthful energy a sharp contrast to my internal gloom. I located our designated plot, a patch of slightly less muddy earth where two flimsy pieces of canvas lay discarded, somehow constituting a shelter. Seungmin was already there, his movements precise and efficient, meticulously unrolling his sleeping bag inside what would soon be our shared enclosure. His back was to me, his broad shoulders squared, already staking his claim. He hadn't even waited.

"Great," I muttered under my breath, loud enough for him to undoubtedly catch the biting sarcasm. "Just fantastic."

He turned slowly, a dark eyebrow raised in that characteristic, disdainful arch. "What's 'fantastic'? The thrilling opportunity to spend a week in the unforgiving wilderness with someone whose primary skill seems to be being a persistent, irritating nuisance?" His voice was low, laced with his usual biting sarcasm, each word a perfectly aimed dart. He didn't even bother to look me in the eye.

"No, what's 'fantastic' is being trapped in a glorified cloth sack, barely big enough for one person, let alone two, with someone who treats me like I’m a particularly unpleasant germ," I retorted, dropping my heavy backpack with a thud that kicked up a puff of dry dust, a small act of defiance. "Did you even consider trying to get the tent assignment changed, Seungmin? Or are you just reveling in this, enjoying torturing me slowly, inch by agonizing inch?"

He let out a short, scoffing laugh, devoid of any genuine amusement. "Why would I? This is just part of the grand tapestry of my life, I suppose. Enduring minor annoyances for the greater good. Like passing this class with a decent grade, despite the handicaps I'm clearly being assigned." He unzipped his backpack, pulling out a thick geology textbook and a pen, as if he were about to start studying right there, mocking my frustration with his sheer indifference.

"You really are unbelievable," I spat, yanking my own sleeping bag out of its compression sack with unnecessary force, almost tearing the fabric. The tent, once just a visual, now felt impossibly small, a claustrophobic box that was already stealing my breath. Just the thought of breathing the same stale air as him, night after night, for five consecutive nights, sent a shiver of genuine dread down my spine. This wasn't just a project anymore; it was psychological warfare.

The first two days of the trip were a precarious, exhausting dance of avoidance. We hiked in separate groups whenever humanly possible, ate at opposite ends of the muddy picnic tables, and spoke only when absolutely, unequivocally necessary for the project tasks – identifying rock types, mapping geological features. But the evenings, oh, the evenings. Trapped in the shared tent, the air crackled with a suffocating silence, punctuated only by the occasional rustle of his sleeping bag, his deep, exasperated sighs, and my own jaw clenching so tight it ached. The unspoken tension was a live wire stretched taut between us, waiting for the smallest spark.

It finally snapped on the third night. A vicious, unseasonal storm had rolled in, turning the entire campsite into a muddy, miserable quagmire. Rain lashed against the thin tent fabric like thrown gravel, and thunder rumbled ominously in the distance, shaking the very ground beneath us. We'd been huddled inside, trying to go over some field notes by the weak, flickering glow of a single, battery-operated lantern. The damp cold had seeped into my bones, making my temper dangerously short.

"This data collection is sloppy," Seungmin stated, his voice cutting through the incessant drumming of the rain, sharp and dismissive as he jabbed a finger at my notebook. His tone was always one of cold authority, never of genuine help. "Did you even pay attention during the rock identification lecture? This is completely wrong. Look at these sketches. Are you drawing a cloud or a mineral sample?"

My patience, already worn thinner than old paper by the damp cold, the cramped space, and his constant, relentless criticisms, evaporated instantly. "It's not 'sloppy'!" I snapped, my voice rising, fueled by raw frustration. "It's a first pass, Seungmin, and the light out there was terrible! And honestly, your handwriting isn't exactly calligraphy either, Mr. Perfect! At least mine's legible even if my sketches aren't up to your impossible standards!"

"My handwriting doesn't affect the accuracy of the observation, unlike your apparent inability to distinguish between granite and quartzite," he shot back, his voice rising, a cold, controlled anger seeping into each syllable. His eyes, usually so impassive, now held a dangerous glint. "You know, for someone who claims to have such a high GPA, you really do struggle with basic concepts. Or perhaps you just trip your way into good grades like you tripped into me that day?"

The jab was unexpected, raw, and it hit a nerve that had been festering for three years, a deep-seated wound of humiliation and injustice. My vision narrowed, the weak lantern light suddenly blurring. The rain outside seemed to amplify the sudden, ringing silence in the tent as I took a ragged, trembling breath. This was it. I was done.

"Oh, so we're going there, are we?" My voice was low, dangerous, a low growl of pure, unadulterated fury. "Still hung up on a coffee stain from three years ago? Get over yourself, Seungmin! It was an accident! I apologized a hundred times! What is your actual problem? Why do you hate me so much? What did I ever do to deserve this constant, bitter, nasty attitude from you, huh? Was it just a bad hair day that morning, or are you just fundamentally incapable of being a decent human being?"

His eyes, usually so impassive, now flared with something akin to genuine rage. His face was pale in the flickering light. "My problem? My problem is having to tolerate your existence! You're clumsy, you're annoying, you're always trying to play the victim! You're like a loud, persistent buzzing in my ear that I can't swat away! Do you know how many times I've tried to avoid you? You're like a bad rash that keeps reappearing no matter what I do!"

"A bad rash?" My voice cracked with a mixture of disbelief, humiliation, and a surprising, deep well of hurt. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them back fiercely. I would not cry in front of him. "You think I enjoy this? You think I enjoy being around someone who looks at me like I'm dirt under his shoe? I've tried to be civil! I've tried to be professional! I've tried to ignore your petty insults! But all you ever do is tear me down! What, is it that hard for you to see someone else succeed? Is it that hard for you to just be a decent human being for five minutes without making someone else feel small and insignificant?" My voice was rising, trembling with suppressed rage and a surprising amount of genuine pain. "You are cold, Seungmin. You are just utterly, completely cold. You're a walking, talking glacier! And frankly, I'm sick of it! I am sick of you and your self-important, hateful attitude!"

The last words hung in the air, echoing in the claustrophobic space, punctuated by a particularly loud clap of thunder that rattled the tent. We stood there, glaring at each other across the tiny expanse of the tent floor, our chests heaving, the air thick and crackling with the intensity of our raw, exposed resentment. His perfect composure was finally, irrevocably shattered. For a long, drawn-out moment, his eyes, usually so hard and unyielding, softened, just a fraction. A flicker of something crossed his face – was it surprise? Vulnerability? A hint of hurt beneath the anger? – a fleeting, almost imperceptible emotion that was so unlike him, so utterly human, that it caught me off guard. It was the first crack in his meticulously constructed wall, a tiny, almost imperceptible fissure, but it was unmistakably there. And for the first time, in the midst of all the anger and hatred, I felt a strange sense of something beyond pure fury. A tiny, almost unnoticeable shift.

The raw, echoing silence that followed our explosion in the tent on that stormy night was almost more deafening than the relentless drumming of rain outside. The air still vibrated with the violent echoes of shouted words, of exposed nerves and bruised pride. Seungmin had simply stared at me for another long, unblinking moment, that fleeting, unreadable flicker in his eyes, before turning abruptly to face the tent wall, effectively ending the confrontation. There was no apology, no acknowledgment of the raw emotions that had just flared. He just… shut down. I lay rigidly in my sleeping bag, back to him, listening to the persistent drumming rain and the frantic, chaotic beating of my own heart, a drumroll of lingering anger and a strange, unsettling vulnerability. Sleep didn't come easily that night, disturbed by the ghost of his unspoken emotions and the replay of my own desperate accusations. The next morning, a fragile, unspoken truce had settled between us, heavy and awkward, a layer of thick, uncomfortable frost.

The remaining days of the camping trip were a masterclass in uncomfortable coexistence. We moved through the schedule like two separate, carefully orbiting planets, never quite colliding, never quite separating. Our interactions were clipped, functional, and strictly academic. "Pass the map," he’d utter, his voice flat. "Did you record the pH levels for this soil sample?" I'd respond, my tone equally devoid of emotion. "The coordinates are slightly off here," I might point out, and he’d merely hum in acknowledgment. There were no more direct insults, no more snide remarks. But there was also no warmth, no easing of the tension that still hummed like a live wire beneath the surface. Each hour was a slow, agonizing countdown until we could return to campus, to the blessed anonymity of our separate lives, where the only shared space was a large lecture hall.

Yet, even in this strained quiet, amidst the mud and the mandated group activities, I started to notice things. Small, almost imperceptible moments that chipped away at the monolithic image I had built of him – the "walking glacier," the "cold, hateful Seungmin."

One afternoon, while hiking along a particularly steep, rocky trail, the air thick with damp earth and the scent of pine, a younger student in our group, clearly struggling with a heavy backpack and an armful of rock samples, slipped on a loose patch of shale. Their bulky sample bag tumbled down the incline, scattering carefully collected specimens everywhere. Before anyone else could react, before even the professor could shout a warning, Seungmin, who had been several paces ahead, his eyes usually fixed on the path, paused. He looked around quickly, a swift, almost furtive glance, as if checking if anyone was watching. Then, without a word, he silently walked back down the treacherous slope. He knelt down, his expensive trekking pants getting covered in mud, and began to help the flustered, embarrassed student gather their samples, even reaching into difficult crevices to retrieve a few that had rolled far. His expression remained neutral, unreadable, giving nothing away, but the act itself was undeniably, undeniably kind. He then offered a steady hand to help the student back up the slippery incline, a silent, supporting anchor. He hadn't said a word, just did it, then strode off quickly, resuming his place at the head of the line, leaving the student stammering their thanks to his retreating back. I watched the entire exchange, half-hidden by a cluster of thick, damp trees, a surprising, almost unsettling warmth spreading through my chest. The "walking glacier" had a hidden current, after all. A quiet, unexpected decency.

Another evening, back at the campsite, the air chilled and damp, we were trying to go over the day’s complicated data. The battery in our shared lantern flickered ominously, threatening to die, plunging us into darkness. I muttered, annoyed, about how impractical and inefficient it was. Without looking up from his notes, or even pausing his rapid scribbling, Seungmin reached into his own meticulously organized bag and pulled out a fresh set of batteries. He tossed them onto my lap with a soft thud. "You need these," he said, his voice flat, but without a hint of his usual derision. "It's inefficient to work in the dark. Your notes are illegible enough as it is, no need to worsen them by adding shadows." It was still a jab, a reference to my supposed clumsiness and incompetence, but the gesture itself was… helpful. Practical. And for the first time, it didn't feel entirely malicious. It felt less like an insult and more like a statement of fact, coupled with a solution.

"Thanks," I said, genuinely surprised, picking up the batteries. I waited, bracing myself, expecting a sarcastic retort, a follow-up barb. But he just grunted, a noncommittal sound, continuing to scribble furiously in his own notebook. The silence that followed wasn't entirely hostile. It was just… silence. A comfortable, almost companionable silence, broken only by the distant sounds of the camp and the scratch of our pens.

On the final morning, as we packed up our muddy gear to leave, a palpable sense of relief permeated the air. As I struggled with a particularly stubborn tent pole, Seungmin, already finished with his own packing, unexpectedly reached over and expertly untangled it with a single, swift movement. "You're doing it wrong," he stated, but this time, there was no contempt in his voice, just a simple observation. It was infuriatingly helpful.

Then, as we waited for the bus, he actually initiated a conversation that wasn't solely driven by immediate necessity. It was about our project, of course, the ever-present anchor of our interaction, but it was the first time we’d spoken without the air crackling with resentment, without the invisible barrier of animosity.

"We need to finalize the structural analysis section as soon as we get back to campus," he stated, his voice a low, even tone, completely devoid of its usual sharp edges. He glanced at his own notes, then back at me. "I've started drafting some of the geological arguments, integrating the new field data. And, I have to admit…" He paused, as if the words were physically painful to utter. "I think you've actually got a decent grasp on the historical context, surprisingly. Your research on the ancient trade routes was quite thorough."

I paused, midway through zipping my overstuffed backpack. My eyebrows raised in genuine amusement, a small, involuntary smile playing on my lips. "Surprisingly?" I echoed, a hint of playful sarcasm in my voice. "I thought you were utterly convinced I was going to drag your precious GPA down to the academic abyss, Mr. 'Clumsy-and-Annoying'."

He straightened up then, turning to face me fully, meeting my gaze directly. His lips twitched, almost imperceptibly, in what might have been the fleeting shadow of a smirk. It was so subtle, I almost missed it. "Well," he began, his voice a low drawl, "let's just say you're not entirely useless. Your research skills aren't as catastrophically bad as your spatial awareness, or your ability to handle a simple cup of coffee." The insult was still there, woven into the fabric of the reluctant compliment, yes, but it was delivered with a different cadence, a lighter touch. It felt less like a genuine attack and more like… banter. And instead of feeling hurt, instead of feeling the familiar sting of his contempt, I felt a strange, bubbling urge to laugh. I managed a scoff instead, shaking my head. "Coming from Mr. Perfect, the human embodiment of flawless execution, I'll take that as a glowing commendation."

He let out a soft sound then, a quiet huff that was almost, almost a genuine chuckle. The sound was so unexpected, so entirely out of character, that for a split second, I froze. He caught himself quickly, though, his face settling back into its usual carefully constructed stoic expression, his shoulders straightening. "Don't get used to this," he muttered, his voice regaining a hint of its usual dryness as he hoisted his heavy backpack onto his shoulders. He didn't look at me as he started to walk towards the idling university bus. "Our GPA depends on it, nothing more. A means to an end." And with that, he was gone, blending into the stream of students, leaving me standing there, a small, unexpected smile still touching my lips. The truce was still fragile, built on the shifting sands of academic necessity, but maybe, just maybe, it wasn't quite so miserable anymore. Marks mattered, after all, and for the first time, I felt like we might actually achieve them without either of us ending up in the infirmary. Or jail.

-

The subtle shift that had begun in the muddy, cramped confines of the campsite continued to unfurl, slowly but surely, back on the sprawling, familiar grounds of campus. The bitter, acidic edge that had defined our every interaction for so long began to soften, imperceptibly at first, then with a gradual, almost shy consistency. It wasn't a sudden transformation, but a nuanced evolution, like ice melting into a slow trickle. The "truce" we'd forged for the sake of our precarious GPAs started to expand beyond just academic necessity. Our weekly project meetings, once dreaded endurance tests I approached with a pit in my stomach, now held a strange, almost enjoyable rhythm. The insults were still very much present, Seungmin wouldn't be Seungmin without them, but they were lighter, less aimed to wound and more to playfully prod, to challenge. It was a new kind of verbal fencing, where the foils were blunted.

"Are you absolutely certain you formatted that bibliography correctly?" Seungmin would ask, leaning over my shoulder, his voice a low, dry murmur that no longer sent shivers of annoyance down my spine. "I wouldn't want your general clumsiness to extend to proper citation; that would be a catastrophic academic event."

"And I wouldn't want your overly critical eye to miss the actual, groundbreaking point of the research, Mr. Perfect," I'd shoot back, a small smirk playing on my lips. "There's more to a thesis than just impeccable formatting, you know." The old sting was gone from his words, replaced by a subtle challenge that I found myself, to my surprise, genuinely enjoying. The air between us, once thick with unspoken animosity and unspoken threats, now carried a faint, almost playful current, like static electricity before a summer storm. We’d even started to fall into step with each other sometimes, walking in the same direction after class, a comfortable silence settling between us that hadn’t existed before.

One particularly grueling afternoon, buried under a literal mountain of research papers in a secluded corner of the library, we were locked in a heated, albeit now less hostile, debate about the merits of a particularly obscure historical theory. My brain felt like it was melting from lack of sleep and too much caffeine. As I, perhaps overly dramatically, tried to explain a convoluted point, I made a rather wild, exaggerated gesture with my hands, accidentally knocking my pen off the table. My reflexes, surprisingly quick for my current state of exhaustion, allowed me to catch it mid-air with a dramatic, somewhat theatrical flourish.

"See?" I exclaimed, trying to look nonchalant, as if I did that all the time. "Not so clumsy after all, am I? Perhaps I'm evolving."

Seungmin, who had been watching me with his usual critical, assessing gaze, a faint frown line between his brows, suddenly let out a sound. It wasn't a scoff, or a grunt, or a sarcastic remark. It was a genuine, startled burst of laughter. A short, sharp sound that quickly died, quickly muffled, but undeniably, unequivocally a laugh. It came out of him so unexpectedly, so out of character, that both of us froze. His eyes widened slightly, the barest hint of a surprised flush creeping up his pale neck. My own eyes went wide in response, my breath hitched. We stared at each other for a beat, two beats, an eternity, the faint echo of his laughter still hanging in the quiet library air like a phantom. It was the first time I had ever made him laugh. The first time I'd even heard him laugh, period. The moment stretched, awkward and profound, before he quickly averted his gaze, clearing his throat loudly, a muscle jumping in his jaw.

"Don't get ahead of yourself," he muttered, his voice a little gruff, a little rougher than usual, as he immediately picked up his pen and pretended to be deeply, urgently engrossed in his complex notes. "Beginner's luck. A fluke. Don't expect a repeat performance."

I didn't press it, didn't dare to. But a warmth spread through me, something more potent and comforting than the library's stuffy heating. The tension that had snapped between us was no longer the familiar, searing anger, but a new, exhilarating kind of awkwardness, a feeling of having stumbled upon something fragile and unexpected.

Our project work often ran late, pushing us into the quiet hours of the campus, long after most students had retreated to their dorms. One evening, after a particularly intense, four-hour study session that had left my brain feeling like scrambled eggs, we emerged from the almost-empty library. The campus lights cast long, stark shadows across the deserted pathways, and the usual daytime bustle had died down to a hushed murmur of rustling leaves and distant traffic. It was a crisp, cool night, the air carrying the subtle scent of damp earth. We started walking, quite naturally, in the same direction, towards the main gate.

"Which way are you headed?" he asked, his voice low, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen between us. It wasn't a question delivered with forced politeness, but with a natural curiosity, a casualness that surprised me.

"My apartment is just a few blocks past the main gate, near the old bookstore," I replied, gesturing vaguely into the darkness.

"I'll walk with you," he said simply, not as a question asking for permission, but as a statement of fact, a decision already made. And he did. We walked in comfortable silence, the kind that didn't need to be filled with forced conversation or the tense expectation of a verbal attack. There was no longer the oppressive weight of his animosity, no need to brace myself for a cutting remark. It just… was. The silence felt okay. More than okay, it felt surprisingly pleasant, even companionable. I found myself stealing quiet glances at his profile, illuminated intermittently by the yellow glow of the streetlights, feeling a strange, unexpected sense of peace settle over me. It felt less lonely than walking home by myself.

These small shifts weren't just in our shared, silent walks. They began to appear in smaller, more meaningful gestures, quiet acts of thoughtfulness that built up like tiny, invisible bricks. I remembered one afternoon when I was struggling with a particularly complex statistical problem for another class, completely unrelated to our project. I had mumbled my frustration aloud during a brief coffee break, half to myself, half just releasing steam. Seungmin, who had been engrossed in his own notes, seemingly oblivious, had, without a word, taken my textbook, scanned the problem, and then, with frustrating ease, explained the solution in a few concise sentences, patiently, clearly. He didn't mock me for not understanding it, didn't make me feel stupid for needing help. He just… helped. Simply. Efficiently.

Another time, I’d been working late in the campus study lounge, feeling a familiar, insistent grumble in my stomach. I'd mentioned offhand to no one in particular that I was starving, wishing I had my favorite brand of spicy snack crackers, the ones they only sold at the small convenience store off-campus. The very next day, after our project meeting, as I was packing up my bag, I noticed a small, crinkly bag tucked almost hidden under my notebook. It was my favorite snack, the exact brand, still perfectly sealed. I looked up, my eyebrows raised in surprise, to catch him already walking away, his back to me as he pushed open the heavy library door. But just before he disappeared, I caught the barest hint of a smirk, a flicker of something almost smug, on his face. He knew I’d seen it.

Banter had replaced bitterness, and small, unexpected acts of thoughtfulness were slowly, painstakingly chipping away at the seemingly impenetrable walls he'd built around himself, revealing quiet, fleeting glimpses of the person beneath the cold, sharp exterior. We weren't friends yet, not by a long shot. The word felt too big, too fragile for the tentative connection forming between us. But the vast, seemingly impassable chasm that had once separated us was slowly, tentatively, beginning to bridge, one quiet moment, one shared laugh, one thoughtful gesture at a time. I found myself wondering, more than once, what else lay beneath Seungmin's carefully constructed facade.

The subtle shift in our dynamic continued, growing more pronounced with each passing week. The library, once a battleground, had become a quiet, almost comfortable space for us. Our project was nearing completion, its impending success a testament to our strange, evolving partnership. The teasing from Seungmin still came, sharp and witty, but now it felt less like a threat and more like a secret language, a peculiar form of affection only we understood. He’d ruffle my hair sometimes, a quick, almost imperceptible gesture, and once, during a particularly stressful moment with a malfunctioning printer, he even offered a brief, solid hug when I finally got it to work, then immediately pulled back as if burned.

It was during one of our late-night study sessions that I overheard fragments of his past. I was grabbing water from the cooler when a few students, huddled in a hushed conversation near the entrance, mentioned his name. My ears perked up, against my better judgment. They spoke of his family, hushed whispers of abuse and a tortured upbringing, how he had moved out at a young age, essentially cutting ties, building walls around himself to survive. They were saying things like:

"Did you hear about his parents? Apparently, they were completely awful. Like, physically and emotionally." "Yeah, someone said his dad was violent. And his mom just… let it happen." "No wonder he's so cold. He probably never learned how to have normal relationships." "He moved out at 16, right? I heard he was basically homeless for a while…..dunno how he still affords such expensive clothes though" "must be his cousin's lending him money, they say he was close to his cousin brother" "he betrayed him too, he was the one who abused him as well, no?"

It painted a picture so stark, so devastatingly different from the stoic, arrogant Seungmin I knew. He hadn’t just been born cold; he had been made cold, forging his defenses in a crucible of pain. A wave of unexpected sympathy washed over me, a profound understanding for the seemingly impenetrable fortress he had built around his heart. The arrogance wasn’t arrogance at all, I realized; it was a shield.

A few days later, the tables turned. A group of self-important jerks from the history department, known for their obnoxious gossip and condescending attitudes, started loudly speculating about Seungmin's reserved nature and his family background right in the common room. They snickered, making crude jokes about him always being alone, about how he must have 'issues' because he never seemed to interact with anyone outside of academic necessities.

They were saying things like:

"Seriously, what's his deal? Is he, like, incapable of human emotion?" "Probably has some deep-seated trauma. Daddy issues, maybe?" "I heard his parents were monsters, honestly his whole family. Explains a lot, actually." "He probably ran away because he couldn't handle it. What a drama queen." Fury, sharp and instant, coursed through me. I didn't think, I just reacted.

"You know," I interrupted, my voice cutting through their obnoxious chatter, "it's pathetic how you manage to sound so utterly clueless while having such loud mouths. Worry about your own sorry excuses for lives, instead of dissecting someone else's. Some people actually have real problems, unlike your biggest concern, which seems to be how many brain cells you can collectively lose in a day."

One of them, a bulky guy with a smug grin, sneered at me. "Oh, look who it is. His little protector. What, did he finally deign to speak to you?"

"He doesn't need a protector," I retorted, stepping closer, my voice low and dangerous. "But he does need a break from pathetic losers like you who get their kicks from tearing down people they don't even know. You want to talk about issues? You're the ones with issues if this is how you feel good about yourselves."

The smug grin vanished, replaced by a sneer. "Watch your mouth, girl. You don't know who you're talking to."

"Oh, I know exactly who I'm talking to," I shot back, my patience evaporated. "A bunch of overgrown 'toddlers' who probably think their farts smell like roses. Get a life, or better yet, get a clue." The next few minutes were a blur. Words escalated, shoves turned into pushes, and suddenly, I was in the middle of a full-blown brawl. I knew how to handle myself; my older sister had taught me a few things growing up. I landed a solid hit on one guy's jaw, ducked under another's wild swing, but their numbers were overwhelming. I felt a sharp pain in my neck as someone tried to suffocate me, then a blow to my cheek and lip. I fought back, kicking and punching, until a few other students intervened and broke it up, leaving me with throbbing knuckles, a sore neck, and a busted lip.

Later, sitting in a quiet corner of the library, I cleaned up my bruised knuckles and dabbed ointment on my split lip. The fight had been stupid, reckless even, but I didn't regret it. Not for a second.

Meanwhile, Seungmin, having heard garbled rumors about a fight involving me and some jerks from the history department, felt a cold knot of dread form in his stomach. He didn’t know why, but the idea of me being hurt made his chest tighten. He ran to the nurses’ office, his usual calm replaced by a frantic urgency he rarely felt. He searched the empty room, calling my name, his heart pounding. Panic flared when he didn't find me there. He searched the common rooms, the lecture halls, his internal alarm growing louder.

Finally, at the far end of the university grounds, near the main gate, he saw me. I was walking home, slowly, my head down, my backpack slung low. He ran, closing the distance quickly, his breath catching in his throat when he finally reached me. He grabbed my arm, gently, his fingers surprisingly hesitant.

"Y/N!" His voice was rough, laced with a fear I'd never heard from him. "Why? What happened? Are you okay?" He pulled my hand to inspect my knuckles, then gently tilted my chin to look at my neck and face. His eyes widened further at the sight of my busted knuckles, the faint red marks and developing bruises on my neck where they'd tried to suffocate me, the swelling on my cheek, and the ointment over my busted lip. His composure utterly crumbled. "Why would you do that? You look like you got run over by a truck!"

I just nodded, a small, tired smile on my injured lip. "I'm okay, Seungmin. Just a little bruised."

He let out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping slightly. "But… why? Who were those guys? Why did you get into a fight?" His voice was softer now, full of a vulnerability that struck me more than any of his earlier anger ever had.

I hesitated, then decided to be honest. "They were talking about you," I admitted quietly, looking away. "Saying stupid, cruel things about your family, about you. I just… I couldn't stand it."

He froze, his grip on my arm tightening almost imperceptibly. His eyes searched mine, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within their depths – surprise, shock, a hint of something fragile, something like gratitude. He didn't say anything for a long moment. Then, he let out a slow, deliberate breath, and started walking beside me, towards my apartment building, the familiar path now feeling profoundly different.

"You really… you stood up for me?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, almost disbelieving.

"Yeah," I mumbled. "Someone had to. They were being complete jerks."

He walked in silence for a few more minutes, the soft glow of the streetlights painting long shadows ahead of us. Then, he spoke again, his voice even softer, laced with a raw vulnerability I’d never imagined I would hear from him. He began to talk, not about the fight, but about his past, about the loneliness, the walls he built, the constant vigilance. He didn't offer a dramatic confession, but a quiet, almost reluctant sharing of the burdens he carried. It wasn’t a torrent of emotion, but a steady, painful drip of truths that explained everything. He spoke about how he didn't trust easily, how he always expected people to eventually let him down, or worse, to use his vulnerabilities against him. That’s why he pushed people away. That’s why he had pushed me away. My heart ached for the younger Seungmin who had endured such pain….. the abuse, the mental scar left on him….and the physical scars his father had left with his beloved belt on his back. And worst? His mother the one who brought him to the world had been far worse, she didn't hit him, no. Her words were worse than being stabbed all over continuously until there was no more blood left inside him. 'I wish you died in my womb itself, useless disgrace' he had mumbled what his mom had said ragefully when he was eight, returned from school with a 'B' grade. He explained how he came from a family of scholars and multi-talented people….he was just good at academics, music at times he liked it, but 'pop' which his family never approved. And how he had ran away at 16.

We reached my apartment building, the familiar brick facade a welcome sight. I turned to face him, my lip throbbing slightly. He looked down at my face, a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head.

"You're not as annoying as I thought," he said quietly, a faint, almost shy smirk touching his lips. Then, his eyes met mine, a flicker of genuine concern replacing the usual sarcasm. "And hey… don't jump into dog fights 'cause people say something about someone."

I couldn't help but smile, a genuine, if slightly lopsided, grin. "That someone is you, idiot." I chuckled softly, despite the pain. "We're friends, right? Of course, I would beat up someone for you. You do the same for me someday, okay?"

He didn't reply, just stood there, watching me. I waved goodbye, the small bag of snacks still tucked into my backpack, my knuckles aching, but a strange warmth spreading through me. I walked inside my apartment building, leaving him on the pavement, a quiet understanding finally settled between us. The walls hadn't just cracked; a section of them had crumbled completely.

-

The fight, my busted lip, and Seungmin’s raw, unexpected honesty had undeniably cracked something fundamental between us. The lingering tension wasn’t gone, but it had morphed into something entirely different—a charged awareness, a silent understanding that hummed beneath the surface. The careful, almost fragile friendship that had begun to blossom now deepened rapidly, like a plant suddenly given ample sunlight. He joked more often, his dry wit a surprising, almost addictive source of amusement that often caught me off guard, making me laugh despite myself. His teasing, once a weapon, was now a familiar banter, a peculiar form of affection only we seemed to understand. He’d ruffle my hair so frequently it became a comforting, almost instinctive gesture, a brief brush of his fingers that sent a curious warmth through me. And once, during a particularly stressful moment with a malfunctioning library printer, when I finally coerced the ancient machine into spitting out our perfectly formatted document, he even offered a brief, solid hug – a fleeting, tender weight against my shoulder – before immediately pulling back, as if burned by the contact. The touches were small, almost imperceptible, non-committal, yet each one sent a ripple through me, a quiet acknowledgment of the shifting, undefinable landscape of our relationship.

A few weeks later, with our major project nearing its final submission, I was buried deep in a new set of notes in the sprawling, echoing library, trying to make sense of a particularly convoluted philosophy reading. The familiar scent of old books, dust, and quiet ambition filled the air, a comforting constant in my often-chaotic academic life. I was so engrossed, I didn't immediately notice him. But then, a subtle shift in the energy of the room, a prickle of awareness at the back of my neck, told me he was there. Seungmin walked in, his presence immediately noticeable even amidst the rows of diligently working students. He scanned the room with a quick, decisive sweep, his eyes landing on me. It was becoming undeniably clear that our project meetings were no longer the sole reason for our shared time. We just… wanted to spend time together, whether it was to work, or just to exist in the same space.

He started walking towards my table, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips, a rare, relaxed curve. But then, just as he was about to reach me, a figure detached itself from a nearby study group. It was Mark from my statistics class, a guy who had always been a little too friendly, a little too persistent for my liking. Mark stopped by my table, leaning in, his voice a little too loud, a little too familiar, jarring the quiet academic atmosphere. "Hey Y/N! Still struggling with those regression analyses? I saw you looking stressed in lecture today. I could always tutor you later, if you want. My place, maybe?" His grin was wide, suggestive, and made my skin crawl.

I felt an immediate surge of annoyance, a flicker of warning bells clanging in my head. "No, thanks, Mark. I've got it," I replied, trying to keep my voice polite but firm, my gaze pointedly on my textbook.

Before Mark could press the issue, a shadow fell over our table. Seungmin had arrived. His pleasant expression had vanished, replaced by a sudden, intense coldness that made Mark visibly flinch and take a half-step back. Seungmin didn't say anything, but his eyes, sharp and predatory, fixed on Mark. His jaw was subtly clenched, his posture radiating a silent, dangerous warning. The silent threat was palpable, heavy in the air. Mark, sensing the dramatic shift in the atmosphere and Seungmin's unspoken, yet potent, displeasure, stammered awkwardly, "Uh, right. Later, Y/N," and quickly retreated, practically scuttling away between the bookshelves like a startled mouse.

Seungmin turned to me, his jaw still clenched, his eyes still burning with an uncharacteristic intensity I rarely saw. "What was that?" he demanded, his voice low, a controlled growl that sent a shiver down my spine.

"What was what?" I tried to feign innocence, though my heart was beginning to thump erratically, a frantic drum against my ribs. I knew exactly what he was talking about.

"Him," he said, gesturing vaguely in Mark's retreating direction. "Trying to 'tutor' you. At 'his place'." His voice was laced with a barely concealed possessiveness, a hint of something that sounded suspiciously like… jealousy. It was a new, unsettling, yet strangely thrilling note in his tone.

"He's just being friendly," I countered, though even I knew it wasn't entirely true. Mark's intentions were anything but innocent. "And besides, it's none of your business anyway. Why do you care so much, Seungmin? You've never cared before."

He scoffed, a short, sharp sound, but there was no real conviction behind it, no genuine disdain. He leaned in, suddenly, intimately close, caging me between his body and the edge of the library table. His hands flattened on the table on either side of me, trapping me in place, his solid frame blocking out the rest of the world. His eyes, dark and intense, searched mine, stripping away any pretense. The air thick with unspoken things, charged with an undeniable current. His scent, a clean, fresh mix of laundry soap and something uniquely him – sharp, cool, and utterly intoxicating – filled my senses, making my head spin. My breath hitched in my throat.

"Why do I care?" His voice was a low whisper, rough with unspoken emotion, barely audible above the quiet hum of the library. "Why do I care? What a stupid question, Y/N. Don't you think I care?" His gaze dropped to my lips, lingering there, hot and intense, then flickered back to my eyes, a silent question passing between us. The space between us dwindled, becoming almost nonexistent, my personal bubble entirely invaded. I could feel the heat radiating from his body, the subtle, almost imperceptible tremble in his frame. My own heart was hammering against my ribs, echoing in my ears, a frantic rhythm against the quiet hum of the room.

"Why do you care so much?" I whispered back, my voice barely a thread, challenging him, my gaze fixed on his, unable to look away. His proximity was intoxicating, terrifying. Every fiber of my being was alive, hyper-aware of him, of the delicious danger of the moment.

He didn't answer with words. Instead, his head lowered, slowly, deliberately, drawn in by an invisible force. His eyes were half-lidded, dark with unspoken desire, an emotion that both thrilled and unnerved me, and his gaze was entirely, possessively on my mouth. I unconsciously parted my lips, a soft gasp escaping, my entire being focused on the undeniable magnetic pull between us. The air thrummed with a silent question, a desperate anticipation, a shared longing. His breath fanned across my face, warm and minty, teasing my senses. His lips were just inches from mine, so agonizingly close I could feel the heat, the subtle movement of his breath, the whisper of air.

Almost.

Just as our lips were about to meet, just as the tension was about to break, the heavy library door creaked open with a loud groan, admitting a group of boisterous students who were laughing far too loudly, their voices echoing in the quiet space. The sudden, jarring sound shattered the delicate bubble of intimacy that had enveloped us. Seungmin stiffened, his head snapping up, his hands instantly retracting from the table as if he’d touched a live wire. He took a hasty step back, putting a sudden, jarring distance between us. His face, which had been so expressive moments before, was now a mask of carefully constructed neutrality, a faint, tell-tale flush high on his cheekbones. His eyes darted around, suddenly cold and distant again.

Neither of us spoke. The unspoken question hung in the air, thick and heavy, a phantom touch on my lips. He looked at me, his eyes quickly sliding away, a flicker of something that looked like self-reproach, frustration, or perhaps even embarrassment crossing his features. Without another word, without even a glance back, he turned abruptly and walked away, disappearing quickly between the towering bookshelves, leaving me utterly alone at the table, my heart still racing, my lips still tingling, the ghost of a kiss haunting the space between us.

The next week was silent. A suffocating, awkward silence. His walls were up again, higher and thicker than ever before, reinforced with a desperate urgency. The playful banter ceased. He avoided my gaze, spoke only in clipped, necessary sentences about the project, his voice devoid of any warmth. I didn't push. The almost-kiss, the raw vulnerability he had shown, the flicker of jealousy – it was all too much, too soon, too exposed. I didn't dare mention it, and neither did he. I knew, with a certainty that settled like a cold stone in my stomach, that he was cursing himself for the nonsense he'd even thought, for almost breaking the fragile new reality we had built. And I, left with the ghost of a touch and an unasked question, didn't know what to do but endure, and wait.

The week that followed the almost-kiss was a torturous expanse of silence. Seungmin had retreated entirely, his walls higher and more impenetrable than ever. He avoided my gaze, spoke only when absolutely necessary for our project, his voice clipped and devoid of any emotion. The casual touches, the light banter, the shared glances—all vanished as if they had never existed. It was like he'd hit a reset button, reverting to the cold, distant person I'd first known, only now it felt worse because I'd seen glimpses of what lay beneath. I didn't push. The humiliation of the near-moment, the crushing weight of his sudden retreat, kept me silent, nursing a quiet hurt and a growing sense of confusion.

