#and its like. my grades in these classes are FINE. GOOD‚ even

[orcelito]

Oh yeah yesterday I went to my C programming professor's office hours to ask about what's being covered in class tomorrow. Since I can't go bc of my PT appointment overlapping with it & I'm apparently the kind of student that cares about attending every single class now.

While I was there, I ended up chatting with him about a few things, including my current standing in the class. He asked what I got on the midterm exam, & I answered it was an 87, and he told me I was one of the top 5 or 6 scores in the Whole Class (this being a like. Maybe 70 or so person class). Top score was a 92 or 93 (idr lol) & the class average was a 72. Apparently there were a few of us in the upper 80s/lower 90s, but most people got 70s or lower. And once he does the curve on the exam, he said I'd probably end up with a 97 or so on the exam. So yay!!!

And then he told me how he's noticed how I come to class every day and am really active with taking notes and answering questions. Bc I also sit up front all the time lmao. Hadn't even realized how much of a damned teacher's pet I've been being, but I've been Trying to be a good student this year. But he said I was the type of student that if I got an 88% or smth in the class, he'd likely bump me up to a 90% so I'd get an A lol. But he also said so long as I keep up with how I have been, I could possibly get a 100% in the class by the end (bc I've been there for all the extra credit questions in class and whatever).

And just. I went there bc I wanted to make sure I didn't miss anything important in class on Wednesday, and I ended up having my ego stroked for Real. Felt good to have my efforts be recognized.

[zemnarihah]

gun to my head i could not tell you what grade i have in this class

[butchlifeguard]

me and some people from ap bio were judging elementary school science fairs and it fucks me up how many 16 year olds are willing to believe 11 year olds couldnt Possibly know about e. coli or how many ohms are in a resistor. like ohh ok so the reason i believed i was a freak throughout my entire childhood wasnt because i was insecure its because people actually thought that. good to know

[autism-corner]

^-^

[3verythingiknowaboutlove]

the limit does not exist!

how spencer helps college!reader understand a little calculus and therefore understand how he loves her.

MDNI | smut word count: 1931 warnings & tags & stuff: fem reader, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), lil bit of overstim hehe, pure unbridled affection, LOVE, FLUFF, hugging, reader cries, this was in fact meant to be written for spence's birthday... sorry about that school is kicking my butt lets just pretend it's october! author's note: this one is for my folks who HATE their calculus class and want spencer reid to give them head instead <3 maybe this can help you romanticize it a bit. i think this is classified as self indulgent…like REALLY self indulgent… hah... anyway i hope you enjoy! let me know your thoughts if u have any, i loveeeee you!! have a great day my hands are shaking posting this smut is so scary!!!!!

You sat in bed, staring down your notebook, eyes narrowed. Limits stared back at you. You were just about at your own limit, if you were being honest. 

Your brain, however sharp and witty it may be, is absolutely not one designed for calculus. A literary analysis essay? Done in half an hour. In depth scientific research project? Easiest months of your life. But there’s something about finding the instantaneous rate of change of a curve at one point in time by finding the slope of a tangent line that hasn't clicked yet. 

A slew of other papers- notes, practice worksheets printed from obscure websites, and formulas- surround you, a sea of unfinished thoughts from the past month of the semester.

You bite on the end of your pen, the little hope you had for a good grade in this class slipping further and further away with each passing moment, like the last ember dying in the remains of a fire.

What you really wanted to be doing was celebrating Spencer’s birthday with him right now. A chocolate cake lay on the kitchen counter and pasta simmers on the stove, but you and your boyfriend had agreed to do a solid hour of work before the celebrations ensued.

You were never particularly strong willed when it came to following through on such agreements.

“Teach me calculus,” you say, a very impressive three minutes later, flopping down on the couch. Your head makes its way to its forever resting spot, Spencer’s lap. He raises his eyebrows slightly, thumb reaching out to trace over the slope of your nose. His eyes flit between you and the file to the side of him. 

“I thought we agreed on an hour.”

“Yeah. But it wouldn’t be a very productive hour if I didn’t know how to do what I have to do. And I missed you.” 

He sighs quietly, closing the file next to him. 

“What do you not understand?” You smile at that, loving how quickly you won.

“Related rates. Like, conceptually.” 

Spencer hums in response.

“It’s October. You’re not even supposed to know related rates yet.”

“Fine. Then let's open presents,” you respond, smiley. His eyebrows get impossibly higher, hand stroking your cheek delicately.

“No. I want our night to be a little more stress free when we celebrate, okay? How about you think about that lovely cake you made for me. What if I decided to squash it so that the diameter would get bigger, going from…let’s say, 20 centimeters to 26 centimeters in 3 seconds, and the height would get smal-”

“That wouldn't be nice. It took me like four hours,” you interrupt, grumbling. He cracks a smile.

“For the sake of the example, let's say I was an awful boyfriend and really wanted to ruin all the hard work you put in for me.”

You roll your eyes.

“Hey,” he says, hand moving down to touch your jaw softly. “Don’t do that. Don’t be difficult. I’m helping you.”

“Sorry. I guess I need you to zoom out a little. I don’t really get why I’m learning this as a whole.” Spencer’s eyes pore into yours, staring down at you adoringly for a small moment as he comes up with an answer.

“Calculus helps us begin to explain the unexplainable by harnessing what we can,” Spencer says simply. “Einstein once said that, ‘Pure mathematics is, in its way, the poetry of logical ideas,’ which makes it simple in practice, but I actually like to think about it as the opposite philosophically. Trying to find logic in the more poetic ideas.”

You cuddle deeper in his lap.

“Think he would agree with that?” you ask. “I do answer to Einstein before you, unfortunately.” Spencer bends down to kiss your hair.

“I think so. He also had a really nice quote where he remarked that, ‘Gravitation cannot be held responsible for people falling in love.’ He said, ‘How on earth can you explain in terms of chemistry and physics so important a biological phenomenon as first love? Put your hand on a stove for a minute and it seems like an hour. Sit with that special girl for an hour and it seems like a minute. That's relativity.’”

Spencer takes a deep breath.

“Math doesn’t explain how I love you. It can’t. But I love the fact that it tries to. It kinda makes you wanna learn it as best you can.”

You process that for a long second and nod. He keeps talking.

… 

Presents get opened, and cake gets eaten before dinner. Of course.

You’re now in bed, on top of the covers, forcing Spencer to give you a fashion show of the new sweater vest and tie you got him. He turns to you after putting it on, and you beam. 

“I really like it. You look great. Do you like it?” you ask. He nods, smiling back at you.

“I’m gonna wear it to work tomorrow.” 

You beckon for Spencer to come closer, sitting up in bed. Your hands go out to the tie, tugging at the knot softly. He stares down at you until eventually interrupting your motions with a slow kiss, hands cupping your face.

“You’re so pretty,” he mutters.

He pulls away and finishes what you started, folding the tie neatly and setting it in the drawer. Then comes the vest, and soon enough, he’s just in his boxers.

“You’re the pretty one,” you say quietly. “Come to bed.” He crawls on next to you, tugging you into his arms. “Happy birthday, Spence. I love you.” He dips his forehead to your shoulder.

“I love you.”

Before you know it, he’s shifted on top of you, moving down. Fast. You blink, hard, trying to rid your head of the hazy endorphins as you register what he’s doing.

“What? No, I was gonna do that. It’s your birthday. You don’t have to,” you protest.

“But I really, really want to, darling girl,” he murmurs back, kissing your knee and softly pushing it to the side.

You fluster and Spencer just looks at you, fingers tracing shapes on your waist, waiting for you to be ready. 

“Well. Um. Okay. If you insist. I can’t really deny the birthday boy.” Your voice is small, and a little giddy smile grows on your face. Of course Spencer Reid would want to give you head on his birthday. 

He smiles a little against the bare skin of your hip where your top meets your shorts. Then he meets your eyes. 

“You know you can, though, right?” he asks, voice a little more serious. You reach out to touch his hair softly. 

“Yeah. I know.”

Fingers hook your shorts, gently pulling them down. He presses a kiss to your thigh, and then he suddenly looks down at it. 

“Soft,” he murmurs, like he’s making a mental note. He presses another, and another, incrementally going closer and closer to your soaked through underwear. His eyebrows scrunch when he sees the wet spot. “All this from a few kisses?” 

You blush, unable to respond. 

Spencer’s fingers hook a centimeter of your underwear. “These?” he checks.

“Yes, please,” you manage. He tugs them down, silently noticing the slickness of your sex, and exhales shakily.

“How many times on average does it take for a guy to call you pretty on a given day before you get annoyed?” he murmurs, soft smile playing on his face. You smile too, head cloudy from his words, but it immediately drops when his lips press directly against your pulsing clit, kissing it softly.

“Fuck,” you say (Spencer would argue moan) softly (loudly). You let out a content sigh, and he moves to suckle it, actions becoming less and less delicate. 

It’s not harsh, but incessant. Spencer knows what you can take. He knows exactly what you can take. You’re both quiet for a bit, save for your breathy moans. 

“Spencer,” you say softly, ripping you both out of your individually hazy and dirty and distracted minds. “You’re too far away.” He looks up to you, face parallel to your aching core, hair beautifully messy and mouth glistening.

After a second, he grabs your hips, gently pushing you up against the pillows so you’re propped up at a better angle. He then shifts his body up wordlessly so he’s more above you, dipping his head down to give you a soft kiss. You taste yourself, tongue darting out to lick your lips.

His hand takes over where his mouth was, sliding in between your folds with a practiced ease. Spencer looks down at you, eyes wide and flitting between yours, searching for a reaction.

You reach out and wrap your arms around him, holding him close. “Holy shit, I love you,” you murmur.

His fingers lightly graze your clit again before one slides into you. “Angel,” he breathes out, so quietly. “I love you too. This okay? Are you okay?”

You nod feverishly and lift your hips to meet his hand, always in a perpetual state of wanting more, to be closer. Your bodies are melded so close together, barely giving him room to push his hand into you. He doesn’t even bother to ask you to use your words or keep your hips down, like he might on a regular night.

He pulls his head back to watch as he pushes another finger into you, stretching you just a little. “There we go. You always feel like heaven around me.”

Your eyes flit up to his face as he says those words, now having a little more room to observe him. You focus on the slope of his nose and curve of his mouth. 

“You’re so perfect,” you say quietly, adoringly, before you even realize it was true.

You blink at that thought. Spencer Reid is perfect, despite whatever universal odds deeming that impossible.

Those graphs, those formulas, now laying discarded & crumpled on the ground. They click, a little bit. You understand why Albert Einstein wanted to spend his life developing theories of relativity.

This is how Spencer sees you? What he was talking about earlier?

This is how he sees you?

The thought is almost too much.

Spencer sees your face, and not knowing what's going on in your head, slides down his free hand from your cheek to your carotid, feeling your racing pulse. “Take a deep breath for me, okay? You're about to come, huh?”

You inhale and are met with peace. Then your orgasm hits you like a wave. You clench hard around his fingers, and he just watches it happen, fascinated. “Baby,” he coos softly at you.

It wasn’t just your sensitivity he’s currently maximizing on or the little kisses he dips down to leave on your neck that sealed the deal, but the very thought that you could be loved in a way that is so perfectly impossible.

You exhale breathily as Spencer pushes you through the last trails of your climax, fingers not caring one bit that you just had your world tilted on its axis. 

“Spencer. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod,” you say eventually, overstimulated.

“You’re okay. Did so good.” he murmurs, fingers slipping out of you. 

His thumb brushes your cheek, wiping away a tear you didn't even realize was dripping down.

“Don’t cry, you always cry. It’s my birthday. Don’t cry on my birthday,” he whispers soothingly, affection lacing his voice.

“I’m not.” 

Another one falls. 

You reach and press out that perpetual little slope between his eyebrows with your thumb, gentle, like you might break him. “I’m not crying.”

Spencer lets you lie.

[birthanon]

Exam in, Baby out

Answering this ask that came through my messages from @yaiofanficbombon2022: 

"The class president is in labour (Mpreg). He had a sexual encounter with the popular boy of the school and as a result of this encounter he is pregnant.

His water breaks at home at night, he wants to miss school, but he can't, so he goes to class anyway.

The contractions are intense and constant, and the baby tries to come out, but he refuses to push until the exam is over.

He ends up giving birth in the school bathroom."

I’ve aged them up to a very high school like college because even 18 yo high school students feel too young to me. Hopefully you don’t mind.

This fic contains: mpreg, birth denial, pushing baby back in, clothing birth

“Hey, pres, you all right?” Jason asked, coming to sit next to Max. 

Max grunted, forcing a smile for the man who was rather popular with the other people at their very small church owned college they both attended, and also the father of the child that was currently trying to expel itself from Max’s womb. They’d had a secret encounter in Jason’s dorm room after a particularly intense study session—and well, they hadn’t repeated said occurrences since then, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be friendly. “Fine,” Max managed as the contraction that had been wrapping its way around his belly finally eased off. “Just worried about this exam.”

Specifically, he was worried about passing the final exam of his health class while also managing to keep the kid in him, you know, in him. Particularly since his water had broken last night, and he hadn’t gotten a whole bunch of sleep between the increasingly intense contractions. This was his last final of the semester, though, he just had to pass this test, or at least make it through it, and he was home free. So he’d hobbled his way to class from his dorms. It wouldn’t do for the student president to just not show up to an exam.

“You’re the smart one,” Jason said with a smile. “I’m sure you’ll do fine. Only it doesn’t look like you slept at all.”

“Stayed up all night studying.”

“For health?” Jason asked. “Look man, I know you’re a perfectionist and all that, but no one cares what grade you get in this class. All you gotta do is pass. It’s not worth killing yourself over.”

Max tried to formulate a nonchalant shrug. “Gotta keep that scholarshi—mmmhg.” Another contraction cut him off. He wrapped his fingers around the bottom of the desk and forced all his pain and the screaming desire to push into them instead of downward. Still the contractions were getting insistent. The force of his body pressed the baby’s head against his lips, which began to spread and sting. As soon as the contraction ended, the head slipped back inside, the stinging easing. Still, that wasn’t a good sign. The two hour exam hadn’t even started and the baby was already sitting right behind his lips. 

Jason stared. “Man, you sure you’re good?”

“I’ll survive,” Max said, trying to sound sardonic, though his breathlessness gave him away. Jason didn’t know Max was pregnant. No one did. He’d carried small, and Max was good at hiding his body in shapewear and too big hoodies. If anyone did find out, he’d definitely lose his scholarship, and probably get kicked right out of the school. It had very strict rules about sex outside of marriage, and babies don’t just happen.

Max was saved from further questions from Jason by the professor entering the room and beginning to pass out a massive pile of paper that was the final exam. “You will have one and half hours to do the question and answer portion of the exam,” the professor explained. “Then I will show a video of a live birth. As the university wants you to know how to give birth at home, with prayer and without medical intervention as God intended. You all must know how to give birth. After watching the birth video, you will be required to write a paper discussing what they did correctly and what they could have done better. Understood?”

The class nodded.

“All right then, you may begin. You have an hour and a half.”

Max reached out for the packet, grabbing his pencil and his scantron, eager to go as quickly as possible and get this over with. Two questions in, and his stomach was seizing again. Freed from Jason’s questioning gaze, Max wrapped his hand around his stomach to try and soothe it, feeling it shrink underneath the shapewear he wore. He tried not to push, focusing on breathing deeply and slowly through the pain, but the searing stretch of his nethers continued throughout the contraction nonetheless. 

According to his studies, contractions lasted about 60-90 seconds, so Max counted out the seconds in his head, one hand wrapped tight around his stomach, the other clutching his fragile wooden pencil dangerously tightly.

As soon as the contraction began to ease and the stinging stopped as the baby returned to its place just outside his lips, Max continued with the test. His contractions were coming every two minutes, lasting about a minute. Which means while the rest of his class had an hour and a half to complete the test, he only had an hour. 

The words swum in front of him and he leaned forward to get a better view of the words, curling around his stomach and triggering another contraction. Sitting forward as he was, the hard plastic chair pressed against his lips. Which gave him an idea. Experimentally, he pushed with the urge instead of trying to hold back, grunting softly as he did. The head spread him open, shooting through his stretching lips, and then stopped moving as it struck the chair. Max whined, softly, tapping out of the push early. Except this time, the head didn’t go all the way back in, it stayed at that partial crown, stretching his lips. 

Stealthily, he reached down under his desk and explored the area between his spread legs. A massive bulge of straining jeans was wedged between them, pressed up against the chair.

Max let out a shuddering breath. All right, he thought, as long as I can stay sitting down, we can keep the baby in. And thus the test stretched on, in increments of three minutes, two of answering questions, one of pushing fruitlessly into the hard plastic chair, his wet jeans bagging out with the emerging head. 

Some of the questions were about health, but a lot were about sexual health and reproduction. Labeling the different parts of the birther’s anatomy felt particularly ironic when Max could feel the stretch of so many of them, the diagram a visual reminder of how small everything had been before a baby had been shoved through it.

Another question asked which sex position was most likely to result in successful reproduction, which had him flashback to his room, with Jason leaning over him, his warm chest on Max’s. It brought a blush to his cheeks which led Max to lift his head and glance over at Jason.

Jason had been looking back, his brows wrinkled in concern, but when he caught Max looking, the face changed to a forced smile and a hidden lewd hand symbol. Maybe the test was bringing up memories for him too.

Their moment was broken by another contraction. Max forced his head down, as though he was working on his test, leaning as far forward as he could, his stomach pressing against the bottom of the desk, his crotch against the seat to keep the baby in as his whole body pushed down.

The pain was just letting up when the teacher called for their attention, and put on the birthing video. A woman moaning, crouching, her husband supporting her from behind, praying. Her stomach visibly contracted as Max’s own pain returned. Their contractions had synced up, but while she was naked and pushing freely, he was covered in clothes, unable to push or make progress. Her grunts of effort and cries of pain masked his own moans.

The voice of the camera-person ordered the woman, “Push! Push!”

And having sat at a partial crown for an hour and half, Max couldn’t help but obey, pushing in sync with the woman on screen. He leaned back instinctively, lost in the grasp of instinct. He and the woman pushed, and pushed. The babys’ heads emerged slowly, fighting to stretch out the body and, in Max’s case, force the jeans out of the way.

The woman screamed as her head reached a full crown, losing her crouch and falling backwards, caught by her husband. Max’s own softer exhalation, as his own crown, freed from the confines of the chair, reached its own crown.

The next few pushes were unfruitful. The baby’s head bobbed in the woman’s crotch as Max’s own baby fought against his tight jean crotch and lost. He wasn’t trying to hold back anymore, wasn’t thinking consciously, only knew he needed to push.

Then the head on screen gushed out, followed by the rest of the body in rapid succession, but Max’s was still stuck, no matter how he pushed and grunted. The screen went black. 

“You have twenty minutes to write your essays.”

Max panted, realizing his situation. His hand explored downward, gasping at how large the bulge was, his legs spread apart, his lips screaming in pain, stretched to their fullest, his whole body soaked in sweat.

He could not write, could not focus on writing, but he had to. So, ever so slowly he leaned forward. The head of the baby caught on the chair, then began to be shoved up inside him once more. Max shoved his pencil in his mouth, biting down hard to hold back the scream that threatened to bubble in his throat at the pure agony. 

Another, harsher contraction came, but he weathered it, biting his pencil and pressing himself down against the chair. It faded, and he tried to write. The next contraction was just as bad. His weakened pencil snapped his hand. He whimpered as the head began to emerge once more, stretching him little by little. 

It didn’t seem like he had two minutes of leeway anymore, no matter what their professor had taught. The contractions didn’t seem to end. It hurt so much. He was so sweaty, so confined. The baby was coming out again. He didn’t have the energy to push it against the chair. It was stretching his lips, so wide.

“Time!” The professor called. “Pencils down.”

Max’s pencil was in pieces before him, his essay a mess, his multiple choice portion, not quite complete. But he didn’t care. He had to give birth. He had to get out of there.

The old professor toddled around, collecting tests as Max tried to look normal after having been in active labor for fourteen hours and actively crowning for two. 

He’d had a plan, take the test, go home, give birth in his empty apartment. But as the baby reached a full crown once more, Max knew that wasn’t happening. He would at least make it to the bathroom. It was on the first floor. Max planned his route as the professor said his final goodbyes, and then, finally, finally, fifteen minutes after the test ended, released them. 

Max stayed where he was, unsure how to stand as the rest of the students burst out of the room. Another student stayed and talked to Jason, pulling his attention away from Max.

Now, Max thought. He awkwardly turned in his seat, and removed his hoodie. It revealed his very low belly, curved and sweat-soaked, but he used it to tie around his waist, hiding the massive bulge in his crotch. Then, oh so gently, he leveraged himself to his feet.

Gravity shifted, his jeans loosened a bit, and the baby dropped down just a bit further, the head stretching him wider than he thought possible. Max gasped and swayed, catching himself on his desk. Jason glanced over, clearly concerned, but his conversation partners drew him back in.

