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ds-angel1 · 4 months ago

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TEACHERS LITTLE PET

cw: SMUT(18+), teacher x student relationship, hitting it from the back(in the classroom), big age gap(ages aren´t specified), reader is a senior, i´m not american and have no idea how the school system works so please just smile and nod

wc: ~ 5.1k

a/n: tell me what you think of this dynamic and if you want more cause i have some ideas!! also this is the longest fic i´ve ever written, not my best work but atleast i managed to write something?? keep in mind i had a fever when i wrote this

Rafe had no idea how he ended up here.

Well, if he was being honest, he did. He just hated admitting it.

He hated kids. Teenagers weren’t much better. If they weren’t whining about something trivial, they were loud, obnoxious, and bursting with opinions they thought were groundbreaking. And high schoolers? They were the worst of the lot, caught in that unbearable limbo between childhood and adulthood, convinced they knew everything and that the world had been tailor-made to inconvenience them.

He hated his job, too. But after his father had all but shoved him into college, and he had somehow managed to scrape together an art history degree through a chaotic jumble of barely thought-out course selections, he needed a paycheck. He needed something, anything, to make use of the four years he had spent drowning in essays about the Renaissance and lectures on the symbolism of Baroque architecture.

And there it was, a high school history teacher.

He was fairly certain the school had been desperate. Desperate enough to hire the first applicant who could string a coherent sentence together about the American Revolution. And lucky him, that applicant had been Rafe.

The school itself was unremarkable. Small, under 400 students, just two squat brick buildings separated by a weather-beaten schoolyard that reeked of stale cigarette smoke and teenage apathy. Five hours from the Outer Banks, he could visit home whenever he wanted. Not that he did. There was nothing left for him there, nothing worth the drive, and frankly, there was nothing for him here either.

His days were a loop, a monotonous, uninspired cycle of standing in front of rows of disinterested, hormonal teenagers, rattling off lessons about long-dead historical figures far more interesting than any of his students would ever bother to realize. He graded half-assed essays, endured halfhearted excuses about missing assignments, and spent more time than he cared to admit staring at the clock, willing the hours to pass. Then, when the final bell rang, he trudged back to his apartment, a bare, impersonal space that he never bothered to decorate. No photos, no art, and no signs that anyone lived there. Just a bed, a couch, and a kitchen table that mostly went unused.

And then there were the truly miserable days, the ones where he was roped into subbing for freshman P.E., a biweekly exercise in self-inflicted torture. Half the girls refused to break a sweat, acting as if running a single lap would somehow lead to their untimely demise. The other half of the class consisted of cocky, over-competitive boys who treated dodgeball like a blood sport. He spent most of those periods standing on the sidelines, arms crossed, blowing the whistle when things got too heated, and watching the clock even more desperately than usual.

It was a dull, uninspired existence; monotonous, predictable, and entirely void of passion. He lived his life the way his students listened to the outdated documentaries he played in class: half-awake, uninterested, just going through the motions because it had to be done.

Until you walked into his class.

The first day of school after summer break always carried a certain energy; electric, restless, filled with voices overlapping in an unfiltered rush of stories from the last few weeks. As Rafe pushed open the door to his classroom, that familiar wave of chatter hit him like a sudden gust of wind. Laughter, exclamations, the scrape of chairs against the floor—it was all as chaotic as he had expected.

With a quiet sigh, he made his way to his desk, setting his thermos down on the bleached oak surface before picking it up again almost instinctively, taking a slow sip before returning it to its place. His fingers moved on autopilot, retrieving his school-issued laptop from his bag, pressing the power button, and waiting for the screen to glow to life. His gaze lifted, sweeping across the students, his students. The same faces he’d taught last year, now a little older, a little different, officially juniors.

But one face wasn’t familiar.

You.

Rafe spotted you almost immediately, sitting in the third row, right by the window where the morning sky stretched in endless hues of soft blue. You were listening—well, nodding, at least—to Amanda, whose mouth moved a mile a minute. He didn’t have to hear her know she was spewing an endless stream of conversation; Amanda was known for filling any silence, anytime, anywhere. But his attention wasn’t on her. It was on you.

A dark navy skirt draped over your thighs, the fabric shifting in gentle waves with every slight movement. Your top, a delicate white spaghetti strap with tiny baby blue flowers, hugged your frame, lace tracing the neckline, a small bow nestled right at its center. A beige cardigan hung loosely over your shoulders, two buttons left undone as if they had never been intended for use in the first place. Your hair was pulled back into a ponytail, not rigid, not loose, just… effortless. A few strands framed your face, soft wisps that moved when you turned your head, catching the light in a way that made them seem almost ethereal.

And sure, you looked beautiful, undeniably so. But it wasn’t just that.

It was the way your eyes flickered around the room, quietly observing, absorbing. The way your lips parted slightly every so often, murmuring the occasional “Uh-huh” or “Yeah” in response to Amanda’s nonstop chatter, even as your mind seemed elsewhere. There was something in your expression, an almost hesitant curiosity, a quiet awareness, that made Rafe’s fingers pause over the laptop’s keyboard.

He had seen many faces in this classroom. Some familiar, some forgettable.

But yours?

Yours was impossible to ignore.

"Uh— okay, let’s get started. Settle down," Rafe called out to the students, his voice steady despite the chaos. The room buzzed with post-summer chatter, desks scraping against the floor as students found their seats. He rolled his shoulders, forcing himself to exhale. The first day back was always like this, full of energy, distractions, and the struggle to rein everyone in. But today, there was another battle brewing beneath the surface, one he wasn’t prepared for.

He hoped that once the lesson began, he could shift his focus, and force himself to look anywhere but at you. He clung to that hope like a lifeline, but the moment he commanded their attention, he had yours.

And when your eyes locked onto him, he was trapped. Hypnotized. His breath hitched, pulse stuttering in a way it had no right to. For what felt like an eternity, he couldn’t tear his gaze away, couldn’t shake the invisible thread tightening between you. His fingers curled into his palm, nails pressing against his skin.

Shit.

Swallowing hard, he forced himself to snap out of it, dragging his attention back to the board. He took a measured breath, gripping the chalk like it might anchor him. "Alright, I know you’re all still in vacation mode, but we need to get talking about history."

The usual grumbling came, but it was muted, fading as students settled into their seats. Good. The routine was safe. The routine was predictable. The routine wouldn’t let his mind wander to places it shouldn’t.

"Before we dive in, we have a new student joining us this year from the senior class," he announced, keeping his tone even, impersonal. His gaze flickered back to you, just for a second, just long enough to acknowledge you without giving himself away. "Would you introduce yourself?"

A brief silence. You hesitated, shifting under the weight of so many eyes before murmuring your name.

"Great," Rafe said, far too quickly. He cleared his throat, turning back to the board. "So, what do we know about American history from the Industrial Revolution to the modern age?"

The next forty-five minutes passed in a blur of discussion, textbook readings, and writing exercises. Normally, this was when he’d catch up on grading or chip away at whatever administrative work he had. But today? No. Today, his focus splintered, frayed at the edges every time he felt your presence in the room.

His eyes kept drifting.

To you.

It was reckless. Stupid. He knew it was wrong, knew exactly how it would look if anyone noticed. He wasn’t blind, he’d found students attractive before, but it had always been a fleeting thing, a passing thought dismissed before it could take root. A moment, nothing more.

But this?

This was different.

This wasn’t just acknowledging that you were pretty, though you were. Incredibly so. This wasn’t just an absent-minded recognition of beauty. No, this was something deeper. Something that twisted in his gut and settled in his bones, something that made his breath catch when he wasn’t prepared for it.

Something dangerous.

His fingers raked through his hair as he stared down at his keyboard, typing nothing. He could tell himself it was just a dry spell, that he’d been avoiding distractions for too long, that it was simply physical. But that would be a lie.

Because it wasn’t just about desire.

It was about you.

And that was a problem.

The shrill chime of the bell split the air, and the classroom erupted into motion. Notebooks snapped shut, chairs scraped against the tile, and a low hum of voices swelled as students shoved books into backpacks, eager to escape into the chaotic freedom of lunch. You swung your bag over your shoulder, weaving through the shifting maze of desks, your focus locked on the door. The cafeteria was called, an oasis of noise and anonymity where you could blend in, and where no one was analyzing your every move.

But just as you stepped forward, a voice cut through the chatter behind you.

"Hey."

It wasn’t loud, but it had weight, like an anchor dropping into the sea of departing students. Something in the tone made your stomach twist. You turned, pulse hitching slightly, to find Mr. Cameron watching you from behind his desk. His expression was unreadable, calm but not necessarily kind.

"Yes, Mr. Cameron?" you asked, hesitating.

"Can I speak to you for a moment?"

It was phrased like a question, but you both knew it wasn’t. He gave a small nod toward the door as the last few stragglers trickled out, a silent instruction.

With a quiet sigh, you nudged the door shut behind them, the click of the latch sealing you in. The classroom, so full of life just seconds ago, now felt cavernous, the quiet pressing in around you. You hesitated before making your way back to his desk, each step feeling heavier than the last.

Mr. Cameron leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the surface of his desk, fingers steepled together. "So… I wanted to talk to you about last year." His voice was measured, and neutral, but something about it put you on edge. "You were in Ms. Wallace’s class, right?" His eyes flicked to a sheet of paper in front of him, though you were certain he already knew the answer.

You shifted uncomfortably. "Mhm." A simple answer for something far more complicated. Your history with Ms. Wallace wasn’t just a class; it was a long, exhausting battle, a relentless tug-of-war between frustration, unmet expectations, and a sinking feeling of inevitability.

Mr. Cameron studied you for a moment before speaking again. "Can you tell me what didn’t work? Was it her? The material? Her teaching style? Or was it something on your end?" His head tilted slightly, voice smooth, probing.

You hesitated, suddenly hyper-aware of the way your fingers clenched the strap of your bag. "I guess I was just… kind of unfocused last year," you admitted, your voice barely above a murmur.

"Mm." He hummed, eyebrows lifting just slightly. "Just last year?"

Your stomach tightened.

"Because judging by today’s lesson, it seems like you're still a little… distracted. More interested in doodles than in history, huh?"

Heat crept up your neck, shame pooling in your chest. Your gaze dropped to the floor as if looking anywhere else might soften the weight of his words.

"You’d think," he continued, his tone carrying the faintest edge, "that after the school let you pass the year and only required you to retake this class, you'd put in a little more effort."

His words landed like a slap, sharp, deliberate. He knew exactly how unfair that was. Knew how it would make you feel. And yet, for whatever reason, he didn’t stop himself.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

“You want to pass, yes?”

