#Arts and Humanities for Every Student

[nymphaeya]

finally watched every pov and the current season's spreadsheet has now begun lol

[sugarverse]

Hiii! I was wondering if I could request either long or short fic about Tenya Iida. Likes it can be set in a modern setting where's he's a senior college student who's majoring in business and he has to take one more class to get his degree. It just so happened that the class is in the art building, and it is figure drawing (aka nude drawing) . Since he's just now hearing of the extra class he has to take, he's suddenly shocked when the model is an old friend of his from back home, whom he had a childhood crush on. Not only does his feelings for her come back, but he also has to have 1 on 1 section with the model for educational purposes. I kinda want it to be smut and fluff or however you see it fit. Anyway, I hope it's enough+

hi babe! omg I love this idea I kinda went a lil crazy and made it way too long. I hope u enjoy :)!!

𝘿𝙧𝙖𝙬𝙣 𝙏𝙤𝙜𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧

word count: 3.5k

mentions of: This is really just the fluff portion of it, kinda suggestive bc he pops a boner and leads to sex in part two. I think I’m going to make a third part simply so the two of you can go on a genuine date andsotheresmoreiidaxblackreaderouthere.

a/n: hells yeah that’s enough, hopefully I did what ya asked and so sorry I went overboard I have serious problems. here’s the smut part bc a 6.7k fic is doing too damn much but i can’t stfu my fault gang

moodboard here!

Tenya Iida.

4th year, Senior in college majoring in International Business and minoring in Spanish at Angelwood College of Arts and Sciences.

The visual arts building had only been a few minutes away from the business side of campus, which he gladly enjoyed the walk. This spring all he needed to finish was two gen ed classes, the rest revolved around his major and minor. His counselor helped set up his ‘missing’ classes before winter break considering he had to fly back to Japan to see his family for the holidays. He was ecstatic to learn all he needed was an art class with lab and a communications class. 

When he asked what the class entailed, all he was met with was “beginner artists learning anatomy.” It didn’t sound difficult, just draw what you see. It would be nice to try something new anyway. He was not much of an artist but like all things Tenya does, he planned to give this class his all. The first week had been pretty easy, learning how to draw what you see with the use of models, shapes, and lines. Nothing too hard to follow. He would practice drawing his friends on the sketchpad he bought specifically for the class as a form of studying in the free time he had.

He neverminded it for the most part, excelling his knowledge in different countries in his free time to get better at his major. Sure they could teach you the technical way to do things, but in the end, everyone is still human. It would be inconsiderate to do business with a country and know little to nothing about their culture! It took almost two weeks for him to finally be able to even start the art project anyway.

As time went on and the January snow grew less and less, it was time to start their first real project of the semester. One on One figure drawing. The class needed to fill out a form explaining their free hours due to the limited art space and everyone's different schedules. Tenya happily filled it out when it was posted, continuing to work on class work from the library so that the lecture room could also be used for said project.

Their professor had explained that in-person class would remain on Mondays and Thursdays. It just worked out better for the models and students to have so much space.

He made the small walk over to the arts building for his last class of the day, a small shine in his glasses as he entered the white light of the room. The walls were anything but bare, artwork and unfinished projects sat in every corner of the room. Paint racks, canvases big and small, even stacks of unused clay. There was a stool sitting on a small platform in the middle of the room, assuming where the model will sit. 

He stood next to the stool for a moment, looking up at the grey February sky through the skylight. The natural lighting was great, almost like a spotlight. He adjusted the lights in the room a moment, dimming them slightly so the white light hadn’t been so harsh on his eyes. He headed over to a more organized table, setting out the art supplies how he liked. He knew he was early, but he wanted to make a good first impression. What’s better than being on time?

He pulled out his laptop, checking that the few assignments for today were done and submitted. A small frown tugged at his lips as he realized he hadn’t finished something completely, typing in the last few answers. He always double checked, technology was reliable.. When it wanted to be. He couldn’t hear the shuffle of slippers against the floor over his typing and frankly, loud thinking. 

He could see someone walk past in a teal robe representing the university's colors. Glancing up from the computer to give the model a proper hello, Tenya opens his mouth to speak but pauses. 

“Y/n?” He asked, almost in a whisper in case he was wrong. A small look of confusion caused him to tilt his head to the side slightly. He hadn’t been able to see you for awhile with such busy schedules, but he knew your silhouette by heart. 

You turn at the sound of your name, mid sliding off the slippers and fumbling with the gold silk of the belt. “Tenya?” You smile, asking as you turn to slide your shoes back on and quickly shuffle your way over to him. He felt his face burn red, frozen in place for a moment with his jaw slack. He stood as if needing to detach from the seat, smiling at your happy demeanor and your quickness to wrap your arms around him. 

“It is you! I know those shoulders from anywhere!” You beamed, feeling his hovering hands slowly place themselves on your back to return the hug. He was very hesitant, simply because you were only in a robe. You pull away, hands resting on your hips and giving him a big smile. “Now what are you doin’ taking a figure drawing class, Mister businessman?”

He let out a sheepish chuckle, “I needed an art credit, W-What are u doing here?” He never had any classes with you at Angelwood, A few honors classes and gym in highschool but other than that, nada. Throughout the course of growing up, your interests drove you to different classes. 

However, classes don't matter when your families are as close as yours and the Iida family. Shared Holidays, playdates, game nights.. It wasn’t like you were some stranger. You both always made time to hang out a few times during the year to catch up without the family just to give a real check on each other. It was his favorite, almost like a mini holiday to talk to you.

He loved spending time with you. You were smart, articulated and incredibly creative. You never took slack from anyone.. Even in middle school he can remember you being the one to stand up and say something when things weren’t right. You were headstrong and determined in anything that you did.. Art majors always get a lot of grief but you never let that deter you. And that was admirable in itself! ..And he had always thought you were so pretty. 

He felt like a kid again, heart feeling as if it’d beat out of his chest at the mere sight of you. It had been around Halloween the last time he saw you, and here it was. Almost Valentine's day.. Still as pretty and bright as he remembered. Your next hangout wasn't for another month or so, so it was nice to see you sooner than that.

“I'm your model, silly!” You head over to the stool, continuing to speak. “The art department asked if I’d help in modeling and I said yes! People were too scared to sign up for the most part. I’m surprised this is the class you picked. Did you want to learn how to draw people?” You slide your slippers off once more, untying the cute bow on your hip that held your robe shut. 

Suddenly the room was very hot and he couldn't breathe. Now his heart really WAS beating out of his chest. He quickly did a 180, shielding his eyes and removing his glasses for extra measure. “WHY– do yoU have.. nothing on underrrrneath?” He croaked, voice cracking as his tone raised slightly.

You tilt your head at such a question, the gears clicking a little later than they should have. “Figure drawing is um.. Nude drawing, Tenya. You didn't know that?” You slide the robe back on, giggling at the flustered man across from you. You could see his shoulders tense, shaking his head slowly.

Now how the fuck could he have missed that.

“I um.. No, I didn't. I thought that it was.. I don't know what I thought. My counselor picked it for me and I.. Most models we've used so far have.. had skin colored undergarments… On.” He let out a nervous laugh, keeping his glasses off. He turns around, cleaning them with the end of his shirt but refusing to look up at you. He needed to mentally prepare his brain to be professional in a situation like this. Not that he minded the glance, he just never thought this would be how..

You prop your feet onto the edge of the stool, interrupting his thought. You held your knees up to your chest so he couldn’t see anything but your bare legs. “Oh Ten, I’m sorry! I can ask someone else to-”

“No! I am perfectly.. capable. It's professional and I can be.. professional..” He put his glasses back on, hand refusing to be steady as he did so. He let out a shaky sigh, smiling at you and finally looking at you once more.

You let out a small laugh at the blush on his cheeks. He was so handsome, but to see him so flustered over little ol’ you? It made your week. “We can start slow, that might help.” you slide the robe down your shoulders, slowly putting your legs back down so he could see your robed torso once more. You stopped at the top of your breasts, letting your collarbone show. “Do you have any specific poses..?” You ask quietly, trying to hold back your amusement.

He sits down, red faced and completely flushed. A nude model.. jeez. From sleepovers to recess, studying together to graduating, and now almost graduating for the final time together. That's something you don’t get to have in every lifetime. But why do these thoughts keep coming back to him now? 

There was no way he could still have romantic feelings for you. He’d never put your friendship at risk like that!

..right?

“I um.. yeah, small.” He cleared his throat, “Could you um.. Could you stand slightly off of the um.. Almost like getting up?” He fumbled over his words, staring at the empty paper as if he could burn the quick image in his brain onto the page to get the embarrassment over with. He sighed once more, trying to focus as he began sketching circles and lines as a starter sketch of the pose he wanted.

“When you need to draw a certain part I'll move it, Sound fair?” You ask, resting one foot onto the stool and one onto the ground. Your hand gripped the seat as your butt sat on the edge, similar to when people do that supposedly hot thing where they throw their head back and pull some weird rope to have water get poured on them. 

It was second nature at this point for people to see you. Of course some of them were flustered and it was pretty awkward at first, but normally not to the point of stuttering and stammering. It wasn’t often that you saw Tenya fall apart, but this was way different. Especially considering you flashed him without warning. He was one of the most endearing people you had ever met, there was no way you would have done that without proper context.

He could only nod in response, not wanting to further make a fool of himself. Lightly tapping the pencil against the table, He looks up at you. “You can um.. re.. remove the top part, y/n..” It was hard to simply draw your arms and collarbone without including the robe, so you might as well rip the band-aid off and start with the top. 

You nod, dropping it happily and letting the robe pull around your hips and between your legs. You close your eyes, facing up toward the skylight in an attempt to make him less nervous. “Sorry for flashing you at first, I would have explained but I assumed you had already known..?” You laugh quietly to yourself at your own mistake. Why would someone like him even take this class if he knew what it actually entailed?

And God, did he feel like a pervert staring at your chest like this. The boner poking his thigh almost immediately didn't help, making it even harder to concentrate. Way to keep composure. He pressed his lips together for a moment before speaking. “I had no idea, I’m sorry for my r..reaction.” He answered, stopping the pencil tapping to actually begin sketching more than just circles and lines. He hadn’t meant to yell, but he felt like he was close to passing out. 

“I think it was a pretty valid one.” You send a reassuring smile his way, seeing him send you one right back. Trying to ease the mood, you look back up at the ceiling and close your eyes to avoid staring at the ugly overcast sky above you. “How was winter break? You get to go home and see your family? How are they?” 

His smile grew wider at your question, scooting under the desk a bit more so that you hopefully wouldn’t notice his body reacting. “They’re great, Tensei is getting married soon,” He sounded excited at the thought alone, incredibly proud of his brother. 

“And my mother has started a hobby making soap, if you can believe it. She sent me some to bring back one that smells like lavender and another that smells like oranges mixed with I believe she said papaya.? She made a coconut smelling one for you– I was going to give it to you the next time we saw each other,” 

The sound of his sketching stopped and started as he spoke, giving your body small glances as he tried to study each part of your upper torso. The way your stomach creased, The way your shoulder was slightly lifted causing your collarbone to be more prominent, the curve of your breasts.. “How was your Holiday, y/n?”

“No way, Tensei is getting married?!” You accidentally stop posing, fully facing him in genuine shock. The robe was still covering your lower half, you had tied the belt to avoid accidentally flashing him again but here we are. You watch his face become even more red, eyes very obviously not meeting yours but still like a deer in headlights. 

You quickly get back to posing how you were, “Sorry Ten, That's amazing!! I hope everything goes smoothly for him and his soon to be wife.. And tell your mommy I said thank you for thinking of me. I can't wait to try it!”

A smile stayed on your lips as you thought about the times you’ve spent in the Iida household. His mother always had the best candles and incense burning, you were positive the soap would be the same. “My family is up to the same old shit, you know them..” You let out a small groan, the holidays weren’t an absolute disaster, but after not being home so long makes you remember why you aren’t going to school anywhere near home. 

“I did get some cool stuff for Christmas though! I got some new clothes and they got me a few art kits. You know, where it teaches you how to crochet? I also have a new diamond painting kit, I haven't opened either yet because it's just been so busy.” You replied, tapping your fingers on the side of the stool where your hand sat. 

You look up once more, this time because the skylight was beginning to be covered in snow. You watched as it fell, thinking back to old times when you and Tenya would spend the last three major holidays with each other. You’d always make sure to trick or treat together, your families have been sharing Thanksgiving for as long as you can remember, and spending the night in your basement on Christmas eve to wait for Santa until you were both too old. Then instead of waiting for Santa, you’d all eat at least one meal together on Christmas day. Sometimes homemade breakfast, other times a small trip to IHOP or Waffle House.

“God damn it.. It’s snowing again..” You let out a small laugh, looking over at him over your shoulder, fingers still tapping away at the base of the stool. “Hey Ten, Do you remember when we used to have those big snowball fights? The one near Red Fern?” 

“Of course I do! You refused to wear any kind of gloves and my mother would make you at least put socks on your hands so you didn’t get frostbite!” The two of you shared a small laugh at the memories of being young and dumb.

“Gloves always made my hands too itchy! They still do– But I kicked your ass in snowball fights with gloves or not.” You retort, a smirk appearing on your face. “Ice queen y/n of everything.” You could remember the insane snowball fights the neighborhood kids would have every. time. It snowed. If there was enough to make a few snowballs, there was enough to start a war. Tenya was always on your team, but it never stopped you from throwing a few his way. The ‘winner’ was King or Queen of the hill and first to sled down, which often enough was you.

“Remember when you almost broke my glasses throwing one right at my face?” He snickered, watching your smirk turn into a small pouty frown. He knew you didn’t mean to, that same day you helped your mom make cookies for him and his family as an apology, even though he wasn’t upset to begin with. But you knew it could have broken his glasses and you would be devastated if you were the reason for it. You were a real sweetheart, even if you had a weird way of showing sometimes.

“Hey! You know that wasn’t on purpose, I felt really bad after! I even let you get me back!” Which was true, but he never aimed for your face. Always a spot on your fluffy coat, never your legs because you hated your pants being wet… and a face shot just felt wrong to him. 

“Yeah, Yeah. I remember that part too,” He smiled to himself. “Those were really good times.. I remember Tensei always bringing us hot chocolate and we’d sit on your porch and draw things in the snow..”

“Oh! And when we’d come back all wet and mom already had spare clothes in her hands because she didn’t want it on the carpet. We’d put on too big clothes just to sit and watch Christmas movies..” You missed those times. But they never really had to stop, you two could have a huge snowball fight after this if you wanted to and the snow stuck. Was he too grown for that? Would it even sound fun to him?

“Do you still watch A Year Without Santa Clause every year?” He asks, breaking your train of thought. You nodded quickly at his question, grinning like a maniac. “Of course I do! And I watch Charlie Brown’s Christmas, Rudolph The Rednosed Reindeer.. And sometimes Spongebob's Christmas Special. Do you still watch old Christmas cartoons?”

“Why wouldn’t I? Don’t wanna ruin tradition.” He answered, pressing his lips together slightly as he stared down at the paper. You can tell he freezes a bit, the sound of his scribbling coming to a stop. He set the pencil down, rubbing the sweat of his hands onto his thighs.

 “You can um.. remOove-..” He quickly cleared his throat, “The rest.” He let out a disappointed sigh at his inability to keep composure. This wouldn't be half the problem it was if it was someone else modeling. But this is you we're talking about. 

“You sure? If you need a minute we can take a break, honey.” You gave him a sympathetic look, still smiling but this time more.. warm. The kind of smile someone gives to another when they genuinely care for them. Or love them for that matter. He adored it, it was the same smile you'd give him when saying he needs to take a break, the same smile you give him when the two of you out to get coffee and catch up. The same smile he's fallen for many, many times. 

But to tell you the truth? It’s driving him crazy. All of this. Was driving him crazy. No matter how hard he tried to be professional, he could stop his wandering mind. You were a goddess. What else was there to do besides take a break and hopefully release some steam in the bathroom or something. Completely inappropriate, but the pain from being hard for so long was starting to cloud the best judgment. 

He looks down at the sketch so far, then back to you as he rubbed his hand upward against his face. It pushed his glasses up, causing them to be crooked when going back down. “I um.. I think I do.. need a minute.” His voice died out as he watched you slide the robe back on, words failing him because couldn’t think completely straight.