-

Then, the inevitable happened. Not between us, but to me. A persistent cough escalated into a full-blown fever, body aches, and a throat that felt like it was lined with sandpaper. Uni became an impossibility. I missed class for a day, then two, then three. By the fourth day, my head still pounded, but the worst of the fever had broken. I was drifting in and out of sleep, nestled deep in my bed, the curtains drawn against the bright afternoon light. My mom, bless her, was a constant, comforting presence, bringing me lukewarm tea and soft blankets.

I vaguely heard the doorbell ring, followed by the murmur of voices. I assumed it was a delivery, or maybe one of mom's friends. A few minutes later, my bedroom door creaked open softly. I stirred, blinking my eyes open, disoriented. Standing in the doorway, framed by the soft light of the hallway, was Seungmin.

My eyes widened in disbelief. He was here. In my apartment. In my bedroom. My mom was right behind him, a small, welcoming smile on her face. "Look who came to visit, sweetheart," she whispered, her voice laced with surprise and a hint of delight. "He was very worried about you."

Seungmin looked undeniably awkward, clutching a small plastic bag in one hand – a box of tissues, a bottle of juice, and a packet of my favorite crackers. "Hi," he mumbled, his gaze sweeping over my disheveled hair and flushed face. He looked pale, almost as if he'd run all the way here.

My mom stepped forward, ushering him gently further into the room. "Please, come in. Make yourself comfortable. You know, you're the first one of her friends who has ever bothered to show up when she's sick." She glanced at me, a soft sadness in her eyes. "She believes having friends would just lead to distractions, make her lose focus on her studies and scholarship. She always said everyone else just used her for notes or favors."

Seungmin froze, his eyes widening almost imperceptibly. He looked genuinely surprised by that. I was always surrounded by people, always laughing and talking. He probably saw me as effortlessly popular, unburdened by the academic anxieties that plagued him. The revelation hung in the air, shifting his perspective, painting a new picture of my own carefully constructed barriers.

My mom gave him a reassuring pat on the arm. "I'll go make some fresh tea for you both." She left the room, giving us a knowing, gentle smile as she closed the door softly behind her.

The silence that followed was different from the one in the library. This was a quiet, intimate silence, tinged with a delicate vulnerability. Seungmin slowly approached my bed, his gaze soft, almost hesitant. He pulled a chair closer, placing the bag he carried on the bedside table. He just sat there, watching me. He didn't speak, just observed, his eyes scanning my face, taking in the signs of my illness.

As the afternoon light faded into dusk my mom had served tea….long back, empty glasses sitting on the side table, he remained. My mom checked on us once, her eyebrows raising subtly when she saw him still there. She didn't press, just smiled. I must have drifted off again, lulled by the gentle rhythm of his breathing. When I next stirred, it was deep in the night. The room was dark, save for the faint glow from the hallway seeping under the door. He was still there, sitting by my bedside, his head resting against the back of the chair, his eyes closed. My mom must have come in while I was asleep because a soft blanket was draped over his shoulders.

Then, I felt it. A soft, warm weight enclosing my hand. I blinked, my eyes adjusting to the dimness. His hand. He was holding my hand, his fingers loosely intertwined with mine as he slept. My mom would eventually tell me later that she had come in to check on me again and saw him like that, holding my hand while he slept, and she didn't want to interfere. She simply smiled to herself, a quiet understanding dawning in her heart.

The next morning, I woke to the soft sound of his even breathing. My head felt clearer, the fever gone. I looked at him, truly looked at him. He was still there, asleep in the chair, his head tilted awkwardly. His face, usually so guarded, was softer now, relaxed in slumber, almost boyish. The sight sent a wave of tenderness through me. As if sensing my gaze, his eyes fluttered open. He blinked, a little disoriented, then his gaze met mine. His expression, usually so carefully schooled, was softer than I had ever seen it. All the walls were down, stripped away by exhaustion, by concern, by the quiet intimacy of the night.

He slowly straightened up, his hand still holding mine, his thumb gently stroking the back of my hand. His voice, when it came, was a barely audible whisper, raw with a vulnerability that made my chest ache. "I don’t hate you," he murmured, his eyes searching mine, seeking understanding. "I don’t think I ever did, not really. I dunno, Y/N… it's a scary feeling I'm carrying, and I don't wanna hurt you." His grip tightened, a silent plea in his touch. "It's just… I'm not good at this. Not good at… caring about someone like this."

Days Later;

Seungmin's whispered confession – "I don’t hate you. I don’t think I ever did, not really… I dunno, Y/N… it's a scary feeling I'm carrying, and I don't wanna hurt you" – lingered in the air long after he'd left my apartment that morning. It wasn't a grand declaration, but the raw vulnerability in his voice, the tremor in his touch as he held my hand, had irrevocably shattered any remaining doubts. The careful, almost fragile friendship that had begun to blossom in the library now deepened, solidifying into something real and comforting.

The following days, and then weeks, confirmed the shift. He started dropping by my place frequently, initially under the guise of polishing our now-finished project. But it quickly became clear he just wanted to be there. He’d arrive with a quiet knock, slip off his shoes, and settle onto the couch as if it were his own, pulling out his laptop not for work, but just to be present in the same room. My mom, ever perceptive, had taken to him instantly. She adored him, showering him with the kind of warm, gentle attention he clearly hadn't experienced much of. She'd make him extra portions of dinner, fuss over his quiet nature, and listen intently when he spoke. "Your mum likes me more, honestly," he'd tease, flexing his eyebrows at me from across the kitchen table, a rare, genuine smile gracing his lips. I'd swat playfully at his arm, "Not allowed. She’s mine."

It was a few months later, over one of Mom's elaborate Sunday dinners – a spread of comfort food designed to feed an army – that the deepest, most stubborn wall in Seungmin finally crumbled. He had grown comfortable enough in our home, secure in Mom’s unconditional acceptance, to share fragmented stories of his past with her. He spoke quietly, his voice low, about his difficult family, the coldness, the emotional and, at times, physical abuse he had endured, and his painful decision to cut ties completely and move out on his own at a young age. Mom listened, her expression empathetic but never pitying, her hand occasionally reaching out to gently touch his arm. When he finished, instead of offering sympathy, she simply rose from her seat, walked around the table, and enveloped him in a warm, comforting hug. "You are welcome here anytime you want, kiddo," she said, her voice soft but firm, stroking his hair gently. "This is your home now too, if you need it. Always." And that was it. That was his breakdown. The quiet, controlled Seungmin, who rarely showed any outward emotion, dissolved into a tearful, trembling mess in my mother's arms. The simple, unconditional motherly love he had always craved, that unburdened acceptance, finally washed over him, breaking years of hardened self-protection. I watched, my own eyes welling up with a profound mix of tenderness and fierce protectiveness, a silent promise to cherish this vulnerable side of him.

In between these moments of profound openness, things between Seungmin and me became complicated, beautifully worse even, in the best possible way. The academic project, a distant memory now, had earned us both top marks and secured our scholarship applications for prestigious universities, our future paths seemingly aligned. But our personal project, whatever this was, was still a work in progress, an intricate tapestry of unspoken feelings.

He would openly flirt with me now, his words still carrying that dry wit, but with a new layer of playful affection that made my cheeks flush. "Still can't believe I managed to get stuck with someone as hopelessly disorganized as you," he'd murmur, but his fingers would be gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. He’d cuddle me on the couch during movie nights at my place, his arm casually draped around my shoulders, sometimes pulling me closer until my head rested on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. He still ruffled my hair a lot, but now it was always followed by a soft, almost shy smile, and sometimes a lingering touch. We shared inside jokes, comfortable silences, and knowing glances that conveyed more than words ever could. Yet, despite the growing intimacy, the undeniable magnetic pull, the unspoken feelings that hummed between us like a tuning fork, neither of us dared to confess the full extent of our emotions. We existed in a limbo of almost-lovers, dancing around the inevitable, a thrilling, terrifying anticipation.

The tension finally reached a breaking point one blustery afternoon. I was heading to the library, my mind buzzing with a new research idea, a spring in my step from our newfound closeness. But then, I saw him. Seungmin was talking to a girl from our literature class near the library entrance. She was leaning in too close, laughing too loudly at something he said, her hand resting casually on his arm. A jolt of something unpleasant, sharp and cold, shot through me, instantly curdling my good mood. Jealousy. My stomach twisted. I watched for a moment, feeling a familiar wave of insecurity wash over me. He seemed to be laughing back, his head tilted towards hers. My heart sank, a familiar ache of disappointment settling in, a fear that all of this was just… casual for him. I turned abruptly, unable to watch another second, and walked away, a bitter taste in my mouth, the spring in my step replaced by a heavy thud.

I spent the next hour trying to focus on my notes, but the image of them, laughing together, kept replaying in my mind, a cruel, endless loop. He knew how I felt, didn't he? Had all those moments, all that closeness, all those late nights, been for nothing? Was he just… like that with everyone? Was I just another 'friend'? The questions churned, making me furious, making my eyes sting.

Suddenly, the heavy library door burst open, slamming against the wall with unusual force, and Seungmin strode in, his eyes scanning the room with a desperate, almost frantic urgency. He spotted me at my usual table, hunched over my laptop, and marched directly towards me, his face etched with a storm of emotions – anger, frustration, and a raw, exposed vulnerability I hadn't seen since the morning he held my hand. He reached my table and, before I could even react, he spun me around, gently but firmly, until my back was against the edge of the table. He leaned in, caging me, his hands pressing down on the table on either side of my hips, effectively pinning me in place. His breath hitched, ragged and uneven, his eyes blazing, a mixture of unbridled fury and something far deeper swirling within their depths.

"What the hell was that, Y/N?" he demanded, his voice low and fierce, cutting through the quiet of the library like a knife. He wasn't yelling, but every word vibrated with intensity. "Why did you just walk away? Why were you giving me that look? That 'I'm disappointed' look?"

"What look?" I retorted, trying to sound nonchalant, to regain some composure, but my voice wavered, betraying me. "Maybe I just had somewhere else to be. Not that it's any of your business, Seungmin."

"It is my business!" he practically snarled, his voice rising in frustration, drawing a few hushed, curious glances from nearby students. He didn't care. His gaze was locked solely on mine. "You saw her, didn't you? That girl? You thought I was flirting back, didn't you, you idiot? You thought all of this" – he gestured vaguely between us – "meant nothing! I shut her down cold, Y/N! I told her I wasn't interested, that I was waiting for someone! Someone specific!"

My breath caught in my throat, a sudden, dizzying hope blooming in my chest. "Waiting for… who?" I whispered, my heart pounding a furious, hopeful rhythm against my ribs, daring to believe.

His eyes burned into mine, pure, unadulterated emotion finally breaking through years of carefully constructed walls. "I like you?" he practically scoffed, the words laced with self-derision, his voice raw with a sudden, overwhelming vulnerability that stripped him bare. "It's so much more than that. I fucking love you, Y/N, and it’s annoying, and it’s terrifying, and I’m not good at this—I'm absolutely terrible at this, I've never felt this before—but I want you. Only you, Y/N. No one else but you." He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a desperate, urgent whisper, his forehead almost touching mine, our breaths mingling. "You get under my skin like no one else. You annoy me more than anyone on this entire planet, you make me want to pull my hair out, but fuck, when you don't? When you just ignore me, when you pull away, when you give me that look like I've actually messed up, like I've hurt you? It hurts worse. It hurts me worse. So yes, annoy me. Argue with me. Challenge me. Make me go crazy. And rule me like you own me. Because if I am not gonna be yours, I don't want to be anyone's. I can’t be anyone’s.”

The confession, delivered with all the grace of a charging bull but with the raw, brutal honesty of a soul laid bare, hit me like a tidal wave. My eyes welled up, not with sadness or confusion, but with an overwhelming surge of joy and profound relief. All this time, all the confusion, the unspoken feelings, the subtle touches, the hidden glances—they were real. He loved me. He truly, utterly, loved me.

I didn't need any more words. My hands came up, almost instinctively, cupping his face, my thumbs tracing the sharp line of his jaw. I pulled him closer, meeting his lips with a desperate, all-consuming kiss. It was fierce and tender, raw and emotional, a culmination of two years of antagonism, of quiet observations, of growing friendship, and finally, of undeniable, deeply felt love. He kissed me back with an urgency that stole my breath, his hands coming up to grip my waist, pulling me impossibly close against him, eliminating every last inch of space between us. It was a promise, a surrender, a beginning.

When we finally broke apart, breathless and trembling, he rested his forehead against mine, his eyes still closed, a faint, contented smirk playing on his lips, a stark contrast to the storm that had raged moments before. "Guess you’re not that unbearable after all, hm?" he murmured, his voice a low, husky rumble, full of newfound affection.

I giggled, a joyful, light sound that felt entirely new, entirely free. "My mum was right about this…"

He opened his eyes, a playful glint in their depths, pulling back just enough to see my face. "Oh, I love your mom more, honestly," he teased, his smirk widening, a familiar playful challenge.

"Not allowed," I said, a mock threat in my voice as I tightened my grip on his collar, pulling him closer again.

"I was kidding—" he began, but I didn't let him finish. I leaned in and kissed him again, a soft, lingering kiss, sealing the truth of his words, of his love, and of our perfectly imperfect, wonderfully complicated beginning.

….The End

[alg3a]

muffins

viktor x f! reader

3.8k, MDNI, no use of (y/n)

description: Viktor had been so kind as to agree to help you out with your midterm prep, so you thought baking him muffins would be a great way to repay him. However, an accidental secret ingredient gets in the way of studying.

warnings: Age gap, roomie smut, more story than smut, p in v, sex pollen/serum (with pretty explicit consent), overall jolly good fun, no harm no foul, yippee!

a/n: inspired by @the-hidden-pages story, Human Testing because it’s one of the first viktor x reader fics i ever read and i STRONGLY recommend!

Any student should feel lucky to have the smartest men at the academy as their roommates. Being an undergraduate biochem student who had to work to pay her own tuition, going to lecture wasn’t always an option. That’s when you’d bake a tray of brownies or do some extra dishes and call in a favor from one of your roomies.

It happened all the time, which made you incredibly thankful to have one people-pleaser in the apartment. Jayce was always willing to put aside whatever he was doing and help you out on your Arcane Studies homework or your Bioengineering project. Last semester, finals week consisted of the two of you sitting criss-cross applesauce on the rug of the living room, paper scattered all over the floor as you tried to decipher the grading scale of your Organic Chemistry class to see what the lowest grade on the test you could get was and still wind up with a passing grade (something Jayce had done plenty of times in his undergrad years).

Viktor, on the other hand, had gotten somewhat tired of your constant requests for him to backtrack and dive into knowledge he hadn’t tapped for years now. He was never particularly rude about it, but you were very perceptive. When you asked him to repeat an explanation once or twice, you noticed the growing exhaustion on his face that bordered frustration and you stopped asking for his help going forward. It wasn’t to his own fault, you could be pretty needy sometimes, so more often than not, you just asked Jayce.

Only, Jayce was out of town for a Hextech press conference this weekend, the weekend before you had your Arcane Studies midterm. In a heartbreaking display, he had apologized profusely for not being able to help, inches away from getting on his knees and begging for forgiveness. You assured him none of that was necessary, and that you’d just stay up studying in the library or even reach out to your TA (who you’d never even spoken to before in class or outside of it, and who you were certain would be less helpful than Jayce).

To remedy your situation–even though you pinkie promised him you didn’t need him to–he took it upon himself to ask Viktor to help you cram study on Sunday night, the night before your midterm. While Jayce asked, you did your best to listen from your bedroom, the next room over. You heard some grumbling from Viktor and a muffled, yet compelling “She’s our roommate and she bakes us nice things” from Jayce.

Apparently that last bit must have been very rousing, because shortly after, Jayce was at your door telling you that Viktor agreed to a maximum of three hours of cramming that would begin no earlier than eight at night.

You worked for all of Saturday’s daylight hours, and then finalized your experimental serum for your Advanced Biochemistry project. For the biochem class, you’d been studying methods of enhancing senses for the first half of the quarter and your midterm project involved making a serum that could temporarily improve the performance of one human sense. Around three weeks ago, you and your classmates drew topics from a hat and your fingers emerged with “arousal” on a piece of paper. Needless to say, you were concerned. You thought the serum project would be fairly straightforward, and had already brainstormed ideas for vision enhancing serums or hearing aid serums, but arousal? You had to think out of the box for that one.

When you finished up your last touches to the serum, you were left with enough time at night to get ingredients to bake Viktor some muffins as a sign of your gratitude. You got enough stuff for twice as much as you would’ve made for Jayce and actually stuck to the recipe this time. Keeping Viktor happy was a very delicate ecosystem and there could be no tampering.

It wasn’t that he was a grump or even that he hated you, he was just too busy to want to help and too intelligent to want to backtrack. Once he had even looked at what you were studying and said, “I’d have to go too far back to help you.” That was inspiring.

You poured the contents of your tote bag on the counter.

On your better days, you and Viktor actually got along quite well. Those were the rare days when Viktor got more than three hours of sleep and ate a full meal before two pm. In his best conditions, the two of you were good friends.

The best days were when he and Jayce both come home early enough for you to make them a home cooked meal. Then you’d all curl up on the couch and watch a movie. The last time that happened, Jayce picked some superhero movie you’d never heard of and you and Viktor both fell asleep. You woke up the next morning asleep on Viktor’s chest with four blankets piled on top of you both. Jayce said he knew both of you ran cold, so he took the blankets from your beds. You and Viktor never talked about that night.

The exhaustion of your stressful Saturday had leaked into your studying Sunday, and in a tired stupor, you whisked together all the ingredients for the muffins and poured them haphazardly into the mold. They might not look pretty, but at least they’d taste good.

You pulled the freshly baked muffins from the oven and rested them on the stovetop. The sweet aroma of warm blueberry filled the apartment. It must have roused Viktor from whatever he was working on in his room, because he emerged a full quarter of an hour earlier than your agreed upon study time.

“Hey,” you said. “I made you some muffins as a thank you. They’re still hot, though, I wasn’t expecting you for another fifteen minutes.”

“That’s fine,” he said, setting himself at the kitchen table and sipping from a cup of coffee that had been there since Jayce was still in town. “Would you like to begin now?”

You grab all your study guides and homework assignments and your assortment of chicken scratch notes and slide them over to him on the table.

“Are your midterms cumulative?” He asked, finishing the remnants of his cold coffee.

“No,” you answered. Thank God. If you had to remember everything that was in the last midterm you’d be losing your mind right about now. “Everything past Arcane History will be on the test.”

“Mm. I see.”

He scans your notes for another five minutes.

“I’ll quiz you,” he decided, standing up to check on the temperature of the cooling muffins on the stovetop.

“Uh, okay.” You didn’t typically study by being quizzed, especially when you hardly went to lecture and didn’t even know most of the material. But you didn’t want to risk arguing with Viktor and have him decide to take his muffin to-go.

“Tell me why the Arcane can manifest in such unpredictable manners?”

“Because…” you started to think that maybe going to your TA wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Your TA was just a random graduate student. The roommate that was helping you study now was one of the inventors of Hextech, the researcher responsible for some of the greatest advancements in Piltover’s modern understanding of the Arcane. “...it reflects the intentions of the user.”

“Correct,” he says, affording you a rare Viktor smile. “Would you like a muffin?”

You had intended for the muffins to be entirely Viktor’s, but you hadn’t eaten all day and gods, they smelled good. Plus, it was like a reward for getting an answer right.

“Sure, thanks.”

You watch as Viktor plucks two muffins from the tin and comes back to seat himself at the table. He hands one to you and sorts through the papers you’ve scattered on the desk as he brings a small chunk to his mouth. You do the same.

Something tastes slightly off, but you can’t quite put your finger on it. It’s possible the ratio is off, and in your tired state you added too little vanilla extract or too much vegetable oil. Regardless, they’re not bad at all.

“Your notes are a little bit difficult to–” Viktor stops before finishing his sentence. He pulls out a sheet of paper from the pile and reads it, his eyes widening a bit as he does.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“These notes are from your biochem class,” he says, his eyes flickering up to meet yours for just a few seconds over the piece of paper. “This is an interesting assignment…”

“Oh,” you feel your cheeks growing hot. “Sorry, that’s not supposed to be in there.”

You reach out to take the paper from him, but he pulls it back as you do. He’s still reading it. You’d really like him to stop reading about your own aphrodisiac serum, but your embarrassment is a bit unwarranted. After all, you didn’t make the serum because you wanted it, you made it because it was a graded assignment. Nothing more. So what if you did eventually garner interest in the topic. So much interest, in fact, that you did extensive research into the properties your serum could afford and spent long hours in your lab experimenting with it. Shamefully, yes, you had tried some of it. Mainly to test its efficiency but also out of plain curiosity. You had determined that it was safe, most importantly, but you’d also learned that it tasted horrible. To counter that, you’d added some–

“Oh fuck!” You shout as you scoot your chair so far back so quickly that it topples over. You stumble over your bag on the floor as you sprint to the kitchen.

“Is something wrong?” Viktor asks from his seated position.

“Don’t eat the muffin!” You exclaim as you run to the counter space next to the stove, your heart pounding.

You confirm your worst fear. The bottle of vanilla extract you picked up from the supermarket sits on the counter, the protective seal still intact. Your arousal serum, however, is halfway empty a few inches beside the extract.

You turn around slowly to face Viktor.

“It’s a bit late for that,” Viktor says, holding up the half of his muffin that remains. “Did something happen?”

You eye your own muffin on the table, half eaten as well.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you scrambled back toward the table where Viktor sat, the serum held tight by your hand. “You’re not allergic to anything, are you?”

“No,” Viktor says, eyeing you like you’re crazy.

Come on, just get it out already. You have to tell him, it would be morally bankrupt not to.

“I accidentally drugged you.”

Okay, maybe not like that.

Viktor just stared at you, his expression unchanged. You sort of just wished he would yell at you so that you could get the encounter over with, but no such luck. He just sat, unphased, until he picked up the notes he was looking at earlier.

“With this?” He asks. Even his voice is still even. You knew that if the roles had been reversed you would be fracking out, absolutely bouncing off the walls.

“Yes, but don’t worry I’ve done lots of research on this serum,” you say, taking the notes from Viktor and looking them over. You read the list two or three times, scanning for any sort of antidote for ingestion. You saw none. “How could I have not included an antidote?” You mutter, mentally beating yourself up.

“It’s okay,” Viktor said and you couldn’t even bring yourself to look up at him from your notes. “It is safe, yes? It won’t kill us?”

“No, it won’t, but it’s a powerful aphrodisiac and I added half the serum to those muffins. If my math is right, you’re taking three times the recommended dosage.”

“But I only ate half the muffin,” Viktor counters. Again, you’re shocked by how unphased he is.

“Okay, then one and a half times the dosage,” you shrug off his comment as you look for anything in your notes that might reveal a way to undo this mess.

“I assume this means you no longer wish to study?” Viktor says.

“How are you so calm about this?” You finally burst out, slamming the paper down on the table to look at him.

Big mistake.

Once you see him, you become lightheaded and your knees buckle beneath you. You have to sit down to stop yourself from falling over.

“Are you alright?” Viktor asks.

“I-I’m fine,” you shake your head in an attempt to get some blood flowing to your brain. No luck.

“Since you’re obviously worked up about this, why don’t you tell me how it works and then we can go from there.”

“It’s a fast acting stimulant,” you say, burying your face in your hands. “The chemistry is irrelevant since I have no goddamn cure for it, but it works the same as any other aphrodisiac. It makes you susceptible to arousal and heightens it by three times at a normal dosage, and in our case… nearly five times.”

“Intriguing,” he says, eyeing the muffin that lays neglected on the table. “Such a strange class project. Aren’t there moral quandaries to be had for such a substance?”

“Yes of course there are, which is why I made it so that it only takes effect if there’s already a degree of attraction in place–”

You shouldn’t have said anything. Especially not when you’re so clearly affected by it in the presence of Viktor. Way to sell yourself out.

“So you’re saying…”

You groan out in frustration, but once you look at Viktor you’re reminded of why you had your face buried in your hands. Somehow every feature of his seems five times more beautiful than you normally regarded them. His perfectly angular nose, his narrowed amber eyes, his messy hair which fell in ways you could never recreate on paper…

“I have a feeling you know exactly what I’m saying.” You squeezed your eyes shut. If you couldn’t see him, he couldn’t torture you.

Or so you thought.

A tantalizing graze of his hand on yours shot shivers down your spine. You pulled away so fast that a few of the papers on the desk shifted from the shear force of the wind.

“Don’t do that,” you seethed, sucked your teeth as you pressed your eyes shut so hard that you saw stars.

“Because…it affects you?” His voice was raspy and slow, or maybe that’s just what the serum was making you hear. Every bit of what he was doing seemed five times as attractive as it would normally be.

You’d done such a good job at hiding your feelings for Viktor for almost a year now. Being roommates with someone you found incredibly attractive was no easy task. And now all of your efforts were thrown out the window because of a stupid baking mishap.

“You’re being cruel,” you furrow your eyebrows as you speak, your voice coming out whinier than you would’ve liked.

“I’m sorry,” he stifles a laugh. “Would you open your eyes?”

“I can’t,” you groan, shoving your hands against your face again. “It’s best if I just go to my room and wait it out. Thank you for trying to study with me but I’m just gonna have to accept a shitty grade tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to do that,” he said, his fingers wrapping around your wrists and pulling them down from your face so that you had to look at him. “It’s been a long time since I’ve taken biochemistry, and I certainly haven’t studied aphrodisiacs, but the effects should go away after the serum is put to use, correct?”

You thought back to your experimentation phase. All the nights you spent alone in your lab trying out the efficacy of the serum resulted in the effects dissipating once climax was reached. It had certainly been the least orthodox experimentation phase you’d ever undergone.

“Yes, that’s correct,” you say reluctantly. It takes every ounce of strength you have not to let your eyes explore Viktor’s face, then his long, narrow neck protruding his sweater, his Adam’s apple bobbing with a deep breath, then the sharp clavicle poking from–

Get yourself together.

“If you’re willing to retake the class–a class you should easily pass, given your access to the two most prevalent scientists in the field–then by all means, go to your room.” Viktor pulls his hands away from you, then picks up the muffin, peeling off the paper from the bottom. He picks off a piece and drops it onto his tongue.

“What are you doing? You’re just going to make it worse!”

He smirks at you, then sets the muffin back down. “It’s a very good muffin. You’re an excellent baker.”

Fuck.

“You’re playing with me,” you shake your head in disbelief.

“No, dearest, I am not playing with you,” he says, standing up from his chair, then moving toward you tantalizingly slow. He takes a seat on the table in front of you, then crosses his hands on his lap. “You’re smart enough to recognize the alternative I am offering to you.”

Your heart stops. You look at his half eaten muffin, although more than half is gone now with the addition of that last bite.

“You…” The idea is almost impossible for you to grasp, let alone put into words. “You want to expedite the process?”

“That’s certainly one way of putting it,” Viktor laughs. He reaches for a strand of your distressed hair and pushes it behind your ear.

“But you’re not even attracted to me!”

“What makes you think that?” Viktor says, retracting his hand, only to place it over yours on the desk.

“Because if you were, you’d be much more affected right now. I mean, look at me!” You gesture to yourself with your free hand. “I’m a mess! I’m on the brink of breaking out in a sweat and my hands are clammy and you’re just sitting there!”

Viktor laughs to himself as if he’s in on some kind of inside joke that you know nothing about.

“I’ve had lots of practice in concealing my excitement around you,” he finally says, slowly, seductively, the words dripping from his chin as his cold eyes bore into you.

“What?”

You know what he said. In fact, you understand it perfectly, but you can’t be sure it actually came from his mouth because it seems so perfectly unreal. So dream-like, so idealistic, so fantastical.

“You’ve done a good enough job at hiding your attraction, too,” Viktor says. “I wouldn’t have known if it weren’t for tonight’s incident. Which is exactly why I’ve felt the need to hide my own.”

“You’ve liked me?”

You still can’t wrap your head around the idea.

“I’ve admired you,” he smiles, rubbing circles on the back of your hand, reminding you just how potent your little sex serum really is.

In fact, it’s so powerful that you hardly have to put any thought into leaping up from your chair and pushing your lips against his. Before you can third guess his affection, his hands are interlaced with your hair, pushing you deeper into his lips as his tongue begs to be let into your needy mouth.

Now it was clear to see how much the serum had actually affected him. In mere seconds, his hands grabbed at your thighs and pulled you up onto the table to straddle him with strength you didn’t even know he possessed. His breathy little moans sent you further into madness and you yanked his sweater off of his head, forcing your mouth off of his for just a few seconds, but once that sweater was off, your lips clung together like magnets.

Deft fingers unbuttoned your long sleeve shirt and he pulled it off your arms so quickly that you worried for a second that he might have ripped it. But you didn't care. You couldn’t possibly be concerned with a silly shirt when Viktor was beneath you on the kitchen table like a meal.

The serum didn’t exactly allow either of your minds to comprehend much foreplay. You fiddled with Viktor’s belt and he pushed your skirt up to your waist. Once both of you were exposed, he didn’t waste any time positioning you above his cock.

“So wet for me,” Viktor whined against your bare chest. “Is that the serum’s doing or is it mine?”

“Yours,” you whimper as Viktor slides his tip beneath your folds. “If it were anyone else in the room with me when I took the serum, I’d be unaffected.”

“I’m flattered,” he smiles cruelly as he thrusts up into you.

“Oh fuck,” you whine as your rest your heavy head on Viktor’s shoulder.

He brings his hands to your waist and guides you up and down as his hips meet your core in long, languid thrusts. The serum sets every single nerve on fire, making it seem as if each of his thrusts has the impact of twenty.

You moan muffled strangulations of his name into his neck, which only urges him to persist with his cruel thrusts. The sound of your cunt being abused fills the kitchen and you’re wildly thankful that Jayce is out of town.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” Viktor pants. “You have no idea.”

You really did have no idea. He hid it so well. You silently thanked whatever force had caused you to accidentally throw the serum into the muffin mix.

“So have I,” you whined against his skin. “Fuck…don’t stop…”

Each thrust is punctuated by the creaks of the sturdy kitchen table below you. His motions become quicker, shakier, and more intense and you can tell he’s reaching the end along with you. Your legs begin to shake and you feel that familiar tickling sensation in your core that the serum does a beautiful job at emulating.

“Viktor, I’m close, I’m so fucking close,” you moan as you lift your head from the crook of his neck. You bring your lips to his and he delivers his final thrusts. As he fills you, your moans echo on each other’s lips, a feeling you never thought you’d experience with your own brilliant roommate.

Your breathing steadies and Viktor wraps his arms around you, bringing you close to him as he tries to collect himself as well.

“You…” Viktor pants, “are forbidden from using that kitchen ever again.”

You laugh as you bring yourself off of him, pressing a kiss to his lips as you collect yourself. “That sounds fair to me.”

[casssmalefantasy]

WRONG JERSEY

PAIGE BUECKERS X READER

| synopsis: you’re a uconn senior who doesn’t do game days—until your best friend finally drags you to one. you show up in an azzi fudd jersey. paige bueckers shows up with eyes only for you. one too many glances across the court and one flirty encounter at ted’s later, and you’re wondering if it’s possible to fall for someone in four quarters and a drink.

| warnings: suggestive content, drinking, flirting, language, college shenanigans, heavy eye contact, one (1) wrist grab

| word count: 4.1k

dina’s been on your ass for weeks.

“just come to the damn game,” she groans, lying dramatically across your twin XL like she doesn’t have two essays due and a scouting report to finish. “it’ll be fun. the vibes will be immaculate. and paige will be there.”

you raise a brow from your desk, mid-scroll through a spreadsheet for your senior business capstone. “and?”

“and,” dina grins, “all the girls love paige. come on. just this once?”

you don’t answer right away, but she sees the flicker in your eyes—curiosity, intrigue, something—and she pounces.

“plus we’re all going to ted’s after. you haven’t had a night out since halloween.”

she’s right, unfortunately. so you groan, shut your laptop, and throw your hands up in surrender.

“fine. but if i miss this project deadline because of you, you’re writing the executive summary.”

“deal,” she chirps.

—

you’ve been to a few games before—dina’s job as one the team manager’s made sure of that—but this season’s been nonstop. between job interviews, papers, and back-to-back presentations, basketball had taken a backseat.

still, when dina texts you a ticket and says, reserved student section. wear something hot, you listen.

your azzi fudd jersey still looks brand new. dina got it for you last year after you said azzi was “cold as hell” during her freshman season. she even introduced you once, saying, “this is my friend. she thinks you’re sick.” azzi had smiled and said thanks, and you swore she remembered you in class this semester—sociology 2312—because she always waved.

you throw on the jersey over some black baggy jeans, lace up your jordan 4s, and brush through your hair until it sits just right. a little gloss, some mascara, and you’re out the door.

gampel is already buzzing when you show up. the crowd is loud, the energy thick, and the student section is packed with navy and white. you spot your seat, right in the middle of the chaos, and slide in just as the lights dim for warmups.

the team jogs out onto the court, and immediately, you feel it.

or maybe—you feel her.

paige bueckers walks out like she owns the floor. tall, calm, braid swaying as she dribbles toward the three-point line. and somehow—somehow—her eyes catch yours.

you blink. she doesn’t. then, slowly, her gaze dips, cheeks flushing ever so slightly before she looks away.

did she just—

“HEY!” dina screams, grabbing you into a quick hug. she’s breathless, clipboard still in hand. “you made it! holy shit. i didn’t think you would.”

“you peer pressured me.”

“and look at you. repping azzi. cute.”

you laugh, but your eyes flick toward paige again—just in time to see her watching. dina pulls away and heads toward the bench, but not before paige intercepts her, grabbing her by the elbow. they speak quietly, and then they both look back at you.

you freeze.

paige says something else to azzi, who turns her head, smirks, and bumps shoulders with kk. ice snorts.

yeah, they’re definitely talking about you.

paige’s eyes are on you all through warmups. it’s subtle if you don’t know better—but you do. you catch it every time she fixes her ponytail, every look she sends your way after a swish.

you try to play it cool. totally normal. completely casual. just a hot six-foot-something hooper staring at you like you’re the only person in the arena.

no big deal.

—

the game tips off and uconn dominates. paige is on another level tonight—no-look passes, step-back threes, crossovers that make the crowd gasp. you’re not a basketball expert, but you know when someone’s cooking.

and she’s cooking.

the student section’s rowdy. you scream with everyone else. paige hits a clutch three and points to the stands, eyes scanning—and for a second, you think it’s for you.

your stomach flips.

—

somehow, dina convinces you to go to ted’s after. she claims “everyone’s going” and you need to “celebrate the win” and also “stop being lame.”

you cave.

the bar’s packed, but familiar. sticky floors, overpriced drinks, and music just loud enough to keep you yelling across tables. you barely make it to the bar when you hear her.

“hey.”

you turn. paige is next to you, black hoodie on now, with a pair of gray sweatpants. waves a little looser around her face after taking her braids out. soft. casual. attractive.

“hey,” you say, pretending your heart isn’t in your throat.

“you had fun at the game?”

“yeah,” you say, turning to face her fully. “you were... really good.”

she smiles, slow and satisfied. “you always this generous with compliments or just for me?”

you arch a brow. “depends. you always this flirty or just with me?”

her grin widens. “guess you’ll have to find out.”

you shake your head, but your smile betrays you. “dina said you’re tired of being a campus celebrity.”

“she talks too much,” paige mutters, eyes never leaving yours. “but she did say you’re best friends.”

“that’s true. she also said you asked about me at the game.” you say teasingly.

she doesn’t even flinch. “guilty. azzi said you’re in one of her classes. said you’re smart. quiet. kinda hot when you’re focused.”

you blink. “azzi said that?”

“no,” she shrugs. “that was me.”

and then she smirks, like she knows exactly what she’s doing.

you don’t say anything at first. the bartender slides your drink over. paige orders a dirty shirley. she pays before you can.

“you didn’t have to—”

“i wanted to.”

you look at her, eyes warm and unreadable, and for a second, the noise of the bar fades. you take a sip.

“so...” she says, leaning in just enough to make your breath hitch, “you giving me your number or what?”

you laugh, finally, cheeks flushed. “smooth.”

“you like it.”

you type your number in her phone. she doesn’t look away as she saves it.