Free. Max began to waddle, slowly, awkwardly, out of the classroom. Each step was agony, his jeans jostling the fully crowned head in his pants in and out just a smidge. His exhausted legs trembled, and he kept one hand on the wall to keep himself upright. The stairs were right next to the classroom, the elevator was on the other side of the building. He could either walk the entirety twice (to reach the elevator and then walk all the way back to the bathroom at the base of the stairs), or go down the stairs. He chose the stairs.

He went down two before he realized it was an awful idea. He clung to the railing, his legs forcefully spread around the head, which brushed his thighs each time he maneuvered himself awkwardly down the stairs like a new-born deer.

Finally, red faced, panting, exhausted, he reached the bottom of the stairs and practically fell into the door of the men’s bathroom. A guy at the urinal gave him a look.

“Really gotta. . . go,”  Max panted, then stumbled into the stall and locked the door. He reached immediately for his jeans. His shaking hands fumbled with the belt. As the contraction struck, he crouched naturally, spreading his legs wider, but that only forced the jeans up tighter against his opening, forcing the head further in. 

Finally, the belt gave way, and he began forcing the jeans down. They got caught on his hips. He needed to move his legs together, but another contraction hit, and the baby descended further, its nose stretching him and popping out. The head was touching his thighs. He couldn’t spread his legs further to give it more room with his jeans, he couldn’t get rid of the jeans because of the head.

He was stuck.

Mind frozen with fear and exhaustion, he weathered out several contractions, pushing as hard as he could. But the baby didn’t move. It was stuck. The jeans had to go, but that meant. . . 

He heard speaking over the roar of his ears, but couldn’t make out the words. It was definitely Jason.

But Max could spare him no thought. The baby had to come out. Quivering, Max placed his hand on his baby’s head, feeling its wet hair. He took one deep breath, trying to get oxygen in his panic, then began to push the baby up and back it. 

It was agony. He screamed in pain. The baby kicked in protest. His stomach contracted. In the chaos, he lost his balance, falling to his knees, striking his elbow on the side of the tiny stall. 

Jason was pounding on the stall door. 

Max couldn’t talk to him, couldn’t do anything but give birth. He shucked off his jeans and boxers, spread his legs, and pushed.

The much denied baby shot out, to its ears and Max cried out again. The contraction faded, and he could hear Jason now, asking if Max was okay.

“I’ve cleared the bathroom and put a sign out saying its closed. Tell me what's going on, or I’ll call 911.”

Well, Max would need help getting out of here. And it was just as much Jason’s secret as it was his. With a shaking hand, he reached up and undid the latch, just in time for the next contraction to hit. He pushed, and the baby’s head shot out of him just as Jason flung open the door.

“Holy crap!”

Max gasped, leaning against the toilet, spreading his legs just a bit further. The dirty bathroom tile was cold. It felt good. The baby was turning inside him.

“Is that mine?” Jason asked. That health class did something for him after all.

Max could only nod. 

“Shit. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Max didn’t have the breath for explanations. “Wanted you safe,” he gasped. “If I was. . . if they did. . .”

Another contraction. He pushed, weakly. The head bobbed forward, but didn’t move. God, he was exhausted.

Jason knelt down beside Max, his health class training coming into play. “How long have you been in labor?”

“Water broke—nngghh—last night.” The head still didn’t move. He was so tired.

“Last night!”

“Head crowned. . . just. . . just before the—” Another contraction. Max pushed with the pain as hard as he could, but the head wasn’t moving.

“Shit, man.”

Another contraction. No progress. Something was catching on his narrow hips. His body wasn’t made for birthing the way a woman’s was. “I think, I think it’s stuck.”

“I got you, give me a moment.” Then Jason left, leaving Max alone, spread wide and bare, a baby head between his legs, on a dirty bathroom floor. He flopped his head back, resting it on the toilet seat. Gross, yeah, but he didn’t have the energy to care any more.

Another fruitless contraction.

Then Jason was back. He crouched down by Max. “this is going to hurt,” he warned. Then he shoved his hand into Max’s crotch alongside the baby’s neck. Max opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. He was too tired. The pain was awful, the stretch terrible. Then Jason was fumbling around in there with his whole-ass hand, pulling and tugging. Max’s hips strained. 

Another contraction began, tensing Max’s stomach which was peeking up through his shirt, which had ridden up. 

With the hand that wasn’t currently inside Max, Jason pressed down on Max’s stomach. “Push!” he ordered.

Max pushed. Jason pushed with one hand and pulled with the other. The tension, the pressure built, and built. Max was being torn apart. He was going to die. He was—

Something gave. With a gush, the crying baby shot out into Jason’s waiting hands.

The three of them sat, panting, staring at each other. “I want to raise this baby with you, if you’ll let me,” said Jason. “Only reason I haven’t been with you more is, well, I didn’t want to get us both kicked out. But I think you’re amazing and—”

Max smiled. “You’re pretty good too. Let’s do this.”

[berryfishing]

casual - sebek zigvolt.

pairing: sebek zigvolt x gn!reader

summary: with nowhere else to turn, you find yourself paired up for a potions assignment with none other than sebek zigvolt. you're bad at alchemy, he's bad at feelings. stupidity ensues.

word count: 8.1k

warnings: sebek is stupid, hurt/comfort-ish; mildly steamy at times maybe. reader is yuu. too lazy to properly replace em dashes btw

a/n: can we as an internet collective start writing cringe songfics again bc those were my life. anyways this fic came to me in a prophetic vision when listening to my yuu playlist. don't ask how sebek won the bidding war for this bc i couldn't tell you. enjoy! (be nice this is my first fic and i gave up toward the end </3)

You're pretty sure Professor Crewel is out to get you.

Which would be a shame, really, because somewhere in between the unruly sparks and explosions that would leave you with half an eyebrow if you weren't too careful, you had actually come to like his class. History had been too much of a struggle to pick up---because, let's be honest, you're way overdue for a 'twisted wonderland history for dummies' crash course---and flying? Forget it.

Except maybe the class didn't seem to like you nearly as much.

Because with one casual flick of the wrist from your stupidly well-dressed professor, you were faced with the ONE thing that could dash your fragile, naively misplaced dreams of surviving until the weekend could take you into its loving arms.

Partner. Project.

Your forehead meets the cool surface of your desk just as the first collective shouts of protests echo through the classroom. Maybe it'll work out, you think, until you finally find the courage to pick your head up and scope out a potential partner and find that your choices are woefully limited.

Ace, the smug bastard, is halfway out of his chair and already linking his arm around Epel's with the lack of shame only someone like him could flaunt. You almost feel bad for the poor Pomefiore student, but you couldn't blame Ace for finding what looks to be the easy way out. Potions were kind of their thing.

And Deuce.. well, at least he has the decency to meet your gaze and shoot you an apologetic look while he's on his way out the door with Jack. Traitor.

Fine. That's cool, really. You need to branch out, anyway. It could be a good bonding opportunity, right? A chance for you to meet some new people, learn some new faces. Even if you really like the old ones. It's whatever.

The problem, you're starting to realize, is that everyone else seems to have already made their choice.

And you, squinting in barely concealed desperation through the sea of moving students, land on what looks like the one person you can see that isn't already paired up.

Oh, no.

There, sitting ram-rod straight with what looks to be like all of his muscles fully tensed in a way that cannot be natural, is Sebek Zigvolt.

Briefly, you consider just marching up to Professor Crewel and lying straight through your teeth. No, Professor, I really couldn't find a partner. Would your grade like it? Not in the slightest---you like the class, but that doesn't mean you're particularly good at it---BUT, your grade for your sanity? That alone might make it a worthy trade-off.

But all it takes is one second.

You glance back for one second while you're in the middle of shoving your textbook back into your bag to walk up to Crewel and do just that, when you catch the almost imperceptible flicker of his eye. And with a sudden lurch of pity you realize Sebek's waiting, with his hands clenched tight against his lap and a small frown tugging at the corner of his lips, for a partner.

Sebek Zigvolt is loud. He's boisterous, and critical, and always has something to say about the way you hold yourself, or dress, or speak, or even exist. In fact, you're pretty sure your eardrums are still ringing from the start of class, when Ace had unfortunately bumped into his shoulder on the way inside, and you don't think you've even heard Sebek refer to you as anything besides 'human'.

But the Sebek you're looking at now, silently nestled between the rows of people chattering excitedly, looks vaguely resigned. Like he knows the outcome already, and you know---oh, you know. It sounds stupid. It probably is, and if you ever voice the thought out loud you're pretty sure your friends would march you straight into the nurse's infirmary to check for potential head injuries, but you can't help but think he looks meek.

Apparently, it also only takes you one second to change your mind and march straight across the classroom with a vengeance, slamming your palms down flat on Sebek's desk with a little too much force than was necessary.

"Let's be partners," you insist, scrounging up as much willpower as you can to fix him with a glare so determined that you dare him to refuse. Because you know that if you don't, you'll crack with even the first hint of a refusal and resign yourself to twice the work just like that.

The quiet look of surprise that paints his face morphs into confusion, then, with a furrow of his brow, into offense. It looks a little too practiced to be natural, you think. Especially with the way he doesn't seem to even have a retort to back it up, mouth opening and closing and entirely uncooperative with the alarms you assume are going off inside his head at the thought of a mere, magic-less human making demands of him.

Then, after a few seconds, he sits up even straighter with resolve, and the smug, competitive smirk that spreads across his face is kind of maybe starting to make you regret this entire thing.

"Very well."

His response is surprisingly... cordial for what you were expecting. Maybe you'd just caught him off guard with the whole super loud proclamation in front of basically half the class thing. Or maybe this won't be so bad.

"Of course you would want to partner with someone as skilled with alchemy as I. But do not expect me to pull your weight for you, human."

Internally, you sigh and curse yourself and your stupid, bleeding heart.

"Are you stupid?" Is the first thing out of Ace's mouth when you see him the next day in the cafeteria. "Dude, he's gonna eat you alive. Do any of us look like we have premature funeral money?"

"Shut. Up." You hiss through gritted teeth, about two seconds from sinking as low as you could into your blazer in embarrassment. "I didn't have a choice, obviously!"

Deuce, looking like he'd much rather be anywhere but here, pats your shoulder in the most useless reassuring gesture you've ever seen.

"Well, at least he usually gets pretty high marks, right? Maybe it'll help your grade. That's a plus, right?"

"Oh, sure," Ace rolls his eyes, pointing his fork in your direction. "Is that before or after our oh-so-genius prefect gets roped into shining Malleus's boots--GAH!"

Thank god for Deuce and his inability to pull his punches.

With some time to finally think for yourself (you've long since learned to tune out the sounds of your friends' fighting), you couldn't deny they were kind of right. Sure, every encounter you've had thus-far with the fae first year had been civil at best, but at some point he had evolved into a tentative inclusion to your little group of ragtag mages. It wouldn't be that hard to get on his good side and snag a few extra points for yourself on the way, would it?

A loud slam against the table reverberates to your right, jolting you out of your thoughts with all the grace of a rather angry elephant. The thin blanket of surprise that falls over the table is enough to pause the two still-squabbling Heartslabyul students, and you swear there's an audible creak coming from your neck when you slowly turn to glance in the direction of the noise.

Ah. It's no surprise really, only one person could be responsible, but that doesn't mean it's not a shock to the three of you to see Sebek stiffly sliding into the chair next to you as if he was forced (the truth might've been closer than you expected, if that familiar snicker around the corner were anything to go off of). It wasn't the first time he'd hung around the edges of your lively bunch, but he was usually more of an exasperated observer than any real participant in your shenanigans.

He clears his throat, stiffly nodding in your direction in greeting before turning his focus back to his plate. Was that steak and yogurt? On second thought, maybe you didn't want to know. At least he doesn't notice the scathing glare you send across the table to Ace, who's not doing the best job at stifling a cackle behind his glove. Does he want to ruin your chances of finishing this project alive?

"Heyyyy, Sebek," is your awful attempt at making conversation, but the awkwardness that hangs in the air and the drawn out confusion that tinges your words isn't lost on you. Thank the seven that Grim is off pestering who-knows-who for their extra food, or he'd be writing checks that you couldn't cash and causing damages that you couldn't socially afford.

You practically rush out an invitation to Ramshackle in the poor man's direction, barely stopping for breath throughout and drooping closer and closer toward the table as your lungs deflated. Just bite the bullet and get it done.

He pauses, hunched over his plate with his fork half-way raised to his lips. It's all you can do to hope that he heard you the first time, because you really didn't have the dignity to repeat your blunder a second time in front of the prying eyes across from you.

"Hm."

Only a grunt of affirmation in response. But hey, that's all you needed, right? Bite the bullet. Survive.

Then, his lips parted as if he were busy mulling over something to add, you realize Ace's earlier words might have actually been a warning with some merit. He has fangs. How hadn't you noticed them before?

Bite the bullet? More like bite the human if you were unlucky. You'd never realized just how primed Sebek was built to rip you to shreds if he wanted, and now you were experiencing everything up close as if for the first time. Just sitting down next to you, he practically towered over the table, and even all of the regality the Diasomnia dorm uniform had---and buckles, why so many buckles?---seemed to stretch against the just-barely visible strain of corded muscle where his sleeve ended.

And then he leans closer.

This is it. You're going to die, right in front of your sad, half-eaten poor excuse of a sandwich. His mouth closes, then opens again, and it's like staring down the maw of a monster ready to swallow you whole. You've half a mind to just offer up your jugular and make things easy and quick when he finally speaks, entirely too loudly for being this close and looking like it's a physical pain not to say anything.

"Your uniform is buttoned up entirely wrong. It is utterly embarrassing."

This time, even Deuce can't contain his surprised bark of laughter.

Neither of them see it coming when you promptly throw your half-empty cup their way, either.

Sebek doesn't do group projects.

Why should he? It's much easier to handle things on his own, to glide through his courses without the added dead weight holding him down. He knows he's good, because he's worked to be good. Every moment that he'd studied until the brink of exhaustion, every hour spent ignoring the ever-increasing soreness spreading through his body like the plague as he leveraged swing against swing against the battered training dummy in the dorm that had seen much better centuries days.

So it's a surprise, even to him, when he finds himself staring down the magic-less prefect of Ramshackle on the opposite end of his desk, glaring at him with all the defiance of a baby fawn.

If things went his way, he was content to simply wait for his chance to be dismissed; Crewel had long-since given up on forcing him into assigned groups, especially after the last attempt had resulted in his largest cauldron cleanly broken in half in a scuffle that Sebek had not started but quickly put an end to. It would've been a much better usage of his time to take care of everything himself, without worrying about moving parts and lower intellect.

But pride is a traitorous, fickle thing.

He has to swallow down his own croak of surprise when he agrees, his tongue falling vice to his constant issue of speaking before he even has the chance to think. With two simple words of agreement, he's sealed his fate. Sebek was the source of many forms of irritation, he'd been informed of such, but he was never one to go back on his word. It would reflect oh-so-poorly on those that he aspired to rise to the height of.

He's not sure, even hours later when he's retreated back to the familiar stone walls of the dorm he called his home, why he said yes. Every possible explanation seems to float just out of reach in his mind no matter how desperately he reaches, like lily pads on water. He's self-aware enough to realize why it benefits him, of course, to show off the superior intellect of Briar Valley to the inferior. Ego boosts were something he coveted amidst the competitive sea of students around him regardless of whence it came.

For a fleeting moment, he considers that maybe it's because of your circumstances. That he'd taken pity on you. Clueless, confused, clumsy you and the benevolent knight who'd ignored your shortcomings and risen to the occasion to puff out his chest and prove himself.

It all begins to sound eerily like a fairytale he'd heard a few times in his youth.

The wood of the common-room table cracks under his clenched grip.

"---so nice that you're starting to make some friends, you know! Really, I'd been starting to worry about your reclusive habits. Constant stress isn't good for you."

Lilia's excited rambling brings him back to the situation at hand, and he can't help the exasperated sigh that pushes past his lips and the embarrassed fluster that begins to grow under his collar.

"It's just a project," Sebek mumbles, uncharacteristically quiet under the scrutiny of the older fae. Was it truly such a big deal?

"Oh, don't be so shy, young man!" He's not. "Have you thought about what you're going to bring? It's important to be a good guest, you know." He hasn't. "Don't worry, dear boy. I know the perfect treats to make." He's worrying. That's the worst idea he's ever heard.

It's a practical project in alchemy, yet it feels like he's about to be sent off as an ambassador with a peace offering to bridge the gap between two warring kingdoms.

Honestly, that would probably be less stressful than what he's doing now, which was desperately trying to thwart Lilia's assassination attempt in the form of scones.

Crewel would have a lot of questions for him if you died on him halfway through the project, that's all.

All things considered, you really thought things were going to be worse.

The first day was a little awkward, sure, but you hadn't quite expected to open the door and see Sebek dumping half of the contents of a picnic basket into your shrubbery (favors courtesy of Lilia, he'd explained, and added that he added some things that were actually edible.)

It turns out that for all of his bravado, Sebek was strangely palatable when you were alone.

He's still rigid in his own way, but he'd slowly been warming up to your presence the longer you'd worked. Like domesticating a wild animal, you'd noted to yourself one day in amusement. He didn't tense up anymore when you'd leaned over his shoulder to peer at his notes, and similarly, you'd stopped bracing for sudden death when he'd scoff and (rather gently) nudge you back with a firm finger to the forehead when you insisted on watching the portable cauldron up close.

At least, that's how it was most of the time.

The project called for two components: a demonstration, and a written portion explaining the historical evolution of the concoction you had chosen. You'd hoped to gain some brownie points with him when you'd suggested at the start that you cover something that involved a few ingredients from Briar Valley; to your credit, it had the intended effect, and you'd watched in a strangely endeared state as he rambled about your options for about fifteen minutes. It was a win-win situation for you, he'd probably end up doing most of the work in his eagerness and you'd get the chance to consult with some of the most seemingly-untouchable persons on campus when you finally convinced him to ask the heads of Diasomnia for their input.

But any progress you'd made with warming up to the half-fae seemed to backslide as soon as you'd end up anywhere near his dorm members. You distinctly remember waving to his housewarden, who you'd actually had quite a few pleasant conversations with around Ramshackle (unbeknownst to Sebek, of course, who would probably have burst more than a few blood vessels with the knowledge), and then being promptly picked up and moved so that Sebek could place himself in-between you two. Like you were someone to be wary of.

It kinda stung, if you were honest. You were no stranger, but you couldn't say that you didn't quite understand. The hierarchy in Diasomnia was much, much different than the rest of campus; even what they sought to emulate, the spirit of nobility, set a precedent even without the crown prince of Briar Valley's presence. He had expectations to meet, with or without you there, and it was a rough reminder of the fact that this whole thing, whatever you could even call it, was temporary.

He didn't seem to question it when you, voice strained, asked if you could work on the next few sessions at Ramshackle, instead.

"Wait, there's a difference between crushed and powdered? Seriously?"

Lord Malleus preserve him, you were even more hopeless than he thought.

Not that he truly minded in most cases. You were formidably skilled in the writing portion, he had to admit, and he wouldn't admit how he'd puff his chest out and basically preen when you'd look so impressed when he supplemented the most basic of arcane knowledge.

But when it came to the actual alchemical demonstration? It was all he could do to keep you from blowing up Ramshackle every time his back was turned.

"Yes," Sebek pinches the bridge of his nose and tries not to sound too exasperated---he still couldn't get that kicked puppy look you gave him the first time out of his head. "Powdered is more potent in smaller quantities. Refined. Crushed is what we nee-"

He barely has time to react before he looks over from where he'd been so dutifully preparing the proper protective gear and sees an entire. vial. of powdered mugwort tip into the cauldron; he's bounding over with a shout of your name---not 'human', not 'prefect'----before either of you can even properly process what's about to happen, hands landing on your shoulders to whirl you around and press you firmly into the broad groove of his chest.

Just a single moment later, a loud pop echoes through your living room.

You're almost afraid to look up and see the damage, eyes squeezed shut and nestled so securely into his taller frame that you're starting to wonder, in the midst of your adrenaline, how you've ever felt safe anywhere else. But you need to breathe eventually, and the booming slam of Sebek's heart against his ribcage echoes so concerningly in your ears that you're expecting to pull back and see something you're not prepared for.

And you're right, you weren't. In a way that's so entirely unexpected and raw that even years of preparation wouldn't have mattered.

Because when you start to pull back, eyes wide and frantic and the ghost of a loud and worried exclamation on your tongue, Sebek is already looking at you.

The fallout didn't look too bad, leaving just a light sheen of pink powder covering his face from where he'd taken the brunt of the damage. An easy enough fix, with a wet rag or two and a much-needed lecture on ingredient safety.

But the lecture never comes. It's like a fragile moment suspended in time, and he looks just as worried as you do. Hunched over, so unlike his rigid and proud posture he's seemed to have perfected, round pupils searching every inch of you for even the slightest bit of injury--

Wait, round?

You exhale, heart fluttering halfway up your throat.

Sebek's pupils, usually narrowed into perceptive, slightly intimidating slits, are dilated.

You're still forcing your brain to restart and swallowing down the lump in your throat when he finally deems you unharmed, and his exhale of relief blows a small puff of powder onto your own nose. His grip on your shoulders finally relents, but his hands don't move from their perch as he all but deflates, pressing his forehead against your shoulder as he attempts to match your stuttered breathing. That'll stain, you think, desperate to face anything but this moment, so intense that you think you'd much rather be choking on the powder than the uncertainty of it all.