© if you like what you see please reblog! It means a lot and helps me out. Want more? Heres my m.list! I write for x black reader so throw me some requests :P my other account are icons and x black reader moodboards if you’re interested!

thank you @thecutestgrotto for the banners and thank you @fizzintine for coloring the top pic!

have a good day/night/whatever!

[smallfisheyes]

one suggestive paragraph hehe.

nanami kento who just doesn’t love you.

he tries. really. you are so easy to love, but he just can’t seem to love you more than admiration; more than the god-awful belittling role of a friend.

you are kind. he has seen you pick children from rubble. you had single-handedly halted an impeding panic attack that consumed the fushiguro boy. you pay out of pocket so that the children can do normal student activities: arts and crafts, team building activities, classroom and party decorations. he’s watched you be the most beautiful human that he has had the privilege of watching, defending innocents with, laughing with, but for some reason, he just can’t love you.

nanami kento who makes you cry because he says he loves you. trust him, he loves you so much, but as a friend. you had confessed your love for him. he broke your heart.

it was in the parking lot of your favourite post-mission meeting spot: the convenience store. (it’s family-owned, kento had said to you on your first visit as he gently took you by the elbow. it was his retreat. it would be yours, too. you cradled the side of your face, your one eye badly bruised and rapidly swelling. you’ll like it here, he insisted. i promise).

the son was at cash that dark morning. kento would get the egg sandwich and coffee, you a banana milk and noodles.

“i’m on a mission to try every flavour,” you had declared one night, feet kicking and humming into your first dinner.

you had shrimp-flavoured noodles that fateful early morning. it was around 2:00 a.m., two second-grade curses with combined techniques the reason for the late meal. the following day, nanami turned down the offer of a sushi lunch with shoko. he wouldn’t be able to stand seeing shrimp tempura.

nanami kento who understands why you can no longer look him in the eye when you pass each other in the halls. you walk a tempo faster, a cold wind whisked up from your sudden distance and speed. it stings as you pass by. it stings when you rush to exit the staff room when he enters. he only dares to watch you when your back is turned and retreating far, far away from him. something under his sternum aches. he misses you. don’t you know?

it’s so hard to avoid him. he’s so big and he’s everywhere. he’s at work, he’s in the staff office, he’s in your mind. curses, he’s always in your mind.

before, fleeting images of nanami passed by. his small smiles. the big ones you managed to pull because “your humour is so childish,” so ridiculously stupid, but so stupid it makes him laugh anyway. the rumble of his voice that soothes you to sleep, especially the hard nights.

there are also the nights that your hand sneaks below the covers, then the hem of your pants, and thoughts of him doing less than innocent things run like a leaky faucet. it floods your mind, and suddenly, you can’t sleep. the only solution is to keep going until you’re tired. yes, that’s reasonable. besides, how could you not, not when he looked like that.

“what’s with you?” nanami would ask the next morning, then the morning after that, then every morning. it took you about half an hour some mornings (then most) to look him in the eye, your hands trembling around the mug he handed you. did he do something wrong? did he make you uncomfortable? should he back off? (or get back on?). stop thinking like that.

so, why can’t you seem to hate him?

you have seen him pick children from rubble. you have watched nanami perform four black flashes in succession during the black parade when it mattered most: students injured left and right. he pays out of pocket for lunches: yours and the students, with an exception of gojo. (he has a black card, kento ranted into his black coffee. he doesn’t need charity, just an ego check). you’ve watched him be the most beautiful human that you’ve had the privilege of watching, fighting with, laughing with, but for some reason, you love him and he just can’t love you.

if he does not love you, you fear who he does love. would she have long hair? short? curly hair? straight? does she have an excellent taste in fashion? is it more refined or street fashion? lolita or office-type? does she stand taller than you? is she funnier? does she have a million degrees and you’re out on the field doing the exact job nanami despises and fears? is she skinnier? prettier? the woman he would love (loves?) would just be better. he deserves better.

you cannot blame nanami kento for not loving you.

unknowing to him though, he does.

nanami kento stands at the till at the (your) convenience store.

“where’s your buddy?” it’s the son today, the one in desperate need of a haircut. he looks to be in his twenties. he scans nanami’s items: egg sandwich, transparent bandaids, a single carton of banana milk.

“by buddy, if you mean my partner, she is not with me,” nanami notes.

buddy. nanami wants to scoff. what an odd way of describing you.

“sorry, man.” the boy holds his hands out in apology. “didn’t realize you guys were together.”

there is a brief shock that pulls at nanami’s eyes. they widen, his mouth narrowing. together. why was that a less odd way of describing you?

nanami doesn’t notice his chest rising and falling rapidly. “she is my partner at work,” he corrects. he speaks in a murmur, eyes downcast. he studies the yellow carton on the till counter. banana milk. he didn’t even like it that much. a childish drink; childish humour. so full of energy but only experienced by a select special few. (why did you think he’s so special?)

“hmm,” the boy hums. “thought you guys were together. she seemed super into you. she looked at you like,” the boy shrugs his shoulders nonchantly, pressing buttons on the till screen, “like you meant a lot.”

nanami’s stomach sinks. he has to be the worst.

the convenience store bell tolls when nanami exits, paper bag in hand. the coolness of the night hits him. from this far out, he can see the speckle of the stars.

partner, nanami muses. the name suits you. it suits you and him: a pairing. together, as friends.

but not for long.

sorry guys but does anyone else wonder what would happen if nanami didn’t love you? and you love him? i do it all the time lol. if i feel it y’all have to feel it >:)

also it’s 2:00 am here please excuse the thought vomit.

[kxsagi]

hihi how r uuu, uhm i’d like to request aaaaaa like idk a series of odd compliements reader gives the bllk boys they didn’t know they needed like uhm idk “I love the way you floss” or smth like that. i’d also really like nesssss. Please and thank you

“𝐮𝐦… 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭?”

a/n: could not think of a better title idea HELP

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, bachira meguru, kaiser michael, shidou ryusei, and karasu tabito

isagi yoichi

you: “you look like the type of guy who separates his m&ms by color and then eats the most powerful-looking ones last.” 

isagi: “... thank you?” 

this man does not know what to do with that information. he’s touched?? confused??? you once told him, “your jawline is the only line i trust.” and he almost cried. 

he gets so flustered and honored every time. he literally started journaling them. 

one day you told him, “you look like if a golden retriever was in a tax evasion scandal.” 

and he was like, “... wait what?” 

itoshi rin

you: “you give off the energy of someone who’d survive a horror movie just by being too emotionally unavailable to die.” 

rin: “what the hell is wrong with you.” 

but deep down, this man thrives off your madness. he will sit in silence for 10 minutes and then mumble: “i would survive a horror movie though.” 

you once told him, “you remind me of the moon. distant, cold, and capable of controlling tides and my mood swings.” 

he was silently smiling for the rest of the day. never admitted it. 

itoshi sae

you: “you look like you’d ghost me for 3 days then show up with a smoothie like nothing happened.” 

sae: “i’ve literally done that before.” 

you: “yeah i know. that’s why it’s a compliment.” 

he thinks you’re deranged. but he also thinks you’re funny. 

you told him he looks like a sexy ikea instruction manual and he actually laughed. 

but then you said he gives off “divorced stepdad with a dark past” energy and he was like “okay that’s enough.” 

nagi seishiro

you: “you remind me of a cat that accidentally became god.” 

nagi: “mm. sounds troublesome.” 

he doesn’t care what you say as long as you’re saying it to him while he’s lying on your lap. 

you called him “a walking paradox of soft boy and threat to societal productivity,” and he sleepily went, “cool.” 

he repeats your compliments to himself when he’s bored. 

“cat god… huh.” 

mikage reo

you: “you have ‘sugar daddy but emotionally available’ energy.” 

reo: “well damn. i– thank you?” 

you’re feeding this man’s ego like it’s on life support. 

he literally changed his phone bio to “emotionally available sugar daddy.” 

you called him “the human version of a platinum credit card with a conscience.” 

he was ready to marry you on the spot. 

bachira meguru

you: “you give off ‘feral art student who eats glitter’ energy.” 

bachira: “omg you get me.” 

he ADORES your compliments. the weirder the better. 

you once told him, “you’re like if van gogh and a raccoon made a baby.” 

he deadass teared up. 

he started complimenting you back in the same fashion. 

“you look like the reincarnation of a chaotic rainbow.” 

you two are an unstoppable force of bizarre love languages. 

kaiser michael

you: “you look like a man who knows he’s the villain but would still win in a romcom.” 

kaiser: “i am the romcom.” 

he is EATING your compliments up. 

you once told him, “you have the aura of someone who would sue god for character defamation.” 

he printed that. framed it. 

you told him, “you give main character energy, but like, the delusional kind.” 

he paused. “wait… what do you mean by delusional?” 

shidou ryusei

you: “you look like you’d propose during a bar fight with blood on your face.” 

shidou: “i totally would actually. baby you get me so well.” 

he’s OBSESSED with your compliments. 

he once made you sit down and repeat the one where you said he “radiates sexy chainsaw energy.” 

he made it his discord status. 

you told him he gives off “if chaos was hot” energy. 

he licked your cheek. you regret everything. 

karasu tabito

you: “you look like a guy who uses sarcasm to hide how much he actually cares. like if a middle finger could love.” 

karasu: “... shut up.” (translation: i’m blushing.) 

you once told him, “you have rizz that’s so potent it’s FDA regulated.” 

he snorted so hard he actually dropped his phone. 

you called him “the reason sarcasm was invented,” and he leaned in like: “say that again, but slower.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[ayumigotabittoolonelyquitted]

Nerd gojo x nerd reader! Headcanons

Nerd!Gojo x Nerd!You Headcanons

Part 2 ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

♡ Gojo Satoru, the prodigy. The guy who solves complex math problems in his head like it’s a simple 2+2. If someone ask him how, he’ll just smirk and say, “Just run your mind faster.” As if that makes sense.

♡ Gojo, the last-minute genius. He does his assignments at the last possible second but still gets a perfect score. People have accused him of using black magic. He doesn’t deny it.

♡ Gojo, the overanalyzer. Someone calls him a know it all as a joke, and next thing they know, they’re stuck listening to a 30-minute breakdown of why intelligence is subjective and how human perception affects knowledge.

♡ Gojo, the human stopwatch. He calculates the exact time people take to do the most random things:

Shoko takes exactly 3.2 seconds to process a joke before laughing.

Suguru sniffs his food for 2.6 seconds before deciding if it’s poisoned.

His teacher blinks an average of 18 times per minute when lecturing.

♡ Gojo, the walking encyclopedia. He acts like he knows everything psychology, physics, chemistry, math. Whether he actually does or not is debatable, but he’ll never admit he’s wrong.

♡ Gojo, the fact machine. He drops random trivia constantly, just to flex. “Did you know honey never spoils?” “Gojo, no one cares.”

♡ Gojo, the exam escape artist. He drags Suguru out to do something totally unproductive before exams, but somehow still tops the class while Suguru barely passes. Suguru has stopped questioning it.

♡ Gojo, the romance skeptic. Laughs in the face of love at first sight, listing the exact probability of it happening.

♡ Gojo, the worst date ever. He once explained The Art of War on a date. The girl left before dessert. He still doesn’t know why.

♡ Gojo, the secret romance reader. He totally didn’t get caught reading a romance novel in the library. And he totally didn’t like it.

Then, there’s you.

♡ You, the transfer student. No expression. No reaction. The class went dead silent when you walked in, as if even breathing would be too loud. The teacher praised you, and you just nodded like it didn’t matter.

♡ You, Gojo’s accidental rival. Sitting next to him was a nightmare. He asked the most stupid questions, and you ignored all of them. He assumed you were just an edgy wannabe. That made him laugh.

♡ You, the real threat. When exam results came out, Gojo was shook. For the first time, he wasn’t the top scorer. You were. And your reaction? A shrug. No smile, no satisfaction. That’s when you became interesting.

♡ Gojo, the forced study partner. He forced the teacher to make you his partner. You weren’t amused.

“Why do I need to do practicals if I already know the answer?” you questioned

“To see if it’s true or not, dummy.” He grinned, waiting for your response.

“If it’s in the book, it’s already true.” He had never wanted to strangle someone and marry them at the same time before.

♡ Gojo, the doomed fool. No one ever entertained his nerdy ramblings, but you? You matched his energy. When you started debating him on his own topics, he knew he was done for.

♡ Gojo, the AI skeptic. He swears you talk like a robot.

“That’s not an effective method.”

“This is scientifically incorrect.”

“Are you a government experiment?”

♡ Gojo, the challenge seeker. He constantly challenged you to competitions. You refused every time. “Not interested in unnecessary drama.” That hurt his soul.

♡ Gojo, the frustrated observer. He needed to see a crack in your facade. Anything. He studied your every move, trying to prove you weren’t an AI.

♡ Gojo, the mimic. He caught you muttering the pi table to regain focus. He immediately adopted the technique.

♡ Gojo, the sore winner. If he scored higher than you, he wasn’t happy he was annoyed. What’s the point if you don’t even care?

♡ Gojo, the reluctant believer. He told you about his hobbies with way too much excitement. You told him about yours, but your blank expression made him question if you were lying.

♡ Gojo, the paranoid calculator. He tried analyzing your movements, but everything about you was too precise. It freaked him out.

♡ Gojo, the not-so-subtle spy. Since you lived next to Suguru, he used that as an excuse to observe you. Every time he saw you, you were either studying or staring out the window like a lifeless statue. You caught him multiple times. Instead of yelling, you just stared at him. It was terrifying.

♡ Gojo, the insecure nerd. He nervously brought up Dungeons & Dragons, expecting you to be clueless. Instead, you knew everything. He had never felt average before.

♡ Gojo, the desk menace. He constantly poked you during class, hoping for any reaction. You just stared at him, unblinking, until he became flustered and left.

♡ Gojo, the insane conversationalist. He told you the wildest theories, and you listened like it was just another casual conversation. It drove him insane.

It took me 4 days to think of a gojo nerd scenerio 😭

And you GUYS HAVE TO REQUEST DO IT

Part 2 will be here

@naomigojo

[devilish-cherry]

ᨳ♡₊➳ how they react to your bad cooking

ᨳ♡₊➳ feat. gojo, geto, nanami, choso, toji, higuruma, shiu

ᨳ♡₊➳ crack, fluff

ᨳ♡₊➳ a/n: request from this ask!

₊⊹. Satoru Gojo

It started the day you proudly handed Gojo your newest culinary creation. A dish you confidently described as 'innovative'. Gojo, sitting at your kitchen table like he’s about to be on Hot Ones, stares down at the plate you just served like it’s an unexploded landmine.

You made spaghetti. Or, rather, a version of spaghetti that would legally have to be called 'Tomato-Inspired Pasta Chaos' in 36 different countries. The noodles are sticking together. The sauce? Questionable. Chunky in places it shouldn’t be chunky. Is that… is that cinnamon?

Gojo pokes it with his fork like it’s going to fight back. “So, like, was this cooked under normal human conditions? Like, with fire? Or a curse technique?”

“I followed a recipe!”

"Is it supposed to be smoking?"

"That's steam," you assured him. It definitely wasn't steam.

He takes a deep breath and dramatically scoops up a forkful with the bravery of a man about to bungee jump into an active volcano.

The second the food hit his tongue, he paused. Like, really paused. Statue-still. Then, ever-so-slowly, he chewed. And chewed. And continued to chew.

"Is it good?" you asked hesitantly.

He swallowed with a visible struggle. That bite physically transported him to the astral plane. He saw God. God told him to DoorDash. "Define 'good'."

₊⊹. From that day forward, Gojo developed an impressive array of tactics to cope with your cooking. He masters the art of distraction, pointing dramatically out the window, yelling, "OH MY GOD, IS THAT A CURSE?!" When you inevitably look away, your carefully cooked food mysteriously teleports from his plate into a potted plant or the bin. After a while, you begin to wonder why all your houseplants suddenly keep dying.

₊⊹. When Yuji enthusiastically comes over for dinner once, Gojo immediately redirects your culinary efforts onto the unsuspecting student. And Yuji, gullible and perpetually hungry, bites in, only to instantly make eye contact with you, looking betrayed, scandalized, and utterly tragic. Gojo laughs, completely unfazed, and offers a sympathetic pat. "It's a growth experience!"