“i’ll text you.”

“i hope so.”

“and maybe next time,” she says, brushing a hand lightly over your waist as she passes by, “you’ll wear my jersey.”

[somuchstrdst]

x

[starmapz]

what you know - ch9: (ex) friends || r. sukuna

❦ ryomen sukuna x f!reader [college au] [ongoing series]

❝ you've heard his reputation and you've seen first-hand the way he's late to class if he even bothers to show up. paired with him for the most important project of the year, you choose to give him the benefit of the doubt- but maybe that's more than he deserves when your perfect grades depend on him, or maybe there's more to the aloof and irritable sukuna than meets the eye. ❞

❦ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. use of alcohol. use of cannabis. use of nicotine/cigarettes. angst. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. implied injury. family trauma. mutual pining. smut. slow burn. anxiety. panic (attacks). mentions of difficulty eating. vomit. tags will be updated as series continues.

❦ additional tags ; college parties and themes. sukuna ooc warning as this is a realistic take on modern sukuna. reader is fairly preppy and implied to be smaller than sukuna, but he's 6"11.

❦ words ; 12.2k.

main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

With a soft click, the Career Services Office door shuts behind you. Dropping your bag on the bench just outside the door, you pull Shoko’s attention from her phone.

“So? How did it go?”

Slipping paperwork carefully into your bag, you nod. “Good! I only need to make a couple of changes to my resume and cover letter and they gave me some good suggestions for options,” you explain.

As a part of your final couple of semesters in your final year, your Copy Editing and Proofreading class has an internship requirement. On one hand it’s stressful, especially given that you’ll need to adjust your life to the schedule of having an internship on Tuesdays and Thursdays on top of classes throughout the week, but you’re also excited.

And then there’s the case of Sukuna.

Although you wouldn’t exactly call the last time you saw him a pleasant encounter given Sukuna had broken down, not to mention his abrupt departure, his emails had been a bit more reassuring.

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Friday, 6:02 PM home?

englishlitstudies@gmail.com - Friday, 6:24 PM Home! Thanks for checking in, Kuna :)

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Friday, 6:29 PM yeah. thanks for earlier. makes it easier to be around the kids

You had smiled to yourself as it seemed he was finally admitting to the fact that maybe help wasn’t so bad. Maybe he didn’t have to handle everything alone.

More encouraging still, was his follow up email.

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Friday, 6:32 PM can you watch them more? i’ll find a way to pay you back after the trial

You hadn’t exactly considered the repercussions that looking after Sukuna’s little brothers would have on your schedule on top of the fact that you’re required to get an internship to graduate.

But if Sukuna can handle it, then you’re more than willing to bear some of his burden if it means he’ll accept your help. Maybe you can lessen the dark circles that seem burnt into his skin like a brand, even if it means you take on a burden of your own.

It’s worth it. He’s worth it.

Shoko groans, pulling your thoughts back to the present. “God, I hope my resume only needs a couple of tweaks. I don’t think it’s very good,” she mutters, pulling it out of her bag.

Peeking over the top of the paper, you shrug. “If it’s any consolation, it’s pretty.”

“Did you just call my resume dumb but pretty? I feel like you did,” she chides.

You laugh in unison with her, shaking your head. “I haven’t even read it! It’s probably more impressive than mine is.”

As her laughter dies down, Shoko rolls her resume up in her hand, batting your shoulder with the paper. “Nice save,” she snorts. Giggling, you step aside as she stands up to head into the Career Services Office next. “I’ll catch you later,” she waves as she steps inside.

Slinging your backpack over your shoulder, you make your way to the car and return home. As if projects and studying weren't enough, to think that you now also need to apply to publishing houses while competing with every other student in your program is… a lot. 

With a sigh, you stretch your arms over your head as you take a seat at your desk and begin the long application process of applying to nearly every publishing house in town.

–

Rocking back and forth on the ball of your heels, adorned in cute knee-high boots that match your beige knit sweater, you await one of the three brothers at the door. Over the past couple of weeks, your tattooed counterpart has slowly allowed you to help him.

And thank god for that.

After the intensely emotional moment you’d shared with him outside his apartment after meeting with Hiromi, Choso and Sukuna’s behaviour had grown increasingly worrying. Yuji’s boisterous personality remained somewhat dulled with an underlying sadness, but every so often he would relax under your care and his giggles would light up the apartment.

Choso was a different story. You wondered often if he had heard the discussions between the four adults chatting about legal papers. His already extremely reserved personality had faded into a monotonous and ghostly presence of what was once a very bright and lively child. If ever someone had seemed to be running on auto-pilot, this was it.

Your concern had only grown when you’d stood beside Sukuna just outside of your Literature History class as he received a phone call from Choso’s teacher, concerned for his mental health and well-being.

How Sukuna is meant to explain his child brother refusing to speak not only to classmates, but even his teacher, neither of you truly knew. The pride Sukuna carries on his back that strains and weighs down his already heavy shoulders prevented him from telling the truth. He’s not the picturesque guardian that the school expects him to be at the end of the day, but to admit that he’s about to fight to keep his brothers in his custody feels like defeat to a man like Sukuna.

The battle hasn’t even begun and he’s already losing.

Sukuna remained nestled carefully within your heart, lighting a fire deep within that urged you to help him fight. Like a firefly, it seemed to buzz within, guiding you towards the man you’d come to know as surprisingly warm and thoughtful, in spite of his rougher edges.

Yet it seemed that man was buried under so many layers of stress that you hadn’t caught wind of that warmth in weeks. Sukuna had become somewhat of a shell of his former self too, more on edge and growing wearier by the day. You may see him every couple of days as you look after his brothers or he manages to make it to class or lunch, but between his quick departure and the bone-tired state he returns in after his shift, you don’t get many opportunities to speak.

The only positive you can find across the whole situation is that he’s accepting your help. He’s trying with what meager energy he can find.

In the midst of your troubles with the three brothers, your schedule had briefly become a scattered mess as well. Between running to interviews, classes in which Sukuna struggled to arrive in a timely manner, and looking after the boys, you had been spread thin as well.

At least your schedule would become more predictable, beginning today.

The door creaks open just far enough for Choso to peek up at you. His eyes are devoid of anything beyond recognition as he steps back to let you in. It tugs at your heartstrings to see him so withdrawn.

“Hey sweetie,” you greet him softly, gently ruffling his dark hair. He blinks as his hair, which has grown quite long now, falls into his face, obscuring his vision, though he doesn’t otherwise react.

With two months until the court date, you pray he comes out of his shell again. Two months of reserved silence doesn’t bode well for his mental health, especially when you’re certain Sukuna will win the case regardless.

Sure, his odds aren’t amazing, but those kids love him and in spite of the fatigue that plagues his mind and body, you catch glimpses of the fire lit within to win the court case.

“Where are your brothers?” You query with a small tilt of your head.

Choso’s gaze drifts to the hall where the bedrooms are. You shoot him a tight-lipped smile, sighing as you reach the hall. The bathroom door is shut, the sounds of running water penetrating the barrier. Brushing past the room, you poke your head into the open door to Yuji’s room. The most lively of the bunch, his feet are kicking as he sits at his desk, crayons scrawling across paper.

Stepping inside, you greet him with a smile.

His response isn’t as enthusiastic as you hoped, but he still calls your name out as his eyes brighten at the sight of you.

“Hey, sweetheart,” you ruffle his hair as you step up behind him to peer at his coloring page. To your surprise, it isn’t the Avengers book that he’s been coloring over the course of the past few weeks (Spider-Man is his favorite), but a page with a familiar blue hedgehog on it. You blink once as you recognize the pose, it looks like it’s straight from the cover of the GameCube game you’d left here a while ago. More notably, you notice that the lineart doesn’t gleam in the same way the printed pages usually do under the lamplight.

It’s drawn in marker.

Faint traces of erased lines remain at the edge of Sonic’s eyes (are they eyes? Is it one eye? How does that work?) and now that you’re standing over the desk more, you can see the faint outline of another character at his side. Shadow.

You smile to yourself, somewhat bittersweet, at the sweet sight of Yuji leaving the sketch blank and staying in the lines to the best of his ability. He likely hopes that at some point he’ll be able to complete his joint artistic effort with his brother.

The sound of a door opening grabs your attention and you excitedly make your way over to Sukuna, who’s clad in a blue polo and khakis. Clearly he’d be stocking shelves for the evening. Running a hand through long salmon locks, his eyes slide over to you as you appear from the doorway of his brothers’ room.

The dark circles under his eyes don’t look so bad today, though his expression remains stoic. There’s no cracks to his practiced facade of control, his crimson eyes set on your face as he examines the way you actually bound towards him, clearly excited. He raises an eyebrow as he casts his gaze down to your hands, fidgeting with the hem of your sweatshirt.

“Something happen?” He brings a hand up to casually scratch beneath the collar of his shirt, the polo material irritating against his skin.

“You remember how I needed to get an internship this semester?”

“Mhm.”

“Aaaaand you remember how I was really hoping to get a position in that printing house on the main bus route to save some money on gas?”

His lip quirks upwards at the corner as he takes a step towards you. One strong arm wraps around you in something between a headlock and a hug, causing you to giggle. “‘Course you got it. Atta girl,” though his tone lacks the usual timbre he reserves for you and his brothers, you can see the way something within him shifts, something akin to pride resonating through him.

With your face practically shoved into Sukuna’s way too bulky chest, your cheeks quickly warm. You’re more than positive that he can feel it when you stumble back as he releases you after a moment, a glimmer of mischief buried deep beneath the haze of exhaustion.

“Thanks Kuna,” you can’t help the way your eyes crinkle at the corners as your heart pounds in your chest.

Loving him from afar isn’t easy, but it’s better than not loving him at all.

Sukuna makes a motion that he’s headed for the kitchen. You trail after him, watching as he reaches into the fridge for leftovers and a water bottle. 

Choso sits silently at the table towards the back of the apartment, leaning on his palm as he stares outside. With tupperware in one hand and a large metal bottle in the other, Sukuna pauses to stare at him. Something akin to guilt flashes through his eyes, but he quickly steels himself.

You briefly wonder if he believes he can win, something you’ve been doing your best to reassure all three brothers of. Something you genuinely believe.

“When do you start?” Sukuna gruffs, turning his attention back to you.

“Tuesday next week.”

“Excited?”

“I’m a bit nervous, but… yeah,” you smile, grateful he’s entertaining the conversation given how clipped chats with him have been over the last couple of weeks. During lunch or classes on campus, you can usually goad him into a conversation about your professor’s strange obsession with conspiracies (which turned out to be true, much to your dismay), but that’s the extent of his chatty mood usually. You don’t blame him, though. You know he’s worn thin.

The only sign that the Sukuna you know is still there are the minute breaks, the moments where he silently seeks your company, falling into step with you and letting his arm brush against yours. The days when he spreads his legs while he sits at the lunch table and you would give him a hard time for manspreading when his thigh leans against yours, but he only does it to you, so you second-guess teasing him.

“You’ll be fine,” he assures, taking a seat on the couch as he stuffs his dinner into his backpack. “You’re a hard worker.” He smirks, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“Compared to you, I seem like I sleep on the job.”

Your smile falters as Sukuna forces a laugh. “Hmph. Maybe.”

Sukuna’s capacity for conversation has grown infinitely thinner as the days pass and his sleep lessens. Where that leaves his anger and frustration simmering beneath the surface, he does what he can to keep it at bay, especially when it comes to you and his brothers. Unfortunately, it comes at the cost of his conversational skills.

The air grows quiet, interrupted only by the gentle creak of the chair that Choso shuffles quietly on and distant cars in the January cold.

“I can’t believe this is our last year,” you comment mostly for the sake of creating conversation. You know Sukuna doesn’t have much gas in the tank for it, but you find yourself wondering if talking at him helps ease his worries and distract him from the thoughts that plague his restless mind.

“Mm. You lookin’ forward to working?”

“I think so! What about you?

His gaze flashes towards you, narrowing slightly as he straightens, pulling a pair of keys from the bottom of his bag. “No.”

Heat creeps up the back of your neck. “You have time! Especially if you decide to change your major-”

“Why would I do that?” He snaps, lip curling into a snarl. Crimson irises flit between your wide eyes, your brow knit together by a crease.

Shit.

That carefully composed facade Sukuna’s been sporting the last week cracks, his simmering frustration crashing through the walls he’s erected to protect those around him from his own gripes.

Biting your lip in uncertainty, you stammer as you attempt to backtrack under his harsh stare. “I- I just thought-”

“Thought what? Thought I’d be better off doing something more useful? Something that makes more money?”

“What?” You blink as you process his cold tone. “No, I-” your words die in your throat as you examine his set jaw and the way he’s gripping his backpack with white knuckles. What really strikes you is the way something akin to offense gleams in his eyes. You’re accustomed to accidentally prodding where he doesn’t want you, but his edge isn’t usually so cold when you dig a little too deep into his psyche. “It just seemed like you were considering something else.” You want to tack on a mention of an art degree, but Sukuna scoffs before you can continue.

“Is history not good enough now, princess?”

You visibly recoil at the cold way his nickname for you slips off his tongue like venom. What nerve had you struck? “No, what-? No. I’m sorry, Sukuna. I just got the wrong idea, I guess.”

Maybe you shouldn’t have prodded into something that can be a touchy subject for him, but you thought you’d moved past this, and he asked first. Then again, this isn’t the Sukuna you’ve come to know after all these months. The man staring back at you is a product of a world that’s tearing him apart, his emotions awry.

But it still hurts when he takes it out on you.

With a sigh, he checks his watch. “I gotta fucking go,” he mutters, zipping up his bag and grabbing his coat from the rack near the door. Tossing them both on, he slips his hand into his pocket, surely shuffling through it in search of a cigarette, before the door shuts behind him with a slam.

You can only watch in confusion and dispiritedness as the lock flicks shut and the sounds of his footsteps fade outside.

One step forward… two steps back.

You sigh, shutting your eyes for a moment as you stare where he last was. Dragging your hands over your face, you push to your feet, deciding for once to forgo studying in favor of finding something to do with the kids. Maybe it’s time you litter the apartment in bead frogs to go with all the lizards that are still haphazardly strewn everywhere.

To your dismay as you turn towards the hall, you find Choso staring at you from the table. Fuck. You’d forgotten he was there. His expression is unreadable and your chest tightens.

With the most convincing smile you can muster, you usher him from his chair and lead him towards Yuji. “Did you two ever figure out how to make bead frogs?”

Choso’s deep brown eyes examine you as he stares straight up at you. “Are you okay?”

It chokes you up to hear the little boy worry about you. You don’t dare look at him, lest he see the way your eyes burn with salty warmth. So you just smile, nodding. “Of course! Let’s go find your brother.”

Hopefully your tone was more convincing than your expression.

–

The door opens thirty minutes later than usual. Both boys are already asleep (you hope), and have been for a while now, which is unusual for Sukuna’s evening shifts.

He pauses at the door with his keys, a habit you’ve noticed he picked up since the day he found Choso asleep on your lap and had nearly awoken him with the clattering of his keys on the table. When his eyes meet yours, he drops the keys onto the table and locks the door behind him without a word.

His backpack slides from his shoulder with a thud and a muffled clattering of utensils. “You can go.”

You purse your lips at his blatant dismissal of whatever the hell happened earlier. Had you really upset him that much?

“Sukuna, can’t we talk about-?”

He firmly says your name, his eyes steely as you stand and take a step towards him in an effort to reach out. “Not right now.”

Your heart drops into the pit of your stomach. It’s almost embarrassing; to stand there and so blatantly have him deny your request to talk things through after you’ve looked after his brothers for over nine hours. After he’s finally accepting your help and allowing himself to be vulnerable in your presence. “Please, Sukuna-”

Your name rolls off his tongue again, unyielding. “Go home.”

It’s always like this with him. Where that hole in your heart that Sukuna’s nestled so comfortably within eats away at its own chasm. It punctures you, twisting along with the way you still feel for him, knowing that his cold demeanor is the product of a world that threatens to crush him.

But the rational part of you is reminded of Kento and Shoko pulling you aside to warn you not to let him step on you.

Picking up your jacket and bag, you pull your boots on without shooting him another glance. “Asshole.” It slips past your lips before you can really think twice about it, but you’re too caught up in your emotions to care.

You’re gone before Sukuna’s frustration can flare and he’s standing alone in his apartment. The air is still, sound for the heavy air that suffocates him. The TV is still on, you were quietly watching Holes. He supposes there aren’t many non-horror options that you likely haven’t seen with the kids at this point given that he doesn’t have cable or any subscriptions of any kind.

His hair is sticking to his forehead, his skin sweat-slicked between his shoulder blades as he sits down on the couch, dragging his hands roughly over his face. The kids don’t usually pick this movie. He doesn’t remember it.

“You’re mean.”

Carefully guarded, Sukuna raises a brow. “Why’re you awake, brat? You got school tomorrow.” Choso doesn’t reply. With a sigh, the oldest brother scratches the back of his head. “She’ll come around, Choso. Go to bed.”

Choso stands his ground, not moving.

God, the first words he hears from his brother in days and it’s that he’s mean?

Is he really?

He examines Choso’s face, his eyes trailing up to the two bundles of his long hair gathered at the back of his head. Had you put his hair up? Surely the kid hadn’t done it himself. It suits him, and frankly Sukuna’s just glad his hair is out of his face.

He pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue as he has a stare-off with his little brother.

This isn’t that big of a deal. He just didn’t want to hear you point out his inadequacies. He knows his major is useless. He knows he shouldn’t smoke. He doesn’t want to hear it. Surely he hadn’t been enough of a dick that he was wasting what had been laid out clearly as his last chance with you. Right?

You don’t curse often, but even you had called him an asshole.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, pushing up from the couch and pulling on his shoes without a second thought. He’s down in the parking lot as fast as his legs can carry him, searching for your car. To his relief, you’re waiting for the engine to warm up in a guest parking spot.

He jogs over, knocking on the window. You bristle, practically jumping out of your skin at the sight of the burly man at your side.

“Sukuna, you scared me,” you gasp.

“Sorry.”

You frown, avoiding his gaze as you set your phone down. “It’s fine,” you mumble quietly. “What do you want?”

“To talk. About how I was an asshole.”

You stare blankly at him, quietly examining his face. “I told you that you had one chance-”

“Then don’t let it get that far. I’m not wastin’ my chance, I’m fixing things before it gets to that point.”

“It’s not fair that you get to decide when we do or don’t talk about things.”

Sukuna leans his forearms in your car, sighing as he hangs his head within the heat. Your car dips somewhat under his weight. “I know, princess.” He lifts his head, his crimson eyes gleaming in the glow of your dash lights.

You figured he would keep talking but when he just stares blankly at you, you find yourself sighing. “I thought you were letting me in. Letting me help.”

“You are helping me,” he points out.

“I’m helping the kids.”

“That helps me.”

Groaning, you frustratedly run a hand through your hair. “That’s not what I mean,” you grumble, shooting him a glare. “You keep pushing me away.” His fingers flex into fists as he leans into the warmth of your car further.

“It’s better this way.”

“You’re so frustrating,” you groan, slumping back into your seat. “It’s not better! I’m trying to be your friend, I’m trying to be here for you, but I can’t if you won’t let me in.”

Sukuna’s jaw clenches as he merely listens.

“Honestly, tell me what you would have done if I’d left like you asked me to when you had a panic attack.” You look at him expectantly, watching the way that the lights on your dash suddenly seem very interesting to him. He swallows hard, crossing his arms as he continues to lean into the car, perched on his elbows.

Your heat is working overtime to keep you warm as the air that slips past Sukuna clings to your skin, raising it in its wake. Sukuna seems unaffected by the cold, focused anywhere but you. His mind is racing, searching for an answer in the white noise of the car, as though the check engine light will provide the answers he’s searching for.

“You should check your engine.”

You want to groan, roll your eyes, and scream in frustration all at once, yet all you can manage is to stare, stunned to your core that those are the words he chose. Your hand finds the gear shift to put the car in reverse and finally he gives in.

“Fuck, wait.” He huffs, reaching way too close across your body with his long arm to stop your hand from moving the gear shift. His fingers are chilly as he pulls your hand back, proceeding with the familiar act of fiddling with your fingers.

Sensing that this won’t be a short conversation, you flick the key in the ignition once, shutting off the engine, but keeping the heat on. As the engine rumbles to a halt, the distant sounds of cars down the road and faint chatter fill the air. The bulb that illuminates the entry of Sukuna’s apartment continues to flicker, the occasional darkness casting a serious air over his sharp features.

“The first time I ever had one was the day after my dad died,” Sukuna admits with a strained voice. His thumb slides along your knuckles. “It didn’t matter how sick he was. He never wanted me to have to take care of my brothers more than for a few hours.” His face contorts into something between sadness and anger. “I didn’t know how to change a diaper. Didn’t know what Yuji liked eatin’ ‘sides chicken fingers and shit. I think he really believed she’d come back n’ take care of us, or at least them.”

Your lips part as you sympathetically squeeze his fingers, but you don’t dare interrupt.

“Had to look it up on YouTube. How to change a diaper, I mean.” He scoffs, bitter resentment painted across sunken eyes. “Yuji wouldn’t stop cryin’. It was all fuckin’ day, all the time. Must’ve been five in the morning when I finally got both kids asleep at the same time.” His tongue runs along the seam of his lips. “Dunno if you’ve had one before,” he casts a glance at you as he references a panic attack, as though he’s unwilling to admit what it is. You nod. “But I just remember layin’ on the floor of the washroom, staring at the ceiling. Couldn’t tell ya how long I laid there.”

It never seems to matter how upset you are with Sukuna, his situation always manages to twist your heartstrings. He can play you like a violin and he doesn’t even seem to have any clue of the kind of influence he has over you.

“So, if you wanna know what I woulda done,” he shrugs half-heartedly. “That, probably.”

Undoubtedly, this is his best effort of letting you in. Showing you he’s listening. Fixing things before they’re blown out of proportion because he got short with you.

You offer him a sad smile. “I’m glad it didn’t come to that.”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Me too.”

“Next time, can we just talk before things get this far, Kuna?”

He lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding as the familiar nickname slips so easily off your tongue. “There won’t be a next time.”

Your lips quirk upwards, brow raising as you challenge his statement. “With you? There will be. Next time though, just start by telling me you aren’t in the mood to talk about something, okay?”

His lips press into a thin line at your lack of faith in him. He knows it’s founded, but it hurts regardless. Still, you somehow seem to find the space in your heart to be patient with him when he needs it most and for that he’s grateful.

“You got it, princess.” He pauses, tapping the side of the car as he drops your fingers into your lap. “Listen, I think I gotta start taking more shifts.”

“More?”

The concern etched into your brow is cute. “Yeah. I need to almost double how much I usually make. So, double the shifts.”

“You already missed class yesterday,” you point out.

He shrugs. “Wouldn’t be the first time. I get by.”

“You’re lucky you’re the type of guy who barely needs to study to pass,” you grumble with narrowed eyes.

He snorts, amused. “Yeah, maybe.” He sighs. “I know you got your internship startin’ up next week, but…” he trails off, as if he’s debating whether he should even ask you.

“You need help?”

He sighs. “I gotta take some night shifts.”

Dread churns in your stomach. “You’re never gonna get any sleep.”

“I’ll find time.”

“Where? Your schedule is full.”

“What other option do I have?” He grunts, exasperated. “An extra months’ rent ain’t gonna appear outta thin air.”

“You could always ask Toj-”

“No.”

You should have expected that. Red irises stare you down firmly, pupils mere pinpricks.

“You can take my bed if you stay,” he doubles down, scratching his chin.

Heat travels up your neck, finding a place on your cheeks and the tips of your ears. Something about staying in his room, in his bed, makes your heart take off. Yet he can mention it so casually, like it’s not a big deal.

“Um- right. Sure,” your words come out more mousey than intended, and you can only pray that the dim light that barely illuminates you is hiding the nerves that would otherwise show in the way you avert your gaze and chew on your lip.

To your dismay, that doesn’t seem to be the case.

Sukuna blows air out through his nose in a faint laugh as he slides a bit closer to you. The heat of his breath is warm, hotter than anything the car can manage as it tickles your neck. “Cat got your tongue?”

The battle between warm and cold air suddenly seems suffocating. The distant chatter seems to scream, and the motors of passing cars feel as though they could shake the ground you walk on.

“No!” You exclaim, a little bit too quickly as you find yourself wincing. “I’m fine. Just cold,” you lie, shrinking as you hug yourself.

His chest rumbles in laughter as he stands, slapping a hand down on the roof of your car. “I’ll email you my shifts. Go home.” This time when he says it, his tone is mild. “Didn’t waste my last chance?” He asks, turning his attention back to you with a conviction in his eyes that has you smiling sympathetically.

“Not yet.”

“Good. Let me know when you’re home.” With that, he turns on his heel and heads back into the warmth of his apartment building.

Your eyes trail after him as he pushes through both sets of doors, leaving you alone in the quiet of the night. Shutting the window, heat wraps around you, enveloping you once again within its embrace. Yet for some reason as you stare at the spot where you last saw the tattooed man, a shiver wracks your body.

–

Smoothing your pencil skirt, you push through the doors of a warmly-lit restaurant. The little local spot has an air of familiarity to it, decorated mostly with photos of dishes served nightly and the occasional photo of the owner’s family. Tucked away in the corner is a table with a spare seat reserved for you.

With a sigh of relief, you take a seat beside Suguru, your eyes trailing the length of the table to see who was able to make it. You notice two things at a glance. One, you’re severely overdressed, though you knew that would be the case after coming from your internship. Two… Why is Toji sitting across from you? No, the real question is how are Toji and Satoru sitting beside one another?

The question must be written across your face in bold lettering, because Toji nudges Satoru with a chuckle as everyone greets you happily. Satoru’s mischievous grin matches Toji’s smirk as he spots your confusion.

“They have more in common than I think anyone expected,” Suguru comments with an amused smile.

“Aw, that’s sweet,” you grin, taking a moment to attempt to rub the tiredness from your sunken eyes without smudging your makeup. “I’m glad everyone’s getting along.”

Suguru leans forward to get a better look at you, eyes narrowed as he examines your expression. “Can you look at me for a moment?”

Confused, you tilt your head as you turn to face the raven-haired man. Leaning back in his chair, you watch his expression subtly downturn.

“Have you been sleeping?”

“Of course!” You jump to your own defense quickly, straightening in your seat as you brush imaginary crumbs from your lap. “I’m fine, Suguru. I just had early class today, then my internship, and now dinner.”

“I see,” he hums, moving on. “How’s the internship?”

“Ooh, I wanna know too!” Shoko leans forward over the table to better see you. You can practically envision her kicking her feet under the table in search of details (and gossip).

At this point, even Kento’s attention is now drawn to you from the end of the table and you feel yourself shrink as the table begins to turn their collective attention to you. Everyone here may be your friends, but it’s still a lot of pairs of eyes.

“Um-” You chuckle, running a hand through your hair. “It’s going well! Everyone’s been really nice. Well, mostly everyone- but they have me doing coffee runs and shadowing the other editors right now,” you explain.

“Sounds like you’re well on your way to your career,” Suguru smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Suguru, you gotta ask the hard-hitting questions,” Shoko scolds playfully with a light smack to his bicep. His brow raises as she practically tries to lean over him to get to you. “What do you mean ‘almost everyone’?” She asks, her interest piqued.

Chuckling, you shake your head. “It’s really not that exciting,” you insist. “There’s this one Literary Agent, I think he’s the boss’ nephew or something, that’s just a bit much. I can’t really tell if he’s hitting on me or insulting me half of the time.”

Shoko’s nose wrinkles in disgust as Nanami recoils with a roll of his shoulders.

“And our graphic designer is just weird. She cooks bacon in the breakroom on one of those plug-in hot plates.”

“That is odd,” Suguru agrees.

“I think I get six coffees per day for her alone. Oh- and the other day I spent my whole break listening to her talk about this book she read over the weekend. I swear I could tell you the whole plot.”

“Sounds riveting,” Suguru chuckles, a glimmer of light passing through his gaze. “I’m sure the rest of your colleagues are fans as well.”

“Our publicist was telling me they have a drinking game during Christmas parties where they send the graphic designer to talk to the boss and every time he yawns or checks his watch, they drink.”

“Sounds like my kinda people,” Shoko snorts, grinning at you as the table returns to individual conversations.

Throughout the dinner, you’re quick to notice the way Toji seems to meld to the group seamlessly, offering snide remarks that have you wondering at times if you have a second, more gruff Satoru. It’s almost like he’s a strange blend between Satoru and Sukuna in a sense, and you can definitely see how Toji and Sukuna would be friends.

It’s heartwarming to see him blend in so seamlessly, because if Satoru can get along with Toji, he can get along with Sukuna as well, if they can both quit being haters for ten seconds.

Despite how worn out you are from the long day, the dinner with friends was much needed (even at the cost of two drinks for Satoru and one for Suguru), given that you’ve had to skip out on lunches with them every Tuesday and Thursday and even the occasional other weekdays as well in favor of your harsh schedule. Once you’ve paid, you get to your feet and pull your coat over your shoulders, brushing yourself off and grabbing your keys when you’re tugged aside harshly.

Yelping, you blink as you’re standing in front of Kento and Shoko.

“C’mon, we’re going for dessert,” Shoko insisted, tugging you along.

“What? I’m not hungry.”

“Doesn’t matter, dessert goes in your second stomach,” Shoko dismisses you.

“My second what?”

Before you know it, you’re whisked away to a small bakery down the street that you’re beyond certain is Kento’s choice. As much as he gives Satoru a hard time for sweets, the man has a fairly big sweet tooth himself- as long as the sweets include pastries. A good strawberry mille-feuille would have the man starry-eyed with his wallet on the counter.

Shoko, on the other hand, opts for a single macaron, which you second. Who can say no to a macaron shaped as a little kitty after all?

Holding the treat delicately in your hands as you smile at the sweet orange decorated kitty, you cross your legs and take a look around the bakery. Loaves of bread likely line the walls during the day, the displays usually vibrant with the reds and blues of fresh fruit pies. It’s fairly barren now, but the smell of bread and warmth of the oven still carries with it a sense of peace that puts you at ease.

“This is nice,” you comment, taking a bite of the macaron.

Kento nods. “It’s been a while since it’s been just the three of us.”

With a scoff, Shoko points her brown macaron straight at you, a bite taken out of it. “Yeah and whose fault would that be?”

Pouting, you nibble at the shell of your dessert. “There’s just been a lot going on,” you insist, leaning back in your chair. “Sukuna’s been-” you pause, lifting your head at the realization that Shoko doesn’t know about the lawsuit. Your eyes trail to Kento, whose gaze flashes with understanding.

“Sukuna’s been what?” Shoko pushes. “I swear I’ll shove his balls so far up his-”

“WOAH, woah! Okay Shoko,” your eyes widen and you find yourself nearly dropping your treat at the mere mention of whatever the hell she was gonna say. “As i was saying,” you flash her a glance, willing away the heat creeping up the back of your neck. “He’s been taking more shifts than usual, so I’ve just been balancing that with the internship and classes.”

“And sleep, and studying, and projects,” Kento points out, crossing his arms as he finishes his blueberry mochi cake. “When was the last time you read a book, or watched a movie?”

Hesitating, you find your gaze drifting to the wall. “... I watched Ice Age.”

“No, you watched Yuji watch Ice Age,” Shoko accuses, a brow raised. Finishing her macaron, she dusts her hands off on her pants and sighs. “Listen, we know you like him a lot and it’s great that you’re helping him- and thank god Kento knows so I can talk to him-”

“You’re such a gossip,” you mutter under your breath.

She just shoots you a sweet smile, continuing. “But seriously, you need to put yourself first. I’m glad he’s treating you better-” she pauses, staring expectantly at you.

Your gaze flickers between your two friends. “He’s treating me fine, stop worrying.”

“Great. The point is, he needs to go easy on you. I know he’s got a lot of shit going on, but so do you.” Shoko taps her fingers on the table, leaving the ball in your court.

“Sho, I swear I can handle it,” you roll your eyes, “but if it’s too much, I’ll talk to him. Promise.”

“Pinky swear, girl. You’re way too sweet to that man and I know you’d put him before yourself.”

Wrapping your pinky around hers, you roll your eyes, though you’re unable to help your smile.

“You owe me a girls’ night for bailing the other day by the way.”

“I’m sorry, Sho,” you pout.

“I’ll get over it. Ken here got to be my girls’ night buddy. I couldn’t convince him to get a color but he did get his nails done.” Shoko pulls his hand out from where it was crossed over his chest. You can faintly make out the gleam of clear polish on his nicely manicured nails.

“I have no need for colored nails,” he neutrally declares, shooting Shoko a mildly distasteful look as she holds his hand out to you.

Leaning back, you squint at him. “I think blue’s your color.”

Kento frowns. “Did you mishear me or are you choosing to ignore me?”

Shoko hums. “No, I see it. Like a darker blue.”

“Girls. Please,” he sighs as he pinches the bridge of his nose at your antics.

“Don’t act like you’re above this, Kento. I bet you still have a bottle of black nail polish back home somewhere,” you tease.

“That was a long time ago-”

Shoko leans in, resting her cheek against her fist. “Oh yeah, you had an emo phase, didn’t you?”

Laughing as Kento blushes profusely, rose dusting his cheeks, you lean back in your seat, relaxing in the warmth of your friends’ care. Your bed may be calling you, but Kento had a point when he asked when the last time you’d read a book or watched a movie was. But it wasn’t a book or movie that you were really missing, it was a girls’ night (featuring Kento).

You stay at the cafe much longer than intended, finding yourself curled up in thick blankets well into the night, but with a content smile on your face.

–

After the fourth day that you don’t see Sukuna at lunch, Uraume had approached you to bring him some worksheets, not to mention he has a paper due literally tomorrow that he doesn’t know about and you won’t see him until the weekend.

His schedule had been rough on you, but it had been downright cruel to him.

When he did manage to make it to a lunch or class, he would pass out within seconds, softly snoring on whatever surface he found himself on. It seemed he had to be physically moving in order to stay awake, otherwise he was dragged into the clutches of the sandman with no fight left to give.

The worst sign of his fading will was when you had gotten a call from Choso and Yuji’s school that Sukuna hadn’t arrived to pick them up. There was a surprising amount to unpack with that call between the fact that Sukuna had missed their pickup time and the fact that you had now been marked down as their emergency contact.

The latter… That was something you would unpack later.

As for the former, when you arrived at his apartment with both boys and rang the buzzer not once, not twice, but thrice, he was little more than a zombie, barely managing to stay on his feet. You swear you saw his drowsiness pop like a bubble over his head at the sight of you with his brothers, downright shocked.

Swears had poured from his mouth like floodgates had opened and all you could do was watch as he dragged his hands over his face in frustration, thanking you before shutting the door, claiming he would be getting some real sleep, lest this happen again.

Making your way up to his door now, you hope the man who greets you has a little more life in him than that day, but it’s not usually a good sign when you haven’t seen him for a bit.

Squinting as you approach the buzzer, you raise your brow at none other than Toji Zenin, sliding his finger along the metal box hanging on the wall in search of the number to dial for Sukuna. Stopping beside him, you stick your finger out to point at the number, which happens to be unmarked.

Toji flips to face you, face relaxing from his squint.

“Fancy findin’ you here,” he grins, the scar at the corner of his lips stretching.

“Hey, Toji!” You greet, returning his smile. The sight of another of Sukuna’s friends at his door is relieving given just how drawn thin he’s been lately. “Visiting Sukuna?” 

“Mhm. Got somethin’ for him.” He wiggles a small box in his hand as he dials up to Sukuna’s apartment. “Fuckin’ asshole didn’t even tell me he moved, had to steal his address from Uraume,” he grumbles, more to himself than you.

You blink at him. Huh. Well that’s… Considerably less reassuring than Sukuna reaching out to Toji. Especially if Toji isn’t aware that Sukuna’s dad passed away, he’d have no clue about-

There’s a small click and the sounds of shuffling, before Choso answers with a disheartened “hello?”

“Choso?” Toji’s brow furrows in confusion. “That you, kid?”

“Oh. Uh, yeah. Toji?”

Your brow raises as Choso recognizes Toji’s voice. You’re aware Toji’s known Sukuna for a while, but you honestly weren’t expecting him to know Choso if he didn’t know about Jin’s passing.

“You visitin’ your big bro?” Toji queries.

“... I live here.”

