#Class IX student | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

maplleaf · 2 months ago

Text

Fool

Veritas Ratio x gn!reader

[ im back 🔥 this has been in my drafts for a year, and i work on it on and off. Finally finished it hwhwhw. Anw, i made a twt account so if u wanna be mutuals just follow me and I'll follow back. Its @/viktkt

lecturer x lecturer]

"When you hate something, it's a sign that one day; you'll love it. Just let it bloom first"

There has always been an understanding between scholars. Dr. Veritas Ratio is a man who works with logic and rationality.

Rationality is, by all means, literally in his name.

He never denied it. After following this path in life, it does require him to work with his head more. Even if he never denied it, it doesn't mean Veritas agree with it either.

Case in point, you.

"...with this concludes the philosophy of today's lecture regarding IX." The chalk hits the board one last time, specs of white dust falling to the floor.

"Any questions?"

The whole class looked at the large chalkboard in front of them, all filled with words that they struggled to understand. Veritas' grip on the chalk hardened, rolling his eyes behind the plastered mask.

He despised doing introductory lessons. Too many fresh-faced idiots came for his reputation and test their knowledge with the lecture, not for the lesson on its own. There were only a few that really understood, yet they were too scared to ask.

As he was about to close the session, a hand raised up towering above the others.

He pointed at the source, "you."

You stood up, already catching the glance of the other students.

"The Aeon if Nihity doesn't see a worth in doing anything, as they don't interact with Aeons," you began. "Is this exclusive to Aeons, or are... lesser beings included?"

Snickers of students hearing the question filled the room. The answer itself is already in the question. 'IX doesn't care enough to see aeons, why would it see mortals?'

"The Aeon of Nihility's existence will always be a mystery, but to answer your question based on the current information," he placed the chalk on the table.

"IX wouldn't go out of its way to search for anything. It views the universe as a worthless space."

Then you did what everyone here wouldn't. Before he could finish the answer, you spoke. No fear nor overconfidence in the tone. "Then, if a person one day, with no affiliations to other Aeons, interact with IX, can there be a different result?"

Veritas tilts his head. It's not every day a student made him curious.

"Aeons have always acted by their own will and desires, due to IX's lack of either," he leaned on the lecture table. "I'm afraid it's hard to give a direct answer."

"...five points, stay behind the lecture after this."

...As all the students left, you were left in your seat alone. Murmurs from the other students fell deaf to either of your ears.

Before you could utter a word, Veritas shuts you down.

"Genius Society Member, [name]. Specialize in divination and Quantum energy."

Veritas cocked his head. If the unnerving plaster mask weren't on his head, then he would've been staring you down.

You... smiled, "i didn't even say hello, doctor."

"There's no need to, but why are you here?" Veritas remarked. You stared into the empty eyeless head. You wonder how he sees with that thing.

"Is there a true reason for anything, Doctor?" You shrugged, meeting his glare. "...but if it will satisfy you, I was here when I heard Doctor Veritas Ratio is teaching a class."

Veritas raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. "You never went to this school, nor do I know anything that might interest you here. I don't see a reason why you would be here."

Veritas stared at you, trying to catch any micro-expressions or signs. Only to find... nothing. As if, there was no motivation to begin with.

A chuckle escaped your mouth, "I'm not going to question how you know that, but..."

Veritas sees you shoving your hand in your pocket, pulling out an employee ID, with the word 'lecturer' on it. "We'll be working together now, Doctor."

It took a few seconds, Veritas had questions in his mind. Genius Society Members, they can be just as foolish or an enigma. Some are Geniuses who he respected, most are beings who has a God complex with a morality only an insane person can understand.

With being a Genius, also come with the reputation. That's how he knew you. As a researcher, of course.

An unknown long-living Genius, records of your research and creations aren't hard to find, making your fame inevitable among scholars. A Genius with smarts, morals, and the... unpredictability.

"Whilst it is an honor to be working with you," his emphasis on the word 'honor' brings out chills. "Aren't you missing?"

He could see your smile faltering, reverting back to the more neutral state.

'Genius Society Member No. 94, [name]. Specialize in Divinations and Quantum research. Works; The Matrix of Prescience, the Theory of the Quantum Sea, etc. Last seen; 30 years ago. Best assumption, Polka Kakamond.'

He knew you, and he knew why you shouldn't be here.

"Well," you couldn't help but let out a small chuckle, and shrugging. "Now I'm back from that hiatus, and working here. Nothing wrong with that."

Veritas couldn't help but have that gut feeling that something is wrong, his deductions are rarely wrong. But he couldn't think of anything.

Your existence, prescence, and the lack of personal goals now; it's all an enigma.

Veritas could only sigh, Genius Society members are always like this anyway. "... Please don't impersonate yourself as my student, unless you actually enroll or want to do the assignments I'll give you."

Seeing his 'interrogation' end, you gave him a smile. "Noted, Doctor."

...and that's how it began.

If someone asked him, who is the most foolish person in the campus. First, he would list the names of some of the students of the intelligentsia guild. Second, he would say you.

He came to the conclusion after a couple of months of having you as a co-worker.

The first sign, he remembered it was raining that day. He had finished class but stuck standing by the doorway. The path between some buildings wasn't connected by a corridor, and his umbrella was in his office.

"What are you doing?"

A voice called beside him. Veritas' eyes drifted to them, hidden behind the mask. "Standing here for absolutely no reason-- what else do you think I'm doing?"

He saw you shrugged, before taking off your coat. "Wanna use my umbrella?"

Veritas gave a confused expression, which unfortunately didn't show due to his cover. His eyes looked at you from head to toe. Not even spotting an umbrella anywhere. "Is your mind growing dull?" he asked rhetorically.

He then saw you making a gesture with your hand, "get down," you told him.

He was going to say no, but seeing as you're new and seem to be at least different from the other lecturers. Veritas wanted to see what you would do.

As he bent down, he felt something covering his head and shoulder, and your body pushing itself closer to him. Right then and there his wrist was grabbed, and Veritas felt his mood sullened in an instant.

Unfortunately, before his body could react, you pulled him with unexpected strength and went out the door.

He could feel water hitting his body that wasn't covered by the coat. Wetting his clothes in the process, but seeing as they were in the middle of a pouring rain in campus, Veritas couldn't just stop either.

It didn't take long for them to reach the office building, and yet his back was drenched. Veritas instantly glared at you, "you utter fool!"

A laugh escaped you, taking back the coat that was now drenched also before bundling it up and twisting it to release all the water. "What? It's a shortcut."

Before he could start going off the deep end, he saw you start to run off. Seemingly knowing that he was going to scold you, "well, gotta go. Bye!"

To save the details. He had spare clothes in his office, but ever since then he made a mental note to stay away from the deranged co-worker each time it rains. Or even any time at all.

The second sign, is how each time there was an overlap when you didn't have a class and he did. You always managed to sneak yourself in and attend his classroom. He couldn't even count the amount of times he kicked you out mid lecture with his fingers anymore.

It became well known that a certain divination lecturer from another department always had the time to attend one of another lecturer's classes when they were free.

What didn't help you to stay hidden is that 80% of Veritas' class had already dropped out. Making you stand out more.

His hand worked on the board with his chalk, as if on a trance. To the people who only like to watch, it almost seemed poetic; entrancing the viewers. For his students, it was like hell. Right as he hit the end with a dot, Veritas asked; "is there any question?"

As usual, when he turned his head, he saw your arms raised high whilst the others cowered low.

"Anyone else besides the braindead one?" He sighed, only to see you tense your muscles even more to raise it higher.

Finally, he points his chalk at you, instantly propping the other to stand up. "In the calculations for the problem 2BAC, if it were used in a situation for a planet victimized by, just a random example, Dr. Primitive's experiments. What would happen then?"

As Veritas listened to your words, he even had to look back on the board. Shocking the other students, which probably became campus gossip for a day. But he answered, "The result would be that some lucky planets may be able to evolve back to normalcy, but in a real situation; the probability needs to be extremely high," he answered professionally, "does that satisfy you?"

Veritas dislikes your attitude. He didn't like how you always crossed the boundary that he had to feel sane.

But at the same time, even if his words are bitter sometimes and even insulting; he respects you. An intelligent person who still held their own mystery. Perhaps the way you boldly and proudly annoy him may affect his respect. For the better or not, that's for time to tell.

"No," you answered, "...if you wanna satisfy me, we should get dinner after this."

Nevermind, he hates this co-worker of his.

There were more moments, but he spared himself the time to think back on it. It's the first time he's ever been on the fence between distaste and like. Maybe the closest person would be the gambler from the IPC.

Veritas's eyes then drift towards you, each pen stroke coming from you made him lose another minute in his life.

"Is it necessary to come by my office to grade your own class's works?" he sighed, no longer hiding his face behind the alabaster sculpture in front of you.

A low chuckle escaped your lips, "No, but it's easier for my legs."

The statement made Veritas let out another exasperated sigh. "For the last time, you wouldn't be having this much exercise if you just stay in your class instead of visiting mine," he pointed out, but as usual, you didn't bat an eye to his protests.

He glared at you for a few seconds before sighing. Hearing his exhasperation made you smile.

Veritas didn't even know why he's doing this, why he's putting up with you. Someone... who wasn't even a part of his life until a few months ago. He shook his head, finding it a waste of brain cells to think about it.

After a few minutes of silence, a slam of the book made him look at your direction with annoyance. 'So loud...'

"Let's go eat," you announced with a smile, standing up from the couch as it creaked from the loss of pressure.

Veritas brows furrowed for a moment, then he answered. "No."

Even if he said that, you managed to drag him to a noodle shop near the university. Veritas squints at the sight as you take your order with a smile, his eyes drifting to the molten red broth. It was even slightly bubbling from how hot it is.

The genius took a deep breath before shaking his head in pure exhasperation.

"So, how's your universe project?" you asked, taking a spoon with a handful of noodles on it.

"Still a work in progress, Screwllum and I are still sorting the algorithm," he answered, "but that doesn't concern you."

A laugh escaped your lips as you took a big bite of the food. Veritas squints for a moment, seeing as steam was coming out of your mouth, but you held no care. "C'mon, when are you going to warm up to me, Doc?"

Veritas rolled his eyes with the usual amount of sassiness that you grew accustomed to.

"Actually, if you don't mind," you started, turning your chair to the doctor. "I want to offer a collaboration with your project."

The offer wasn't out of nowhere, seeing as you've asked him to work with you multiple times. But he raised an eyebrow in inquiry, letting you continue.

"I've been getting interested in Emanators again. And, with my experience, i could add a new variable regarding Emanators in your project, if you don't mind. I would like a collaboration between us," you suggested.

Veritas noticed you cocking your head, your lips curved into a smile as you look at him. That genuine smile then falters, turning into a coy one as you shrugged. "Of course, if you don't want to. I can ask your buddy."

He scoffed before pointing out, "have you even met Screwllum?"

"Hey, don't doubt my connections!" you point at him, with noodles still in your mouth.

Veritas didn't bother wasting air to bicker again. But in his mind, he started to consider.

The genius sighed at his own answer.

"So this is the behind the scenes!"

Veritas's eyes drifted to your figure. Walking on nothing in the middle of space, as different stations are around the area. Floating holograms of texts accompanying you both.

He saw you glide your hand through all the blessings, recognizing a few of the frames. Then to the Aeons data, before squinting in confusion. "You don't have Finality?"

Veritas walked over to you, closing the window. "Focus on your work, we're here to do research not play around," he reminded. Veritas saw you rolled your eyes, and he had the patiebce of a saint not to throw a chalk at you.

You looked over the code of the Simulated Universe before a smirk crept its way to your lips, "let me guess, you want me to help finish up the interactions between paths?"

The other nodded, "With you 'experience', it should be easy," he glanced at your figure, seeing you already dissecting the code that Herta first proudly made. He placed down the guide that Herta made, still unopened and collecting dust. ".... if you have any questions, say it."

Within the next few weeks, you started working on the Simulated Universe project alongside Veritas. This meant he had to see you more and more, something that was already too much even on campus.

He had told the geniuses that he's having additional help, especially regarding Herta's request on themselves meeting an Aeon, and they didn't pry much.

"Is it okay if I launch the code now?" he heard you ask.

Veritas didn't look up from his work. He didn't say anything, but something about the body language made you think it was like a nod, and a pat on the head if you're that delusional.

The said code is for a new curio relating to Nous. You didn't think much of it before releasing it off for it to be tested by the Trailblazer. It wasn’t supposed to be significant, just some side work.