₊⊹. At one point, your cooking gets so atrociously bad that Gojo begins miming Oscar-worthy death scenes every single time he takes a bite. He staggers across the kitchen floor, clutching his throat, gasping, "Tell... Megumi... I’m proud of him... and Yuta... he was always my favorite!"

You just sigh, rolling your eyes while he fake-collapses on the floor, legs sticking straight up like a cartoon character. After about ten minutes of complete silence, he peeks one eye open and whispers, "Are you grieving yet?"

₊⊹. Eventually, after another disastrous culinary experiment leaves Gojo dramatically collapsed against your kitchen chair, you cross your arms with an exasperated sigh. "Satoru, seriously, it can't be that awful every single time."

Peering at you over the rims of his sunglasses, Gojo groans theatrically, as if the very idea pains him. "You’re right. Sometimes it’s worse."

You glare at him, mock offended. "It's not THAT bad."

He scoffs, draping himself across your lap like a giant, overly dramatic cat. "The curses I’ve fought pale in comparison. But don't worry," he smirks, eyes twinkling behind his sunglasses, "I'll always heroically sacrifice myself to your cooking disasters. It’s what the strongest sorcerer does."

"You’re an idiot," you mutter, gently running fingers through his messy hair.

He smiles smugly, tipping his head back to meet your eyes. "Yeah, but I'm your idiot."

₊⊹. Suguru Geto

When you first present Geto with your cooking, he observes the plate with his typical calm, pleasant smile. The one that hides a thousand judgmental thoughts. His eyes flicker subtly to you, then back to the suspiciously grey lump on the plate.

"Interesting," he starts slowly, cautiously prodding the meal with his chopsticks as though testing a highly volatile chemical. "Did the recipe specifically mention this color?"

"Well... it said golden brown," you mumble sheepishly. "I improvised."

He nods gently, like a supportive parent acknowledging a child’s drawing that looks suspiciously like nightmare fuel. "Ah, creative liberty. Bold choice."

Then, without hesitation, he pops a chunk into his mouth.

You hold your breath, watching anxiously as he chews. But Geto’s face doesn’t change. Not a single twitch, not the slightest grimace. He swallows smoothly and nods at you approvingly. "Interesting texture. Reminds me of... something familiar."

₊⊹. From then on, it becomes painfully clear that your cooking doesn't faze Geto at all. No matter how horrendously bad your dishes are, Geto remains unfazed. One day, after tasting a stew with the exact consistency of glue, he remarks calmly, "You know, this might actually pair well with zaru soba."

When you doubtfully ask, "Really?", he smiles peacefully, eyes closed. "No, not at all. But it's the thought that counts."

₊⊹. At one point, he decides to teach you basic recipes. Simple stuff like miso soup or rice balls. Unfortunately, his instructions become increasingly cryptic and philosophical, like, "Cooking is much like life. Just throw it all together and hope no one notices the mistakes."

You stare at him blankly, ladle in hand. He smiles reassuringly. "Just kidding. Please follow the recipe exactly. I'm begging you."

₊⊹. You start finding mysteriously placed cookbooks everywhere. On your pillow, in the bathroom, even tucked inside your bag. When confronted, Geto merely shrugs, sipping tea elegantly. "It must be fate gently nudging you toward culinary salvation."

₊⊹. One night, Nanako and Mimiko visit. Your attempt at cookies turns into charcoal disks. The girls stare, wide-eyed and silently horrified. Geto, completely unfazed, picks one up and crunches loudly, maintaining full eye contact with you. "Crispy. Like edible charcoal. Good for digestion."

Nanako whispers softly to Mimiko, "He’s built different," as if witnessing a supernatural feat.

₊⊹. Finally, you corner Geto one day, genuinely confused and slightly insulted by his immunity to your horrible cooking. "Suguru, seriously, how are you never grossed out? Are your taste buds, like, broken?"

He looks at you fondly, calmly setting down his tea. "Nothing you could ever make would come close to the culinary horrors I have willingly endured. Trust me, this is child's play."

You gape at him. "What kind of culinary horrors have you experienced?"

He pauses, serene smile unwavering. "I have eaten things," he says carefully, "that make your cooking seem Michelin-star worthy."

You don't fully understand, but he seems so genuinely sincere that you grudgingly accept the compliment.

Geto pats your head affectionately, amusement glinting softly in his eyes. "But if it makes you happy, keep experimenting. I will endure it all. For science. And love, of course."

₊⊹. Kento Nanami

Nanami always imagined a peaceful life: coming home from work, cooking dinner, sipping whiskey, and peacefully reading a book. Until he met you. Now, coming home meant playing culinary Russian roulette and hoping tonight’s dinner wouldn’t send him directly to the ER.

The first time you cook for Nanami, he walks in looking uncharacteristically hopeful. He neatly folds his blazer, rolls up his sleeves, and sits at your tiny kitchen table like a polite guest at a hostage negotiation.

You place the food in front of him. “Tada!” you announce proudly.

Nanami’s eyebrow lifts slightly as he observes your creation with the intensity of a forensic scientist. He quietly adjusts his sunglasses, then softly mutters under his breath, “Well… it certainly has personality.”

You beam at him. He sighs internally, offering a solemn prayer to whatever god looks after tired salarymen-turned-sorcerers.

He takes a bite, chewing carefully. His expression barely shifts, except his jaw tenses slightly. Finally swallowing, he sets down his chopsticks, clears his throat, and nods solemnly. "It's edible."

“That’s it? Edible?” you pout.

He stares at you very seriously. “Edible is good.”

₊⊹. Your dishes become a battlefield. Each night, Nanami quietly eats, eyes hidden behind sunglasses, face unreadable. It becomes almost impressive how calmly he approaches your meals, treating them like yet another inevitable overtime shift. When Gojo asks how he survives, Nanami calmly responds, "My previous job prepared me for this level of suffering."

₊⊹. You ask for feedback once. Big mistake.

After thoughtful chewing, Nanami calmly delivers his verdict. "Your meal tastes like how overtime feels. Painful, unnecessary, and slightly disrespectful."

You stare, offended but strangely impressed. He pats your hand reassuringly. "I appreciate your effort. But next time, let's stick to recipes."

₊⊹. One night, after tasting yet another questionable casserole, Nanami hands you a fancy cookbook wrapped neatly with a bow. "What's this?" you ask, smiling sweetly.

"A gentle suggestion," he says plainly. "For the safety of our digestive systems. And relationship."

You stare blankly, and he nods solemnly, "It's a romantic gesture. Trust me."

₊⊹. You overhear Nanami murmuring quietly to himself as he suffers through another of your meals.

"Malaysia," he sighs wistfully, eyes distant and dreamy. "White beaches. Street food stalls. No kitchen appliances. Peace."

₊⊹. One night, after yet another tragic dinner, you sigh dramatically, slumping across from him. "Kento, I appreciate that you put up with this every night. Why haven't you left me yet?"

He pauses, carefully setting down his utensils, face impossibly serious. "If I survived being a salaryman and daily exposure to Gojo Satoru, surely your cooking won't break me."

You frown. "That's sweet but… rude?"

His lips twitch into a tiny, almost invisible smile. "Take it as a compliment. My continued survival speaks volumes about my dedication to you."

You can't help but laugh. He reaches across the table, squeezing your hand gently. "Besides," he murmurs, his voice surprisingly warm, "a life without minor inconveniences wouldn't be realistic."

You smile softly. "Are you calling me inconvenient?"

"Only your cooking," he clarifies immediately. "You, on the other hand, are extremely worth it."

You're stunned into silence. Nanami clears his throat awkwardly, avoiding your eyes, the tips of his ears slightly pink.

"Aw, Kento!" you tease, "That was almost romantic!"

He sighs deeply, pretending to be irritated. "Don't get used to it."

You lean forward, grinning smugly. "Too late."

He groans quietly, but the tiny smile that quirks his lips betrays him entirely.

₊⊹. Choso Kamo

Choso is… different. Sweet, earnest, adorably intense, but still fundamentally… different. Because even though he theoretically knows how being a human works, thanks to the vessel he took over, he still hasn’t quite mastered the whole actually existing as a human thing. And it really shows when it comes to your cooking.

The first time Choso experiences your culinary 'skills,' he sits stiffly at your dining table, staring blankly at the plate in front of him with a carefully neutral expression. You smile proudly at your concoction: it's grey-ish, ominous, and vaguely smoking, but hey, you tried.

He frowns slightly. "From my vessel’s memories, I remember food typically being... less aggressive?"

"Choso, it's not aggressive. It's innovative," you insist, holding a fork up to his mouth encouragingly. "Go on, try it!"

He stares suspiciously at the fork like it personally insulted his brothers, before dutifully opening his mouth. His eyes widen slightly, eyebrows furrowing as he chews slowly, cautiously. Then he swallows and takes a deep, slow breath.

"I see. My vessel's memories must be incomplete," he murmurs very seriously, meeting your expectant gaze. "I don't recall humans regularly eating food that tastes like cleaning agent?"

Your horrified look makes him pause. "Ah. Social tact. I apologize, I’m still adjusting."

₊⊹. Yuji stops by unexpectedly and reaches to try a bite from your suspicious casserole. Choso instantly intercepts his hand, expression gravely serious. "Little brother, you mustn't. Your human body can’t withstand this."

Yuji looks bewildered. You look betrayed. Choso calmly explains, "It's my duty as eldest to protect you."

₊⊹. Choso, genuinely concerned, secretly browses the internet for solutions. You catch him on your laptop at 3 a.m, gravely searching 'is cooking supposed to make people sad'.

You sigh dramatically and close the laptop gently. "Choso, please stop."

He nods solemnly. "I understand. Truth hurts."

₊⊹. Gojo casually jokes, "So, did their cooking try to assassinate you again?"

Choso instantly goes rigid, glaring intensely at Gojo. "Do not speak negatively about their efforts."

Gojo raises an eyebrow, amused. "Oh? So you enjoyed it?"

"Absolutely not," Choso deadpans. "But only I can acknowledge their food’s threats to my existence."

₊⊹. After an especially questionable meal, you jokingly sigh, "Maybe cooking just isn’t for me. I'm a failure."

Choso looks genuinely distressed, immediately reaching across to grip your hand. "Please don't be upset. Failure is natural. Humans fail constantly."

You blink slowly. "Thanks?"

He squeezes your hand encouragingly. "Yes. Failing is part of human charm."

₊⊹. Eventually, feeling guilty for repeatedly poisoning your sweet (if socially inept) partner, you timidly ask, "Choso, do you actually enjoy anything I cook?"

He takes a long pause, genuinely thinking, before responding solemnly, "Humans appreciate effort more than results."

You sigh. "Choso, that's not answering my question."

He tilts his head thoughtfully, dark eyes softening slightly as he looks at you. "I enjoy that you try. I believe that's very important. I will eat anything you create."

"That's sweet," you mumble shyly.

He shrugs earnestly. "It’s simple logic. If Yuji can withstand Sukuna, surely I can survive your cooking."

You burst into laughter, feeling strangely comforted that no matter how badly you fail in the kitchen, Choso will be there. Awkwardly and confused, but unwaveringly supportive.

₊⊹. Toji Fushiguro

Toji is many things. Cold assassin, ruthless gambler, the bane of the Zenin clan's existence. But above all, he's a man who appreciates good food. Meat, offal, a juicy steak grilled just right. Your cooking, however, is none of those things. Your cooking is the culinary equivalent of stepping on a Lego. Painful, distressing, and definitely not something you signed up for willingly.

The first time Toji sits down to dinner with you, he eyes the questionable lump of 'food' you've proudly placed before him, dark brows furrowing skeptically.

"You made this?" he asks, voice devoid of emotion, poking the dish suspiciously as if it might leap up and attack him.

You nod excitedly. "It's my special recipe!"

He leans back, crossing muscular arms over his chest. "Huh. Special. You sure that's the word you wanna use?"

You glare. He shrugs casually, picking up his chopsticks and bravely placing a bite into his mouth without hesitation. The moment he tastes it, you see a rare expression flash across his usually unbothered face.

Genuine shock.

"How is it?" you ask nervously.

Toji slowly swallows, locking eyes with you seriously. "Y'know, people've paid me good money to assassinate others. Next time someone hires me, I'm just gonna send you with this instead."

"Toji!"

He smirks lazily, raising an eyebrow. "What? It's more efficient than knives."

₊⊹. One afternoon, you discover Toji suspiciously packaging leftovers into small containers. When confronted, he smirks calmly, completely deadpan. "Selling 'em on the black market as poison. Client said it's more effective than cyanide."

You glare at him flatly. He chuckles dryly. "Relax, I'm kidding. Not about the poison part, though."

₊⊹. Even the worm-like inventory curse that literally lives inside Toji’s body refuses to consume your cooking. The first (and only) time Toji tries feeding it leftovers, the creature spits it back out immediately, squirming dramatically on the floor.

Toji just stares at it blankly. "Traitor," he growls.

₊⊹. After another catastrophic meal, Toji sighs, rubbing his temples like he just lost yet another bet. "Eating your cooking is like gambling. Low odds of survival, but damn, what a rush."

You roll your eyes. "Thanks."

He smirks. "Welcome. I'm starting to see why I keep losing all those horse races. I'm using up all my luck surviving dinner."

₊⊹. One night, after forcing down yet another questionable casserole, Toji leans back in his chair with a heavy sigh.

"You know," he begins dryly, "the Zenin clan threw me in a pit full of curses when I was a kid. Thought it was the worst thing they'd ever done to me."

You pause, staring at him. "And?"

He smirks lazily, dark eyes gleaming with wicked amusement. "Then I tasted your food."

You toss a spoon at him in outrage. He dodges smoothly, chuckling softly. "Relax. I’d still pick you over them any day. At least your cooking doesn't monologue about cursed energy."

You pout, reluctantly softening. He notices and reaches across the table, tapping your chin gently with his finger, voice low and teasing. "Besides, I thrive in dangerous environments. Keeps things interesting."

"You mean dangerous because of the food or dangerous because I'm gonna kill you if you don't shut up?"

He grins slyly. "Bit of both."

₊⊹. Hiromi Higuruma

Higuruma has always had a knack for calmly handling high-pressure situations. Defending impossible court cases, facing certain doom within cursed games. Piece of cake. But facing your cooking? That might actually kill him.

The first time you cooked for him, Higuruma’s weary eyes regarded the food with gentle apprehension. He politely inspected it from all angles, as though carefully examining an obscure piece of evidence.

You nervously watched him. “Is it alright?”

He paused thoughtfully, tilting his head, brows knitted slightly. "Interesting."

Your heart skipped a beat. "Interesting… good?"

"Interesting," he repeated carefully, "in that this dish defies several established laws of physics."

"It's supposed to be pasta," you admit, deflating slightly.

His eyes widen just a fraction, a hint of panic briefly flickering across his tired face before he schools his expression into a supportive, blandly reassuring mask. "Of course," he murmurs smoothly, gently patting your shoulder. "Let's... try it together."

You both eat silently. After an incredibly tense pause, Higuruma slowly swallows, sets down his fork, and politely coughs. "Creative," he states seriously. "Certainly breaks conventional culinary laws."

"Is that good or bad?" you ask anxiously.

He smiles tiredly, but fondly. "We'll call it a mistrial."

₊⊹. Higuruma starts keeping a small notebook near the kitchen, diligently taking notes after each new dish.

You sneakily peek one night, horrified at what he’s written: "Experiment #26: Soup (?). Temperature: Lukewarm. Flavor profile: Deeply unsettling. Observations: Possibly sentient."

You gasp loudly, "Hey!"

He looks up calmly, “It’s purely objective documentation. I’m sure the food appreciates my honesty.”

₊⊹. When asked how your meal tastes, he often sidesteps elegantly, offering cryptic answers instead.

"This stew," he begins thoughtfully, holding a spoon dramatically, "makes me question if objective reality even exists."

You blink suspiciously. "Hiromi. Did you just say my stew makes you dissociate?"

He nods gravely. "Precisely. Quite impressive, actually."

₊⊹. “Sometimes,” he murmured after a particularly unhinged omelet, “I think your cooking represents the postmodern condition.”

You stared. “What?”

He motioned vaguely with his chopsticks. “Chaotic. Absurd. Unapologetically hostile to meaning. I respect that.”

₊⊹. One evening, genuinely frustrated, you slump across from him. "Hiromi, just admit it. My cooking sucks."

He carefully sets down his utensils, eyes softening slightly. "Perhaps. But everyone has their strengths. Yours simply… manifest in areas other than cooking."