"... Sebek, I'm sorr-"

"Don't."

That shuts you up real quickly.

It doesn't seem like he really knows what to say, either, because you wait and wait and yet.. nothing. Neither of you are really sure how to progress from here, so you find a moment in the silence to tilt your head and study him.

For the second time in his presence, you truly think you're dying.

But for some reason, dying feels much different this time around.

"Sebek," you whisper, and you realize that your fists are still clenched between you two, trembling. Was that from fear, or something else? You're not quite sure when the line started to blur this much. The huff he gives you in response isn't much help, either.

So you steel yourself, uncurling your shaky fingers and letting them find rest on the folded fabric of the front of his uniform, clutching him like a lifeline even after the imminent danger has come to pass.

"I think it really brings out your eyebrows."

A beat passes.

"What?"

And just like that, the moment eases, tension broken like a stone through the surface of a pond. He pulls back and rises, giving you an unobstructed view of the furrow between his brows and the utterly lost expression on his face. You don't offer him much in explanation, just that utterly infuriating grin that spreads across your face so easily that for once he doesn't object to his own wandering gaze down to your lips.

"The pink." You hum, and your eyes are flitting over his face like you're appraising him and sevens why is it so hot in here. All at once, all too quickly your hands are on him, gently brushing the excess powder off of his cheeks with a cupping motion that's entirely too intimate for his poor heart that's damn near bursting. "It goes well with green."

He tries, he really does, not to think about it. Not to think about how strangely affectionate your gaze is, not to think about the way you're the one cradling him so carefully as if he hadn't just proved to you just what he was capable of. If he doesn't think about that, then maybe he won't have to think about the way he's curled over you still, heaving adrenaline and labored breathing intermingling with yours in the pocket of space between your lips that's both too small and not small enough.

Sebek's one weakness is not thinking. It makes him rash, it rubs people the wrong way, it gets him into trouble. He knows that. He knows you've come to know that, along with the rest of him.

That's probably why neither of you are too surprised when he breathes your name out in a whisper, and in the next moment his lips are on yours.

He's wondering how he's lasted this long without it.

You're wondering if Malleus would smite you if he knew what you've made of his retainer.

Preparations for the project had continued, as life did, but there was something simmering under the surface. And it wasn't that cursed cauldron.

Sebek found himself tagging along with your group more, under the pretense of 'assessing your threat to Lord Malleus' (he'd dropped that excuse by the third time he'd fallen into step with you all in the hallway). Ace and Deuce were still sending you sympathetic looks when he wasn't looking, but even they could tell that apparently an unlikely partnership had blossomed there. Ace had even grumbled into your ear one day, a reddened welt in the shape of a palm barely visible under the painted heart on his face, asking how the hell your group was working out and his wasn't. He wasn't too satisfied when you laughed and rolled your eyes, flicking him in the forehead to earn your personal space back.

That truth was for you two alone.

But honestly? You weren't even sure what this 'truth' was.

The day of that little pink mishap had definitely opened some doors you didn't even know were there, but you never officially agreed to anything. And you certainly didn't let anything on in public.

Which is fine. You get it.

Sebek has his duties and expectations. In fact, it almost seems like he's doubled down on them since then, and you didn't miss the way his eyes seemed to silently search for yours in a room as if he couldn't rest until he'd found you. He wouldn't falter or move from his vigilant perch, but you could never miss the subtle upwards curve of his lip when your eyes would meet, one fang barely peeking through.

So yeah, you figured from the start that whatever you had would probably be better off if you didn't show it in public.

But did he really have to act like you couldn't even be friends?

If things looked awkward between the two of you in the beginning, they must look absolutely abhorrent now. At least you were both on equally floundering terms at the start; you had the excuse of time and unfamiliarity. Now, weeks later, he couldn't even sit next to you without seeming like he'd combust any second. It would be kind of endearing, if he had any shame about tracking you down in the hallway only thirty minutes later and dragging you into a hidden alcove behind a tapestry nearby.

You'd come to learn quite quickly that pretty much everything you'd thought about Sebek in the beginning was true, in a roundabout way. For one, you're worried he might actually swallow you whole one of these days.

That kiss you shared, all relief and trouble breathing and slightly tasting of herbs, was the first of many that night. And almost every day after. He was insatiable when it came to you, finding every opportunity to steal you away in the quiet moments and attack your lips with the same vigor he used in every inch of his training. It was a part of his training, he considered, to familiarize himself with every physical and emotional inch of you.

It wasn't the first time you'd found yourself in this specific situation, either, cornered up against the wall with smooth, cold stone on your back and the only-mildly-warmer press of Sebek's chest flat against yours to cage you in and shield you from view. Not that that had ever been a problem in the past; nobody quite seemed to know of this spot, and you're sure he probably had some elaborate fake argument ready to bark out at the slightest threat of discovery if someone found you two alone.

You didn't mind, you'd tell yourself. It was hard to, anyway, with how reverent he'd gaze down at you every time, pupils blown wide and a violent shudder jolting down his spine and arching him further into you when you'd so little as run your fingertips through his wildly styled hair.

You had him in the moments in-between, like the comfort of whistling air through the rickety window panes of your own dilapidated dorm. He would choose you each time he had a passing moment, and that was enough. You were sure of it.

Later, your hands accidentally brush together while you're all walking together to the school store. Sebek recoils like he's been burned, making a show of brushing off his gloves on the neatly ironed sleeves of his uniform. The heat that blooms through your face, this time, is from embarrassment.

"You want to.. set me up?" You squint, pointedly tilting your head from where you lay across the couch.

You'd been deep in thought, staring up at the ceiling beams, when you'd been interrupted by the very unceremonious entrance of Ace and Deuce; in itself this wasn't unusual, but you were pretty surprised to see that they'd even managed to drag Epel and Jack into whatever they were planning, too. Even Grim was there, although he didn't seem to be paying much attention to the situation at hand, busying himself with scooping out the last traces of tuna from the can he'd clearly been bribed with.

Deuce nods. Jack pretends he's not invested.

Ace and Epel practically yank you off the couch in their exasperation. You pretend not to notice the smidge of pink dust that flies into the air from the upholstery.

"Dude, it's getting embarrassing at this point," Ace groans, abruptly dropping your arm and sending you a none-too-sheepish grin when it thuds loudly against the floor. "It's clear you've got a thing for him, and it's making me super nauseous seeing it, so.."

"Waitwaitwait- What?" You don't even bother to move from the floor, flat on your back and glancing up at the group behind you. "For who?

Upside-down-Epel fixes you with a glare, leaning over you with such vigor it looks more like he's about to begrudgingly spill the secrets of the universe to you.

"Quit 'yer bellyachin', ain't it obvious? You're head over heels for the big croco-fuck, ain'tcha?"

You freeze, and although you must look like a limp, lifeless fish, you manage to flop yourself upright into a sitting position from the floor. They're going to help you confess... to Sebek? Awesome. Totally figured it out, way to go detective team.

"Guys," you start, an exasperated protest on the tip of your tongue, when Deuce crouches by your side, brows slotted together in concern.

"He looks at you a lot, you know. When you're not looking. I think he likes you too."

You're too wrapped up in wondering when the hell Deuce suddenly became a romance sap to dwell on the fact they think you're moping because of some silly, unspoken crush (even if it's technically partly true), and Deuce must see the absolute confusion on your face, because he awkwardly rubs the back of his head and nods towards the others.

"At least, that's what Jack says. I don't know."

The wolf beastman bristles at that, ignoring the embarrassed fluster of his face with a loud clear of his throat.

"There's a campus event coming up," he offers, clearly taking pity on you. "You probably wouldn't have heard of it yet, but it's an open festival that the school hosts. Very... popular with young couples."

Huh. That actually didn't sound like an awful idea.

"Plus, if it turns out your feelings are horribly misguided and he's absolutely repulsed by the thought of you liking him, you can just say you meant it in like a friend group way," Ace's words of support are anything but, and you throw your hands up in protest. "What? Just covering your bases, you know you were thinking it."

Running a hand down your face, you groan and lean back onto the couch. They had a point, as much as the risk of it buzzed through your nerves just thinking about it. It was a pretty solid plan; they could feel like they've put all the pieces of the puzzle together, and you could finally figure out what the hell was even going on between you two.

"Fine," you sigh, standing up for the first time since this impromptu meeting started.

Grim offers to help set the mood.

You make a deal with Ace the same night to keep Grim as far away as possible. He is not, as he claims, a 'true romance expert'.

In hindsight, you probably should have chosen a better time.

But you don't really do well under social pressure, and the four pairs of thumbs ups just barely hidden around the corner were enough to encourage you to just get this over with so you could go home and take a break for the first time in a week.

Morning classes had just let out for the day, which gave you about ten minutes of time to guarantee that you'd find him before he found you, and he'd pull you aside so desperately that you'd forget about this whole thing and just let him.

No. You wouldn't let that happen, not with how much energy you've spent worrying about the same thing over and over again. How you'd practically been brooding like a Victorian-era widow every night at the uncertainty of it all, pacing back and forth to the point you think you've worn down the floorboards in certain spots.

You've worked yourself up so much that as soon as you see that familiar envoy of black-and-green uniforms you don't even think before you spring into action. You march your way up, right up to the literal prince of the fae (Around the corner, Ace hesitantly has the headmage on speed dial, just in case) and tell him, very bluntly, that you need to borrow one of his retainers.

Malleus tilts his head in appraisal, eyes sparkling with amusement.

You wait one second. Three. You're not reduced to ash yet, so you guess that's permission enough. Sebek doesn't even have the time to blubber out the usual loud proclamation in the prince's defense before you've got his arm in a vice grip, dragging him a little ways away. Out of the corner of your eye, you can barely see Lilia ushering the two remaining students out of the area with a knowing grin.

"HUMAN! WHAT IS THE MEANING OF TH-" "WILLYOUGOTOTHEFESTIVALWITHME-"

You pause. Because now you're 'human', again. Of course you are. This isn't the privacy of your dorm, after all.

He pauses. Clearly, he hadn't expected that to be what was so urgently in need of attention. It looks like someone's frozen him in time, fist raised in indignation and only half-heartedly clenched in the air.

There's an awkward cough around the corner. You wince.

Just like that, it's like life is breathed into the air again, for better or worse.

"That silly festival," he starts off, slow and stilted, as if trying to regain his footing with the conversation, although it's hard to miss how he spits the word out with a venom that has you reeling back in shock. "Is nothing more than one of mankind's excuses to slack off."

Yet you push through, willing the ice currently forming in your veins to melt just enough that you didn't feel like you were actively decomposing. That's fine. With everything else that came with him, you understand---or maybe it's because you don't understand, that you try so hard to see his point of view. That lingering, festering feeling that even within your most personal of relationships you're still an outsider to this world who could never hope to understand something as silly as love.

"I just thought that if," you exhale, hoping he doesn't quite notice the shakiness of it, "if you end up going, that you might want to see some of it together."

You don't see the twitch of his gloved fingers itching to clasp yours. You don't notice the way his bottom lip pales with the pressure of his teeth, dangerously close to splitting skin with the pressure.

What you do end up seeing is the way his gaze falters, flickering behind you and back, where you know he knows that there's people waiting.

And ultimately, all he knows how to do is save face.

"As if I'd want anything to do with pointless human indulgence."

Anything to do with you. That's what you take away from this. That even now, he's posturing for an imaginary audience that may or may not be there.

Maybe it's the fact that it's in public. Or maybe you're done pretending that you understand. You don't know, but there's a lot of things these days that you're not quite sure of anymore.

Sebek, still standing rooted to the same spot he was when you'd silently turned heel and left mere minutes ago, is one of them.

"Honestly, Sebek. I really thought you were getting better at this friend thing." Lilia sighs, shaking his head as if this were as casual a disappointment as a vending machine getting stuck and stealing a favorite candy bar.

Somehow, that makes Sebek want to stand up even straighter, and he's already standing at precise attention in the middle of the Diasomnia common room. Although no one's quite looking directly at him---Malleus had wandered off not too shortly after their return, and Silver... well, Silver was asleep on the couch, like always---he still somehow feels like he's under extreme scrutiny. Perhaps it's the lingering sting of the hurt in your gaze earlier; it had settled into the backs of his eyelids like an insistent pain, as if his subconscious wasn't willing to let him forget.

"I am." He croaks, although his voice wavers even in his own defense. "The prefect and I are not friends." As if that admission makes it any better.

"You're not?" Lilia's response is oddly casual for the revelation, although the hum of consideration that soon follows reveals why---he'd assumed the opposite. "Did they not like the gifts you brought? I knew you'd need a little extra nudge, of course, but I didn't think I'd have to hold your hand the entire way!"

Sebek had grown used to the amused, vaguely condescending croon of Lilia's voice in moments like these, but that doesn't help the way it settles deep into his bones like poison eating away at him from the inside. How did he even begin to clear this up in a way that didn't make him sound like the worst person ever?

Sevens, what is he even thinking for? He knows he is, right now. He wouldn't allow himself the luxury of being vague, not when he'd been anything but in his very public rejection of you.

"You misunderstand," He pauses, his throat so dry that even swallowing seems to hurt in the moment. It's a struggle, to find a way to define it in a way that doesn't feel vile, to put a name to it so openly. He didn't have the right to do so, not now. "We are... courting?"

Sebek's defensive tone fizzles out.

The resounding SMACK that permeates the air brings it right back.

Sebek didn't even see him rise, but there in front of him stood Silver with a hand still raised, his long-time rival. The one person that he'd never been able to see eye-to-eye with. The fact that the very thing they're agreeing on right now is the fact that he's very much fucked things up scares him with the severity of it all.

He doesn't even find it in himself to retaliate, doesn't press the smooth coldness of his glove against his still-stinging cheek to soothe the pain. He just.. stares. For once, he's speechless.

"You should go fix that." Is all Silver loftily offers as explanation, and it's so oddly out of place and fitting for the situation at hand considering how much fire he'd met him with just a moment before that Sebek doesn't even have the words to argue, just turns and leaves the room in a daze to figure out how to do just that.

Silver's asleep on the couch again before Lilia can get a word in afterwards.

"Ah, young love is so fickle."

It's oddly peaceful at Ramshackle, if you don't count the endless stream of notifications blowing up your phone. Or the howling wind and rain outside. Or Grim's loud snoring drifting down the stairs.

You hadn't looked back when you'd given up and went home just a few hours earlier. Hadn't spared a word to your friends, the masterminds of it all, despite how desperately they had clamored over each other to ask you a million questions and assure you, probably, that they thought it would've gone so much better than it had.

You weren't mad. At least, not at them. You just couldn't find the energy to do much else except wrap yourself up on the couch and stare blankly into the fireplace, so you hadn't quite opened up any of their text messages yet. Maybe that's a tomorrow morning thing.

That is, if you've made sense of anything at all by then. You kind of expected to cry, or scream, or throw things, or lash out. Anything that manifested as physical proof of the aching hurt that spread throughout your rib cage and settled against your lungs with constricting fury. And yet? Nothing. You were exhausted, crushed by the weight of being proven right.

It'll probably hit you like a truck later, you're vaguely aware. But nothing quite feels real at the moment, something you're willing to take advantage of for the time being until you inevitably blow all your thaumarks on ice cream and chips tomorrow.

Then, barely audible through the sounds of the storm just past your door, you hear a knock. Unobtrusive and strangely patient for this weather at first, but quickly ramping up with a frantic intensity that has you sighing and getting up from your current love (the couch) to go begrudgingly answer the door, still wrapped up in the biggest and least-scratchiest blanket you have.

You don't really know who you're expecting to see when you open the door. Maybe Ace, who'd never met a social cue in his life that he couldn't ignore, or Jack, who'd given you the idea of the festival in the first place and probably felt responsible for how sideways it went.

Certainly not a very disheveled, soaked down to the bone Sebek Zigvolt, fist still raised in the air and somehow looking very, very surprised and relieved to see that you are, in fact, still here at Ramshackle. That you hadn't magically found a way to return home out of sheer retaliation against his utter stupidity.

You don't even have the time to retreat further into the blanket still wrapped around you before he's practically launching himself at your feet. It's nothing like what you're used to, nothing like the usual selfish sprawl of his fingers against the warmth of your skin. He's firm, unrelenting in his grip as if to prove you're actually in front of him, you're real, even as you squirm in his hold.

"Sebek, you're freezing!" And it really wasn't an exaggeration. He's dripping water all over your floor, all over you, yet he seems to be preoccupied with little more than smushing his face as far into the side of your neck as he can go before he's able to merge with you entirely. You start to backtrack, leading him with you and closer to the fire little by little. Still, he does little to help you out in the transport, and it's a struggle to all but drag the man.

"I'm sorry." He hisses through clenched teeth, eyes screwed shut, but you know the exact moment he opens them; you can feel the damp flutter of his eyelashes against your neck before he pulls away and looks at you with the most pleading look you've ever seen on him. Like he's waiting for you to tell him to leave, to never return, and he'd do it in a heartbeat if it made you happy. Even if he had to claw his own fingers raw through the dirt to follow through with what his mind couldn't bear to.

This is not the look of the rigid knight with something to prove. This, it hits you like a stake to the heart, is the face of a desperate man with something, finally, in his life that he risks losing before he's even had it.

Once again, it's his eyes that clue you in to a very important realization.

Sebek, you realize, the man who just marched his way over to your dorm in the middle of a thunderstorm without so much as thinking of casting a wind-blocking spell, the one currently sapping all your warmth from you in his insistence to be close to you, the one that stood outside your door in the rain for who knows how long,

is a crocodilic fae.

At the time, you'd been vaguely aware of the similarities. Taken by the novelty of the little things, like the way the only accessible stripe of skin peeking out from his glove was always just-barely cooler in temperature when you'd wrap your fingers around his wrist. Laughter bubbling up through your chest when he'd seem to nuzzle his cheek against yours like he hadn't realized he'd been leaning into your warmth, or the coy smile pulled taut against your lips with each gentle scrape of his fangs over your skin.

Now, it takes all you have not to succumb to your weak knees when you realize just how cold the rain had left him, and how he hadn't spared it so much as a thought in his effort to get to you. Even now, when it looks like it's taking all of his willpower just to keep his arms wrapped firmly around you, he powers through it in silence like there's no question of it being any other way.

There's a soft mutter of protest from him when you finally managed to wrestle him in front of the fire, but he doesn't fight you on the way you wrap your now-slightly-damp blanket around the two of you and guide him to his knees next to you.

"You hurt me," you whisper, smoothing a hand over his forehead to properly see him through the wet strands plastered flush against his skin. With his hair like this, he looked younger. Boyish and walking into this just as blind as you were.

"I know." Sebek croaks, leaning into your touch like it could give him all the answers, like it was the only thing that could help him think clearly.

"I don't expect to be first," and maybe the bitter cold seeping into your bones is finally starting to get to you, mixing with the deep pit of dread in your stomach that had been crashing over you in waves all night, because when you speak you can't even begin to slow the quiet sobs that trickle out after. "I just wanted to be an option."

Somehow, something inside of him is still barely held together enough to break at the tremor in your voice.

"You," he gasps for air, cradling the back of your head with icy fingertips that shake just enough to match how you sound, "are the only option."

You're not quite sure where the sobs racking your chest end and his begin, and you're definitely not sure of just when you'd somehow fallen asleep leaning against each other on a heap in the floor, all tangled limbs and fabric and desperate hearts.

When you wake in the morning, you've somehow made it onto the couch; you're pressed between him and the cushions, Sebek's back turned toward the direction of the door as if he had taken it upon himself to be your only line of defense while you slept.

The next day, you're deep in a heated discussion with your friends about the ethics of bribing ancient spirits to write essays for you when two powerful hands land firm against your shoulders. You don't even need to crane your head up to see who it is, posture relaxing with ease and leaning readily back into the touch.

There's a brief flash of light green on the edge of your vision, and a slightly stiff, but lingering kiss pressed just underneath your ear.

Ace shrieks. You're pretty sure you hear glass shattering.

Yeah, you'd definitely have to thank Professor Crewel later.

Maybe a gift basket.

[moonstruckme]

Hi lovely! Can you do poly!wolfstar x reader who is normally a brilliant student but since the start of the year she’s just been… not? And I mean failing most of her classes, procrastinating more than usual, etc. Like the material just doesn’t click in her head anymore and she feels… I don’t wanna say embarrassed, but yeah maybe a bit embarrassed

Thank you for requesting angel! I hope you know that what Sirius and Remus say in this fic is true, and though grades are never a real indicator of your intelligence you can always improve them <3

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

“Oh,” Remus says from the kitchen, over the sound of chopping. “Dovey, did you get your mark back on that essay yet?”

A newly familiar brand of self-loathing spreads through your gut. “Mhm,” you hum, half hoping he won’t hear. 

“How was it?” 

You gnaw on the inside of your cheek, staring unseeingly at the assignment you’re meant to be doing on your laptop. You know Remus doesn’t mean to pester you. He’s only curious because you’d spent a rushed evening writing the essay at the last minute and he likely remembers your panic; he has no reason to think you’ve done anything but well, as he’s used to with you. Still, you wish he had a worse memory and perhaps cared less. 