Toji scowls deeply, casting you a confused glance. When you don’t mirror his confusion, he clicks his tongue.

“Hey, Cho! Can you let us in?” You call out, attempting to warm your fingers in your pockets as Toji doesn’t budge.

Shuffling resumes on the other line, followed shortly by the telltale buzz that the door’s unlocked.

“I’m missin’ somethin’ here, ain’t I?” The raven-haired man asks, a gruffness to his tone that’s familiar in the way Sukuna also speaks. They’re so similar in some ways, though Toji is far more outgoing than Sukuna. You suppose it’s probably the fact that he’s the Football team’s resident kicker. Still, they share a resemblance in their attitudes.

With a tight-lipped smile, all you can do is nod in reply.

“Shit,” he mutters, following you into the building as you lead the way up to Sukuna’s apartment.

You knock politely, clutching the folder of papers you have for Sukuna to your chest.

“- and add the potatoes when the water starts boiling. Use your fork to test- what are you doing here?” Sukuna turns his attention to his friends at the door mid-sentence, slipping outside and shutting the door behind him abruptly. You step aside, casting a glance between the two ridiculously tall and muscular men as Sukuna glares at Toji.

Sukuna looks… well, better than you were honestly expecting. He doesn’t look like he’s on the verge of passing out or being sick, a The Misfits black hoodie hanging loosely over his shoulders while a pair of dark gray joggers cling to his hips. His hair isn’t styled, stray strands of pale pink sticking out in different directions while some hang over his forehead.

“Got somethin’ for ya. And since your stubborn ass never shows up to lunch and you won’t answer my damn emails, I know ya need it.” Toji holds a visibly calloused hand out, the unmarked box you’d previously noticed now held expectantly for Sukuna to take.

Sukuna’s sharp glare flickers between Toji and the box. With a huff, he lifts the box from Toji’s hands, opening the tabs and peering inside. An old Samsung with a crack through the side of the screen sits at the bottom of the box. Sukuna’s head whips up to face Toji, his eyes blazing. “I don’t fucking need this.”

“My ass. Your phone’s been broken for months,” Toji scoffs, completely unphased by Sukuna’s irritation. “It’s just my old one anyway, but it’s better than nothin’.

Sukuna straightens and you spot a familiar flicker in those crimson eyes. Offense. “If I needed a fuckin’ phone, I woulda bought one,” he grits, shoving the box against Toji’s chest.

As he straightens, it strikes you just how tall and imposing Sukuna is. You can’t imagine it’s easy to make Toji look small when he’s nothing to scoff at either, but Sukuna manages it without fail.

“Don’t gimme that bullshit. I’m not fuckin’ stupid, Ryo. I know somethin’s up and you need a hand.” Toji rolls his eyes, shockingly relaxed for someone under Sukuna’s fire. You know they’ve been friends for a while, but you can’t say for sure how much time they ever spent together. Yet, Toji stands up to him like he knows nothing will come of his anger, as though it’s a facade.

“I’m managing just fine,” Sukuna hisses.

“Are you?” Toji quips, a brow rising behind the black strands of his bangs. “‘Cause I know Jin wouldn’t dump Choso on your ass outta nowhere, so what the fuck is goin’ on?”

Sukuna’s seething at this point, taking a step towards the football player. That may work on others, but Toji isn’t so easily intimidated.

“That’s none of your fuckin’ business,” Sukuna grits.

“Stop bein’ such a fuckin’ prick!” Toji finally snaps, his free hand flying through the air in exasperation. “You used to be my best friend, asshole! You were my fuckin’ family and you fucked off like it was nothin’!”

Sukuna doesn’t respond, brow furrowed and jaw set. His teeth grind from the pressure of his clenched jaw, sending the tension straight to his head as a headache begins to set in.

Left in silence, Toji continues. “Don’t look at me like that. I tried to get you out to the basketball courts with me, to see a movie, anything’. Somehow, you became more of a colossal asshole than I am,” Toji hisses.

As you realize this isn’t going anywhere anytime soon, your eyes flit to the door, wanting to slip inside and escape the uncomfortable situation you’ve found yourself in the middle of. Unfortunately for you, Sukuna’s blocking the door and you don’t exactly feel like interrupting is the best course of action here, leaving you to simply watch.

You’re accustomed to Sukuna being quiet, he’s never been all that chatty, but during arguments is when he tends to run his mouth. Now, standing in front of Toji, the silence of his simmering anger is off-putting. Toji seems to realize this too, shifting on the balls of his feet.

But words evade Sukuna. His mind races with rage-induced insults, anything to drive Toji away, get the man out of his business.

Yet his tongue is tied because Toji is painfully right.

Toji has always had an attitude that rivaled Sukuna’s and never backs down from a fight. His sharp and witty tongue would tell off Sukuna whenever he needed some perspective and the two were fiercely protective of one another. Toji was like a brother to Sukuna back then.

But he was also an asshole. Still is. He was raised by a family notoriously well-known for being as equally wealthy as they are terrible and Toji had always been on the receiving end of it. He’d grown rebellious and indifferent at a young age and acted out at every turn, eventually settling as he got older into brutish and cocky indifference, though most just branded him as an asshole.

Yet Sukuna made him look like a saint as of late.

“Christ, Ryomen. You really got nothin’ to say ‘bout all of this?” Toji runs a hand through his hair in exasperation, the black strands slipping down over his forehead once more. “Maybe I should just ask your fuckin’ brother, I swear sometimes it’s like Jin didn’t even raise yo-”

Sukuna’s anger flares once more, pulled from his thoughts of the past. “He’s fucking dead, Toji.” Venom drips from Sukuna’s words, silencing not only his friend, but the world around you seems to hold its breath too. Nothing about the tense situation is comfortable but you don’t dare move, biting your lip to keep from making any noise.

Toji blinks once, twice, three times. The words take a moment to process as he stands straight, before his brow furrows deeply. His mouth opens and closes a number of times as he searches for something to say, his spare hand scratching at his chest before hanging there for a moment, clutching at his shirt.

“When?” To your shock, Toji’s eyes are glazed with tears, and all you can do is shuffle from foot to foot, feeling nothing but sympathy for the poor man. From what you know of Jin, he was patient and kind and if Toji was Sukuna’s best friend, you can imagine he likely shared that kindness with Toji.

Sukuna’s expression takes a somber turn, the tension in his jaw dissipating somewhat. “Been a bit over three years.”

Toji blinks, a warm trail running down his cheek which he quickly wipes on his sleeve, burying his unprocessed grief beneath a layer of anger as something occurs to him.

“You didn’t think I’d wanna know?” It’s more of a rhetorical question, they both know the underlying issue of their problems all stem from Sukuna’s stubbornness. “You didn’t think to fuckin’ tell me?” This time, there’s more bite to his words. He may be glossy-eyed with sorrow, but he’s equally pissed now.

“It’s not your fucking business!” Sukuna barks, gripping the door frame with a white knuckled hand as he grits his teeth again. You peer past him at the door, searching for an escape, but Sukuna’s still soundly in your way.

“Like hell! He was more of a father to me than my parents ever were and you know that!” Toji takes a step back, turning to pace in a circle as he drags a hand down his face in disbelief. “Y’r such a fuckin’ prick, Ryomen. You always were, but shit.”

Someone clearing their throat down the hall turns your attention towards them. A kind-looking older woman with gray hair and soft eyes is just barely leaning out her door. “Sukuna, dear. Can I ask you to take this elsewhere?”

Turns out she’s your guardian angel.

To your relief, Sukuna simply points at the elevator, making a point of staring down Toji. The football player sighs deeply, rolling his eyes as he leads the way in silence. Sukuna casts you a glance, which then flickers towards the door in a silent question.

You nod, relieved, and slip into his apartment, finding Choso standing in the kitchen alone staring at the floor. He looks startlingly like a puppy with its tail between its legs.

Of course he would have heard everything.

As the door clicks shut behind you and you shuffle to slip your boots and jacket off, his gaze rises to you. A deep crease knits his brow, his eyes searching yours for something he doesn’t seem to find. Kneeling down, you wrap your arms around him in reassurance.

“Hey, sweetie.” You keep your voice soft and kind as Choso’s arms gingerly wrap around you. “Your apron looks great.”

He doesn’t reply, clinging tightly to you.

“Have you checked the potatoes?” A nod. “Are they ready yet?” A shake of his head. Frowning at his silence, you nod. “Do you wanna sit down?” 

Choso nods again, pulling back and plopping down right in the middle of the kitchen.

“Oh, I meant-” Choso looks up at you with those sad puppy-dog eyes and you plop down beside him. “Nevermind.” Sitting cross-legged, you glance around, but you don’t hear or see Yuji. “Where’s your brother?”

“At a friend’s.”

That’s a relief. You nod, ruffling Choso’s hair. At least you’ve gotten a couple of words out of the reserved little boy.

“What are you making?” You ask curiously, trying to peer up at the counter. From where you’re sitting, all you can make out is the top of the pot that you assume the potatoes Sukuna was giving instructions about earlier are boiling in.

Choso fiddles with the bottom of his apron. “Pie.”

“Pie? Shepherd’s pie?”

Choso nods.

“That sounds great,” you grin in an effort to lighten the mood, but Choso isn’t receptive to your efforts. You shuffle to sit closer to him, wrapping your arms around your knees. You’re not built for the floor like the kid is. “Do you wanna talk, Cho?” You query, quietly observing the way that his little hands, fiddling with his apron, slow to a halt before dropping into his lap.

“Why’s Kuna mad at Toji?”

You sigh. “It’s complicated.”

“I like Toji. He’s nice. Mostly.”

You blow a breath out through your nose in a semblance of a laugh, a faint smile drawing your lips upwards. “Mostly?”

Choso doesn’t share your amusement outwardly, but he entertains your question. “He was like another older brother,” he shrugs.

“With all the good and bad of a big brother. I get it,” you chuckle, shifting to lean back on your arms as you struggle to find a comfortable way to sit on the kitchen tile. “Did you spend a lot of time with Toji?”

Choso nods. “They ditched me at the theater once.”

Your brow raises. “At the theater?” Your question is laced in disbelief.

Choso nods.

“Why?”

“They wanted to see a scary movie.”

“Wow, they were mean older brothers,” you agree, absolutely planning on giving Sukuna a hard time for that.

“Dad grounded Kuna for a month.”

“He deserved it,” you smile, rubbing the kid’s back gently. Looking for any excuse to get up off the floor, you point up at the pot on the stove where the water continues to boil. “Let’s check the potatoes again.”

Choso nods, getting to his feet and stepping up onto a small stool.

“Careful not to burn yourself,” you urge, standing behind him as he takes a fork and stabs a potato. When it comes up on the fork easily, Choso turns off the stove, shooting a glance at you in a silent question of whether that’s what to do. You nod, helping him dump out the water and potatoes into a strainer and teaching him to mash them.

As he jabs the masher into the bowl of starch, he sticks his tongue out in concentration as you add salt and milk to the mixture for him.

Out of nowhere, Choso slows to a halt, his head whipping to face the window. Tilting your head, you follow his gaze when you realize that the two men who walked outside to continue their argument have raised their voices and they must be right below the window as you can faintly make out their words.

“Why wouldn’t you ask for help?”

“I don’t need help!”

Turning to Choso, you smile. “Keep mashing, okay?”

His eyes trail after you as you grab your boots and slide the balcony door open, stepping out into the cold. Hugging your arms around yourself in an attempt to keep warm, you peek over the railing at the two men below.

“If you weren’t my friend, I swear I woulda socked ya in the jaw by now, you-”

“Hey!” You call down, catching their attention as they both look up at you. “You’re upsetting Choso.”

Sukuna inhales a long breath, sighing loudly. “Look-” Sukuna begins, his voice strained in an effort to keep it down for Choso’s sake. “I don’t need any help-”

“Don’t need any help or don’t need my help?” Toji interjects, casting a glance at you. Your eyes widen slightly, heat rushing up your neck. Yeah, you could understand Toji being a bit hurt at the idea that Sukuna let you in while he pushed away his best friend.

Sukuna’s fingers curl at his sides into fists. “I don’t need your help,” he snarls.

“Fine.” Toji finally gives in, sick of not getting anywhere with the brash and stubborn history major. He shoves the box against Sukuna’s chest, turning on his heel to walk away. “My number’s on the note in the box. Call me if ya decide to stop bein’ a prick.”

Sukuna seethes as he watches Toji get in a beat up old Honda and drive off. If it were any colder, you swear you would be able to see steam coming from his ears. When the car’s out of sight, Sukuna’s sharp gaze rises to you, his expression unreadable besides his obvious anger. “Go inside. You’ll catch somethin’,” Sukuna calls.

“I will. You come inside too, you don’t have a jacket,” you point out.

Sukuna hardly even noticed, in truth, but regardless he makes his way inside just as you do. Shivering as warmth envelops you once more, you run your hands up and down your arms a few times in an attempt to generate heat while you pull your boots off.

Choso’s standing by his potatoes, unevenly chopping carrots and putting them in a smaller pot alongside some corn. He’s shockingly good in the kitchen, making his Christmas gifts and his eagerness to follow you as you cook make more sense.

Returning to Choso’s side, you help him fill the pot with water, setting it on the stove as you wait for the veggies to boil.

“Why are Kuna and Toji mean to each other?”

You ponder his question for a moment, dreading the idea of the former walking through the door anytime now. “They’re not very good at talking about their feelings,” you land on as an explanation.

“Why?”

Frowning, you contemplate his query.

You’re glad Choso’s speaking more, but his questions are giving you a run for your money.

“Not everyone is as good at understanding their feelings as you and I are,” you explain. “Your brother isn’t very good at it.”

“At what?” He gruffs, pushing through the door.

Fuuuuuu-

“Don’t worry about it.”

Luckily for you, Sukuna isn’t in the mood to argue with you. “Need a minute to cool off,” he grumbles, trudging to his room and shutting the door with an unintentional slam.

Sighing, you return to the vegetables as they steadily come to a boil.

Choso stares hard at the boiling pot above his line of sight, his brow knit into a deep scowl.

“What’s up, honey?” You ask with a tilt of your head, leaning down a bit to his height. He shakes his head in an effort to get his long hair out of his face, deep in thought. When it doesn’t work, he pushes it from his face, but it just falls back into his eyes. “Can I help?”

He nods, watching your movements as you quickly jog to the washroom to grab a couple of hair ties that you’d left behind the last time you’d helped him put his hair up. It only takes a moment before you’ve tied two messy buns up at the back of his head.

Now able to see, Choso’s thoughtful expression returns. “What’s up, honey?” You try again.

“Will you talk to Kuna? He listens to you.”

You chuckle quietly. “I don’t know about that.” Still, he does listen to you… a portion of the time, which is more than can be said for most. “What do you want me to talk to him about?”

“Being friends with Toji.”

Your heart twists at the meaning behind Choso’s words. Whether he misses Toji or simply wants Sukuna to be happier, you can’t say for sure, but it’s endearing nonetheless.

Gently rubbing his back, you nod. “Sure. When you can stab the carrots with a fork, turn the stove off, okay? Be super careful.”

Choso nods.

Making your way over to Sukuna’s door, you cautiously knock.

“Come in.”

Twisting the knob, you push inside slowly. His room is a bit messier than the last time you were in here, the memory making your heart race as you recall your heated kiss. Light floods in from the window, better illuminating the art and posters on his walls, as well as what you’re sure is a pile of lightly used hoodies that seems to have taken over his desk chair. His weights are scattered carelessly in front of his dresser, his work polo discarded atop the wooden furniture.

Sukuna eyes you from where he leans against his headboard, his gaze still filled with mild irritation, though he is holding the phone that Toji handed him. You suppose that’s an overall positive.

“Whaddya want?” Sukuna grumbles, though the frustration within his sharp gaze doesn’t carry over to his voice.

“Well,” you begin softly, making your way over to his bed to take a seat beside him. “I originally came to drop off some stuff and let you know you have a paper due tomorrow-”

“Fuck that,” he groans, slumping down as he goes through the new phone setup screen.

“- five thousand words, by the way.”

“On what?” He sighs, the phone illuminating his features as he continues going through setup.

“Charles Dickens.”

“No. You’re fuckin’ with me.”

“I’m unfortunately dead serious.”

Crimson eyes finally part from the phone as Sukuna scowls at you, searching for any sign that you’re lying. When he doesn’t find one, he flips onto his stomach with a muffled groan into the pillow. His bicep brushes your thigh and you swallow hard, reminding yourself he doesn’t feel that way for you and it’s just an accident.

“I fuckin’ told you she’s a conspiracy theorist,” he gruffs from deep within the pillow, barely audible past the material.

You giggle, thankful for the somewhat lighthearted subject. “I still can’t believe you were right.”

“Wish I wasn’t.”

Silence falls over you as Sukuna remains buried in his pillow, finally raising his head with a prolonged sigh. He rests his chin on the pillow, staring tiredly at the gray material of his headboard. The fabric is worn where he usually sits, beginning to tear where his back slumps against it when he uses his laptop.

Not like he has the cash for a new one anyway.

“Is that all ya came in here for?” He asks finally, eyes still trained on the way threads are pulled taut in the fabric, barely held together as they wear thin.

“Uraume had me drop off a couple of things too. But-”

“Why’d you bring Toji?” Sukuna interrupts suddenly, lifting his gaze to scowl at you.

Blinking at his sudden change in demeanor, you shake your head. “He was here when I got here.”

“That prick,” he mutters under his breath, dropping his chin to stare at his headboard.

“You know, Choso sent me in here.”

“Great,” the salmon-haired man mumbles, “what does the brat want? I left the recipe for him.”

“Be nice to your brother. He’s going through a lot,” you scold.

“And I’m not?” He hisses, his head raising to look at you. When you return his scowl, he backs down, chin on his pillow again.

“Cho misses Toji. He wanted me to talk to you about being friends with him again.”

Your words silence Sukuna’s sharp tongue as all he can do is stare down at the black pillowcase beneath him. He shuffles slightly, his arm pressing into you.

He may be stubborn about Toji, but his brothers never fail to crack his tough exterior. As of late though, his demeanor doesn’t simply crack when it comes to his brothers, it crumbles. Sukuna flips onto his side, eyes downcast as he faces you now with one arm under the pillow and the other moving up to rest on your thigh.

Your breath catches in your throat at the feeling of his large hand squeezing the plush of your thigh.

Mirroring Sukuna’s frown, you set your hand over his softly. “What happened between you two anyway?”

Sukuna sighs. “Nothing, really. We just didn’t talk about heavy shit so I never told him what was goin’ on.”

Of course that’s all there is to it. Grimacing, you drum your fingers lightly over the back of his hand as you debate whether you want to say something. His eyes watch the movement intently, drawn to the way your fingers feel so soft on his skin.

“I’m gonna say something-” you pause, watching his eyes flicker up to meet yours, “- and you aren’t allowed to get upset with me.”

Sukuna’s brow twitches, curling into a scowl. “I don’t get mad over every little thing.”

If ever there was a time you gave Sukuna a look, this was it. “So last week, when you chased me down to my car-”

Flipping back to his stomach until his face is shoved back in his pillow, he mutters a “shut up” that barely makes it to your ears, thoroughly muffled. Regardless, you laugh, gently patting the hand that remains on your thigh.

“I know you’re letting me in, and that’s great, but Toji’s just trying to help too,” you point out.

Sukuna doesn’t move, the musculature of his back rising and falling steadily as he stubbornly keeps his face buried in his pillow.

“You never told me he used to be your best friend.”

“You never asked.” Again, you can barely make out his words.

Sighing, you rest a hand on his back. His muscles seize briefly beneath the tips of your fingers, before relaxing as you rub small circles between his shoulder blades. Sukuna lifts his head finally after a moment, turning his face to you as he remains on his stomach. He looks more at ease than he has in a long while, likely because he obviously skipped class to sleep, though you’re sure the gentle massaging of your hand is nice too.

“Why is it so bad to let him in?” You query, the tips of your fingers brushing against his spine. A shiver overtakes him, though he does his best to mask it.

“I took the damn phone,” he grumbles, as though there isn’t a bigger point to this whole situation.

Your lips press into a thin line as you stare at the stubborn man. Your fingers pause as you contemplate your next words. “The Zenins are pretty rich, aren’t they? Why don’t you ask for a hand with the lawyer-”

“I’m not a fucking charity case,” he hisses, every muscle pulled taut as he glares at you, an unspoken warning laced within his tone that you’re pushing his buttons.

You work your fingers across his muscles again, soothing him to release the tension in his shoulders. Slowly but surely, he relaxes in the silence, basking in the warmth of your hand.

“I never said you were. You could pay him back.”

“No.” He gruffs firmly.

It takes everything in you not to raise your head to the heavens and groan. Sukuna can be so ridiculously frustrating sometimes.

Stubborn as a mule, you have no other option but to give in. “Well… Just remember what Choso said.”

“I took the phone, isn’t that good enough for the brat?”

“It’s a hand-me-down phone, not a friendship bracelet,” you point out, unable to stifle the giggle that comes with your words.

Sukuna cracks an eye open, rolling it dramatically before flipping his face to stare at the wall. A comfortable silence hangs over you as Sukuna shuts his eyes after a moment, enjoying the feeling of your fingers smoothing across his muscles. The sun warms your skin through his window, goading a yawn from you as you find yourself leaning against his headboard. Your fingers slide along his shoulder blades as you find yourself shutting your eyes in the serene warmth of the afternoon sun.

Your hand slowly begins to still as fatigue overtakes both of you, and you bask in the cozy environment like a cat finding a patch of light.

It’s not until you hear a clank from the kitchen that you’re snapped out of your drowsiness and realize that Sukuna’s not the only one with a paper due tomorrow.

Glancing at the time, you pat Sukuna’s back gently. His head raises as he blearily looks you over, a questioning look on his face. It’s painfully sweet, the way he seems to be wondering why you stopped like a cat wondering why you’re no longer petting them.

Seems like you were a pair of happy cats for a moment.

“I need to go write that paper, and so should you.”

He hums in acknowledgement.

“I’ll help Choso get the food in the oven, sound good?”

Sukuna hums again, rubbing his eyes.

“Send me your number, by the way. I’ll see you in class tomorrow?”

“I have a morning shift after I drop the brats off,” he grumbles. “I’ll try to be there.”

“Just don’t forget about your paper!” You remind him, slipping off the bed towards the door.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Bonus points if you talk about Dickens’ death conspiracy theory!” You chant when you reach the doorway, a mischievous smile pulling at the corners of your lips.

He snorts, rolling his eyes as he pushes himself into a sitting position. “Where he died doesn’t fuckin’ change anything.”

With a grin, you just giggle along, heading out the door.

With his hands clutching the edge of the mattress, the burly man stares silently at the gray carpet beneath his feet. He can barely make out the sound of your voice, saccharine sweet and gentle, as you direct Choso while helping him put together the meal.

Lifting a hand, he subconsciously scratches at his spine between his shoulder blades, sending a shiver through his body.

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❦ a/n ; soooo this was originally meant to end on a different scene but by the time i hit 20k words i figured i should split it LOL sorry for the delay! had to take a small break for my mental health, but! the next chapter is already at 8k since i chose to split this, so i should be able to get it out soon <33 as always, thank you so much for all the love! i've gotten so many sweet comments, rbs, and asks and i absolutely love hearing everyone's thoughts on the chapter. ily all <33

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writing & format © starmapz. art © 3-aem. dividers © adornedwithlight & cafekitsune

[frflyavenue]

Exam Stress - Matz ver.

Pairing: Boyfriend!Matz x Stressed!Uni student!Reader

Warnings: MDNI (18+) — Stressed reader, sleep deprived reader, university exam season, crying, eating, fluff and smut, fingering (f receiving), oral (f receiving, m receiving, f giving), vaginal sex, spit-roast, threesome smut, slight power dynamic, soft dom!Hongjoong, switch!Seonghwa, lots of praise

Author’s Note: Giving you guys this update early as compensation for not posting anything on Tuesday—First time writing smut, so let me know what you guys think! UYT chapter 3 still on track to be updated tomorrow <3

WC: 5.1k

School sucks. You’re a great student, one of the best performing in your major, and, according to your boyfriends, the hardest working person they’ve ever seen. You’re positive they’re just gassing you up because they love you, but you’re happy that your work is at least recognized. But it’s getting towards the end of the semester, meaning the whole University is filled with students working overtime. Exams are just around the corner, major essays and projects are being finalized and the party hubs of the city have died down as students rush to get their grades up enough to pass. You’re doing well in your classes, of course, but the end of the semester is always a rough time.

You’ve been working non-stop for the last few weeks, studying for your exams and trying desperately to finish your thesis paper for one of your classes. You lost count of how many hours you’ve worked in the library over the last few days, staying until they close around midnight and going home just to keep working. And while you’ve been able to handle the stress and exhaustion, today it all seemed to come to a head.

You haven’t slept more than a total of 10 hours the last four days, and you haven’t eaten nearly enough to sustain yourself. But honestly, the hormones from the stress were enough to suppress your hunger, so you didn’t pay it much attention. You’re exhausted, honestly, yearning to lay down in bed or even just curl up and sleep on the floor of the library, desperate for rest. But you don’t have time. You huff, slamming your laptop shut, earning a few glances from the other students working the library. You don’t dare look at them, stuffing your laptop in your bag with a sigh. You snatch it up and turn to leave, completely silent as you drive yourself to your apartment.

You fumble with your keys lazily as you try to open the door, finally sighing as it squeaks open. You slip into the apartment, taking off your shoes at the door and heading to the bedroom you share with your two boyfriends. Seonghwa, hearing you, turns around with a warm smile to greet you.

”Hey darling, welcome home. We missed you.”

You look up at him, but the second you see his warm expression, you feel your throat tighten, so you quickly look away. “Ah, yeah, I missed you guys too.” You clear your throat. “I have to work on my paper, so I’m gonna go work for a bit.” You don’t wait for him to respond to walk away to the solace of your bedroom.

Seonghwa walks with his mouth slightly agape as you turn your back to him, not able to say anything. Almost immediately after he gathers his thoughts, he rushes over to the living room, where Hongjoong is splayed out on the couch working on a song. He gently tap his shoulder, and Hongjoong removes one side of the headphones to hear.

”Joongie… I think something’s wrong with our Y/N.” He says worriedly, and Hongjoong snaps his eyes up from the screen to look at him.

“What? What’s wrong?”

Seonghwa runs his hand through his hair, clearly worried. “She came in so quiet, and her face seemed so tired… she hardly acknowledged me when she walked in.”

Hongjoong’s expression grows thoughtful, his eyebrows scrunching slightly. Your recent stress hasn’t gone unnoticed by your two boyfriends for the last few weeks. They’ve watched your eyes grow more and more tired every passing day, and while they’ve tried their best to bring you little snacks or cheer you up with little kisses to your temple when you’ve been working for a while, they’ve mostly let you to your work, not wanting to disturb you. But for Seonghwa to be this concerned now… Hongjoong trusts his boyfriend in thinking that something’s wrong. “Okay… why don’t you go talk to her, hm? I don’t want to overwhelm her with both of us, but I want to check on her.”

Seonghwa hesitantly nods, and Hongjoong presses a comforting kiss to his forehead before letting him go visit you.

You hardly register the knock at the door until it creaks open, and you freeze up, looking over at him with wide, guilty eyes. There are tears streaming down your face, your nose running and your sleeves wet from wiping your eyes. Seeing him, with his beautiful, elegant face twisted in concern taking in the sight of you, you only feel worse. You turn away, desperately attempting to dry your tears as he approaches. You hiccup helplessly as he turns the office chair around so you’re facing him, optnig to hide your face in your hands.

Seonghwa steps closer so he’s standing between your legs, gently pulling you into him. You let your face, still covered by your hands, lean into his stomach, feeling one hand resting protectively on your back while the other rests on the back of your head, his thumb rubbing comforting cicely into your hair. Almost immediately, you let go to wrap your arms around his waist, burying your face deeper into his tummy and sobbing against his hoodie.

Seonghwa feels himself tear up at the sound, his voice softly shushing you while he cradles your head against his body. He doesn’t move, holding you just like that, not planning to ever let you go.

Hongjoong, hearing the gut-wrenching sound from the other room, sneaks into the room, standing behind Seonghwa and rubbing his back. The taller man is blinking back tears, his hands holding you close to him as you let out pitiful sobs of frustration and exhaustion, sounds he’s never heard from you in the two years you all had been dating. Hongjoong, too, feels his throat tighten, distracting himself by silently comforting Seonghwa in the meantime. The three of you remain like until the sound of sobs dies down to sniffles, and Hongjoong moves to kneel next to your chair. He places a hand on your thigh, gently rubbing there.

”Hey, beautiful.” He whispers softly, gently easing your hands down for you to look at him. You do, your swollen eyes meeting his. “Hey… there she is…” His voice is soft and quiet, almost as if he’s talking to a kitten. You're grateful for it, the sound not overwhelming your mind.

You snuffle, leaning into his hand when he moves to cup your cheek. “I-I’m sorry…” you squeak out, and he immediately shakes his head, shushing you.

“No, no ‘sorry’. I can speak for both of us when I say that Seonghwa and I want you to be happy. But part of that means taking care of you when you’re sad, hm?” He just watches you for a moment, gently holding your face in his hands as he kneels in front of you. “…What’s the matter babydoll?”

You close your eyes and try to clear your blurry eyes, opening them again to look down at his loving face. “I… I just got frustrated.” You explain, your voice wobbling pitifully. “I’m so tired, and I have so much to do. But I feel stuck on this stupid paper, and I have to finish it, and…” You trail off, your throat burning as tears slip silently down your delicate cheeks and onto Hongjoong’s delicate hands.

Hongjoong nods, gently wiping the little drops of water away with his thumb, not breaking his gaze. “It’s okay, we’ve got you now. We’re going to go take a break, baby.”

You open your mouth to refuse, but Seonghwa shushes you before you can say anything. “No, no, he’s right Y/N. You need to eat and take a break, or you wont be able to get anything done anyways.” He pauses. “My mom always used to tell me that productivity is subjective. Sometimes, the most productive thing you can do is take a break, eat some good food, and get some sleep. Right now, that’s exactly what would be most productive to you, understand?” His voice is gentle but firm, and his tone gives you no choice but to tentatively agree.

Hongjoong smiles proudly up at Seonghwa, dropping his hands from your face and standing up, offering his hand to you. You take it, letting him pull you up. You sigh longingly as Hongjoong closes your laptop shut, and Seonghwa places a guiding hand on your back as he walks you three to the living room.

While it pains you to step away from your work, you immediately feel relieved as Seonghwa pulls you with him onto the couch, instinctively finding your position on his chest as he lay down with his head resting on the cushy armrest. His hand tangles in your hair, the other rubbing your back up and down in slow, repetitive motions. The steady thumping of heart under your cheek is enough to make you come undone, and your shoulders relax.

Smiling fondly at the sight, Hongjoong sits next to your tangled bodies, opening his phone. “We’re ordering in tonight. What are you feeling, pretty girl?”

The corners of your lips twitch up, though you don’t bother to open your blissfully closed eyes. “Pasta?” You respond, the thought of noodles making your mouth water.

Hongjoong laughs and pats your butt affectionately, ordering you guys a few of your favorite pasta dishes to share.

In the meantime, Seonghwa struggles with the remote, trying to put on a cute animated movie to cheer you up. Finally figuring out what buttons to press, he finds a selection of studio ghibli movies and let you take your pick. Hongjoong calls in to order the food while the two of your start the movie, and as soon as he’s done, he walks back over to the couch. You turn around so you’re laying on your back against Seonghwa’s chest, his arms wrapping around your waist while you reach your arms out to Hongjoong. He smiles brightly before climbing into your arms, laying with his head resting on the soft pillows on your chest and his arms joining Seonghwa’s around your waist. Content to be between both of them, you sigh.

It’s the best you’ve felt in weeks. Seonghwa’s chest rising and falling steadily against your back, Hongjoong snuggled up close to you, letting you tangle your fingers in his hair, the soft strings of the ghibli movie—it was perfect. When you drift off, hands resting limp and calm against Hongjoong’s back and hair and head resting comfortably back against Seonghwa’s happily beating heart… your boys can’t help but feel the same.

NSFW content following the cut ———

You awake groggily at the sudden loss of the comfortable weight on your chest, grumbling at the cold air hitting your front. You open your eyes, Seonghwa giggling lovingly at your state from behind you and Hongjoong nowhere to be seen. You pout, looking around.

”He’s getting our food.” Seonghwa explains softly, his voice hardly above a whisper. You nod, not bothering to move as you hear Hongjoong open the front door and thank the delivery person. He returns with a slight grin, holding up the bag of food victoriously.

You smile, sitting up and moving to get up off the couch. Seonghwa clicks his tongue in dissatisfaction, pulling you back to stay. “Where do you think you’re going?”

You giggle, wriggling weakly in his grasp. “To the table? To go eat dinner?” You respond, your voice already containing more of it’s usual happiness.

Hongjoong laughs and shakes his head, his eyes making pretty crescents. “No, silly, we’re gonna eat in the living room today. It’s treat.”

You gasp, turning to look at Seonghwa. Usually, he’s the one scolding you and Hongjoong about your cleaning and organizational habits, always keeping you both in check. So for him to be letting you eat in the living room…

Seonghwa rolls his eyes, but his grin never leaves his face as he gently lest go and helps Hongjoong unpack the food onto the coffee table. You gasp excitedly, sitting crisscrossed on the floor in front of the couch. Seonghwa ruffles your hair before going to making the three of you bowls of pasta.

The food is delicious, of course. You hum with satisfaction, not remembering the last time you ate a proper meal. Sure, pasta isn’t the healthiest meal, but it sure does hit the spot after not eating anything but protein snacks and the random fruits your concerned boyfriends brought you every once and a while. They seem to notice, not taking their eyes off you as you go silent to eat, eagerly slurping up pasta. Proud to see you feeling better, they also find that the food is especially good—maybe just because you look so happy eating it.

You listen intently as Hongjoong talks about the songs he’s working on, never having felt so happy just to hear him ramble as you are now. Seonghwa is silent, too focused on his food, but he occasionally bumps your shoulders with his legs, still sitting on the couch as you sit on the floor between his legs. It’s been so long since you’ve all gotten to just sit and eat together, between the weird schedule of your classes and studying for finals, Hongjoong’s production, and both of the boys' dance practices. Looking at Hongjoong’s happy face and gently rubbing Seonghwas calf as it cages protectively around your form, you feel yourself tearing up.

”I missed you guys.” You whisper in a beat of silence, taking another bite of pasta to counteract the sentimental tears forming. Hongjoong looks up at you, giving you a delicate smile. Seonghwa sets his bowl down, gently massaging your shoulders as he, also, tries not to cry, not wanting to make you upset.

”We missed you too, babydoll.” Hongjoong replies, and Seonghwa squeezes your shoulder as well in emphasis. He looks thoughtful for a moment, before clearing his throat and setting his bowl down. “Y/N?”

You look up, swallowing your big bite of pasta before responding. “Hm?”

Hongjoong laughs softly, before shaking his head and scooting closer to you, gently taking your hand and holding it in his lap. “Hwa and I love you so much. We never ever want to see you so stressed, yeah? We understand that you have a lot to do—we’re in a similar position a lot of the time. But… just like how you make sure to take care of us when we’re feeling overwhelmed, we want to take care of you too.”

You blink, taken off guard by his sudden seriousness. Senoghwa gently reaches around to tuck your hair back behind your ear. “He’s right. It’s okay to get frustrated, stressed, tired… even just sad. But it’s not okay to completely isolate yourself from everyone around you and push yourself past what your body and mind can handle.” He adds, gently combing through your hair with his fingers. He’s right, you realize. Unknowingly, you had been avoiding your friends and even your two beloved boyfriends, hiding in the library to avoid coming home and staying cooped up in your bedroom at every opportunity under the pretense of discipline. Seonghwa’s words from earlier echo in your mind. Productivity is subjective… Sometimes, the most productive thing you can do is take a break…

You nod slowly, setting your own bowl down. “Yeah… you guys are right,” you admit with a slight look of guilt. “I’ve probably been stressing myself out more than necessary because I’ve been getting so frustrated.” You explain, earning a nod from Hongjoong. You continue. “And… I promise from now on, I’ll rely a little more on you guys. I’m sorry for worrying you.” You meet Hongjoong’s eyes and gently squeeze Seonghwa’s calf, and they coo.