"Like what?" You challenge, skeptical.

He pauses, then gently answers, "Like persistence. It takes remarkable tenacity to continue creating edible tragedies night after night without losing hope."

You groan, laughing despite yourself. "That was the weirdest compliment ever."

He smiles faintly, one of his rare, genuine smiles, and quietly admits, "Truthfully, your enthusiasm makes even the most terrifying meals bearable. At this point, I’d miss it if you stopped."

You smile softly, genuinely touched. "Really?"

He nods solemnly. "Yes. My life would feel disappointingly stable without your daily culinary chaos."

"Aww," you tease. "You’d miss the food poisoning?"

He tilts his head, eyes glinting with quiet humor. "I’d miss the thrill of surviving it."

Laughing, you throw a napkin at him, which he catches effortlessly, setting it down carefully, lips twitching upward gently.

₊⊹. Shiu Kong

Shiu Kong is a man of questionable morals, minimal expectations, and plenty of street-smarts. In his line of work, he’s seen some serious stuff: curses, assassins, shady deals, Toji Fushiguro’s unpaid ramen tabs. But none of that could’ve prepared him for your cooking.

Your cooking is… controversial. Shiu knows it, you know it, the smoke alarm in your apartment (which screams in agony every night) knows it. Yet somehow, against his better judgment and entirely by accident, Shiu has become your unofficial food critic.

Shiu sits at your tiny table, suit jacket carefully hung on the chair behind him, cigarette extinguished (mostly out of concern that your food might spontaneously combust if exposed to open flame). He stares at the plate you present him, face unreadable.

“Wow,” he finally says dryly, raising an eyebrow at your oddly gelatinous creation. “Did your fridge explode, or was this deliberate?”

You pout indignantly, arms crossed. “It’s an authentic recipe from the internet.”

He hums skeptically. “Was the internet angry at you personally?”

You glare at him, and he sighs deeply, picking up the fork cautiously, as though it might detonate upon contact.

“I better get hazard pay for this,” he mutters, bravely stabbing a fork into the dish. He hesitates, briefly staring at the forkful as though making peace with his life choices, before finally taking a bite.

Chewing slowly, he nods thoughtfully. "Honestly? Tastes like crime."

You glare. "Excuse me?"

"Crime," he repeats casually, shrugging. "Illegal. Punishable. Possibly violates human rights."

"You're exaggerating," you mumble, arms crossed.

He gives you a genuinely amused half-smirk. "Sweetheart, I've worked with criminals for twenty years. Believe me, this is criminal."

₊⊹. From then on, Shiu’s sarcastic yet charmingly detached responses become a routine part of your questionable cooking.

He watches you cook once, genuinely puzzled.

"Strange," he muses out loud, "I always thought curse users were my most dangerous clients."

You look up, offended. "I'm not dangerous!"

He gives you a deeply skeptical look. "That's exactly what someone dangerous would say."

₊⊹. One evening, Shiu walks in, cigarette dangling from his lips. He pauses at your kitchen doorway, staring blankly at the mess. Pots, pans, unidentified stains everywhere. He whistles softly. "Wow, I’ve seen actual murder scenes cleaner than this."

You turn, unamused. "Very funny."

He shrugs easily. "I'm serious. You want me to call a cleanup crew, or is the carnage still ongoing?"

₊⊹. Shiu, ever the career criminal, genuinely ponders using your dishes to extort information from his underworld associates. After tasting another tragic attempt, he eyes you seriously. "You ever considered a side job in interrogation?"

You roll your eyes. He insists gravely, "I know guys who’d spill their guts after one spoonful."

₊⊹. Eventually, your bad cooking becomes weirdly endearing to him. Somehow, choking down your meals each night becomes his strangest, most irrational sign of affection.

"You don't actually have to eat this, you know," you say softly one evening, watching him calmly choke down burnt stir-fry.

He glances up, eyes surprisingly soft. "I've willingly babysat Toji’s kid. This isn't even top ten worst decisions I've made."

You laugh despite yourself. He sets down his fork and reaches out, awkwardly patting your hand with surprising tenderness. "Listen, I handle curse users. Compared to that, your cooking is... charmingly manageable."

You snort loudly, shaking your head. "Shiu, that's literally the worst compliment ever."

He smirks gently, voice dropping to a playful whisper. "Fine. Your cooking sucks, but you're kinda cute. Better?"

You grin, nudging him playfully. "Better."

He sighs dramatically, lighting another cigarette. "Just promise me you'll never cook professionally. I don’t have enough shady connections to bail you out from mass poisoning charges."

[one-selective-bitch]

ALNST MASTER POST - aka I link all the alnst media I know of so that you and I can find everything more easily (I'll update this post as more things are posted)

Official 🌠 ALIEN STAGE playlist on Vivinos YT channel (aka all the mvs)

Official 🌠 song playlist on Vivinos YT channel (mvs songs + covers)

Official twt @/Official_ALNST, if you don't have twt they post the same things on Vivinos YT community (posts regularly every friday)

Official ALIEN STAGE web site (https://alienstage_eng.creatorlink.net/)

Vivinos (@/vivinos_) and Qmeng (@/qmeng_ci || @/qmeng_ja) IG (they occasionally post official art)

Vivinos Patreon (some posts aren't behind a pay wall)

I personally made a yt playlist that has all ALNST in order (all the MVs, covers and Sub songs) and a Spotify one with all the songs

ALNST Sub (extra songs)

Love & Peace (VIVINOS - ALNST Sub: Hyuna Part.1)

Drunk & Party (VIVINOS - ALNST Sub: Hyuna Part.2)

Nowhere (VIVINOS - ALNST Sub: Ivan Part.1)

Take My Hand (VIVINOS - ALNST Sub: Hyuna Part.3)

Heart (VIVINOS - ALNST Sub: Sua Part.1)

Paratise (VIVINOS - ALNST Sub: Ivan Part.2)

Mi Vida Loca ( VIVINOS - ALNST Sub: Till Part.1)

Patreon Free Tier Posts

EP 06: Alien Stage Episode 0 Production Process

ALIEN STAGE Audition Behind the Scenes-

My Clematis: The First-Ever Harmony

A Legendary Comeback Coming Soon!

INTERVIEW WITH LUKA

Anakt Garden Child's Diary translation

translation

ALIEN STAGE MAGAZINE

IVAN INTERVIEW

Anakt Garden Outstanding Student Interview

Guardian Interview: Pet humans trending! Raising them well pays off!

Behind the Scenes of the ALNST 2nd Anniversary Pop-up Store

ABOUT <ALIEN STAGE : Drowing Bloom> ILLUSTRATION

Our diva (comic)

Arise and walk (comic)

Cheers! (OFF THE RECORD AU)

<wiege> Behind 2

The True Face (comic)

My fragile god, fading fast (comic)

The Witch's Decision (comic)

[raevalyntine]

art professor rafayel is head over heels for the sweet kindergarten teacher!

— fluff! (slight angst if you squint), meet cute, love at first sight, rafayel is an embarassing mess, slight humour

Professor Rafayel had always believed that art was the highest form of truth. Not facts. Not logic. Not numbers on a spreadsheet or tidy graphs in a presentation. Art. Messy, unpredictable, deeply human art. That’s what truly reveals the soul, in his opinion.

But this morning, truth felt like a cruel joke.

He sat at his usual spot in the quiet cafe just off campus, elbows resting on the table as the corner of his mouth tugged downward. Around him, warm sunlight filtered through aged windowpanes, washing the wooden floorboards in gold. It was the kind of light painters took inspiration from. The kind of moment he’d normally appreciate. Today, he barely noticed it.

His students, every single one of them, had disappointed him. Not because they weren’t talented. They were. Extremely so. But raw skill meant little when paired with indifference. His end-of-term evaluations felt like watching a gallery filled with hollow echoes of what could have been. Passionless strokes. Ideas with no teeth. Beauty without soul.

He had poured his heart into teaching, coaxing the fire out of them, week by week. But none of them had taken it seriously, even though they knew they had it in them.

So, understandably, his mood was a palette of stormy greys when the barista set his coffee on the table. A small comfort. One he had earned. He had just picked it up, savouring the warmth against his palm, when—

CRASH.

A blur of movement. A child’s head collided into him like a cannonball. The coffee jolted from his hand, the cup spinning mid-air, before crashing onto his coat and shirt in a sizzling, coffee-scented disaster. “Oh, come on—” Rafayel hissed, instinctively taking a step back, clutching his soaked coat. “Hey, watch where you’re going! My shirt…”

It wasn’t a shout, he wasn’t really angry. But it was sharp enough. Just sharp enough.

The boy—tiny thing with curly hair and big, startled eyes—stood frozen in horror.

And then... tears. Hot, fast tears rolled down the boy’s cheek, paired with loud wailings and people around him stared at them both. And Rafayel froze, napkins in hand, suddenly feeling like the villain in a children’s book.

“Munchkin!” The sound of soft urgency and concern cut through the scene like sunlight through clouds of grey.

And then you appeared.

You swooped down like a hero in a pastel dress, carrying the scent of something fresh and sweet with you as you gathered the sobbing child into your arms as he clung to your neck. “You shouldn’t have run off like that,” you murmured gently to him before turning your sharp gaze on Rafayel.

You looked like a spring morning—soft eyes, cardigan sleeves pushed up to your elbows, and–was that glitter? Smudged on your cheek? Rafayel didn’t even realise he was staring, taking in your beauty. But the lovely song that rang in his mind came to a halt when he met your eyes.

They were the most beautiful pair of eyes he’d ever seen, and he might have actually said it out loud to compliment you–if it wasn’t for the ice-cold glare you bore, glaring right through his soul. A shiver ran down his spine.

“He’s a child,” you said coldly. “You didn’t have to scare him.”

Rafayel blinked. “I wasn’t—”

You hugged the child tighter, shielding him from view, as if Rafayel were some kind of monster. Then you gave a slight bow of your head. A formality laced in frost. “Apologies for your expensive shirt,” you said, voice polite and pointed, before sweeping away with the crying child in your arms.

Rafayel stood there, blinking in stunned silence, napkins still uselessly balled in his hand. His shirt stuck to his ribs, his coffee was gone, and his dignity had clearly packed its bags and followed you out the door.

He let out a short, disbelieving laugh. Unbelievable.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

But that wasn’t the end.

It should have been—just a moment, a weird little blip in the day of an overworked professor. He tried to forget it. He should’ve forgotten it. But he didn’t.

Days passed, as days often do when one is too distracted to notice them. Lecture halls filled and emptied. Canvas stretched and dried. The world moved on. But Rafayel didn’t.

He could not stop thinking about you. It began with annoyance. Embarrassment, maybe. That damned coffee incident replayed in his mind more times than he cared to admit. The way you had glared at him with that fierce little frown, cradling the crying child like Rafayel had committed a grave sin.

He should’ve forgotten it by now.

But then his thoughts would wander. To the softness of your voice, so full of warmth and quiet authority. To the way your brows furrowed when you turned to face him, how your posture shifted between protectiveness and polite hostility. To the floral scent of your sweater, caught briefly in the air as you turned away.

You kept creeping back into his thoughts. And your face… flushed with protectiveness, your mouth tugged into a scolding pout… It was, and he hated to admit this, adorable. That word kept popping up in his mind along with images of you that he couldn’t shake off no matter how hard he tried.

Every time he tried to refocus—on grading, on prepping lectures, on painting in his studio—you appeared again, like an accidental brushstroke on canvas he couldn’t paint over. Who were you? And why was his heart still beating a little faster when he thought of you glaring at him?

He sipped bland instant coffee in the faculty lounge and sighed. He took off his glasses and buried his head into his palms. “I’m losing my mind,” he muttered.

It haunted him, all of it, in stupid little ways. A child’s laugh outside a studio would make him glance up sharply. He found himself sketching faces that looked suspiciously like yours in the margins of his sketchbooks, none of them quite right, which only irritated him more. And worst of all?

He couldn’t stop wondering… Was the child yours?

The thought gripped him with a strange, unfamiliar tightness in his chest.

You were so natural with the boy. Tender, calm, instinctively attentive. You had held him like he was your world, and Rafayel… Rafayel had found himself staring that day. Not because he pitied the child, nor because of the coffee still drying on his coat, but because, for one impossible second, he had wanted to be the one held in that kind of warmth.

The shame came next.

He was fantasizing over a stranger. A mother, no less. A woman who had every right to despise him for making a child cry. Which means there’s a possibility that you’re married. To someone who probably knows you well. He didn’t mind it at all, to be honest, if you had a child, if you were a single mother. But that was a selfish hope. He shouldn’t assume. He shouldn't have been so mesmerized by the curve of your jaw, or the softness of your eyes, or the way you tucked the little boy against your chest like you were protecting him from everything wrong in the world.

He scolded himself for it in the shower. While walking to class. While cleaning his brushes with unnecessary aggression. But no matter how many times he tried to paint over the thought of you, it always bled through again, like watercolour on unprimed canvas.

You were beautiful. And it wasn’t exactly about how you looked. But it was about how you lived. How you carried yourself. It was the kind of beauty Rafayel sought in his students’ work but so rarely found.

You had it, though. Effortlessly.

And it drove him mad.

He wanted to see your expression again. Not just the anger. (Though that, admittedly, had been its own kind of devastating.) But everything else. Curiosity. Laughter. Thought. Would you tilt your head when you listened? Would your smile start from your eyes? Would your laugh be as soft as your voice or bright like sunlight?

He wanted to know. And he hated that he did.

Because if you had a family—if you belonged in a world of bedtime stories and school runs and shared morning routines—then he had no right.

So he told himself to stop. To forget. To move on.

But in the quiet hours of the evening, when the studio fell silent and the scent of oil paint lingered in the air, he would close his eyes…

And still see you there.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Rafayel was beginning to suspect that something was deeply wrong with him. Not physically, though, his body still moved with its usual elegant precision, his mind remained as razor-sharp as ever. His students still whispered about him in the hallways as if he were a living myth (which, to be fair, he sort of was—young, brilliant, devastatingly handsome. He didn’t actively seek attention, but it always found him anyway).

But mentally, emotionally—whatever it was that governed the realm of self-control? He was unraveling.

It started innocently enough. He’d taken a walk across campus to clear his head. A quiet stroll. It should’ve been calming, meditative. But as he turned the corner past the administrative building, something in the air shifted. A pull. A tug in the chest.

And then he saw you.

You, standing in profile, your hair swept up in a soft updo that left a few rebellious strands trailing along your neck. You wore a pastel sundress, something impossibly light and airy, like you had been plucked from the corner of a painting—too gentle for this world, too vivid for his imagination.

Rafayel froze. His heart—traitorous, impatient thing—skipped once, twice. He blinked a few times, wondering if he was starting to see things. But you were still there. So he stared. Was this a dream? A hallucination conjured from days of internal obsession and artistic block?

You were speaking to someone at the admin counter, animated but polite. Your hands moved when you talked. Your laugh was oh so sweet as it floated in the air for half a second.

He was getting lost in just the mere presence of you.

And then—

“Professor Rafayel?” the admin officer called out, snapping him back into his body. “Ah, just the man! Come here for a moment.”

You turned. Your eyes met. Rafayel swore he felt the ground tip slightly beneath him.

He cleared his throat—coolly, professionally—and stepped forward, projecting the image of composed indifference. (He was, in fact, absolutely crumbling inside.)

The officer nodded at you. “This young lady has something that belongs to you.”

You looked a little startled. Then you reached into your tote bag and pulled out a small, weathered notebook. It was small and barely fit a palm, its leather cover worn and corners curled with age.

Rafayel stared at it. “My notebook?” he asked, startled. “I thought I lost it. I’ve already replaced it.”

You smiled sheepishly and offered it to him. “I noticed your name and the university logo on the inside cover. I didn’t realize it at first, but... the child who bumped into you picked it up off the floor. He didn’t tell me until later that day, and by then his mother had already come to pick him up.”

He took the notebook slowly, fingers brushing yours. It felt heavier than it should. A piece of him he hadn’t realized was missing—now returned by the person he hadn’t realized he missed this much.

You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, eyes lowering slightly. “Also... I wanted to apologize. For how I spoke to you. I assumed the worst. That wasn’t fair.”

But Rafayel wasn’t listening to that part. His mind had latched onto something else. Specifically your words: "His mother had already come to pick him up."

He replayed it in his head. Twice. Just to be sure.

Then he looked at you, eyes shining with unspoken hope.