Right as you swiped the curio code to be released, suddenly the whole space started to shake. Confusion overwhelmed you two, and Veritas looked pissed than before.

"What did you just do--?!"

A glowing red blasted out of nowhere. Veritas felt an overwhelming sting in his head before looking up at THEM.

"YOU"

A floating mechanical head appeared in front of you both. Gazing down as if they were insignificant ants. Veritas felt his ear stinging as THEIR voice entered his ears. He knew this was a sinulation, but this is a glitch none of the geniuses have seen.

Before he could analyze the error further, you had shut down the code in an instant.

His golden irises moved onto your figure, a rare look of concern on his face. For a moment, he caught a glimpse of fear in your eyes before dissapearing. Veritas adjusted his glasses and walked to your side.

His presence made you escape from your thoughts. "Sorry, i didn't mean to stop it. That was valuable research."

"Fool, go home," he says simply. "You're not in the right mind," his tone is commanding, but you swore you could hear him purposely softening it.

There was a moment when you wanted to argue back, but after consideration, it seems futile. Veritas saw you nod, then leave the space.

There was always a disconnect between you and the other geniuses. Veritas never mentioned your name explicitly either, just saying how a friend would help with their Divergent Universe project.

....Both you and the scholar stared at the code in front of you, only waiting for it to be relaunched. Veritas glanced at your side profile and at your coat, seeing uncertainty in your eyes.

At least, until a breakthrough in Nous happened.

Herta was interested and wanted to come over in an instant, but Screwllum insisted on heading there first. Ruan Mei was interested, but she had her own business.

"Do you doubt our creation?" He asked out of nowhere.

"No," you answered with confidence, "Just thinking, how accurate would THEY be. Aside from your friend's testing as Akivili, I've never seen tests about the Aeons meeting people."

Even with the confident posture, he could feel something was off. But Veritas couldn't pry further as the sound of the entrance opening caught his attention.

He looked back at the code one last time before turning to greet the new person. "Don't cloud your judgment with foolish worries," he sighed before snatching the coat on your back. "And don't wear that. It clearly says my name embedded on it."

He didn't hear your retort that it's cold, only at the figure of a mechanical man who just entered.

"Dr. Veritas Ratio, it's a pleasure to see each other once more," Screwllum greeted before spotting you.

He took a few moments calibrating as if surprised. "When Dr. Ratio had said he invited a friend, you were not within my expectations, old friend," his tone seemed welcoming. If he had lips, then Screwllum would be smiling. "It's a great relief to know you're safe."

You raised an empty cup off coffee to greet him, "Screwllum! Let's see the old head together."

Veritas raised an eyebrow at the word Screwllum had used. Safe. But let it go as they have a more important topic to discuss. He walked over to your side at the launch button, his eyes glancing at yours. As your gaze connected, he saw your smirk and immediately got the temptation to throw chalk again.

"Let's just start this," he sighed before crossing his arms. Hearing the cue, you pressed the launch button.

The room began to shake again, but this time, everyone had anticipated it. It didn't come as a surprise when the red glow appeared once more.

The large head loomed over you both. Even if it's a simulation, an overwhelming feeling of being small enveloped all three of you. This time, it was like savoring the moment than panicking.

Veritas looked up at the God, as if making sure that this was fake. He analyzed the being's physical presence, realizing that Nous' eye seems to be staring at you only.

"LEAVE. YOU'RE NOT WELCOME."

A look of confusion came over Veritas and Screwllum. Even if yesterday had been instantly shut down, using simulated universe's laws; the beings here would see them as normal pathstriders.

Before any of you could react, a stinging pain hits all of your heads, even causing a mechanical error sound from Screwllum

...right before all three of you were kicked out of the simulated universe.

The galaxy like space that all of you were accustomed to returned. There was a silence before Screwllum broke it.

"I have two temporary conclusions, it seems either one of us is not welcomed by the simulated Aeon, or the Simulated Universe glitched due to having three users instead of the previous record of two," Screwllum's gaze dropped onto you, followed by Veritas not long after.

Feeling the eyes, you let out a cough. "Maybe when I went missing, THEY thought I had done something wrong. I'm not quite sure either," your answer left holes, but Screwllum didn't ask anymore.

Veritas on the other hand, was left unsatisfied.

"What happened between you and THEM?"

The boldness of the question even made you flinch. Veritas notied it, but saw you still focused on your work even with the looming question.

Screwllum left not long after the glitch since he had something else to do. Leaving both of you alone together as usual. Even so, the air felt thicker than usual, and the silence wasn't helping it.

"I don't know either. But like i said, when I went missing, something probably happened that made THEM mad," you answered, but Veritas could spot the unusual raise in your tone. After a few seconds of your silence, Veritas sighed before he turned back to his own work.

....but there was this unusual tug in as he knew you lied. Veritas tapped his foot on the floor repeatedly as the seconds passed, waiting for you to speak up again but finding a longer silence.

In the end, he stood up from the chair, walking towards you.

"Foolish accident comes from the lack of ability to ask for help, and fools ignore their past mistakes," he stated. Veritas turned your chair around, looking right at you. "What happened in that 40 years?"

He saw your eyes stare back at his sharp ones, yours a bit more widened than usual. The way it shifted from his face to away, then back to him. His body leaned over yours. It's supposed to be suffocating, accusing. Yet, it didn't feel that way.

He saw the way your throat shifted as you gulp, only to choke out an answer.

"I just... had problems with the wrong person," you answered before staring back at his eyes with the usual confidence, before patting his shoulder. "Don't worry so much, doc."

Veritas' eye twitched for a moment at your answer. Both of you stayed in that position for a little longer before Veritas eventually scoffs, straightening his posture again.

"I need a cleanse of mind. Don't sleep in here, and don't be late for the intelligentsia guild meeting tomorrow morning," he reminded, turning back to take care of his belongings. Veritas still felt unsatisfied with your answers, but it didn't feel right if he forced out the answer like an interrogation.

As Veritas' figure left the space, you find yourself looking where he usually works on his projects. A smile crept its way to your lips as you grabbed his coat.

Tomorrow morning, Veritas didn't find enjoyment from the usual meeting. But he did find a surprise in his office.

It wasn't uncommon that students or other staff would give him gifts, especially on that February date. But he never cared nor reciprocated any of it. After remembering that, Veritas then stared at his desk to see an arrangements of ducks from the size of an eraser to as big as his palm.

Along with that is a note written with a glitter pen. 'I'm keeping your coat'

"Fool," Veritas mumbled, a chuckle escaping his lips as he closed the note again. Before leaving all the ducks on his desk as he got ready for class.

177 notes · View notes

johnwickb1tsch · 3 months ago

Text

lessons in anatomy IX

a yandere art professor John Wick x drawing model muse! reader AU... (also featuring Matt from River's Edge. If you haven't seen the movie that's ok, I will fill in the gaps as we go...) ->chapter map

IX.

-While you’re waiting in the empty classroom you're staring at the drawings pinned up on the wall. Each student was asked to display their first drawing in class, and their last one. The improvement between Matt’s two is staggering. Composition, form, shape, line, contrast, fucking everything–he’s come so far, and you cannot fathom what John could find to dislike about the latest one. The longer you look at it, the more you boil inside, to the point when Professor Wick returns to his desk you are ready to explode.

“Y/n,” he greets stiffly, setting his briefcase down. He looks tired, a little haggard even, his raven black beard grown bushy like it hasn't seen a razor in quite a few days. You wonder what makes John Wick lose sleep. For a moment you can't help but feel sorry for him, which in turn only frustrates you more.

You don’t say anything, just glower, before turning back to the wall.

“Is something wrong?” You nearly jump out of your skin, his voice coming from right behind you, and you did not hear him move.

“Yeah. What the hell is your problem with Matt?”

You sound brave, but you don’t actually have the courage to turn to look at him.

“I don’t have a problem with Matt.” You scoff, biting down on your first three rude replies, grinding them between your teeth. “Are you upset that I picked on your boyfriend?”

There’s an edge of taunting to his words, and finally you do whirl. You regret it instantly–Wick is very tall, and very looming, and you have to swallow your heart back down your throat.

“He is not my boyfriend, and you are being an ass.”

He frowns at this, not angry yet, but you have definitely crossed a line.

You’re getting fired today.

You’re so certain of it that you decide you may as well say what’s exactly on your mind. “Look at the difference between these! Would it kill you to give him some encouragement?”

You know you have a misplaced savior complex, but Matt doesn't have a mother who will stick up for him. Someone should. You ignore the chuckling Palpatine voice in your head. Yesss, the ‘I can fix him!’ is strong in this one…

“He won’t learn that way, y/n. He has improved. But this study is still trash. Even with the extra time he spent on it.” He fixes you with a gimlet stare, and suddenly you know he must know all about your extra session. He must have excellent hearing from across the classroom. “How is that fair? I didn’t hear you offering anyone else extra time. Why not Josh? He could use the extra help.”

Josh is very sweet. He also strongly resembles Mr. Toad, and you know Wick is calling you out for playing favorites– with your vagina.

“That’s not the point,” you grumble.

“No? You just think you’re qualified to tell me how to run my class?”

You know you’re on thin ice–but you lift your chin anyway. “Just calling it like I see it.”

“Yeah? Let’s play that game.” Suddenly he is turning you brusquely by your shoulders, his long fingers gripping you firmly.

Outside of that first handshake, he’s never touched you before–you should be scared, but the strength you feel in his hands just makes you weak. He speaks low by your ear, the resonance of his deep voice raising every hair on your body. “How many vertebrae are in your neck?”

“I…don’t know.”

“Oh. So you didn’t read your textbook either?” He sweeps your hair aside, running one finger lightly over the knobs of your spine. The back of your neck is your Kryptonite, and you cannot stop the shudder that runs through your frame.“The answer is seven. Though to judge from his shading, you’d think the answer was nine.”

“I…” He withdraws, though you still feel the blistering line of his body heat from him standing so close behind you.

“The bottoms of your scapulae are here.” He touches your back lightly with just two fingers, but it sends a delicious thrill down your spine. There is only the thin fabric of your robe between his hands and your skin; It feels so good, and in that moment you wish you could die. “They are not, as our young friend suggests, here.”

His fingers move two inches down, feather light, and as you look at the drawing again…maybe he has a point. You’re not sure, because it is impossible to focus while his hands are on your body, even if barely. How is it possible to put so much aggression in a featherlight touch? You don’t know, but you fancy you can feel that he is seething through his very fingertips.

“Unless she’s starving, individual ribs are not typically visible on a woman’s body in this position, merely the suggestion of the ribcage cased in flesh. He’s given you…” His fingertips press lightly into your sides, and it takes every iota of self control the gods ever gave you not to squirm as he spiderwalks down your ribcage, counting, “One, two, three, four…”

For a handful of seconds you cannot breathe.

“John…”

He ignores your plaintive entreaty; you don’t even know what you’re asking for. You’re not sure you even want him to stop, yet you don’t think you can survive if he continues.

“They’re tangible, but not visible.”

All you can take are shallow breaths; you start to feel light headed, and you wonder if you’re about to pass out–or cum, just from him touching your back. The ache between your thighs is pure agony.

Next a single finger traces down the inward curve of your spine, and damn you if you don’t stand up straighter. “These are your lumbar vertebrae,” he says low in your ear. “There are five of them. Who the fuck knows what’s going on there.” Hearing him curse feels like he’s plucked a string directly tied to your center. Your breasts have tightened to unbearably sharp peaks, sliding against the silky fabric of your robe with every treacherous breath you take. The flood of moisture between your thighs is mortifying. You’re going to need a shower before you model today. An ice cold one.

He’s barely touched you, and yet somehow you can’t decide if this is wonderful, or obscene.

“And finally…” Somehow you know he only uses one hand to span your lower back, pressing at two points with his thumb and pinky just above your buttocks. You hold your breath, helpless under his touch, entranced by his low voice as he leans in to lecture, “The Dimples of Venus, arguably the loveliest feature of the female backside. I know you have them, yet he has left them out completely. What a crime. What do you say to that, Miss y/n?”

You let your breath out with a shuddering exhale, so filled with desire and adrenaline that you fear you might pop a brain vessel. “I might…see your point,” you finally manage to get out in a whisper.

“Good girl.” He practically growls it in your ear, and fuck you if your pussy doesn’t pulse and flutter for those two words alone.

You have lost your goddamn mind. Or, he has.

Suddenly he steps away; without thinking you hug yourself, cold without his furnace of a body at your back. Perhaps you’re in shock; with wide eyes you turn to face him again, mouth hanging, all words turned to ash on your tongue.