His voice was low, almost teasing, each word curling around you like smoke. He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his desk, dark eyes locked onto yours with something unreadable, something that made your stomach twist.

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry, and gave a quick, eager nod.

Rafe watched you for a lingering second, dragging it out just long enough to make you shift where you stood. Then, with an exhale that was almost too casual, he pushed himself up from his chair. He didn’t simply stand, he moved. Slow. Deliberate. A quiet display of control as he braced one hand against the edge of his desk, his weight settling into a lean. The aged wood creaked under him, but he didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he just didn’t care.

His focus remained entirely on you.

“And what do you think I could do to help you achieve that?”

Smooth. Measured. But there was something else beneath his tone, something just sharp enough to catch. Playfulness, maybe. Amusement. Or something more dangerous.

His gaze flickered, sweeping over you in a way that felt too quick at first, like a reflex he hadn’t meant to act on. But then, you saw it. The hesitation. The way his throat bobbed, how his fingers flexed at his sides before he rubbed the back of his neck as if trying to shake off whatever had just slipped through the cracks. But it was too late.

You had seen.

And by the way, his jaw clenched a second later, the way his lips pressed together, you knew he realized it too.

Your heart hammered. You didn’t answer him. Couldn’t. Instead, your fingers fidgeted with each other, twisting and untwisting, your bottom lip caught between your teeth. The silence between you stretched, thick and electric, heavy with something unspoken, something neither of you dared name but both of you felt.

Rafe inhaled deeply, the sound filling the quiet space between you. The air itself seemed different now, charged, like something unseen was pressing in, urging one of you to break.

He let the breath out slowly, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that somehow felt… controlled. Intentional. And then, his eyes moved again.

This time, there was no rush. No flicker of hesitation.

Now, he studied you.

It was slow, almost methodical, th

6e kind of look that made heat crawl up the back of your neck, the kind that lingered just long enough in places that made you second-guess every inch of yourself. When his gaze reached your thighs, a nervous jolt ran through you. Almost instinctively, you gripped the hem of your skirt, twisting the fabric in your fists, your knuckles turning white.

A nervous habit.

One he noticed.

One that made his eyes darken, not dramatically, not in some exaggerated, obvious way, but just enough. Just enough for you to catch the shift, to see the amusement flicker across his face like the hint of a smirk he didn’t fully let through.

“Hm?” The questioning hum he let out brought you back to reality, back to his question, and back to the answer that you had yet to give.

“Um… I- I don’t know…” you stammered out.

His eyes flick down again, taking in your upper body, eyes practically circling in on your chest. As if your body has a mind of its own, you straighten your back, puffing out your chest.

Rafe’s eyes flickered up to yours, and for a second, he didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

The air between you had thickened, dense with something unspoken, something dangerous. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips, slow, almost pensive as if he were considering something he shouldn’t be. He exhaled sharply through his nose, a breath that almost sounded like a laugh but carried no humor, just tension.

“Yeah?” His voice was softer now, quieter like he was testing the waters, like he was trying to figure out how far this would go before one of you came to your senses.

Your lips parted, but no words came. Your throat felt tight, your skin burning where his gaze traced. You felt like you were standing on the edge of something vast, something that couldn’t be undone.

His fingers tapped once, twice against the desk, a steady rhythm that contradicted the barely concealed restraint in his posture. His body language told two different stories, one of hesitation, and another of inevitability. He was too close, and yet he wasn’t moving away.

Your breath hitched as he shifted, his body angling just slightly towards yours. It was a minuscule movement, one that could’ve been mistaken for a simple change in weight, but you knew better. It was deliberate. Calculated.

“You want to pass this class?”

The question was a mere whisper, his voice dipped in something that made your stomach twist. Your throat bobbed as you swallowed, nodding, too fast, too eager.

His lips twitched, almost smirking like he knew exactly what he was doing to you. He leaned in just enough that you caught the faint scent of his cologne, something dark and musky, something entirely him.

“Then you’re gonna have to focus.”

The way he said it—low, deliberate—sent a shiver down your spine. His words weren’t inappropriate, but the way he looked at you, the way his voice wrapped around each syllable, made them feel like something else entirely.

Your knees felt weak, your heart pounding against your ribcage as your grip tightened around the strap of your bag. The classroom, once suffocating in its quiet, now felt electric, charged with a current that neither of you dared acknowledge aloud.

Rafe exhaled again, this time slower, measured. His hand moved, not towards you, not touching, but close enough that you felt the shift in air between you.

“You’re nervous.”

It wasn’t a question.

Your breath shuddered. “I—”

His head tilted slightly, watching, waiting. His pupils were blown wide, his expression unreadable but entirely focused on you.

His jaw ticked, his fingers twitching at his side like he was fighting something. A beat of silence stretched between you.

And then, Rafe moved.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t forceful. It was a slow descent, a moment stretched into eternity. His lips hovered just above yours, close enough that you felt the ghost of his breath against your skin, close enough that your lips parted in anticipation before your mind could catch up.

He paused—just for a fraction of a second, just enough to give you the chance to pull away. Just enough to make it clear that if this happened, it was your choice, too.

But you didn’t move away.

Neither did he.

And before you could let a single other breath out, his lips met yours.

Soft at first. Testing. A barely-there brush that sent a sharp current through your veins, igniting something dangerous and uncontainable in your chest.

He exhaled against your mouth, and in that moment it seemed like something in him snapped.

His hand found your waist, fingers splaying against the fabric of your cardigan as he pulled you just slightly closer. His other hand lifted, skimming along your jaw before his fingers tangled in your hair, tilting your head just so.

The kiss deepened, slow but demanding, every movement deliberate, every touch igniting another spark beneath your skin. He wasn’t rushing—no, he was savoring, taking his time like he wanted to memorize the exact way you fit against him. He knew this was a mistake but couldn’t bring himself to care.

Your hands found his chest, pressing lightly against the fabric of his dress shirt, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath your palms. His fingers tightened slightly in your hair at the contact, his grip on your waist firm but careful, as if he was anchoring himself as much as he was anchoring you.

The sharp sound of footsteps in the hallway shattered the fragile haze that had settled between you two, yanking you both back into reality.

Rafe was the first to react, pulling away, but only just. His forehead remained pressed against yours, his breath still ragged, chest rising and falling in sync with yours. His fingers, warm and possessive, lingered at your waist a second too long before he finally, finally, let go, stepping back just enough to put a sliver of space between you. But not enough to erase what had just happened.

His eyes searched yours, dark blue depths swirling with something unreadable, something dangerous. His exhale was sharp, tension coiling through his jaw as he dragged a hand through his hair, his fingers gripping at the strands like he was trying to ground himself.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, voice rough and uneven. Then, with more force, “Fuck. Fuck.”

His eyes shut tight, his head shaking in frustration as if the motion itself could erase the last few minutes. When they opened again, they were filled with something even more intense. In two strides, he was in front of you again, his hands gripping your upper arms, fingertips pressing just a little too hard, just enough to make you feel trapped between the heat of his body and the reality of the situation.

“This didn’t happen, okay?” His voice was firm, but there was a slight tremor to it like he wasn’t sure if he believed the words himself. His grip tightened before loosening again, as if he was at war with himself as if he didn’t trust his restraint.

You didn’t answer. You just stared at him, your pulse thrumming wildly, your breath uneven. His eyes flickered down to your parted lips, then back to your eyes, and something in him cracked. His hands slid down your arms in a slow, deliberate motion, his touch leaving a trail of heat in its wake. When his fingertips finally settled at your hipbones, pressing in lightly, his resolve wavered even more.

“This…” he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I don’t know.”

His voice was different now, lower, more raw. His fingers traced absent patterns along the fabric of your skirt as his mind spiraled, thoughts tumbling into a chaotic storm. Why was he doing this? This wasn’t like him. He had met you, his student, his goddamn student, less than an hour ago, and he had already crossed every possible line. And yet, even knowing that he wasn’t pulling away. He was moving closer.

His hands ghosted up your sides, the touch sending shivers across your skin. His lips brushed against your ear as he whispered, “Don’t tell anyone. Can you do that for me?”

If someone had asked you that morning how you thought your first day of senior year would go, never in a million years would you have said this? Sure, you’d heard the whispers in the halls, and seen the way every girl’s eyes lingered when he walked past. Mr. Cameron was the forbidden fantasy, the subject of countless rumors and stolen glances. But he was also your teacher. And he had just kissed you.

You knew it was wrong. You should run, tell someone, do the right thing. And yet, as your mind battled between logic and desire, only one thought rose above the rest: he had kissed you.

Mr. Cameron, the man every girl in school lusted after, had kissed you. Had he done this before? Had he chosen others before you? Or was this different?

Even as doubt twisted itself into a tight knot in your stomach, you found yourself nodding, unable to speak, afraid your voice would betray you with the high-pitched, breathy sound of a girl who had just been touched by fire and didn’t want to step away.

“Good.”

His voice was barely a whisper, almost more breath than sound. The tension in the room grew, thick and suffocating, but you didn’t want to breathe anything else in. His fingers glided upward again, teasing over your waist, grazing over your ribs, leaving a trail of heat that made your entire body burn with anticipation.

Then, gently, with a tenderness that contradicted the fevered hunger in his eyes, he cupped your face. For one impossible moment, you thought he was going to kiss you again, that he was going to throw every bit of logic and control out the window and claim your lips as he had minutes ago. But instead, he tilted your head slightly, his breath warm against your throat.

Then his lips were on your neck, barely touching, soft and slow.

A sound, something between a gasp and a whimper, escaped you, and his hands tightened ever so slightly, grounding you, making you feel small under his grasp. His mouth moved lower, pressing another kiss, and then another, each one more deliberate, more intoxicating than the last.

You barely registered the moment he turned you around, your back now facing him. Your hands trembled as they found purchase against the smooth surface of his desk, the dark wood cool beneath your fingertips.

Then, with the kind of confidence that sent a shiver racing down your spine, he placed his hands on your thighs, massaging them slowly, possessively.

His voice, low and dripping with something dark and dangerous, ghosted over your ear.

“Stay quiet for me.”

You sucked in a deep, long breath, letting your head fall and your eyes close.

The feel of the Rafe´s fingers slid under the skirt and the pads of his fingers started tracing along your panties, each tiny motion making your body stutter and tremble.

“You´re… you´re real special, you know that?” He spoke from behind you but you couldn’t respond, still holding your breath as if letting out the air would make the situation you found yourself in truly real.

When he had had enough of feeling the warm, twisted feeling in his stomach as he let his fingers glide over your clothed cunt, he pushed your underwear aside with his thumb, letting the tip of his index finger dip into your already quivering hole. The action intensified the feeling and buried it even deeper in his gut.