“So… that’s not your son? You’re not married?” (Rafayel wanted to hit himself for not being able to wind down the hopeful tone in his voice.)

You blinked, startled. “Oh! No—no, not at all. I’m a kindergarten teacher. His mom’s a friend of mine, and she asked me to stay with him for a little while after class since she had to work late.”

He nodded, lips twitching upward. A slow, involuntary smile. “Ahh,” he said. “So you’re a kindergarten teacher… Cool, cool, cool…”

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously at the stupid grin on his face. “Uhmm yeah…” You didn’t trust that smile—not one bit. So you gave a quick, polite bow. “Well then. I’m glad you got your notebook back. Have a nice day, Professor.”

And you turned to leave. But before you could take another step, his hand instinctively shot out and almost, almost caught your wrist. 

You paused. Eyed him.

He retracted his hand quickly, flustered. There was a touch of pink on the tips of his ears now.

“Wait,” he murmured, recovering his composure. “What’s your name?”

You tilted your head, curious. “You want to know my name now?”

He nodded. “I already lost one important thing that day. I’d rather not lose another.”

You blinked at that. A blush painted your cheeks at his boldness. Rafayel thinks he has found his new favourite shade of pink, as you told him your name, shy but honest.

Then, after a small beat, you held out your hand. “Nice to meet you... again, Professor.”

“Just call me Rafayel, please,” he said, with a slight tilt of victory to it if you listened close enough. He took your hand. His fingers wrapped around your palm—warm, gentle. His grip lingered just a heartbeat longer than what was considered polite.

When you let go and walked away, Rafayel stood there like a man newly stunned. He looked down at the notebook in one hand, the ghost of your touch in the other.

Then, under his breath:

“Shit.”

He had forgotten to ask for your number.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

After that, he started drawing you on purpose, your name repeated like a mantra in his head. Over and over. Dozens of poses, all imagined. Laughing. Reading. Sitting in the sun. Holding a paper flower a child made. In that stupid pastel sundress he couldn’t erase from memory.

His desk became a shrine to your smile.

It didn’t help that his moods were now being held hostage by the idea of you. His students started whispering when he started complimenting them for sketches that he would usually frown upon. He was humming and skipping around class as he praised the students.

That was the day after he had a dream about you. A very sweet dream. One where you were holding a watercolor brush and laughing as he taught you how to blend colours. He’d woken up smiling like a lovesick idiot and had been whistling by the time he arrived on campus.

The next week, though? An absolute nightmare.

“Your composition is weak. This is emotionless. Do it again,” he snapped at one student, frowning at the canvas like it had personally offended him. He’s never mean, usually the most he gives are constructive criticisms, so this was also quite a shock to the class.

“Professor Rafayel,” one brave soul dared to ask, “is everything alright?”

He simply narrowed his eyes and muttered, “Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.”

The truth was… he missed you. He only had your name, but he’s missing you like he’s had your love and presence in his life for years. And that made him hate himself just a little bit more.

So he went back to the café. Every day. Like a fool.

He always sat at the same table. Ordered the same drink. Pretended to grade papers while secretly glancing toward the door like some tragic Victorian heroine waiting for her beloved to return from war.

You never came.

Until—

One afternoon, he saw them. A child, about the same age as the one who had spilled coffee all over his soul. Holding hands with what looked like his father. Same uniform.

Rafayel was on his feet immediately.

“Excuse me,” he said, in what he hoped was a calm, friendly tone (it was not), “could I ask which kindergarten—”

“What the fuck?” the father snapped, instantly pulling the child behind him like Rafayel was about to abduct them both.

Rafayel blinked, horrified. “No—I mean, I’m not— I just—”

“Get away from my son!” The man stormed away, shielding the child with the protective fury of a bear defending its cub.

Rafayel stood there, completely frozen, face flushed crimson.

He was mortified. He sank back into his chair at the café, sighing as he saw the father lead his son to leave the cafe.

And then… something caught his eye.

The back of the child’s shirt. A badge. Embroidered in neat yellow stitching: 

“Little Blossoms Kindergarten.”

Rafayel sat up straighter. His heart jolted. Victory. Sweet, stupid victory. He pulled out his phone, already looking up directions. Tomorrow…he was going to see you. He was going to see you, and charm you and hopefully muster up the courage to ask for your number.

And honestly? It was the most excited he’d been in weeks.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Rafayel dismissed his class fifteen minutes early. He claimed it was to “encourage self-directed studio time.” In truth, he needed to change. There were standards to uphold, even for potential emotional disasters.

He stood in front of the mirror in his office, staring at himself as if he were prepping for an art exhibition—he was the piece on display. He stripped out of his usual button-up shirts and heavy coat and chose a simple white shirt. Clean. Casual. The kind with just enough looseness in the collar to reveal a teasing sliver of his chest. He rolled up his sleeves just a tiny bit, revealing just a little of his forearm muscles. Not too intimidating, he told himself. Approachable. Soft. Slightly irresistible (There was no way you wouldn’t feel at least a tiny bit flustered in front of a man as handsome as he is, right?).

And he knew it worked. One of his students had fumbled her water bottle and dropped a very unnecessary “oh my God” when he turned around in it earlier.

But he didn’t care about the stares. Because today, he was going to see you again.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

The front gate of Little Blossoms Kindergarten looked like it had been hand-painted by actual cherubs. A white picket arch, cartoon tulips on either side, the gentle sound of squeals and giggles spilling out from the playground just beyond the fence. Children were climbing, sliding, chasing bubbles—pure chaos. But beautiful chaos.

Rafayel stood near the gate, trying to look normal. He smiled politely. The other kindergarten teachers glanced his way, exchanging subtle glances behind clipboards and ponytails. Who is this tall, handsome man with brooding eyes and an artist’s slouch standing way too close to the kids?

He smiled again. They narrowed their eyes.

He took a step back.

A part of him wondered if this was his breaking point. This was insane. He was a grown man. A professor. He had critiques to give, galleries to visit, canvases waiting for him in his studio— And yet he was here, practically vibrating with nerves outside a children’s daycare, hoping for a glimpse of a woman who smelled like frosting and had yelled at him once.

And then—

There you were.

Stepping out of the building, radiant in the afternoon sun. Your hair was tied up again in that effortlessly soft updo, and you were holding a small girl on your hip, her hands tangled in your cardigan. You said something to her, and the child giggled before you gently set her down and ruffled her hair as she dashed toward the playground.

And Rafayel…

Forgot how to function as a person.

You were so beautiful. Not in some obvious, sculpted way—but in the way that made his artist’s eye ache. Your smile was sunshine softened by cloud. Your laugh, quiet as it was, bent the light around you. And the curve of your neck, the delicate way you reached to brush a leaf off your shoulder—

God, he was so screwed.

You turned—caught him staring again. And before he could rearrange his face into something normal, you were suddenly in front of him.

Up close. So close.

You smelled like cupcakes. And marshmallows. And warmth. Your lips were moving—saying something, maybe a hello, maybe a what are you doing here—but he could barely process anything over the blood rushing to his ears.

And then it happened.

He panicked. And he blurted it. Voice coming out a bit too sharp, a bit too high.

“Date me.”

…

Silence.

You blinked. Your lips parted slightly in surprise. The birds had the audacity to chirp in the distance like this was a romcom and not his complete emotional collapse. Rafayel’s eyes widened. “I mean—! I didn’t mean—no, I did mean that—but I meant it more… poetically? Respectfully? Not so—aggressively—”

You tilted your head, hiding a small smile behind your fingers. And then—miracle of miracles—you blushed, a soft pink spreading across your cheeks like a dawn sky. (Rafayel was going to faint at how his favourite colour had appeared again.)

“I think,” you said gently, “a dinner date would be nice.”

Rafayel’s brain short-circuited. Oh heavens, he must have done something right in his past life to deserve this. You didn’t think it was possible for Rafayel to look even redder than before.

“Okay,” he said. Then again. “Okay… okay…”

You chuckled,  and then you suddenly held out your hand toward him.

Rafayel’s brain went into overdrive as he scrambled to understand what you’re implying. Oh she moves fast, does she want to hold my hand? Oh god I hope it’s not sweaty. Rafayel, overwhelmed and blinking rapidly, gently placed his hand in yours.

You laughed. Full-out, melodic laughter that made his knees weaken. He wished it was possible to immortalize your laughter into a canvas.

“No, no—your phone, silly!” you teased, swatting his hand playfully. “You do want my number, don’t you? How else are we going to plan this date?”

He scrambled, fumbling through his pockets like a man in a hostage situation. His hands were sweaty. Of course they were. He hated it. He’s a mess. What if you feel uncomfortable with how he’s acting? His thoughts are running a mile a minute.

But you took the phone calmly from his trembling grip, typed in your number, and handed it back. “There,” you said with a grin. “Now you won’t have to interrogate any more poor kids and piss of their parents.”

His eyes widened. “You knew about that?”

“The staff group chat has photos.” You winked. “You looked quite suspicious lingering at the cafe, the parents are already discussing what to do with you.”

Rafayel groaned, covering his face.

You giggled again. “Text me later… Rafayel.”

You turned, waving, and disappeared back toward the building.

And Rafayel—once the picture of composure, mystery, and sophistication—just stood there.

Clutching his phone. Heart pounding. The ghost of your laughter still in his ears. You’d left him speechless and weak again. He was beginning to think it wouldn’t be the last. 

And as the playground laughter faded behind him, all Rafayel could do was stare after you, utterly undone, already wondering how on earth he was supposed to survive falling for someone like you.

[thecordelialetters]

The Art of Science

Viktor x artist!fem!reader

WC: 1.4k

An unlikely meeting of a lonely scientist and a student of the arts finding the beauty in themselves and each other.

Viktor never considered himself beautiful. His dimly lit room contained the basic human needs, a bed, a desk, and a sofa, all provided by the academy. There were no big mirrors besides the foggy one that sat above his bathroom sink. He barely glanced at it other than to fix his bedhead. The bags under his eyes and paling skin were hard to look at. Viktor believed in his work; he couldn't care less about vanity when he poured his energy into the lab daily. In the same way, he cared about his looks he gave the same effort into cultivating relationships. Like the mirror, Viktor didn't spare a glance at someone who wasn't interested in conversing about his projects or his vision for a better world. You were the complete opposite. You took life one step at a time, a personification of stopping to smell the roses come to life. As an artist, you look to beauty in the everyday. Perhaps it was fate your paths crossed, usually, you never dared enter the science wing of the academy but you had finished your painting early and wanted to go on a stroll to clear your mind. It was intimidating being around the brightest minds in Piltover. Most of them looked down on your profession. What was art compared to science? They'd mock you as you passed them, believing their work was revolutionary and way more important than a simple painting. It unnerved you but you'd never show it. A string of curses left Viktor's lips at another failed attempt at the Hexcore. Progress day was just a few weeks away and he had nothing to show for. As he hit his hand on the table in frustration, the vibration pushed the lab door open. The light from the small room shone on your face as you passed. Hearing a man's frustration you cautiously peaked your head through the door. You couldn't see exactly who was in the room but you could make out his back. The man was slender but had broader shoulders clad in a maroon button-up and white vest. His hair was a deep brown that flitted out over his ears. The room was messy, not as messy as your studio. You could see the genius behind the papers strewn over the desks and the many machines being worked on with the smell of oil in the air. Feeling the unusual sensation of being watched, Viktor turned his head to the side finding the door had been breached open. With a cramped hand, smeared graphite from all the writing he had been doing, he grabbed his cane and made his way to close the door. He pushed the opening gently finding the scene of you sitting on the floor, scribbling furiously in your notebook. His amber eyes drifted over your, messy locks tied in a ponytail, paired with gentle features that harmoniously made your face look perfect if it wasn't for the paint smudges on your cheek. He took a peak at your sketchbook finding familiar figures on the page of him in the lab. "What are you doing here little mouse?" He spoke in his soft accent. You stopped sketching and looked up, eyes widening at his presence. "I um...I was just passing by. I'm (y/n) part of the arts department." You looked down at your drawing, cheeks flushed with embarrassment at being caught. The handsome inventor crouched in front of you to sit. He held out one hand, "May I see?" You nodded and pushed your book into his hands, eyes boring into his face. Even under the dimly lit hallway of the academy, he was much more attractive. The flicker from the bulbs danced on his high cheekbones and you swore you could see the specks of brown in his amber eyes. Viktor scanned the page in detail. It was fascinating how you were able to so accurately portray his figure and inventions. Every nutt and bolt and every curve of his body you conveyed beautifully. "This is amazing (y/n)." He gave you a small smile. You beamed shyly in response. Tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear you spoke up, "May I? Sit with you and draw you?" Albeit shocked at your request his eyes widened.

Frighted you might have scared him off you waved your hands, "If not its okay, I should be getting back anyways." You grabbed the book from his hand and shoved your supplies in your bag.

Before you could bolt away a firm grasp held onto your wrist. "You did not give me a chance to answer little mouse." He smiled gently looking down at you. "Come, sit next to me, I would love to be your muse." You smiled giddly and hopped up dashing into the lab. Viktor chuckled at your antics. He had not experienced meeting someone as sparkling as you. It was as if someone had collected a burst of a newborn star and embodied it into a girl. You carefully danced your way around the lab not wanting to knock anything over but also letting your curiosity draw you in. You turned to the sound of a chair scraping the floor. Viktor had sat down and began writing his research again. Dragging a chair next to him you position yourself at his side with enough space to give you the perfect angle of his face and upper body. The almost burnt-out candle on Viktor's desk cleared the way of the darkness while the two of you worked on your delicate craft in silence. The sounds of scratching pencils battled each other as your furious ideas filled the page. Feeling the way your eyes bore into his skin Viktor couldn't help but feel nervous. What if you actually wanted to leave and were staying here out of pity. Why would you want to stay anyways? He wasn't conversing with you nor was he doing anything worth viewing.

Unable to resist his interest any longer he turned to look at you. Your eyes met paired with the warmest smile he's received in a long time. Your smile made his heart flutter in a way that was concerning. Perhaps it was his condition acting up again. Silently you held up your notebook to his face. The breath in his lungs had dissipated. It was...stunning. Was that really him? The page contained 3 versions of himself. Every wrinkle on his face, the curve of his jaw, and even the bags under his eyes were present. Somehow you had made him look...decent, attractive even. "You flatter me too much little mouse, this looks far better than I do in person." You leaned forward pushing your book on the table. "No this is you. This is exactly what you look like." You brought up a slender finger and traced his features. "See this here? Is also here." One had felt his face the other pointed to different places in your picture. "You are beautiful Viktor." With a soft smile, the light flickered on your face showing the freckles that danced on your skin. "Well, thank you little mouse I like your drawings very much." You nodded and flipped the page to continue. The two of you worked in silence for hours. Neither of you spoke a word but the atmosphere felt like a home on a Christmas night. Quiet but comfortable, filled with some kind of magic. "I wish I had my watercolors." Viktor paused at your honey-smooth voice. "Why is that?" He questioned. His eyes fluttered back and forth over your figure. Fresh laundry, paint, and lavender filled his lungs as you let your hair down from your ponytail. "You have these gorgeous amber eyes that I just want to paint but I can't" You pout. Viktor laughed heartily at your confession. "Well, why don't you come tomorrow night. I will be here again and you can paint me." He took an insecure pause. "If you want of course." You nodded before looking at the time. "Oh my it's so late, I'm so sorry for keeping you. I should head back now." Viktor gently held your hand that laid on his shoulder.

"Do not worry, I was going to be here regardless. Actually, I would like to thank you, your presence was most enjoyable." You blushed and brushed a few locks of hair from Viktor's face. "Well, then I'm glad I could be of good company." Packing up your supplies you couldn't help but notice Viktor's disappointed face. With a smooth tear, you ripped the drawing from your sketchbook. Surprised he jumped up thinking you tore the picture.

"Here! Have it. It will be a promise I'll come tomorrow." Realizing you were giving the drawing to him, he gingerly held the drawing staring at the multitude of strokes that somehow compiled into his likeliness. He swore the room was growing warming, what else could excuse the heat filling his chest. "I'll hold you to that, little mouse."

Authors Note: This is currently unedited and a short but maybe Ill come back to it. I just got a burst of energy to write again.

