Lan Wangji is going to die. Lan Wangji is going to die, and it isn’t even a hyperbole; she is entirely ready to collapse in her seat like a marionette with its strings cut off. The vibrator inside her pulses, and Lan Wangji can barely stop herself from lurching forward and letting out a loud groan. She resists a glance at the row of seats behind her; she knows that Wei Ying is there, watching, and she isn’t entirely sure she isn’t going to come at the sight of Wei Ying’s lazy little smirk. Truly—the things Wei Ying has made her do—shameless. (or; Lan Wangji wears a vibrator to class at the behest of her fuckbuddy Wei Ying, and it ends up a lot hotter and more emotional for both of them.)

Wei Ying was sprawled on the floor in front of the oscillating fan when Lan Zhan got home from work.

Mingjue hadn't even realised Meng Yao still had her number when she texts to invite herself over at eleven o'clock at night.