As if a shock of lightning had hit you, you bolted away from his hand a few inches, clenching your thighs tightly as you finally relieved your lungs of the air they were keeping trapped.

“M- Mr. Cameron…” You started to sputter out but stopped when you felt long, gruff fingers curl around the sides of your panties before pulling the black lace material down tantalizingly slow.

A cold rush of air hit your most intimate body part, making you gasp and pant. When you heard rustling and what you could only assume was the clink of your teacher´s belt, you shut your mouth and froze as you waited for the man´s next move.

“Listen,” he whispered your name like it was a sin he committed and you were a pastor, “You understand that this stays between us, yes?” His large hands massaged your ass and thighs, cursing under his breath when he saw how soaked you were.

“Mhm,” you hummed in agreement. You weren´t sure why. He was your teacher and by the looks of it and the feel of his hands on you, apparently a pedophile. But god did you want this; you wanted it, him, so bad.

Before you could so much as even let another thought pass through your head, he thrust forward, burying his cock inside you as deep as he could with multiple rapid movements of his hips. You moaned and practically screamed, the sounds of pleasure from you making Rafe reach around and cover practically half of your entire face.

“Fuck, you´re so tight,” he muttered sharply next to your ear as he started moving inside of you again, dragging his hips back only to snap them back forward less than a moment later.

“You like that, huh? Like being fucked by your teacher. Little teachers pet.”

He knew this was wrong, you were his student, and you probably didn´t even actually want this but for some fucked up reason that made it even better for Rafe, and as the thought crossed his mind it only made him thrust into you faster. At that point, you were damn near choking and sobbing into his hand, his palm making it hard for you to get a deep breath of fresh air in.

With a sense of panic taking over you, you tried to move your hands off of the desk to claw him off of your face but your attempts proved futile when Rafe pushed you flat onto the desk, forcing you to take his cock even deeper.

His free hand which wasn´t taking away your ability to breathe, found its way between your legs, his index, and middle fingers drawing squiggly circles on your clit. At the shock of pleasure that ran through you as he teased your extremely sensitive bundle of nerves, you clenched around his pipe and arched your back. You felt that familiar coil spring up in the depths of your stomach, your body rocking slightly backward against Rafe´s to help you relive the press soon.

Rafe pushed into you harder than he had any of the other time before then, hitting your sweet spot with a force that would have made you cry out, had you had your mouth free. His fingers applied pressure to the shapes they were making on your clit. The mix of heightened attention and force made your pussy squeeze around him and pushed you over the edge, coming with tears in your eyes.

After a few more brutal thrusts into your soppy cunt, he came as well, unloading into you, his thoughts barely registering anything at that point except for you and your body bent over his desk, his cum dripping out of your used up hole and onto your thighs.

Slowly he took away his hand from your face, a trail of spit following. As soon as you got a few much-needed breaths, you collapsed onto the desk, your body falling limp. Rafe pulled out of you, not wasting any time before he pulled his pants back on and redid his leather belt around his hips. He leaned over you, his body covering all of your sweaty skin as he dressed you in your underwear again.

“You did so good, darling. So, so good."

3K notes · View notes

dayasfilms · 1 month ago

Text

Chapter Four - Taking the Day Off

Summary: You notice Dustin is acting strange again, similar to how he did last year when Will went missing. You decide to take the day off from school, realizing the events from the past couple of days have severely stressed you out.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Warnings: No mentions of Y/N, not much happens

Word Count: 1.4k

Note: This chapter is pretty short since nothing really happens. Next chapter will be better.

Series Masterlist

ㅤ♡ ㅤ♡ ㅤ♡

After leaving Nancy’s house, you drove home through the familiar neighborhoods. Your fingers tapped lightly on the steering wheel, your thoughts still circling the phone call Nancy had made.

You were almost home when something on the sidewalk caught your eye, or rather, someone.

A familiar curlyhead pedaled down the street. You slowed down and pulled over, rolling down your window. “Hey, Dustin! You need a ride?”

He grinned at the sight of you. “Yeah, actu–”

But then he froze.

You watched him pause mid-sentence, one hand flying up to hold his hat, like he was trying to keep it from flying off. You could have sworn it moved.

Your brows furrowed.

Dustin forced a smile. “Uh, actually, I’m totally good! Biking’s great! Love the wind, cardio, you know.”

You tilted your head, not buying it. “Okay…since when do you turn down a ride from me?”

He nodded way too enthusiastically, hand still pressed firmly to the top of his hat. “I’m totally fine! You can just, uh, go!”

You squinted at him, then gave him a look. “Wow. Okay then, loser.”

Dustin laughed nervously. “Ha! Right? What a loser. But hey, extra exercise!”

Now you knew something was up.

“Alright, cut the crap,” you said, voice more serious. “What’s going on?”

His eyes widened like a deer caught in headlights. Both hands gripped his handlebars. His hat twitched again. “Can’t talk! Gotta bike! Bye!”

With that, he took off, pedaling fast and awkwardly, like something was squirming under his hat.

You blinked after him, stunned, before slowly rolling up your window.

“What the hell,” you muttered, leaning back in your seat. You sat there for a few seconds, processing what just happened.

It felt all too familiar. The way the boys acted last year, before they admitted to hiding Eleven. Dustin was definitely hiding something.

By the time you got home and collapsed onto your bed, your mind was made up. You could not go with Nancy and Jonathan tomorrow. Not because you didn’t want to, but because someone needed to keep an eye on whatever Dustin was wrapped up in. And you had a feeling it was not something small.

You grabbed the landline from your nightstand and dialed Jonathan’s number. After a few rings, he answered.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Jonathan, it’s me,” you said, giving your name. “Listen, about tomorrow.��

“Yeah, everything okay?”

You nodded instinctively, even though he couldn’t see you. “Um, yeah. It’s just…something came up. I don’t think I can go with you and Nancy tomorrow.”

“Oh?” His voice was cautious, concerned.

You sighed. “You and Nancy go on ahead. Just let me know what happens after.”

“Are you sure?” He asked. “Did something happen?”

“No, no, everything is fine,” you reassured him. “It’s just…I saw Dustin after I left Nancy’s…I don’t know, he was acting really weird when I talked to him. I feel like he’s hiding something and I want to stay back, just in case.”

Jonathan paused before speaking. “Alright. I’ll tell Nancy. And we’ll update you with whatever happens.”

You smiled faintly. “Thanks, Jon. Be careful, okay? Both of you.”

“You too.”

You didn’t sleep much that night.

After the phone call to Mrs. Holland, the strange run-in with Dustin, your breakup with Steve, college applications, your brain just would not shut off. You kept going over everything. Especially with Dustin and the thing twitching under his hat. You knew something was coming. You just didn’t know what.

When morning came, you stood in front of the mirror, trying to will yourself to get ready for school. But your head ached, your eyes were heavy, and your heart was still lodged somewhere in your throat.

So, instead of going to school, you stayed home. You planned to call Dustin at the end of the day to see if he would speak up about what was going on.

You lay back in bed, shutting your eyes. It was nice to finally get some rest for once.

You missing school worried Steve though.

He had looked for you in the hallways between classes, even checked the cafeteria, but you were nowhere to be found. Neither were Nancy or Jonathan, he noticed.

After basketball practice, and getting his ass handed to him by Billy more than once, the guys headed to the locker room. Steve was still fuming. His muscles ached, but it was nothing compared to the knot forming in his gut.

He was trying to rinse off the day when he heard Billy’s smug voice echo off the tile walls. “Don’t sweat it, Harrington. Today’s just not your day, huh?”

Steve did not answer. He wasn’t in the mood for games, not from Billy, not from Tommy.

But Billy wasn’t done.

“You and the princess break up for one day, and she’s already running off with the freak’s brother,” he said with a bark of a laugh.

Steve paused, shampoo still in his hands.

Tommy laughed under his breath. “Oh, shit. You don’t know?” He stepped closer. “Jonathan and Kaul skipped yesterday. Still haven’t shown. But that must be a total coincidence, right?”

Steve felt his stomach twist. He didn’t want to believe it. Not after everything. But the timing…

He stood still, water rushing over him, trying to will the doubt away.

“Don’t take it too hard, man,” Billy added, flipping off his shower. “A pretty boy like you has got nothing to worry about. Plenty of bitches in the sea. Am I right?”

Steve clenched his jaw.

“I’ll be sure to leave you some,” Billy finished with a smirk, tossing his towel over his shoulder as he strutted out.

Steve stood there, seething. Alone with the sound of running water and his own spiraling thoughts. He shoved his hands through his hair, angrily rinsing the shampoo out, every part of him on edge.

It was the end of the day and school should be finished by now. You sat at your desk, foot tapping anxiously. Something still didn’t sit right about the way Dustin acted yesterday. And now that you’d stayed home all day and were refreshed, you decided to call the Henderson’s.

You grabbed the phone off the receiver and dialed Dustin’s home number. It rang once, twice…

Nothing.

You frowned and tried again. Still no answer. A lump formed in your throat.

You leaned back in your chair and sighed. Maybe his mom took him somewhere right after school. Or maybe he was with the other boys again. You thought about driving to his place later to check up on him.

You hadn’t seen your mom since yesterday morning, her being at work when you came back last night and her leaving for work early in the morning while you were still asleep.

You tried calling your mom’s office line. However, no one picked up today.

Your fingers drummed against the desk as you stared at the wall. Then, an idea.

You turned to your walkie, pulling it out of your drawer. You clicked it on, adjusting the channel until it matched your mom’s. You pressed the button.

“Mom? You there? Come in. It’s me.”

You released the button and waited.

A moment later, her voice crackled through.

“Sweetheart? I’m here.”

You exhaled in relief. “Where are you? I’ve been calling.”

A pause.

“I’m on a case, sweetie,” she said quickly. “I’m not at the office today.”

“Oh,” you said. “Okay, well, I haven’t seen you since yesterday. I didn’t go to school today.”

Yasmin hummed. “I know. I saw you were still asleep and decided not to wake you. Seemed like you needed the rest.”

“Yeah, I’m feeling better now though.”

“That’s good, sweetie,” Yasmin said, though her voice was distant, like her mind was elsewhere. You could hear muffled voices in the background, one of them oddly familiar. “Listen, this is a big case. I’ll try to be home early tonight, but if not, just eat dinner without me and go to bed, alright?”

You could hear the voice again, and it sounded almost like Will’s.

Your fingers tightened around the walkie. “Uh, where are you? That sounded like–”

“I have to go,” your mom interrupted quickly, almost panicked. “I love you, okay?”

“Love you,” you said softly, though your eyebrows were furrowed. “Be safe.”

The walkie went quiet again.

You stared at the walkie in your hand, the silence louder than anything.