[robin-evry]

What about a baizhu! Yuu, another yuu made into the school nurse lol

𝐓𝐖𝐒𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐁𝐀𝐈𝐙𝐇𝐔!𝐘𝐔𝐔 🌿🩺

The owner of Bubu Pharmacy and Qiqi's guardian, Doctor Baizhu is a master of the medicinal arts and the latest recipient of a generational contract with a white snake named Changsheng. He seeks to achieve immortality to ensure he is the last to ever bear his contract, saving potential inheritors and even Changsheng herself from the cost that comes with its power.

Nrc official doctor or nurse, and they are the best many students are wondering why are they at this school when they could be working at a hospital news flash Crowley doesn't want to lose them because how much profit they bring.

Baizhu!yuu is a very calming and serene individual, not always resorting to violence by far one of the most respected students ever.

Changsheng their familiar and assistant, is a snake that has the capability to speak but in truth changsheng is an adepti or divine beast that was in a contract with baizhu!yuu previous mentor and was passed down on them. Some rumors say that the reason for their miracle healing was because of changsheng.

Not to mention changsheng is sly and tends to expose baizhu!yuu during a situation to mess with them as well by having the tendency to bully grim or teasing him.

Knows every student’s physical and emotional condition. Whether it’s Leona’s back pain, Idia’s burnout, or Azul’s stress ulcers they already has a tea or potion ready before they ask. When a student said they were having a headache with one touch baizhu!yuu immediately know the problem and the solution as if when touching the patient they are able to check their body anatomy.

Baizhu!yuu possessed a very weak body, they are not physically strong and have a pretty weak stamina but thanks to their studies of the human body they are able to see the human body pressure points or weak spots and paralyzed them causing them unable to move. This could also apply towards animals

They are very curious about merfolk, beastmen and fae anatomy sometimes asking questions about their body to expand their knowledge of medicine.

Riddle listens towards them more than Crowley, he believes baizhu!yuu judgement and trust them from their insight of things. Not to mention due to his parents being doctors he would try to help them and when he's having a bad baizhu!yuu is there to comfort him.

Jamil would go towards them for medical advice one time when kalim was poison jamil trust them to heal him and return back kalim into healthy, similar towards vil who would seek dietary advice from them he would also ask for their insight on nutrition for food.

At school they are by far one of the smartest students but due to their job and role as a doctor, sometimes or most times baizhu!yuu would forget to turn in an assignment and the teachers have to remind them about an assignment. When trein was having health problems baizhu!yuu would assist him and give him the right amount of medicine needed so after one week he's back to normal. Trein is forever grateful for that.

Their treatment is quite expensive when you personally seek on their Intel on health, Crowley is almost bankrupt because they are unwilling to low down the prices no matter what and not to mention how expensive the ingredients are to make high quality medicine.

They might possess a darker side when a student would obey their orders or try to threaten them, one time a student did this and was found paralyzed on the floor and was then scared of baizhu!yuu.

[anniflamma]

RE-RELEASE ANNOUNCEMENT: O Mar (2019)

Hey everyone! After years of keeping it hidden, I’ve decided it’s finally time to give my old 2D animated short film, O Mar, a proper release (or at least make it more accessible for my family and anyone else who might be curious)!

So what is O Mar about? It's about a fisherman and his wife feel longing and lacking in their simple everyday life. Something is lost, and because of that, they now live with melancholy.

This story is deeply personal for me. It’s based on moments from my maternal grandparents' lives, stitched together with stories from other family members, faint nostalgic memories of my own, and a fair bit of artistic liberty. I made this film back in 2019 while studying 2D animation, and honestly...? It was more for me and my family than anything else, despite being a student project. That’s probably why I never properly released it online. In a weird way, letting it out into the world meant letting go, and that was hard after my grandma passed. It was hard for me to say good bye. But now, after years of relatives and my mother asking, "How do we watch it??" I figured it was time. So here we are!

A Note on the Animation This was one of my earliest attempts at 2D animation, so be gentle cuz Im already cringing enough rewatching this! I was still figuring things out, while obsessing over Mamoru Hosoda’s films (wonder if you can spot the easter egg?) and trying to make something that felt honest. It’s flawed but it’s mine!

Also, a fair warning for the faint of heart (aka Misogynistic Puritans) There’s artistic nudity in this film. If the mere suggestion of a human body existing in an emotional context offends you so much, maybe go watch something else, something where everyone wears full plate armor at all times. XD

And here is a more serious content warning. This film depicts infant loss and death in general. If you are sensitive to these themes or have experienced the loss of a child, please approach with caution or consider whether this is the right time for you to watch.

This film means a lot to me, even if it’s not "perfect." Sometimes, art is just about capturing a feeling, a memory. And now, I’m ready to share it properly. I’m also thinking of writing a proper blog post about O Mar’s story, because I truly meant it when I said this film was for myself and my family. There’s no dialogue, no explanation. Every symbol and moment is a reference to real-life events that only my family and close friends would recognize.

However, Stay tuned for the release next week! For now, the trailer is still up… and… omg, it was 6 years ago… what the…

[crescenthistory]

omg congratsss on 2k!!! could i request prompt 31 from the dialogue list with remus? i’m just thinking about oblivious rem… like she’d be flirting with him in EVERY possible opportunity and he’s just like oh she’s the sweetest to me we have such a nice friendship😭

thank you so much for participating, lovely! unfortunately i evidently don't know what a drabble is, so i hope you enjoy this one-shot lol<33

✶・•・✦・•・✶・✶・•・✦・•・✶

i will ARGUE for prompt 31 "give me a kiss, you beautiful idiot" with remus lupin

carina's 2k celebration

✶・•・✦・•・✶・✶・•・✦・•・✶

cw: gn!reader, oblivious!remus, uk university au, background prongsfoot, disabled!remus, remus is taller than you because he is taller than everyone, physical affection, remus pov, did i make rem a history student? yes i did, sue me

wc: 3.7k 

Remus was beginning to fear he might be slightly foolish.

This whole exam season he had existed solely by your side, attached at the hip with the strongest stitch a sewing needle could provide. This brand of existence had not come as too big of a surprise to either of you – nor to your respective friends from your hometowns that you updated over messages and the occasional video call.

When Remus made the decision to go to a university far away from all his friends and family, he had been silently cursing himself for it the whole while. This university in the middle of nowhere had an excellent arts and humanities faculty that specialised in the perfect niche intersection between history and literature that Remus had always been so infatuated with. After the confidence instilled in him by his best mates from boarding school and the reassuring kisses from his painfully aging parents, Remus knew he had to go.

It was now or never for him. Give it a few years, he would want to be back home with his Mam and Tad, taking care of the farm and visiting his mates as they established families and developed their lives. This was his chance.

Yet, it ached to step away, an innate fear that had been hibernating for years rearing its head once more. Before his mates came into his life, Remus had believed himself incapable of forming meaningful connections. With his limb difference and autoimmune disorder, he had alway thought himself too different. Everything about him was odd, as he had been promptly informed on the playground one day and never forgotten. His gait was slower, his interests were peculiar, his arm looked different; Remus Lupin was surely doomed.

When, despite all odds, he found mates that didn’t just like him despite his oddities, but because of them – how could he have been stupid enough to leave them? 

“Just you wait and see, cariad,” his Mam, Hope, had whispered softly and patted his cheek as he hesitated to submit his application. “Surely if the world can produce those three lovely boys of yours, there must be more out there.”

His mother, Remus had come to learn, was consistently correct.

Because on the very first day of freshers’ week at a new university in a new town, into his life came you; so beautifully kind, so kindly beautiful, filled to the brim with an understanding, empathy and pure humour that he got drunk off of. One freshers’ week was all it took before he was fully swept into your life and friendships.

Much like how James had kindly adopted him on the train to boarding school, you picked him up and seemingly skipped the traditional “oh where is your accommodation”, “wow, how many siblings do you have?” and “no way, I did A-Level history too!” that he had come to expect and fear.

“You look like a palm tree in a snowstorm,” you had giggled after bumping into him. “Where’re you off to?”

Remus was unsure where he had been off to. He held his phone with the Welcome app opened, yet found it wholly unnavigable. “Uh, well. I don’t really know.”

Your smile had widened as you took him in. “What do you know, stranger?”

He had been practising how to answer the go-to questions and almost responded with “Oh, I’m Remus from Cardiff” when you threw him off. A warm feeling began to spread in his chest as he saw you sizing him up with zero judgement and all interest.

“I reckon just about enough to get through term, but a bit too little to get through freshers’.” A small giggle-like rumble had spread in his chest as he spoke, red nerves climbing up his neck in case you had intended the question differently.

You luckily hadn’t. “Perfect!” you announced with a grin. “I know enough to know you don’t get through fresher’s, you just go with the flow. So you can tag along with me, pretty boy.”

Remus never did stop tagging along with you. Only later that day, when you introduced him to your friends, did you learn each other’s names, too caught up in talking about anything and everything else. It went from being a nerve-racking day to a freeing one.

Your little pack of quickly-found friends welcomed Remus with enthusiasm to match yours, and together you made your way through your first week and then your first year at your middle-of-nowhere university. Though he enjoyed your little pack – named Alice, Frank, Emmeline and Dorcas, all of which he wanted to introduce to his friends back home – you were the one who stood out to him through it all.

His sentiments must have been clear as he stayed in touch with his best mates online, because they kept asking about you and eventually for you. Remus answered the phone around you once and introduced you to James on speaker, and ever since then, they wanted him to rope you into any and all chats they had.

Remus didn’t really understand why they were so insistent, but he had a sneaking suspicion he didn’t want to know. 

Eventually, realisation was forced to dawn on him, as all your friends went home for a bit when classes ended for a long assessment season, while only you and Remus stayed behind on campus. Alice lived with Frank’s family, who were only a short drive away, while Emmeline’s parents were loaded enough to fly her in and out whenever she had a free weekend, and Dorcas took any opportunity to jump on her Harley and disappear for a while. Once it was just you and Remus, alone in your designated corner of the ancient library, Remus’ skin began to tingle in a way he couldn’t explain away.

And thus, the needle came out and stitched you together effortlessly and intrinsically. 

If one of you were at the library, so was the other. If one wanted to go grab a bite mid-study session, so did the other. And, if Remus was called up by his friends, so were inadvertently you.

“Moony? Sunshine? You there?” Sirius’ voice sounded through the speakers on Remus’ laptop as he hastily lowered the volume. You were the only ones in this corner of the library, but sound might travel, he thought. You snorted as you looked at his stress for a second before turning to Sirius.

“We’re right here, Pads,” you teased as you turned the camera on, which Remus had forgotten to do.

“Ah, there! My eyes have been blessed.” His best mate’s voice was a bit static-y through the microphone, but Remus had grown used to that over the months. “Are you lovebirds still nesting in that library of yours?”

Remus’ brows furrowed as he swallowed uncomfortably over the blush already creeping up his neck. You beat him to answering it.

“I don’t know, are you lovebirds still living the life of luxury in Potter Manor?” you quipped back, raising an eyebrow at Sirius’ pixelated form. Remus felt oddly pleased with how well you seemed to know his friends through only talking over the phone.

Sirius’ shared his sentiments but expressed them in a wholly different manner – through a gasp. “How dare you insinuate that my affections towards James Fleamont is anything beyond brotherly?”

At that, James’ curly hair appeared in the doorway behind Sirius as he threw a t-shirt at his head. “Shut up, Sirius.” He laughed heartily before crouching down enough to see you and Remus. “Hi nerds! How’re you? Coming home soon?”

“God forbid someone prepares for the exam they spent all their money and braincells on getting to take,” Remus joked, knowing that James wouldn’t point out that most of the money that had gone towards Remus’ degree was Potter money. 

“Don’t worry James, I’ll ship him off to you soon.” You elbowed Remus to emphasise your point, but then smoothly slipped your arm behind his back to rest your hand between his shoulder blades. Remus physically relaxed. 

“No, no, he’s yours now babes, you just keep him,” James spoke as he walked restlessly about the room behind Sirius, who was very obviously ogling him, “but both of you please come visit as soon as you’re done with exams, yeah?”

You just smiled warmly and nodded, while Remus felt his flush creep up further. He thought this was probably a good point to cut his friends off before they took it too far and made you uncomfortable.

“What are you doing now, then? Considering you don’t seem to be dedicated to your own exams?” He shifted the conversation, instead allowing his best mates to talk at the two of you as you settled into your seat beside Remus. His skin warmed beneath his clothes where you kept your arm around him and eventually rested your head on his shoulder – in a way that couldn’t be explained away by mere physical contact.

The hour ebbed out as the lot of you went back and forth, trading life updates and stories cheerfully, pleased to leave your reading lists be for a little while. Eventually, Sirius began telling a story from their old boarding school days that involved a certain infamous Marlene that made your grin widen.

“We really should introduce Marlene to our friend Dorcas at some point,” you said, looking at Remus to see his opinion even as you seemingly spoke to Sirius. “It seems they would be a good match.”

Remus grinned, looking down at his lap before meeting your eyes. “Been thinking the same thing as of late.”

“Where’s Dorcas now?” James asked intriguingly.

“Oh, she’s off riding her bike for a while.” You waved your hand as if to say she’s just like that.

Sirius whistled and patted James on the back. “Sounds right up Marls’ alley.”

“You would be the one to know, considering you’re the only one of us who’s been up Marls’ alley.” Even as James spoke, he began to shield his body, seemingly prepared for the way Sirius would begin swatting at him.

“Prongs, we snogged once in year four to figure things out – it’s really time you let this go.”

Remus couldn’t help but snicker, which made you laugh and made Sirius narrow his eyes at him all at the same time. 

“Seems like that university of yours is where everyone meets their soulmates, then,” Sirius said in a concerningly smug tone. “If Marlene’s other half has finally been found and yours, Moony, is–”

Remus cut him off with a nervous laugh, waving him off. “Speaking of soulmates, how’s Lily doing, James?” His voice was a bit too high-pitched as he pointedly stared only at Sirius and not at you, whose gaze he could feel caressing his cheek. He hoped the look he gave Sirius read as sorry, shut up, here’s some ammunition.

Luckily, his friend took the bait, albeit only after a wolfish grin sent his way and what looked like a wink aimed at… you. “Yes, how is little Red?” Sirius asked, jumping on Remus’ diversion as James groaned.

“Happily engaged to Mary, as you know, Sirius.” James had apparently been eager to dish out old embarrassing stories of childhood crushes but not receive them. “We’ll see her next week at Peter’s.”

Remus laughed lightly as he looked at the two boyfriends quarreling in a manner only the two of them could ever pull off, never once turning his head to meet your gaze that still didn’t feel aimed in the same direction as his.

James and Sirius’ voices kept bouncing off the aging stone walls that surrounded you, creeping in between the pages of the books on the shelves. Remus enjoyed it – until you yawned. It was quiet, understated, but at last made Remus’ gaze smoothly sweep over to you, skin around his eyes crinkling at what he found. The smile on your lips was genuine as you took in the conversation, but your eyes had a glassy look to them that Remus had come to know as a tell-tale sign that it’s time to resign for the night. You stretched your neck a little after your yawn, as if the muscles there were ailing you, and Remus had half a mind to reach out and massage any aches away, if that had not been wholly unhinged of him.

Instead, he cleared his throat slightly and looked over at James and Sirius’ images on the screen. It was a sound they were well used to from years of dorming together and made nostalgic – yet no less mischievous – grins break out on their faces.

“Want to get rid of us already, Moons?” Sirius teased, but even he was beginning to look a tad bit tired, in that way only his friends would be able to decipher. 

“Yes, I am beyond bored with you both.” Remus’ tone was sarcastically monotonous until he could no longer hold back his smile. “I want to go back to my blissful existence without your intervention.”

“Don’t be mean,” you faux chided as you swatted the shoulder you had been leaning against not long ago. 

James held one hand up in defense while the other seemed to point towards you. “You really should listen to your better half there, Rem.”

“We boring old friends won’t occupy your precious time together any longer,” Sirius added solemnly as he placed his hands placatingly on James’ shoulders to get him to drop his hands and look sideways with a grin. “Run off and do something wise with your time.”

Remus shook his head. “It was nice talking to you both.” He ignored the twinge in his heart at how much he meant it, all the while not being able to wish himself to be out of your company in favour of theirs. “We’ll see each other soon.”

“And speak sooner!” You added happily, seeming to have chirped up with renewed energy at the closing of the conversation. “I’ll bully him into calling you at least once more before exams.”

“What a blessing you are, darling.” Sirius held a thumbs up, which Remus felt was unnecessary. “Keep reining him in.”