“Fine,” you say. 

It’s not a lie, though the half-truth tastes bitter on your tongue. It was, by definition, fine. You’d received a passing mark, though just barely. You shouldn’t have been surprised; the essay had been a last-minute scramble and had probably read like one, your ideas half formed and structured only coherently enough that you thought you might coast by with a B. Realistically, you’d known this professor was too strict to let you do that. 

“That’s good,” Remus hums, appeased. You’re lucky he’s not nearby enough to read the guilt on your face. 

The sharp tang of blood spreads through your mouth as you navigate to a new tab. You haven’t thought much about what effect a C would have on your mark in the class. You’ve avoided thinking about it much at all. Still, the essay was a weighty assignment, so maybe there’s a chance that C could have buoyed you above failing…

You don’t hear Sirius coming up behind the couch. He’s been bouncing between you and Remus all evening, no task of his own but happy to distract you both from yours. You register his arms coming around your front right as he registers the marks on your screen.

You slam your laptop shut. 

Sirius says your name, soft with surprise. 

“You snuck up on me.”

“I wasn’t trying to,” he says. It’s not an apology, but almost. “How long have—why haven’t you said anything?” 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” You feel tears pressing at your throat and you shove them down. “It’s embarrassing.” 

Sirius makes a soft sound, chin landing gently in the juncture of your neck and shoulder. His thumb strokes over your abdomen. “Oh, my girl…” 

“Everything alright?” Remus’ chopping has stopped. Although he can’t see you, he can still detect a somber tone. 

Sirius is quiet. He’s not going to give you away, you know. But to avoid having secrets between the three of you, you have to come clean to Remus yourself. 

“Yeah,” you say with forced lightness. Your stomach is in knots. “Everything’s fine, I’m just not doing very well in school.” 

“Oh.” Remus appears from inside the kitchen. He comes toward you with brows drawn together, not in disappointment but in concern. “Anything I can help with?” 

Your throat closes up at how he offers it so easily. You give him a watery smile. “I don’t think so.” 

Sirius’ arms stiffen at the squeak of your voice. “Hey,” he says, rubbing your shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s just school.” 

You try to stay quiet as a tiny sob bullies its way out of you. It used to be just school for you. Simple, routine, nothing you had to work terribly hard at. It mattered, but not much, because you never had to worry about it. 

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” you admit as Remus comes to sit beside you, sympathy digging into the space between his brows. “I just can’t—it’s like I can’t do anything this year. I’m failing.” 

“Shh, sweetheart, it’s alright.” Sirius lets you go so Remus can draw you into a hug. You curl against him, humiliated and yet desperate for comfort. “You’re not failing.” 

“I literally am.” 

“Maybe,” he says calmly, “but Sirius is right. It’s only school. You’re only failing some classes, not failing in general. Don’t start telling yourself you’re not brilliant.” 

You’re quiet, sniffling. Remus’ silence is knowing. He rubs up and down between your shoulder blades in slow, short strokes. He has a way of always saying what you’re really upset about.

“You’re still brilliant,” he says. You hide your face in his jumper, steeping in your shame. 

“You can come back from failing a few classes,” Sirius tells you. “I know you’re not used to it, but you’re only having an off term, sweetness. It’ll be okay. You’ll figure it out.” 

“I don’t—” You sniff hard, pulling away from Remus to wipe under your eyes. “I don’t think I have time to figure it out.” 

“You may not be able to pass this term,” Remus agrees. Your face tightens at the confirmation, but he goes on gently, “That doesn’t mean you’ve failed. You can sort it out for the next one. We’ll help you. It’ll only be one bad term, you can move on from it.” 

“People do it all the time.” Sirius leans over the back of the couch, kissing your shoulder. “It doesn’t mean anything about you. Just that you had a rough go.” 

You tilt your head so it touches his lightly, the smallest token of affection. Sirius rewards you by cupping your chin in his hand, tilting your head back so he can smile down at you. He thumbs a couple of tears off your cheeks. 

“You’re both being very reasonable,” you say quietly. “If you loved me you’d tar and feather me.” 

“You know, we so would,” Sirius bends to kiss your nose, “because we do love you, but unfortunately the tar still hasn’t been replenished from last month’s public humiliation.” 

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, sweetheart,” Remus chides, rubbing your arm. “It’s only been one term.” 

“Mm, also true,” says Sirius. “Usually we don’t tar and feather anyone until at least three.” 

At last his teasing gets a smile out of you, albeit a small, begrudging one. Sirius grins widely in response. 

He stamps his lips on your forehead, voice dropping into a more sincere register. “You’ve nothing to be embarrassed of, lovely girl. We’ll get past it, yeah?”

You find that you believe him. 

[all-with-angel]

Cross my heart, I hope you die

Summary: In which you try to avoid the rude, short-tempered and dangerous special grade sorcerer, Sukuna Ryoumen, who happens to also be your senpai. But whatever you do, it seems that he simply never leaves you alone. Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3(WIP)

❥ Sorcerer!Sukuna x male!Reader

❥ rivals to lovers, cursing, injury on reader, other warnings on pt.1, m!reader

W.C. 3.7k || Masterlist || A.N. so sorry this took so long lovies <3

Sukuna Ryoumen was not a pathetic man. Keyword: was.

Past tense, because he was sure he was pathetic in every single way he acted around you. He was no different from a kicked dog following its master, surely.

And what did you do? You just existed. Loudly. No, not loudly, but you were loud to him. The way his eyes just snapped to you in a room, how your voice always seemed to reach his ears first, loud. He hated loud. So why, pray tell, did he just have to follow you wherever you went?

Sukuna didn’t like to call it stalking. Stalking is a strong word. He was just… keeping an eye on you. That’s it.

He saw that you were strong, a first grade sorcerer who was on a path to be a great special grade but he still used the excuse of protecting you. Making sure you didn’t get ambushed, that you didn’t get hurt because of your stupidity. (He saw you burn your tongue while you were eating once, and that was enough to solidify his latter excuse.

You weren’t careful enough. You trained too late at night. You took missions solo when you shouldn’t. You were reckless, and yeah, fine, maybe that was part of why he liked watching you. You pushed your limits until you bled. Just like he still did.

So what if he stood outside the gym while you trained and watched your form improve over time? So what if he started showing up early to the cafeteria because you always got there late and skipped meals when you were tired?

God, he was pathetic.

And he hated that he liked it. Hated that he remembered how you liked your coffee. Hated that he noticed your stupid mannerisms- the way your eyes squinted slightly when you were lying, or how your fingers twitched when you were holding back a snarky comeback.

Sukuna wasn’t good at feelings. So when he started showing up uninvited, when he started provoking you on purpose, when he started picking fights just to hear you curse him out—he thought that was normal maybe even more than necessary. That was how people like him said hello, I like you.

He liked you, and he was sure it was obvious.

Sukuna hated your existence and everything you stood for, is the one fact you could be 100% sure of. Actually, there was another fact you were 100% sure of, and it was that you hated him just as much.

It was a thought you had solidified in your head just recently, while you were on your way to the vending machines after class. Everything was just another day, until Yaga pulled you aside. 

He had that look on his face. The "this is going to suck, but I’m pretending it won’t" look. So you stood there, arms crossed, already tired, while Yaga fidgeted with his clipboard and cleared his throat like he was announcing your execution.

“You’ll be traveling. Two days out west. Exorcism. Medium-level curse. The area’s been experiencing some strange fluctuations—negative energy spikes, disappearing livestock, minor possessions. Could be a semi-sentient curse nesting in the woods.”

“Sounds manageable,” you said slowly, eyes narrowing. “So who’s my partner?”

“Sukuna Ryoumen.” 

No. No, you must’ve misheard that. There was no way, maybe he just misspoke and meant to say Shoko-  “Who?”

“Sukuna,” Yaga repeated, eyes flitting back to the paper. “He’ll be accompanying you as part of a supervised mission. Think of it as… a learning experience.”

“Is this a punishment?”

"No."

“Are you sure?"

“Yes.”

“Because it feels like one.”

Yaga pinched the bridge of his nose like he was this close to assigning you anger management. “Sukuna requested this mission.”

“What?” Your eyes widened as the furrow between your brows deepened, Sukuna requested you as his partner?

Yaga sighed like he knew this would happen and didn’t care. “Sukuna specifically requested you as a partner. Said he could learn something from you.”

You felt your brain stutter like a car running out of gas. Sukuna? Learn? From you?

Bullshit.

That was the most suspicious thing you’d heard in your entire career at Jujutsu High. Sukuna didn’t “learn” from anyone. He picked fights, broke bones, and called it a day. 

You stormed out of the office, envelope crushed in your fist, heart burning with indignation and more than a little dread. It was one thing to deal with Sukuna in passing—those goddamn hallway encounters, the offhand insults, the unsolicited “advice” he barked like commands—but a mission? Together? Overnight?

You felt a migraine forming just thinking about it.

The next morning, you arrived at the train station early. Too early. You figured if you got there first, you could at least enjoy a few moments of peace before Hurricane Sukuna rolled in.

The station was quiet at this hour, washed in pale morning light that didn’t do much to warm the early spring chill. You adjusted your jacket, sighing, gripping the strap of your bag tightly as you leaned against a cold metal bench. Your fingers tapped an annoyed rhythm against the side of your thigh.

He requested you.

That part wouldn’t stop echoing in your skull like a stubborn curse. Why the hell would he request you?

Was it just to mess with you? Some sick joke to put you on edge the entire trip? Did he think you’d be fun to torture in a confined space for hours? Or maybe this was some elaborate revenge scheme for that time you’d kneed him in the ribs during sparring so hard he spat blood.

Honestly, that one would’ve been fair.

Still, it didn’t add up. Sukuna didn’t go out of his way for people. Not unless there was something in it for him.

You glanced at the time.

7:01 a.m.

The train would leave at 7:30.

And then—like the devil finally clocking into work—you heard it. The low, drawling whistle of a bastard walking with far too much confidence for someone so unreasonably irritating.

You turned your head slowly, like you were bracing for an oncoming car crash.

There he was.

Ryoumen Sukuna. Pink hair as obnoxiously spiked as ever, tattoos curled around his skin like they belonged there, a smug grin tugging at his mouth like he’d just won a bet with God.

He looked directly at you the second he entered the platform. Like he’d known you were there the whole time.

Great. Creepy stalker powers confirmed.

“There’s my favorite little sweetheart,” he drawled.

You didn’t answer. Just let your eyes slowly drag over him with the unimpressed flatness of a particularly judgmental cat.

He strutted over, hands in his pockets, eyes glittering with what you could only describe as malicious amusement. Sukuna sat down beside you uninvited, spreading his legs obnoxiously wide like he owned the entire bench while you were forced to scoot over, pressing yourself against one end of the bench. Jeez, he was massive. “You’re in a mood.”

You scoffed. “Gee, I wonder why.”

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, and looked at you from the corner of his eye. “What, aren’t you honored to be spending the next 48 hours with me?”

“You could’ve picked literally anyone else.”

“But I didn’t,” he said, tone quiet and sure. You looked at him. For a fleeting second, his expression was unreadable. No smirk, no teasing glint. Just quiet, thoughtful weight behind his gaze. And it pissed you off even more.

“Why?” you asked, genuinely confused.

Sukuna tilted his head slightly, then shrugged. “Thought it’d be fun.”

“Fun,” you repeated, deadpan.

“Yeah. You’re strong. You don’t take shit. You’ve got good instincts. Better than most of the idiots that call themselves sorcerers, if I’m being honest.”

“Oh.” Oh. You blinked at him, stunned for a second. Was that… praise? No. No, no, no. That wasn’t allowed. Not from Sukuna. You looked away after that, finding the floor more fascinating as you muttered a thanks. Nothing was said after that, both of you letting the silence stretch on as you two waited for the train.

The receptionist glanced at her screen and smiled again, that same rehearsed, customer-service kind of smile that was the norm. “Ah, yes, reservation by Jujutsu Tech, correct?” she said sweetly.

“That’s us,” you muttered. Well, mostly you. Sukuna hadn’t said a word yet, hands shoved into his pockets, bored eyes scanning the lobby like he was looking for a fight to pick.

“You’ll be in Room 507,” she chirped. “King bed, as requested.”

Your brain did a record scratch.

“…What?”

She blinked. “Yes, a king-sized bed, one room.”

“Wait, no, there must be a mistake.” you said quickly, trying not to let your voice rise. You threw a pointed glance at Sukuna, who raised an eyebrow as well. "Is there anything else available? Maybe two singles? A futon? A coffin?"

The receptionist flushed, tapping again. "I'm so sorry. It looks like we had a booking error. We're completely full tonight because of the local festival. All the inns nearby are booked too."

You stepped aside and dialed the front desk number on your phone, pacing just a bit away. You weren’t going to be rude. You refused to be that person. But the tightness in your voice gave you away as you spoke with a second staff member, repeating the issue calmly but with a razor’s edge.

No extra rooms. No rollaway beds. Not even a blanket and pillow set to crash on the floor.

"Great," you muttered as you hung up, sliding your phone into your pocket with the grace of a man trying not to explode.

You turned on your heel and began marching toward the elevator without even checking to see if Sukuna followed. Inside the elevator, you didn’t say a word. Neither did he. The silence buzzed louder than the soft elevator music, and you swore you could feel his smug aura from across the small space. It was like standing next to a space heater that also insulted your intelligence every five minutes.

The room itself was… nice. Too nice. The lighting was warm, the sheets crisp, and the bed was offensively luxurious. The kind of bed that looked like it had its own subscription to interior design magazines. And of course, there was only one of them.

He stretched, long limbs shifting under his shirt, and you immediately looked away. Not because he was hot. Absolutely not. It was just—he was warm-blooded and made mostly of muscle and spite, so the shirt clinging to him probably just did that naturally.

“I’ll take the couch,” he offered suddenly.

You blinked. “What?”

“The couch.” He huffed and threw his bag on the couch in question, that was notably way too small for a man his size. “I’ll take it.”

You frowned. It was uncharacteristically considerate of him. Weird. It made you suspicious. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch. I’m not a total bastard.”

You raised a brow, unconvinced.

“…Okay, maybe like eighty percent bastard,” he amended. “But still. I’m not letting you get scoliosis from a night on that thing.”

You stared at the couch, then back at him. “I’ll take it.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. You’re bigger than me, and I’ve survived worse.”

Sukuna looked oddly… conflicted. Like he didn’t want you to suffer for the sake of being polite. Or maybe he was just trying to avoid being indebted to you. But after a moment of silence, you both simultaneously said:

“Let’s just share the bed.”

You froze. He raised a brow.

“…Okay then,” you muttered, walking past him to toss your bag by the wardrobe. “Are you seriously okay with this?” He snorted. “Why wouldn’t I be? You scared I’ll bite?”

You rolled your eyes at that, deciding to keep your mouth shut. You grabbed your gear while Sukuna mindlessly poked around the room, it was late noon and it would probably be late when the two of you would get back from patrolling the area.

The night air was crisp, the faint scent of blooming sakura drifting through the quiet streets of the small village. The mission had been uneventful so far, with only the occasional rustle of leaves breaking the silence.​ Sukuna walked with a kind of heavy presence- shoulders relaxed, but every inch of him coiled like a snake. His hands were in his pockets, but you knew he could be lunging and maiming something in a breath.

“Tch. You’re looking around like a damn scared cat,” he drawled suddenly.

You huffed, relaxing your grip on your katana. “I’m surveying. It’s called being thorough.”

“It’s called overcompensating,” he smirked, not even glancing your way.

You rolled your eyes at that, “Sorry for taking my job seriously.”

His eyes flicked toward you, unreadable. “Yeah, yeah. You’re a real model sorcerer.”

You clicked your tongue, opening your mouth to let out a retort until a chill ran down your spine. The air grew heavy, and the shadows seemed to deepen. Cursed energy, multiple points.

Without warning, a group of curses emerged from the darkness, their grotesque forms twisting and writhing as they lunged towards the both of you.​ 

“Tch,” Sukuna’s fingers curled out of his pocket. “Took long enough.” 

Despite their numbers, they were relatively weak, and you dispatched them with practiced efficiency.

Everything was going fine until one of them—the sneaky little bastard—caught your arm with a swipe of its jagged claw. It wasn’t deep, just a shallow line across your forearm, but it burned like hell. You hissed and ducked back, gut twisting as warm blood soaked into your sleeve.

Sukuna noticed immediately, slicing through the last curse with a flick of his wrist. “You serious?” he barked, “You let that thing scratch you?”

You rolled your eyes, wincing as you felt the fabric of your uniform stick to the wound. “It’s a cut, not a mortal wound.”

“Still pathetic,” he muttered, voice sharp with irritation as he stomped his way in front of you. He glared at the wound, grabbing your wrist and raising it so he had a clear view of the cut. “Hey!”

He ignored you, sneering at the blood starting to seep through your uniform and drip onto the pavement. “You had the angle. You should’ve dodged.”

“I was dodging, dumbass. The curse moved weirdly mid-swing.”

“You’re just slow.”

You looked like you wanted to hit him, and to be fair, you were dangerously close. “Keep talking, Ryoumen. I’ll make you bleed worse just to see how you like it.”

“Bring it,” he snapped, gripping your wrist just a bit tighter. You cringed at the pressure, but didn’t back down. His crimson eyes narrowed, flicking briefly to your wound before he let go of your wrist, huffing and turning away. “Tch. Whatever. Let’s just get back.”

The walk back was quiet. You didn’t talk. He didn’t either. Just that same heavy silence from earlier, now heavier.

You excused yourself to the bathroom the second you got into the hotel room. The sleeve of your uniform was torn, sticky with drying blood. You peeled it away with a wince and grabbed the first aid kit Yaga packed in your bag, fumbling with the gauze and antiseptic. Your fingers were trembling, mostly from leftover adrenaline.

You hissed when the alcohol hit the wound. Tried to wrap it yourself, It wasn’t going well.

“Tch. You’re hopeless.”

You looked up to find Sukuna leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, uniform already discarded with only a dress shirt on him. The buttons were holding on for dear life. He stared at you, expression unreadable, tattoos dark under the light.

You glared. “I’m fine. I can do it myself.”

“Yeah, clearly.” He snatched the bottle and gauze from your hands, stepping in without waiting for permission. “Shut up and sit down.”

You blinked, about to argue, but something in his face made you pause. It wasn’t that usual smugness. He looked… tense.

You sat.

Sukuna knelt in front of you, movements weirdly gentle as he pressed the cloth to your wound. You hissed again and he muttered something that sounded suspiciously like idiot under his breath. His fingers were warm, surprisingly steady as they worked—too steady, actually. You didn’t think someone who punched through skulls could be capable of treating wounds with that kind of care.

“What?” he said, noticing your stare.

“Thanks.”

It was his turn to roll his eyes, eyes flicking back to where he was working on your wound. “Whatever.” He bandaged you efficiently, like he’d done it before. Maybe on himself. Maybe on his brothers.

“Next time,” he muttered, tying the final knot, “don’t get distracted mid-fight.”

You sighed, resisting the urge to lean back against the wall. “I wasn’t distracted. Just unlucky.”

“Bullshit.” His voice was low now, rough. “You’re better than that.”

That caught you off-guard, and it caught Sukuna off-guard too- if the widened eyes looking up at you were anything to go by. It's as if he didn’t even think he’d say those words and to be fair, you didn’t think he would either. You grinned.

“What, no insult this time?” you teased, unable to stop yourself. “Losing your edge?”

He stood up with a snort, tossing the used gauze in the trash. “Nah. You’re still a dumbass.” But he didn’t say it as harshly as usual. Huh.

You watched him walk back into the room, the tension in your chest refusing to ease. Something about this night—about him—felt different. Maybe it was the blood loss. Maybe it was the weird domestic intimacy of him bandaging you up. Maybe it was the fact that, for a moment, Sukuna Ryoumen had looked like he actually gave a damn about you.

You weren’t sure if you liked that.

The hotel room had gone still.

Not quiet, still—the kind of stillness that settles into your bones, where even the hum of the air conditioning feels like a distant echo. The lights were off. The moon spilled in weakly through the slats in the curtain. You were on the far side of the bed, back turned to him, shoulders rising and falling in slow, measured breaths.

Sukuna lay facing the opposite direction. Eyes open. Jaw tight.

He couldn’t sleep.

Not because of the bed. Or the room. Or even the stupid one-bed situation he’d pretended not to care about.

It was you. That stupid, reckless, aggravating you.

The scent of antiseptic still lingered faintly in the air, mingling with the ghost of blood. Your blood.

He should’ve moved on. Should’ve been glad the fight was over and you’d only gotten nicked. Hell, most people would call that a lucky break. But it kept playing in his head on loop—your grunt of pain, the flicker of red across your side, the way you staggered just a little before recovering and pressing forward like it hadn’t happened.

It was a shallow cut. He knew that. You weren’t dying. He’d seen worse—hell, he’d inflicted worse. But that didn’t matter.

Because it had been you.