You wondered why your mom would be at the Byers. Jonathan wasn’t even there.

Something was wrong. And no one was telling you the full story.

#stranger things #steve harrington #angst #fluff #reticent series #steve harrington series #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington angst #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington smut #stranger things angst #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #stranger things series #stranger than fiction

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lehguru · 10 months ago

Text

GYM (STAFF) CRUSH + RORONOA ZORO

getting a part-time job at your local gym during the summer sounded like a good idea. the guy you've been eyeing for months thought the same thing.

info: my submission to the help wanted! collab hosted by the @interstellar-inn!! its been sum time since i last wrote sum this big sob. wc 1.5k — warnings: gym talk, a gym goer is a bit of an weirdo towards reader, swearing || ko-fi

if you focused enough, you could see the heat waves coming from the asphalt outside. the sun seemed unbearable—you felt bad for the people that left their cars in the parking lot—, but the air conditioner hitting you right in the back of your neck ensured you were comfortable. as you were typing away in the reception computer, pretending to do the spreadsheet the manager asked you to fill (before she simply left, the surfboard on top of her car a good clue to where she went), you lost yourself in the song playing on the loud speakers.

fortunately, you managed to put your playlist on that day. All the songs playing not only were the ones you listened to while working out, but also were your favorites to daydream with too. while you were softly dancing and shaking your head to the beats, you didn’t notice one of your coworkers approaching you.

the burly man rested his forearms against the counter, his gray eyes started to watch your movements and one of his eyebrows raised. you finally turned around, you wanted to get some documents to actually submit something to the spreadsheet, and jumped back, one of your hands coming to rest against your chest. your eyes locked into his cold ones, your cheeks immediately heating up. his eyes narrowed for a split second; if you weren’t staring at his face, that would’ve escaped you.

“dude! you scared me!” you took a deep breath, trying to ignore the heavy gaze staring at you.

“sorry,” he muttered, his deep voice making it sound almost like a growl. he placed a clipboard in front of you, the title ‘storage’ making you hum softly. “the inventory and stuff we need to buy.”

you nodded, thanking him quietly and smiling at him. the man didn’t smile back. he never did, anyway. he nodded and turned around, walking back inside the gym and leaving you with your inner turmoil. as you sighed loudly and turned to the computer again, you tried to focus on the work.

getting a summer job wasn’t a bad idea. as a college student, you could use some extra money for emergencies—even if you knew you would end up spending it anyway, it was still extra money. your local gym had some job openings and you, someone who went there everyday, thought it was a good idea to send an application. it was indeed a good idea, the job was easy, you could stay in a cool environment while the heat outside seemed to cook you alive, plus it paid you enough. the only problem was that he had the same idea.

roronoa zoro was your gym crush for a while. you were convinced he was everyone’s gym crush, though. throughout the couple of months since the first time you saw him—you still remember how your eyes widened seeing his broad back flexing during pull ups—, you noticed that you both went to the gym at the same time and, fortunately, sometimes your workout would match his. the longest interaction you two had, before starting to work together, was him asking if you were done with using a specific bench. you murmured a quick and embarrassed ‘yes’, almost tripping over your own feet in the process, and he just nodded, taking your place in the bench as you walked to your next exercise.

you thought that having to see you almost everyday would make him open up, but the green haired man always kept you at arms length, never letting you past the ‘we are coworkers’ wall. you sighed once again, frowning slightly and erasing another random line of letters you typed to look busy. a small cough and an ‘excuse me’ took your attention from the screen, from your thoughts as well, and you turned around, hoping to see zoro standing there. unfortunately, it was one of the guys that always caused some kind of trouble around the gym—your manager didn’t really care enough to kick him out or even give him a warning.

you put on your best customer service smile and blinked sweetly at him. “yes, sir? how may i help you?” you said, trying to not sound like you wanted him gone… which you did.

“can you change the music or something?” he said, placing his hands on the counter and leaning towards you, almost as if he was trying to intimidate you. you raised your eyebrows at his behavior and he carried on, not caring about your reaction. “i forgot my headphones, so i have to listen to what you guys play.”

the smile on your face faltered for a second. the urge to just tell him off, say that him forgetting his headphone wasn't your problem, overwhelmed you quickly; biting your tongue, you answered:

“unfortunately, there's nothing we can do. the playlist is selected by the staff and—”

“you're staff, you can change it then.” he cut you off and smirked, making you almost roll your eyes. “c'mon, this playlist fucking sucks. anything will be better.”

before any other word could escape his crusty lips, a voice you grew used to interjected into the conversation. “i like this playlist.”

you both turned to look at zoro and you bit your lower lip to hide a smile. your coworker was looking terrifying; his arms were crossed, his biceps and shoulders seemed like they were about to burst open the black sleeve of his shirt, and the absolute angry gaze he shot at the man—who was now cowering a little—made you almost feel bad for him.

“is there any problem, sir?” you placed a hand over your mouth, trying to hide your giggle in a subtle way. if you looked at zoro, you would see how the corner of his lips curve up for a moment.

the guy shook his head and put his hands up, slowly backing away from the counter and leaving through the front door. as soon as he left, you allowed a soft chuckle to escape your lips. before you could thank zoro, or call the other guy an asshole, the man in front of you murmured loud enough for you to hear:

“fuckin’ asshole.” he turned to look at you. a deep breath made his chest wave up and down, your eyes flicking from that movement back to his eyes. “you good?”

you nodded. the muscles on his jaw flexed and roronoa opened his lips slightly, as if he was about to say something, but he closed them again. you wish you could be inside his mind, the curiosity of what he wanted to say made you lean forward; you hoped it would make him want to say.

instead, he uncrossed his arms and rubbed the back of his head. “i will be in the back.”

you felt a little bit…disappointed. you hoped he would stay there and talk to you a little more. the situation you just went through was shitty, but it made him stand up for you. you wanted him to stay there, to use the situation as an excuse to be with you for the rest of your shift, but you just nodded.

“i— your buzz cut looks nice.” you blurted out of nowhere, making you want to slap yourself in the face. you prayed he wouldn't notice your embarrassment.

if he did, he didn't mention it. he just chuckled, a deep and husky sound that almost made you giggle again, and growled a ‘thanks’.

as you tried to settle back into your work, you couldn't shake off the small feeling that settled in the pit of your stomach. it wasn't necessarily bad, it just…annoyed you. having the man as your gym crush was already annoying, how would you work with him if you had a real crush? you felt your face heating up even more, but you were pulled away from your thoughts by zoro himself; not even five minutes after he left, he came back to the reception.

“actually…” he started, his eyebrows furrowing. “do you want to work out with me tomorrow?”

the way your eyes widened gave out your surprise, but you quickly answered. “su— sure!” you licked your lips—you were obvious to the way he followed the movement with his eyes and licked his own lips—and sighed. “but the manager did say that thing about ‘no workplace relationships’... not that this would be a relationship, i mean—”

“fuck the manager.” he growled, shutting you instantly. you smiled with joy at his audacity, you wanted to say the same out loud for a while. “see you at the same hour tomorrow, then?”

you nodded. “yeah. same hour.”

he nodded too and walked away, this time a big smirk—it was your first time seeing anything like that—stamped on his face. you scoffed. did you seriously let him defend you and be the one to take the first step?

well…at least that gave you a push to be the one to initiate a kiss.

2024 © content belongs to lehguru, do not repost, translate or feed it into ai without permission

#roronoa zoro #zoro x reader #zoro x you #one piece x reader #op x reader #one piece x you #op x you #one piece x reader fluff #zoro x reader fluff #roronoa zoro x reader

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gremnoire · 6 months ago

Note

thanks for responding to my ask! i'd be interested in moodboards for Antigreen, i'd love to find out more about other inspirations for it. (also, is Calliope's last name an intentional reference to mondegreens?)

Alright fasten your iridescent seatbelts because I'm about to ~yap~ about Antigreen (AO3)

First up: what's in a title? Food (flavor) colouring, for one:

Quarks are the fundamental building blocks of matter, and there's six flavors: up, down, charm, strange, top (formerly truth), and bottom (formerly beauty). They all carry colour charge, which can be red, green, or blue, or for antiquarks their opposites: antired (cyan), antigreen (magenta), antiblue (yellow). The core six in AG (Callie, Ettie, Sawyer, Annette, Erika, Michael) all get a color and a quark each. (Which is which is left as an exercise to the reader lol)

Magenta is most interesting to me because it's not a spectral color: it's the only one of the six that's not monochromatic, or 'real', it's an illusion we perceive when something has high amounts of both red and blue light.

The visible spectrum: you won't find pink here!

That's the kind of dichotomy I was going for with 'Antigreen': the word evokes both greenness (the Earth, growth, but also stagnation, a toxic color that often meant death ) and antigreenness (pink, irreality, something unnatural and alien). It's the perfect word to marry the two together; it represents CalliEttie themselves to me!

Pink/magenta also has a history of being used to represent the titular Colour Out of Space, one of Lovecraft's better short stories, about an unnatural alien hue that arrives on Earth. It's used this way in a few adaptations, below which is a gif from the 2019 film version:

(The Colour Out of Space, 2019, IMDB)

Pink is used for various eldritch stuff in other media too, once you notice it once you kinda start to see it everywhere, beware...

The 2019 Colour is good, but I honestly think Annihilation (2018) is a better expression of similar ideas. It concerns a group of women investigating a meteorite that's landed at a lighthouse and is slowly warping the surrounding area:

(Annihilation, 2018, IMDB)

Shit does indeed get warped as fuck; I recommend.

Annihilation has some really great examples of the Gothic sublime . Think glimpsing a tidal wave, staring up at a mountain, or being on the edge of a black hole. Something so great and terrible that it overwhelms the senses, the kind of awful beauty that brings tears to your eye, and can't be easily described in words.

That's what cosmic horror's all about! imo, anyway: Antigreen is about what happens when a(sapphic)n earthly and unearthly realm meet, and I've hopefully made Esther seem suitably sublime.

Anyway that's the inspo behind the title, and why Esther's strongly associated with the color pink (of my made-up/constructed color names, nemaphlox would be the applicable one I guess).

I'd leave it here for now, with plans to do another of these for Callie and Ettie, but I have to also answer your question: (remember that? It was so long ago and so many pixels above, sorry)

> Is Calliope's last name an intentional reference to mondegreens?

Yep, again, spot on! A mondegreen is the English term for misheard lyrics, and is autological: it describes itself. I swapped the last two letters, making Mondegrene, for a few reasons:

- obscures the origin to make a slightly more plausible surname

- enables various bad French calembours like mond de grené ("grainy world", fitting for a little speck like Calliope). Disclaimer: I rather suck at French

- also similar to French grenade (pomegranate), a fruit with very gay associations

Lastly (I promise!) I'll link the cover art I had made with the ambigram I designed. The swirls are intended to evoke tracks in particle-detecting cloud chambers!