“Okay, alright.” Remus fought back a chuckle and began waving to the camera. “Bye bye, guys. Goodnight.”

You echoed his sentiments, leaning into his side as you waved.

“Goodnight!” James called. “I’m sending you big goodnight kisses for when your lips aren’t occupied, Moon–”

Remus closed his laptop and cut off the connection before James – and, god forbid, Sirius – could make any further attempts at mocking him. He let out a sound that was a mix of a heavy sigh and a chuckle, letting his head fall forward to hit his laptop with a soft thud as he closed his eyes. “Good God.”

You just laughed quietly and patted his shoulder closest to you before getting out of your seat and, presumably, stretching. Remus decided to stay put with his eyes closed for that, to be on the safe side. “Your friends are a breed of their own. I really like them.”

“I’m glad you do.” Remus turned his head sideways to peak up at you as you leisurely began to collect your things. “Ready to go home and sleep?”

You quirked an eyebrow at him in a manner that made him flush beyond his understanding. “Are you?”

He pushed any and all thoughts down as he forced himself up from the table with a sigh. “I am. I fear I can’t read another sentence, especially not if this historian is going to keep referencing Freud.”

“Which he will.” 

“I know,” Remus groaned. “Thus; let’s head out.”

You packed in relative comfortable silence, digesting the conversation and the day side by side. You helped Remus pack his pencils back in his pencil case and zipping it shut wordlessly, as always refusing any thanks. The smile you gave him as you did so was enough to make him want to thank you again anyway.

As you walked to the lift together, chatting idly, Remus allowed himself to bask in how close you seemed to always walk to him and how lucky he was to have made a friend as good as you.

James and Sirius’ comments remained in his brain, though, sifting around in a pond of increasing nerves about how you might have received and interpreted them. The thought of you getting home to your dorm and feeling uncomfortable or wary was enough to make him want to abandon his own ego and address it.

Despite the incoming spring, British weather remained stubborn, and thus the library was basked in a beautiful dusk, not quite pitch black, but enough for the yellow light streaming out of the windows while you walked past to seem mystical and magical. You walked together to the gates, just outside of which, you would have to part ways, Remus taking the left-turn and you the right.

Remus let you get right outside the black gates, but still on library property when he stopped, prompting you to do the same and look back at him with a curious gaze.

“I–” he began, a bit uncertain about how to word this. “Before you go, I just wanted to say I’m sorry.” A breath. “About Sirius and James. If they ever make you uncomfortable in any way, please just say so and I’ll get them to stop it, I swear. I don’t know what they’re getting at.”

You furrowed your brows a little, but not in a way that voiced upset – rather on the contrary, it’s the same furrow Remus often observes appears on your face right before he makes you laugh.

“What, those little comments earlier?” you asked, confusion and mirth warring in your tone.

Remus’ stomach dropped a little at the thought that you also picked up on it, but remained relieved that you didn’t seem overly upset. “Yes, I– they’re twats sometimes, you know, so please just pay them no mind. Boarding school kids with bad humour. I don’t know what they’re getting at.”

The corners of your lips began to curl upward as you took a step closer to him. Remus’ breath lodged in his throat at the action, however small. The poetic side of his mind would immortalise the image of you, tired and beautiful in the grey night and yellow light, smiling at him like your heart harboured a secret, even though he was close enough to feel it beating. 

“I know what they’re getting at.” You said it so simply, all you were missing was a shrug as the cherry on top. “I don’t mind.”

Remus had never enjoyed being compared to an animal, but he did recognise how his mouth opened and closed, not much unlike a fish. He couldn’t decide whether to ask you do? or you don’t? Instead, he asked, “What?”

“Do you mind?” Your eyes grew a shade more serious then, scanning his kindly. You reached out a hand to rest on his upper arm, squeezing it through his jumper and corduroy jacket.

It was Remus’ turn to look confused. “Well, I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

Yet again, you looked to be fighting a smile. “Yes, but do you mind?”

Remus thought that maybe, just maybe, he might be understanding what you just asked. He hoped he was not mistaken when he let out his whisper. “No.”

“Then give me a kiss goodnight, you beautiful idiot.” 

You spoke with such an endearing tone and smile, one that reassured him that you meant it but you were also not issuing a demand; it was you inviting him and teasing him at the same time. Just like a friend would, except Remus truly did not want to only be friends anymore.

Though there was no real need, Remus took a step closer to you and slowly lowered his face to meet yours, amber eyes staying on yours for as long as possible before your lips met, both sets curled up into matching smiles. His fingers came up to gently cup your cheek, fingertips gliding past your ear and into your hair, while his residual limb snuck around your waist, holding you close to him.

Remus kissed you and he realised that this is what he should have been doing all along. Remus kissed you and was grateful that this was the first time because it meant immensely more now than it ever could have before. Remus kissed you and he knew for certain that if he was an idiot, he wanted to be yours.

When you parted, he couldn’t stand pulling too far away, and kept you close to him by leaning his forehead against yours, tightening his hold on you. He didn’t open his eyes right away, instead breathing you in, melting into the memory of the moment.

Then, a wicked grin took over and he opened his eyes to find yours already looking at him with an affection he should have recognised sooner. “You think I’m beautiful?” he asked, and it sounded like humour but it felt deeper. 

“Stunning,” you whispered, tracing his cheek with your fingertips. Remus knew you were genuine.

“But still an idiot?” This time it was just humour.

“Oh, absolutely.” You laughed. “At least you know enough to get through exams.” He caught your reference and savoured it in his heart.

“I better, because I intend to finish this degree with you.” Remus dared to kiss your cheek, which almost felt more intimate. “As your idiot, right?”

You just nodded, with an expression that spoke volumes beyond words. “Yeah. Mine.”

Remus accepted in that moment that he had been more than slightly foolish. He couldn’t find it in him to regret it, though, as he decided to follow you all the way home in the darkening night.

[kokii-omii]

Random fun facts about my Twst ocs

pt,3 (its gonna be long)

Maddex Hatcliff

His hair is white with orange strands

he cuts his own hair (we can tell)

was a victim of trey's oyster sauce prank

he was like 11 and making a tart for fun and remembered trey telling him over the phone that oyster sauce makes it taste better

he hates oyster sauce for this specific reason

he's ambidextrous because he thought being able to write with his left hand would be fun

has terrible memory so he ends up mixing his stories together

however he does know all of heartslabyul's rules (just so he could find loopholes for every single one)

he's a go with the flow type of guy so you rarely ever see him upset

he knows how to do magic tricks

he dotes on riddle a lot and is mostly seen with him when he's not on class

Krohn Luteus

he dances when he cooks

is honestly really forgetful

he also gets scammed easily (Azul & ruggie you better stay away)

his solution is to cook food whenever people are arguing (it always works)

him and Ezmond are mostly found in the library cuz they're always studying together

ruggie makes krohn go on errands with him because he knows Krohn will say yes without asking for anything in return (he's just happy to be there)

he beat jack in an arm wrestling contest

talks to himself sometimes

will do a lot of things but giving his recipes away is where he draws the line (Azul is frustrated by this)

Viridis Ashengrotto

Emo

is NOT a morning person at all

is childhood friends with Leo

he tweaks out a lot for a lot of things

he was so mad he got placed in octavinelle because that meant he'd have to listen to Azul

he has to be woken up by Alfred otherwise he's sleeping through the whole day

is actually a well known painter

has sold a lot of his paintings already so he has a good amount of money

buys from luxury brands but rarely wears them because he's mostly painting (he can afford them)

sometimes he uses his merform to paint multiple things at the same time

is a great singer as well

his second best subject is animal linguistics

he knows how to play the bass

he sometimes collects scraps in the sea and makes art out of them

has slightly better grades in PE than azul

he sucks at potion making tho

Leo Kerdo

His merform is two times the size of his human form

The reason he's grumpy most of the time is because his human form is really short

he's much calmer when he's in his merform tho (still a little grumpy but not as much as usual)

he's what I'd like to call "Impatiently Patient" where he's gonna be patient with someone but he's gonna complain the whole time

He deals with Viri tweaking out a lot and he's the one who constantly has to set him straight (he smacks the shit outta him sometimes)

probably the only octavinelle student in flight class to actually be really good at flying

is surprisingly good at fighting despite his size

has a really big appetite

complains a lot when viri asks him for help but still helps him anyway (also cuz he gets compensation from Viri)

Alfred Manta

can cook really well

He's the one that does Viri's hair in the morning

His nickname for Viri is "Bocchan"

is easily irritated but hides it really well

he may or may not be responsible for any minor inconvenience you have

nobody can prove that he did it

often the one to speak for his brother if nobody can understand his gestures

Him and Rook have a sort of cat and mouse rivalry

him and Jade hate each other

got some sorta butler beef between them for their respective Ashengrotto

they both try to hunt each other down (its basically two stalkers playing hide and seek with each other)

likes photography

has a weird collection of candid photos of everyone (when did he take them? only he knows the answer to that)

purposefully stands in the dark near the light switch to scare anyone who comes in but then acts like everything's completely normal (freak)

his favorite food is shrimp (run yuu)

Reese Manta

mostly snickers and giggles

he's selectively mute

he's very silly

he doesn't really care much for people so you don't really see him hanging out with anyone outside of viri,leo,and his brother

Can write really fast

he can draw but mostly just draws silly doodles on his sketchpad

he's very expressive even when he doesn't talk

he talks when his brother isn't around to talk for him but he usually whispers it on someone else's ear (viri) so they can talk for him

he doesn't really feel like he has much to say so he doesn't say anything

tho he does talk out loud when he's got a great insult or just an insult in general

him and Floyd are surprisingly good friends

once tried to gross Viri out by shoving takoyaki in front of his face and Viri looked him dead in the eyes and ate it with no hesitation

Viri gained his respect that day

his favorite food is tempura

Ezmond Morado

He lets Krohn braid his hair sometimes when they hang out

is really good at sewing

makes his own outfits sometimes

He was the one who managed the pomefiore dorm in rook and vil's absence in book 6 (it's like vil never left)

krohn makes him eat more even though he has a diet

Pan Nikos

low key has a sleeper build (he used to work out)

is technically related to Jade and Floyd cuz their Mama's are sorta cousins

his stamina is situation dependant

he can be rushing in without getting tired or he's dead on the floor the first minute in

never let bro play rage games

Peyn Algos

thinks he's more mature than the others but he's really not

he got his UM when he was encountering overblot malleus

he can speak fae tongue

picks fights with sebek the most (mostly cuz they're both really similar)

Idia Shroud's #1 glazer (only in the presence of people he hates)

almost fist fought Rollo in glomas

Lucien Thornhill

His hair is naturally curly and orange

he straightens it very often

needs glasses but doesn't wear them to maintain his appearance

has a resting bitch face

he's a perfectionist

one of malleus's retainers appointed by the senate

is an owl fae

has a younger brother named Edwin that goes to Royal Sword who is an owl fae

he is really great at sports, Spelldrive especially

has a weird hyperfixation on balusters

one minor inconvenience away from a crashout

sebek low key has beef with him

carved his own wand and uses that instead of the magical pens they give you

-------------------------------------------------

ignore how I posted this unfinished

[hedwig221b]

Soooooo any chance there could be more mafia fics out there you haven't mentioned? I'm aching for more... if not, can you pretty, please write some more??? Please I'm THIRSTY or it.

Here are some more, enjoy!

An Apple's Blossom by Dexterous_Sinistrous

Derek had an aura about him—one that drew you into his orbit despite the warning of an imminent threat. It was like a dream, more than Stiles realized at first. Because it wasn’t real. Nothing about the man Stiles had started to fall in love with—romanticize—was real. ~*~ Stiles is a recently graduated art student who agrees to marry his family's rival, only to realize that maybe love is a little more complicated than he first thought.

a kind word alone by redhoodedwolf

Derek swallowed thickly and tucked his chin over Stiles’ head. “I know. You’re a good man, Stiles Stilinski. Too good.” “Hale,” Stiles argued. “We’re married. I’m a Hale.” Derek squeezed Stiles tighter against his chest. He pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “And I love you and thank the stars every day that you did marry me.” * Stiles didn't know he'd married a mob boss.

Payment by Kca1516

He was beautiful. His demeanor demanded respect. His visible scars proved he was a force to be reckoned with. Power rolled off him in tendrils of electricity, and his confident expression left no room for doubt. But the most enrapturing aspect of this man was his eyes. His hazel eyes had Stiles catching his breath, forgetting how to speak. Though they were filled with anger, it wasn't directed at him but at the man, Peter. Even he was smart enough to show some respect. "Alpha," Peter said. ~~ Stiles is used as payment when his father doesn't have enough money to pay off his debt to mafia leader Derek Hale, The Alpha. But when Derek's packmates start turning up missing, will Derek and Stiles be able to put aside their differences in order to save them?

Blue Light (i'm waiting for it, that) by zanni_1 (zanni_scaramouche)

Derek pays him to dance, Stiles enjoys the sex on the side, and that’s all that ties them together. Whatever else the enigmatic man does is none of Stiles’ fucking business. Stiles works at a club owned by infamous Derek Hale, leader of the largest criminal organization this side of the country. As they twirl closer together police and rival gangs start to gain the upper hand, forcing everyone's loyalty to be questioned.

One Minute by TheScarlettKnight

John Wick style/Mob AU: Derek Hale is the nephew to a well known Mobster, and the family name is one not to mess with. When Derek's boyfriend is taken, there's Hell to pay, and he's the Grim Reaper handing out tickets. Family comes first. Always.

The Arrangement by Arver7

Through blackmail and lies, Stiles and Derek are forced into a marriage neither of them wanted. If they each want to survive each other, they must learn to coexist. But the more they get to know each other, the more they seem to care about each other. But will the lies stop them from falling in love?

Rumpled sheets, smoke-tinged kisses, and sea salted lightning by quackquackcey

FBI agent Stiles and mafia boss Derek pair up to take down an elusive killer targeting both humans and supernaturals, but will they make it through the storm unscathed?~ 🚬⚡️

Big Bad and his Babydoll by stereksupremacy

Claudia Stilinski had a drug problem, she owed a dangerous man a lot of money and in return, she offered her only son, Stiles. Derek was mesmerized the first time he saw Stiles, he had an internal battle when it came to the boy. Especially when he comes out of his shell and becomes a tease.

Pretty Venom by Innaz (zanni_scaramouche)

Derek Hale. A name better suited for a myth than a man. Like the name of the devil, people either whisper it in fear or laugh it off as fable. Cut it open and this city’s heart doesn’t bleed red. It’s snowy white, and it pulses in the tight grip of Lucifer himself. Drug Lord Derek, Dealer Stiles, and the importance of not scalding the milk. (Prologue is Optional)

Love The Way You Shiver by QuirkyChick

Stiles is under no disillusion. Derek is dangerous and he’s playing with fire. He just has to be careful and hopes that, at worse, he’ll only burn his fingertips and not his whole body and soul.

We Gotta Hide What We're Doin' by CharWright5

As a Bodyguard within the Stilinski Rodzina, Derek's one and only job is to watch over the Omega son—and only child—of the Family's Head, Stiles, a task that is easier said than done some nights. It's just good that the Alpha knows the best way to punish the little troublemaker when his bratty behavior threatens to expose a secret that could get the Bodyguard killed.

Don Hale by RisingQueen2 (FallenQueen2)

For the Mafia AU request, if you could just do a sterek with a boy pussy!stiles and a biting kink and dominating alpha sex (cause we all know mafia boss Derek got to mark his territory over Stiles hot piece of ass) that would be awesome Keep up the amazing work you beautiful, beautiful person

Guns and Bow Ties by BlackRaven09

The Hale Family Crime Syndicate is one of the most well known and dangerous in the world. Stiles has been obsessed with them since he was a kid, but after his mom died and he moved away, he forgot about them. Now he is a detective, working out of Portland on run of the mill cases. When he gets a lead on the Hale Family, he is determined to chase it down. Derek Hale is the enforcer and heir of the Hale Family, an ancient old werewolf pack with ties to every part of society there is. He is in charge of making problems disappear and ensuring they don't come back. But as an Alpha and heir to the family, he needs a mate. One that is loyal to his pack and everything they stand for. Stiles can never be that, but he also never expected their world to be so complicated. Especially when it's wrapped up in his feelings and his past. Even the goddamn bow ties are involved.