”Such a sweet thing…” Seonghwa praises, squishing your cheek even from his odd position behind you. You blush, suddenly shy, and Hongjoong laughs, lightly hitting Seonghwa’s thigh. The three of you go quiet for a minute, the air lighter.

Interrupting the silence, Hongjoong clears his throat, looking up at you. “Y/N?”

You nod, giggling at his tone. “What? You’ve said my name like that twice already, it’s so cute~”

Hongjoong scoffs and nearly argues, but his blush creeps up his face before he can rebut. He shakes his head. “I’m being serious here!”

You and Seonghwa laugh, but you quickly shake your head and squeeze his shoulder. “Sorry, sorry. Go ahead, honey.”

He blushes at the nickname, his personal favorite from you, and clears his throat again. “Well, Hwa and I were talking while you napped, and we wanted to ask if you’d like to let us take care of your stress for you tonight? You know, help you relax a bit..?”

You smile, shaking your head innocently. “No, I’m sorry. There’s not really much you guys can do, my paper is built off of research I’ve been doing all semester. I appreciate the offer, of course, but I should really just write it on my own.”

Hongjoong blinks. He’s known you for a long time, but he will never not be astounded by how your sweet, dense brain works. He laughs in shock. “Hah… geez, Y/N… for somebody so smart, you sure are slow.” He says, and Seonghwa coughs back a laugh before pretending to scold him. You tilt your head.

”Uh… sorry?”

Hongjoong shakes your head, and Seonghwa moves to sit on the floor with you guys, feeling awkward not being able to see your face.

“No, not like that my dear.” He explains. He gently takes your hand and presses it to his lips. “We want to take you to bed, our love. It’s been a while since we could take care of you, hm?”

Your face heats up immediately. Seonghwa has always been the best of you three at initiating this kind of intimate affection, so it shouldn’t come at any surprise. But even after sleeping with your boyfriends hundreds of times… they only get sexier You subconsciously press your thighs together.

Seonghwa just chuckles at your cute reaction, standing up and grabbing the trash from your dinner. “Think it over while I clean dinner up, hm?”

You watch with your mouth slightly agape as he takes the trash to the bin in the kitchen, stunned silent. You turn to look at Hongjoong, who tucks your hair back affectionately.

”Kiss me?” You whisper suddenly, looking up at him shyly through your eyelashes.

Hongjoong smiles softly at your request, cupping your jaw and tilting your head up so he can access your lips. He kisses you softly, his plush lips molding naturally against yours. He turns his head to the side after just a moment, gently licking at your bottom lip, and you part your lips to grant him access. He eagerly intrudes your mouth, tangling his tongue with yours. His hand slowly comes up to rest on your waist, his thumb slipping under the hem of your shirt and rubbing easy circles over the smooth, delicate skin there. You hum into his mouth and rest your hands on his shoulders for support, desperate to taste more. It’s been a long time, you realize, since you’ve done anything like this with your boyfriends. You’ve missed it.

Seonghwa returns, raising an eyebrow at the sight and sitting on the side of the couch, opting to just watch for a little while. He knows he’ll get his turn.

Sure enough, Hongjoong pulls away just for a moment at seeing Seonghwa sit down, leaving you whining. He clicks his tongue.

”Tsk tsk… patience babydoll. Lie down on the couch for me, hm?”

You nod and quickly position yourself comfortably on the couch, happy when Hongjoong climbs over top of you and continues kissing you. To your dismay, he refuses giving you entrance back into his mouth, instead moving to press slow, open mouthed kisses down your jaw. You breathe heavier at the sensation, letting out shameless little gasps and whimpers when he nips sensitive parts of your neck. Almost too swift to notice, Hongjoong slides his hands up under your shirt, pulling it up over your head in one smooth motion before crawling downward to kiss your collarbone, lingering around the straps of your bra. Just before you feel yourself growing impatient, he unclips the fabric barrier as if reading your thoughts, gently sliding it down your shoulders to reveal your soft breasts.

He exhales in wonder at the beautiful sight, reaching one hand up to gently palm at the flesh there. “God, baby… how could I have ever forgotten how much I missed these pretty things, hm?”

You blush shyly at his praises, his tone of voice one that always gets you in a space ready and wanting to please. You arch your back impatiently, the cold air leaving you desperate for their touch. Hongjoong smiles, letting you get away with it for now and leaning down to gently take the soft flesh of your breast into his mouth.

You gasp slightly as his tongue caresses the bud of your breast, comforted with the feeling of his mouth tenderly kissing the plush skin there. You pet his hair in return, and Seonghwa reaches a hand up to rub Hongjoongs back encouragingly, fond of watching his lovers feeling good.

After a few minutes of getting you slowly more and more needy from Hongjoongs touches, Seonghwa finally moves to tug at the waist of your pants, easing them down your thighs and folding them neatly on the other side of the couch. He repositions himself to be propped on his elbows between your thighs, and you shiver when you recognize the position. His breath brushes against the heat between your thighs as he leans forward, turning his head to suck at the skin of you plush thighs. He gently kneads the soft flesh under his hands, slowly easing your thighs further apart as he inches up closer to where you need him. You roll your hips forward, desperate.

Seonghwa smiles, finally leaning forward and licking a fat stripe from your leaking entrance up to your clit, stopping there to suck on the bundle of nerves there. You gasp at the sudden stimulation, arching your back into his tongue and earning a delicious hum from him. “God, you taste so good…” Seonghwa moans into your dripping folds. He rolls his tongue expertly over the now erect bud while Hongjoong switches to sucking small marks into your collarbone, the combination sending you reeling.

When Seonghwa suddenly slides two fingers inside of you, you finally let out a full moan, earning a smile from both men. Hwa’s fingertips brush against the perfect spot inside, and combined with his tongue messily lapping up your juices and Hongjoongs attention back on your breasts, you nearly cum on the spot.

Hongjoong places a hand on Seonghwa’s head, signaling for him to stop.

You pant as you come down from the edge. “I want more,” you manage to get out in between breaths, looking up at Hongjoong.

He chuckles. “Such a needy little thing, hm?” You pout, and he giggles, finding you cute. “Bend over the side of the couch.” Seonghwa glances over at him with surprise at his suddenly domineering tone. Hongjoong just shrugs. “If our baby wants it so bad, then let’s give it to her. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten how naughty our girl is, hm?”

Seonghwa glances over at you with concern, wanting to make sure it’s really what you want. He doesn’t have to worry for long, though, since you’re already scrambling to bend over with your elbows propped up on the armrest of the couch. He lets out a surprised laugh. “God, Joong. Maybe I did forget.”

Hongjoong smirks, his adoring eyes raking over your submissive position. “Seonghwa, tell me baby, do you want her pussy or her mouth? You get first pick today.”

The pretty man needs no time to decide. “Can I please get her pussy today, Joongie?”

Hongjoong nods and presses a sweet kiss to Seonghwa’s cheek. “Of course you can, love. Thank you for asking so nicely.”

While you can’t see them talking behind you in your current position, the way they talk to each other alone makes you blush. The three of you all love each other so much, there’s no doubt about it. And even when Hongjoong takes over a more dominant role, he’s never really mean, making sure his partners know that his priority is always taking care of them. You smile softly, in your thoughts, when you feel Seonghwa climb on the couch behind you.

You grip the arm of the couch in anticipation. Seonghwa presses the head of his dick against your folds, rubbing it along your clit and spreading your love juices around. You drop your head at the feeling, biting back a moan. When he finally slides in, though, you can’t help but groan out his name, pushing your hips back against him until he’s fully seated inside of you.

Hongjoong hums in satisfaction as he watches, reaching to rub comforting circles on the smooth skin of your back. “Deep breaths, baby. Does it feel good?”

You nod immediately, a little too eager. “Y-yes…” You hiss.

Hongjoong chuckles. “Good girl. Seonghwa, baby, don’t move until I tell you to.” Seonghwa groans but agrees nonetheless. Hongjoong walks around to the side of the couch where you’re facing, cupping your jaw. “Stick out your pretty tongue for me.”

You obey, parting your lips quickly and letting your tongue drop out for him, too far gone to be embarrassed about how much saliva you’re producing. He bites his lip, stroking his fully erect length in front of your face, giving you the most perfect view. When he finally rubs the bulbous head of his pretty cock against your tongue, you hum. He doesn’t do much more for a while, leaving both you and Seonghwa, who is essentially just being cockwarmed, impatient. But just before you lose your composure and ask hm outright to just fuck your throat, he finally slides his length into your mouth.

You eagerly wrap your lips around him, tightening them expertly and sliding your tongue over the underside of his pretty length, making him roll his eyes back.

“Hon- ah god… you’re so good, baby. So perfect-“ He pants, placing a hand on the back of your head and bottoming out in your throat. While he isn’t quite as long as Seonghwa, you’ve always thought that his dick fits perfectly in your mouth. Just enough to make you feel full without causing any painful gagging. You hum around him, and he finally breaks. “Oh god- Hwa, baby, move… I don’t know how long I can last…”

Seonghwa doesn’t have to be asked twice. Without warning, he starts thrusting in and out of you firmly, holding onto your waist for support. You gasp, not caring about volume anymore as he pounds into you, each thrust calculated and firm. Hongjoong can feel you rocking from Seonghwa’s relentless pace, and he lets out a low groan, holding tightly onto a fistful of your hair. “Babydoll, can I fuck your throat? P-please?”

You blink up at him expectantly in response, and he tilts his head back as he finally slides slowly in and out of your mouth.

Hongjoong slowly begins to fuck your mouth, savoring every inch as he watches your throat stretch around him. His hand remains steady on the back of your head, but he never pushes further than you can take—he knows your limits too well. Your eyes water slightly from the fullness, but the way both your boyfriends are moaning, praising you, touching you, has your arousal spiking all over again.

Behind you, Seonghwa is groaning softly under his breath, his thrusts now faster, deeper, his hips snapping into yours with growing desperation. “Fuck, you feel so good, love,” he pants, leaning forward to press kisses to your spine as he grinds into that sweet spot that makes your whole body shiver. His fingers tighten on your waist, and you can feel how close he is by the way his movements get a little sloppier.

“God, she’s dripping, Hwa,” Hongjoong murmurs with a breathless laugh, hips stuttering forward as you suck him harder, slurping around his cock like it’s the only thing you need. “Our baby’s soaking you.”

Seonghwa lets out a shaky whine, the sound sending heat straight to your core. “I—fuck, Joongie, I’m gonna—”

“Not yet,” Hongjoong growls through his teeth, voice tight with restraint. “Wait for her. Baby,” he coos down to you, pulling slowly out of your mouth with a wet pop. “Do you wanna cum?”

You nod frantically, voice hoarse with need. “P-please—I’m so close…”

“Then do it,” Seonghwa chokes out, slamming into you just right as he reaches around to rub quick circles on your clit. “Cum for us, baby. Let us feel you.”

It takes nothing more. Your orgasm crashes over you, thighs shaking as you scream out their names, walls clenching around Seonghwa’s cock in desperate pulses. He gasps, loud and broken, and finally lets go, spilling inside you with a deep, satisfied groan, hips grinding into you to ride it out. His head drops between your shoulder blades, breath hot and fast.

The sight of his two lovers feeling so good is enough for Hongjoong. He jerks himself off over your tongue, the pace of his fist desperate and sloppy. He jerks forward, trembling as he cums in front of you, thick spurts of release painting your tongue. You swallow up every drop on instinct, humming softly as he pants and wipes the corner of your lips with his thumb, utterly dazed.

For a long moment, all that fills the room is the sound of your shared, panting breaths. Seonghwa slowly pulls out, careful not to hurt you, and places a tender kiss to the curve of your lower back before helping you back onto the couch properly.

You collapse back onto Seonghwa chest, arms wide open for Hongjoong as he makes his way back around to the seat of the couch.

“Holy shit,” you mutter with a breathless laugh as Hongjoong climbs in next to the two of you, placing a loving hand on your thigh.

Hongjoong kisses your forehead, smiling contentedly. “We’ve really missed this.”

Seonghwa hums his agreement against your shoulder, holding you tighter.

You smile, eyes fluttering closed as exhaustion finally catches up with you. “Me too,” you whisper, yawning. Wrapped between your two lovers, bodies warm and sticky and pressed together, it’s hard not to feel sleepy.

The two men notice with fond expressions, glancing at each other.

Seonghwa kisss your cheek. “Alright, love, let’s go get you cleaned up. Something tells me it’s bedtime.”

You let out a breathy laugh, nodding.

“I love you guys.”

[ceeaann]

Guess your stuck with me..

Pairing - Troublemaker!Jinx x Academic Achiever!Reader Summary -  You’re an academic achiever—sharp, disciplined, and determined to stay on top. Jinx is a reckless, unpredictable troublemaker who barely shows up to class. When the professor pairs you together for a presentation, it feels like a nightmare. She doesn’t help, doesn’t care, and somehow always gets under your skin. But between late nights, frayed nerves, and unexpected moments, you start realizing—maybe she’s not just a distraction after all. Content - 11.5k words, collab with @kkoga !! Slow-burn, Enemies-to-Lovers, Academic rivalry, forced partnership, bickering, tension, Academic stress, burnout, mild angst, brief crying scene, Jinx being an absolute menace, mutual pining, and one very unexpected but very needed kiss. Ends on a happy note!

Your name carried weight on campus.

Not in the way a socialite’s name did, or a legacy student’s, or even a student-athlete’s. No, your reputation was built on something far more lethal—academic dominance.

Summa cum laude in the making.

Top of every class.

Winner of multiple national competitions.

Professors used your essays as the example.

People didn’t just respect you. They feared you

You had single-handedly torpedoed GPAs when professors started grading on a curve. People scrambled to be in your group for projects, knowing you’d carry them to an A (you didn’t let them, obviously). You didn’t have time for slackers, and you especially didn’t have time for people who thought coasting through college was an option.

Which was why, when your professor announced the groups for your upcoming project, you expected to be placed with someone competent.

The sound of shuffling papers and quiet murmurs filled the lecture hall as your Professor adjusted his glasses, scanning the list in his hands with a practiced, impartial expression. You sat near the front, back straight, pen poised, waiting for the inevitable announcement of the semester’s biggest source of misery—group projects.

Your fingers tapped against your notebook as names were read, barely listening—until you heard yours.

And then—

"Jinx."

Your entire body tensed.

No. No, no, no. There had to be some mistake.

Slowly, you turned your head. Across the room, feet propped up on the chair in front of her, sat Jinx—headphones around her neck, chewing on a pen cap like it owed her money. She didn’t even look up, just gave an exaggerated yawn and cracked her knuckles.

The girl who skipped half her classes. The girl who turned in blank assignments. The girl who, last semester, set a toaster on fire in the dorm kitchen and called it "a science experiment."

You clenched your jaw.

"Groups will work together on a thirty-minute presentation due at the end of the month," he continued, oblivious to your silent suffering. "This will be worth 30% of your final grade. I expect collaboration."

Jinx glanced at you lazily, then grinned. "Guess you're stuck with me,nerd."

You exhaled sharply, gripping your pen tight enough to snap.

This was going to be a disaster.

You considered your options.

Beg the professor for a group change. (Humiliating, undignified.)

Carry the entire project yourself. (Tiring, inevitable.)

Force Jinx to be useful. (Impossible.)

Yeah. You were screwed.

As class ended, you gathered your things with the speed and precision of someone preparing for battle. You weren’t going to let Jinx coast through this and leech off your grade. No, you were going to establish rules, schedules, expectations—

A crumpled piece of paper hit your shoulder.

You turned, already seething.

Jinx stood a few feet away, backpack slung lazily over one shoulder, looking entirely too pleased with herself. "Hey, partner," she drawled. "Wanna do all the work for me, or should I pretend to help?"

Your eye twitched.

"Neither." You leveled her with a cold stare. "We’re meeting in the library tomorrow. Be there at noon."

Jinx mock-gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. "Noon? That’s, like, peak nap time."

You did not have the patience for this.

"Show up," you snapped, "or I will make sure the professor knows exactly how much effort you’re putting in."

Jinx smirked, tilting her head. "Oh, scary. What are you gonna do, write a strongly worded email?" You gritted your teeth. "Yes. And CC the entire department." Jinx let out a bark of laughter. "Damn, you really are serious about this nerd stuff, huh?"

"It's called having standards."

Jinx leaned in, eyes glinting with amusement. "It's called being a control freak." Your fingers curled around the strap of your bag. This was going to be a long, long project.

-

The next day, you arrived at the library at exactly noon. Jinx did not.

At 12:15, you tapped your pen against your notebook.

At 12:30, you checked your watch.

At 12:45, you debated homicide.

Then, at 12:57, Jinx finally strolled in, looking like she just rolled out of bed—because she probably had. She plopped into the chair across from you, legs kicked up on the table. "Chill, bookworm, I’m here."

You inhaled sharply through your nose. "You’re fifty-seven minutes late."

"Only 'cause I got distracted," she said, waving a hand. "Saw this really cool bird outside. Had blue feathers. Kinda reminded me of—oh wait, no, that was just a plastic bag."

You just stared at her.

Jinx grinned. "So, what’s the plan, boss?"

Oh, you were going to lose your mind.

You took a slow, measured breath. It didn’t help.

"The plan," you said through clenched teeth, "was to start working an hour ago."

Jinx shrugged. "Yeah, well, time’s fake. Anyway, what’s the topic again?"

You pinched the bridge of your nose. "You don’t even know the topic?"

She stretched her arms behind her head. "Look, I was too busy living in the moment to check the syllabus. Enlighten me, O Wise One."

You resisted the urge to throw your notebook at her.

"We're analyzing historical revolutions and their economic impact," you said, voice dangerously tight. "Which means research. Structure. Actual effort."

Jinx gave you a slow, amused look. "God, you sound fun at parties."

"I am fun at parties," you snapped. "Academic parties. Where people actually care about learning instead of setting things on fire."

"One time," Jinx muttered, rolling her eyes. "That toaster thing was one time." You ignored her. "We need to divide the work. Since you refuse to function like a normal student, I'll handle the primary research and outline the key points."

Jinx propped her chin on her hand. "Sweet. What do I do?"

"You," you said, narrowing your eyes, "are going to actually contribute." Jinx let out a low whistle. "Wow, setting high expectations for me. Dangerous move, nerd."

You exhaled sharply, flipping open your laptop. "You can start by reading the sources I compiled. Then we’ll discuss how to divide the sections for the presentation." Jinx yawned, cracking her neck. "Sounds so exciting." "It's more exciting than failing," you shot back. Jinx smirked. "You really think I care about failing?"

You studied her. She said it like a joke, but there was something about the way she said it—offhand, too casual, like she had already accepted it as inevitable.

You pushed the thought aside. You weren’t here to psychoanalyze her. You were here to make sure she didn’t singlehandedly tank your grade.

"Just read," you said, turning your laptop toward her. Jinx sighed dramatically but took the laptop. "Fine, fine, don’t get your nerd glasses in a twist." You did, in fact, wear glasses sometimes, but that was beside the point.

For the next ten minutes, there was silence. You focused on your own research, occasionally side-eyeing Jinx, fully expecting her to start doodling in the margins or spinning in her chair instead of reading.

But she wasn’t.

She was staring at the screen, brows furrowed, actually reading.

You blinked.

Huh.

Maybe—just maybe—this wouldn’t be a complete disaster.

Then Jinx leaned back, stretching with a loud groan. "Alright, I read, like, five paragraphs. Can I go now?"

Never mind. It was going to be a complete disaster.

"Five paragraphs?" you repeated, deadpan. "That's the best you can do?" Jinx shrugged. "Technically, I read six. But that last one was boring as hell, so I stopped paying attention halfway through." You inhaled sharply. "You—" No. You weren’t going to waste your breath. "You know what? Fine. Since reading is so difficult for you, let's try something simpler. Just tell me what you learned." Jinx hummed, tapping a finger against her chin. "Alright, so—uh—something about, like… taxes? And people being mad about… bread?"

You just stared at her.

Jinx beamed. "Nailed it, didn’t I?" You resisted the urge to slam your head against the table. "The French Revolution," you said slowly, "was not just about bread."

"Are you sure?" Jinx leaned back in her chair, balancing on two legs. "I mean, ‘Let them eat cake’ is, like, the only thing people remember from it."

"Oh my God, you are so—" You cut yourself off, pressing your fingers against your temples. "We are so behind schedule because of you."

Jinx smirked. "Correction: you are behind schedule. I never had one to begin with."  You shot her a glare that could have burned a hole through solid steel. "This is worth thirty percent of our grade. Thirty. Percent. That is literally the difference between passing and failing. Do you even care about that?" Jinx didn’t answer right away. For a second—just a second—something flickered in her eyes. But then she shrugged, that same careless grin creeping back onto her face. "Eh. I like to keep things exciting."

"Failing is not exciting!"

"That’s what you think," Jinx said, crossing her arms behind her head. "But I think it’s kinda fun watching you freak out."

You wanted to strangle her.

No. You wanted to graduate, which meant getting through this project without committing a felony. You took a deep breath. "Fine," you said through gritted teeth. "If you're going to be useless, then at least sit there and let me work in peace." Jinx gasped dramatically. "Useless? Ouch, nerd, right in the heart."

"You don’t have a heart."

Jinx clutched her chest like she’d been mortally wounded. "Wow, just gutting me today, huh?"

"Just sit there quietly," you muttered, turning back to your notes.

Surprisingly, Jinx did. For a whole five minutes. Then she started messing with your pens. Then your notebook. Then your hair. You slapped her hand away. "What are you doing?" "You're so tense," Jinx said, chin propped on one hand, watching you like she was studying a particularly interesting lab rat. "Like, seriously, do you ever relax?"

"Not when I have leeches for group members." Jinx laughed. "Come on, don’t you ever just… do something fun?" "This is fun," you snapped. Jinx’s grin widened. "Oh, you are tragic." You scowled. "Just—shut up and let me work." Jinx leaned in, smirking. "Make me."

Your brain short-circuited for a second.

The way she said it—low, teasing—was infuriating. You could feel the heat creeping up your neck, but you refused to let her win.

You exhaled sharply. "You're insufferable."

Jinx winked. "And yet, you're stuck with me."

You were going to lose your mind before this project was over.

-

You had never dreaded a conversation more.

The next morning, you sat in the professor’s office, hands neatly folded in your lap, trying to compose yourself. The office smelled of old books and ink, a familiar scent that usually brought you comfort. But today, it did nothing to ease the tension knotted in your shoulders. Your professor peered at you over his spectacles, waiting expectantly.

You took a breath. "I need a new partner."

He hummed, flipping through a stack of papers. "Let me guess. Jinx?"

You stiffened. "...Yes."

Your professor sighed, setting his pen down. "I assume she hasn’t contributed anything."

"Nothing," you confirmed, frustration creeping into your voice. "She barely even acknowledges the project exists. I don’t even know if she understands the topic, let alone if she’s capable of actually helping."

"She is," he said simply.

You frowned. "What?"

Your professor leaned back in his chair. "Jinx is… difficult. But not incapable. She has a sharp mind—when she applies it."

You weren’t sure if you believed that. "Then why hasn’t she applied it to this?" He offered a knowing smile. "Perhaps that’s a question you should ask her." You exhaled sharply. "Professor, I don’t have time for games. I have competitions, exams, and an academic reputation to uphold. If I fail this project because of her—"

"You won’t fail," he assured you. "But you won’t be getting a new partner, either."

You stared at him. "You can’t be serious."

"Entirely," he said. "Consider it a different kind of learning experience."

You clenched your jaw. "What am I supposed to learn from a partner who doesn’t do anything?"

He smiled faintly. "Maybe that’s up to you to figure out." You swallowed the sharp response on your tongue. This was going nowhere. So, you left his office feeling just as frustrated as when you arrived.

And now, you had no choice but to track down Jinx yourself.

-

The campus café was as loud and crowded as ever. You navigated through groups of students, scanning the area for your headache of a partner.

It wasn’t hard to spot her.

Jinx was sprawled out at one of the outdoor tables, legs kicked up onto a chair, idly flipping a coin between her fingers. Her blue hair was a tangled mess, and her jacket looked like she hadn’t washed it in a week. A coffee cup sat beside her—mostly empty, aside from the mountain of sugar packets she had clearly torn open and dumped inside.

You took a steadying breath and approached.

She noticed you immediately.

"Well, well, well," she drawled, catching the coin mid-air with a smirk. "If it isn’t Miss Perfect. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

You pulled out the chair across from her, ignoring her tone. "We need to talk."

Jinx whistled lowly. "Damn. Straight to business? No hello, no wow, Jinx, you look amazing today?"

You folded your arms. "We have a deadline coming up. You haven’t done anything."

Jinx leaned back, grinning. "Guilty as charged." You clenched your jaw. "Do you even care about this project?" Jinx hummed, tapping a finger against the table. "Depends." You narrowed your eyes. "On what?" She shrugged, still grinning like this was all a joke. "What’s in it for me?"

You inhaled slowly, resisting the urge to strangle her. "A passing grade." Jinx snickered. "Boooring." Your patience was hanging by a thread. "I don’t have time for this. Either do your part, or—" "Or what?" Jinx interrupted, tilting her head. "You gonna write a strongly worded letter to the professor?"

You exhaled sharply, forcing down your irritation. "I already spoke to him." Jinx raised a brow. "And?"

"He refused to reassign me."

Jinx barked out a laugh. "Damn. Sucks to be you, huh?" You ignored her, leaning forward. "Why are you even here if you’re not going to contribute?"

For a brief second, something flickered in her expression.

But then, just as quickly, she smirked again. "Dunno. Maybe I like pissing you off." Your eye twitched. "You—" "Relax, teach," she drawled, standing up and stretching. "You’ll get your little project done. Eventually."

Your blood boiled. "That’s not good enough." Jinx winked. "Too bad." And with that, she turned and walked away, leaving you seething.

You hated her. You hated how she got under your skin. And most of all…

You hated that she wasn’t stupid.

She was hiding something. And you were going to figure out what.

You were going to lose your mind.

After your conversation with Jinx, you had done what any rational, academically responsible person would do: you finished the entire outline yourself.

By the time the sun had set, you were sitting in your dorm, surrounded by neatly labeled notes, highlighted textbooks, and a fully structured presentation plan. All of it—every argument, every example, every supporting point—meticulously crafted.

And Jinx?

She hadn’t even glanced at it. You stared at your phone, rereading the text you had sent her:

You: I finished the outline. Read it before tomorrow’s meeting.

She had seen it. Read the message hours ago. No response. No acknowledgment.

Typical.

You clenched your jaw, dropping your phone onto your desk. If she wasn’t going to put in the effort, then you’d just carry this project alone.

You had done harder things before. The next morning, you walked into the library study room ten minutes early, ready to work. Jinx walked in twenty minutes late, looking like she had just rolled out of bed.

"Morning, sunshine," she drawled, flopping into the chair across from you. You didn’t even look up. "You’re late." Jinx yawned, stretching. "Yeah, yeah. Time’s just a concept, anyway." You clenched your pen. "Did you read the outline?" Jinx smirked. "What do you think?"

Your eye twitched.

"Of course you didn’t," you muttered, shoving the paper toward her. "Read it. Now." Jinx leaned forward, elbows on the table, scanning the pages with mild interest. She tilted her head, flipping through the structured sections you had painstakingly organized.

"Huh," she mused, tapping the paper. "This is… a lot."

"It’s called being prepared," you snapped.

"It’s called being a control freak," she shot back, grinning.

Your patience was wearing thin. "Jinx, we are running out of time. This project isn’t going to do itself—" "Relax," she said, waving a hand. "You already did all the work, anyway."

That—

That set something off in you.

"You think this is funny?" you snapped, slamming your pen down. "This isn’t a joke. I don’t have the luxury of slacking off like you do." Jinx raised a brow, amusement flickering into something else. "You don’t know a damn thing about me, sweetheart."

"I know you don’t take this seriously," you shot back. "You show up late, you ignore my messages, and you haven’t contributed a single thing. And now you want me to just—just carry you through this?"

Jinx was silent for a beat.

Then, she grinned.

"You’re kinda hot when you’re mad, y’know that?"

Your brain short-circuited.

"Wh—" You gaped at her. "What is wrong with you?!"

Jinx cackled. "So many things, babe." You inhaled sharply, forcing down the irritation boiling under your skin. This was getting nowhere. "Look," you said through clenched teeth. "I need to know if you’re actually going to help with this. Yes or no."

Jinx hummed, rocking back in her chair. "Mmm… Maybe.*"

You were going to scream.

"Jinx—"

"Fine, fine," she interrupted, holding up her hands. "I’ll actually do something."

"Swear it."

She smirked. "Cross my heart."

You weren’t sure if you believed her.

But for now, you had no other choice.

You were going to lose your mind.

No, seriously.

After that infuriating conversation with Jinx, you had spent another hour trying to get her to focus, but she had dodged every attempt. She either deflected with some dumb joke, changed the subject, or—worse—just stared at you like she was enjoying your suffering.

And now?

Now, she was lying across the table, tossing a crumpled piece of paper in the air and catching it while you tried—tried—to work.

"Are you actually going to do anything?" you snapped, not even looking up. "I’m thinking," Jinx drawled.

"Thinking about what?"

"Life. The universe. Why you look cute when you're mad."

You gripped your pen so hard you swore it was going to snap.

"Jinx—"

"Okay, okay," she groaned, finally sitting up. "What do you want me to do?"

You stared at her.

"You’re actually asking?"

"Yeah, yeah, don’t make it a big deal." She leaned forward, propping her chin on her hand. "Gimme an easy one."

Your eyes narrowed. "You want an easy task?" "Duh."

You handed her the worst possible section—the dense, boring, data-heavy research portion. Jinx took one look at the paper and whistled. "Damn, this looks awful."

"That’s why you’re doing it." "You’re actually evil."

"And you’re actually going to help, right?"

Jinx clicked her tongue, spinning the paper between her fingers. "Yeah, yeah," she muttered, flipping through it lazily. "But this is gonna take a while."

"Then get started."

She groaned, but to your utter shock, she actually grabbed a pen and started reading.

For the first time all week, Jinx was working.

You didn’t trust it.

One Hour Later

You were deep in your notes, rewriting a key point, when you heard the sound of soft snoring.

You froze.

Slowly, you looked up.

Jinx was asleep.

ASLEEP.

Face down, arms crossed under her head, completely knocked out on top of the papers she was supposed to be reading.

You stared at her, completely, utterly done. "Are you—" You cut yourself off, pressing your fingers against your temple. "Jinx."

She didn’t move. "Jinx." Nothing.

You took a deep breath.

Then you reached over and flicked her forehead. Jinx jerked awake with a yelp. "Ow—what the hell?!"

"You fell asleep," you said flatly. Jinx blinked at you, dazed, then slowly sat up, rubbing her forehead. "Uh. Yeah. Guess I did." You pinched the bridge of your nose. "You are impossible." Jinx snickered. "And yet, here I am, still your partner."

You were going to lose it.

"Go get some coffee," you muttered. "And actually finish reading that before the meeting tomorrow." Jinx stretched, standing up with a yawn. "Yeah, yeah. You want anything?"

You blinked. "What?"

"Coffee. Or, like, one of those nerd drinks you like." Your brain stalled. "You don’t even help, and now you’re offering me coffee?"

"Gotta keep my partner alive somehow," Jinx said, flashing you a grin.

You didn’t answer.

Because if you did, you weren’t sure if you’d start yelling at her again or—

…Something else.

"Just go," you muttered. Jinx snickered. "Later, nerd."

And just like that, she walked off, leaving you staring after her, completely bewildered.

You were still thinking about it.

Not the project. Not the research. Not even the looming deadline.

No, you were thinking about her.

More specifically, about how Jinx—your infuriating, lazy, reckless excuse of a project partner—had casually asked if you wanted coffee.

Like it was normal. Like it was just something she did.

And worse?

You had actually hesitated.

Because for one brief, insane second, your brain had latched onto the idea of Jinx showing up with your coffee order, sliding it across the table, like it was a habit.

You shook your head aggressively. No. No, absolutely not.

Jinx was unreliable, frustrating, and a walking disaster.

And yet—

You caught yourself glancing at the door every time someone walked past the study room.

Waiting.

Thirty Minutes Later Jinx never came back.

You should’ve expected it. Should’ve known she was just messing with you.

But still—

You hated the way annoyance curled in your chest as you packed up your notes.

It was fine. You didn’t need her help. You never did.

The Next Morning

By the time you arrived at the library study room, you were fully prepared to go another round with Jinx about her lack of effort.

What you weren’t prepared for was finding her already there.

Sitting at the table. Waiting.

And beside her?

A coffee cup.

You froze.

Jinx noticed immediately, her grin slow and smug. "Morning, sunshine."

You blinked. "You’re… early."

"Shocking, huh?" She nudged the extra cup toward you. "Told you I’d keep my partner alive."

You hesitated.

This—this had to be a joke. Some weird, elaborate attempt to mess with you.

But when you didn’t move, Jinx rolled her eyes. "Relax, nerd. I didn’t poison it."

You narrowed your eyes. "How do you even know what I drink?"

Jinx stretched lazily. "C’mon, you think I don’t pay attention? You always get the same thing."

…What?

Your brain halted.

She—she had noticed?

Before you could even begin to process that, Jinx leaned forward, elbows on the table, grinning like she had won something.

"Admit it," she teased. "You totally thought I ditched again."

You didn’t answer.

Which was an answer in itself.

Jinx laughed. "Damn, you really have no faith in me, huh?"

"Gee, I wonder why," you muttered.

She just smirked. "Well, guess I gotta surprise you more often, huh?"

You hated that your heart did something weird at that.

You quickly grabbed the coffee, ignoring everything else. "Just don’t screw up your part of the project."

Jinx saluted. "Yes, ma’am."

You didn’t trust her.

But for the first time, you wanted to.

Jinx didn’t immediately start slacking off.

Which, honestly, was the biggest surprise of your day.

For the next hour, she actually read through the research, tapping her pen against the table, occasionally writing things down. You caught her twirling a knife between her fingers at one point, but at least she wasn’t using it to carve something into the desk—so, progress.

You weren’t convinced she was actually absorbing any information, though.

"Jinx."

"Mm?"

"What did you just read?"

She didn’t even look up from her notebook. "Dunno. Some words." You exhaled slowly. "You’re impossible." "You say that like it’s a bad thing," she teased. You rubbed your temples. "Just—focus."

Jinx sighed dramatically but flipped back a page in her notes and started reading again. This time, out loud.

"‘According to the research conducted on—’blah blah blah, too many big words, you get the point."

"That was three seconds of effort."

"It’s called efficiency."

You gave her a look.

"Fine, fine," she muttered, waving a hand. "I’ll read like a normal person."

You weren’t sure if she actually would, but for the next few minutes, she didn’t say anything.

And then—

"Hey, brainiac."

You sighed. "What?"

"You ever get tired of being a know-it-all?"

You paused.

Your immediate response was no, obviously not—but something about the way Jinx said it made you stop.

You glanced at her.

She wasn’t grinning. She wasn’t teasing.

She was just watching you.

And that was—unnerving.

You shrugged. "It’s not about knowing everything. It’s about working for it."

Jinx hummed, spinning her pen between her fingers. "That why you do all that competition stuff?"

"I enjoy it." "Yeah, but why?"

That threw you off.

You had never really questioned it before. "I don’t know," you admitted. "I just like pushing myself. Seeing how far I can go."

Jinx smirked. "Bet you win a lot, huh?" "Most of the time." "Damn. No wonder you’re like this." "Like what?"

"A terrifyingly dedicated nerd."

You rolled your eyes. "At least I’m competent." "Hey," Jinx huffed, dramatically placing a hand on her chest. "I’m plenty competent. Just… in other ways."

"Name one."

"I could steal your wallet right now."

You automatically checked your pocket. Jinx cackled. "See? Competence.*"

You glared. "That’s not competence. That’s crime."

"Tomato, tomahto."

You were going to lose your mind.

You sat stiffly in a quiet corner of the library, laptop open, notes organized in neat stacks. Every slide for your presentation was half-done, waiting for input that had yet to come. Across from you, Jinx had her feet kicked up on the chair beside her, her own completely untouched notebook acting as a makeshift sketchpad.

She was drawing. Again.

You exhaled slowly, forcing yourself to stay calm. "Jinx." No response.

You narrowed your eyes. "Jinx, can you—" "Sshhhh," she interrupted, making vague scribbling motions. "Gimme a sec. I’m in the zone."