Thanks for putting up with this~ I will do more of these if people enjoy them!

#antigreen #yapping #writing inspo #effortpost

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nowoyas · 11 months ago

Text

Koi no Yokan 5: find reasons to say yes (Nishinoya Yuu x Reader)

First - Prev - Next - M.list - Ao3

Summary: The Karasuno High School volleyball club works towards finals. You spend this time deciding how you feel about your new clubmates.

Warnings: blanket series warnings (general background family stuff)

Word count: ~4000

Yachi yelps whenever you address her unexpectedly. And she's never expecting it, so she always yelps. It's cute in a skittish, scared-bunny sort of way.

This particular instance makes you laugh. "Did I do something to make you scared of me, or…?"

"N-no! What did you, um—what did you need?"

It's the first day that Hinata and Kageyama haven't come for Yachi since you got roped into this manager thing. Variously they have and haven't dragged you into studying, too, depending on the day. You guess Yachi's just more approachable, maybe, or maybe it's that Hinata is more drawn to someone who can match his energy. On the other hand, Kageyama seems to just be along for the ride more than anything, which you get. You gel with him a little better, at least. Yachi, though, you really do want to get to know, so you let your short-sightedness drag you into starting a conversation you haven't fully prepared for.

You toy with your hair idly. You're really not sure how to approach this. When was the last time you even tried? "Did you have a good weekend? I mean, I know we saw each other yesterday, but—you know. Did you?"

She visibly relaxes. You'd like to think your own pervasive awkwardness is putting her at ease. "Mm! Hinata and Kageyama-kun came over to study after practice."

"Oh, good! How're they coming along?"

"They're nervous, I think, but they've been working really hard!"

"Really? That's great!" Uh, fuck—you scramble for something else to say. "Nishinoya-senpai and Tanaka-senpai are working hard, too. I went to Nishinoya-senpai's to help them out Saturday, too."

"A-aren't they kinda scary?"

You wave a dismissive hand. "Not at all. They're kinda goofy, honestly."

"I think everyone's a little scary, still…" she sighs. "It's hard not to, you know?"

"Yeah, I get that. But trust me, they're just excitable." Okay, okay. That's good. You're getting somewhere. "Any ideas on the whole manager thing?"

She brightens, flashes a smile. "Yeah, actually! I talked to Hinata a little before he left and I think I've settled on my answer."

"That sounds like good news! Let's hear it."

"Well… two things, really. I borrowed Hinata and Kageyama-kun yesterday for this, but… I'm gonna join. I've been actually working on maybe making some donation posters? I, um, overheard Sensei talking to the coach the other day and it sounds like the club is kinda hurting for money so we can get buses and stuff…"

Shit. She's so much more put together than you are. You're gonna have to step it up if it's gonna matter that you're here at all. "Woah. That's really cool that you're doing that!" You hope your voice doesn't come out too strained.

"What about you, [surname]-chan?"

A nervous laugh. "Well, I haven't thought of doing anything cool to help the team yet, but I am starting to think maybe this whole exam deal was just a pretense to convince us to get on board. Nishinoya-senpai and Tanaka-senpai got me on Saturday, too."

"Wait, that's great! We'll be managing together, then. With Shimizu-senpai, too, of course!" Another sweet little smile.

You are somewhere between "protect this girl with your life" and "do everything possible to make sure this girl does not outshine you".

…this might be what it's like to have a sister.

"Yeah! I haven't given my application to Shimizu-senpai yet. You?"

"Nope! Honestly, I was a bit nervous to go looking for her by myself… there's no practice until after exams now, right?"

"Right. Pretty sure that's having the opposite effect, if these boys are anything to go by. I think Hinata might explode if he doesn't get enough exercise."

She laughs. "Yeah, I sort of get that impression. Do you wanna come with me to track down Shimizu-senpai so we can turn in our applications while we've got time?"

You agree easily enough, and so the two of you make your way to the first floor, where the third years have their classes. Admittedly, you have no idea where to begin looking for Shimizu beyond that. It takes most of the rest of lunch to find her, eventually spotting her in a random classroom. Really, it's the other volleyball club members you notice--the third years apparently eat lunches together from time to time, if not all the time. Asahi is much easier to spot than Shimizu is when you're skimming a room for any sight of her.

It's Sugawara that spots the two of you peeking into the room. He smiles at Shimizu, nods to the two of you. She's quick to greet you both at the classroom door.

"[name]-chan, Hitoka-chan! Did you need something?"

"Sorry to bother you, Senpai." You smile, dial up the charm. "We both wanted to talk to you about the volleyball club?"

"Oh?" Her eyes slide between you and Yachi with interest. "What is it?"

You nod to Yachi. She holds out her club application in two shaking hands. You hold out your own, a touch more casually. Not that it's hard to come off as casual standing next to Yachi. "W-we both decided to join, if that's alright!"

"Really!? That's great!" She takes both from you, eyes lighting up.

Man. No wonder Nishinoya and Tanaka are obsessed with her. She's got this like, gentle smile and shit.

"I'll get everything handled with the membership committee. Since there's no practice until after exams, that gives us more than enough time to get your jackets ordered. You included your jacket sizes in the applications, right?"

"Y-yes!" Yachi says.

You pat her shoulder reassuringly. "Breathe, Yachi-san."

"B-but we're on the third year's floor," she whispers back. "What if we're not supposed to be here?"

"It's fine. Whatever big scary thing happens, I got you."

"O-okay..."

"Thank you both so much. I'll get everything handled, you two just focus on exams, alright? You've both been helping the others study, too, right? How's that going?"

You share twin smiles with Yachi. "Good!" she chirps. "We both helped them over the weekend. [surname]-chan says that Nishinoya-san and Tanaka-san are doing well, and Hinata and Kageyama-kun were working really hard when I was with them."

"That's good. Those four are an important part of the team, so it'll be difficult if they don't get to come to the away games. Speaking of—if you both come find me after school today, we'll need to get you both to bring in permission slips for that."

Oh.

You're so fucked.

Okay, cool, fine, no big deal. You have a blank permission slip and a father who's never home to sign it. This is doable. This is a clear issue, and a clear issue is something that can be solved.

You walk home separately of Yachi—after you'd offered to help put up the posters when they're ready, she ran into friends and you don't want to intrude, so you take your blank permission slip and meander out of the school. You guess you'll scratch out some time to study, to freeze some meals, to… something.

Fuck. You really wish practices weren't on hold for exams.

It's not long after you've made your way out of the gate that that swoopy feeling of your feet no longer touching the ground hits you. You shriek at the arms around your waist, wriggle in the hold of your captor—

—your captor, who sets you down with his trademark blinding grin. "Hi," Nishinoya says. "That was a good noise!"

You steady yourself, hand (and now-crumpled permission slip) held to your chest. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I missed you today! It's weird not having practice."

"So you scare the shit out of me!?"

He laughs. "Sorry, sorry."

"You never really sound sorry when you apologize to me," you grumble.

"To be fair, I did call your name when I saw you. You're the one with your head in the clouds. What're you up to? Any plans with all your newfound free time?"

"Cooking dinner. I have food on the slow cooker I need to get to. And then I'm going to study. You know, that thing we're supposed to be doing with all the extra time from not being allowed to do clubs for a week?"

"Hm, that sounds like something schools made up or something. Boring."

"Uh-huh. You know, I'm not gonna marry you if you fail all your exams."

"But you will if I pass at least one?"

"Are you gonna pass any? Believing that studying is a thing people do isn't even step one. It's like, step zero."

"Study with me, then."

He flashes that charming little smile, and you shove him away. "I can't come over. The last thing I need is to burn my house down because I left dinner on the slow cooker too long and it like, blew up or something."¹¹

"So let me come over. We'll study together, I'll be good and quiet and not interrupt your precious brain training time…"

You sigh. "I'm not exactly prepared to entertain guests."

"You don't have to entertain me!"

"The house is a mess."

"So's my bedroom. You live there, what's the problem with it looking like you live there?"

He keeps easy pace beside you as you walk. "It's rude! You're not supposed to show guests a messy home when they come over."

"But you weren't expecting me. So it's not like it's your fault."

"Why are you so set on coming over to my house, anyway?"

"Curiosity. What's wrong with that?"

"I literally don't even have snacks to give you."

Without another word, he grabs your shoulder and steers you off to the side—straight to Sakanoshita. "I'm so glad you brought that up! I can treat you!"

"I think you're fundamentally misunderstanding the role a host and a guest are supposed to play."

"I'm being a friend. Friends buy each other stuff sometimes. Lemme buy you snacks. I'm horrible at remembering to do breaks and then once I actually take one I end up done for the night."

You stop in your tracks, don't let him drag you inside. "What are you doing right now?"

"Hm?" He tilts his head. "Getting rid of your reasons to say no. Why?"

…oh. That's almost sweet.

"…if you're going to insist on this, I can solve the reason for saying 'no' to going over to your house. Let's find a reason to say yes to that instead…?"

He seems to sense your discomfort, the way it seeps into your shoulders but refuses to reach your voice. There's a moment where he just looks at you, blinking, that sort of blank look that a puppy gets before it does the stupidest thing you've ever seen in your life. "Oh! That's easy. Because you want to."

You raise an eyebrow. "Do I?"

"Don't you? We're celebrating since you're joining the team! And you said before that I didn't know enough about you to be in love with you. So I need to get to know you, right? And you should get to know me. There's a yes for letting me buy snacks for you, and a yes for hanging out with me."

"If my end goal were to marry you, maybe."

He pulls you inside, not missing a beat. "I'm not giving up, so it'd be a good idea to start adjusting to the idea now."

You roll your eyes. Smile and wave to Coach Ukai, who's got one foot up on the counter, lit cigarette in hand as you enter. He nods back, raising an eyebrow at the pair of you. "Good day at school, you two?"

"He has too much energy. Please tell the school that their decision to suspend club activities during exam week is going to kill me, personally, Coach," you deadpan. Nishinoya doesn't miss a beat, dragging you towards one of the aisles.

"I'll see what I can do."

Over chips, Nishinoya talks a mile a minute and too loudly, picking up too many bags of chips as he does. "Pick something. I'm buying. What's your solution to not burning your house down?"

"I'm just going to run by my place and make sure nothing is going to burn before coming over."

"I could walk with you?"

"No," you reply, too quickly. You wince a little, try to recover. "I mean, you're grabbing a lot of snacks to carry, and I'll be quick, so…"

He watches you carefully a moment, but simply adds another snack bag of chips to his armful instead of commenting on it.