Black and Blue by charlotteinlace

Stiles knows what he should be doing, finding a good Dom and seeing a few dozen therapists. But that shit can wait, right now he's got a gang to infiltrate and a murderer to find. A murderer who killed his father.

I'll Protect You by haletostilinski

Derek is the criminal. Stiles is the cop. But when Stiles arrests Derek and gives a deal in return for his cooperation on taking down Derek's family's criminal organization, they both start to learn that maybe they both aren't that different from each other, and start to fall in love with each other even though all outside forces would kill them for doing so. But Stiles is determined to protect Derek, at all costs.

Never Walk Away by Dexterous_Sinistrous

Twenty-eight year old federal agent Derek Hale has been out of the family for some time, and he likes it that way. After six years of no contact with Laura, everything changes when Derek is sent back to Beacon Hills to infiltrate his old family. And that’s how Derek meets Stiles. Stiles is Peter’s favorite dancer. He’s Peter’s arm candy. He’s his little trophy to flaunt. The son of the one man who almost put Peter away–a cautionary tale for people to heed when thinking about going against Peter. Everyone knows the Sheriff is still in the hospital, his wife in a grave, his son in the devil’s den. Derek doesn’t buy into it for a second. There is a way Stiles looks at Peter, like he’s the scum of the earth–like he’s a piece of gum stuck on his shoe that he can’t wait to scrape off. There is the way Stiles only lets Peter touch him for so long before he pulls away. Derek knows that Stiles is there for ulterior motives, but Stiles is smarter than he looks. He’s more determined. If only Derek could get Stiles on his side.

Only Me

He held Stiles’ face like it was the most precious thing and licked Stiles’ neck like he owned it. A kiss was the first thing to greet Stiles in the mornings they spent together, and at nights, it was the last thing he felt on his face. Each time was more desperate than the last. Derek told him he was made to be kissed. It was a reward, a pleasure, a relief. And then, after all of this, he would disappear. For two days, three, or for a week. Stiles would choke from the thought that this time he definitely ruined it (how? god, how?), and then, in a click of a light, Derek would come back as if he were always there. Calling from a hidden number, cupping his chin, tugging Stiles closer with his hand splayed on his back, so big and insistent. Kissing, loving, refusing to let go. But only in a closed room, in the darkest corner of a restaurant, in a black sports car with its windows thick and tinted. Stiles dreaded saying goodbye.

Just A Game

"Don’t worry, kitten,” he smiled widely at Stiles who now stood with his fingers touching his abused lips. Derek couldn’t wait to feel them wrap around his dick. “I’ll be home soon. Get yourself ready for me.” The gold on Stiles’ ring finger shined in the streetlights as he nodded. He sucked on his bloody lip — god, Stiles would never realize how much of a tease he was — and folded his arms around himself. He would wait, Derek knew it. Even if they convicted him or if it took years, Stiles would wait. He would never lie with another. He would never let anyone close.

[masterlist link]

[rainrot4me]

Odd idea, proxies as tutors? What would their subject be?

So cute!! Welcome to Slender High, folks. Might’ve went a little crazy with this one.

── .✦

✦ . jeff the killer ➝ coach woods

P.E. / Health class.

Gym/Health Class. An extracurricular, but somehow still mandatory. He also coaches the baseball team.

The chaotic hot substitute energy. Always wearing a hoodie with the school’s mascot, sunglasses indoors, probably chewing on a toothpick.

“Alright losers, five laps, and if I see you walking, I’m calling your mom.”

He somehow turns dodgeball into mortal combat and makes health class 80% stories about near-death experiences and how to reset your own nose.

Probably shows a video on CPR and then says, “Now forget that, here’s how you really do it.”

Kids love him. Teachers fear him. The nurse hates him. And yes, he did have to teach Sex-ed. It was traumatic for everyone.

✦ . ticci toby ➝ mr. rogers

Woodshop / Auto mechanic Tech

Woodshop & small engine repair.

Looks constantly disheveled but knows exactly what he’s doing. Calls you “kid” even if you’re older than him.

“You cut your hand? Sick. Lemme see.”

Surprisingly patient with students and very good at explaining with his hands. Loud power tools soothe him. All the troublemakers sit in his class for lunch.

Keeps forgetting he’s not supposed to swear.

Will give you a project to build a birdhouse and then disappear for twenty minutes only to come back with a full crossbow.

✦ . eyeless jack ➝ dr. nyras

Biology / Anatomy

Advanced Biology & Human Anatomy. Both honors.

That freakishly calm, soft-spoken teacher who you don’t want to piss off. Wears gloves at all times.

“Today we’ll be dissecting fetal pigs. Please refrain from vomiting on your lab partners.”

He talks about organs with way too much enthusiasm. Will give you full marks for effort and curiosity, but will also deduct points for making squeamish faces.

Nobody’s brave enough to ask where he gets the extra specimens.

Has an endless supply of black coffee and leaves the room colder than any other on campus. There are definitely rumors circulating that he is secretly a cult member.

✦ . masky (tim wright) ➝ mr. wright

History.

American & World History. But specifically World War II and awesome battle retellings.

Burnt out, deadpan, but wildly intelligent. Could teach the class hungover and still make it captivating. The kind of homework you could turn in a blank document and somehow still get a 100.

“History’s just war, ego, and bad ideas. Let’s begin.”

Will go on 30-minute tangents about conspiracy theories but somehow ties it back to the curriculum every time.

Wears the same cardigan three days in a row. Still smells like parchment paper and cologne.

Doesn’t grade your paper, just leaves cryptic comments like “The empire always strikes back. B+.”

✦ . hoodie (brian thomas) ➝ mr. thomas

Photography / Media Arts

Photography, Film Studies, Journalism. Has published his own book and reads from it daily.

Quiet, intense, incredibly observant. Wears all black. Always has a camera or notepad.

“Art should make you uncomfortable. That’s how you know it’s real.”

He gives very detailed feedback on creative work but refuses to compliment directly.

Shows weird documentaries and calls it “inspiration.” However, people are falling asleep left and right.

You catch him staring out windows or filming empty hallways. Nobody knows where he goes during lunch.

✦ . kate the chaser ➝ coach milens-hayes

Debate / Track Coach

Debate, Current Events / Track Coach.

Tactical jacket, heavy boots, hair tied back. No-nonsense, all intensity. Lives off of making kids nervous.

“Speak like you mean it, or sit down.”

Coaches you like a soldier: brutal honesty, high expectations, but genuine pride when you succeed.

Has you running mental laps just as much as physical ones.

Won’t admit she cares about her students, but she shows up to every event and stays late to help you prep. First to get to the field and last to leave, always making sure it’s in tip-top shape.

✦ . ben drowned ➝ mr. b

Computer Science / Game Design

Coding, Game Development, Hacking 101.

Hoodie pulled up, Monster can in hand, sits on top of the desk like a menace.

“Anyone touches my gaming rig and dies. Let’s boot Unity.”

Encourages cheating “if you’re smart enough to not get caught.”

Replaces your cursor with a meme. Has every shortcut known to man memorized. Practically speaks in HTML code.

Once programmed a jumpscare into the school website for fun.

✦ . clockwork ➝ dr. ouellette

Psychology

Intro to Psych, Criminal Behavior, Criminal Justice.

Cool older sister energy. Heels, eyeliner, slightly intimidating but smells amazing. Dresses like a lawyer.

“Let’s talk about what trauma does to the brain. Yes, again.”

Talks casually about serial killers and makes it sound like reading a cookbook. Always starts class by pulling up the town’s news articles to see if there’s been any murders.

Students either have a crush on her or fear her (usually both).

Never lets you slack off. Encourages you to journal and process your emotions even though she never does. Snatches phones like it’s a hobby.

✦ . laughing jack ➝ mr. lj

Theater / Creative Writing

Theater & Creative Lit. He likes to multitask his teaching.

Always wearing eccentric scarves, multicolored pants, and glitter eyeshadow. Calls everyone “darling.”

“Today we’re expressing grief through mime. Yes, you have to participate. No, it doesn’t have to be good.”

Encourages absurd ideas with wild enthusiasm. Will show up with sock puppets and expect you to act out King Lear. Art is whatever you can get away with in his class.

Gives strange but insightful writing prompts like “Describe your first heartbreak in the style of a horror movie.”

Students adore him. Admin tries to fire him every year. They can’t catch him. He once got a hateful letter from a parent and acted it out in front of the class with props.

✦ . nina the killer + jane everlasting ➝ mrs. hopkins + ms. richardson

Cosmetology + Home Ec

Duo teachers who co-teach Home economics and Cosmetology / Personal Care.

One side is sleek, black, hyper-organized. The other is hot pink chaos with glitter stickers on everything. The energy is immaculate. Their outfits reflect that.

Nina is your cool chaotic older sister who shows up with a matcha and false lashes at 8 a.m. and somehow makes it work. Nail art, extreme glam, wigs, special FX gore makeup (where she thrives—suspiciously too good with blood effects).

“Blend like your ex just saw you at Target, babes.”

Jane is strong, composed, elegant—but always one thread away from snapping. Always in black. The only one in the building who can get the lunchroom to shut up just by walking in. Knife skills, holistic skincare, sewing/repair, and self-defense baked into everything.

“No, you may not use glitter glue in your soufflé.”

Enemies to reluctant co-workers who constantly roast each other but would absolutely murder anyone else who tried to do the same. Nina walks in late with Starbucks and Jane says “You’re late.” Nina replies, “Your mascara’s uneven.”

The class becomes the spot for gossip, life lessons, and oddly effective therapy. Students worship them both. Their arguments are like watching two queens from rival kingdoms argue over who gets the last bit of land.

✦ . slenderman ➝ principal s

Principal / Philosophy

Technically the principal, but hosts one elite seminar class on ethics and metaphysics that only the honors students are allowed to attend.

Wears suits so sharp they could cut time. You can hear his presence before you see him. Definitely has a lanyard with keys you can hear from two hallways away.

“You are not here to learn. You are here to remember.”

Speaks in riddles, never uses a whiteboard, and grades on an unknowable system. Heaven help if you’re called into his office for disciple, you won’t come out the same.

Everyone is scared of him. Everyone respects him. Rumor is he doesn’t walk—he glides. He buys the faculty’s lunch every Friday, but that doesn’t make them any less nervous around him.

You leave his class every time feeling like your brain got wrung out and kissed on the forehead.

꩜ .ᐟ

[clairewritesfanfics]

Hello and good morning/afternoon or evening wherever you are. I hope this isn’t a bother but can we have a doctor strange! Reader having to take down interdimensional threats like angstrom and mark variants before the time stream collapses ( kinda like spiderman long way from home. I love your work!)

A wise woman once said, “For a genius, nothing is more precious than failure.” 

For a doctor, there is no such thing as perfection–that’s why they call it “practicing medicine,” because there is always more to learn and there will always be something to improve.

Sadly, you were no longer a surgeon. Magic is the source of miracles, but even it is bound by destiny, and destiny states that you were meant to serve the world outside the operating room. Outside the realm considered “normal.” 

Being Sorcerer Supreme wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be. Sure, you could turn bullets into butterflies at the flick of a wrist, and yes, it’s nice being able to go anywhere without having to wait for the bus or sit still in an airplane next to a crying baby.

You prevented evil wizards from taking over the spirit and mortal world, stopped the sun from becoming a black hole more times than you can count, and outsmarted an interdimensional Eldritch abomination–

Blah blah blah. 

You missed the good old days, when you were just a student at the bottom of the food chain, when there was more to study, more to explore, more to learn. 

Humans are privileged in not having enough time to learn everything all at once. You were an unfortunate exception. With your astral projection, sleep was no longer something you worried about; while your physical form recuperated, your soul would devour all the books and ancient scriptures available. But now? You knew everything. Time is the enemy for mortal scholars, but what happens when time becomes your slave? 

The time stone has long been lost, but during the brief moments you had it, you bore witness to every branch from the tree of fate. Every probability, every parallel universe blooming with every choice made by everything and everyone in existence.

In one of those blossoms, a man named Angstrom Levy saw but a tiny fraction of eternity, and thought that he alone had unlocked the secret of the universe.

“Little fool,” you said, voice cold. 

He struggled against your binding spell but the golden strings around his neck, waist and limbs tightened in response.

“Don’t waste brain power trying to escape.” The spell that kept him in place also cut off the source of his teleportation. 

When he finally realized that there was no flaw to exploit in your ropes, he breathed out an angry “Who are you?” 

“Wow, you really tried to take over the multiverse without even knowing who I am? Very well–” You flipped your cape. “You are one of the chosen few to meet me in person. I am the Sorcerer Supreme, Master of the Mystic Arts.”

“I have never heard of you.”

You laughed at his cheap attempts to insult you. “That’s all right. I’ve been around for so long that monsters have forgotten to fear me. Soon, you will be joining them.”

“Me? You’re punishing me? What about him–what about them?” He didn’t have to say a name. You knew exactly who he meant. And that person’s alternate selves were likely already killing each other in that wasteland dimension.  

“What about them?”

Angstrom was taken aback by your words. “Mark Grayson is nothing but a pest, a-a-a darkness that ruins everything–”

“Mark Grayson is the sole existence that’s keeping this world and all the other worlds alive.”

He looked at you like you were insane.

“You really don’t know anything, do you?” 

“Know what?”

You placed your palm over his eyes, white light flashing as you force-fed memories into his head. 

Angstrom screamed in agony.

You pulled back. “Now you know the truth.”

“No… it can’t be.”

“You’re supposed to be a smarter man than this, Angstrom, do not deny what has been placed in front of you.”

“No!” He wriggled, the binds suffocated him with each movement. “It can’t be! This world, me and him, you’re telling me… you’re telling me that every bad thing that has happened to us, every single choice we made was meaningless?!”

You shrugged. “I wouldn’t say ‘meaningless.’ You and everyone else here was born for a single purpose–” You smiled and said: “Entertainment.”

Golden threads wrapped around his mouth, stopping him from shouting once again. 

“The gods are cruel, aren’t they?” You whispered. “But there’s not much we can do about that.” 

You waved your hand and he was gone. 

Time to clean up his mess.

You cracked your knuckles and opened the last world he accessed with his powers.

It wasn’t a dying Earth, but a dying universe. Even if they flew out of the Milky Way they won’t be finding anything. 

When you appeared, two of them tried to attack you but your protection spells were quicker. 

“Now gentlemen, there is no need to be rough. I’m here to send you home.”

The Mark draped in black and yellow kept his fist on your shield. “You expect me to believe that? You’re with Angstrom, aren’t you? Where is he? I'm going to kill him!”

You didn’t say anything, merely watched as he tried punching you again. 

Another Mark with a veil joined him.

Idiots.

You snapped your fingers and your shields combined to a giant dome that pushed them back. “I’m not that little red-haired playmate of yours, it’s going to take a lot more than a few hits from a Viltrumite to break down my force fields.”

You waved your arm and they started floating against their will. Even with their smart atoms, they couldn’t fly away. 

The others regarded you with anger and suspicion. 

“Who…what are you?” The Mark wearing Omni-Man’s colors demanded.

“I’m the Sorcerer Supreme.”

There was a beat before he replied, “Who?”

Your eyebrow twitched. “Look, I already dealt with Angstrom, I came here to help you get back to your respective timelines out of the goodness of my heart, mind you.”

“How about you take us to Angstrom and we don’t beat the living shit out of you?” The guy with the awful haircut said.

“I don’t think you want that.”

“I think we do,” said the bald one. 

The Invincible with his whole head covered up stepped forward. “We don’t want to fight, so just surrender.”

“Speak for yourself,” Mohawk snorted. 

“Give up,” Omni-Invincible pointed his finger at you. “You are outnumbered.”

“Oh?” Your cape fluttered behind you. “Well, you are outclassed.” 

To call what happened next a “fight” would be an insult to the word. They fell like flies in a matter of seconds. 

You sent them to their realities and once again, the multiverse was safe from destruction. With a yawn, you went back home and watched a movie. 

A/N: I've never watched the Tom Holland Spiderman films and my knowledge about Dr. Strange is limited, but I didn't want to reject these requests cause they gave me a chance to write an OP reader. Once again, liberties were taken when I made this fic. (Y/n is also lowkey inspired by the unrivaled Madam Herta.)

MAIN MASTERLIST

Any questions for the author? Ask here.

[System notice: the ask box is open for discussion and questions and fangirling/fanboying, but it is now CLOSED FOR REQUESTS.]