He returns your gaze with a challenge of his own, those dark orbs black as a coal fire.

You feel as though he can see into your very soul–yet you cannot read him.

If he is angry, or smug, or vindicated, or even horny…nothing shows upon that handsome visage. He is like a statue carved of alabaster and onyx, unmoving all but for his stare burning through you.

Before either of you can dig this hole any deeper, the students start pouring in, and you have to excuse yourself to the bathroom.

TBC...

___

->chapter map pinterest board/ photo credits

#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves #matt x reader #professor wick AU #yandere john wick #keanuverse #keanuverse fic #rivers edge

125 notes · View notes

padfootagain · 8 months ago

Text

Love in Verses (IX)

Chapter 9 : 'I think I will always be lonely in this world, where the cattle graze like a black and white river- where the vanishing lilies melt, without protest, on their tongues'

Hi! Here is another chapter! Saoirse is back, and our babies are making some evil plans…

I hope you like this new chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 1798

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Lilies

I have been thinking about living like the lilies that blow in the fields.

They rise and fall in the edge of the wind, and have no shelter from the tongues of the cattle,

and have no closets or cupboards, and have no legs. Still I would like to be as wonderful

as the old idea. But if I were a lily I think I would wait all day for the green face

of the hummingbird to touch me. What I mean is, could I forget myself

even in those feathery fields? When Van Gogh preached to the poor of coarse he wanted to save someone--

most of all himself. He wasn't a lily, and wandering through the bright fields only gave him more ideas

it would take his life to solve. I think I will always be lonely in this world, where the cattle graze like a black and white river--

where the vanishing lilies melt, without protest, on their tongues-- where the hummingbird, whenever there is a fuss, just rises and floats away.

Mary Oliver

So, this was Pr. Hozier- Byrne…

H-B, or Hozier like everyone on campus seemed keen to call him. Saoirse understood the hype around the man though.

His voice was soft and lulling, his explanations clear, his love for his work evident. He seemed nice, answered all the questions, had something a little shy about him that seemed to quieten when he was teaching. He exuded confidence then, on the contrary, and despite the softness in his tone, it was impossible not to listen to him babbling away about Yeats. The fact that he was handsome was also a strong argument in his favour, Saoirse couldn’t deny it. Ridiculously tall, curls falling over his shoulders, trimmed beard and glasses over green eyes… She sighed as she stared at him, sporting a grey tweed suit, turning to write something over on the board. And that deep voice… damn…

She shook herself, focused on the lecture again, took note of the date her teacher was writing on the white board. The first class was an introduction to Yeats’ life and work, the study of his texts would start next week. For now, Saoirse was carefully writing down dates and historical events and the name of the woman he would spend most of his life pinning over. And she wondered if Hozier was pinning over a woman too, if he was married, if he longed for love, if that was why he seemed to love poetry so much, because he saw his own longing in other people’s words…

She shook herself again, wrote down something about Lady Gregory and the Abbey Theatre. She was projecting her own feelings over that tall stranger, she reckoned. A dangerous activity, if there ever had been one.

Apparently, more students had chosen the class about science-fiction, but Saoirse had definitely no regrets. If the topic seemed more complicated, her teacher was determined to pass on his love for poetry. She was grateful to Gabi for convincing her to choose this class, was already happy to have chosen his lesson about modernism for the second half of the year.

Indeed, she could see that Gabi had done well in recruiting for this class. Most of the students Saoirse had seen with Gabi during orientation week were now listening to H-B explaining the use of theatre to create a common Irish identity that worked hand in hand with the growing anger that would lead to revolution. And indeed, Sean and Donald were there too. If Donald had settled a couple of rows behind her, Sean was sitting next to her, actually. He had recognised her as soon as he had entered the room, had headed straight towards her and asked if he could sit next to her. And Saoirse was happy to have someone she knew in this class too, even if they had spoken but a few hours during orientation week. She hoped they could become friends, she felt a little lonely in this new adult world.

The lecture went on and was over too soon, a feeling Saoirse had not been expecting for any of her lectures. As she packed up her things, she noticed that Gabi was at the door, eyeing the students inside, and she gave Saoirse a wave when their gazes met. Sean and Saoirse hurried out of the room.

“Hey! How are my wee students doing?” Gabi asked with a grin.

“Doing okay, so far!” Saoirse answered with a smile. “Didn’t even get lost this morning!”

“What an achievement!” Gabi laughed good-heartedly. “Saw that you were having a class with H-B this morning, my next lecture starts in fifteen minutes, just down the hall. Thought I’d come see you all, check on you.”

“We’re fine, thanks,” Sean nodded with a smile.

Donald joined them as well, and they chatted happily for a couple of minutes.

“There’s a party planned at the end of the week, to celebrate the beginning of the year. You should come!”

“Huh… sure! Sounds good.”

If Saoirse was feeling a little shy, Donald was already asking questions about the drinks and the music.

Gabi was about to answer him when she was distracted by someone walking behind Saoirse and Sean, and she immediately grinned.

“Good morning, professor!”

The younger students turned around and politely smiled at their teacher, while he beamed at Gabi.

“Well, well, well… if it isn’t our favourite troublemaker…” he teased, eyes sparkling with mischief. “How are you doing, Gabi? How was your summer?”

“It was good! Busy, lots of things to plan to make sure I can turn all our new recruits into proper menaces!”

Andrew laughed, shaking his head playfully.

“Oh, I bet you have tons of ideas for that… but don’t scare our students away too soon, alright?”

He quickly checked his watch.

“Gotta run, but it was nice seeing you. Will I see you on Thursday then?”

“You know me… how could I say no to a class about protest poetry?”

Andrew’s smile brightened even more.

“Grand. I’m glad to have you as a student again this year.”

He excused himself then, bidding all four students a nice day, and they stared as he walked away, his long legs devouring the distance between the classroom and the exit of the building in mere seconds.

“He’s so nice!” Saoirse sighed. “Thanks for recommending this class to us.”

“He is. And Christ… he’s a sight for sore eyes.”

They all laughed at that, and went on to chat for a while longer, until Gabi had to head to her own class.

Saoirse could feel it, it would be a good year.

Andrew hurried back to your office, knowing that you were waiting for him. And indeed, when he arrived, you had already taken your sandwich out of your bag and were focused on your computer screen.

You greeted him with a smile when he quickly stepped into the room.

“Sorry, ran into a student I know well. Okay… what are our options?”

Andrew took off his vest, took out of his bag his own sandwich and his water bottle, before pushing his chair next to yours so he could look at your screen as well.

Frank was asking for advices about flower arrangements, for the wedding but also for a party they wanted to organise a few weeks before the wedding, some kind of huge get-together with family and friends to celebrate their engagement. Sam and Frank seemed to treat the event as some kind of rehearsal for their big day, and wanted to decorate the place in a similar way they would use for the ceremony.

A perfect occasion to raise chaos and mayhem…

“Frank has already narrowed down our choices… meaning that he took out anything with carnations or calla lilies, he doesn’t like those. I’ve tried to probe to know Sam’s taste, but he seems clueless.”

“Are we surprised by that?” Andrew mumbled under his breath, something bitter in his tone. “Sam’s favourite flowers are white lilies, and she hates pink and yellow roses.”

“Okay, so… can we find any pink and yellow roses in those…”

Andrew chuckled before taking a bite of his sandwich.

“You’re kind of terrifying, Machiavelli…”

“One of my favourite books is about getting stuck in hell and watching people being tortured,” you reminded him, making Andrew laugh and glimpse over at the picture you had hung on the wall.

“Right… my bad. I shouldn’t underestimate your evil nature, clearly.”

“Unless you’re ready to face the consequences…” you added with false threat in your voice, while you were clearly struggling to hold back your laughter.

“Don’t turn me into anything… unnatural.”

You froze, turned to him.

“Was that a Lord of the Rings reference?” you asked with utter surprise evident on your features.

“Obviously,” Andrew smiled, something cheeky and cute at the same time, clearly pleased with himself.

“God… I love the Lord of the Rings!”

“Who doesn’t?!”

“Frank.”

Andrew huffed, but said nothing. He thought the words all the same… what a tasteless gobshite…

“Why am I not surprised?” was his answer instead, and you chuckled at his words.

“Yeah… he does have a few red flags,” you conceded.

“Hmm… but the fact that we’re plotting together against our exes is kind of a red flag, isn’t it? A scarlet one if I’ve ever seen one…”

“Is it worse than not liking the Lord of the Rings?”

Andrew couldn’t hold back the smile that tugged at his mouth.

“Nah, we’re good,” he joked, making you laugh.

And he liked the sound. Almost three weeks had passed since Sam and Frank had announced their engagement and Andrew and you were spending more and more time together. You had planned some things to get to talk to your exes, or just as you were doing today, to mess up with their wedding. Which meant seeing you outside the university, eating his lunch with you, talking over the phone sometimes…

And Andrew liked it. He liked that your dynamic was back on a friendly rhythm instead of something merely professional. You were nice, and hilarious, and so fucking smart. He hoped you would remain friends after all this. He hoped you would become good friends, with a bit of time.

“Oh, this one is so ugly…” you giggled at the picture on your screen, something pink and over the top, with a lot of roses…

“Oh, yeah… that’s the one. Send him this one.”

“Frank asked me for a favour by the way… he wanted me to go fishing for information about Sam’s tastes in flowers.”

“You mean… asking me about it?”

You nodded, and Andrew let out a wry laugh.

“What did you tell him?”

“That I wouldn’t have the opportunity to ask you today as our classes would keep us busy. Don’t worry, you’ll be able to play the perfect boyfriend and come to the rescue, and offer to use her favourite flowers.”

“You’re the best, you know that?”

“Of course!”

You both laughed, eating your sandwiches. And then the conversation drifted away from Sam and Frank, settled on your classes, on work, on the movie he had watched on Sunday, on the walk you had taken with Siobhán and how much you would miss her when she would be gone.

And Andrew still felt a hole in his chest, the weight of something hollow, of a piece missing, because of Samantha. But when he was with you, the grief didn’t seem so heavy, the pain so aching. The emptiness in his heart seemed a little less empty when you were around. God knew he missed Samantha, that he wanted her back. But at least, you made him feel human again. He reckoned you were the only one to make him properly laugh these days.

#hozier #andrew hozier byrne #the hoziest #hozier x reader #hozier x you #hozier x y/n #hozier x fem!reader #hozier fanfiction #hozier fanfic #hozier series #hozier fic #fanfiction #fanfic #series #hozier au #hozier professor au #professor au #writing

116 notes · View notes

encachette · 1 month ago

Text

smart mouth 2

Part 2 of 2. (Part 1 here.) ❣ Professor!Bucky Barnes x F!student ❣ uni au, F! student is in her 20s ❣ cw: it’s just pwp, smut, inappropriate relationships (all characters over the age of consent) ❣ MDNI ❣ Word Count: 2.6k ❣ Summary: Ch. 2 of professor!Barnes corrupting our reader. Or maybe it’s the other way around. ❣ Author's Note: I do not condone these kinds of relationships irl. Trust, his ass would be reported to Title IX IMMEDIATELY. Enjoy :)

smart mouth pt. 2

“Bend over.”

Bucky must be crazy, unable to believe those words had come out of his mouth. To a student, nonetheless. But he didn’t have the time to linger on that thought, his major breach of professionalism. Because you were sauntering toward him, a triumphant grin on your face as you heeded his command.

If Bucky didn’t know any better, your behavior in class was nothing more than an attempt to get him to break, to shed his professional demeanor, to get under his skin so that there was nothing left in his mind but you. And as you bend over at the waist, prettily presenting yourself to him in your lacy panties and bra, Dr. Bucky Barnes wants nothing more than to fuck you there on his desk like an animal. Instead, he reasons that he should give you a taste of your own medicine.

He was going to make you just as worked up as you made him, every single time you set foot into his classroom. Eyes wandering the length of your body, Bucky hums in satisfaction at you, presented to him on his desk like it was his own, twisted ideal of a Christmas morning.

“God, your ass is perfect,” he whispers, more to himself than anything, moving forward to rub his hands down your back. His metal fingers grazing down your spine leave a trail of goosebumps that elicit a whimper from you, and you feel satisfaction course through your veins. Finally, you’ve made him break, you think to yourself; the image of Dr. Barnes giving himself over completely to whatever this thing was between the two of you sending a pleasurable warmth down between your legs.