"And put some of those chips away. We're getting snacks, my dinner is already mostly done and I'm sure your family has food planned."

He pouts. He's gathered a whole armful of chip bags. "You haven't even picked out yours, yet."

"I'm not picking any if you don't put those back and get a reasonable amount of chips."

"Fiiine."

He puts back most of the bags of chips, and you straighten up the display while you mull over two flavors. Once you've settled, you grab one bag.

"Great! You wanna go grab drinks? My hands are a little full."

"Sure, sure, what do you want?"

He tells you what to grab, and you meander off. As he pays, you say: "You know I'm not gonna let you buy things for me all the time, right?"

"Tell me not to, and I won't," he replies, not missing a beat.

You say nothing. On your way out the door, you dip your head to Coach Ukai and let Nishinoya drag you along for what's sure to be a very productive study session.

You do actually end up studying. It takes you only a little work to corral Nishinoya into focusing. He sits across from you in his living room, focusing hard on his flashcards with this really intense look. It's laughably easy to tell how well his study session is going; every now and then, you'll notice him grimace in annoyance after flipping a card, or else brighten up a little.

For your part, you work through practice problems diligently, only glancing up every now and then to observe your upperclassman and make sure he's still working.

It's peaceful. Nice. After a solid half an hour of quiet that you didn't know he was capable of, you stretch, ready to enforce a break, and are interrupted by something fluffy careening into your chest and borderline knocking you over. Aside from the force, it announces itself with the purriest meow you've ever heard, nearly lost—like before, you recall dimly—by your startled yelp.

Nishinoya catches the sight of you—now clutching a fluffy, bob-tailed calico to your chest as it presses its face into yours. "Oh, by the way. I have a cat," he says.

You ignore him entirely. "Oh my gosh, hi baby!"

"This is Soba.¹² She hates strangers, so I can only assume that the fact that she already loves you is a sign that you now have to marry me."

"Not if you don't ask me enough times, I don't—" Soba meows at you, snuggles into your pets with the sweetest little look on her face. Now that she's not scaring the shit out of you, you can properly look her over and zero in on her white-tipped paws. "—she has socks?"

He laughs softly, nodding. "She has socks."

"Amazing. The best cats have socks. Especially toe socks." You shoot him an amused look. "Didn't really take you for a cat guy, though."

"Does being a cat guy earn me bonus points?"

"It gives me an eternal yes to coming over." Soba wriggles out of your arms, only to curl up in your lap. "How are you not constantly covered in cat hair? She's so cuddly!"

"I'm careful and know what a lint roller is," he jokes. "Technically, she's my sister's, but… I mean, she likes me best, so…"

"I think I love her?"

"Marry me, then, and you get partial custody."

"Ask me nine hundred and eighty-four more times and give me unlimited cat access and I'll think about it."

"Deal."

"That aside, how's your studying coming along? I think I heard you swearing under your breath earlier."

He groans. "It's... it's coming along."

"What're you working on? Kanji drills?"

"Yeah... Trying to get everything hammered out before tomorrow. I need exams to be over already..."

"They'll end when they end. I'm so sorry, but you're just gonna have to stick them out. How's your brain doing? I think I smell smoke."

"Without exaggeration, I am going to explode if I do not do something with my body right now."

"See, but this is really unfortunate," you say. "I was gonna ask you to teach me a little volleyball in our break time, but I'm pretty sure moving this baby would be considered a war crime in seventy-three countries, so…"

"You want me to!?" He springs forward, flashcards forgotten. "Really!?"

"Well, your super cool libero skills would be helpful to have on deck so poor Yachi-san's head doesn't get taken off by a stray ball. Unfortunately, until this little cuddle bug leaves, that's not happening."

"…marry me, though?"

"Nine hundred eighty-three. Work hard until the next break and maybe the baby will—"

"Soba! Pspsps."

Soba perks up. Yawns. Crawls right off of you to sniff at Nishinoya's hand. He beams at you. "So, you want me to teach you to receive?"

You smile. Tighten the caps on your and his sodas as a cat prevention measure. "You sure it's a good idea to leave your snacks unattended with the baby around?"

"The baby can't open bag clips," he replies triumphantly, having produced one from seemingly nowhere and clipped both of your chip bags together.

You elect not to mention that any cat is going to have teeth strong enough to rip open the rest of the bag and let him pull you outside without another word.

So the rest of the study session is spent like that: long work session involving a purring cat on either your lap or his, fifteen minutes or so of him—badly—trying to explain receiving to you. It's clear he knows what he's doing and what he's talking about, but what isn't so clear is what the hell he means by things like you just gotta bump it like fwah, you know?. Still, you try your best, and breaks turn into passing the ball back and forth—him with ease, you frequently running to pick up a ball you dropped.

"Now you've got it!" Nishinoya cheers after you barely manage to not let the ball hit the ground on one of these sessions. "At this rate, you'll be playing libero for the girls' team before you know it!"

You snort. "Uh, yeah, hard pass."

"Why not? Volleyball's fun, you know."

"I'm sure it is. But A, I suck at it. And B, I'm sort of already in a club. I can't imagine I'd be a very effective player on the team if I'm instead going to all of your practices. And I'd definitely make a bad manager if I'm always going to their practices instead of yours."

"Fine, fine, I concede that it might be a little hard."

"Harder than I'm willing to bother with."

He laughs. You fail another few passes before the break is over, and then you're back inside, back to math and English and kanji and test-taking strategies.

"This is the last one, I think," you say as you settle back in at your seat. "I need to actually eat my dinner at some point, and it's getting late."

"Aw, you don't wanna stay for dinner?" He bats his eyelids at you playfully. You consider hitting him.

"My dinner is already ready, Nishinoya-senpai. No."

You fall back into studying, one last time. You're actually impressed with him—the regular breaks are definitely helping, and making sure they're active has smoothed out his jumpier edges. They were probably a bit more active than he expected, honestly—you're very bad at returning the ball, and he ended up having to dive for most of the ones you actually managed to get back in his general direction. But he's been working hard when he's back at the table, like he's taking this seriously seriously. It's refreshing.

It is with no small horror that you admit to yourself that you could actually get a crush on this guy if he were serious and you let yourself. Luckily, there's a solution to that, one you only have to do half the work for: he stays unserious about you (easy—he isn't serious and never will be) and you don't let yourself develop anything. You're great at not feeling emotions. It's like, your one big talent in life.

So when you bid him goodnight at his doorstep, you smile and wave. He waits in the doorway, reaches out to you before you go. "Wait. [name]-san."

"Mm?"

"For good luck—will you marry me?"

You laugh. Shake your head. "Give it your best, ask another nine hundred and eighty-two times, and I'll think about it, Senpai. But, just so you know, I've seen how hard you've been working, and I don't think you need the luck."

His smile is blinding when you turn to leave.

You turn down the street towards your house, smooth yourself out. The walk is brief, the house empty and quiet like always when you unlock the front door. In contrast to the warmth of his living room, it feels lonelier than ever.

You kick off your shoes, take your dinner to your own living room. Rifle around in your bag for your notebook and instead find a bag of chips—the flavor you'd set aside at the store earlier, deciding to only go with one bag and not burden Nishinoya—with a little note taped to it.

Good luck on your exams!

PS.; you can call me Noya-senpai. it's what my friends call me ;)

Fuck. You really could develop a crush if you're not careful. He's scribbled out his phone number on the note. Despite yourself, you smile and send him a text.

[name] to Noya at 19:48¹³

[name]: by the way, you format a post-script as just P.S. and then the rest of the message

[name]: two dots, no semicolon

Noya: you're welcome

[name]: ...thank you, Noya-senpai

There is a comparatively long pause of about three minutes. You watch his typing bubble pop up, disappear, then pop up again.

Noya: MARRY ME.

[name]: ...981.

Footnotes

11. Y'all are never going to believe this one, but about twenty minutes after I wrote this line, my neighbor's house burned down. Fully gutted. I got some pictures and literally heard it crashing in on itself. No one was hurt, thankfully, and it was not due to being too busy living a coming-of-age romance to keep the crock pot from bursting into flames, but that sure was a sequence of events.

12. Named courtesy of a poll on my tumblr. I choose to believe that people were voting for "grae button" (the results button so I alone could see the results) either to spite me or to force me to figure out an in-fic reason for why the Nishinoya family cat is named "Grae Button". Had there been a tie, I was simply going to add another cat.

13. Military time. Yes yes I'm American. As if it's my fault.

Tags: @deeplightgarden @idonthaveanameideayet @dusstory

#my fics #nishinoya yuu/reader #nishinoya yuu x reader #yuu nishinoya x reader #yuu nishinoya/reader #haikyuu reader insert

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amaretigris · 1 year ago

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Developpe Ch. 8

1.9k words | Fluff, smut, & a splash of angst

WARNING: EXPLICIT

A/n: Don't think I've mentioned it before, but obviously reader is aged up in this fic. In my head, reader is at least 20 years old, and Jonah is 28+ ❤️‍🔥

Taglist: @luna2034 @mylittlemermaid221 @notagreekgal28 @hopeisrising @justagirlthatlovedtoread

It was the morning of your performance. You should've been buzzing with excitement and energy, but instead, you just felt a little tingly. You had been assigned a locker in the locker room of the auditorium, where all performances were held. It would be yours for the semester. You put a piece of tape with your name on it at the top so you could remember which was yours.

All dressed in your costume, you did your own makeup. All of the other ballerinas in the dressing room were chatting giddily. Sebastian approached you at the vanity as you were finishing your application. Your friend looked quite handsome. You smiled at his reflection in the mirror.

"Wow! You clean up nice," you playfully winked.

Sebastian chuckled.

"T'anks girl, you don't look too bad ya' self," he joked.

You got up from your chair, and turned to face him.

"Are you ready?" You smiled at Sebastian.

It was probably your first little bit of enthusiasm for the performance since everything went down. Sebastian gave you a dashing smile as he took your hand and twirled you around to look at your costume.

"Yes. I think you are, too, beautiful," he gushed.

You playfully swatted at his arm. The two of you left the dressing room, going out to the backstage area. You saw Jonah at the exact moment he turned to see you. You watched the breath leave his chest at the sight of you, and you felt the same sensation. Seeing Jonah in his formal navy suit was truly breathtaking.

Trying not to look too flustered in front of anyone, Jonah quickly swallowed and looked around, fixing his expression into something more neutral. It was the first time you'd made eye contact with him again since you'd been avoiding it at rehearsal. Your eyes conveyed a sense of hopefulness. You wanted Jonah to know that you hadn't given up on him, you'd just folded into yourself. Jonah held your eyes for a minute before he shook his head, focusing his attention on Sebastian.