And that meant his heart had stopped for half a second longer than it should have. Just long enough for rage to take root. Not at the curses. Not really. They were dead now. Torn apart without mercy. No, he was pissed at you.

For not dodging. For letting your guard down. For making him feel something he didn’t want to admit to. He squeezed his eyes shut, scowling into the darkness.

“Idiot,” he whispered under his breath. He wasn’t even sure if he meant you or himself.

One minute you were just another second-year sorcerer, someone competent, someone annoyingly moral, someone with that steady gaze and that sharp tongue that never backed down even when he was inches from your face.

And now?

Now he couldn’t stop remembering the way your breath hitched when the antiseptic touched the cut. The little wince you tried to hide. The way your lashes had lowered when you finally let him bandage you up, too tired to keep up your bravado.

He’d been too harsh. Again. He knew it. Why was he like this? Why couldn’t he hold his tongue, be ‘nice’, be something that you could look at without anger?

How dare you make him care.

He could hear you shift behind him slightly, maybe adjusting your arm or pillow. He bit the inside of his cheek before he could think of your injury again. Maybe he should’ve wrapped it less tighter?

He swallowed, rolling onto his back. His eyes flicked to the ceiling. Blank. Pale. Silent. His thoughts were louder than ever.

He wondered if you knew what you did to him. How your voice lingered in his head when you weren’t around. How your insults hit harder than anyone else’s because he knew you meant them—and because he cared that you did.

He wondered if you realized how close he was to doing something irreversible. Like falling for you completely. Like giving a damn every single time you breathed a little too sharp in a fight, or bit back a wince, or stood too close to danger.

He wondered if you’d ever forgive him for being this bad at showing it.

Because he didn’t know how to be soft. He didn’t know how to say, “I’m glad you’re okay,” without sounding like a jackass. He didn’t know how to admit he was scared without masking it with sarcasm or anger or a snide remark.

All he knew was this: if anything ever happened to you again, and he wasn’t fast enough to stop it—he’d tear the world apart trying to fix it.

He let out a breath and finally, finally turned over again.

You were still facing away, one hand tucked under your pillow, breathing slow and even. He stared at your back, taking in every small detail—the slope of your shoulders, the rise and fall of your ribs, the way your hair was slightly mussed from the pillow.

He wanted to reach out. Just once. Just lightly brush his fingers along your arm to make sure you were really there. That you were okay. 

But he didn’t.

He just stared. Like a coward.

Part 1 || Part 3 ➠

TAGLIST (open)

@prettorett @rikabby69 @iamlizardgod @cheeselordbones @mistalli @poopooindamouf

[bettelaboure]

⊹Tell Me To Stop⊹ | Choi Seung-Hyun

seventh part in series "Course in Chemistry"

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

⊹ Pairing: Choi Seung-Hyun x Reader

⊹ Warnings: sexual tension, explicit sexual content, embarrassment, mature language, peer pressure, and high school dynamics involving gossip and judgment

⊹ Summary: Y/N helps Seung-Hyun explore his sexual curiosity through an intimate and consensual encounter that begins with erotic media and leads to mutual physical exploration

⊹ Author's note: This one is a bit bit longer, full of shit show, so grab popcorn and let's go! we are nearly at the end

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

"Urgh! I can't do this!" You threw your hands in the air and slammed them onto the floor, burying your face in your palms.

Jae-mi looked up from her bed to see you sprawled out on her bedroom floor, surrounded by textbooks and notes, clearly overwhelmed by the complexity of Present Continuous.

"Do what?" she asked, shutting her Spanish textbook, eyeing your frustration with a mix of concern and amusement.

"This." You gestured to the textbook in front of you. "It's all so..."

"Boring?"

"Complicated," you huffed, rubbing your hands over your face. "Why can't they just make it like a fun story or give step-by-step instructions that make sense?"

"Because it's a textbook, not a bestselling novel," Jae-mi teased as she joined you on the floor. She glanced at your notebook. "What's that?"

"A snowman eating its own nose," you muttered.

"Nice," she said dryly.

You groaned and slapped the book closed. Stupid book. Whoever created textbooks should be jailed for the mass destruction of teenage happiness.

"Are you and Choi Seung-Hyun seriously done?" Jae-mi asked, her voice softer now.

You rolled your eyes. "You say that like we were ever in a relationship."

"You kind of were," she said, shrugging.

You shot her a glare, and she lifted her hands in surrender. "Okay, more like in a weird tutor-student-situationship-friends-with-benefits vibe."

You chuckled, exhaling. "Please. Seung-Hyun and I were never friends." Were you? Did he think of you that way? You spent a lot of time together, after all.

"You did spend a lot of time with each other," she echoed your thoughts. "And you both saw each other in... personal ways."

Very personal. You gave him a hand-job and he saw you naked. That was hard to ignore.

"Look, all I'm saying is maybe you should talk to him. You clearly need him."

"I do not need him!" you snapped.

"Okay!" she backed off with raised hands. "But then how are you going to get your grades up?"

Good question.

"Maybe I'll drop out and become a stripper," you mumbled.

Jae-mi gave you a deadpan look. "You can’t even touch your toes. How would you do the splits on a pole?"

"I can learn!"

"You can also learn how English sentences work," she said, tapping the textbook.

You groaned again. Why was she always right?

Back in class, you were calculating how many minutes were left before you either escaped or hurled yourself out the window. Mrs. Arakaki had been glaring at you like you’d insulted her ancestors. Her constant nagging, condescending tone, and unfair callouts made it impossible to behave.

You’d once gotten a week’s detention for threatening to paint the classroom red because she wouldn’t let you go to the bathroom during your period.

"Y/N," she called, eyes narrowing. "今日はどうですか?"

Oh, for fuck's sake.

"今日は元気ですか?" Choi Seung-Hyun, seated behind you, gestured for you to respond.

"Are you on drugs?" you muttered. He raised a brow.

"Seriously?" he pressed. "How are you today, Y/N?"

What was he doing?

"Fine. I got shampoo in my eyes this morning, but I’m still alive."

He chuckled, leaning back.

"So... good? Say it. '良い.'"

"良い," you tried. He nodded encouragingly.

"So, 今日はどうですか?"

You smiled, something clicking.

"良い," you answered again.

The look on Mrs. Arakaki’s face dropped. You never responded in Japanese, and your tiny victory made you glow with pride. You wanted to rub it in her face.

You actually got something right.

Because of him.

Damn it. No, not because of him. You don’t need him. You told him that. And Y/N doesn’t go back on her word.

The cafeteria hadn't changed much since the Se-mi disaster. She hadn’t shown her face since, and neither had Jun-ho. Drama queen.

Jae-mi was deep in her history notes, preparing to destroy Young-bae in their next class.

"You know you’ll look back and wonder why you were so obsessed with beating some guy," you said lazily.

The glare she shot you could have killed.

"I will revel in it. He's Satan's twin, and I will vanquish him."

"Maybe you two should just have angry sex and get it over with."

Now the glare had grown murderous.

"That’s the most horrifying image I’ve ever imagined," she hissed.

Please. If only she knew.

"Suit yourself," you murmured, stabbing your salad.

Later, standing at your locker, you fixed your hair and tried to remember what had possessed you to make a deal with Choi Seung-Hyun. What were you thinking?

How could someone so disinterested in school thrive with a tutor like him? And how could you turn someone like him—a total newbie to sex—into anything remotely confident? The plan had been doomed from the start.

You turned around—and there he was.

Leaning against the wall, book in hand, he was staring at someone else.

Se-mi.

She came back to school.

With her blonde hair glowing in the light, flute case in hand, she looked like an angel. Everything you weren’t. Innocent. Sweet. Happy. She was the type of girl who looked like she erased the darkness from a room.

Kinder. More genuine. But with a biteful tongue.

You watched his eyes follow her like she was the only thing that existed. You wondered what he was thinking. Was it about her? About the date he had planned? About the books he read?

Was she the one he pictured?

When you kissed him, when you touched him, when he whispered beautiful against your skin—had he meant you?

Or had he meant her?

The question echoed in your mind, pounding like a second heartbeat.

You were so lost in it that you didn’t notice the jocks approach.

One of them slapped the book from his hands. Another shoved him.

"Weirdo," one sneered.

You clenched your fists.

You wanted to say something.

But before you could, the PA system crackled:

"CAN MISS KIM JAE-MI AND L/N Y/N PLEASE REPORT TO THE PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE. THANK YOU."

Silence.

Everyone turned to look—including Seung-Hyun, Se-mi, and the jocks.

Your heart dropped into your stomach.

Oh god.

What now?

The last thing you expected to see in the Principal's office was Jae-mi sitting anxiously across from Mr. Park's desk.

Mr. Park always carried himself like he had a permanent stick lodged somewhere unfortunate. He wasn’t just strict—he was insufferably smug, and while you usually admired people who owned their power unapologetically, with him it was different. He was the kind of authority figure that made you want to rip your own ears off just so you wouldn’t have to listen to his self-righteous, monotone squawking.

"Y/N," he acknowledged dryly as you walked in. "Sit."

You didn’t protest. You weren’t even entirely sure why you were here, and antagonizing Mr. Park was only going to make it worse. You took the seat beside Jae-mi, whose face was pale and tight with worry. She wasn’t used to being summoned for anything less than praise.

"I’m sure you’re both aware of the diary pages that have been circulating around school," Mr. Park began.

Your eyes met Jae-mi’s. Shit.

"And I received a very concerned call from Dr. Kang regarding the vulgar invasion of his daughter’s privacy."

Here it comes.

"I have strong reason to believe you two are behind this," he continued.

"And what makes you think that?" you asked, arms crossed, tone defiant.

Mr. Park smirked with satisfaction as he rotated his monitor toward you both. "I’m so glad you asked. Vice Principal Seo installed new CCTV cameras around campus recently. A very wise move, it turns out."

Your jaw practically hit the floor. There you were on the screen—both you and Jae-mi—tossing printed copies of Se-mi’s diary into the air like flower petals at a wedding.

Well, shit.

"Do you have CCTV everywhere, Mr. Park? Even in storage closets? What’s next, hidden mics in the locker room?" you muttered under your breath, your sarcastic smile barely hiding your panic. Mr. Park had always shown a little too much leniency toward the football team, especially Jun-ho.

"I’d be careful with that tone, Y/N, unless you want your punishment doubled," he warned before turning to Jae-mi. "Miss Kim. I expected better from you. You can kiss “Best Student” award goodbye."

"Jae-mi didn’t do it!" you burst out. No way were you dragging her down with you. She had worked too hard for too long for this to be the reason her shot at that award was taken away.

"Y/N, it’s clear—"

"I made her do it!" you blurted. Jae-mi whipped her head toward you, eyes wide. "I thought if the perfect student was involved, I’d have a better shot at avoiding punishment. I told her I’d spread a rumor about her hooking up in the boys’ locker room if she didn’t help."

Mr. Kim's eyes narrowed as he turned to Jae-mi. "Is this true, Miss Kim?"

You kicked her ankle beneath the desk.

"Y-Yes, sir," she stammered, eyes downcast. You knew it killed her to lie.

Mr. Kim sighed dramatically, tapping his foot. "You may go, Miss Kim. I apologize for the trouble."

She glanced at you, conflicted, but you nodded, silently telling her it was okay. The moment the door shut, Mr. Kim locked his death glare on you.

"In all my years, I’ve never seen such a vile act of bullying—"

"Bullying? That’s a reach," you scoffed. If anything, Se-mi was the queen of emotional terrorism. She looked like angel, but she wasn’t a less bitch than you.

"You’ve humiliated that poor girl and tarnished this school’s reputation. And to blackmail another student? Frankly, I’m not surprised. You’ve been a handful since day one."

"You’re welcome," you muttered.

"So here’s your punishment. Luckily for you, both of Se-mi’s parents work at the hospital, and they’ve generously agreed to offer you community service there."

Your mouth fell open. "Community service? What do I look like, a criminal?!"

"It’ll look far better than suspension on your college applications. Which, I’ve heard, are not going too well."

Damn it, In-su.

"That’s none of your business," you grumbled, slumping back in your chair.

"Perhaps not. But I’d hope you take this as a chance to grow."

What was this, a sermon?

You didn’t have a witty comeback. Honestly, you didn’t want your parents hearing about this. Or anything else, for that matter.

When you were finally dismissed, Jae-mi was waiting outside, chewing on her lip.

"What happened?!" she whisper-shouted, dragging you into the corridor. "You shouldn’t have done that! I didn’t ask you to—"

"It’s fine," you reassured her, holding her by the shoulders. "I didn’t even get suspended."

"What?"

"Yeah, I got community service at the hospital instead. Apparently, Se-mi’s parents work there."

Jae-mi blinked. "Community service? What are you, an inmate?"

"That’s what I said! But hey, better than suspension."

"And it’ll look better on your college applications," she said pointedly.

"Don’t remind me," you muttered, eyes scanning the now-empty halls. "Where is everyone, anyway?"

"We missed last period. They’ve probably gone home."

Great. You finally started trying to do better in school, and Mr. Park decided the best way to reward you was to drag you back to rock bottom with a lecture and hospital labor.

Awesome.

"Hello again, Y/N."

"In-su," you reply, narrowing your eyes with spite.

You still can’t believe he snitched to Principal Park about your college situation. And being in the guidance counselor's office? Still feels like punishment.

"I'm sure you know why you're here."

There are so many reasons you could be here, you might as well reach into the grab bag of disaster and see what flavor of hell you’ve drawn today.

"You found the bag of crack in my locker?"

In-su’s eyes go wide, and you chuckle. "Relax. It was a joke."

"You shouldn’t joke about those things, Y/N," he says sternly.

"And you shouldn’t be spreading my private business to Principal Park," you fire back. Checkmate.

In-su sighs, folding his arms. "I have to put all your info on ProMonitor. Only me and Principal Park have access."

Great. That... actually makes sense.

You groan. "Then what do you want now?" If he’s gearing up for another inspirational speech, you're going straight through the nearest window.

"Mr. Kim reported that Choi Seung-Hyun is no longer tutoring you."

You blink. Huh. You figured Seung-Hyun would quietly ghost the tutoring agreement, not actually file it with the administration. Weirdly official. Weirdly painful.

"Yeah, so?"

"He told Mr. Kim you weren’t doing the work."

Snake.

"And?"

In-su leans forward, resting his forearms on the desk. "Y/N, right now it’s really looking like you're repeating the year."

"What?!" Panic shoots through your chest, even though you knew this was coming. You thought maybe you could wing it alone. "I can do this on my own!"

"Then let me ask you something." In-su adjusts his glasses—purely for aesthetic, you’re sure. "Tell me something in Japanese."

You squint at him. Is he serious?

"Um, what?"

"Say anything. In Japanese. Go ahead."

You wiggle uncomfortably in your seat. "Uh... 私の名前は—"

"Something complex, Y/N."

"Well, I don’t know anything complex!"

"Okay. Chemical symbol for gold?"

"Gd—"

"What form do muscles store glucose in?"

"Square—?"

"Two examples of collecting data?"

"Uhhh..."

"When did the World War II end?"

"1940...?"

In-su gives you a look. You sigh and throw your hands up. "I don’t know, okay?!"

He smiles like he’s just checkmated you in 3D chess.

"I’m gonna be real with you, Y/N."

"You always are," you mutter under your breath.

"I really don’t want you repeating a year," he says. You open your mouth, but he cuts you off. "Believe it or not, I want every student to succeed. But you? You're not even trying. No effort, no graduation."

You glare past him at the tacky motivational poster behind his head. "You don’t succeed," you say flatly.

"Exactly!" In-su beams.

Someone, somewhere, cue the funeral music.

"Now, I don’t know what happened between you and Seung-Hyun," he continues.

Clothes happened. That’s what. And Se-mi.

"But I suggest you talk it out and get back on track."

"Can’t I just get another tutor?" you groan.

"Choi Seung-Hyun is one of the best students here. Mr. Kim specifically matched him to you. His advice? Worth taking."

You snatch your bag. "You really enjoy making my life hell, don’t you?"

"At least I’m making a difference!" he chirps, giving you a thumbs-up as you storm out.

"Déjà vu," Jae-mi whispers beside you as you crouch behind the library shelves.

You know exactly what she means. It feels like forever ago that you cornered Seung-Hyun here and begged him to tutor you. Now here you are again.

"You got a game plan?" she asks.

Not exactly. You run through possible intros.

Hey Seung-Hyun, remember when I called you a dick and said no one would ever like you? Let’s be friends again, yeah?

No.

Hey, remember when you called me pathetic? Well, you were right.

Definitely not.

If you don’t tutor me, I’m going to jab my pencil through your eye socket.

Okay, dial it down.

"He’s moving!" Jae-mi hisses.

"What?"

Before you can react, she shoves you into the next aisle—right into Seung-Hyun’s path as he slides a book back onto the shelf.

You smooth your skirt, run your fingers through your hair. You got this.

You grab the closest book and approach him.

"Hey," you say sweetly. "Can you put this back for me?"

He turns, eyes as cold as steel, and brushes past you without a word.

Okay. You don’t got this.

Pull yourself together, Y/N.

You chase after him. "Look, Seung-Hyun, I know our last talk wasn’t exactly friendly, but I really think—"

He turns the corner, ignoring you.

"Hey!" You jog after him. "Seung-Hyun!" You catch a glimpse of Jae-mi peeking from behind a pillar with a helpless shrug.

"For God’s sake, I’m talking to you!" You grab his sleeve.

"What?!" he snaps, spinning around.

Whoa. Okay. Not expecting that.

"I need to talk to you," you say more softly.

He stares, annoyed. Waiting.

"I need you to tutor me again."

He lets out a low, bitter laugh. "Yeah, right."

You block his path. "Look, I know we’re not exactly best friends right now—"

"Understatement of the century."

"—But we both need something. So let’s make this easy. You keep helping me study, and I keep helping you... y’know. Sexy-sexy time? Deal?"

You flash your most hopeful smile.

He eyes you critically. You hold your ground.

"You really want to know what I think?" he asks.

You nod.

"I think you use people at your convenience."

"Excuse me—"

"You think I was desperate to have you back?"

"I’m not—"

"Face it, Y/N. Your whole life, people bend for you. But that’s not real. And I can’t trust you."

"Wait—what?"

"I can’t trust you, Y/N."

You scoff. "Are you kidding? I’m the most trustworthy person I kn—"

"The deal went both ways," he says, stepping closer. "I helped you with school. You helped me with sex. But I told you from the start—I needed you to meet me halfway. And you didn’t."

"I—"

"You did nothing. And that’s why this is all on you."

He pushes past you, leaving you stunned and speechless. Jae-mi rushes over.

"So...?"

"I’m fucked."

"Fucked metaphorically? Or—"

"Jae-mi."

"...Metaphorically. Got it." She stares down at her shoes.

You groan, kicking the bookshelf in frustration.

And to make it worse? That’s when you remember:

Your English essay is due tomorrow.

And it’s 11 p.m.

On a Wednesday.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you mutter, tearing through your room in search of a pen.

Mr. Kim swore you'd fail the class if this essay didn’t land on his desk by morning.

And that is definitely not on your to-do list.

Your conversation with Choi Seung-Hyun still bubbled in your brain—and boiled your blood. What made it worse was the fact that he’d been right. You hadn’t even tried with the tutoring part of the deal. You’d agreed to help him with schoolwork, but instead, you let the whole thing turn into a crash course in sex education—and you’d completely ignored your end of the bargain otherwise.

Now, it showed.

You scrambled to find a pen and notebook, finally yanking them out from under your bed. Thank God. You threw yourself into your squeaky desk chair, wincing at the sound. You hated that damn thing, but it was better than sitting on your bed and inevitably wrapping yourself in layers of blankets like a burrito, only to fall asleep halfway through whatever you were meant to do.

Jae-mi, the absolute angel she was, had let you borrow her history notes a few days ago while you were "studying." You say "studying" because you’d actually spent that time doodling Santa hats on every historical figure you could find. Abraham Lincoln looked like Santa Claus on a juice cleanse, and it cracked you up.

Focus, Y/N.

What was this essay on again?

Oh, right—World War II.

Why the hell Mr. Kim wanted your essay on history? 

Half an hour passed, and you glanced down at your notebook only to find… not an essay. Nope. What you had was a passionately aggressive letter addressed to Anthony Marwood and Stephanie Callington, the sadistic authors of this torturous textbook. You were now referring to it exclusively as Satan’s Bible.

Okay, it wasn’t too extreme—just an “I hope your children suffer just as much as I have these last thirty minutes” and a casually slipped in “don’t be surprised if your houses get set on fire.” But hey, what could you do?

Twenty more minutes passed, and you were spiraling.

You have to actually have wits for them to end, Y/N.

If only textbooks weren’t so damn boring. Maybe if someone made them into cool TV shows—

"It’s a history website. They make documentaries in the style of American TV shows. The acting's a bit bad and questionable, but it's entertaining nonetheless."

Seung-Hyun's voice echoed in your brain like a mini divine intervention. You practically launched out of your chair and started digging through the laundry-pile disaster that was your floor, searching for your school bag. After throwing pencils and highlighters across the room in a frenzy, you finally found it.

“Bingo,” you whispered, then bolted back to your desk, turning on your computer and typing the website link from his neat handwriting into the browser.