“Dr. Barnes, please,” you rasp, “Touch me.” Under his fingers, he feels the strain of your back muscles as you attempt to position yourself upright.

“Uh-uh. No, sweetheart. I’m not your little toy today,” Bucky asserts, pushing you back down so you were bent over his desk. “It’s my turn.”

Smack.

“My rules.”

The first spank with his flesh hand draws the cutest squeak of surprise from you, followed by an even quieter moan when he rubs his palm over the skin to soothe the sting.

“Whatever you say, Dr. Barnes,” you say, turning your head to look at him, lust glittering in your eyes as you smirk. Bucky chuckles, leaning in to give you a peck and taking care to bite down on your bottom lip. Just enough roughness to have you silently praying to God he’d fuck you soon. He hated that smirk. Always so blasê. Always so arrogant.

“I get the feeling you’re not taking this seriously, Miss LN.” Smack. Much harder this time.

“I should teach you a lesson you’ll actually remember, huh? Since I’m such a second-round draft pick.” Another several spanks in succession, firm and intense. Bucky savors the goosebumps forming along your skin, every whimper and curse just imploring him to pull the gusset of your panties aside and do as he pleases. To make you understand that he was your senior and you were to behave as such.

“Are you gonna fuck me, or not?” you whine, pouty and red-faced. If Bucky had been any younger, he wouldn’t have been able to recognize the pure desire etched on every crevice of your face, your body, you.

Trailing kisses up your spine, Bucky relishes in the control he had in his hands. Pushing his erection into you ass, it’s a struggle for him not to groan out loud before he murmurs,

“Oh, I’ll fuck you, doll,” he says in between kisses, particularly pleased at your keening when he bites that spot where your shoulder met the base of your neck. “I’m gonna fuck you, but not until you say sorry.” He feels you tense before you attempt to turn to face him.

“‘Doll’? What are you, 90 years old? We’ve moved on to more modern misogynistic pet names, Dr. Barnes.” you tease. Bucky just chuckles, lazily kissing up the back of your neck. He couldn’t even deny how sexy it was, your inability to give up control, to be vulnerable with someone who quite literally had you bent over his desk, stripped nearly bare. He wanted nothing more than to be the one to break you, to make you squirm in the same way you do to him.

“Please, Dr. Barnes,” you croon.

“Say you’re sorry and I’ll fuck you.” It takes every last drop of free will he had to force your hips still, to keep them from pushing back and rubbing against the growing wet spot on his slacks, the plush fat of your ass feeling like heaven as it applied pressure to his erection.

“‘Sorry’? For what?” Fucking incredible. The gall on this girl, he thinks.

“Don’t play dumb, it doesn’t suit you, ‘For what?’” he repeats back to you in a girlish, mocking tone. The following spank on your ass is his hardest yet — Bucky has to let you know he means business.

“For having such a smart. Fucking. Mouth.” Each word was punctuated with a spank and you were positively delirious with pure want at this point. Bucky could feel it.

He pulls back to inspect the mess you’ve made of yourself, the damp spot on your panties visible and presented just for him. The small ‘fuck’ that you utter, breathless and so turned on, tests the limits of his patience.

“What d’ya say, Miss L.N.? You say you’re sorry for your insubordination. Then I’ll give us what we both want.” As he soothes the aching red marks he left on your ass, Bucky knows he’s asking you to give up your pride.

“Real presumptuous,” you retort, heavy breathing defanging your usual edge, “to assume you know what I want.”

“I can see it, doll,” he teases and you feel the coldness hit your pussy when he pulls your panties to the side, slowly running his fingers through your slit, “Feel how turned on you are right now. Say you’re sorry,” he spanks you again, “and I’ll make you feel good.” You can’t do anything but widen your stance and whimper through the promise of pleasure.

“Say it, baby,” he whispers into your neck as he slips a finger, then two into your aching entrance, other hand punctuating his next command with successive spanks. “Say, ‘Dr. Barnes.’” Spank. “‘I’m. Sorry.’”

“Hah — fuck. I’m sorry, Dr. Barnes!” you cry out, embarrassed by the desperation in your voice, dripping as his fingers work in and out of you, opening you up for him. “I’m sorry — fuck — please. I promise to be nice, just — just, please, fuck me,” you struggle to focus on your words. Dr. Barnes’ fingers start curling into that tight, swollen spot inside you that makes you squirm even more, threatening to push you over the precipice in record time.

“Good girl, I can feel you squeezing me,” he says as he presses his body on top of yours, fingers relentlessly fucking you while his other hand clumsily undos his slacks.

“Dr. Barnes, oh my god, hah, I’m gonna —” you’re delirious at this point, the pressure of his fingers against your sweet spot making your vision blurry as you’re hurtling toward your orgasm. But, just as you’re about to cum, you feel an unpleasant emptiness invade your senses as Dr. Barnes withdraws his fingers and grunts out a rough,

“Get up.” You obey him, heart hammering as you scramble to stand in front of him, looking up at his towering frame to meet his smolder. As your eyes travel down his body, your dripping pussy left pulsing with need, you let yourself take a second to savor the gleeful satisfaction that makes your pleasure so much more intense. Dr. Barnes’ cock was in his grip, precum beading at the tip as he pumped once; twice; a third time.

“On your knees,” he demands, grabbing your face and giving you a dirty kiss, tongue tasting yours, before pushing you down toward the ground. You’re nearly panting with lust, pupils so blown and mind so fuzzy.

It was delicious, the control he felt right then. Bucky Barnes’ has finally tamed the problem student. Maybe it hadn’t gone the way he intended, but it would be foolish for him to complain when you were on your knees in front of him, begging for him to fuck you before you took his cock in your mouth, the vibrations from your moans tightening the pressure in his balls. Bucky was in goddamn heaven.

“Make it messy, doll,” he groans, “that’s it — yes, fuck.” He watches you lick and suck, your hands taking their time smearing your spit up and down, up and down, up and down, stroking him into a frenzy. Bucky runs his fingers through your hair, shiny and soft under his grip and guiding your head back. Your eyes are so glassy, so beautiful when you look up to meet his eyes, face red from exertion, from trying to please him. He can’t resist dragging his metal thumb along your tongue, pulling your bottom lip down to tap the tip of his cock on you.

“Take a deep breath for me,” he breathes, pushing his cock into your mouth, your throat struggling to take all of him. “Oh my god, baby,” he moans. Bucky moaned out loud the most submissive little whisper, unable to catch himself in his pleasure as he rocks his hips into your face, tightening his grip in your hair. “Can’t be a fuckin’ — oh, fuck — smart mouth when it’s full of my cock, huh, doll?” He’s losing control, every dirty thought spilling out of his mouth as you swirl your tongue in the most delicious, hot caress; nails digging into the meat of his thighs as you whimper around his cock.

Bucky pulls your head back by your hair, flesh thumb stroking away the tears from your eyes. He almost shoots his load over your face when you release his dick with a loud pop and slobbered one last lick up the underside of his shaft. You smirk at the shudder it elicits from him, and Bucky just stares at you in awe, unable to stop himself from forcing you up on your feet and sitting you on top of his desk.

He comes close, standing in front of you and rubbing his cock against you. You had him; one hand running your nails through his scalp and gripping his hair, the other hand wrapping around his hard-on, just like he’d imagine whenever your fingers played around with a writing utensil. Bucky makes quick work of removing your panties and pulling your the cups of your bra down, pretty tits held up by pretty pink lace.

“You gonna fuck me now, professor?” you murmur into his ear, running your tongue along the shell of his ears – a delicious feel of his goosebumps under your palms as you beg in his ear, “please, Dr. Barnes. I know you want to,” you cry as you grind into him. “Please, I said I was sorry — oh shit —”

Bucky cuts you off, nudging his thick, heavy cock into your opening. “Oh, doll—” he groans, biting into your neck, pushing his hips toward yours so slowly. So slowly he thought was going to lose his fucking mind before he could get as deep as he wanted. “So tight, baby, fuck.”

It’s hard, slow, intense the way Bucky decides to fuck you. To dictate his own pace as he swivels his hips into you at a rhythm that has you babbling dirty, sweet nothings into his ears. “So good. Fuck me like that, professor—” you mewl into his ear, reaching one hand down to rub your own clit. “So — ah — big. Fuck,” you whine as you clench around him, hot wet pleasure pulsing through your pussy every time his cock bottoms out in you.

“Keep talkin’ like that, doll,” he grunts through his thrusts, tip of his cock shoving into you in time with the rhythm you set on your clit. His hands travel back to grip the soft fat of your ass as you wail pathetically in his ear, “Tell me you’re sorry,” he demands, “tell me you’re sorry and I’ll let you come.”

You can’t do anything but whine, blubbering through your moans as a little drool escapes the corners of your swollen red lips. You posture yourself in a way that ensures your tits would smush against his chest every time he thrusted into you, nipples brushing against his chest hair as your tongues tangled in nasty, open-mouthed kisses and moans.

You pull back, looking into his eyes through your lashes, mouth agape as your pussy continues to pulse; you’re sweating, you’re desperate, and you’re no longer thinking like yourself, too drunk on his cock to do anything but obey.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Barnes — fuck, yes, right there,” you keen, careful to keep your voice down. “I’m so so sorry, baby, just don’t stop, okay?” you blither into his mouth, feeling your orgasm approach, heels nudging him impossibly deeper into you. “I’m gonna cum if you keep fucking me like that, Dr. Barnes”

Bucky perks up, determined to have you cum on his cock, determined to finally put you in your place after the grief you’d brought him in his classroom. He keeps driving into you, relentless; his flesh hand comes up to grab your face,

“Open your mouth.” That sexy, arrogant smirk that Bucky knows so well by now, the one that’ll be on replay in his dreams after this, that smile appears on your face. “Open your mouth, pretty girl,” he repeats sternly, breathing you in the scent of you as he nuzzles against your nose. You follow his orders, moaning as his cock hits your sensitive spots over and over again, and Bucky spits onto your tongue before he forces your mouth closed with his hand, giving his final order before it was all over for you.

“Swallow,” he says harshly, trying hard not to blow his load before you cum. You obey, like a good student, and that’s when you feel it.

“I’m gonna— Dr. Barnes, you’re gonna make me cum!” you squeal into his ear, pussy clamping over his rock-hard cock as you crash into your orgasm. Bucky just tightens his hold over you, burying his head into the crook of your neck as your pussy, so tight and wet, demanded he cum, too.

“Honey, I’m gonna cum, too — oh my, fuck I’m gonna cum,” he rasps desperately into your skin, “Where do you want me to cum, doll?”

You quickly push him off, scrambling to get on your knees as you wrap your lips around him, bobbing up and down, sucking him so fucking good, before he cries out,

“I’m cumming, doll, fuck yes, take it,” he whines, cock pumping warm, white release into your mouth. You continue to suck, lick, and tease him, hands cumming up to cup his balls as he rides the waves of his orgasm.

Once you pull away, swallowing the evidence of your dalliance with your professor, Dr. Barnes feels that loss of your warmth viscerally. So he pulls you into his arms and lays you both down on the couch, letting you both catch your breath. He’d just had sex with his student, and it felt good. It felt fucking fantastic, actually.

“You okay, doll?” he asks, quite timidly given the vigor with which he fucked you just now. You giggle in response, nodding your head dazedly,

“Uh-huh. You okay, Dr. Barnes?”

He looks over at you, eager to see your reaction, and he’s utterly delighted to see a lack of displeasure on your face; no sign of malice, no sign of ill-intent. Your face was just so peaceful — so pretty. Eyes closed, enjoying the afterglow of a good fuck and a good orgasm, Bucky can’t bring himself to regret what the two of you just did.

#writing in hiding₊‧.°.⋆✮⋆.°.‧₊#bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #fanfiction #...should i write an epilogue #bucky barnes x reader #smut #smut fic

37 notes · View notes

woozvc · 2 years ago

Text

call you tonight.

scoups smau. (completed!)

synopsis - choi seungcheol and y/n l/n are always fighting for the first spot in their class. what happens when they stand for student council president elections against each other?

pairing — scoups x gn!reader

genre/s — smau, high school au, non idol au, fluff, angst, a lot of banter

warnings — cursing,brief mentions of family issues, jealousy, competition (everything gets sorted in the end dw)

note — ahhh starting another smau series!! I'm so excited for this one because I've been thinking about this for a WHILE. this might be a long one because I have many things I wanna cover so haha sit tight and I hope u enjoy <3

send an ask to be part of taglist!

— profiles

masterlist —

prologue

I — get out of my house??