"You two look great. Are you ready?" He tried to sound casual.

Sebastian grabbed your hand again and nodded.

"We're ready," Sebastian touted.

Jonah's eyes lingered on your joined hands for a moment longer than he'd like. Switching gears, he turned, crossing his arms over his chest, to watch the crowd filling the stadium seats.

You and Sebastian stayed behind him, with the other dancers preparing to go on soon arriving. When the lights dropped and the music started, you took a deep breath. This was it. You were ready.

Jonah stepped to the side and extended his arm for all of you to step up on the stage. He watched you walk by. You looked up into his eyes as you passed him. He gave you a soft smile and a slight nod.

The performance was amazing. If there were any mistakes, you didn't see them. Finishing your solo dance with Sebastian, the crowd stood to applaud the two of you. This filled you with an overwhelming sense of pride and accomplishment. You couldn't help but look over at Jonah. He was applauding you as well with a huge smile painted on his lovely features. Dimples on full display.

Looking back to the audience, you and your dance partner bowed. Tears of happiness welled in your eyes. Prancing off stage for the next dance, you had the urge to wrap your arms around Jonah's neck.

"What the hell?" You thought. "He is my instructor after all."

Giving in to the urge, you caught Jonah by surprise, squeezing him into a hug. Jonah laughed, briefly wrapping his arms around your waist. Truthfully, you wanted to tangle your fingers in his curls, and kiss him in that moment. Exercising self-control, you only held him for a couple seconds before letting go. Turning to the other dancers, you were happy to see them smiling and clapping at you. No one seemed to blink an eye at your embrace with Jonah. Whew.

Finishing out the performance for the night, you came out on stage again to bow with your whole class. Seeing the cheering crowd was thrilling considering this was your debut performance. You bowed with all the other ballerinas before Jonah walked onto stage to join the class. The audience erupted in cheers and praise at the sight of him. You were happy that he was so well-recognized for his talent. You couldn't think of a more deserving instructor.

Jonah bowed and waved to the crowd, extending his arms towards all of you for them to give the class another round of applause. He looked on his students proudly, clapping with them. He caught your gaze, and you gave him the biggest smile he'd seen since everything happened. To say he was relieved to see it was an understatement.

Sweaty and out of breath from excitement, you walked back to the locker room to clean up after the show. Opening your locker, you found a bouquet of red roses inside with the plastic still wrapped around them. Pulling them out, you found a note attached with the familiar scribbling of your name on the front. Looking around carefully, you opened it to give it a hasty read.

You were magnificent tonight. I miss you. Please meet me at my office at 10 tonight if you're willing. If you don't show, I understand.

XOXO

You read the note over again, folded it, and put it back in your locker. You inhaled a calming breath. Your heart rate and adrenaline had shot back up just reading it. Jonah said he missed you. He wanted to see you again, despite how risky he told you it was. Did you want to see him? You already knew the answer. You wished you had any power to resist it, but you physically felt you had none. Your attraction to Jonah was magnetic. You didn't think you could ignore it any longer if you tried. Grabbing your things for a shower, you felt a bundle of excitement and nerves in your stomach.

By the time you actually left the auditorium, it was 9:30 already. Walking with some other dancers, you headed back to your room with the flowers. Someone questioned where they came from. You told them that an audience member had handed them to you on your way off the stage. Everyone seemed to buy it. You all dispersed, going to your separate housing sections. Luckily, your room was a bit secluded from the others. Stopping by to put the roses in a spare glass you kept in your room, you freshened up your makeup, and left to walk to Jonah's office. Avoiding the known creaky parts of the stairs, you tried to be as quiet as possible.

Walking into the building and navigating through the hallways, you came upon the familiar office door. You pulled your phone out to look at the time. It was 10:03. You'd purposely been a little late rather than early. You felt justified in toying with Jonah a little bit; making him think that you might not come. Raising your hand, you quietly knocked on the door. Had it not been complete silence in his office, Jonah didn't think he would have heard it.

He got up to answer the door instead of shouting for you to come in this time. Swinging the door open, Jonah was floored again at the sight of you. Your lips looked pouty, and combined with your enchanting eyes and your teased hair, you looked too good to be true, standing at his door again. Grasping your forearm and pulling you into his office, Jonah closed the door, pinning you against the back of it. He reached by your hip to turn the lock, staring into your eyes. You were breathing heavily already; from anticipation, he hoped.

"(Y/N), I had to see you ag-".

You cut Jonah off, capturing your lips with his. Jonah kissed you back passionately, wrapping his arms around your waist, and pulling you closer to his chest. You gasped into the kiss at the sudden movement, and Jonah took the chance to probe your mouth with his tongue. Wrapping your arms around his neck and combing your fingers through his curls, you moaned into the kiss. You'd missed him more than you could put into words. Pulling away from him after a few minutes, you settled your forehead against his, watching him as you both gasped for air.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. For everything," Jonah cupped your cheeks in his hands.

"You're all I thought of every day. Please forgive me," he began peppering kisses on your jawline.

Closing your eyes and enjoying the feeling of his lips, you felt yourself sliding down the door. Jonah put his hand under your back, pulling you back up.

"Go lay your back on my desk. I'll turn on some music," he instructed.

Tilting your head to the side in confusion, you did what you were told, watching as Jonah went to his record player. He put on some classical music, turning it up just a bit. He then turned to you, spotting you leaning back on your elbows on his desk. You were so good at following directions. Jonah had a predatory look in his eye. Approaching you and caging you in with his arms, he kissed you again. This time it was more heated. You felt Jonah's hands on your hips, slowly making their way down. Reaching under your ballet skirt to pull your leggings down, you were excited to feel Jonah's touch there again. You welcomed the sensation. You'd been dreaming of it for weeks.

Jonah caressed the top of your thighs, before he moved his hand slowly inward. Finally reaching your clothed sex, Jonah's hand caressed it over your panties. You groaned into the kiss now.

"Please, Jonah," you begged him, grasping his shoulders.

Jonah continued his bruising kiss, letting his hand pull one side of your panties down. You reached down to help him completely remove your leggings and underwear. He then pulled away from you, making a show of lowering his face down your body, and getting on his knees in front of you.

"I want to worship you, (Y/N)," he ghosted his breath over the apex of your thighs.

You tried to hold his hungry gaze, but you felt your head drop back onto his desk with the first long swipe of his tongue. Your eyes almost rolled back into your head as you gasped for breath, lacing your fingers in his hair. You realized now why Jonah had turned on the music - to drown out the sounds of him devouring you. Focusing on the spot you seemed to love, Jonah laved and licked at it. It didn't take long for you to get close to your peak like this. Jonah felt your thighs start to quiver, and he knew you were close.

Coaxing you with his tongue, Jonah watched as you sucked in a quick breath, and the wave of ecstasy washed over you. Throwing your own hand over your mouth, you rode out your high as your chest heaved. Jonah worked you through it, only coming up for air when he saw you experience the final shockwave. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Jonah brought his lips back to yours. You soon broke from him again, gulping in oxygen, and reaching to unbutton his dress pants.

"What about you?" You breathed.

Jonah shook his head, and stilled your hands.

"Don't worry about me, love. Tonight was just about you."

#the little mermaid 2023 #jonah hauer king #jonah hauer king x reader #jonah hauer king x y/n #jonah hauer king imagine #jonah hauer king fanfiction #jonah hauer king x you #jonah hauer king x fem reader #jonah hauer king smut #my stuff

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notarealwelder · 2 years ago

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(Epistemic status: armchair)

What does one need to learn, in concrete-ish terms, to do math?

One can understand various structures and how they generally behave. This is useful! But answers the wrong question; that's what math currently is, not how to advance further. Statics of mathematical knowledge, stated bare, won't tell you how they were built, nor how to build something else you might want. (You might infer these yourself, but ideally you wouldn't need to.)

A necessary but insufficient skill is to understand proofs. Formal arguments are the diamond we build our castles from, and if you don't see the faults nor can check for faultlessness, you can't produce one and know it to work.

(I think math education is ~aware that this is a skill it needs to teach? I'm not sure it figured how to teach it deliberately, but might be uninformed.)

Another is filling in ~a broad gesture that claims to be a proof. (Including, on one hand, digging up, checking, and compiling all the references the claimant used without explanation; on the other, fixing all the punctuation and streamlining notation abuse; and finally, generating all by yourself the gaps of "uncomplicated derivations left to the reader to verify".)

(This, I stole from Tao, so at least many know this is a thing, & hopefully agree it's important. Is it taught? Not..explicitly, not by textbooks or lectures I've seen; except by fill-this-in exercises and examples of faulty notation and necessity to understand what's written. Which is a lot, come to think of it. Maybe this is taught; just, without naming or drawing attention to it? Orrrr in nonpublic settings like talks, discussions, or seminars. Hm.)

Third, knowing the tools of the trade, which are: proof tactics generally applicable in your domain of interest. Acquire an ε of breathing room. Count something in a couple different ways. Look for a contradictory descent. Bound an integral with no closed form with similar ones with closed forms. Taylor-expand and ignore small-enough terms. Use a dumb bound. Cut things into pieces and then use a dumb bound.

(I feel like these do not get enough attention — shouldn't there be dedicated chapters "how to prove 90% of analysis with 5 clever tricks" — but I can't say with a straight face that they aren't taught. Although again, would it kill people to say "first, we'll simplify by getting an ε of room"? You know you're doing this; I can kinda figure out you're doing this because I read Tao 5 years ago & also spent hours figuring the proof myself beforehand; what do you expect a random reader to get beside "magic happens, qed"?)

(3.5: there are some ~fully general proof tactics like "use induction" which are...probably taught satisfactorily. Could be taught better, maybe — wrangling the exact form of the theorem so it inducts well is not generally trivial! — but, ok, maybe in a specialized course for induction-heavy fields.)

For 4, I'll put not so much proof tactics as ~ways to take small steps from initial ignorance towards a complete argument. Produce some examples; produce some counterexamples (that violate premises ofc). Try to explain why the conclusion holds in the examples; does this generalize? Suppose the conclusion holds given some property generalized thus; can you invent an example without it? (Maybe the property follows from the premise; maybe it doesn't, but now you can assume it to be false for free; either way, simplification!) Having proven a special case, can you weaken its assumptions but not the conclusion? (What-are the steps of the special-case argument, what do they rely on? Can their supports be replaced with something else?)

(This feels silly / too-simple-to-work, but...for one, things that work are not stupid, and having a list of obvious ideas to try works everywhere else, so. For two, this often helps even if you have absolutely no idea how to approach the theorem. For three, apocryphally, that's how the entire research process works: you solve a tiny special case A, someone else solves a similar B, someone else generalizes a little to C, someone else adapts the tooling to XYZ.....)