It was a long shot, and it was late. Nearly midnight. Your eyelids were heavy, fingers sluggish as you typed D-Day into the search bar. You rubbed at your eyes and scrolled through until you found a video that looked like it covered the basics for your essay.

Then you hit play.

It was around nine when you woke up the next morning, your essay stuck to your face and your hair a complete disaster—a lopsided topknot that had somehow turned into a bird’s nest. If it hadn’t been for Jae-mi calling to complain about Young-bae stealing her parking spot (again), you wouldn’t have woken up at all.

You sprinted down the school hallways with your essay in hand, trying not to trip over your own feet from lack of sleep. You’d been up until 3 a.m. watching that documentary, and credit where credit's due—Seung-Hyun had been right. It was entertaining. You hadn’t written that much in your life.

Your English class had just emptied out as you ran up to the door.

You were definitely late, but at least you could still turn in the assignment.

“Mr. Kim!” you called, breathless, as you entered the classroom.

He didn’t even glance at you. “I’m not giving extensions on the essay, Y/N. You know the rules—”

“I have the essay!” you held it up triumphantly.

Mr. Kim turned slowly—either out of old age or total shock. “You’ve what?” he blinked.

“I’ve... I’ve done it,” you said, holding it out. He stared at the pages like they might disintegrate in his hands, flipping through them, holding them up to the light like a detective analyzing a forged check.

“These are three double-sided pages,” he muttered in disbelief.

“I know,” you replied. You’d earned every word on that paper.

He rubbed a wrinkled hand down his face and whispered, “Well, I’ll be...”

“Is—Is it okay?” your confidence faltered suddenly. “Did I do it wrong? Is it too much? What if—”

“No, no,” he waved his hand to cut you off. “It’s absolutely fine. I’ll get this marked and back to you by Monday.” He was still staring at your work, stunned.

“Oh... okay.” You chirped, spinning on your heel to head out.

You did it, Y/N. You actually did it.

You were so proud of yourself. The high from that moment carried you through the whole day. You told Jae-mi about your victory during lunch, and she’d looked just as surprised as Mr. Kim—but even more thrilled.

Well, she would have been more thrilled if she hadn’t gotten crushed by Young-bae again in that Physics pop quiz during first period. The look on her face—pure rage, tinged with betrayal—was legendary. You swore her hair was about to twist into little snakes and turn the whole gym to stone.

“This whole ego complex he has is driving me insane,” she muttered during stretches. “If I hear one more word about how he likes to fuck girls standing up because it gives him a ‘better angle,’ I’m shoving a pencil up his ass. That’ll give him a better angle.”

You choked back a laugh.

Honestly, you couldn’t wait for high school to end, mostly so this bizarre, eternal rivalry between Jae-mi and Young-bae could finally burn out. The girl spent so much time plotting his defeat—scribbling vicious little stick figures of him in her notebook, dreaming up creative insults like it was her sport.

Then again, no one got under her skin the way Young-bae did.

After last class, the two of you walked back through the halls, headed toward her locker, when a familiar 6’2" brunette stepped into view.

Seung-Hyun.

You wondered what he’d say if he knew you’d actually handed in your English essay.

He rejected you, remember?

Still... he'd be proud.

What’s the point of him being proud if he doesn’t even like you anymore?

But... he’d be proud.

“Hang on a sec,” you told Jae-mi, jogging ahead.

“Hey!” you chirped as you caught up to him.

Seung-Hyun glanced your way—and rolled his eyes before turning back to his locker.

“Guess what,” you tried again, bouncing slightly. You couldn’t help it. You were excited. You wanted him to be proud of you.

“I don’t have time for this, Y/N,” he grumbled, pulling books out and shoving them into his backpack.

“No, no! You want to hear this!” You waved your arms a bit, hoping he’d look at you.

Nothing.

So you rushed ahead anyway. “I—I handed in my English essay! Three pages. Double-sided!”

He slammed his locker shut, your smile faltering as the sound echoed.

“Cool. Whatever.” He sighed, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.

“But… I did the… I thought that... w-what?” You could barely form a sentence. The wind was knocked straight out of you.

“I’m really not interested, Y/N. See you.”

And with that, he turned and walked away—leaving you there like a complete idiot.

Jae-mi appeared at your side, wincing.

“That was harsh.”

You frowned, eyes glued to your shoes.

You just wanted him to be proud of you.

Before you stood a large, dimly lit room. The walls were raw brick, the floor polished black concrete. Scattered throughout the space were worn pieces of gym equipment: treadmills, bench presses, pull-up bars, elliptical trainers, rowing machines. Yoga mats were laid out across the floor, surrounded by tires, skipping ropes, and stacks of barbells.

A makeshift gym.

What the hell was Choi Seung-Hyun doing at a gym?

You knew about dance practices, singing lessons, even rap sessions, but gym?

The place wasn’t exactly crowded, but it wasn't empty either. There was a secretive air to it—as though only a certain few were in on it—and those who were treated it like any other gym. You realized instantly how out of place you looked in your heels and miniskirt, surrounded by people dripping in sweat and dressed in proper gym gear.

How the tables had turned. Now you were the outcast.

You walked in slowly, your arms wrapped around your books, eyes scanning the unfamiliar space. You flinched when a tall, broad man approached. He had a friendly, welcoming smile—and a burn scar tracing the side of his neck.

“Are you okay there?” he asked, his tone soft.

“I… erm… I’m looking for someone,” you said, trying not to sound awkward. You could practically hear your inner voice cringing.

“That’s okay,” he replied with a charming smile, folding his arms over his chest. “Who are you looking for?”

A flash of Seung-Hyun filled your mind. You blinked and looked at the man again—now picturing him in full military uniform.

“You’re Seung-Hyun’s dad,” you blurted.

He raised an eyebrow, surprised by how quickly you'd identified him, before his expression softened.

“Erm, yes. And you are?”

“Y/N.”

“Y/N…” he repeated, clearly thinking. Then recognition sparked in his eyes. “You’re the girl he’s been tutoring.”

“That’s me.” You smiled. So Seung-Hyun never told his dad he wasn’t tutoring you anymore?

Interesting.

“My wife’s mentioned you before,” the man continued. “She said you were a lovely girl.”

You found that strange. You’d only met Seung-Hyun’s mother once—or twice if you counted the jewelry store. Yet apparently, she had nice things to say. “You must be looking for Seung-Hyun,” he said, gesturing to the books in your arms.

You nodded quickly, and he smiled warmly.

“Come on, I think he’s down this way.”

You followed him across the gym, eyeing the equipment as you walked. Was this his dad’s place? You remembered hearing he’d left the military—it seemed likely.

“I’m Min-sang, by the way,” he added, offering his hand. You shook it.

“The owner of the gym,” he said with a grin.

Mystery solved.

At the back of the warehouse stood a boxing ring. Inside, a guy with dark brown skin was throwing powerful punches at training pads held by another man. Sweat slicked his sculpted chest as he ducked and weaved, nimble on his feet.

“Hey, Se-hoon!” Min-sang called out.

The guy stopped and looked over, eyes flicking briefly to you before refocusing on Min-sang.

“Any idea where my Se-hoon is?”

See-hoon removed his gloves and vaulted out of the ring in one smooth motion.

“No clue. He’ll probably be out soon.” He slung a towel over his shoulders, then turned his attention to you. “Who’s this?” he asked, eyes raking over you with a teasing glint.

“Y/N,” Min-sang answered. “The girl Seung-Hyun’s tutoring.”

Se-hoon smirked knowingly. “Y/N,” he said, his voice full of implication. “I know all about you.”

Heat rose to your cheeks.

“If you wait here, he’ll be out in a few minutes,” Min-sang added.

“Out from what?” you asked, still unsure what was going on.

Se-hoon sat beside you on the bench. “You’ll see,” he said with a grin.

You huffed and sat down, clinging to your books. You crossed your legs and rested your chin on your fist, bored out of your mind. Where the hell was Seung-Hyun?

Jae-mi was still waiting in the car—probably indulging in her latest obsession with all things BDSM. She likely didn’t want to be disturbed anytime soon.

Then you saw him.

A figure walked to the bench press, landing beside Min-sang. His back was to you, muscles flexing with every movement. Blue gym shorts clung to his thighs, and his brunette hair sparked instant recognition.

When he turned, your jaw nearly dropped to the center of the earth.

Choi Seung-Hyun.

And he had a goddamn six-pack.

“Don’t drool, sweetheart. Where are your manners?” Se-hoon teased.

You turned to him, eyes wide. He leaned back against the wall, sipping from a fancy sports bottle like this was no big deal.

Seung-Hyun didn’t notice you. He cracked his neck, and layed down on the bench. Min-sang stood behind him to spot. 

You couldn't tear your eyes away.

Your gaze roamed over every inch of him: every muscle, every ripple, every bead of sweat rolling down his chest.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “He’s got this.”

And he did. Every bench—he was in complete control. You’d never seen him like this. Gone was the shy, socially awkward boy. In his place stood a man full of confidence and primal strength. His biceps tensed with each bench, veins pulsing under flushed skin. 

It was the hottest thing you’d ever seen.

You stood slowly as Seung-Hyun got up from the bench. His chest heaved with exertion, his entire body glowing with sweat. He ran a hand through his damp hair. Your mouth went dry.

When he finally noticed you, he stopped cold.

His chest rose once.

Twice.

A third time.

“…Y/N?”

“Hey,” you said, trying to sound casual despite the fact you were actively trying not to melt on the spot.

“What… what are you doing here?” he asked, grabbing a towel from the bench and wiping his face.

“I needed to talk to you.”

He blinked, thrown off by your unexpected appearance. Then his eyes drifted down your body—your heels, bare thighs, miniskirt. The flicker in his eyes was unmistakable.

“Now?” he asked, a bit breathless.

“Yes,” you replied, your voice firmer.

He nodded, trying to regain his composure. “Okay… locker room’s this way.”

You followed him down a narrow hallway. The air was cooler back here, but you felt no relief—your skin was already burning. You passed a couple of closed doors before he pushed one open and motioned you inside.

It smelled of sweat and soap. Two rows of lockers lined the room, and a bench ran down the middle. A shower steamed in the corner, still running from someone who’d just left.

Seung-Hyun grabbed a clean towel and draped it over his shoulders, still shirtless, still gleaming. He turned to you, arms crossed.

“So… what did you want to talk about?”

You set your books down on the bench. “We need to clear some things up.”

“Okay…” he said slowly. “About what?”

You walked up to him. “About us.”

His brow furrowed. “There is no ‘us.’”

“Not yet,” you replied.

He blinked.

You didn’t give him time to respond. You reached out, fingertips grazing his chest. He stiffened but didn’t stop you.

“Y/N…” he warned.

You looked up into his eyes. “I saw the way you looked at me just now.”

He swallowed hard.

“I’ve never seen you like that before.”

“That’s because I usually have clothes on,” he said dryly.

You smirked. “You should take them off more often.”

“Y/N…” His voice dropped. “Don’t play games with me.”

“I’m not playing.”

“You’re not thinking straight.”

“No,” you said, stepping closer, “I’m thinking very clearly.”

You reached for the waistband of his shorts, fingers brushing the skin just above them.

He grabbed your wrist. “Don’t.”

You met his eyes. “Why not?”

“Because I won’t be able to stop.”

You tilted your head. “Good.”

He stared at you like you’d just punched him.

Then he kissed you.

Hard.

His hands gripped your hips, pulling you flush against his body as his mouth claimed yours. There was no hesitation, no gentleness—only hunger. He backed you into the lockers, lifting you slightly until your feet left the ground.

You wrapped your legs around his waist as he pressed you against the cool metal, his lips moving down your neck, nipping at your collarbone.

“Tell me to stop,” he growled against your skin.

You tugged at his hair. “Don’t you dare.”

He kissed you again—hot, desperate, consuming—while your hands explored every inch of his back, every line of muscle.

Your hand slips to his waistband, fingers brushing the heat beneath as he helps you strip him down. His cock springs free—hard, heavy, and flushed—and your mouth waters at the sight of it. You wrap your hand around the base, stroking slowly, deliberately, watching his jaw clench as he leans back against the lockers for support.

Then you sink to your knees.

The tile is cold, but you hardly notice. You start with a kiss—just a soft press to the head, tasting the salty bead of precum there. He groans low in his throat, and you feel his fingers thread through your hair. Encouragement. Control. Both.

You take him deeper, inch by inch, letting your lips stretch and your throat relax around him. His breath stutters as you hollow your cheeks and start to bob your head in rhythm. Each glide down brings a new curse from his lips. Each flick of your tongue along the underside has him twitching in your mouth.

“Fuck,” he whispers, one hand gripping the edge of the locker behind him, the other tightening in your hair. “You’re gonna make me come if you keep that up.”

You hum in response—deliberate—and the vibration makes him jerk against your tongue. But you don’t stop. You suck harder, deeper, your pace unrelenting until you feel him throb fully in your mouth. That’s when you pull back, slowly, lips slick, a thin strand of saliva still connecting you to him.

He looks wrecked. Eyes dark, chest rising in ragged breaths, cock still rigid and glistening from your mouth.

Then it’s his turn.

He pulls you to your feet and back to the bench, his hands firm on your hips as he lays you down again. You feel the cool press of the wood under your back, the air sharp against your flushed skin as he peels your underwear away. His fingers spread you open, slow and reverent, and the first touch of his tongue is light—almost teasing.

You whimper.

He flattens his tongue and licks a long, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit, then circles there, soft at first. Then firmer. Deeper. Your thighs twitch around his head, but he holds you steady, arms locked around your thighs to keep you open for him. Every motion is focused, deliberate—like he’s memorizing the way you taste, the way your body arches at just the right angle when he suckles your clit hard.

Your hands find his hair, fingers digging in, hips lifting to chase every wave of pleasure as he devours you like he’s starving.

And when two fingers slide inside you—curling just right—you know you're not going to last long.

Your back arches off the bench as his fingers move inside you—slow at first, then curling, pressing just right against that spot that makes your whole body clench. His tongue never lets up on your clit, flicking in firm, deliberate strokes that sync with the rhythm of his hand.

Every nerve in your body feels like it’s lit from within.

“Seung-Hyun,” you gasp, your voice shaking.

He hums against you, the sound vibrating through your core. You buck against his mouth, helpless to the pace he sets. One of your hands clutches the bench for something—anything—to ground you, while the other stays tangled in his hair, tugging without realizing it.

You can feel it—tight, building, inevitable. That climax, thick and molten, coils deep in your belly, and the way he’s fucking you with his fingers while sucking your clit with that unrelenting pressure pushes you to the edge. Closer. Closer.

Your thighs try to close around his head as the tension snaps.

You come with a sharp cry, back bowing, thighs trembling, hips jerking up into his face. He doesn’t stop—not until you’re whimpering from the aftershocks, from the way your body shudders beneath his tongue.

Only then does he slow down, lips soft now, trailing kisses across your inner thighs as you come down from it all—panting, ruined, bliss-drunk.

He rises between your legs again, mouth slick with your arousal, and leans over you. His eyes are dark and heavy-lidded, but there's the faintest, teasing smirk on his face.

“Taste yourself,” he murmurs, and kisses you deep—wet, filthy, perfect.

Taglist: @petersasteria @redhoodedtoad @mirahyun @sherrayyyyy @sherxoo @dilfismz @breakmeoff @janie-osuih @forevervibezzzz1 @kuinnoa @juliskopf @maskedcrawford @szonyix6277@ldydeath

Series taglist: @1950schick @zaaraaax0 @tabibabib @sofiaaaah @pepsicolapussi

[rafeandonlyrafe]

separate lines

words: 600 (+ three images)

warnings: entire fic is through phone calls/text messages, parental death (ward), established relationship, kinda protective rafe but its cute he just misses his girl, includes pictures of "readers" face/body, kind of illusions to sex (like barely!), overall pretty fluffy

“rafey!” you squeal as you answer your phone seconds after it rings. “how's it going?”

“well, everything is still standing.” rafe huffs out. you can practically hear the stress in his voice.

“that's good, baby. i miss you a lot.” sure, he just left this morning to drive back to the outer banks, but that doesn't change the fact that you miss him anytime he's away from you.

“god, i miss you too. if rose didn't need me here id still be-

“i know.” you cut rafe off. “you're back for three days with your family. it'll be fine and then we will be back together.”

you know being back in the outer banks is stressful for rafe after everything that happened. the mess with barry, the pogues, and then all culminating in his dad dying. when you decided to go a couple hours away to college, you still thought you'd have to persuade your boyfriend to come with you, to leave the only life he's ever known, but he jumped at the chance.

you live in a luxury townhouse right near downtown. you're even able to walk to most of your classes, of course with rafe by your side.

“you're right.” rafe hums. “we are figuring out the will stuff tomorrow morning.”

“i wish i could be there for you. text or call if you need anything.” you have classes tomorrow, but you'd drop anything if rafe really needed you.

“yeah just… text me updates, please? even if you just do the laundry or something. it helps to know.”

“of course i will.” you smile, hearing some commotion in the background. “and rafey? give wheezie a hug for me.”

“is that y/n?” you hear her voice in the background, then the fumbling of the phone being handed off.

“y/n!” wheezie squeals.

“wheezie, my girl!”

--

--

“how are you getting to class?” rafe asks, looking into the room where proceedings are about to start, going over his fathers will and who gets what. he knows most of it will go to rose, most likely the house and the real estate company. he doesn't really care. he has a new life now, one with you.

“amber is gonna drive me and pick me up. and no, her boyfriend will not be there.” you giggle, knowing even though amber and her boyfriend steven have been together since third grade, rafe would still worry with him around.

“and you're going to poli sci and then your geology lab, right?” rafe has your schedule memorized, but he likes to hear your confirmation anyways.

“yup!” you nod, even though rafe can't see you. “im excited for todays lab, actually. it's not rock identification, which you know i suck at.”

rafe let's out a soft laugh, having sat and listened to your complaining about rocks for hours already this semester.

“rafe, it's starting soon.” rose says, her words being picked up by you, otherwise rafe probably would have just ignored her in favor of keeping talking.

“alright, baby. hope it all goes well and doesn't take too long. i love you.” you coo into the phone.

“love you more.”

--

--

“home tomorrow.” rafe whispers softly, not wanting to wake up anyone else in the house. he's exhausted, so they must be too. it was a long day with lots of legal jargon, but everything got divided up about how he expected it to. 

most to rose, then the additional savings divided up evenly between him, sarah, and wheezie.

“im glad.” you whisper back, matching his tone even though you're home alone. “i ordered a cute pair of pajamas to wear to help me sleep. you know how much i struggle without you.”

“your insomnia cure.” rafe smiles, remembering what you called him after you first started sharing a bed, able to easily relax into him and fall into a true deep sleep.

“mhm.” you hum out, letting out a yawn. “do you mind staying on the call until i fall asleep?”

“baby, ill stay on all night.”

--

sfw tags: @winterrrnight @bejeweledreverie

[bvidzsoo]

Under the pretense (1)

The second installment of Popular boys? Overrated ♡

❝𝔜𝔬𝔲 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔟𝔢𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔠𝔥𝔢𝔡 𝔪𝔢, 𝔟𝔬𝔡𝔶 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔬𝔲𝔩, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 ℑ 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢, ℑ 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢, ℑ 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲.❞

Author: bvidzsoo

Pairing: Jeong Yunho x female reader

🎭Warning: cursing, very slight mention of being suicidal 🎭Word count: 6.2k 🎭Genre: humor, cliché themes, 90's rom-com vibes; University!au; Popular guy!au; Sport!au; Enemies to Lovers!au 🎭Rating: nc-17 🎭Summary: What was supposed to be the best time of your life turned into something more bizarre and only slightly fun. Don't get me wrong, having to share your theater class out of the blue with popular guy Jeong Yunho, to most, didn't sound like the worst idea, but to you...yeah, you would've been more grateful if the principal found other methods of punishment for her son's misbehavior.

A/N: Hello, lovelies! I present you the start of Yunho and our MC's story, I hope it caught your attention and you'll stick around for the next two parts. You can also check out Seonghwa's, which happens in the same universe, it's in the series m.list. The taglist is open, so just lmk in whose part you'd like to be tagged. I made a visual board and playlist for the series, so check them out as I still update them! ^^ Thank you for reading and let me know what you thought of this part, I love reading your feedback! divider

Taglist: @anxiousskylar @philijack @alienvibecheck @yunhosfairy

♡ Series M.list ♡

꧁༺ Visual Board ༻꧂

♫ Playlist ♫

            I had always been a dreamer, a child with big sparkling eyes, eager to discover the world and its wonders. My parents had always considered me naïve and way too kind, but I found life easier to navigate if I remained humble and kind to those around me. I was not too fond of loud spaces and huge crowds, I would much rather prefer smaller circles where everyone came together to spend their time in silence. That’s how I discovered my elementary school’s reading club. I had been young and disoriented after a strenuous P.E. class when walking down the hallway, pushed into a door by two bigger boys as they chased each other down the hallway. The door I was slammed into wasn’t closed, so I very ungraciously fell inside a classroom in which five people sat in a circle, in silence, with books in their hands and candy on the round table. Eyes fell onto me, mostly surprised, and I blushed as I sputtered my apologies, embarrassed and wanting to hide away as I had disturbed their peace, but my curiosity got the better of me. The teacher in the room made sure I was fine and asked whether I wanted to join them when she noticed me staring longingly at the book in her hands. I didn’t say no to her.