II - jeonghan model era

III - gossip

IV - sick

V - soup?

VI - new challenger approaches

VII - the list

VIII - poster

IX - take a walk

X - misstype

XI - presentation

XII - winter fest?

XIII - can I call you tonight?

XIV - the call

XV - hehe

XVI - stupid decisions

XVII - namelist

XVIII - tomorrow is the day :)

final - call you mine. (written+smau)

#seventeen fluff #seventeen #seventeen smau #caratsland #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #svt fluff #scoups smau #scoups #svt scoups #seventeen series #seventeen seungcheol #seventeen scoups #scoups imagines #choi seungcheol #choi seungcheol imagines #—call you tonight 📞

830 notes · View notes

argonphoenix · 2 years ago

Text

NEVERFUCKINGMIND!!! work today was brutal and i am NOT having a feliz jueves. i need 2 liters of gatorade and an ibuprofen. STAT

i need to go get a book on botany today (worldbuilding reasons.) first i should go to half price books and see if they have any older books at a reasonable price. if not i’ve got a few selections picked out on the barnes and noble website (saved in my bookmarks). i might also check out an indie bookstore but if i see that reskinned reylo fanfic on a table there i am walking right the fuck back out. i am putting all this here because otherwise i will not Fucking rember. thank you <3

#.ix #bookstore will have to wait :(#we werent short staffed at all it was just. A Lot Of Fucking Freight and A Lot More Fucking Feed #plus our break room is being remodeled (very grateful except i cant fucking use it for the time being #luckily bags of whole corn are comfy enough.#i still have to help my dad with his asl class tonight. he is not very tech savvy #but i will do it because this med student deserves the chance to learn (and deaf people deserve a doctor who signs)

9 notes · View notes

angel-kyo · 1 year ago

Text

Pay it no mind

Part XV

In which reader confesses their feelings to Gojo, but it seems these are not returned (maybe?).

Warnings: reader is on the receiving end of rejection (kinda), and the fact that I'm obsessed with unrequited love is a warning itself. There is a mention of reader being treated by Shoko and some self-pity, and I guess everyone is ooc here as usual, but thank you for bearing with me.

Previous: Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, Part X, Part XI, Part XII, Part XIII, Part IV

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

“Where is [name]?” Yaga asked, eyes noticing your empty seat between Gojo and Ieiri.

It was the first class of the day, and although soon-to-be Principal Yaga did not appreciate your camaraderie with the Gojo Satoru, who in his opinion was a terrible influence in his year, you were not such a corrupted student to just skip his class without notice.

Satoru had his chin on his palm, and his eyes widened slightly when he noticed Suguru was looking between him and Yaga intently as a cue for Satoru to speak. He understood what his friend meant; even if Yaga had asked about you for everyone to hear the question, under normal circumstances, Satoru would have been the one to know of your whereabouts. But this time, he did not, so he sat up straighter as his eyes flickered to Yaga and back to your desk.

Satoru had noticed you were not there when he first entered the classroom that morning, but he had just thought you were running late. He was about to open his mouth to tell Yaga that when…

“I think they were not feeling well this morning.”

It was Shoko’s voice.

Satoru heard Shoko and Yaga briefly speak some more about how you should have gone to the infirmary if you were not feeling well, and Shoko saying something about it being just a common cold and that she would check in on you later.

It made Satoru feel like a bad friend.

He had paid you for that collectible piece he had broken by accident, and unbeknownst to him, you had also returned his money to Haruki; but despite accepting Gojo’s apologies, you and him had not spent much time together in the days that followed, and the previous day, he had not seen you at all, so he could not really tell whether you were sick or not.

Satoru ripped a piece of paper off his notebook and wrote ‘Is [name] sick?’ He then threw it to Shoko.

He saw the girl read the paper and roll her eyes at him.

Well, was does that mean?

He threw another one. ‘Yes, or no?’

Shoko shrugged and went back to focusing on the board, where Yaga was writing something, unaware of the paper war about to unfold behind him.

Satoru threw another one. ‘You have not seen them???’

He swore he could hear Shoko sigh when she read that one and she shook her head no.

Satoru thought they should at least make sure you were okay.

‘Then how do you know they are OK????’

He was waiting for Shoko to respond to that when Suguru tapped his shoulder. “You should really note that down.” He was pointing to Yaga’s writing on the board that say something about the final exam for his class.

Satoru completely missed how Shoko had formed a paper ball out of a full page and was aiming for his head.

He leaned back in his chair just quickly enough to dodge it by the skin of his teeth, but the paper ball that Ieiri had formed had hit Suguru, who was now looking not so kindly at them.

“What was that for?” the dark-haired boy half-shouted half-whispered looking at Shoko and then at Satoru, pressing his hand to his cheek where the ball had hit.

He had reason to be upset. For a sorcerer that was not that specialized in physical combat, Shoko sure had a good throwing arm.

“What is wrong with the three of you?” Yaga had turned around and was frowning at the three students that had become rigid under his gaze.

Seriously, youth these days…

After being scolded for about half an hour on how passing notes during class showed lack of respect for their teacher, the school and the environment, Yaga dismissed the group as he ‘did not have it in him’ to keep lecturing them for the day.

Only then, Suguru passed the ball Shoko had thrown to him to Satoru.

A full page. Only four words.

‘Better go see yourself.’

***

“Good news?” Haruki asked watching you smile at your phone.

You put your phone down and smiled apologetically at him.

“Huh? No, sorry… It’s just Gojo. He was on a… Business trip, but he is back now.”

“A business trip?” he asked.

Shoot.

You should have chosen some different wording.

“Uh… Not exactly. More like…”

Now, what would be a good reason for a normal teacher to be sent away from the school?

“Like a teachers’ retreat or...?”

His curiosity seemed sincere. After all, how many teachers are sent on business trips?

“Yes, that!” you agreed too quickly, somewhat glad he had helped you reinforce your own lie “I was not feeling great, so I could not go,” you added, averting his gaze.

Ikeda had come to visit you after you told him you were a little under the weather. You could not tell him you were taking a day off because the last mission had been especially harsh and despite Shoko’s treatment, you were needing some rest. And of course, you could not tell him Satoru had been away on a mission of his own. That was a world he did not need to know of.

“Well, I can’t imagine that they are much fun anyway, are they?” He looked at your coffee table, where you had mindlessly placed the bag of oranges he had brought for you.

He was a nice guy, really. Sometimes you felt bad telling him all these little white lies and you wondered if he ever picked up on them. After all, as perceptive as he was, he always let you stir the conversation away from your job.

When you were younger, you also had to throw in a few lies here and there to cover why you could not always meet with him or how you had gotten a bad bruise on you arm or a cut on your face. If you could not cover it up with clothes or makeup, some days it was easier to just not see him.

Right, it had been one of Satoru’s many arguments against Ikeda back in the day, that he was a non-sorcerer, so he was not really like you or like him.

“You know he will never get it, right?” Satoru had told you once, watching you silently look for any piece of clothing that could cover a set of bruises on your arms, courtesy of Suguru’s martial arts training.

“He doesn’t need to,” you had told him.

It had seemed right to you back then. The things you and Haruki had in common outweighed those you did not, but the fact that there was a side of you he should not see always bugged you once in a while.

He’s not that skeptical, but would it be okay to tell him about curses?

Maybe you were doing him a favor by not telling him; it was not a pleasant reality, and not many wanted to face it, not even many sorcerers.

A quizzical look was on Haruki’s face when your eyes returned to him, probably because you had gone quiet all of a sudden.

“I…”

You both smiled sheepishly at how you had chosen to speak at the same time.

“Sorry, you go first,” he said.

You shook your head. “No, you go ahead.”

“Okay, then…” You noticed some hesitation on his tone. “I probably have no right to ask, but are you in love with him?”

Oh. Maybe I should have gone first.

Your eyes widened.

What a question…

“I... Well...” your throat felt dry all of a sudden and your eyes landed on the oranges, then on Haruki, and then behind him, on a small, framed picture of you and Gojo when you were younger that was resting on your bookshelf.

There were also couple pictures of you and Shoko, and other loved ones that you did not see much of anymore, but your gaze was fixed on Satoru’s face when you finally said “I… I am. I do love him.”

Your eyes lowered to Ikeda’s form, who was looking at you with his ever-present smile.

“I see. I think understand it. I would say I missed my window again, but…”

Was there ever any? he wondered.

“He doesn’t feel the same though.” The words were out sooner that you could stop them.

Why were you telling him that?

Different possibilities crossed Ikeda’s mind: 1) that either you were assuming Gojo did not feel the same or 2) he truly did not return your feelings and had made it a known fact to you, or 3) Gojo did like you but was still holding back for some reason.

He decided not to say more about the subject for now and just enjoy a warm cup of tea with you.

But before leaving, Haruki turned to you, who were holding the door for him, and asked “Remember what I said that last time we met before leaving for Aomori?”

He was referring to the last time you had met at the coffee shop before he left Tokyo, the day he told you he was leaving. He had told you different things that day, how unexpected his departure was, how frustrated he felt, but you thought you knew the part he was referring to, and the light blush on his cheeks served as confirmation.

You gave him a light nod.

“It still holds true if you would like to give it some thought.”

With that, he left.

***

‘Better go see yourself.’

That is how Satoru ended up at the dorms, knocking on your door.

At first, not a single sound had come from inside, but after he knocked for the third time, he heard your muffled voice.

“I’m okay, Shoko. You can leave.”

“It’s not Shoko,” Satoru responded hoping you would not tell him off again.

There was a brief silence before you said in the same muffled tone “You can also leave, Satoru.”

Now, Satoru knew when to give you space and when to suck it up, and he was positive this time called for the latter, so he knocked again.

When you opened the door, he noticed the tiredness in your eyes.

Someone had a bad night of sleep.

“Did you catch a cold?” was the first thing he asked.

You took in his form, lifting your head a little to have a better look at his face. Sometimes it was funny to think you had been as tall as him when you first met as kids, and he was only becoming taller with every passing year.

“No. I said that to Shoko so she would have something to say to Yaga.”

Satoru just kept looking at you through his sunglasses.

“If that is all…” you started closing the door, but he stopped you by placing his hand on it.

“What was she supposed to say to me then?”

You sighed. In truth, you had not anticipated Satoru worrying that much.

“You wouldn’t understand,” you told him.

Haruki had told you the previous day that he was leaving Tokyo, and what had been his departure gift to you? Telling you that he liked you, that he could even have loved you, but there was no fighting against his father’s will. He was sending him hundreds of miles away into the country to live with his uncle.

“Tell me anyway.” Satoru’s hand found yours and you let him in.

He listened to everything you had to say, both of you a bit unsure at first, but he was a good listener when he wanted to, and you let out everything. You told him that Ikeda was leaving; how it was unfair to him that his father hated him; how, on a more selfish level, you felt it was unfair to you too, even if you had no right to be so affected, but you had not felt like attending class that day.

Satoru did not judge you.

“You can stay in touch with him, you know?” Gojo found no joy in his heart making that suggestion, but he wanted to give you any comfort he could at this time.

“Maybe I’ll just miss the attention he gave me.” A bittersweet smile was on your lips, but Satoru could see the first tears beginning to form in the corner of your eye as you looked at the ceiling of your room.

At some point, you both had laid down on your bed and Satoru was laying on his side so you could both fit. The dorms’ beds were not meant to fit two people after all.

A broken, low laugh came out of you. “Your friend is a sucker for attention. What do you make of that, huh?”

You were looking at Satoru’s clear eyes as he had removed his shades to lie down more comfortably. He wanted nothing more than to wipe away that tear that was running down the side of your face, but he did not move.

It had been years since the last time Gojo had seen you cry, and he had certainly never expected to see the day when you would cry over a boy; he had not expected to feel so conflicted about it either.

He had never liked Ikeda, that much was true, so he should be glad he was exiting the stage, right? However, he could not bear seeing you upset like this.

He remembered the question you had asked him months ago.

“How do you know you like someone romantically?”

It would probably be insensitive of him to ask if you had found out the answer now, and the knot in his chest indicated he might not have an easy time hearing your response if he asked.

“You are not a sucker for attention… I think you just care about him, that’s all,” Satoru said finally.

His voice was too soft, maybe to match your tone, as if he was afraid that speaking any louder would break you.

Your eyes went back to the ceiling above you. “What’s the point of caring too late?”

Unfortunately, Satoru had no answer to that, so he resorted to wiping away your tears.

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

Note: I'm sick lol (no, like I actually have a bad cold). Hope that does not reflect too much here, but sorry for any typos, etc.