---

(There are other things — writing actual papers, looking for useful cutting-edge research, collaboration, smth smth getting to a stable orbit — which I'm unqualified to comment on; I'll pretend these are not Doing Math per se, though really they deserve no less recognition and teaching than pure proof rotation.)

(Although Let It Be Said that writing good, accessible, readable papers is a decidedly undertaught competence.)

---

There are another 2 ?capabilities? of a ~working mathematician that come to mind. (Not being one, can't introspect on them or split them into practicable subskills, sadly.)

5 is kind of tools-of-the-trade writ large; an eagle's-eye view of a whole ~subject and tricks it uses way up the abstraction ladder from foundations; pieces and glue out of which to build high-level proof sketches the way simple full proofs can be built from standard proof-techniques.

As for the 6: where do definitions come from? Whence finite intersections and arbitrary unions of open sets? How does one define a measure without yet knowing what is a measure? Why topoi?

To ask a good question is to be halfway to an answer; a good structure will do most of the work for you, rendering confusing things obvious and demanding little in assumptions. Good structures come from somewhere, and no-one will tell you where*.

(Yes, yes, You Could Have Invented Spectral Sequences. Very fucking funny.)

(Maybe it's the same old thing, try to generalize, and when you've seen enough, you notice a generality no-one articulated before. Or perhaps you push and push your setting to be as general as it should be and you end up with schemes. Or possibly you grope blindly in the darkness of the unproven, build yourself a useful concept to orient with, and it sticks. Who knows! Ask me again if I invent something.)

#my math education issues let me show you them #math #posts #* blatant lie #at the very least there are histories about development of modern structures which are likely informative

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sasquapossum · 2 years ago

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One of the most common fallacies you'll encounter online is known as poisoning the well.

Adverse information (be it true or false) about person 1 is presented. Therefore, the claim(s) of person 1 will be false.

It's very closely related to the even better known ad hominem attack, with the additional twist that the (logically irrelevant) disqualifying "fact" is often mere supposition or even outright fabrication. One extremely common form looks like this.

If you believe/support (reasonable) X then you must believe/support (obviously odious) Y, and any suggestion that they're separable will not even be entertained.

The goal is to avoid engaging on X, or on a particular manifestation of X, by tying it to Y. It's an intellectual coward's tactic. It's also a disinformation professional's tactic, to promote an anti-X agenda or just to sow division. When you look into who is using this tactic - as I have had occasion to do quite a bit recently - you will often find that they're either a strong anti-X partisan or just a general dirtbag.

Application of this knowledge to commentary about recent events in Israel is left as an exercise for the reader. Be careful what you read, and even more careful about what you read into it.

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a-mx-writer · 4 months ago

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Ok ok "OTP" is hard to define because I can never decide, but rn I'm writing Azula x Katara so that's what I'm gonna answer for (for my current WIP, answers really only apply in that context).

Content warnings: mentions (but no descriptions or graphic details) of violence, trauma, sex, torture, homophobia, prisoners of war.

Azula, definitely. She doesn't know it, but her "holy fuck she could kill me, that's so hot" moment was definitely first, even though she didn't realise it for way too long. I've planted that seed pretty early in the fic and when it paid off, it did so explosively.

More like hate at first sight, really. Though to be fair, they were both obsessed (not romantically) with different people at the time (Katara, hero worshipping Aang; Azula, bent on murdering Zuko).

Neither, see #2.

Azula, in awe of Katara's sheer raw power at bending. Katara… not sure to be honest. More like a slightly disgusted fascination with Azula's position. Both definitely into beating each other up at the dojo.

Again, "love"? Not sure. Azula is definitely impressed and weirded out by Katara's moral code. Katara, as much as she is sickened by her own reaction, is definitely getting used to Azula's leading/commanding presence and Azula's reality of absolute power.

Good question tbh! I gotta think about that one.

Hehe. Everything, really. They're coming at each other as enemies; Azula with contempt for Katara's "primitive" culture, Katara with disgust for Azula's "decadent" lifestyle and imperialist ideology.

In canon, not really. Azula has tried to kill pretty much all of Katara's friends, and Katara resents Ozai, Mai, and Ty Lee and only likes (after some hardship) Iroh and Zuko. In my fic, they haven't seen each other's family in a long time.

See #8.

Sort of. Azula kissed a guy and then burned his house down, Katara was infatuated with Aang but that never got to go anywhere before the canon divergence AU kicked in.

Absolutely not. Without spoilers or gory details, the short version is: prisoner of war, torture, murder attempts, alliance of necessity, stockholm syndrome.

They could be. They might yet. No spoilers :)

See #11 and #12

I want to say "Good in Bed" by Dua Lipa tbh. Not 100% fitting, but it's what they remind me of.

We don't really get enough music in canon to tell tbh

Katara has grown to like Fire Nation cuisine. Azula is not particularly enthusiastic about Water Tribe cuisine, but she doesn't hate it.

Extremely powerful benders, able warriors, hot-headed, strong-willed, independent, daddy issues (so far so canon), good team as fighters, good strategists, not particularly good at talking feelings (so far so fanfic)…

Tame, which is to say, I don't write smut and only do tasteful fades to black. But also, they're two women in a homophobic world figuring it out with nobody to guide them. Fill in the blanks.

All the time so far, but it's getting better.

Not at present, not when their relationship is hugely unequal and they're surrounded by homophobic politicians who want them dead.

Not really applicable from a biological standpoint. As far as adoption goes, Azula definitely doesn't.

Good question, let me think on that.

Not really in the scope of the fic, but I'll say Azula wants to be the leader but it's Katara who takes charge when it matters. How that translates to the literal definitions is left as an exercise for the reader.

Again, outside the fic scope, but I will say… in my headcanon, Azula would definitely be freaked out yet fascinated by bloodbending. That's all I'm saying. How Katara would react to it, after all the horrible stuff I've put her through over the last 80k words, I haven't thought about. But I can definitely see some inappropriate use of bending in general happen.

Yes, but I won't spoiler.

Katara observes the Water Tribes' spiritual holidays and Azula has at least developed enough respect for Katara to remember them. Azula herself isn't one for sentimentality or recreation and thinks she's above spirituality.

Not a thing in ATLA.

Yuppppppp at least one of them is. I can't go into details without getting graphic though.

They haven't had the chance. As for canon in general, I feel like Katara would and Azula wouldn't.

Not much to go off. I don't think Azula can dance, and Katara is at least shy about doing it in public, as far as canon goes; I think that fits them both.

A whole day at the dojo. Sparring and beating the crap out of each other, a nice show of physical and bending prowess and a friendly but fierce competition to see who ends up on top (figuratively or literally).

Bottle it up until one of them breaks down, followed by awkward hugs, lots of crying, and trying to maintain a facade of strength once the breakdown has subsided. Azula has to learn how to deal with hugs.

Canon, I wouldn't care to speculate. In my fic, Azula, because she's taller (Katara is shorter for POW reasons).

Again, sparring. Though after the first couple ten thousand words, there's definitely an attraction component.

I feel like canon!Azula would get insecure very easily, in the form of jealousy and misdirected anger. A healthier version of her would at least know not to take it out on others. As for my version of their story… let's just say: prison break xD

Lips, atm. They're still new to this whole showing affection thing, Azula especially, and after the hell I've put them through, they're not really big on cutesy atm. They kiss-kiss, or they don't.

Heh. Physically, no. Emotionally, so much.

I mentioned the torture?

Neither tbh. Azula is the Fire Lord, Katara has been busy being her prisoner.

Azula, definitely. She has to learn "other people have goals and are busy, too" yet; she's too used to people bending to her will.

Katara, definitely. Azula is cunning, a strategist, manipulative, very good at reading people, but we're still working on the sense of self-preservation when the best course of action goes against what she wants.

Still Katara. Azula's emotional growth has been somewhat (very) stunted by her upbringing.

Yep. In every sense of the word. It's getting better, though.

What's the PG version of ill-advised hate sex?

Canon: Azula would peek, Katara wouldn't. Fic: both would peek, but Katara would feel bad about it.

Anecdotes from their lives that start as funny stories but are actually pretty traumatic.

Show me a definition that makes sense, and I'll answer.

Katara, absolutely. Canon and fic alike.

Well uhhhh. The spoiler-free answers is yes. As for their canon versions, I don't think they would.

Both.

Idk if it's appropriate to link to the fic here or not, I don't wanna bother anyone, but if anyone wants a link, hmu (or check my profile).

Asks about your OTP

1. Who fell for the other one first?

2. Was it love at first sight?

3. Was it lust at first sight?

4. What do physical trait do they love the most about each other?

5. What personality trait do they love the most about each other?

6. What random everyday object/activity makes them think of each other?

7. What is something they’d want to change about the other if they could?

8. Do they get along with each other’s friends and family?

9. Do their friends and family like their significant other(s)?

10. Have they had romantic partners before?

11. Are they a healthy couple? If no, why not?

12. Do they have potential to be healthy if they’re usually toxic?

13. Do they have potential to be toxic if they’re usually healthy?

14. What song fits them perfectly?

15. Do they like the same music?

16. Do they like the same food?

17. What do they have in common?

18. What is their sex life like?

19. Would they ever lie to each other? Why or why not?

20. Are they interested in marriage? Why or why not?

21. Are they interested in having children? Why or why not?

22. Do you have other ships that resemble your OTP?

23. Is there top/dom and bottom/sub energy?

24. Are there any kinks or fetishes they share or don’t?

25. Are they sentimental about gifts they’ve received from each other?

26. What holidays do they like?

27. How do they feel about Valentine’s day?

28. Are they jealous/possessive of each other?

29. Do they like public display of affection?

30. Do they enjoy dancing?

31. What’s a perfect date for them?

32. How do they comfort each other?

33. Who is the big spoon and why?

34. What’s their favorite nonsexual activity together?

35. How do they deal with being away from each other for a long time?

36. What is their favorite place to kiss the other? (Cheek, hand, closed eyelid, neck, nose, etc.)

37. Have they ever hurt each other on accident?

38. Have they ever hurt each other deliberately?

39. Who gets hit on the most?

40. Who tries to distract the other when they’re trying to do something else?

41. Who is, overall, the smarter one?

42. Who is the sensible mature one?

43. Do they fight a lot?

44. How do they make up after a fight?

45. If one of them forgot to log out of their SoMe, what would their partner do?

46. How do they make each other laugh?

47. Are they extroverts/introverts?

48. Who would bring home a homeless animal?

49. Do they match outfits for special occasions?

50. Who would protect who in a dangerous situation?

#ask game #this is fun tbh!#and made me think about some open questions #atla #katara #azula #azutara #kazula

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