And really, that’s how my love for literature and theatre sparked, evolving into a passion by the time I reached my high school graduation. I knew what I wanted to be, I knew what I had to do next. I had been a theatre kid my whole life, so when my mother rushed inside my room one cool summer evening with my acceptance letter in her hands, I knew my life would change in the next few seconds. Allston Hall University, the dream institution of every student who wishes to become someone important and useful in the near future. I was one of those students, tears streaming down my cheeks due to happiness when my mother read the letter, informing me that I had been accepted and was even the student with the highest grade currently. It was a dream come true, everything I have worked for, my aspirations and hard work were tangible, and I finally felt like I could release the breath of air that’s been constricting my lungs ever since I sent in my application. I was rushing towards the future I wanted, the one I had been dreaming of.

But all good things had a downside to them. Allston Hall University was huge, the biggest in our county, and it harboured various majors and many people, to the point you’d have to watch your every step in the hallways to avoid crashing into anyone. My first day, and week, had been nerve-wracking. People were loud and friendly, sometimes too friendly, to the point I felt uncomfortable in their presence and had to excuse myself to take a moment of solitude. Despite being a theatre kid myself, I felt like the odd one in my circle of people, the one that didn’t fully belong, the one that was a bit different. Everyone around me was outgoing and boisterous, eager to be heard, and even more eager to make more friends. I was quiet and curious, but I liked watching people from the sidelines, assessing a situation from afar before jumping into anything. I liked to meet new people, but I struggled to find common ground with them. I never had many friends growing up, most were surface-level, but the one true friend I did have decided to move counties and start working, instead of following an academic path. There was nothing wrong with that, but our time was limited together and she rarely visited, our friendship has transformed into a long-distance one.

But, to my utmost surprise, I didn’t stay friendless at this huge university for too long. As an extracurricular, I have picked up a Visual Arts class since I have been always interested in it. The class was small and filled with people who dressed better than in any fashion magazine I had seen, all of them having a peculiar aura that I seemed to enjoy a lot. And, to my surprise, they were more like me than my own colleagues. They were quiet, mostly sticking to themselves with big headphones on as they bobbed their heads to the music, briefly greeting you once you entered the classroom. They were mostly art majors, but they didn’t make me feel bad for not being one. A passion was a passion, and they didn’t make fun of you for loving what you loved. However, even here, it seemed that there was someone who wasn’t like the others, someone who was loud and energetic, always laughing and joking with students and professors alike. She was like a happy virus, her happy disposition contagious, and without realizing it at first, I was drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Perhaps it was because we were complete opposites, unlike my closest friend who thought and viewed the world similarly to me, but with Wendy everything seemed to feel like a new experience.

I couldn’t tell when it happened when the two of us became best friends, but it’s been a year since and we were almost inseparable. Wendy loved spending her free time with me, humming to herself and drawing while I wrote sonnets and read through the next play we’d be going through or even performing with Mrs. Jeong. Wendy felt like a fresh breeze, ready to yank me away from my monotonous days, eager to experience something new. I hated amusement parks, but I went to one with her and had the fun of my life, having never screamed or laughed as much as that afternoon. Wendy couldn’t skate, but one snowy evening, I took her to the skating ring and taught her how to find her balance, and through baby steps, she became even better than me. Wendy loved visual arts but she never understood the charm of a book, a play, or a poem, so I brought her along to the reading club I had been frequenting since my freshman year in high school, and it was an unforgettable experience for the both of us, but Wendy concluded that perhaps literature just wasn’t for her. Much similar to my experience, when I let her drag me to Allston Hall’s first baseball game of the year, all excited and giddy to see her favourite players, only for me to conclude at the end of the game that the sport held no interesting elements for me to find likeable or enjoyable, baseball just wasn’t invented for me.

So yes, Wendy and I were opposite sides of the same coin, eager to learn more and discover the world through our own lenses while dragging the other after ourselves. This would explain why we were currently decked out at the bleachers, sitting at the lowest spot as Wendy’s eyes followed the boys while they played a friendly game and warmed up for their very soon upcoming game. Wendy was athletic and loved to get in a good morning run, which she usually did outside the bleachers to catch a peek of when the boys would go in to exercise. It was embarrassing at first, to walk in every second day with her and have the boys gawking at us, but now it was plainly amusing to see Wendy fall over herself whenever one of them acknowledged her. Her father had been a player in a smaller league, so Wendy grew up in the sport, hence her immense love for it. She was convinced the boys on the University’s team were undiscovered gems and she made sure to stick around them until one of them finally asked her out. She thought I didn’t know, but it was rather obvious that her eyes were set on Byun Baekhyun, the biggest trickster on the team with a notorious grip that could send any batter into a spiral when he’d pitch—these were Wendy’s words, not mine.

I continued flipping through the shortened version of Pride and Prejudice as we would soon do a small audition to see who got which role. Mrs. Jeong wanted to do something special and new this year, so there have been added elements to the play—ones that would send Jane Austen into an existential crisis, in my opinion, but Mrs. Jeong likes to think out of the box and considers herself an innovative person—which I agree with, but the play would’ve been best without the modifications done to it. Wendy, sitting in front of me as I had taken the bench between my legs, hunched over my play, sighed dreamily and tapped her fingers against her chin. She was usually a very loud person, but surprisingly she knew when to remain silent, when to give me space and tranquillity to be able to enjoy my reading time. Her short hair stuck to her nape as she decided to run an extra lap this morning, on the verge of hyperventilating when she finally ran inside the arena, spotting me easily as I was the only person in the bleachers while the boys did their warm-ups. Her bag was with me and I knew she refrained from sprawling out on the ground just because Baekhyun was watching her, so I handed her the water bottle with an amused smile. Wendy took it with gratitude and sprinkled some on her face and neck before she took a small sip, chest still heaving from her run.

“That was very sexy of you,” I said with a chuckle as she settled next to me, trying to regulate her breaths as she caught Baekhyun’s eyes, cheeks flushing even deeper as he waved in our direction. Wendy fumbled with her water bottle for a second, then eagerly waved back and pushed my thigh with her elbow to acknowledge Baekhyun as well. I flashed him a smile and gave him a curt nod, which he returned before the coach blew his whistle and called out his name to get him to focus again.

“Don’t make fun of me,” Wendy mumbled, grabbing her towel out of her bag, “my throat was parched and my brain felt like it was overheating.”

“When will you stop finding ways to kill yourself?” I raised an eyebrow and Wendy gave me a look of confusion.

“I’m just pushing my limits, nothing you have to worry about.” Wendy shrugged, taking a sip of her water again, “You know I’m training for the marathon.”

“Right, I almost forgot.” I fixed Wendy with a stare, rather unimpressed as it was impossible to forget that she was training for next month’s marathon. She speaks of it daily, around the same time after she finishes her run and complains about being on the verge of passing out, I’m sure there are other ways of training yourself for a marathon that don’t involve putting too much pressure on yourself and sending your body into despair as it clings to life—a bit dramatic, but that’s what being a theatre kid made of me.

This was half an hour ago, and now Wendy had completely settled down as she was leaned back on her hands, gazing out onto the field as I blocked out the sound of a bat hitting the ball every few minutes, enraptured by the play as I imagined Mr. Darcy standing in front of me, thick eyebrows furrowed and eyes shining with confusion as Miss Elizabeth—me—tells him that he cannot disrespect her whole family and look down on her, and then expect her to fall to her knees and accept his affections. The language was a lot more modern than the one Jane Austen had used, this is where Mrs. Jeong’s crafting comes into play and makes me cringe as Elizabeth is supposed to tell Mr. Darcy that ‘she won’t throw herself at him like every other bitch’, I just knew Jane Austen was rolling in her grave at the atrocity that’s been done to her masterpiece. I could try and convince Mrs. Jeong to modify that part, hopefully, as she’s rather keen on me due to how seriously I take her classes. Cheers erupted on the field and they increased in volume as Wendy gasped next to me, holding her hands together as she was on the verge of shooting up from her seat. The boys were merely training, yet Wendy treated it like a real game every time she got the chance.

���Oh, that’s a home run—” Wendy’s voice was strained, and she sprang up from her spot as the whole team exclaimed, making me lose my train of thought as I couldn’t focus in loud surroundings, “Seungkwan just hit a home run!”

I looked out towards the field as the boys crowded around Seungkwan, forming a circle as they made howling sounds and jumped around, making Seungkwan cackle loudly as he basked in the attention. He was a rather uptight guy, but out on the field, he was simply amazing although he’s never managed to hit a home run until now.

“Oh, this is amazing,” Wendy mused, her eyes sparkling as she clapped away, showing the boys thumbs-up as they turned our way to bow, pushing Seungkwan to the front as he grinned widely, “They’ll ace the next game, Y/N, I can feel it deep in my bones.”

I chuckled but said nothing as I knew this meant a lot to Wendy, and only grabbed her arm to make her sit down when the coach threw her an irritated look. They couldn’t kick us out because we weren’t doing anything illegal or interrupting their training, but I knew the coach wasn’t too fond of two girls always lingering around the bleachers to distract his boys. Not that it was our attention, but I have caught them busy ogling us instead of doing their warm-ups. Wendy was buzzing as she sat down, chewing her bottom lip before she started chewing her nails, making me grip her wrist to stop her as I knew she did it subconsciously. She gave me a grateful smile and I turned back to my play as the boys had calmed down too, going back to their friendly game.

“Do you want to stay for longer?” I asked as I flipped to the next page, eyebrows furrowing as it was Mr. Darcy’s monologue that wasn’t in the original work, “I think I could make use of a coffee right now.”

“Can’t we stay for another fifteen minutes at least?” Wendy asked with a pout, her sparkly eyes widening as I gave her an unimpressed look, “Yunho is up for pitching right now and then it’s Baekhyun again, I promise we can leave once he’s done.”

I sighed but knew I wouldn’t drag my best friend away before she got to watch Baekhyun pitch again, so I just nodded and threw a quick glance at the field. Indeed, player number 04 was up for pitching, Jeong Yunho. His name didn’t leave a distaste in my mouth as I, thankfully, had never had to interact with him, but it was inevitable to know who he was with how huge his reputation had gotten over the last year. We started out at university at the same time, he’s been a baseball player since he was just a child, and he was rising in the ranks rather quickly. He was amazing, even as someone who still didn’t understand how baseball worked, I knew he was good at what he did and he was often praised for his skills. He was the best pitcher the team had—the university has had for ages, at least based on the coach’s words—and he carried himself like a successful athlete would, always smiling brightly with his warm eyes twinkling with mischief-ridden in them.

Sure, Jeong Yunho had a warm and perceiving aura, friendly and even kind, but even those couldn’t stop the rumours spreading of him being a heartthrob. Better said, he was a womanizer. He appeared to be this soft and puppy type of guy, sweeping girls off their feet with his acts of service and soft-spoken nature, but just as quickly as he wrapped them around his fingers, he dropped them without his ‘kind’ smile breaking from his lips, eyes even teary when he told them that he just wasn’t right for them, that they deserved someone better. Behind his innocent mask lay a man who enjoyed playing with others and using them to his liking with a deceiving smile and excuses that didn’t make sense upon another thought. But many girls didn’t care about the rumours, they thought they were simply fake because certainly the sweet and kind Jeong Yunho couldn’t be like that, not with them at least. And that is exactly how they go their hearts broken by the most sought out playboy of our university, from the baseball team at least. The soccer team was even worse, you’d never hear the end of how cool and mysterious Park Seonghwa was. Personally, I preferred my peace of mind and stayed away from both.

I heard the bat collide against the ball with a loud bang, and I could tell it was a strong hit as the boys ‘oohed’, but Wendy just gasped, stiffening in her seat. I paid it no mind as she reacted to every single thing the players did, living in the moment and giving her all to the game—even if just friendly. But some exclaimed alarmed and tried to warn us—or me—of something, but I was too busy ignoring them as my irritation levels were rising. I just really wanted a cup of coffee and silence to be able to finish reading the play before my class later today.

“Y/N!” Wendy’s shrill exclamation made my head snap up, taking in her wide eyes as she gesticulated, only confusing me more. Turning my head to the right, to see what got the boys reacting like that as well, my own eyes widened into saucers when I realized a white small ball was hurling at my face rather quickly. I knew I could dodge it, it wasn’t too late yet, but I felt blindsided as I stared at it, accepting the fact that it would either break my nose or give me a black eye. But someone was moving on the field, had been for a few seconds now, running full speed towards me and the ball. And before it could collide against my face and ruin it, a black glove was in my face, so close that if I puckered my lips, it would’ve touched the fabric. My heart was beating fast and I stared up at the person who caught the ball with wide eyes, exhaling loudly as Wendy yelped and shot up from her seat again.

For a second, it was completely silent, even the coach stood staring at us with an open mouth, whistle threatening to fall from it, but the boys on the field suddenly started howling once again, yelling and calling out my ‘saviour’s’ name. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, lips parted and eyebrows furrowed as his cheeks were rosy from the bite of frost of the morning air, but also from having pitched for the last few minutes. I could feel my own cheeks tinge red from the adrenaline and also from the way the guy’s warm chocolate eyes seemed to melt into mine. Yunho looked pleased that he managed to catch the ball, and his fingers closed around it as he lowered his hand and leaned down a little. My back was rigid as I couldn’t help but blink at him wordlessly, gripping the play tightly in my hands.

“Are you okay?” His eyebrows furrowed more, and his face was ridden with worry as he searched for eye contact. I gulped and averted my eyes, exhaling shakily.

“Yes,” I took a tentative glance at Yunho and cleared my throat, “thank you.”

“I’m sorry.” My eyebrows furrowed as he looked apologetic, biting his bottom lip which was cherry red and plump, “I positioned my arm wrong and I was distracted when I pitched, I almost hurt you.”

“Oh, uhm,” I stared at him for a few seconds as I felt Wendy sit back down and subtly nudge my arm, “It’s fine, you managed to catch it so—good job?”

Yunho chuckled, and I was taken aback by how high-pitched it sounded and how warm his tone was, cheeks puffy and rosy, and definitely giving him this sweet and innocent aura, “Glad to be your saviour despite putting you in harm's way myself.”

I hummed as I found myself lost for words, all the acting classes I had taken flying out the window. There was something about his gaze that made me feel small, made me forget how to articulate my words, “Best if it doesn’t happen again, right?”

Yunho chuckled and I felt embarrassed, but he didn’t look like he meant bad, he seemed simply amused. I was sure he could tell I was flustered and that only made me feel more embarrassed, “Right, I’ll try to keep my eyes off you next time then, focus more on pitching.”

Wendy gasped next to me as I just stared at Yunho dumbfounded, trying not to let my confusion show at the sudden change of events. Well, I was under the impression nobody paid me any mind as I never really paid them any mind, I was here for Wendy and it was pretty obvious.

“Are you reading a play by any chance?” Yunho asked as he looked down at my lap, and I cleared my throat, feeling hesitant as I nodded my head.

“Yeah, Pride and—”

“Pride and Prejudice,” He smiled sweetly, his eyes hidden by his baseball cap, “my favourite.”

I knew Wendy wanted to scream and jump up and down, but she was doing a good job of remaining put and silent. For some reason, Yunho didn’t pass me as the person who would pick up a book, let alone a play, to read, so I just gave him a tight smile and an unimpressed look. I had heard the rumours, and I was sure they were true, I didn’t want to fall for his schemes.

“Right.” My tone was a bit sharp and I knew it took him off guard because his eyebrows twitched, “Aren’t you supposed to be pitching?”

And as if the coach had heard my words, he blew his whistle loudly and shouted, “Jeong, get back on the field!”

Yunho bit his lower lip and grabbed his cap as he nodded his head, winking at me before he was jogging back onto the field, making me grimace. Wendy’s eyebrows were raised and she had a suggestive smile on her face, but I just sighed and shook my head, deciding that I wanted to have coffee now, “We both know he sleeps with every girl and then dumps them right after, so before you get even started, I’m not interested in him at all.”

“But he’s so handsome and tall.” Wendy sighed dreamily and I chuckled, standing up.

“There are plenty of tall and handsome guys at our university, I’ll find myself a decent one, thank you very much.”

“Where are you going?”

“To get my coffee.”

“But Baekhyun hadn’t pitched yet.”

I chuckled as Wendy whined, rooted to her place as I got off the bench.

“Meet me at the coffee shop then, I have class in an hour so don’t stay for long.”

“I love you! Save me a seat by the window!”

I chuckled and nodded, waving Wendy off as she focused on the game again, eyes wide and attentive. I kept to the side of the field so that I wouldn’t be in anyone’s way and walked quickly so that I could be out of the arena swiftly, without angering the coach. Wonwoo, who was the left fielder, threw me a quick smile and I waved at him as I passed by, feeling eyes on the back of my head. I didn’t turn around to check who it was as the coach had spotted me and narrowed his eyes at me. I bowed my head and then slipped out of the arena, less stressed and happier now that I was about to get my caffeine fill of the day.

             The rest of my day had gone well, and I was more than excited to attend my last class of the day, drama class. We’d hold the rest of our courses at the small theatre of the University as Mrs. Jeong wanted us to focus on the upcoming play only, assignments already handed out as our final grade now depended on finishing it on time and also delivering our best in the play, the two grades turning into our final score. I happily skipped down the stairs of the theatre and greeted a few of my colleagues as I settled not too far from the front rows, somewhere in the middle of the row. I liked sitting by myself so that nobody could distract me while Mrs. Jeong gave us advice and coached us on how to deliver the lines, when to put emotion in it and just how much of it. I placed my coat on the chair on my right and left my backpack on the floor as I leaned down to unzip it and grab the play, my yellow notebook, a black pen and a green marker. I heard the door of the theatre close and open loudly, then running down the stairs and shuffling as I straightened up, trying to organize my things in my lap as I waited for Mrs. Jeong to show up.

To my surprise, there was movement on my left and I looked over, curious of who decided to sit right next to me when there were numerous empty seats in the theatre, only to find Jeong Yunho staring back at me with a surprised expression similar to mine on his face.

“What are you doing here?”

“Oh, hey I know you, hi!”

Yunho and I spoke at the same time as I heard the girls sitting a few rows in the back behind us whisper and giggle to each other. Yunho flushed as he pushed his leather jacket off his wide shoulders and settled quietly in the seat next to mine. I continued staring at him with confusion as his legs spread out wide, his head turning to face me.

“You’re the girl from this morning,” Yunho said as he disregarded my question, “I actually see you around the field often, do you like baseball?”

“No.” I deadpanned and Yunho’s enthusiasm died out at once, smiling unsure, “My friend loves baseball so I tag along with her sometimes.”

“Ah, that makes sense.” Yunho’s smile became more confident as his eyes took in my features, making me feel a bit uncomfortable, “And how are you?”

“I’m—fine.” I still didn’t understand what he was doing here, but I wasn’t about to be rude to him, “And you?”

Yunho’s smile widened into a grin, and he threw a short glance behind us when the girls started giggling louder, “Rather good knowing you’re here too. Why are you here?”

I tried to refrain from sighing at his not-so-subtle flirting and occupied my hands as I grabbed my marker and fiddled with it, “I’m a drama major, Yunho.”

Yunho’s eyes widened for a small fraction, cheeks flushing, “Oh, that sounds lovely, I—sorry, I’m just taken aback that you know my name.”

I didn’t mean to glare at him, but he was bad at playing the abashed and shy boy persona, perhaps a few acting courses wouldn’t do him bad, “You’re on the baseball team and I have gone to almost every game of yours, so I think it’s only natural I know everyone’s name on the team, no?” I didn’t let him answer me as I gave him a scrutinizing look, “Besides, you’re quite famous for breaking the hearts of the girls you go out with, right?”

Now, I could tell he was actually flustered as he averted his eyes, biting his bottom lip as the flush from his cheeks spread to his ears too. Yunho’s dark hair was messy and wavy, and he wore his glasses now. The black turtleneck made him look comfy and safe, his dark jeans complementing his long legs nicely.

“Ah, those are just rumours, you shouldn’t believe everything you hear.” He rubbed his nape and looked back at me, “I’m sorry, I never caught your name.”

I sighed and thought about whether I should tell him, but it was only right since I knew his name and didn’t want to look like a prick, “It’s Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” He grinned widely and extended his hand to shake, “I’m Yunho, but you know that already.”

I hummed and took his hand, a little surprised by how long his fingers were and how much bigger his palm was, it made me blush as I carefully pulled my hand out of his, busying myself with my marker, “So, what are you doing here? It’s a bit weird seeing a sports major here, you know.”

Yunho groaned and I glanced at him to see him rubbing his forehead, “Don’t even tell me about it, it’s completely against my will, if I’m being honest. Not that I hate the theatre or anything, but I’d be much rather doing something else.”

“Well, you can just get up and walk out before the professor comes, you know,” I suggested, nodding my head towards the exit, but Yunho had a solemn look on his face. He let his hands fall in his lap as he intertwined his fingers.