Thank you for reading!

Next: Part XVI

@mavs-stuff @witchbybirth @crookedlyaddictedone-blog @tqd4455 @maybe-a-bi-witch @mo0nforme @maliakealoha @zacatecanaaaa @blushhpeachh @astriarose @missesgojosatoru @ba-ks @sukunasleftkneecap @songbirdlully @cole-silas @heijihattorisgf @chokesonspit @hersheyzzz @smolbeanzzz @luciledreamz @avidreadee123 @moonmalice @ratscandaler @sadmonke @allie-jay @username23345 @spin-garden @ashehateaccount @kayzens @blehtotheblehtothebleh @stellasloth

#gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jjk drabbles #jjk #gojo x y/n #jjk gojo #gojo fanfic #gojo x you #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen #satoru x reader #satorugojo #pay it no mind

173 notes · View notes

seonghwaddict · 1 year ago

Text

★ NEVER SAY NEVER. [ 010 ] the head and the heart.

synopsis. something about the eight most well-known boys of your campus just didn't sit right with you, so you never gave any effort to interact with them. but after a series of... interesting incidents, they can't seem to leave you alone. pairing. college students! vampires! ot8! ateez x fem! reader. genre. fluff, angst, eventual smut, college au, vampire au.

chapter warnings. heavy angst, blood drinking, student/teacher relationship (not pedophilia), gore, blood, murder, manipulation, very intense heartbreak, knives, strangulation, mention of metaphorical suicide. word count. 3.6k rating. mature for violence.

　　　　　　　　chapter ix // chapter v // chapter xi

choi san had always been a loving soul.

growing up in a loving and caring family, he had been taught how to give and receive affection well. always caring for his friends and family, willing to do anything to make them happy. he was quick to forgive and forget, quick to assume the best of everyone’s intentions. to put it quite plainly, for many years of his life, he only saw the best in people.

but being so loving had its consequences.

he fell in love too quickly.

at the age of 18, he was sat in his literature class in high school. the teacher hadn’t showed up yet, the students scattered around the class and chatting idly. his seat was by the window, on the third row. the weather was nice, sunny with a cool breeze. he remembered this day vividly.

he remembered this day so vividly because it was the day he met jang sooyeon.

though, at first he knew her as ms jang for she walked in with the principle, introducing herself as their new teacher. absently, he noted she was very pretty, and awfully young to be a teacher. as she walked between the desks to hand out worksheets, his gaze was drawn to a dainty, silver anklet.

it all started slowly; lingering looks and touches that rested on his shoulder for a beat too long. ms jang somehow always found him when he was alone. sometimes she’d offer a book recommendation in the library, other times she’d ask him to stay behind after class for a little chat. one day he walked in with a black notebook, poems and prose scribbled inside. noticing the little book, she asked to take a look inside. but he refused; looking at his writings felt like looking into the deepest corners of his mind, little scraps of his soul etched on the paper with his crappy ball-point pen.

but, somehow, at some point, she ended up inside it, nose practically pressed to the ink as she made sense of the inner workings of his brain. though the compliments were nice, he didn’t think too much of them. but looking back, he should have known better.

over time, her little actions and words had his heart swelling with an all-too-familiar feeling. he found himself seeking her out and soon enough, they met up outside of class, outside of school. first under the excuse of san needing tutoring (a pathetic excuse as his writings exceeded the skills of many), but soon he found himself spending time with her outside of school just because he wanted to. making excuses in the first place was stupid, everyone around them knew there was something going on.

he let her in, he cared for her and let her care for him, showing her parts of himself no one else had seen before. for that year, all his thoughts were occupied by her. his love for her grew incessantly, in ways one could almost call obsessive. he wrote about her in his notebook, learned how to bake so he could make her her favourite treats. he showed her his sanctuary, a little clearing tucked away in a forest of his hometown.

he remembered laying on the grass beside her, staring up at the clouds swirling high above. they talked but he couldn’t remember about what. when you were with a loved one the subject of conversations mattered little compared to being in their presence. he remembered her sitting up, twisting herself to look down at him with a soft smile.

looking back at that moment, he realised her smiles never quite reached her eyes.

still, he was so infatuated with her that he couldn’t see beyond rose tinted glasses.

time seemed to slow and he felt their surrounding fade away as he looked into her eyes, realising she was slowly leaning closer. hands clenching with anticipation, he hitched himself up on his elbows. but before he could kiss her a small reflection glinted in the sunlight and his eyes were drawn down to her ankle. the silver anklet glittering in the light, taunting him.

he knew it was a bad idea. he knew he shouldn’t have said anything. but he still looked up at her and quietly asked her to take off the anklet. when she asked why, that should’ve prompted him to come up with some stupid excuse.

but he loved her. he loved her so much that his heart betrayed his safety, previously unspoken secrets tumbling from his lips as he told her about his true identity. without hesitation, he admitted what he was. a bloodsucking vampire.

at first she didn’t believe him or, more accurately, she made him think she didn’t believe him. but his face stayed serious as his eyes begged to be believed, so she tossed the anklet in a seemingly random direction. and they kissed and they kissed and they loved and they held each other until the sun bade them farewell and plunged bellowed the horizon. when they got up to part ways, he missed the sinister grin on her face as she retrieved her anklet.

and she knew she caught him in her trap.

jang sooyeon was many things. calculative, determined, possibly a bit sadistic. but a fool was not one of them. from the moment she had set eyes on choi san, she knew she found what she was looking for in that school. every progression, every action, in their relationship had been carefully planned out to get her to where she was now—her back to his chest as he leaned against a tree stump in their little hideout.

she rested her head against the left side of his chest, just over his heart, staring ahead at the blades of grass and fallen leaves that danced in the autumn wind. a silence settled over them before she whispered a questions.

“sannie… would you do anything for me?”

“yes, of course. why do you ask?”

“but how far are you willing to go?”

he should’ve listened to his brain, the warning signals blaring at her words. but his heart—oh, his naïve, foolish, utterly hypnotised heart—begged and screamed for him to draw her closer.

“i’d do anything for you.”

“if someone bothered me, would you… would you kill them for me?”

he paused at that, glancing down at her. an almost hesitant “yes, anything for you, my love,” falling from his pursed lips.

all things considered, he should’ve seen it all coming. everything after that conversation felt like a blur up until his next memory. it was the first time he killed someone.

she had told him this man had been bothering her, insisting to spend a night with him despite her saying she was already seeing someone. though he was slightly irked by the smile that threatened to force itself onto her features as he agreed to take care of the man, he was more focused on the fact that another man dared to even look at her with such little respect.

so, after some digging, he found himself trailing behind the same man on a dark street. hood up, eyes fixated on him, making sure not to alert him. san’s eyes briefly moved to the entrance of an upcoming alley, deciding that would be the perfect opportunity.

ten minutes later, he walked out the other side of the alley. the corpse of the man left leaning against one of the cold walls, smothered to death.

had there been any reason that didn’t involve her, he may have felt some remorse. but he was convinced what he was doing was right, keeping her safe from this potentially dangerous man.

and then she let him drink her blood.

when she offered it, he was surprised and declined, telling her that he never expected anything in return for what he had done. but she insisted, pulling up her sleeve and baring her wrist. what more suitable way to pay a vampire than in blood?

when the first drop of her blood entered his mouth, he knew he wouldn’t be able to enjoy bagged blood ever again.

after that it became a cycle. he’d get rid of someone for her and then he’d go back to her apartment and she’d let him suck a few drops of blood from her. his once pure heart was slowly stained by something darker, despite how justified he was made to believe his actions were. he lost count of how many people he went after, but he knew it was slowly driving him to insanity. and even though she convinced him he was in the right for killing those people, his heart kept him awake most nights with those dark memories.

and choi san always listened to his heart.

he doesn’t remember when he brought his concerns up to sooyeon, but he remembers they were somewhere dark. it may have been during the period where he refused to go home. he had brought her to his house for dinner and as soon as she left, his parents wouldn’t stop giving him warnings and telling them that they sensed something dark in her. this led to an argument, ending with him slamming the front door and avoiding them for a month to move in with the love of his life.

he should’ve listened to them.

the tv illuminated the the room as he sat on the couch. he heard her footsteps before she emerged from the narrow hallway of the one bedroom apartment. a towel was wrapped around her hair and her fresh clothes clung to her body in areas that hadn’t been dried properly. he looked at her, trying not to get distracted by the way she sat beside him and pressed herself into his hold. he inched away so he could see her better, the changing light of the television illuminating her wonderful features.

“listen, i… i wanna ask you something…”

“is there something wrong, sannie?”

he paused for a long moment, trying to gather his thoughts.

“don’t you think all the killing is unnecessary? i mean, you know i love you… i don’t want to have to do all this just to prove that.”

“oh, but, sannie… these are people that deserve it, they’ve hurt me. would you really want someone to hurt me and get away with it?”

“no! no, of course not. that’s not what i meant. it’s just- it’s too much for me. we love each other, don’t we? we shouldn’t worry about what anyone else does. people bother me, too, but i don’t ask you to kill them.”

“you think that? you think we love each other?”

“well, yes…”

a sharp feeling of dread tugged at his intestine.

“i don’t love you, san. you’re a monster. how could i ever love someone like you?”

she said more, but he didn’t hear any of it. he could feel every fibre of his soul being torn apart; could feel his ribcage being ripped open to reveal that naïve, foolish and utterly hypnotised heart of his. a sharp pain in his chest had him tearing up as if she’d dug a knife into his heart and twisted it in his chest. but he knew she was right. he was a monster and it was a fitting punishment for such a monster.

to want someone so much—to have them in your grasp—and knowing they will never love you the way you love them.

the days after that melted together into a dull pile of memories. he returned home but didn’t tell anyone what had happened, locking himself in his bedroom and skipping meals. he sat on his bed and cried and cried and cried and cried until he could no longer feel anything. his heart had nearly gone numb and he came to the realisation that he would’ve much preferred it if she wrapped a silver chain around his neck and strangled the life out of him.

one time he found himself staring into the mirror, terrified at the person she had turned him into. every time he looked at himself, the same words repeated in his head. monster, monster, monster, you fucking murderer. and he knew it was true. he stared at his reflection, wondering if he had changed enough to turn into a new person, enough for it to be considered some kind of suicide of his persona.

he hated himself. he should’ve listened to everyone, he should’ve listened to his brain. not his no-good, useless heart. if it could even be called that anymore.

when the urge to drink blood lured him out of his bedroom, he found himself in the kitchen opening a bag of a-positive. the familiar liquid slipped down his throat and his hunger was satiated, but not for long.

that night they found out about the blood intolerance, sat in a vampiric doctor’s office after he collapsed and was rushed to the clinic. he thought he was dying, barely hanging onto conscience as his father picked up his limp body from the kitchen floor and placed him in the car. he woke up on one of those hospital beds, his parents, older sister, and his doctor standing around him. the doctor explained that if vampires only drank one blood type for many months, in rare cases it could lead to the body being unable to process all the other types.

something clicked inside his mind. she had killed him. killed his heart, killed his body, killed his soul. she was a murderer, too. he was merely just a shell of who he used to be. the scraps left of his heart and soul screamed for revenge. he had already killed so many people, this was just one more. maybe when she was finally gone, he’d be able to live life normally.

he thought it was odd, really. just a week before he loved her more than anything in the universe, and then he was creeping through her hallways with a knife clutched in his hand. a violent end to his devotion.

the floorboards of the hallway creaked as he crept his way to her bedroom. with a random kitchen knife gripped so tightly in his hands his knuckles turned white, his breathing went shallow. he revised his plan over and over and over again, replaying it in his head like a broken record. nothing could go wrong in the next few minutes, he couldn’t afford any mistake no matter how small. a droplet of sweat melted its way down his forehead and got caught on his brow, he wiped it away with the back of his hand and finally stopped in front of the door, open just a crack.

suddenly, he felt as if his throat closed up; one of the telltale signs of his body’s reluctance to commit this heinous crime. he should be used to it by now, but somehow it felt different when it was the woman he imagined a future with. he swallowed repeatedly, praying the dry tightness of his throat would be eased by his saliva. it took him several more minutes to muster up the courage and wrap his hand around the metal doorknob, pushing the door in as slowly as he possibly could and wincing quietly when the hinges whined

she seemed to be fast asleep, light snores resounding through the spacious bedroom. much like how he revised his plan repeatedly in his head, so did his head telling him to stop. he let his disparity take over as he silently shut the door behind him and walked to the bed like a predator stalking his prey. as his gaze settled on her, a fleeting sense of remorse could’ve swept through him had he been able to see her face, peaceful in her slumber. but, alas, there was nothing to be seen except a silhouette dimly lit by the moonlight beyond the windows.