"You’ve been 'in the zone' for the past two hours." "And?"

"And you haven’t contributed anything." Your patience was wearing thin. "At all." Jinx finally glanced up, grinning. "I contribute moral support."

You clenched your jaw. "That’s not how group projects work." "Maybe if you stopped acting like a stressed-out librarian, you’d be more fun to work with."

You inhaled sharply, gripping your pen tighter. "Maybe if you actually did something, I wouldn’t be stressed." Jinx hummed, spinning her pen between her fingers. "Sounds like a you problem, nerd."

You gritted your teeth. Unbelievable.

She wasn’t even trying.

It wasn’t just her usual brand of chaos—this was deliberate. Like she wanted to see how long she could get away with doing nothing before you snapped.

And the worst part?

She was enjoying this.

You rubbed your temple. "This is a major part of our grade, Jinx."

"Mhm." "It requires actual work." "Mmm."  "I swear to god—"

"Relax, nerd." Jinx stretched, grinning. "You’re smart. You got this." "We got this," you corrected, your patience hanging on by a thread. "This isn’t just my responsibility."

Jinx’s smirk flickered just slightly.

It was quick—barely noticeable. But something in her expression shifted. Then, just as fast, she was back to her usual carefree self.

"Alright, alright." She sat up, cracking her knuckles. "Lemme see the damage."

You turned your laptop around, half-expecting her to fake interest before finding another excuse to be useless. But to your surprise—

Jinx actually looked.

She tilted her head, scanning the slides, lips pursed in thought. Then—"Wow. You really did all of it, huh?"

You crossed your arms. "What did you expect?"

"I dunno. Maybe a little procrastination? A tiny bit of slacking off? You’re kinda making me look bad here, nerd." "You’re making yourself look bad."

"Damn. Brutal."

"This actually looks kinda good." "Of course it does," you replied, adjusting the margins. "I made it."*

Jinx snorted. "Cocky." You ignored her, your fingers flying across the keys—

Until Jinx stole your pen.

You paused mid-sentence.

"Jinx."

"Mmm?"

You turned, only to see her twirling it lazily between her fingers, completely and utterly unbothered.

You exhaled sharply. "Can you not?

"Can I not what?" she asked, still flipping the pen with obnoxious precision.

"Be distracting."

"I’m not distracting," she said, tapping the pen lightly against your wrist.

You snatched it back. Jinx grinned. "Ooh, feisty."

You rolled your eyes, turning back to your laptop. Then, just as you started typing again—

You felt it.

Something soft. Light. Tracing over your forearm.

At first, you thought you imagined it.

But then—

The sensation deepened. Your fingers froze.

Jinx was drawing on you.

Not your hand—your arm. Slow, lazy strokes of ink curling over your skin. You stared at your laptop screen, motionless. For a second, you considered ripping your arm away.

But you didn’t.

Not because you didn’t want to.

But because your entire brain short-circuited trying to process why the hell she was doing it in the first place. You twitched slightly. "What the hell are you doing?"

Jinx didn’t stop. Didn’t even look up.

"Dunno yet," she murmured, her tone completely casual. You blinked.

What.

She kept going. Her brows furrowed slightly, her tongue peeking out in concentration.

She wasn’t doodling mindlessly. She was focused.

Like she actually cared about whatever the hell she was drawing on you.

"Jinx—" "Shh."

Shh?

Oh, hell no.

Your frustration spiked, but so did something else—something you didn’t want to name. "You can’t just—" "Almost done."

Your jaw clenched. You didn’t know if you were more annoyed at her nerve or at the fact that your stupid, traitorous body hadn’t moved yet.

Jinx finally leaned back slightly, inspecting her work.

A series of spirals, tiny stars, and something that vaguely resembled a bomb trailed across your arm, ink sinking into your skin.

Jinx grinned, satisfied.

"There. Now you’re way more interesting."

You inhaled slowly, deeply.

"Jinx, I swear to god—"

"Relax, Brainiac."* She stretched, tilting her head. "You looked like you were about to become one with the laptop screen. Figured I’d make sure you were still alive."

Your eye twitched. "By drawing all over my arm?"

"Mhm."

You scowled. "You’re impossible."

Jinx smirked. "And yet, you haven’t wiped it off."

Your breath hitched.

You looked at your arm.

At the ink.

Your pulse betrayed you.

And the worst part?

Jinx knew it.

Her smirk widened.

And you realized—

You had just lost something.

A battle. A moment. A tiny, imperceptible shift in whatever the hell was happening between you two.

And you didn’t know how to take it back.

-

The walk to your dorm felt longer than usual.

Maybe it was the weight of your bag, or maybe it was the weight of everything else.

Jinx.

Your arm still felt warm where she had touched it.

You hated that you noticed.

You hated that the feeling wasn’t going away.

The entire night replayed in your head—how she had leaned close, how she had grabbed your wrist, how her fingers had lazily traced ink over your skin, how you had let her.

You should have pulled away sooner. You should have said something.

You should have—

Your footsteps slowed.

You lifted your arm hesitantly, rolling up your sleeve.

The ink was still there.

Messy little doodles, half-formed shapes, some random scribbled stars. She had even drawn a tiny bomb with a smiley face.

You swallowed.

It wasn’t that deep. It wasn’t anything.

It was just Jinx being Jinx.

And yet, your fingers hovered over the marks, barely touching them, like you were scared they’d smudge.

You exhaled sharply, pulling your sleeve back down.

This was not what you should be thinking about.

You had a competition in a few days. You had an unfinished presentation. You had actual priorities.

Jinx wasn’t one of them.

So why was she the only thing in your head?

You reached your front door, hesitating before pushing it open.

The house was quiet. Dimly lit. The kind of silence that should’ve been calming, but instead felt suffocating.

You went straight to your desk, flipping open your laptop.

Distractions. You needed distractions.

You pulled up your notes, reread your speech, forced yourself to focus.

But as the cursor blinked on the screen, so did the thoughts.

Jinx’s voice.

Jinx’s laughter.

Jinx’s stupid, lazy smirk when she had said—

"You trust me?"

You clenched your jaw.

That was the worst part.

Because you did.

And you didn’t know how to stop.

-

You barely got any sleep.

It wasn’t like you weren’t trying—you had shut your laptop, turned off the lights, buried yourself under the covers, but your mind refused to shut up.

Every time you closed your eyes, you saw Jinx.

Not just from last night, but from every moment leading up to it.

The way she stretched lazily in her seat during class, always looking half-bored, half-ready to cause problems.

The way she smirked every time she knew she was getting under your skin.

The way she had looked at you last night—not mocking, not teasing, just looking.

It was pissing you off.

You groaned, rolling onto your side, gripping your blanket like it owed you something.

You had bigger things to worry about.

Your competition was in a few days. You should be locked in, reviewing your notes, making sure every word of your speech was airtight.

Instead, you were lying here, restless, with Jinx’s stupid doodles still on your arm.

You were so gone.

The realization made something burn in your chest, something uncomfortable and stubborn and so, so frustrating.

You needed a reset.

you snapped into work mode.

Your entire morning routine was strictly regimented—wake up, shower, ignore the way the ink from last night smudged faintly against your skin, grab coffee, and sit down to actually focus.

You pulled up your notes, exhaling sharply.

Competition first. Presentation second. Everything else? Irrelevant.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, ready to dive in—

Knock, knock.

You froze.

You weren’t expecting anyone.

For a brief, horrifying moment, you thought—

No. No way.

Jinx wouldn’t just show up unannounced. That was insane.

But then again—it was Jinx.

You hesitated before standing, your pulse way too fast for something this small.

The second you opened the door—

It wasn’t Jinx.

It was just one of your classmates, reminding you that the professor wanted a status update on the project today.

Your stomach twisted.

Right.

The project. Jinx. Everything you had very intentionally pushed aside.

You forced a nod, closing the door, but the damage was done.

Your focus was wrecked.

And you still had no idea how to fix it.

-

You weren’t expecting to see Jinx today.

And yet, the moment she strolled into the classroom, she made a beeline for your table—not hesitating, not looking around, just slumping into the seat right beside you like she’d been sitting there all semester.

Jinx barely even showed up to class. And when she did, she never sat with you.

The shift was so jarring that for a second, you actually paused, hand hovering over your notes as you stared at her in disbelief.

Jinx noticed. And smirked. Her lips curled into something lazy, too knowing.

"You look tired, nerd."

You ignored her, dropping your bag onto the table and pulling out your laptop and notebook.

Jinx leaned closer, resting her chin on her palm. "Bad dreams? Or were you just up all night thinking about me?"

You didn’t even hesitate—"I was up all night fixing this project, since someone refuses to do their part."

Jinx let out a low whistle. "Damn. You sound stressed. Want me to draw you a little relaxation doodle?"

You exhaled sharply, rolling up your sleeves—only to freeze when you caught the faintest traces of ink still smudged on your skin.

Jinx saw it too.

Her smirk widened.

"Still wearing my masterpiece, huh?"

Your jaw clenched. "It wouldn’t wash off."

Jinx hummed, looking entirely too pleased.

“Whatever you say.”

You ignored her, turning back to your work.

This was fine. You weren’t going to let her distract you. Not today.

Your competition was coming up, the presentation still wasn’t done, and you had absolutely no time to deal with whatever game Jinx was playing.

You started typing, drowning her out.

Or at least, you tried.

Because not even a minute later—

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.

You blinked.

Jinx had stolen your pen.

And she was drawing all over your notes.

Your perfect, well-organized notes.

"What the hell are you doing?" you snapped, trying to grab the notebook back.

Jinx dodged effortlessly, looking entirely too amused as she continued scribbling. "You looked tense, nerd. Thought I’d help."

"By defacing my work?"

"By improving it," she corrected. "Look, I even gave you a cool lil' skull doodle. Very fitting."

You gritted your teeth, trying not to let her get a reaction out of you. She wanted you to snap. That was what she always did—poked and prodded until you finally gave in.

You weren’t playing along.

Instead, you yanked the notebook away, holding it at a distance as you examined the damage.

And—god.

She had covered the margins with tiny, chaotic doodles. Skulls, bombs, what looked like an awful caricature of your professor, and—was that supposed to be you?!

You shot her a look. "Why am I holding a calculator like it’s a sword?" Jinx grinned. "Because you’re a nerd, obviously." Before you could fire back, a sharp voice cut through the air—

"If you two are done disrupting the class, perhaps you’d like to return to the actual lesson?"

You stiffened as your professor fixed the two of you with a pointed stare.

Jinx, as always, looked completely unfazed.

She leaned back in her chair, flashing an easy grin. "Oh, don’t mind us, Prof. We’re just bonding."

You wanted to sink into the floor.

With a murderous glare, you shoved your notebook into your bag and turned back to your screen, utterly determined to ignore her for the rest of the class. Jinx just hummed under her breath, tapping her fingers against the desk.

You could feel her watching you.

And somewhere, deep down, you knew—

This wasn’t just distracting you.

It was messing with you.

And worse?

You let it.

The second class ended, you bolted out the door. Your face was still hot with embarrassment, and no matter how hard you tried to block it out, the professor’s voice echoed in your head—

"if you two are done disrupting the class, perhaps you’d like to return to the actual lesson?"

You wanted to die.

That was the first time you had ever gotten called out like that. Ever. You prided yourself on being a model student. Always prepared, always focused, always at the top of your class. Professors never had a reason to reprimand you.

Until today.

Because of Jinx.

You exhaled sharply, walking faster.

But, of course—

"Yo, nerd! Wait up!"

Jinx was following you.

You didn’t bother slowing down. "Go away."

She easily caught up, falling into step beside you. "Aw, c’mon, don’t be like that. That was, like, a bonding moment!"

You shot her a glare. "That was humiliating."

Jinx snickered.

You clenched your jaw, fingers tightening around your notebook. "That was my first time getting scolded by a professor, and it was because of you."

Jinx grinned. "Welcome to the dark side, Miss Perfect."

You stopped walking.

She took two more steps before realizing you weren’t beside her anymore, then turned with a raised brow.

You crossed your arms. "I’m being serious."

"So am I," she said, rocking back on her heels. "It’s about time you got a little dirt on your spotless record. Live a little."

You scoffed. "How is getting scolded in front of the whole class ‘living’?"

"Because now you’ve got a funny story to tell."

"That wasn’t funny."

"It was from my perspective," she said, smirking. "You should’ve seen your face, nerd."

You groaned, pressing your fingers to your temple. "I don’t have time for this."

"You sure about that?" Jinx’s head tilted. "Because if I were you, I’d be real worried about that little presentation we have to do. And your big scary competition coming up. And your totally not at all distracting duo partner."

Your eye twitched.

She was pushing you.

And what made it worse—she was right.

You were running out of time. You had a million things to do, and instead of being productive, you were standing in the middle of the hallway, arguing with Jinx.

She must have sensed your spiraling thoughts because she gave you a lazy salute and started walking backwards.

"Anyway," she said, hands in her pockets, "I’ll leave you to it. Try not to stress yourself to death, yeah?"

And with that, she turned on her heel and strolled away.

Like she hadn’t just wrecked your entire focus.

You exhaled sharply.

You had work to do.

But as much as you wanted to bury yourself in productivity, your thoughts kept drifting—

To Jinx.

To what she said.

To the fact that, somehow, some way, she had managed to mess up your entire day—

And you weren’t sure why you didn’t hate it more.

By the time you got back to your dorm, your head was killing you.

You dropped your bag by your desk and powered on your laptop.

The slides were still a mess.

You pinched the bridge of your nose. This is fine. You could finish it yourself. You just had to—

Your phone buzzed.

Incoming Video Call: Jinx

You stared at the screen.

You had never gotten a call from her before. She barely even texted.

Your first instinct was to ignore it.

But then you exhaled and swiped to accept.

Jinx’s grinning face filled the screen. “Hey, nerd.”

You blinked. “...Why are you calling me?”

She snorted. “Uh, because we have a presentation? Ring any bells?”

You narrowed your eyes. “You suddenly care about the project?”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, I’ve been a terrible partner—blah blah blah—but I figured I’d help. Y’know, out of the kindness of my heart.”

You gave her a flat look.

She smirked. “Or maybe I just wanna mess with you more.”

You groaned. “That sounds more accurate.”

Jinx grinned. “C’mon, send me the slides.”

You hesitated. Was she actually going to do anything?

Still, you sent her the link.

A few seconds later, she shared her screen, revealing your unfinished slides.

“So,” she said, scrolling through them, “what’s left?”

You leaned back in your chair. “Everything, basically.”

Jinx let out a low whistle. “Damn. You really were doing all the work, huh?”

You shot her a look. “What did you think I was doing?”

She shrugged. “I dunno. I thought you were just... like that.”

“Like what?”

“You know,” she waved a hand, “a tryhard.”

Your eye twitched. “I am not a tryhard.”

“You kinda are.”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Can we just—work?”

Jinx laughed. “Alright, alright, keep your nerd rage in check.”

She actually started helping.

Kind of.

She made the font colors bright neon just to mess with you. She changed one of the slide titles to “Boring Smart People Stuff” before you immediately changed it back.

And at one point, she doodled on one of the slides.

“Jinx,” you said, staring at the little shark cartoon in the corner of your PowerPoint. “What is this.”

“A masterpiece,” she said proudly.

You dragged a hand over your face. “We can’t have that in the final version.”

“Why not? It adds character.”

“It adds stupidity.”

“Same thing.”

You let out a long-suffering sigh. “You’re impossible.”

Jinx just smirked. “And yet, here we are.”

You rolled your eyes—but for the first time all day, your shoulders didn’t feel so heavy.

You still had a ton of work to do. You still had a competition to stress over.

But at least, for tonight, you weren’t dealing with it alone.

-

The library was quiet—at least, it was supposed to be.

You were seated at a table near the back, books spread out around you, your laptop open, and your notebook already filled with messy notes.

You rubbed your temples, trying to push past the ache behind your eyes.

"Just keep going," you told yourself. "Fix the speech, finalize the slides, run through it one more time—"

Across from you, Jinx slouched in her seat, legs kicked up onto another chair.

She had shown up late, wearing her usual smug expression, and hadn’t done a single productive thing in the past hour.

Right now?

She was spinning a pencil between her fingers like she didn’t have a single care in the world.

You exhaled slowly, trying to keep your irritation in check.

“Are you gonna help at all?” you finally asked.

No reply. 

You inhaled slowly, willing yourself not to snap.

“Okay,” you said, voice tight. “We need to finalize the script.”

Jinx slumped further into her seat. “Pshh, what script?”

You gave her a look. “The one we’ll be graded on?”

Jinx smirked. “Oh, that script.”

You clenched your jaw.

She was not helping.

You turned your laptop toward her, pointing at the half-written speech.

“Here,” you said. “You can write your part.”

Jinx blinked at the screen, then at you.

“…Or,” she drawled, stretching her arms over her head, “you can write my part, and I can sit here looking pretty.”

You snapped your laptop shut.

"Jinx."

You had zero patience left.

“Look,” you said, barely keeping your voice steady. “I don’t care what you do with your life, but I do care about my grades, and I am not about to let you drag them down.”

Jinx just grinned. “So serious. You should, y’know, relax. Live a little.”

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh.

“Relax? Relax?” You gestured to the chaos of papers around you. “I don’t have time to relax! I have this script, these slides, my competition, and somehow I also have to make sure this entire presentation doesn’t go down in flames because you refuse to take anything seriously!”

Jinx didn’t say anything for a second.

Then, she shrugged. “Sounds like a you problem.”

You stared at her.

Absolutely seething.

Your nails dug into your palm.

Don’t scream. Don’t kill her. Don’t lose it.

Your body was too exhausted to keep this up. Your brain was fried from juggling so much at once.

You could feel your vision swimming just from the sheer amount of stress pressing down on you.

You dropped your head onto the table, exhaling sharply.

You turned back to your laptop, forcing yourself to focus.

Five minutes passed.

Then ten.

You barely noticed the way your head started dipping.

Or how your blinking got slower.

Or how your grip on your pen loosened.

And then—

Darkness.

—

A hand tapped your forehead.

“Yo.”

You jerked awake.

Your vision was blurry, your brain foggy.

You blinked, trying to process where you were.

The library. Your notes. Your laptop screen, now dimmed from inactivity.

And across from you—

Jinx, watching you with an amused expression.

“Did you just pass out?” she asked, tilting her head.

Your heart dropped.

You never fell asleep while studying.

You had too much to do.

You shot up, suddenly panicked. “How long—”

“Relax, nerd.” Jinx stretched her arms over her head. “Like, fifteen minutes. You were out cold. Thought you died for a sec.”

You scowled, rubbing your face. “I don’t have time for this.”

Jinx snorted. “Yeah, no kidding. You looked like you were about to implode before you knocked out.”

You ignored her, reaching for your notebook. You still had so much to finish—

But the moment you lifted your pen, your hand trembled.

You froze.

Jinx noticed immediately.

She rested her chin on her palm, watching you with something that looked too close to concern.

"You good?" she asked.

You curled your fingers, trying to steady your hand. "I’m fine."

Jinx raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, sure. Because ‘fine’ people totally pass out on their homework."

You exhaled sharply, not in the mood for this. "Jinx, I don’t have time for your jokes right now."

She didn’t fire back with another sarcastic comment. Instead, she leaned forward, drumming her fingers on the table. "D’you even eat today?"

You didn’t answer.

Jinx let out a low whistle. "Oof. That’s a no." She nudged your notebook away from you. "Alright, that settles it. You’re taking a break."

You grabbed it back immediately. "I’m not—"

"Yeah, yeah, you’re ‘fine.’" Jinx rolled her eyes. "Come on, nerd. You literally collapsed. You really think you’re gonna get anything done like this?"

You hated that she had a point.

Your mind was sluggish, your limbs heavy. Every word on the page blurred together no matter how hard you tried to focus.

Still, you shook your head. "I have to finish this. I can’t just—"

Jinx groaned dramatically before snatching your pen right out of your hand.

"Jinx!"

"Nope." She twirled the pen between her fingers, looking entirely unbothered. "You wanna work? Cool. But you’re not doing it alone."

You narrowed your eyes. "Since when do you care about this presentation?"

Jinx smirked. "Since you looked two seconds away from dying on my watch."

That shut you up.

Jinx exhaled, rubbing the back of her neck. "Look, I know I’ve been… kinda useless."

You gave her a look.

She huffed. "Okay, very useless. But whatever, I’ll help now."

You were too exhausted to question it. You sighed, leaning back in your chair. "Fine. If you’re serious, you can help finalize the script."

Jinx grinned. "See? Was that so hard?"

You shot her a glare. "One condition."

Jinx wiggled her eyebrows. "Lemme guess. No doodling in the margins?"

"No distractions. We get this done, we run through it, and we’re done. Got it?"

Jinx held a hand to her chest. "Cross my heart, nerd. No distractions."

That promise lasted all of ten minutes.

You were halfway through editing the speech when Jinx started humming.

You ignored it.

Then she started tapping the table.

Still, you ignored it.

Then—

"Psst."

You clenched your jaw. "What?"

Jinx grinned. "You ever hear about that one guy who worked himself to death in a library?"

You gave her a blank stare. "…What?"

"Yeah, wild, right? Poor guy just—bam. Dropped dead on his notes." She tapped your forehead. "Sounds familiar?"

You swatted her hand away. "Jinx, if you don’t—"

Your vision swayed.

It hit you out of nowhere—your head feeling too light, your body too heavy.

You barely registered Jinx moving before your world tilted.

And suddenly—

You weren’t in your chair anymore.

You were in Jinx’s arms.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Jinx had caught you. One hand steady on your back, the other gripping your wrist. Her expression wasn’t playful anymore.

"Whoa—hey—" She adjusted her hold on you, voice alarmingly serious. "You okay?"

You tried to move, but your body refused to cooperate. Your pulse hammered against your ribs.

Jinx let out a slow exhale. "Alright, that’s it. You’re done for today."

"Wait, I—"

Jinx picked you up.

Not entirely, but enough to get you upright and way too close to her.

"Jinx," you hissed, mortified.

"Shh," she muttered. "You’re supposed to be unconscious. Stop ruining the moment."

You smacked her arm.

She laughed, but there was still something soft in her gaze—something you couldn’t place.

Then—

Her eyes flickered to your lips.

Your breath caught.

For a moment, you thought she might actually do it.

But then Jinx pulled back, smirk returning.

"Not yet, nerd," she teased. "You’ll have to fall for me a little harder first."

Your face burned.

And Jinx?

She just grinned.

The tension between you and Jinx hung in the air like a weight neither of you were willing to acknowledge.

You swallowed hard, still hyper-aware of how close she had been just seconds ago—how easy it would have been for her to close that last bit of distance.

Your heart was still racing.

Jinx, of course, looked entirely unbothered.

She stretched her arms over her head, grinning like she hadn’t just said something that made your brain short-circuit. "Alright, nerd. Since you’re obviously about to keel over, I’ll be nice and walk you back."

You blinked. "What? No, you don’t have to—"

Jinx leaned in, balancing her weight on her elbows. "Ohhh, I know I don’t have to. But I want to."

You scowled. "I can walk myself, thanks."

"Yeah? You sure about that?" She tilted her head. "Because, uh, you literally just collapsed."

You opened your mouth to argue, but the second you stood up, your legs wobbled.

Jinx’s arm shot out immediately, steadying you with an almost instinctual ease.

"Yeah, nope. You’re coming with me." She didn’t give you a chance to protest—just grabbed your stuff in one hand and your wrist in the other, dragging you toward the door.

You groaned, stumbling along beside her. "Jinx—"

"Shh." She threw an arm around your shoulders, steering you with way too much amusement. "Don’t fight it, nerd. Just let it happen."

You sighed. There was no winning with her.

—

By the time you made it to your dorm, you were exhausted.

Jinx dumped your bag onto your desk before flopping onto your bed like she lived there.

You glared at her. "You can leave now."

Jinx put her hands behind her head, smirking. "Aw, but we were just getting cozy."

You groaned, running a hand down your face. "Jinx, I need to sleep."

"Then sleep," she said easily.

You narrowed your eyes. "You’re still here."

Jinx grinned, completely unfazed. "You want me to tuck you in?"

"Out."

She laughed but finally stood, stretching. "Alright, alright. I’m going."

She made it halfway to the door before pausing.

When she turned back, her expression had shifted—still teasing, but softer. "...Don’t overdo it, okay?" Her voice was quieter, less playful. "Like, seriously."

You hesitated, caught off guard by the sincerity.

Before you could respond, Jinx winked. "G’night, nerd." And just like that—she was gone.

Leaving you alone with your thoughts.

And your racing heartbeat.

You barely got any sleep. No matter how much you willed yourself to shut your eyes and ignore everything that happened today, your brain refused to listen. Your body felt exhausted, but your mind was wide awake.

You tossed and turned in bed, replaying every little thing over and over again.

Jinx sitting next to you. Jinx refusing to help. Jinx looking at you like she could see straight through you. Jinx walking you back. Jinx tucking your hair behind your ear—

You groaned, shoving a pillow over your face.

This was stupid.

Jinx was stupid.

You were so tired, and you still had a million things to do.

Your competition was tomorrow. You sat up, running a hand down your face. There was no use in lying here, wide awake. With a frustrated sigh, you grabbed your notes from your desk and settled back under the covers.

Might as well study.

You flipped through the pages, scanning over highlighted sentences and messy annotations. But no matter how hard you tried to absorb the information, your mind kept drifting. Every time you read a sentence, it slipped through your brain like sand through your fingers.

Because all you could think about was Jinx.

You clenched your jaw, willing yourself to push past it.

Focus. Focus. Focus.

Still, your mind betrayed you.

The way she grinned like she had the world in her hands. The way she looked at you when she thought you weren’t paying attention. The way her fingers lingered on your wrist when she caught you before you fell.

You slammed your notebook shut.

This was ridiculous.

You refused to let her be the reason you lost focus.

Your hands curled into fists.

There was no way in hell you were going to let Jinx distract you.

-

You woke up with a pounding headache. The kind that made you instantly regret staying up as late as you did. Your notes were still spread across your bed, some of them half-crumpled under your arm.

Your eyes burned, your body felt heavy, and your brain was foggy as hell.

And yet—

You had no time to rest.

The competition was today.  You forced yourself to sit up, rubbing the exhaustion from your face. You needed to review everything, memorize key points, and make sure you were fully prepared before you walked into that room.

Because if you weren’t?

You would lose.

And losing wasn’t an option.

You shoved down the nausea curling in your stomach and reached for your notes again.

Even if your hands were trembling.

Even if your chest was tight.Even if the words on the page blurred from lack of sleep.

You weren’t going to let that stop you.

You were going to push through it.

Even if it killed you.

—

The campus was already buzzing by the time you made it to the competition hall.

Students from different universities were scattered around, some reviewing their notes, others talking strategy. You spotted a few familiar faces—people you had competed against before.

But your focus was locked on one thing.

Winning.

“Damn. You look like hell.”

You didn’t have to look to know who it was.

Jinx.

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Not now.”

Jinx grinned, falling into step beside you. “Big day, huh?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t waste time thinking about anything other than this competition.

Jinx, of course, didn’t seem to care.

She nudged your side. “Bet you’re gonna kill it.” Something about the way she said it made your breath catch.

Not in a cocky, teasing way.

Not in a “Let’s see if you screw this up” way.

But in a genuine, I-believe-in-you kind of way.

Your chest tightened.

You swallowed past the lump in your throat.

You couldn’t let yourself get distracted.

Not now.

Not when everything was on the line.

Bright lights. Rows of chairs. Judges seated at a long panel in the front. You exhaled slowly, steadying yourself.

This wasn’t your first competition, but something about today felt… different.

Like the pressure was heavier.

Like every second counted.

You moved toward the waiting area, clutching your notes like a lifeline.

Jinx, for some reason, was still following you.

“You got this,” she said casually, hands stuffed in her pockets. You shot her a look. “Why are you even here?”Jinx smirked. “Moral support.” You scoffed. “Since when do you care about this stuff?” Jinx tilted her head, pretending to think. “Dunno. Since now?”

You rolled your eyes, turning your focus back to your notes.

But you couldn’t focus.

Not really.

Not when Jinx was still there.

Not when the weight of her gaze lingered. Not when you could still feel the faint warmth from where she had nudged you earlier. You shook your head, pushing those thoughts away. The competition was starting.

It was time to win.

Two hours later.

Your hands were clenched into fists.

Your jaw was locked.

Your heart was still racing.

You stared at the scoreboard, eyes fixed on the number next to your name.

Second place.

Your breath hitched.

Your stomach twisted.

You lost.

After all that work.

After all those sleepless nights.

After pushing yourself to the breaking point.

It wasn’t enough.

The judges were already moving on, announcing the first-place winner.

The crowd clapped.

You barely heard it. It was like your entire body had gone numb. Like something inside you had just… collapsed. The moment you stepped off the stage, Jinx was there.

“Hey.”

You didn’t answer.

Jinx frowned, stepping in front of you. “Yo. Nerd. Earth to you?”

You still didn’t respond.

Jinx’s smirk faltered.

“…You okay?”

That was the breaking point.

Your vision blurred.

Your breath caught.

And before you could stop it—

Tears welled up in your eyes.

Jinx’s expression changed immediately.

“Whoa—hey—”

You turned away quickly, trying to hide it but Jinx had already seen. You needed to get out of there. You turned abruptly, pushing through the crowd, ignoring Jinx’s voice calling after you.

Your breath was uneven.

Your heartbeat was too loud.

Everything felt too much.

Second place.

You lost.

And the worst part?

You knew exactly why.

You’d been distracted.

By her.

By the way she got under your skin. By the way her eyes lingered too long. By the way she smiled at you like she knew every single thought in your head. You let her mess with your focus.

And now, you had nothing to show for it.

Your feet carried you blindly through the venue’s halls, pushing through a back door that led to the empty lot outside. Cool air hit your skin.

You exhaled sharply, pressing a hand to your face.

Get a grip.

Before you could even try, the door slammed open behind you. You flinched, spinning around—

And there she was.

Jinx.

Breathless from running. Frowning.

"You seriously just ran off?" she said, exasperated. "What the hell, dude?"

You turned away. “Go away, Jinx.”

"Nope." You heard her footsteps. Getting closer.

"Look, I get it," she said. "Losing sucks. It feels like—"

"You don’t get it," you snapped, voice tight.

Jinx shut up. You swallowed hard, blinking back the tears threatening to spill again.

"I worked for this," you whispered. "I gave up everything for this. And I still—"

Your voice cracked. Jinx shifted.

You could feel her watching you.

After a moment, she spoke—quieter. "…So what now?" You exhaled shakily. "I don’t know."

Silence.

Then— "Hey," Jinx said.

You barely turned your head—

And then she was kissing you.

Your breath hitched.

It was fast, reckless—just like her.

But then she lingered—long enough for you to feel the warmth of it. The way she wasn’t just teasing, wasn’t just messing with you.

She meant it.

And for some reason, instead of pushing her away— You kissed her back. You pulled away, breathless.

Silence.

Jinx blinked at you, processing what just happened. Then—

“…Huh.”

Your brain short-circuited. That was it? That was her reaction? After everything—the running, the frustration, the crying—she just goes ‘huh’?

You didn’t even know what to say. Your lips still tingled from the kiss, but your brain hadn’t caught up yet.

Jinx scratched her cheek. “Sooo… that happened.” You opened your mouth—closed it—then opened it again.

“What—what does that even mean?” you sputtered.

Jinx grinned, but there was something nervous about it. Like even she didn’t know what to do next.

“I mean, I don’t see you running away,” she pointed out. You should have. You should be freaking out, demanding answers, maybe even yelling at her—

But you weren’t.

You were just…standing there. Awkward. Speechless. Overwhelmed. Your thoughts were all over the place, but one thing was clear— You didn’t regret it.

Jinx rocked back on her heels, stuffing her hands into her pockets. "Sooo… you wanna pretend that didn't happen or...?" You exhaled sharply. “I don’t— I don’t know.”

Jinx shrugged, but you caught the way her fingers twitched. “Well, that’s not a ‘no.’” Your face felt hot. “You’re insufferable.” “You’re obsessed with me.”

You glared. “I—what?!” Jinx snickered, bumping your shoulder with hers. “Relax, nerd. No pressure or anything.”

But she wouldn’t meet your eyes.

And maybe that meant something.

Maybe this whole thing meant something.

And maybe—just maybe—neither of you were ready to admit it yet.

-

The awkward tension lingered for days.

Neither of you talked about the kiss.

Not in the library. Not in class. Not anywhere.

It was like an unspoken truce—act normal, pretend everything was fine, move on like nothing happened. Except. You couldn’t stop thinking about it.

And neither could Jinx. You caught her staring when she thought you weren’t looking. You noticed how she’d hover closer, how her usual teasing had lost some of its bite—how sometimes, it almost felt soft. And maybe you weren’t any better.

Because every time she laughed, every time she leaned in just a little too close, your heart betrayed you.

And then—

The presentation day came.

You nailed it.

The professor nodded approvingly. Your classmates clapped.

And Jinx?

She smirked, nudging you with her elbow. “Told you we’d crush it.” You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t hide your smile. After everything—the stress, the frustration, the late nights—you had made it through.

Together.

—

Later that evening, you found yourself standing outside, the cool night air brushing against your skin.

Jinx was next to you, arms crossed, gaze flickering toward you every few seconds.

“So,” she said, kicking at the ground. “We did it.”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

Silence. Then—

“Hey, nerd.”

You turned, only to find Jinx watching you, her usual bravado replaced with something… almost nervous.

She rubbed the back of her neck.

“I don’t wanna pretend that didn’t happen,” she admitted, voice quieter than usual.

Your heart skipped a beat.

Jinx sighed, like she was bracing herself.

“I like you.”

Three words. Simple. Direct.

Terrifying.

Your breath caught in your throat. And for the first time since that night—since the kiss—you let yourself feel it.

The warmth. The butterflies. The way she had always been there, pushing you, frustrating you, seeing you. You exhaled, a slow smile forming.

“…Took you long enough.”

Jinx blinked. Then— She grinned.

“Pshh. Please. I had you wrapped around my finger from day one.” You scoffed, shoving her shoulder, but before you could pull away—

She grabbed your wrist.

Pulled you closer.

And this time, when she kissed you—

There was nothing uncertain about it.

The moment word got out, the entire school lost it.

Jinx—the chaotic, unpredictable, barely-attends-class menace—and you—the academic weapon, professor’s favorite, most likely to succeed? Nobody saw it coming.

“Are you serious? Her?”

“What do you even talk about?”

“Oh my God, are you in love with her chaos?”

“We thought you hated her.”

"We literally watched you lose your mind because of her."

“Jinx has a girlfriend?”

“No, you don’t get it—she has her.”

The rumors spread like wildfire.

Some people were convinced it was a prank. Others thought it was some twisted case of academic sabotage. But then—

People started seeing you together.

The way Jinx would drape herself over your shoulders, stealing your pens just to hear you sigh in exasperation.

The way you rolled your eyes at her antics but never actually pushed her away. The way she’d lean down to whisper something in your ear, making you smile without even realizing it.

And suddenly, it made too much sense.

You sat on the grass, books open in front of you.       Jinx laid beside you, arms stretched over her head, watching the clouds.

“You’re supposed to be helping,” you reminded her.  She hummed. “I’m helping in spirit.”

You shot her a look. “That means nothing.”

Jinx grinned, reaching over to tug at your sleeve. “C’mon, nerd. You’ve been working too hard. Take a break.”

You sighed but let her pull you down until you were both lying side by side, staring at the sky.

For a moment, there was silence. Just the breeze, the faint sound of distant laughter, and the warmth of Jinx’s hand casually brushing against yours.

Then—

“…You know they’re all still freaking out about us, right?” You let out a small laugh. “Let them.” Jinx turned to face you, her usual teasing replaced by something softer.

She tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You’re really stuck with me now, nerd.”

You smiled.

As the sun started to set, casting warm hues over the campus, you turned your head slightly to look at Jinx. She was still staring at the sky, hands folded behind her head, her usual carefree grin softened into something almost unreadable.

It was peaceful—too peaceful.

“Y’know,” she murmured, “if you’d told me a few months ago that I’d end up with you—” she gestured vaguely at you, “—Miss Perfectionist, Miss Always-Has-Her-Life-Together—I’d have laughed in your face.”

You rolled your eyes. “Wow. Romantic.” Jinx smirked. “I’m serious.” She exhaled, tapping her fingers against her stomach. “Never thought I’d get this kinda thing. Someone who actually… sticks around.”