“Actually, I can’t.” He pouted, and I tried not to think of him as a manchild, it wasn’t very appealing, “You see, I might have done something that was against the rules, and this is basically my punishment if I don’t want to lose my scholarship, or worse, get kicked out. I mean, my career would be ruined before I even had the chance to start it, you know?”

I nodded, pretty much on board with what he was saying, “Yeah, that makes sense. Well, it sucks but I still don’t understand why drama class out of all classes they could’ve punished you with.”

“Ugh, right?! Don’t even get me started on it,” Yunho rolled his eyes and adjusted his glasses as he licked his lips, turning his body to face mine, “Like, the principal is totally crazy for placing me in this class! I don’t know why she thought a little play-pretending would fix my attitude—her words, not mine—but it certainly won’t. Like, whatever I did wasn’t even that serious, it’s the fact that the stupid professor can’t take a joke, I didn’t even sleep with his daughter!”

So, this is who the real Jeong Yunho was, unfiltered, and apparently, not as perfect and charming as everyone thought him to be. I chuckled, amused that he’d have to suffer through our drama classes because I knew the outsiders always viewed us as crazy whenever they stumbled through the doors of the theatre, “And how long until your punishment is over?”

“This whole semester, can you believe it?” Yunho sounded annoyed, but his face remained void of any annoyance as he slumped in his chair, looking defeated, “I swear to God, the principal was high on some shit when she threatened to throw me out if I didn’t heed her orders. It’s like—I know she’s my mother but we’re at school, for fuck’s sake! Like—this is university, she can’t punish me like I’m some sort of five-year-old, no?!”

I covered my mouth to try and hide my amusement at his outburst, which got other students chuckling. I meant to answer him, but a rather loud scoff coming from the first row caught everyone’s attention as suddenly they stood, whirling around, hands on their hips. My amusement died down as my eyes widened, staring at Mrs. Jeong in surprise, I didn’t know she was there, I thought she was running late.

“Oh, really, young man?” Her sharp eyes narrowed, and I watched from the corner of my eyes as Yunho’s own widened, mouth falling open, “You think you’re here because I believed whatever that professor accused you of? No, you’re here because you promised me you’d stop fooling around, yet here we are!”

“Mom?” Yunho seemed pale as Mrs. Jeong glared him down, he turned to me with a desperate look on his face, “What’s she doing here?!”

He whisper-shouted as Mrs. Jeong scoffed and crossed her arms in front of her chest. I felt a bit awkward and put on the spot as I nodded in acknowledgement at her, then faced her son, “Mrs. Jeong is the head of our department.”

Yunho’s eyes widened comically and I chuckled as I bit my lower lip, “Uhm, did you not know that your mother is the head of the drama club and department?”

“No!” Yunho whisper-shouted and eyed his mother, who had started to grin in contentment. I could see the resemblance in the two as I looked between the mother and son, their smiles were the same and their cheeks were puffy and almost always rosy. Mrs. Jeong was a lovely and compassionate woman, it sometimes made me wonder why Yunho had such little respect for women when his mother must’ve raised him right.

“If you’re done parading yourself, son, I’d like to start my class, thank you very much.” Mrs. Jeong raised her eyebrows and Yunho grumbled something under his breath as he slipped lower in his chair.

“Sorry, Mrs. Jeong.” He avoided eye contact with his mother and Mrs. Jeong smiled in victory, eyes taking in the place as she counted how many there were of us. I smiled at her when her eyes fell on me and she returned it, clapping her hands once she was done.

“Good, I see more of you joined us—I didn’t count my son in—I hope you’re all ready to rehearse for the play before the auditions, and I’m more than eager to help you all out. Today, I’d like to highlight some of the culminant points of the play and discuss the acting techniques they should be delivered with.” Mrs. Jeong intertwined her hands behind her back and nodded before she went to grab her own copy of the play. Yunho looked helpless as he glanced around the room, sighing long as he peered down at my lap over my shoulder.

“Uh, can you share yours with me?” He grumbled, not so smiley anymore, “I didn’t know what we’d be doing today, I’ll bring my play for the next class.”

“Just this once,” I said with a pointed look and put my copy of the play between us, “I don’t like to share and I like to sit alone, just so you know in the future.”

“All alone?” Yunho asked curiously, “Don’t you like sharing?”

“I like my peace of mind and quiet.” I answered, raising my eyebrows at him, “And I really like to be left alone, Yunho, so don’t try to distract me.”

“Okay,” He whispered as he flipped through the pages, making me give him a small glare, “I’ll be silent, but don’t expect me to survive this whole semester if you ignore me the whole time.”

“Go make friends, I’m sure the girls behind us are more than eager to sit with you,” I muttered with a roll of my eyes, and Yunho grinned as he leaned slightly closer.

“Is that a hint of jealousy—”

“Mr. Jeong,” Mrs. Jeong snapped and we both looked at her alarmed, she was frowning at her son, “Leave Miss Lee alone, yes? Or I’ll make sure to fail you in this class—”

“But mom!” Yunho whined, sitting up straight as he leaned forward, “You can’t do that, I’m not even registered for this class!”

“Really?” Mrs. Jeong chuckled, “Aren’t you?”

“You did not.”

“Oh, trust me, I did.”

Yunho’s mouth fell open in shock, and I had to turn my head to hide my silent laugh as Yunho turned into a whining manchild once again, “You will behave in my class, young man, and you’ll let Miss Lee be, understood?”

“Understood, Mrs. Jeong.” Yunho grumbled under his breath and looked down, a grimace on his face as he muttered something to himself, “I can’t even skip class now, for fuck’s sake.”

A laugh slipped through as I gave Yunho another amused smile and then grabbed my marker, way too amused by how things were turning out to be. Yunho didn’t look too amused but Mrs. Jeong did, and she spoke up with a smile on her face, asking us to flip to the thirteenth page of our play.

I could only hope Jeong Yunho, the Casanova, wouldn’t ruin one of my favourite classes for me.

❱❱ Next act

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[autism-corner]

THOSE FOOLS

[butterznack]

out of touch

Pairing : Jihyo x afab!reader

Summary : another late night studying while face-timing with your girlfriend who tells you to take a break.

Genre : smut, established relationship, college!au

Warnings : 18+, phone sex, mutual masturbation, fingering, sex talk? kinda?, clit stimulation, g-spot stimulation

a/n : first attempt at writing smut, it’s kinda short, maybe a bit rushed at the end, it’s not that bad, it’s not incredible, it’s fine enough for me to post it here lol. tell me if i missed any warnings regarding the smut <3

“I’m a mess.”

“What are you talking about?” Your girlfriend inquires.

“I’m falling behind in my classes, again.”

You watch as Jihyo tilts her head to the side, chin propped up on her hand and staring into your soul through her phone screen. You want to blame it on her and claim it is solely because of her charm, her gorgeous face and sweet words of hers that you are failing your classes this semester.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you whine, leaning back into your chair, defeated.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, love,” but the smirk slowly stretching the corners of her lips gives her away and you pout.

You’ve had to retake three classes you flunked last semester. One because you dropped it as you realized five classes were too much workload for you; a second because the professor didn’t want to gross up the class’ grades even though everyone was complaining about the teacher’s unrelated-to-the-course’s-content questions in the exam, which made you and a bunch of other students fail; and a last because it was an elective you chose outside of your department of study and miserably failed as well. But maybe Advanced Calculus I when you were majoring in communications was not the brightest idea of your undergrad career.

What even is the Cauchy sequence anyway?

“That bad?” Jihyo asks, voice soft and laced with concern.

“I’m supposed to graduate next semester,” you start, throwing your pen on your desk, “and I said the same thing last semester.”

You curse at the sky, well, your dorm room’s ceiling. The scene has Jihyo giggling, and you mirror her smile, it helps a bit with the dreadful feeling bubbling at the pit of your stomach.

“Baby,” you melt at the pet name, “far be it from me to discourage you from studying right now, I believe you should take a break.”

“I can’t,” you pause, “I don’t want to.”

You see your girlfriend’s face get closer to the camera, and you think you hear the faint sound of her footsteps and a key turning in its lock.

“Because you’re gonna think about it all night, get probably four hours of sleep tops, and miss your first class of the day tomorrow?” she guesses, settling back into her desk chair and adjusting her phone in front of her so you can now see her fully. She’s got one leg propped up on the seat, and her tiny shorts riding up the inner part of her thigh are letting you see her baby blue and yellow flowers panties.

“Hello? Baby, you’re frozen.”

“Yeah, sorry, what were you saying?” You ask, stumbling over your words. You lift your eyes to her face, her hair is tied up in a ponytail and she’s wearing her glasses, a thin and roundish frame complimenting the shape and size of her eyes as they stare into yours. Her neck is exposed, and you see a pink-ish spot near her collarbone, remnants of your latest weekend spent together at her place.

“Case in point,” she pauses, “you should take a break, love.”

The term of endearment makes you whine, a shiver running up your spine to your nape. Jihyo’s tone is sweet, and yet authoritative.

“I’m not good at taking breaks when you’re not there, love.” You emphasize the pet name, trying hard not to crumble under her gaze, now fueled with the idea of a challenge. A look that screams bet.

“Well first of all you can’t possibly be comfortable with that hoodie on. I mean, come on baby, it’s April, the weather’s good. Light even.” And it is a suggestion, your girlfriend is too refined to simply tell you to take your hoodie off. A common occurrence when you started dating, you and Jihyo being downright blunt and short-winded, as if you were in a rush, finding the one weekend you’d manage to have with one another too short to your liking.

While you were still living and studying in different cities, you both got to appreciate and savor those days together.

The more you got to explore each other’s bodies - the tiny lion’s wrinkle making a guest appearance between Jihyo’s eyebrows when giving the first lick at her soaking cunt, or the head thrown back and mouth agape when her fingers poked and rubbed at your g-spot, the more you understood the importance of taking your time, of tiptoeing around, investing more time into foreplay and teasing more than ever now.

“I’m feeling very light,” you grin. Your fingers travel down south, catching the hem of your oversized hoodie and you slowly lift it, revealing your shorts first. Jihyo’s eyes follow your hand, biting down lightly on her bottom lip. She’s attentive, observing and taking in every inch of skin you expose.

You lift the hoodie up to your breasts. Then, sliding both hands underneath it, you grab at them, pulling them up as you keep raising the hoodie higher. As the shirt gathers near your collarbone, you let go of your tits, letting them bounce down.

You can hear Jihyo bite back a mewl through the microphone, her own hand fondling one tit, occasionally pinching the nipple that you can tell are both perking up beneath the fabric of her tank top.

“Copycat,” she smirks when you roll your nipples between your fingers.

“Learned from the best,” you breathe in a whine, staring at her free hand running down her stomach to her shorts. Jihyo lets her hand wander lower, shamelessly palming at her crotch and you watch as her pinky and pointer peek out the sides of the inseam of her bottoms.

“Bet you’d like a taste of me right now, huh?” She taunts.

And you can tell your girlfriend’s panties are drenched just from the dazed look in her eyes and the blush on her cheeks.

While Jihyo’s boobs are a delight for you to touch and gawk at (sometimes, you’re no better than a man), it is also way obvious your girlfriend also gets rapidly turned on and wet just looking at your own. You didn’t think cumming from just mouth and tongue on your nipples was possible until you met her. Jihyo’s skills in that matter were truly unmatched.

“Looks like you’re having a hard time breathing, love,” you tease in return, observing the quick rise and fall of her chest, though you’re no better. “You don’t seem comfortable right now.”

She scoffs, but ultimately decides on baring herself completely to you. Jihyo slides down her shorts and panties at a languid pace, bending down in her chair to gather the underwear and show it off to the camera. She lets it fall between her legs, a playful smile adorning her face, as she settles back into her initial position on the seat. She keeps her top on, an invitation to let your imagination run wild, to let you picture her boobs all round and swollen from arousal and her nipples red.

That’s all it takes for you to start panting, puffing out air as you take in the sight of your girlfriend’s pussy glistening in the lowlight of her dorm room. Jihyo resumes her ministrations, two fingers teasing at her slit, coating them in her arousal to glide them back up her clit. You’re a goner the moment you see her back arching against the backseat, and you finally let go of your tits to undress completely, too hot and bothered at the marvelous sight of your girlfriend getting off to you playing with yourself you don’t think you can hold back any longer.

You’re just as aroused and wet as Jihyo is. Your pussy is throbbing, clenching around nothing, but you don’t give in just yet.

“Keep up with me okay?” Jihyo prompts, and you nod, too focused on the way her fingers prob between her lower lips.

You get both legs to spread wide on the armrests of your desk chair, a hand going down to your soaked cunt, using it as a lubricant to toy at your clit. “You’re the one who should keep up with me,” you jest.

Jihyo doesn’t back down, getting one finger in, and you both moan at the same time. Her pace is slow and steady at first, and you don’t miss out the lewd squelching sounds her pussy makes when she ups her speed, mixed with the whines and moans she unabashedly sings out of her lungs.

For a minute you think about telling her to keep quiet, picturing her stuffing her mouth with the panties on display in front of her pussy. Maybe on another occasion.

You do as you said you would and match her rhythm on your clit, your middle finger circling at the bundle of nerves as fast as Jihyo is now fingering herself. You know the angle is not what you give her when you’re the one stuffing her cunt with your fingers, she’s well aware of it too. Jihyo frowns, it is not enough and it is frustrating, she barely reaches her g-spot, but follows through nonetheless.

When she pulls out to rub at her clit, you put two fingers in and they slide with ease. You moan, there’s still a slight burn and you feel yourself tightening around your fingers. Eyes glued to the screen of your phone, you watch as your girlfriend gets rough on her clit, her moans and gasps less sparse and louder.

“Slow down pretty,” you whimper, “talk to me.”

“Baby, I want your mouth on me,” Jihyo muses. “Fuck, I wish I could sit on your face right now.”

You gasp, going back to massage one tit while circling at your clit again. “I’m the best at it, right? Say it, love,” you demand, and all Jihyo does is nod, eyes shut, she’s pinching one nipple between her fingers, still assaulting her clit, she’s chasing her high. “Look at me.”

Jihyo opens her eyes and what a sight you are. Fucked out, legs spread wide on your chair, boobs bouncing lightly against your arms, your arousal is dripping on the seat of your chair.

Your moans are now as strong as hers, you’re a whimpering mess in front of her and that does it for Jihyo. Your girlfriend has her back arching, she’s doing her best to keep her eyes on you. Her orgasm hits her like a wave against the shore. She grips the armrest, riding herself through her high and more, wincing and whining from the overstimulation.

“Oh fuck,” you gasp, the coil in your stomach snaps and it takes all your willpower to not close your legs on your hand at the risk of falling down from your chair.

“You okay, love?”

You can vaguely hear your girlfriend calling for you.

“Don’t scare me like that,” Jihyo huffs, straightens up and moves closer to her phone. You do the same, still fully naked.

“Weren’t you the one telling me to take a break?” you smile.

“It looked like you fainted for a sec,” she retorts, her lips stretching into a tired smile mimicking yours. “I hope it helped though.”

“Don’t worry, it did.”

© BUTTERZNACK 2024 ON TUMBLR. do not repost, copy, modify or translate any of my works. do not claim any of my works as your own.

[x3nawr1tes]

hi hi hi highihhi my beeauygifuk priujfress can i oleaaseeeee have a erm a love at first sight fic with nagi where she’s reos friend that like he recruits to manage the hakuho football team so she like randomly spawns in one day and then nagis like “oh my days… WHY CANT I BREATH AHHHHH!!!!!!!” i lovenyouuuuuu 🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭

“Love at first sight?”

nagi seishiro x fem!reader

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“Wait what- join the team? As… manager?” You were confused to say the least. You look up from your phone, seeing Reo grin in the afternoon light from the window to your left.

Reo exclaims, “yeah! Exactly! You’ll be our manager. It’ll be pretty easy-“

You interrupt before he can continue. “No… thanks… thank you for the offer anyway-“ you brush it off, but Reo is convinced. The purple haired boy continues.

“You’d be such a great manager y/n! Trust me- you know how to handle people and get them in control-“ To be honest, you had no interest in the soccer team. They were just another school team. It’s not any of your business. You weren’t even interested in the sport anyway, so why bother? There are probably many other people in this school suited for the job… Hell, some people would fight for this job. Getting to see the Reo Mikage up and close playing soccer would be considered a blessing by most.

When Reo asked you to at least consider it, you relented. “Fine- but give me two days to decide,” You continued, “But… I’d like to stop by the field after school to check in.”

Reo gave you that boyish smile, the one that charmed all the girls in the grade. You couldnt deny how your heart beat as you watched him step away, but thats just Reo-kun. He has that effect on everyone. It’s nothing.

Later that afternoon, you walk out the school building to the other side of campus- you havent been in this area in a while, since this is where the first year’s classes are. As you approach the field, you see that familiar tuft of purple hair. There are also some other guys practicing on the field, dribbling (is that what its called?) and shooting balls into the goal. But the thing that intrigues you most is a not-so-familiar white haired guy, on Reo’s back? Is Reo-kun giving him a piggyback ride? At practice? You press your hands against the fence surrounding the giant grassy field, but then back away slightly. Do I look like a creep?

As you observed from your spot by the fence, the more unusual this situation was getting. White haired boy- as you called him- did the bare minimum during drills and had reo carry him, as seen prior. Is he supposed to be an athlete? How is he on the team if he keeps slacking-? Wait- what was that?

“nice goal seishiro-kun!”

“nice! Keep up the good work!” A black haired boy gave him a thumbs up and patted his back.

Reo looked the most ecstatic- from the distance, you could easily tell he was praising the boy. It makes sense.

You barely saw it- from what you could recall, you had seen white haired boy do a turn in the air and shoot the ball into the goal. Ah, so thats why hes on the team, even though hes clearly such a slacker.

~~~~~~~~~ The next day, you went up to Reo-kun at lunch again. It was a struggle, seeing as to the amourn of people surrounding him.

“Reo-kun?” You call out to him. He whips his head toward the sound and sees you, walking forward.

“y/n-san! So, how about that offe-“

You accidentally cut him off, “i accept.” Shit. Did that sound too eager?

Reo’s face goes from shock to happiness. “Really-? But its only been a day- are you sure?”

“Yes. Im sure.” You pause a bit before continuing, “i… i saw your guy’s practice yesterday. I was only there for five minutes- you probably did see me. But i stayed long enough to watch that guy, the one with white hair, make a shot where he jumped in the air and scored-“

You didnt know if it was possibly for reo’s eyes to light up even more, but they did.

“Youre talking about nagi and that insane trickshot, right?” Reo said.

“nagi, hm?” So that was his name.

~~~~~~~~~

That afternoon, you made your way to that same soccer field, where the boys’ team was practicing again. You saw Reo, but your eyes drifted over to that… what was his name? Nagi guy. Right.

Reo spotted you from the distance and waved you over. You speed your pace up a bit and stand next to him, when he calls out all the other guys on the team.

Reo tries grabbing their attention, “Guys! Guys!” The team gathers up around him. You can feel their curious glances. In the back, you see that guy Reo-kun was talking about- Nagi. Wait… how should I address him? I think thats his first name.

Reo nudges you to speak and introduce yourself. Right. “Hello,” you give a slight bow to the boys, “My name is y/n, and i hope you guys will accept me as the new manager of the Hakuho football team. Thank you.”

Once you stand back up, you can clearly see their reactions. Some of them bow, others whisper, and a few are a bit surprised. Your gaze doesnt stay on them long and falls to a familiar white haired boy. There he is- Nagi.

~~~~~~~~~

Nagi knew his life changed when he met Reo.

His once boring, dull life, instantly switched when he met him. Sure, soccer was a hassle and he’d much rather play games, but it was more eventful. At least reo wasn’t much of a hassle.

Nagi wasn’t one for feelings, until you showed up.

Nagi peers at you from behind the other guys,“my name is y/n, and i hope you guys will accept me as the new manager of the Hakuho football team. Thank you,” you rise up from your bow.

hm. She seems formal, he mentally notes.

Practice continues as normal, with them doing all kinda of different drills he forgot the names of. But nagi’s eyes barely left your body. There was something about you that just felt… right

It got worse when you started handing out water bottles to the guys, giving everyone that same gentle smile.

Once it was Nagi’s turn, he glanced at your face and grabbed the bottle out of your hand, your fingers brushing against each other. His breath hitches for a moment.

Nagi spoke up, trying to hide how flustered he was, “thanks.”

“Youre welcome!” There it was. That smile.

Nagi immediately turned away, not wanting to expose himself. Suddenly, everything around him (and you) felt amplified. He could feel his heart beat. He could feel palms sweat. The white haired boy did a double take, looking back at you. You still looking at Nagi. Nagi however, immediately turned his head away at the embarrassment. Shit. Am I weird for doing that? Its just a girl… why am i acting weird? What was happening to him?

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A/n: hihi moot!! anyways this request was rlly fun to write, but srry for the delay (its been months) since its break, im trying to be as productive as possible. I’ll get to your other request soon trust🙏 anyways consider this a little gift for u!!! Hope u enjoyed it and it wad what u wanted ;)