she didn’t make as single sound as the first stab went straight to the base of her neck, blood pooling around the knife as he sliced through the throat. not a single sound gave away the fact that she was now dead.

he pulled out the knife, the blade suddenly feeling so much heavier in his hold as crimson liquid dripped from the metal and stained anything it landed on. the faint smell of iron wafted into his nose and shot straight to his brain, unleashing some kind of primal urge to continue stabbing at the body despite knowing she was dead. he sunk the knife into any part he could reach—her arms, chest, stomach, shoulders.

once his mind cleared and his rationality returned to him, all he could see was dark splatters surrounding him, staining the bed, her body and his own hands. bile rose to his throat but he swallowed down the bitter taste quickly, stumbling back and dropping the dagger, the ringing of the metal crashing against the wooden floor resonating through his ears. tears pricked at his eyes as he gasped for air. the squelching of the blade as he sank it into her flesh would forever haunt him, echoing through the corridors of his scarred mind.

as he looked away from his bloodstained hands and at her body, he found her head slumped in his direction, lifeless eyes lit by the moon staring right at him. san whipped his body around; he couldn’t stand looking at her any longer. the regret crashed over him like a wave, leaving an icy trail of what-ifs. what if she had been awake? would he have still gone through with it? and yet, as he thought through all the possibilities, he couldn’t help but feel a slight weight lifted off his shoulder.

he made quick work of getting rude of the corpse. wrapping a sheet around her and carrying her out of the building. it was just past midnight, not a chance anyone would be awake. he ducked into an alley and rolled her out of the sheet, placing her in the shadows where she wouldn’t be found. even if she did, it would just look like some angry drunk had done it. those cases were often dismissed by the police. he returned to her apartment and changed the bedsheets.

when the news of her death got out, his family moved away so he could finish the last two months of high school away from the pitiful and prying eyes of his classmates. he hated the way they looked at him when he walked in the halls. he wanted to scream at them.

stop looking at me like that!

like i’m a fucking tragedy.

stop it.

stop fucking looking at me.

after all of those events. he was sure life would never return to his numb limbs. until he met jung wooyoung and kang yeosang in his first year of university. he had pushed them away at first, but upon finding out they had something in common, he accepted their friendship.

with their friendship came five others; kim hongjoong, park seonghwa, jeong yunho, song mingi, choi jongho. they proved him wrong, he could feel alive again. at least with them. it was a rather quick bond, considering themselves a little clan. but as much as he adored them, he knew he would never love some like he had loved sooyeon ever again.

until he was proven wrong yet again. from the moment he met you, he came to the conclusion that there was a reason that old saying—never say never—came to be. don’t get him wrong, it wasn’t love at first sight. but he felt something, a warmth in his heart that he hadn’t felt in years.

he wanted you for his own safekeeping. he wanted your hair to slip through his fingers. he wanted that voice of yours to whisper in his ear, under the bluish moon. he wanted you to rip out his heart and carry it with you in a little box under lock and key.

and as he looked at you now, sitting on the couch with wooyoung and yunho as you laughed and squealed as you played some game with them on the tv, he wondered. he wondered if you’d hold his tainted fingers and kiss his lips. he wondered if you’d love him and his scars and his sickening skin. if you’d love his weak heart and guilty soul. would you love a monster?

when you left, he felt his insides light on fire as you pressed a fluttering kiss to his cheek when you passed him in the kitchen, when no one was looking. since that night in your bedroom, he knew he was doomed.

seonghwa joined him in the kitchen to wash the dishes. san but his bottom lip, trying to desperately swallow down a question that lingered on his mind for weeks.

“you want to say something,” seonghwa spoke over his shoulder, a smile evident in his voice, “say it, sannie.”

“do you…” he sighed and leaned against the counter. “will we ever tell her?”

god, he wanted to know how you’d react. would you embrace them and tell them it’s okay? he wanted to be loved by you so badly his hands trembled.

the question made seonghwa pause, glancing at him and turning off the sink. he took his time drying his hands, eyes turned to the ground. he sighed, walking over to san and placing an affectionate hand on his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze.

“she’s special, and i think she’ll come to know about us. but we can’t risk rushing anything. all in due time, san, all in due time.”

with one more squeeze, he dropped his hand and left the kitchen.

[ lilo’s notes ] i apologise for what i have written, though i do hope you all enjoyed it. i also apologise for the long wait, but i really wanted to write something of high quality for my dear readers!! happy new year, please take care of yourselves well <;33

network … @cromernet @blankjournal

taglist … @atinytinaa @marievllr-abg @pocketjoong @rainstarcuts @sarahleighflora @melohwa @kyukyustar @yuntokkie @ateezourstars @kitty4hwa @hyukssunflower @aestheticsluut @neohyxn @mrowwww @darkdayelixer @itsokaytobedumb00 @hwa-sans @purplelady85 @seongfury @meginthebuilding27 @stopeatread @mothworked @foliea @emtrades22 @teezers99 @mulletjoonsupremacy @imalildelulu @sunukissed @aygotnobitches @ad0rechuu @brxken0rex @strawberry-moonpies @bluehwale-main @lightinythedark @hotteokisms @yandere-stories @skz-enthusiasttt @seongwin @huachengsbestie01 @galaxypox @moonminji @lilactangerine @lelaleleb @asjkdk @honey-lemon-goose @stayteezdreams @diorwoo @yunho0o0o0o @majestickitty @shookykookie30 @0325tiny @seongua @90s-belladonna @2holover @satsuri3su @ren-junwrld

393 notes · View notes

skzdarlings · 2 years ago

Text

part iv: bodyguard!felix x reader

masterlist.

PART I ; PART II ; PART III ; PART IV ; PART V ; PART VI ; PART VII ; PART VIII ; PART IX ; FINAL PART.

( READ ON AO3. )

Your father hires an inconspicuous bodyguard to accompany you at school and supervise you at home. What seems like an innocuous change in routine eventually spirals into a forbidden romance that grows more passionate over the years.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: smut. violence. parental abuse. situations of intense peril overall. forced proximity. enemies2lovers. angst with eventual happy ending. (chapter word count; 10k words)

warning for this chapter: the usual story dynamics plus explicit sexual content.

“All right, gang,” Jisung says. “Final year of school together, you know what that means?”

You and Felix are on your way to class when Jisung literally throws himself between you. He hands each of you a print-out before you can answer his question or even say hello.

“The Three Musketeers,” Felix reads. “Peas in a Pod, Rule of Three…?”

“This is our final year as a best friend trio in the hallowed halls of high school,” Jisung says. “And next year? Who knows what happens! Marriages! Mortgages! Babies!”

“Jisung, we just turned eighteen,” you say.

“Which is almost nineteen, which is almost twenty, then we’re practically forty.” He waves a hand around. “The point is, this is our last opportunity to solidify a name. For us. For the group. It’s necessary.”

“Is it though?” Felix asks, squinting as he skims the sheet. “BLT? Who’s the bacon?”

“I am, obviously,” Jisung says.

“Why is that obvious?” you ask.

“How is it not obvious, Lettuce?” Jisung says, scandalized. “Anyway, we can workshop the names. This is just to get the ball rolling. I expect results by lunchtime tomorrow at the latest.”

Jisung continues his endearing but admittedly inane blather, at least until Hyunjin comes sauntering up the hallway like it’s a catwalk, then he just frowns. Jisung has never warmed to the popular pretty boy and Hyunjin does not seem particularly inclined to rectify any bad impressions. He is astoundingly self-confident.

People move out of his way. Some girls downright swoon if he deigns to cast them even a fleeting glance. You can’t really judge any of them seeing as you were the same when Lee Minho still roamed these halls. You are not totally immune to Hyunjin either, though your attention is somewhat scattered these days.

You look at Felix.

He is re-reading the class schedule for this year, mumbling reminders under his breath. His hair is a sunny yellow blonde and freshly trimmed to frame his face, thanks to your help. He was cutting his own hair which made sense, not just logistically but stylistically, seeing as it was often a shaggy mess. You have taken to helping him so it looks a little neater.

You look at the fuzzier hair on his nape, recalling how your fingertips pressed there as you tipped his head for a better angle.

Your eyes meet when he looks up, but you are drawn apart when Hyunjin claps him on the shoulder with a greeting. They sat beside each other for most of their first year and formed something of a friendship – only something, because the plucky, likable Australian transfer student is a fabrication.

You once told yourself you would never fall for the schoolboy routine, that you would always remember his real identity, but you never considered what might happen if you cared for the real him anyway.

“Heeey Fee-lix,” Hyunjin says in an emphasized, overly friendly way. He draws out your name with the same saccharine pleasantness, all while ignoring a scowling Jisung.

Hyunjin leaves before anyone can reply, but Jisung still thumps Felix on the arm.

“Traitor,” he says.

“What? He’s nice,” Felix says, exchanging an amused look with you.

“You know, Jisungie, maybe you’d get along better if you stopped trying to trip him everywhere he goes,” you say, pointing to Jisung’s presently outstretched leg.

Jisung stands straight. “He tried to kill me,” he says.

“Not this again,” you say. “Jisung, he didn’t know about your peanut allergy—”

“He tried to put his nuts directly into my mouth,” Jisung says, then groans miserably. “That came out wrong.” He spins his cap to tug the brim over his eyes. “Do not repeat that. The last thing I need is freshmen writing fanfiction about us.”

You and Felix pat his back in a consoling manner.

Felix sits behind you in class, dutiful as ever. You are unpacking your bag when Hyunjin walks in with his girlfriend of the week. Rumours about Hyunjin are in never-ending circulation and he seems to help them along. You have caught him in a quiet moment once or twice, curled up in the library alone or lingering after hours in the art room, but that quieter soul seems contradictory to his showman side. Even now, he starts making out with his girlfriend in the middle of the classroom.

You can’t help but stare, mostly because the brazenness is so audacious that it is impossible not to stare, but it also makes you think. You have never kissed anyone, though you have entertained countless fantasies that spiral far beyond kissing, and while you know you are young in abstract way… staring at a happy couple your age makes you feel jealous, desirous, and a little ridiculous. Eighteen, nineteen, twenty, forty…

Felix clears his throat and you realize you have been staring too long.

Not only that, but Hyunjin is staring back, even with his mouth pressed against someone else. It feels like flames erupt inside you. You drop heavily into your seat and stare at your desk, swallowing hard. When you chance a look, Hyunjin is leaning back in his own seat, smiling at you.

Felix clears his throat again.

“What?” you ask, sharp.

“Nothing,” Felix says, casual.

You roll your eyes. He kicks your chair. You turn around and knock his textbook off his desk.

“That’s not nice,” he says.

You stick your tongue out at him.

As seniors, you are allowed to leave campus for lunch. The three of you make your way to a nearby sandwich shop, one naturally packed with most of the senior grade level. You crowd into a tiny booth, so cramped you are halfway sitting on Felix’s lap. Your mood sours as you let yourself wallow in self-pity, thinking about how normal girls get to sit on normal boys’ laps and be excited about it.

You are sulking into your sandwich, thinking about how you are going to die alone and miserable and unkissed, when a chair is suddenly drawn up to your table and Hyunjin sits beside you.

Jisung’s mouth is stuffed full of ham, which you know because he drops his jaw despite all the food.

Hyunjin does not remark on it. He smiles at you and you alone.

“Hey,” he says. He really is stupidly handsome. Even up close, you see no awkward blemishes, not a hair out of place. His uniform tie is a little askew from tugging but that’s it.

Jisung kicks you under the table, probably because you are just staring blankly at Hyunjin.

“Sorry, hi,” you finally say.

His smiles widens. He tucks a bit of hair behind his ear.

“Hey, I won’t bug you and your friends,” Hyunjin says, ignoring when Jisung mumbles too late under his breath, “but I want to walk you back to school after lunch. Alone.”

You are so unprepared for the suggestion that find yourself staring again. He taps your chin to lift your head, still smiling.

“Is that a yes?” he asks.

“Uh, sorry, yeah, yes! Yeah, sure. Okay.” You aren’t even totally sure that is your answer, but it rolls out of you instinctively. Just as instinctively do you whip a startled look to your best friend. Jisung’s mouth is still hanging open. “Umm…” you say, but Hyunjin is already standing.

“Great,” he says. “See you soon.”