There was something uncharacteristically raw in her voice. It made your chest tighten. You nudged her side. “I’m not going anywhere.” Jinx turned her head, blue eyes locking onto yours, searching.

“…Promise?” You didn’t hesitate. “Promise.” She stared at you for a moment longer—then suddenly pulled her hoodie over her face. “Ugh. That was so corny.” You laughed, shoving her lightly. “You started it.” Jinx peeked out, grinning. “Guess you’re rubbing off on me, nerd.” You hummed, staring back up at the sky.

For the first time in a while, you weren’t worrying about grades. Or competitions. Or the weight of expectations pressing down on you.

For once— You just let yourself be happy.

A/N - this is my 3rd repost because for some reason my post wont appear on the tags ;-; i hope u enjoy this very yummy fic (i had a lot of fun writing this you dont understand.)

[clockwayswrites]

A Hill To Die On

This is most of Chapter 1, cutting before the smut. IT DOES GET SPICY THOUGH. 🌶️⚠️ Some of this has been posted before, but figured I'd give you all one nice big chunk of it!

Tim brush his hand idly through his damp hair as he stepped out of the shower.

It had gotten long.

He hadn’t planned to grow it out, it just sort of happened. He’d gotten it cut last summer before he started his sophomore year of college. The start of the semester had bled into midterms. Midterms had proceeded papers and projects. Projects had become final presentations and exams. Classes ended abruptly into a too short winter break of Tim visiting Cass and her team then dragging her home for Christmas. The New Year had been filled with Titans and teammates and fireworks.

He might cut it when it started getting to muggy. Spring had barely broken into the city. It was warm enough not to need heavy coat but cool enough Tim could still wear his favorite leather jacket he’d stolen from Jason. It was a good time of the year.

His hair really had gotten long.

As long as the wig Tim wore when he became Caroline. He tugged at the ends of the hair where, if he tilted his head down to look up under his lashes, the black strands brushed the top of his shoulders.

Tim hadn’t been Caroline Hill in a long time now.

Or Alvin Draper.

Or Timothy Drake— CEO to be.

He hadn’t been anyone, really. Instead he had been struggling to find out who Tim Wayne was beyond the expectations of dead parents, missions hidden behind masks, and under the weight everyone else’s needs.

He still really didn’t know.

It felt more like a game of finding out what he wasn’t than falling into what he was. Or what he liked to be.

He could be a ruthless businessman, but that was Timothy Drake, wasn’t it? That was his father’s Jack’s legacy and Janet’s cold, confident smile. He didn’t like being that.

He didn’t like being them.

He could be whatever the mission needed. He could do recon, hacking, infiltration, fighting—a replacement, like Jason said. The word didn’t have the same sting that it used to. Replacement. It was almost a word of respect now. It had taken a lot of talking (and a lot of alcohol) for Jason and Tim to get somewhere good, but they both got it now. Red Robin was whoever the team needed.

He was tired of having to fill in cracks.

He beyond tired of just existing for everyone else’s needs.

The weight of that had nearly broken him.

Had broken him.

Tim watched the black strands of hair slip over the spider web of scars on his left hand.

Bruce had assured him that there would always be a place with the Bats if Tim still wanted it. Tim didn’t know if he would. Tim refused to just fill in the space that was left open anymore. It took a lot of sessions with his Justice League approved therapist for Tim to even get to that line in the sand, but he understood how important it was now.

He had to stop being the replacement. The other Robin. The other son.

It was a problem.

Another problem was, he didn’t always think he was Tim Wayne, even with the pieces that he was slowly learning.

Tim dug around under his sink, coming up with the purple case he’d stolen from Steph to keep Caroline’s things in. The robin red lipstick was on the top. Slowly he uncapped it and smeared it almost recklessly across his lips.

Tim no longer stared back out from the mirror.

Maybe Caroline deserved a night out.

It had been a long time, after all.

-

Clothing was an issue.

Tim had grown. Not much mind, but enough that the shoulders were a little tight and bottoms a little short. Well, the bottoms weren’t a huge matter in that moment. Caroline wanted to go out to a club after all; they could work with a too short skirt. The top though… Caroline adjusted the black strap of the lacy bra. Even with the right padding in, it still didn’t look right.

She chewed on her lower lip, still messily smeared with bright red, as she held another top up against her chest. That wouldn’t do either. Caroline gave the box of old clothing a little kick. Hum. She should paint her toenails.

Focus, Caroline.

It was time to look outside of her box.

Fifteen minutes and a pair of scissors later and one of Alvin’s too large and nondescript red t-shirts had become a drop shoulder crop top. It wasn’t the most amazing fit, but as she dressed it up with the right necklace looped a few times around her throat, a splash of red and leather in the bracelets (cover the scars, they were identifying marks), she figured she could pull off the look—at least for getting sweaty in some dark club.

Ever grateful for quick drying polish, Caroline did a rush job of all her nails and waved them impatiently dry before she did her make up properly. Some contouring, false lashes, the right highlights, step by step Caroline felt herself come alive again until staring back from there mirror was no Tim or Timothy or Alvin—just her.

Just Caroline.

She let out the breath she had been holding.

-

Finding the right club took a little bit. Her old favorite had shut down, apparently. That wasn’t uncommon with the short lifespan of clubs and even less so in Gotham with the money laundering and drug rings that often went with the clubs, but it still sucked. Caroline wanted somewhere that if someone got very handsy on the dance floor there wouldn’t be issue with everything that was carefully and securely tucked away in her underwear. The person might not want all that, which was perfectly fine as long they parted ways amicably.

(And if not, well, one of her bracelets could be shockingly persuasive.)

She tucked her fake ID back away in the hidden pocket of her bra, not minding the bit of a show it gave. Tim would have to make her a new one; she didn’t needed the fake age anymore. Then, with a steadying breath, she entered the thudding music, bright lights, and throng of bodies of the club. It took a moment to adjust to it all. This wasn’t always Caroline’s favorite thing, but they needed to relax already. Any tenser and something was going to snap.

Besides, this is where the boys failed and Caroline thrived; slipping between bodies, flirting, giving enough to capture attention without actually giving anything away. Dealing with a mass of people was a complex game of chess and Caroline very much intended to be the conquering queen.

The bar was the first stop, ordering a fruity martini so that she could sip at the drink and people watch for a time. It was always good to get a feel for things before diving in. It also gave her time to get used to being her again as she fielded a few flirtatious advances which landed her another drink in turn for the first dance of the night with her. She didn’t linger long.

She wasn’t sure what she was in the mood for. Caroline flitted across the dance floor from partner to partner, just letting herself enjoy the thud of the beat and the press of bodies. She always moved on before people could get too invested (or too handsy).

Caroline was on the edge of the floor, slipping away from one dance and looking for the next when a laughing group at a close by table shoved one of their number her way. She took a tentative step back, but didn’t actually need to. The poor sacrificial lamb found his footing rather gracefully.

He ducked his head with a crooked smile that was actually somehow charming. “Sorry about them.”

“Stay on target, Danny!” someone called from the table to cheers and jeers.

Danny rolled his eyes. “Really sorry. Just, ah, I maybe have been talking about how pretty you are and how much I want to dance with you for, like, the last twenty minutes. Feel free to tell me to fuck off if this is rude, but would you like to dance?”

Caroline tilted her head and tried not to smile in too predatory a way. “You’ve been watching me?”

“It’s hard not to, with how you move.”

She laughed at that. This one was so earnest. That was odd for Gotham.

“Once dance,” Caroline said, holding out a hand. “Unless you have the moves and then maybe you’ll get more.”

Danny took the hand and brushed a kiss against it. “One dance, to start.”

-

Despite any doubts that Caroline might have had, Danny knew how to move. She’d lost count of the song they had danced to about the time that Danny’s hand had first slid up her shirt. She rolled her hips, grinding back against Danny’s tight jeans and growing arousal. Danny followed her lead beautifully.

His teeth scrapped lightly against her neck and she threw back her head for him, letting him suck a mark into her skin. She enjoyed the thought of Tim being stuck with a reminder of her night out. (Maybe it would convince him to have some fun of his own.)

Danny’s hand slid down from where it had been cupping a breast, traced over her stomach, and moved to her skirt. Caroline caught it before Danny could do more than slip a few fingertips past the band.

“Sorry,” he murmured into her ear.

“Not that,” Caroline said. She turned her head to press a kiss against the corner of Danny’s mouth, smearing robin red against his tan skin. “Just need to let you know there’s more down there than you might be expecting.”

She held her breath as tightly as she held Danny’s hand. It this went bad, she wanted to be able to act quickly.

Danny’s huff of air sounded amused.

She relaxed her grip slightly.

The hand slipped a little lower.

“To me, any combination of bits is a good combination. I’m up for all sorts of surprises,” Danny assured her. His fingers ran over just the top edge of her underwear, not really touching anything, but applying just enough pressure that she shuddered. “She’ okay to use?”

“Yes. She, her, Caroline.”

“Caroline.” Danny said her name like it was a prayer.

She guided his hand a little lower.

His touch stayed almost teasing and Caroline had to alternate between pressing forward into his hand and grinding backwards against him until Danny pulled them so close together that she could barely move. And fuck, it had been too long for any of them. She half thought that if she put in the effort, or Danny’s hand dipped any lower, that she could manage to come right there on the dance floor.

That was not how she wanted tonight to go.

She ran her hands through Danny’s hair and tilted his head where she wanted it. So that she could nip at his ear lobe. “Tell me you live close.”

“In walking distance.”

[orcelito]

Somehow managed to mostly finish my C lab today by the start of lab time. But there were a few problems I had with some of the loops I had that my TA ended up helping me figure out what was wrong. So, a finicky lab, But the good news is that the next lab for this class isn't gonna be nearly as much work. Or so I've heard.

Gotta do my essay writing today. Not gonna try to work on my web programming thing today, bc im several days sleep deprived and I need to rest up before driving tomorrow. Just gonna have to try to steal some time to do it after everything tomorrow (if I have the energy for it) & whatever remains will be done Sunday night. Whether I get any sleep or not.

Sigh. I'm almost done, tho. I'm almost done...

[agustdiv1ne]

💨‧₊˚.° 11:58 p.m. (m) — choi yeonjun & kang taehyun

genre: smսt, threesome, doms!fratboys!taejun, sub!fem!reader, friends to ???, high sex + car sex = 😵‍💫

wc: 4.9k (someone sedate me pls)

becoming friends with frat boys was never part of your plan for college. 

alas, here you are, two of them basically surgically attached to your hip. your first semester of junior year has been full of surprises thus far, your blooming friendship with yeonjun and taehyun being the most significant one; what started out as partners for a project has transformed into a close friendship with the two guys, and your new norm now consists of grabbing starbucks together before heading to class, hitting the gym with either one or both of them in tow, and — for better or for worse — attending their frat’s infamous parties every weekend.

and lucky you: you’ve just arrived at one.

as you climb the steps of tau chi tau’s gigantic house, you spot the bright blond hair of one of the pledges on door duty — your favorite pledge, actually. 

“sunoo!” you greet, tackling him into a hug as soon as you reach him. he reciprocates easily, his lips curling into a small smile before he’s pulling away.

“you’re late,” he teases. “your boyfriends are already high off their asses.”

you scoff, nudging his shoulder with a closed fist. “first of all, they’re not my boyfriends. second of all, they knew i wasn’t gonna be here for a while, and i promised i’d be their d.d. tonight, so,” you shrug. he rolls his eyes playfully, but opens the door for you anyway.

“yeah, yeah, whatever. they should be in the basement,” he says, gesturing for you to go inside. “just be careful, it reeks down there.”

you laugh. “thanks, dude.”

as the front door shuts behind you, you take in the state of the house. the air is hot and humid against your skin, your shoes getting stuck on the floor that is covered with liquids you’d rather not identify. some rap song pounds in your ears, and you nod your head along to the beat as you slip between a small space between two groups, finally reaching the door that leads down to the basement. the moment you swing it open, the potent stench of weed bombards your senses. your nose scrunches up — sunoo wasn’t wrong.

in vain, you wave your hand in front of your face as you make your descent. the haze floating in the air grows a bit thicker the further that you go, your only goal now being to get them out of here before you start feeling the effects as well. you eventually have to drive, for christ’s sake, and you’re not looking to get a dui anytime soon. with one last step, you make it to the bottom of the staircase. the music is quieter down here, but the smell is far worse than upstairs. a familiar laugh pulls your attention to the couch facing away from you, two very familiar heads of hair catching your attention. as you sneak up behind them, you press your index finger against your lips, silently telling beomgyu — who sits on the couch opposite to them — to keep quiet. he simply smirks at you.

“y/n’s here,” he calls. annoyed, you flip him the bird and send him a scalding glare before leaning over the back of the couch, your scowl quickly being replaced by a grin. two pairs of red-rimmed eyes find yours, widening in tandem when they register that you are, in fact, there. 

“my baby!” yeonjun cries, his hands reaching up to pull you down towards him. his lips meet your forehead, pressing an aggressive kiss there, palms squishing your cheeks to hold you in place. you struggle to pull away from his grip, ignoring his pout and insistent grabby hands once you do. you sate him by linking your fingers with his. 

“you’re later than usual,” taehyun comments from next to him, a smile permanently etched on his lips, the sight a testament to his inebriated state. unlike yeonjun, he doesn’t move to touch you, perfectly content with watching. 

“i literally told you earlier that i had a paper due at twelve,” you remind him, removing your hands from yeonjun’s as you round the side of the couch, aiming to sit on the arm of it. that is, until yeonjun pulls you between them so that you rest on his left thigh and taehyun’s right. yeonjun wraps an arm around your waist, while taehyun rests a hand on your upper thigh. you try your best not to squirm. they’re your friends, but you’re not fucking blind. 

“you could’ve asked me for help,” taehyun murmurs close to your ear, squeezing the meat of your thigh. his warm breath tickles the side of your neck, and you gulp. directly across from you, beomgyu meets your flustered gaze, an amused eyebrow raised as he sinks further into the couch. you tear your eyes away from him to focus on your fingers twiddling in your lap. 

“i-i didn’t wanna bother you,” you admit, and he emits a giggle. the hand not sitting on your thigh reaches over to pinch your cheek.

“you’re so cute,” he coos, and for some reason, the praise goes straight to your center. “i wouldn’t’ve minded.”

okay, time to go. you don’t think you can handle any more of their pda, and you’re starting to feel a bit weird after inhaling all of that smoke. if you want to get to their apartment, you need to leave right now. standing, you stretch your limbs in a poor attempt to rid them of their shakiness. 

“time to go,” you voice, turning to face them. their eyes are dark and hooded as they look up at you. you falter a bit, stumbling when yeonjun rapidly leans forward and gathers you in his arms again. 

“but i don’t wannaaaa!” yeonjun whines, pulling you back onto the couch and straight onto his lap, his grip around your waist tightening enough that you’re pulled against his chest. “ten more minutes!”

sighing, you wiggle in his grasp, to no avail. you look over at taehyun for help, only to find him laughing at the sight. then, an idea pops into your mind, something that you know will appeal to both of them.

you turn your head towards yeonjun. “what if i take you to mcdonald’s?”

that gets them going. after one last odd look and crude gesture from beomgyu, you guide them out of the house and into yeonjun’s car. taehyun rides shotgun, while yeonjun mumbles in the back about how that’s unfair treatment — it’s his car, after all. despite yeonjun’s initial complaints, the drive over to the closest mcdonald’s is filled with loud, off-key singing from yeonjun and hysterical giggles from taehyun. it makes your eyes roll, but a tiny grin pulls at your lips all the while. 

“you’re lucky i love you guys,” you mumble, pulling into a spot in the parking lot after giving the drive-through worker the largest order that they have probably ever received, digging into your mcflurry as they silently inhale their burgers, fries, and their own mcflurrys. the pace at which they eat both impresses and terrifies you.

as soon as all three of you have finished, you begin the drive over to their place. you assume that they will let you stay over given how late it is, and it’s not as if they’ve ever minded before. after a few minutes, you realize how oddly quiet they’re being, and you look over to find taehyun staring at you, eyes unblinking and full of an emotion you can’t quite place. you whip your head back to the road — until you hear a sharp shink from the back. looking through the rearview mirror, you find yeonjun’s lighter poised to a brand new joint that rests between his plush lips, the flame bright and inching closer and closer to the paper.

“dude, you are not about to hotbox this car,” you groan. “put the fucking lighter down.”

“it’s my car. i can do whatever i want,” he mumbles in defiance, the lighter moving precariously closer again and illuminating his face in the dark backseat. you swing an arm between the two front seats in a poor attempt to grab the lighter. a hand moving to your thigh — taehyun’s hand — and squeezing nearly causes you to swerve the car before you gain control again. 

you glance over at the boy next to you as his fingers trail up and down your inner thigh, panic lacing your pupils, but you are distracted once again when the flame in your peripherals returns. “yeonjun, i swear to god—”

“don’t you want some?” taehyun interrupts, his hand stilling on a patch of skin high on your thigh, dangerously close to your center. “you worked hard today, you should let loose.”

you do. you really, really do. the stress built up in your muscles has become almost overbearing, and you’d think that it would be gone after your paper was out of the way, but no. honestly, all you want to do right now is relax, and taehyun’s offer is more than tempting — but you also don’t want to crash yeonjun’s car. at the same time, you are within walking distance to their apartment, so maybe…

“fine. just— just let me park first,” you concede, pulling into the nearest empty parking lot, parking in the dark back corner and subsequently cutting the headlights. twisting in your seat, you find yeonjun already prepared with an old pill bottle full of pre-rolled joints. an insane amount of them, actually. you snatch one and place it between your lips, reaching for the lighter in yeonjun’s other hand, only for him to pull it away. 

“nuh-uh,” he drawls with a lazy smirk. “c’mere.”

in curiosity, you lean forward, wondering what, exactly, his game is. he sets the bottle down, and his fingers reach up to grip your chin, fingertips lightly digging into the skin as he brings the lighter up and lights the joint for you. your stomach flips, your thighs automatically closing around taehyun’s hand. wrenching your face away, you turn towards the front again, heart racing in your chest as you take your first hit. then another. you block out the other two as you allow your high to take over. you don’t notice taehyun’s grip on you slip away.

over the course of what you think is a few minutes, your body begins to relax into the seat, head thrown back against the headrest as your brain fogs up. blurry eyes stare up at the gray ceiling. you eventually register just how hot it is, then notice the sheer amount of smoke that’s floating past your vision. a finger pokes your cheek, and you follow the hand back to taehyun. you smile subconsciously.

“such a lightweight, so cute,” he says, tapping his finger against your cheek again. you notice that he doesn’t have a joint of his own. “gimme a hit.”

“get your own,” you reply with a defiant hum, cheeks warming as you jokingly shield your joint with your body. he sighs. 

“c’mon, i just wanna try something. you trust me, right?” he murmurs. blinking hard, it takes you a moment to send him a lethargic nod. he peels the joint from your fingers with ease. “come closer.”

you obey, leaning over until mere inches separate your faces. he grabs you by the collar of your t-shirt, urging you to come closer. his eyes flit to your lips before they meet your gaze again — as if the weed wasn’t enough, this whole situation is rendering you even dizzier. 

silently, he pushes a thumb against your lips, pressing forward to part them. your mouth immediately accommodates the digit, and it presses against your tongue for a moment before dragging down to your bottom lip, your saliva mixing with your lipgloss. something quiet and pathetic sounds from your throat, your breath stuttering in your chest when he bites down on his own lip, his big, wide eyes far from innocent as he stares at you.

“keep it open,” he quietly orders, voice low and demanding, before he removes his thumb completely. you sit there, mouth agape like a fish out of water while he places your joint to his lips and inhales deeply. the seam of his lips closes immediately. then, he leans in, his lips mere millimeters away from yours. he holds your gaze as he opens his mouth and blows the smoke into your mouth, and you inhale it with a shaky breath. it travels down your throat and deep into your lungs, but the heat that spreads through your body isn’t from the smoke — no, it’s something overwhelmingly feverish. needy, wanton. 

the moment your eyes flutter close, taehyun’s lips are on yours, the taste of him sweet from the ice cream he ate earlier. the smoke you exhale passes between your parted mouths, drifting out into the cabin of the car. he feels around for the cupholder, then for his soda, using a single hand to pop open the lid before he’s dunking the lit blunt into the liquid, the movement of his lips unwavering all the while. he wastes no time in curling his palm around the nape of your neck, pulling you closer as he devours you whole. 

“holy fuck,” you vaguely hear yeonjun gasp, too far gone in the sensation of the languid, saliva-slicked kiss. it feels as if you are floating on top of a cloud, and you move to grab at his bicep to ground yourself. taehyun slips his tongue past your lips, curling the muscle around your own and immediately establishing his power over you. whining into his mouth, you attempt to pull away, only for yeonjun to cup your face and take over the kiss. taehyun’s hand slides down your neck and to one of your covered breasts, groping the soft mound of flesh over the fabric of your t-shirt. you moan into yeonjun’s mouth.

gentle hands pull you over the center console and into the back, yet yeonjun doesn’t break the kiss as he gathers you in his lap, your trembling thighs straddling his hips. you feel his cock press directly into your center when presses you down by your hips. your arms throw themselves around his neck, your lips slotting against his like a matching puzzle piece. the car rocks when taehyun slinks to the back as well, but yeonjun refuses to share you, hips angling upwards to grind his boner harder against your panty-clad core. 

“quit hogging her, you asshole,” taehyun growls from next to you, flipping your skirt up in the process to reveal your lacy panties to their eyes. the man next to you caresses the swell of your ass before landing a light smack. you jolt on top of yeonjun with a pathetic squeak, and his hand comes down again. in stark contrast to his actions, his tone is kind, perhaps a bit condescending, as he addresses you, “ooh, that feels good, doesn’t it? our baby likes to be spanked?”

their baby? something warm fills your veins at that, a quiet whimper muffled by yeonjun’s mouth. with the thin fabric of your panties embarrassingly sticking to your folds, you tear your lips away from yeonjun’s to hide your face in his chest, unable to face either of them. however, the rhythm of your hips does not falter. yeonjun forces you to look at taehyun with a firm grip that squishes your cheeks together, your lip puckering involuntarily. 

“answer him.” his warm breath fans over your ear as he speaks. a shiver racks your body despite the feverish heat surging through your body. knowing your voice will betray you, you opt for a shaky nod. 

taehyun’s gaze burns into your own, the blunt, rounded edges sharpened by lust. his dark pupils are the only thing that you can see in full clarity, the rest a foggy blur. “use your words.”

“yes,” you mumble, eyes screwed shut and your cheeks hotter than they’ve ever felt before. the feeling has spread down to your neck, your chest, the epicenter settling in your lower stomach. it festers there and tears at your insides like a feral beast and all you can think about is them — them using you, them fucking you. your breathing grows heavier before you feel a tap to your cheek, the skin stinging at the contact. 

“open your eyes, baby.”

you’re not sure who says it, but either way, you submit. eyelids fluttering open, you find both of them peering at you like two wolves stalking a soft, wide-eyed little lamb. your tongue feels like sandpaper in your mouth when they exchange scheming looks, their hands all over you as they maneuver your body as if you’re a doll. when did they plan this? how did you not notice their soft murmurs? 

you end up sitting between them, legs spread wide with one leg thrown over each of their laps. taehyun aims his focus towards your breasts, shoving your t-shirt up and yanking your bra down with little care, a hand tweaking one of your tits as the other curls itself in your hair and yanking your head back against the headrest. you cry at the sensation of his lips mouthing at your neck and his fingers pulling and groping your sensitive flesh. on the other side of you, yeonjun wastes no time in attempting to divert your attention back to him. shifting your panties to the side, he caresses your folds before dipping down to your entrance and groaning. 

“oh my god, you’re fucking soaked,” he groans as he gathers your wetness on his fingertips. “tae, you gotta feel her.”

said man’s hand leaves your breast, reaching down to join yeonjun’s at your center. a light brush over your clit causes your hips to twitch before he’s reaching down to swipe your entrance and—

“shit, you’re right,” taehyun breathes against your neck. “that’s so hot.”

without speaking, they begin to work in tandem as they pick you apart. a quiet, barely there voice in the back of your mind wonders if they’ve done this before, but that thought is quickly shooed away once two of yeonjun’s long fingers slide into your needy hole to the knuckle, the delicious stretch of your walls causing you to keen. your spine arches off of the seat when he begins to slide them in and out, curling up and grinding into that sensitive little spot inside you that you can never quite hit. meanwhile, taehyun ghosts a finger over your clit that aches for stimulation, his free hand digging into your thigh to keep you spread wide for them, your leg twitching in his grasp. he circles the sensitive bud as yeonjun adds a third finger to the mix, his movements growing faster as he feels your walls relax around his digits. taehyun ducks his head down to your breast, wrapping his lips around your nipple, his teeth scraping lightly against it. crying out, you plead for them to keep going. 

“such a tight little pussy,” yeonjun rambles directly into your ear, and you clench around his fingers. he nibbles at your earlobe before he continues, voice deep and growly and too much. fuck, it’s too much. “you look s’sexy right now, y’know that? so fuckin’ pretty. gonna make sure you can’t think about anything but us— gonna fuck you so dumb, baby. haven't even had our cocks ‘n you’re already losing it. s’cute.” 

with how wound up you are already, it doesn’t take long for the heat building in your stomach to bubble over, the overwhelming sensations all over your body coaxing you through your intense orgasm, waves a pleasure wracking your trembling body, your release coating yeonjun’s fingers while taehyun leans up to capture your lips. your whimpers are muffled by his mouth. the pleasure seems to have no beginning nor end, dizzying and causing your mind to drift somewhere far away, barely able to reciprocate the kiss. neither of them stop their ministrations until you’re pawing at their hands with a pitiful whine, your words staccato and incoherent.

you sit there, chest heaving and your clothes disheveled, barely able to comprehend the way the two boys argue over who should have you first. hands fly in front of your vision, a closed fist versus a flat hand, and though you can barely see through the smoke floating through the air and your terribly cloudy vision, you recognize that they’re playing a petty game of rock-paper-scissors. a dopey giggle shakes your body as you throw your head back against the back seat. they share a concerned glance. 

“y/n? can you look at me?” taehyun carefully asks. your empty-headed grin remains on your face while you turn to face him, humming in half-baked acknowledgment. he frowns, a hand coming up to cup your face as he takes in your red-rimmed, glazed over eyes. he peers around you towards yeonjun. “i don’t know if she can take more, jun.”

the words sober you up slightly, your grin dropping. “n-no! wan’ more, wan’ your cocks,” you ramble. “need them, please.”

“you heard her. she needs us,” yeonjun muses, already reaching for your loose limbs. “‘n i won, so c’mere, baby.”

yeonjun gathers you into his lap like earlier. this time, however, you feel his tip pressing at your fluttering entrance, an arm around your waist to hold you up. he looks up at you with a smirk. “ready, baby?”

you nod, and he wastes no time to begin slowly pushing your hips down. the flared, leaky head of his cock breaches your entrance. you whine, walls fluttering around him already as he moans. the rest of him presses into you inch by inch. it seems as if you can feel him everywhere — in your stomach, in your throat, the length of his cock almost too much for you to handle. the tip curves perfectly against your, his shaft grinding against your g-spot as he gently rocks his hips, allowing you to adjust to the overwhelming stretch. your whines grow pitchier as he finds his rhythm, hands on your waist as he bounces you up and down on his cock. he curses under his breath, fingers digging into your skin hard enough to bruise. he watches you with his tongue between his teeth, lips curled into something cruel and patronizing.

“feelin’ good, pretty?” he breathes, eyes rolling back into his skull as he begins to snap his hips to meet your own. the slap of skin grows louder, echoing throughout the car along with each of your moans and whines. your eyelids flutter, speechless, a cry tearing from your throat when he swipes a thumb over your slick clit, your walls tightening further around him. he doesn’t seem to mind your lack of response, and with a string of curses, he slams you down harder, lips clashing with yours as both of you chase your highs. desperation coats your tongues as he bites down on your bottom lip, pulling it back as you whine, clinging to him desperately, nails biting his skin and leaving deep half-moons in their wake. the slight sting of pain spurs him on, pulling away to spew filthy words into your ear.

“gonna fuckin’ cum deep inside you— ohh fuck, you seem to want that, hm? t-tightened so much around me. you need my cum, don’t you? say you need it,” he demands, holding your face close to his, dark pupils searing into your skin. a light slap to your cheek wakes you up a little. “c’mon— shit. say it or i won’t give it to you.”

“n-need it!” you unabashedly sob, feeling your high hit you. “please, jjunie, cum in me. pleasepleasepleaseplease—”

a deep groan cuts your pleas off, a warmth that floods your walls following close behind. he paints your insides white as he whimpers against your neck, hips twitching as he fucks it further into your hole. you quiver on top of him, holding him close with your arms slung around his neck, nearly in tears at how amazing it feels, sweat clinging to your skin and sticking to your shirt. it takes you much longer to come down this time, your body twitching erratically as the aftershocks continue to roll through your body. 

“jesus christ,” taehyun mutters next to you, and you remove your face from yeonjun’s violet hair to look over at him. his cock lays heavy in his hand, veins bulging as he strokes up and down, pausing at the top to swipe the bead of precum at the tip and smear it over the angry head. the sight causes your mouth to water. the urge to feel him against your tongue is almost too much for you to bear. sliding off of yeonjun with a whine and sore legs, you go to lean down for a taste — before taehyun stops you with a firm hand.

“what do you think you’re doing?” he asks, jaw set as he leers over you. 

“i-i just wanted to—”

“nuh-uh, baby. you don’t just get to do what you want. jun and i are in charge here,” he says, squeezing your jaw roughly. “now, get on your back. head on jun’s lap.”

silently, you do just that, finding yeonjun’s dick already rock hard again right near your face. your juices mixed with his cum gives his lengthy cock a light sheen in the low light, but your attention is soon pulled back to taehyun when he wraps his legs around his waist. towering above you, he guides his head along your slick folds, smearing the remnants of your and yeonjun’s last orgasm along himself. he taps it against your clit, chuckling when your hips jump.

“such a sensitive little thing,” he coos. taehyun doesn’t warn you as he guides his cock to your entrance and pushes his hips forward in one fluid motion, burying himself to the hilt in seconds. the feeling of his cock inside you is far different than yeonjun’s; taehyun’s is a little shorter, but much thicker, the stretch of your hole borderline painful. 

“h-holy fuck, you’re tight,” he gasps, voice sharp as he tries to hold himself together, resting there for a moment as he allows you to adjust to the sudden intrusion. the moment your hips start to grind against him, his jaw ticks, rolling his hips into you as he watches your brows furrow and mouth fall open into an ‘o.’ hands grip your waist as his thrusts quickly sharpen, harder and deeper and cruel. you blink up at him, whining. smoke hangs around his head like a halo, but the cruel snap of his hips is far from holy. 

diverting your gaze away, yeonjun poises his tip at your lips for you to suckle, breathing shaky as your soft tongue delivers kitten licks to the head. just as he curls a hand in your hair, you slip your tongue into the small slit at the very top as your moans vibrate against him, reveling in how he hisses at the feeling, his thighs flexing beneath your head. your dopey smile returns, eyes rolling back as taehyun continues his hard thrusts, quiet grunts falling from his lips as angles his hips upward in an attempt to get your gaze back on him. it works, your eyes widening adorably as he presses his cock right against your g-spot. his teeth graze his bottom lip, biting down hard when he feels you clench around him, a direct result of yeonjun tweaking one of your puffy nipples. 

taehyun is quiet as he fucks you, only quiet curses coming from him as he uses your body to chase his orgasm. a hand slides up your stomach to wrap loosely around your throat. he barely puts any pressure, but it’s enough to send you reeling, a third high, weaker in magnitude washing over you. after the amount of teasing he put himself through earlier, taehyun isn’t far behind, fingers slightly tightening against your neck as he thrusts into you quicker, coaxing you through your orgasm as his own finally hits him. his moans are high-pitched and whiny as he spills inside you, his cum mixing with yours and yeonjun’s, sticky and hot and satisfying. yeonjun cums against your lips immediately after, forcing you to take his tip into your mouth to taste him. you greedily swallow his release, allowing him to gather the escaped liquid with his fingers and shove it against your tongue. 

pulling out, taehyun watches as the thick, white liquid spills from your hole and onto yeonjun’s leather seats. he gulps, pushing it back into you with thin, lithe fingers as you barely react, brain practically rendered mush. 

“that was…wow,” yeonjun mumbles, caressing your cheek as your eyelids flicker closed. taehyun hums in agreement as he fixes your clothes back into their proper place. lethargic and dumb and feeling so, so warm and full, you drift off into quiet, bleary dreams. their voices seem far away now, their tones faintly worried at your state. a cool feeling washes over your body, causing you to shiver, eyes blinking open for a moment to find the windows now rolled down, airing out the smoke. the cool air feels fresh in your lungs; you’re grateful for it. you close your eyes again, finally passing out for good. 

none of you are sure where this situation will lead when you wake…but you suppose you’ll just have to cross that bridge when you get to it.

masterlist

© to agustdiv1ne. do not copy, repost, steal, and/or translate.

[novvabee]

"Honey, I Cut My Hair."

so this is totally not inspired by what i did a couple nights ago.... anyways.

poly!marauders x reader where she cuts her hair impulsively

cw: razor and scissors, nerves and anxiety?, suggestive at the end i guess, dont do this.

word count: 1K its really short... like my hair now

Watching the locks of hair fall into the sink. The quiet shhkk sshhhhk the scissors make when you slide them through your hair. The way the razor pulls down, gliding along smoothly.

It had all become too much. The semester was wrapping up, you had to study for your NEWTS, had three papers to write for history of magic, a potions project, and to top it all off, you had the stress of the upcoming holidays. You were relieved that school would be out for the semester, but you were still anxious about the break.

Your parents were going away for the holidays, meaning you were left to stay at Hogwarts for the break. Well, that’s what you were planning, but the second that James heard you would be staying at school, alone for the holidays, he insisted that you come and stay at his parents place along with Sirius and Remus. You told him that you didn’t want to burden his parents by opening their home up to yet another misfit kid, but James wasn’t having it. He said that his mother wanted to meet you anyway, so it was perfect.

That was the final layer of stress, meeting one of your boyfriend’s parents, great. You were panicking now, having to get all three of them a present, and now James’s mom and dad too…

You were stressing a lot. And that is when you felt your hair tickle your neck, touching you in just the wrong way and you kind of just… snapped.

You grabbed some scissors from your desk in your room and a razor from your bathroom and decided it was time to get to it. You mostly just wanted to feel in control for a second, and this was your means of doing that, a small win. You didn’t take off a lot, just enough to make you feel a bit better, a bit lighter. 

That's when you heard the door to your room open and a small “Hello, love!” from James. You forgot that you told them they could come and hang out in your room after they were done studying in the library. You heard all three of them file into your room, dropping their bags and kicking off their shoes. 

“Bathroom!” you called out, letting them know where you were. The door to the bathroom was still open, so James made his way over to see what you were up to.

“We were thinking that we could hang out for a little then head down and meet- Oh Merlin.” he cut himself off, entering the bathroom and seeing what you were doing. You snipped at another section, not sensing his concern. “Love, what are you doing?” he asked, exasperated.

You didn’t have time to answer before Sirius was popping his head in. He let out a gasp, but you caught the amused smile in the mirror. He covered the lower half of his face with both hands, seeing the mess of the discarded hair all along the counter, sink, and floor.

“I uh, got upset.” you explained, not halting your actions for a second. You were raking the razor through segments of your locks, creating layers and volume. For never doing this before, you seemed to know what you were doing. If you would have known it was this easy, you would have done it all the time, not bothering with overpriced hair salons.

It was Remus’s turn to appear in the doorway. He didn’t say a word, just made eye contact with you in the mirror before walking up behind you and gently taking the razor from your hand, setting it on the hair covered counter. He hugged your middle and kissed the top of your head. “Why are you doing this, dove?” he asked softly.

“I just got so… upset. I have so much homework and studying. And I'm nervous about meeting James's parents, and I have yet to get you any presents.” you said rushed, avoiding Remus’s gaze in the mirror.

“That doesn’t explain why we found you chopping your hair off.” he mused.

“Oh well, it brushed me the wrong way.” you explained.

Remus chuckled at that and kissed the top of your head again. “So you had to show it who’s boss?”

You laughed along with him. Admittedly it was a dumb thing to do, a very abrupt and emotion led decision. “Does it look bad?” you asked.

Remus’s brows rose. “Not at all actually, you did a pretty good job. You didn’t take off that much anyway.” He said, running his fingers through your now cut locks.

You smiled and felt yourself melt into his embrace. “I shouldn’t have done it, it was a dumb thing to do. Especially right before I’m supposed to meet my boyfriend’s parents.” you started to stress yourself out again, what if they didn’t like you, why would you cut your hair right before meeting them, what if it looks bad and they think…

All three boys could see the thoughts running behind your eyes. James spoke from where he was leaning on the door frame, “Love, we don’t need presents, you know that. We will be happy just to spend the whole break with you” he said, calming you down.

You nodded, acknowledging what he was saying, but you were definitely going to get them something. Maybe you could rope Mary or Lily into last minute gift shopping with you.

“Maybe next time we feel like this, we channel our emotions into something else?” he suggested. You nodded and he unraveled his arms from around you, making his way back into your bedroom.

“Wait!” you called after your boys. They halted and turned their attention back to you. “Is the back even?” you asked.

James and Remus chuckled, rolling their eyes and kept walking. Sirius turned back and told you to turn around so he could have a look. He took your hair in his hand and used his grip to pull you back into his chest. You giggled and caught that smile yet again in the mirror.

“It looks great baby.” he said, kissing your cheek. “Next time, invite me to hair salon day.”

“Only if I get you to do your hair and makeup too.” you joked

“I’ll think about it…” he said, kissing the top of your head once more before returning to your boyfriends in your room, leaving you to add the finishing touches to your hair, and to clean everything up yourself.

✂️please don't use this as a sign to cut your own hair i am stupid and impulsive. also why can i write so many fics but nothing for school? beats me thats why my hair is gone :)

[illbegottenfaith]

lucky pt 3 - theo nott x reader

Theo doesn’t seem to care about you, and you can only lie to yourself that it doesn’t bother you for so long

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

a/n - the final part! so happy to finally write a happy ending :’) wasn’t planning on writing this until my finals were over but um here we are 🙈

tropes/warnings - tw smoking, a lil slapstick comedy ft the other slytherin boys, slight platonic hurt/comfort, angst, soft ‘smut’ (quite mild idt it warrants an 18+ tag)

word count - 3.4k

Two can play a game.

A week had passed since you submitted your Potions project, and after that one night of Theo staying up to help you, things went back to going from bad to worse. What were once paltry tiffs had now disappeared altogether. Theo attended and left lessons as if you didn’t exist. And you supposed you didn’t. At least, not to him.

Ivy worried over you, bless her. She’d noticed how listless and distracted you’d gotten, how much more prone you were to staying holed up in your room, how exhausted you seemed by the most mundane tasks. But this was something even she couldn’t help with. No one could help, you decided mournfully, resting your head against your dorm’s cool window pane. So here you were, staring out the window at 6.30 am on a Monday morning with irritated and aching eyes after a restless night of tossing and turning.

That was when you decided that the only thing there was to be done in a situation like this was to do what you did best - going head-to-head with Theodore Nott. He wasn’t the only one who could play at being emotionally avoidant, and it would be a cold day in hell before you let Theodore Nott best you in anything, including this.

And ignore him you did. You didn’t know or care if he noticed, but soon your already limited interactions became highly unabsorbing and apathetic. You barely acknowledged him in your shared classes. You matched every careless toss of his head with one of your own. As little as Theo cared, you could care even less. 

Finals came and went. The morning after your last paper Ivy came barging into your room, demanding you come for an end-of-semester gathering by the Great Lake the next day. No amount of begging or burying your head in your pillow seemed to deter her. She was determined to see you there even if she had to drag you out herself, the recluse that you had become. She finally left after you very unsportingly relented and unsuccessfully tossed a book at her head.

You were already regretting being worn down by the next morning when you were deciding what to wear. Was Theo going to be there? Not that it mattered. You weren't about to pick an outfit around a guy who may or may not be present.

You met Ivy and Katie near the castle entrance and once you started walking down to the lake, you started feeling better about your decision. The weather was surprisingly cooperative and it was perfect picnic weather, if a little windy. It was a little early, only shortly after breakfast, and the refreshments were still being set up. From the few that had already arrived, it seemed to be a rather intimate gathering of mostly familiar faces. If you were especially lucky, Theodore Nott might not make an appearance at all.

You watched a group of Slytherin boys flail and struggle to set up a folding picnic table and put a sheet over it. Enzo Berkshire had flopped onto the table to stop the sheet from flying off while the table groaned underneath his weight. Draco Malfoy was crossly telling him off and trying to get him to stand while Mattheo Riddle stood a little to the side, still frowning over the table's instructions. Draco had now moved onto threats when there was a terrible creaking sound and the table collapsed under Enzo.

"I was just about to say," Matheo started offhandedly, while Enzo moaned pitifully, "I don't think we put the table together right."

"I told you we should have waited for Theo."

Speak of the devil.

“Ladies,” Theo drawled from behind, in his appealingly lazy accent. You turned to see Theodore in a relaxed button-down folded at the elbow, wearing a simple but likely designer pair of black sunglasses, holding a red solo cup. You instinctively glanced at his tanned forearms before snapping your gaze back to his face. Did he notice? It was hard to tell with the sunglasses.

“Hi, Theo,” Ivy said awkwardly when you stubbornly refused to respond. “What's that you got there?”

"Punch. Enzo had me taste test it."

"Oh. Is it good?"

He gave a wry smile. You wanted to roll your eyes. You had no patience to tolerate his irritating posh affectations.

"A little strong for my taste, but it'll do."

"Have you seen Ivan?"

He waved his hand carelessly. “He’s…around.” He turned, peering in the distance. “Right. There he is, by the steps. He’s bringing the drinks.”

“I’ll go help him!” Before you could reel Ivy back in and threaten her to stay with you, she was already halfway down the path, heading straight for her boyfriend. You scowled, your impassive mask shattering. You turned back to see Theo grinning at you with his stupidly mysterious sunglasses and you shot him a dirty look. 

“Nice weather we’re having, hm?”

You schooled your features and shrugged noncommittally. The silence stretched unbearably between the two of you. Theo vaguely gestured to the boys with his cup.

“I should help them with the table."

You stayed tight-lipped, refusing to give in to the sense of camaraderie he seemed to be trying to foster with you. After all, you weren't friends. He made sure of that.

As he set his cup down and started looking over the instructions with Mattheo, Ivy returned, drinks and Ivan in tow.

“Punch?”

You raised your eyebrows. Even from a distance, the bowl reeked of booze. Still, you accepted a cup, downing it even as your eyes watered. You pulled a face.

“Merlin, that’s awful. Pour me another.”

You ended up sitting in a cluster of lawn chairs around a picnic blanket with Ivy, Katie and some other girls in your year. You were all giddily tipsy and in very silly moods, gossiping and swapping terrible first date stories.

The drunker and drunker you got, the harder it was to pull your eyes away from Theo. After all, as your inhibitions dissolved, what was there to stop you from glaring a hole into his skull?

Not that he noticed. He was sitting some distance away with his own friends, examining the bottom of his red Solo cup disinterestedly. The other Slytherin boys were absorbed in a spirited game of Exploding Snap. In the unassuming midday sun creeping up on them, he was a refreshing sight, sleek and cool in ways mere mortals could only dream of wishing for.

You scoffed under your breath. What, were his childhood friends too boring for him? Was that it? Who the hell did he think he was, anyway? You had half a mind to strip naked and run into the lake. Maybe that would finally be captivating enough for the oh-so-hard-to-impress Theodore Nott. 

How many other girls did he help write essays for late into the night, letting them doze, holding their hand? You shook yourself. He never held your hand. He helped you with your project, brought you breakfast, and that was it. Still, your gaze stayed fixed on the back of your hand. Whatever possessed you to think he held your hand?

The sky had gotten a little cloudy. Theo pulled off his sunglasses, blinking, and cast his eyes around, looking for a place to put them. Finally, he settled on hooking them on the open collar of his shirt and looked rather pleased with himself. It was almost endearing.

Your gut told you to avert your gaze, but you didn't, and the next second his gaze was on you. For the first time in weeks, his eyes met yours, intense and unforgiving. You told yourself it was just his gaunt complexion and bruise-like eyebags, but that didn’t stop your throat from seizing with some inexplicable want. Even when he moved away to rejoin his friends, your skin tingled; your body positively thrummed with it. Any hope of playing at sanity was out the window at this point. No, you just had to accept that the two of you would always be unfinished business.

But that was it - he wasn’t playing at this like you were. This was all a pretence for you; the unaffected stares, the nonchalant nods, the afterthought smiles. This was all just you pretending you weren’t watching his every move. Pretending your attention wouldn’t stay fixed on him in a room full of burning bodies.

But he wasn’t pretending. Not for one second.

All of a sudden, you felt queasy. You were going to be sick.

"Y/N?" Ivy was saying, looking concerned as you unsteadily got to your feet. You could feel the back of your neck prickling with Theo still watching you.

"I'm - I'm fine," you slurred, fanning yourself weakly. "Stay - I'm okay. Just...s'hot. Need to -" 

You put your cup down somewhere, stumbling back to the castle as fast as you could, your head spinning as the ground wobbled dangerously under you. You weren't sure how but you somehow made it to your dorm, flung open the bathroom door and reached the toilet just as your stomach started emptying its contents. 

You vaguely registered that you had never been this drunk - it felt like you were slipping in and out of consciousness. You were only distantly aware of a familiar pair of hands holding your hair back, rubbing soothing circles on your back as you heaved. It was a cathartic kind of release, a purging of all the toxic anxiety that had been festering inside of you. And just like that, a dam broke. You started crying, sobbing like the world was ending, slumped against your best friend.

“Oh, Y/N…”

“I don’t understand,” you choked out, leaning your forehead against the tiled bathroom wall. “Why doesn’t he like me anymore? Why does he h-hate me?”

Ivy delicately smoothed some of your unruly hair down. “He doesn’t hate you, honey.”

“I’m not a k-kid, Ivy," you hiccuped. "You don’t have to lie to protect my feelings.”

Ivy hugged you close as you sniffled. “I’m going to kill that asshole if Ivan doesn’t beat me to it.”

“No,” you said in a shaky voice, gingerly sitting up. “Promise me you won’t tell Ivan.”

“Y/N - “

“They’re friends! I don’t want to spoil that for him.”

“Trust me, if he knew what Theo was doing, he wouldn’t be feeling all that friendly.”

“Don’t, Ivy,” you pleaded. “This is just…it’s just between us. I’m fine, I swear.”

Ivy looked highly unconvinced. You let out a frustrated sigh.

“Look, at least give me a week to work through this on my own, alright? Then you can sic your boyfriend on Nott.”

“You’ve already had your week. Weeks, in fact.”

“Ivy.”

She pursed her lips. “Fine.”

You felt a lot more sober after throwing up. But you still weren't feeling up to returning to the party, so once you finally managed to shake Ivy off, you wandered the deserted halls of Hogwarts. Just like that one evening lifetimes ago, when Mattheo had insinuated Theo might have a thing for you in the library, you ended up at the Astronomy Tower.

It was peaceful. You could see why Theo liked to come up here to think. You looked up as you heard a scuffling sound from behind one of the pillars, near one of the stone arch windowsills. You walked over to find Theo sitting there, smoking, his long legs barely fitting across the length of the window. He didn't expect to see you either, if the way the cigarette was dangling from his lips was any indication.

“Put that out.”

It was the first thing you had said to him in weeks. You felt almost as surprised as he looked. He started, as if he had forgotten about the cigarette, and took another puff.

“I said,” you started again, half-heartedly raising your voice, “put that out.”

It was weak and unsurprisingly ineffective. If Theo picked up on what it truly was, a plea for normalcy, he didn’t let on.

Your already thin patience snapped. You stalked over, stealing the cigarette from his lax fingers. What you weren't expecting was Theo's fingers closing around your other wrist and firmly pulling you down to press his mouth hard against yours. It was a clumsy mess of teeth and tongues as you ungracefully reached for his arms to steady yourself. His grip lessened when he got the inkling you weren't about to pull away and sock him in the jaw. His hands drifted to your waist as the two of you fumbled for a more proper kiss. You could taste the lingering salt of the cigarette and your senses felt overwhelmed by the distinct feel of Theodore Nott.

“Tesoro -“ he wheezed, twisting away from where your hand had dropped to his bicep, the smouldering cigarette having singed through his shirt.

“Shit, sorry. How do you -?”

Theo plucked the cigarette from your hand and dropped it on the floor, grinding it with the heel of his shoe. He looked up to where you were still hovering above him before pulling you down into his lap by your hips. He grabbed your wrists, placing your hands on his shoulders, and you had to bite back a smile over how adorably particular he was.

“Telling me where to place my hands? And I thought I was the bossy one.”

Theo quirked an eyebrow. "Maybe I'm just sick of waiting." He tipped his head back against the rough stone wall. "And...wanting."

You smoothed a thumb across his collarbone, not missing the way he shivered under your touch. “So what do you want, Nott?”

He tipped you forward, kissing you much more properly this time. You didn't bother pulling much away as you broke apart, whispering with your faces inches away.

“We're actually doing this.”

“Seems so.”

He cupped your face, swiping a thumb under your eyes as his expression flickered.

“Were you…crying?”

You sniffed, dragging his hand off your face, and looking away. "Just - allergies."

Theo blinked, watching your face with a stunned (and slightly dumb) expression as if you hadn't said anything.

“But you never cry.”

You gave a bitter smile. “Congratulations, Nott. You’re officially the first person to ever reduce me to tears.” You desperately hoped he would drop the subject. Just talking about it was enough to make you want to start sobbing again.

"Did someone say something to you? I swear I - it's not because of me, is it?"

Your face crumpling was the only confirmation he needed. “It was like you - I don’t know. Like you hated me, or something.”

Theo captured your hands in his own where they had slid down to his chest. “I….hate you?”

“Or something. Probably the something.”

“But - why? How? If anything, I’d say you hated me.”

Your lips parted as your brow furrowed. “What gave you that idea?”

“What gave me the - I don’t know, all the scowling? The glaring? The snide remarks? The bodily harm?”

You flushed at the memory of the Potions storeroom incident. You could kind of see his point. “That was one time.”

“You owe me new pants, by the way. New pants and a new di-“

You muffled his rant with a kiss and instantly felt him relax beneath you, the tension and annoyance draining from his limbs as he moulded your body to fit more perfectly against his. So eager, so insistent, so different from the past couple of weeks. 

“I don’t know," you started once you pulled away. "This felt worse than hate. It felt like…like you couldn’t even be bothered to hate me." You swallowed hard, eyes fixed on where you were fidgeting with the edge of his shirt's collar. "As if that was how little you thought of me.”

"Mia cara," he sighed, almost dejectedly. "Small is the last thing I think of you." He ran a hand through his hair frustratedly, searching for the right words.

“I’m not good at expressing…fondness.”

“No. You don’t say.”

He wet his lips. You could see the smile he was holding back.

“I’m not good at being honest or direct. Everything - my mind, it’s a mess, it’s always about what I want, and how to get what I want, I never - I never meant to make you feel that way."

Maybe it was still all part of some elaborate scam. But sitting there with the rough stone arch digging into your sensitive skin, the distant scent of holding Theo's face in your hands like he was moonlight, you believed him. You didn't even have to try. You just did.

“I’m not used to playing the part of the fool, bella. But when I see you smile, or read, or fiddle with your hair…" He reached out to free the lock of hair you were nervously tugging on, "...I never feel more foolish.”

"I don't think I've ever hated you either, for the record," you said, smoothing out his shirt where you had crumpled it in your fists. "I might have thought I did, but..." you trailed off, looking into his mesmerisingly blue eyes. No, you decided softly, you never could hate the boy.

"I never thought anything could come of us. You were - you are - so brilliant. You're on the road to brilliant things. I was only going to get in the way. And...I don't think I could live with myself if I did." He glanced up and, seeing the crestfallen look on your face, hastily amended his statement.

"That, and you had no patience for pretty boys.”

You scoffed half-heartedly. “I have no patience for you, either.”

Theo grinned, shifting you up his lap, as if you could never be close enough to him. He looked so carefree you couldn’t hold back a small smile of your own. “You keep me so humble.”

“I try.”

The two of you stayed like that for a while, tracing burning expanses of skin, staring at each other like you could never get your fill. You’d occasionally press soft kisses down his neck and jaw while his hands would drift up your ribcage or down your thighs. Both of you moved at an unhurried pace, because now you had all the time in the world to have and hold each other.

“It’s getting late,” you murmured, hours later, now tucked into Theo’s side as you lightly traced shapes on his chest. It was pleasantly warm and given the late hour, you could feel your eyelids growing heavier. When he didn't respond, you lifted your head.

Beneath you, Theo breathed deeply and evenly, looking half-asleep. You rolled your eyes and gave him a hard jab in the ribs.

“Hey. Nott.”

Theo grunted, stirring, swatting your hand away. You grinned to yourself - annoying Theo would never lose its appeal. Eyes still closed, his hand haphazardly searched for you to once again pull you against him. You ignored his efforts, deliberately unhelpful.

“You need to pick another name, y’know. This whole last-name business isn’t going to fly as my girlfriend.”

You felt yourself unreasonably perk up over his words. “Your girlfriend? Me?”

He cracked an eye open. “I thought the exclusivity thing was obvious. You're a serial monogamist.”

“Yeah, but you’re not.”

Theo groaned, too tired to keep up with you. He rolled you onto your back and propped himself up with a forearm. You giggled softly, flustered by the heat in his gaze.

“Then I guess you’re lucky I like kissing you the best, amore.”

He dropped his head, and you got the distinct impression you could never tire of the feel of his hands and lips on you. 

“What were you saying before?” Theo inquired, while his hands continued their distracting exploration under your clothes.

“It’s late.”

“Right.”

“You have Charms right after breakfast. We should,” your breath hitched, “um, go to bed.”

Theo grumbled something in the crook of your neck, sending the most delicious vibrations down your spine.

"Fine," you sighed, encircling your arms around his neck. "Five more minutes."

He barely made it in time for Charms the next morning.

[goingmoa]

chronically offline

pairing: physics nerd!jake x fem!reader

summary: jake is strong in physics, but struggles when it comes to keeping up with internet culture. lucky for him, you can teach him a thing or two about it.

genre: fluff, two smart idiots in love

warnings: reader gets hit on by a guy who doesn't get the hint that she's uninterested, but jake swoops in just in time

word count: ~3.4k

author's note: my first fic!! i wanted to treat my jake biased bestie with a fluffy read, and i hope this delivered! i had a lot of fun writing this LOL ~~ please feel free to let me know what you think!

The physics department is musty in that specific, clinical way only old university buildings know how to be – too drafty, too bright, and somehow suffocating and drab all at the same time. You step in wearily, pulling the cuffs of your hoodie sleeves over your hands to rub the sleep out of your eyes. It was eight in the morning, so you were expecting the place to be empty. Almost no one comes to these optional tutorials.

Except, apparently, for him.

Jake, one of your classmates, is already there, one leg bouncing lightly under the desk, chin resting on his hand as he squints at the problem set like it personally insulted him. His laptop is open, his screen displaying neatly organized notes with colour-coded bookmarks. You spot a sticky note stuck to the edge of his screen.

Remember: you're NOT dumb!! Just confused (temporarily). A wonkily drawn smiley face grins beside it.

You stifle a laugh. Cute.

"Is this seat taken?" you ask, gesturing to the chair across from him.

He glances up, blinking once as if it takes him a second to recalibrate to human interaction. Then he smiles, slow and lopsided, shaking his head. "Nope. You're good."

You plop yourself into the chair and start unpacking your stuff. Jake goes back to his worksheet.

For about three minutes, the only sound is the scratching of pens on paper and the occasional sigh of defeat, mostly from Jake's direction.

"If this vector projection were a person, I'd square up with it in a parking lot." he mutters, mostly to himself.

You snort. "At this rate, I fear it may have the upper hand."

He lifts his head, surprised but amused to hear your little quip. "Oh ye of little faith."

"You know," you say, tapping your pencil thoughtfully against your cheek. "If you really want to cause some damage, you should hit it with a force equal and opposite to its own."

Jake blinks.

Then he laughs, and it's bright, warm, and a little surprised, like the sound suddenly snuck up on him. He leans back in his chair, shaking his head.

"Wow. Did you just weaponize Newton's Third Law?"

"Maybe. Keeps the course interesting, don't you think?" you shrug, grinning.

He looks at you for a moment, still smiling, something unreadable flickering across his face.

"Honestly? I haven't enjoyed physics this much all semester." he admits.

You raise an eyebrow. "What, because it finally came with bad jokes?"

“Nah,” he murmurs, twirling his pen between his fingers with lazy precision. “Because apparently, it comes with you.”

You blink, caught off guard, your gaze trailing from the spinning pen to his eyes, which were entirely too focused on you.

He clears his throat, eyes widening a bit in alarm.

“Sorry, that sounded smoother in my head. I’m Jake, by the way. I don’t think we’ve officially met.”

You glance up at him, mind still reeling. You’re not sure if you’re more confused or flustered – honestly, probably both – but the flicker of something warm and fluttery in your chest is quick, insistent. You ignore it. Now isn’t the time to go unpacking whatever that is.

Jake’s pen spins a little faster now, the movement noticeably less casual, and he’s chewing the inside of his cheek like he’s already regretting every word that just left his mouth.

He looks so embarrassed that you decide to spare him the added awkwardness, pretending not to notice and offering him an easy out.

“I know,” you say, your voice thankfully sounding steadier than you feel. “You’re always here early. Kind of hard to miss.”

And it's true, you had noticed him before. More than once.

He was always there when you walked in, tucked into the same spot, neat notes, brows furrowed in deep concentration. Quiet, but focused. Kind of effortless in that way some people are without realizing it. And yeah, you always thought he was attractive.

There were a few times you considered pretending not to know how to solve a problem just to have an excuse to ask him for help… but you would always snap yourself out of it before you did something you might regret. You were not about to play dumb just to get a guy's attention – even one with annoyingly good hair and a face so distractingly beautiful that it could ruin anyone's GPA.

Besides, you could handle physics just fine – more than fine, honestly. You had a knack for it, a natural instinct for numbers and patterns and solving for things people didn't always see. But you kept your head down and stayed out of the spotlight. You were more comfortable being the person people underestimated, letting your exam score speak for themselves.

So yeah, you had noticed Jake. And sure, maybe you had imagined talking to him once or twice.

But you kept your curiosity to yourself. Until now.

"I guess I like the quiet." he states sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck.

You respond by introducing yourself, and he says your name like it's something new and delicate. Like it's something worth remembering. You try not to overthink how much you like hearing it roll off his tongue.

“So,” you say, taking a sip from your drink and squinting at him playfully over the rim of your tumbler. “You must have a thing for fluorescent lighting.”

Jake shrugs, the motion a little shy, like he’s used to defending habits he can’t quite explain. “I just like having time to set up.”

“Interesting. Most people I know would rather rot in bed doom-scrolling than show up early to a physics tutorial.” You tilt your head, pretending to analyze him.

He blinks once, confused. “Doom... scroll?”

You pause, lowering your cup. “Wait. Don’t tell me. You don’t have TikTok, do you?”

“Should I?” he asks, looking genuinely uncertain.

You stare at him for a beat, then dramatically slap a hand over your mouth.

“Chronically early and chronically offline?” you gasp. "We've got a rare case here."

Jake laughs, and the motion sends a few loose strands of hair falling across his forehead. Your fingers twitch, resisting the ridiculous urge to brush them back in place.

“You make it sound like a condition.” he chuckles.

You raise your eyebrows, mock-serious. “It is a condition. I’m pretty sure you qualify for observation.”

"Chronically offline?" Jake repeats, furrowing his own brows.

"Oh no." you say, mock-horrified. "It's worse than I thought."

He laughs again, and oh. That’s when it really hits you, just how down bad you were. Because apparently, all it takes is one laugh to completely short-circuit your brain. “You’re making it sound like an actual medical condition.”

“It is,” you say solemnly. “I diagnosed you just now. You’ve got stage four meme deficiency.”

Jake grins and leans forward, elbows resting casually on the table, closing the distance just enough to make your pulse stutter.

“Is there a cure?” he inquires, playing along.

“Lucky for you, I’m the internet incarnate. Stick with me and we’ll fix you up in no time.” ypu smirk, lips quriking up at the corners.

“Good,” he says, and his eyes catch yours, lingering a second too long, like he’s testing the waters.

“I think I’m ready for treatment.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.

The weeks pass by like pages in a physics notebook – messy, a little chaotic, and filled with things only the two of you would understand.

You start calling it Meme Therapy. Jake calls it “physically and emotionally enlightening.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.

WEEK ONE

Jake is sitting in his usual spot with two coffees. He sips on one of them, extending the other shyly towards you as you approach the table. “I figured this might be part of my treatment plan.”

You thank him before accepting it.

“Caffeine and mild chaos?”

“Exactly.” he confirms, his eyes twinkling.

You sit in front of him again, scrolling through your shared Google Doc titled Chronically Offline: Jake’s Guide to Surviving the Internet.

There’s a new section waiting for you: Eras, Vibes and Cores Explained (A Visual Guide) – complete with wildly inaccurate frogcore diagrams and a chaotic collage of TikToks Jake clearly does not understand.

You turn your laptop screen towards him, pointing to something on the display.

He tilts his head, brow furrowed as he stares at a frog in a pink bonnet sipping a cup of tea on a brightly coloured mushroom.

“So… it’s giving frog?” he attempts, sounding defeated already.

You nearly choke on your coffee, laughing. “It’s giving amphibious excellence.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.

WEEK TWO

The physics tutorial ends early, so you stay behind to show him a video called Italian Brainrot: A Cultural Awakening.

He watches in complete silence, eyes narrowed in focus like he’s analyzing experimental data, as ballerina cappunicca echoes dramatically over an AI-generated video of teacups in ballet slippers pirouetting across a spotlighted stage. Then comes the tung tung tung sahur family, seated in the velvet theater seats, watching the performance unfold. Finally, the crescendo: bombardino crocodilo. The crocodile-plane hybrid swoops in, spinning mid-air before crash-landing onto the stage in a pixelated explosion.

To be honest, even you have no idea what’s going on anymore.

You brace yourself for Jake’s reaction. Any second now, he’s going to laugh or look at you like you’ve lost your mind.

Jake turns to you, eyes wide and sparkling. “That’s… kind of brilliant. Like, chaotic resonance.”

You blink. “What?”

He gestures at the screen, still a little stunned.

“It shouldn’t work, but it does. It’s like constructive interference. Two completely unhinged things overlapping at just the right frequency to amplify each other.”

“You’re telling me bombardino crocodilo is like… a wave function?” you deadpan, still trying to wrap your head around the nonsense he just spewed.

He nods, totally serious. “Yeah. A beautiful one.”

You blink again. This man is not real.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.

WEEK THREE

You’re late today. When you walk in, Jake’s already claimed his usual seat, along with the one next to it. A sticky note sits on the desk in his slightly messy handwriting, Reserved for: Meme Consultant. Perks include coffee, memes, and my undivided attention.

“Careful. This is dangerously close to adorable.” you say with a smile while sliding easily into the chair.

“Is that a bad thing?” he asks, nudging your leg with his.

“Depends,” you respond, teasing. “What exactly are you trying to get out of this arrangement?”

He pauses, then smiles, eyes warm. “I think I’m developing an addiction.”

“To memes?”

He hesitates, just for a second, then smiles, his eyes softening. “To you.”

Your breath catches. You pretend to be very invested in opening your notebook, but your bright red cheeks are already giving you away.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.

WEEK FOUR

You’re working through a tricky problem together, seated side by side now instead of across from each other. His handwriting is a disaster, but his voice is steady as he explains something about vector fields.

You reach for the calculator just as he does. Your fingers brush, and you freeze, the sudden touch sending a rush through, gentle and thrilling all at once. The contact lingers longer than it should. The world seems to pause. His skin is warm against yours. It feels... right.

Neither of you pulls away.

Your heart stutters. His voice does too.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, eyes flicking to yours. “Guess you’re in my field.”

You arch a brow. “Magnetic, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, you really are.” he whispers, letting out a soft, breathless laugh.

It’s so quiet, you almost wonder if you imagined it.

Eventually, the bell rings. Neither of you move.

Something between you is shifting, and it is impossible to ignore.

But neither of you speaks it into existence, sitting in comfortable silencs, as if naming it might scare it off. It was still too new, too fragile to touch just yet.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.

The party is louder than you'd like and packed with people who major in shots, not physics.

You stay close to the kitchen island, sipping fruit punch from a red Solo cup and scanning the room for anyone familiar. Jake said he might come — heavy emphasis on might — because he's still “not sure how parties work,” to which you told him was “a pretty hot take from someone who was chronically offline.”

You’re about to check your phone when you feel a familiar presence at your side.

“I still don’t really peg you as a party person,” Jake says, suddenly there like a small miracle, all easy smiles and confidence. He’s ditched his usual flannel-centric fits (which you’ve secretly grown to love) for a dark, fitted button-down, left open just enough to reveal a glimpse of collarbone.

You blink. Not what you expected. But definitely not bad at all. He’s always looked good, but… damn.

You arch a brow, smirking. “Didn’t take you for someone who owned anything other than flannels.”

“Didn’t take you for someone who’s been thinking about what’s in my closet.” he fires back with a shit-eating grin.

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. You’re caught off guard, and he knows it. You can tell by the way his smile lingers, looking proud of himself for short-circuiting your brain.

He takes the moment to allow his gaze to flick briefly over your outfit. Nothing scandalous, but a step outside your usual lecture-core comfort zone. You actually put thought into it. Even hoped it might get noticed. It was looking like it did.

“You look really good, by the way,” he says, a little softer now.

You blink, caught off guard again by his directness, and feel heat rise in your cheeks. You lift your cup like a shield, trying to play it cool. “Not bad for someone who only learned what 'rizz' meant last week.”

He chuckles, nudging you lightly with his shoulder. “Just trying to keep up.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.

You and Jaka end up tucked into a quieter corner of the living room, talking about everything and nothing. Jake is leaning in closer than usual, his knee brushing yours, his eyes soft in a way that makes your pulse flutter. But you convince yourself that it must be because of the music, which was too loud to talk over without closing the distance between you.

Still, you can’t help your delusions from wandering, wondering if something might happen tonight.

Someone suddenly calls his name from across the room, snapping you out of your reverie. The classmate calls him again, already half-drunk and waving him over.

Jake glances at you, like he’s not quite ready to move.

“I’ll be quick,” he says, flashing an apologetic smile. “Promise I’ll be right back.”

You nod, trying not to let your disappointment show as he stands and disappears into the crowd.

You're left alone.

And it only takes a few minutes.

Someone else slips into Jake’s empty seat. It’s a guy you don’t recognize, all swagger and slurred confidence. He’s too close before you even realize what’s happening, leaning in with the heavy sway of someone who’s had a little too much to drink.

He’s not aggressive exactly, but there’s something about him that tightens your chest uncomfortably.

“You here alone?” he asks, smirking like you’ve already said yes.

Before you can respond, he leans in further and adds, “Wanna get out of here?”

His breath smells like beer and bad decisions. Your skin crawls.

“I’m good, thanks.” you laugh as politely as possible, standing up quickly to put space between you.

But he follows, pushing up from the couch with too much momentum. “Aw, come on, doll. Just a little fun. Don’t make me beg.”

You freeze, your smile slipping and heart racing warningly.

Then suddenly, a hand slides around your lower back, not quite touching, but providing comfort nonetheless. With it comes a familiar presence and an overwhelming relief of safety.

“There you are,” Jake says, materializing at your side like he’d been summoned. His tone is light, almost casual, but his eyes are steel. “Babe, we’ve gotta go. The livestream’s starting.”

Your heart pounds — from the pet name or the adrenaline, you’re not sure — but you nod, slipping into the role without hesitation.

“Livestream?” the guy blinks, thrown off.

Jake doesn’t miss a beat. His arm stays around you. You lean into his touch.

“Yeah." he says almost dreamily. "The Italian brainrot pasta review? The one where they slap spaghetti against drywall while the Tralalero Tralala remix plays?”

You cough into your drink to hide your laugh. Jake shoots a quick glance your way, a silent 'go with it.'

You nod seriously, slipping into the act with ease. “He’s right. If we miss it again, I’ll spiral and lose my shit. Last time, I cried. Full breakdown.”

“It was giving tragic.” Jake gasps dramatically, shaking his head with fervor.

The guy takes a step back, visibly confused. “Are you guys… okay?”

“We’re frogcore. It’s terminal.” Jake deadpans.

You both stare at the guy, eyes unblinking, doing your best impression of chaotic meme cultists.

The guy mutters something unintelligible under his breath and walks away.

The second he’s out of earshot, you both burst into laughter. Your shoulders are shaking, the tension snapping like a canned soda popping open. You lean into Jake further without thinking, and he doesn’t move away — just stays there, solid, safe, and warm beside you.

Relief floods your chest. You hadn't realized how tightly you’d been wound until now.

“Thank you,” you say, the weight of it folded between the words.

He looks at you, soft and serious beneath the grin.

“Anytime.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.

You find yourselves on the front steps a few minutes later, away from the music and the buzz of the party. You were both ready to call it a night after that. Jake sits next to you, arms resting on his knees, smiling softly.

“That was the most cursed performance I’ve ever seen.” you chuckle, bumping your shoulder into his.

“I’m just relievee it worked so well.” Jake smiles, returning the action of endearment gently.

“I’m still speechless. I think you might’ve scared him into deleting his Instagram.”

“Nice,” he exhales slowly, but there’s something lingering behind the smile, a tension that hasn’t quite left him. “I just… I didn’t like how he was talking to you.”

You glance at him, and for a moment, he doesn’t meet your eyes.

“I know I’m not… great at this stuff,” he says, voice lower now. “But when I saw him – saw you and the way you were cornered, I couldn’t think straight. I was scared.”

He finally looks up at you, jaw tight with the memory. “Not that he’d hurt me. That he’d do something you couldn’t laugh off. That I’d be too late to stop it.”

There’s a pause, the air between you charged.

“But I knew I had to do something. Because I like you. And I couldn’t stand the thought of you not being safe.”

Your heart flutters at the honesty in his voice, rough with emotion and sincerity.

“I like you too, Jake.” you smile, soft and sure. “Even if your use of internet slang is objectively awful.”

He smiles, the kind that lights up his entire face, and pretends to be offended. “Hey, I’m improving.”

“Yeah, I can tell. You’ve gone from absolute zero to mildly impressive. That’s, like, a major thermodynamic shift.”

And before either of you can overthink it, you lean in to kiss him. It’s a little shy, but it’s real. He kisses you back, and you can feel his lips curving upwards against yours.

He blinks when you pull back, momentarily stunned, then breaks into that smile you’ve come to crave.

“So,” he says, sounding a little breathless. “Does this mean I’m officially online?”

“Welcome to the internet, Jake.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.

The physics room looks the same as always: buzzing fluorescent lights, too much dust, and that faint smell of old carpet and blackboard chalk.

But it feels different now.

Jake’s already there, of course. He’s got a coffee waiting at your usual seat. There’s a new sticky note on your side of the desk, Reserved for: Meme Consultant + Girlfriend (hopefully).

“You’re really committing to the title, huh?” you say, plopping yourself down next to him.

Jake looks up from his notes, his face lighfing up at the sight of you. “I’ve decided to embrace my new era.”

“Which era is that?” you raise an inquisitve eyebrow, unable to suppress your own smile.

Jake pretends to think.

“Boyfriend-slays-with-vectors-core?” he offers.

You laugh, then steal one of his pens.

As you open your notebook, you find something tucked between the pages: a small printed meme. A pixelated frog in a physics lab coat, next to text that reads: My love for you defies Newtonian mechanics. It’s accelerating.

Your mouth hangs open in awe.

“I made it myself,” he says proudly. “Be honest. Is it giving?”

“You’re such a nerd.” you laugh, placing a kiss on his cheek.

“So you’re saying I’ve progressed to stage five?”

“Stage five of what?”

He taps the sticky note beside your coffee. “Terminally online. Emotionally attached.”

You smile, cheeks warming. “You’re hopeless.”

Jake shrugs, his grin widening. “Worth it.”