You watch him walk away. Jisung speaks through the food in his mouth, chokes, swallows, then clears his throat.

“What was that?” he finally says.

“I have no idea,” you reply, completely honestly.

You cannot compute this situation at all. Your approach to most social interactions is to scowl. Because of your father’s many stringent rules, you have never had an opportunity to be truly social. You play an appropriate role at the functions he forces you to attend, but that entails sitting alone in a corner and sipping soda. Growing up, you were not allowed to spend time at anyone’s house or go anywhere without supervision, so maintaining friendships was next to impossible.

The only exception has ever been Han Jisung. You sat beside each other in your first year and your miserable countenance coupled with his anxious demeanour meant that you spent six months not even talking to each other. Then one day he mustered the nerve to comment on the weather, you replied accordingly, and somehow that opened a floodgate to unleash the goofy boy that would become your best and only friend.

Your social experience is limited to that. You are someone who sits with your best friend in a corner, staring at an unattainable pretty boy at a distance, but you have never had to grapple with the reality of one asking for your attention.

You look at Felix, but he has drawn a somber mask over his face. He pokes at his sandwich. He can’t lecture you in front of Jisung but you know he has something to say. A part of you wishes it was jealousy or any personal feeling, but you know it will only be a reminder about your father, that he wouldn’t approve of you running around with any unknown boys.

When you leave the shop with Hyunjin, you already know Felix and Jisung will follow close behind. Felix has no choice, but you are certain Jisung will require little convincing. You pretend you do not see them trailing six feet back, partially obscuring themselves in the occasional bush, but Hyunjin naturally looks at them.

“You’re not…” he says slowly. “You’re not dating… one of them… are you? They’re really—”

“They’re just my crazy friends,” you say in an embarrassed rush. “Jisung is like my brother, ew, I could never – ew. Ew. Oh my god, ew. And Felix—”

You woke this morning with Felix’s face nuzzled in the back of your neck. The distance in that big bed closed long ago now. You only sleep apart when your father is home. You also never talk about it, not that you could articulate your feelings anyway. The intimacy and companionship provides more comfort to your soul than you could ever say.

You swallow.

“I’m not dating Felix,” you say. “I’m not dating anyone.” This thought prompts you to look at Hyunjin. Rather ungracefully, you blurt the obvious question, “Don’t you have a girlfriend? Why are you talking to me?”

He laughs into his palm. You realize belatedly just how accusatory you sounded, especially considering his attention might be wholly platonic. Embarrassed, you trip over your words, your tongue a suddenly clumsy thing.

Hyunjin just giggles.

“It’s okay,” he says. “No one ever calls me out like that. I like it.” He bumps shoulders with you. Wait, is he flirting? You have no idea. You stare at the ground with laser intensity. He just giggles again. “We broke up before lunch—”

“Wow, you moved on fast,” you say. Dry remarks tumble out of you easier than anything else. You bite your tongue, embarrassed again.

Hyunjin still looks amused.

“It wasn’t really serious,” he says. “I’m looking for some with similar life experience, to be honest…”

You crinkle your brow and look at him. His hands are in his pockets, his slouch casual, but you swear his eyes sparkle when he looks at you.

“I saw you,” he says. “At that horse race thing. This last weekend? You were in the box with your dad, right? Felix was with you too.”

The horse race was an end-of-summer event your father sponsored, one of his community philanthropic efforts. You spent the whole time frowning under a sun hat, only smiling when Felix muttered something scalding about a particularly overdramatic hat in the crowd.

A crowd Hyunjin was apparently in.

You have always known Hyunjin comes from money, but there is money and there is money. The Hwang family might be rich but your father is powerfully wealthy. You run in different circles. You have never seen Hyunjin at any event so you would never even think to look for him. They must be moving up in the world.

Your mouth opens but nothing comes out, not even a dry retort.

“It’s okay,” Hyunjin says. He touches your shoulder and your attention zeroes in there. You can’t decide if you like him touching you. An hour ago you were idly daydreaming about kisses and touches, but the reality is a different thing. It took you a long time to warm to Felix, bit by bit, touch by touch. Even those touches terrify you in their own way. You are scared of needing them. You do not know how you can simultaneously desire touch and fear it more than anything.

Hyunjin uses a soothing tone, drawing your gaze away from his hand.

“I get it,” Hyunjin says. “You don’t want people to know you’re rich, right? Honestly… I think that’s really cool of you. My dad likes to show-off so I guess I kinda do the same.” You glance at his brand-name leather satchel. “Everything is about appearances to him. It doesn’t even matter what’s true as long as everything looks the way he wants. There’s an… image… for the family. And I’m an only child so there’s expectations. Maybe I’m not making sense.”

“No,” you say, your thoughts drifting to your own home life. “It makes sense.”

“I thought maybe you and me could hang out—”

“I don’t really hang out a lot,” you interrupt. You have been able to spend more time with Jisung now that Felix can accompany you, but it has been at cafes and other controlled locations. You have not gone to any parties since your father beat Felix. He has never hurt him as badly as that first incident, but he has struck him more than once. You have not taken the risk.

“Think about it at least,” Hyunjin says. “Think about me. I think we could be a good match—”

“You mean…” It might be ungenerous, but you weigh his words and form a conclusion. “If you date someone like me, it will get your father off your back?”

He is quiet for a second, surprised, then he laughs again. He finally drops his hand. His next smile is a little lopsided but more genuine.

“Maybe we could help each other,” he says.

“I didn’t say I need any help,” you reply. You cannot help the way you bristle, like a vulnerable animal rearing its defensive spikes. “You don’t know me.”

“I know me,” he says. “And I recognize… well. Think about it.” He looks behind you, his features scrunching with clear repugnance. “I’m gonna go before your not-boyfriend pops a blood vessel. Talk to you later?”

You are still processing the whole exchange but you manage to nod. He turns on a swift heel and struts ahead.

You turn, expecting to find Jisung frothing at the mouth given Hyunjin’s departing words. But it is Felix silently seething, Jisung just cringing beside him.

Felix cracks his own neck, a couple sharp jerks, then he forces that empty smile onto his face.

When you are settled in the car at the end of the day, you are not surprised his first words are, “You know I have to tell your father if you start seeing some guy, yeah?”

“Some guy?” you say just as icily. “You know his name.”

You have been on edge on all afternoon, discombobulated from the exchange with Hyunjin. Felix has been unusually silent, so rigid and ungiving that he reminds you of that mysterious fourteen year old boy who barely did more than blink.

But he is not that boy. You are both growing. You can feel the seconds passing you by, every aching minute that your life does not change from its stagnation, every moment of his own life that Felix has surrendered.

You want to jump out of the moving car. You want to slide across the seat and bury your face in Felix’s neck, no matter that someone can see, and you want him to hug you back.

You stay seated.

“Do what you want,” you say with a sigh.

He sighs too, resting his forehead against the car window.

The house is empty tonight. You can’t concentrate on homework so you shuffle down to the gym where Felix is practicing kicks. You watch him, his nimble athleticism, the perfect arc of each high kick.

One wall of the house gym is a mirror and your eyes meet in the reflection. He holds your gaze for a moment, but then he goes back to counting under his breath, kicking again.

“I thought you liked Hyunjin,” you say.

He stops kicking. His hands are taped up for boxing, so he diverts his attention there, slowly unweaving the tape while he catches his breath.

“This has nothing to do with me,” he says. “You know that, yeah, so I don’t know what—”

“Don’t you want to date someone one day too?”

He doesn’t look up. He drops the tape on the floor and starts on the next hand.

“No,” he finally says after a long pause.

“No?” you repeat. “You don’t want—”

“I can’t want anything,” he says with a mean bite. “I have a job. And responsibilities.” The tape is too light to throw but he flicks it as hard as he can, shaking his head. “Why are you asking me stupid questions? You know how things are.”

Yes, you do.

You know what you feel when you look at Felix. You have been friends with Jisung for years and his proximity has never induced the same feelings. Bursts of heat find you at unexpected times, usually moments when your intimacy feels its most casual. But you never have to think twice about why a crush on your bodyguard is a bad idea, because Felix always reminds you without saying anything. When you get too close, his eyes go glassy with some remembrance and he swiftly pulls away.

You know this does not stop him from thoughtlessly leaning into your touches. He slants towards you with a certain kind of hunger, one you know is satisfied when you touch given how he sighs or relaxes. Then, like someone so used to starvation that emptiness feels natural, he remembers himself and withdraws. You wouldn’t care – or at least, you shouldn’t care – except it leaves you just as empty.

You do not know the details of Felix’s past, but you do know that you carry a similar pain. He recognized it at a glance, all those years ago, seeing past your bravado and calling out your fear. We’re both scared, he said.

You see it now, in the tension across his shoulders, in the way he avoids your gaze. The sharpness of his tone is a twin to your own.

“Yeah,” you say. “I know how things are. You’re a pain in my ass and I hate you.”

It is such an unconvincing lie that he finally lifts his head, meeting your gaze in the mirror. You look at each other for a long moment.

You wonder what someone brave would say or do. Maybe you would tell him the truth and fuck the consequences. Maybe you would kiss him like you were experienced, like you were anyone but an awkward little girl with clammy hands and shaking knees.

You turn to leave. He sighs and says, “Your father said yes.”

You freeze.

“He likes the idea of Hyunjin,” Felix continues. “He thinks he’s… appropriate.”

You remember Hyunjin making out with someone in the middle of the classroom, and you remember how he was once expelled for fighting. You laugh humourlessly, the sound punching out of you. You slap a hand over your mouth to contain it. You suddenly feel like crying and you don’t know why, except that your emotions are in constant flux.

“You mean he thinks he’s rich,” you say.

“I mean… he doesn’t… think it,” Felix says dryly. “Hyunjin is rich.”

Felix can move quietly even in military grade tactical boots. It should be easy in his gym shoes, but he walks heavily as he comes up behind you.

“Why don’t you sound happy?” Felix asks.

You turn around and meet his gaze directly. Your stare is heated, rife with all your mixed-up emotions, but he does not flinch or look away.

“You’re an idiot,” you say. “I hate you.”

You have never fooled him with that proclamation. He draws his lips into a thin line, just staring back at you for a moment. When you turn to leave, he grabs your arm. Sparks ignite under his touch, shooting all the way up your arm, tickling your neck, raising each hair. It feels so different from Hyunjin.

You look at him and he lets go, flexing his hand at his side.

“I, uh, I want to show you… something.” He pushes some sweaty hair off his forehead. His deep voice seems lower, the sound scratching at the base of your spine. Tingles run all the way up to your head.

“Show me?” you say. “Show me what exactly?”

“Self-defence,” he says, brow furrowed, like his train of thought was obvious. “If your dad lets you go out with some guy—”

“With Hyunjin,” you say, rolling your eyes. “The dumb gangly gazelle you’ve watched lumber all over the field in gym class?”

“You should still know how to protect yourself,” he says.

“Isn’t that what you’re for?”

“I am going to guess you might be alone with him once or twice,” Felix says dryly, “unless you want to keep me in the room then too.”

The suggestion makes you feel hot, flushed with embarrassment. You duck your gaze to the floor.

“You’re being silly,” you say. “I haven’t even gone out with him yet. And I’ve never even kissed someone.” Felix must know that, but admitting it feels different. You look up, feeling floaty and detached from your body, like you are watching yourself look at Felix.

He clears his throat and looks away, snapping you back.

“Fine,” he says. “We’ll practice another day. But we will practice.”

You know he means self-defence, but your brain supplies the image of kissing practice. Your face must show that thought, maybe a sliver of panic in your gaze, because the tips of his ears turn suddenly pink. He clears his throat again, shaking his head and turning away. You leave quicker than you came, rushing all the way to the top floor to hide in your bedroom where you intend to mull over your day with maximum angst.

By nighttime, everything seems petty and stupid. You are laying in bed on your phone when Felix gets back from his security check. He says nothing, climbing into bed without even looking at you. You just roll your eyes, done with the drama. He looks over just in time for you to butt your head against his arm like a disgruntled baby goat. His laugh is nothing more than a sharp exhale.

It takes some coaxing, mostly in the form of whining, but Felix puts his arm around you. Some of the shadows finally leave his face, a smile even daring to poke through.

You fiddle with the neck of his t-shirt and he does the same with the ends of your hair.

“Your father had an idea, by the way,” Felix says, “for a first date.”

You groan, planting your face on his chest. He laughs, a proper hearty sound.

“What, a picnic in the family dungeons?” The sarcasm rolls off your tongue. “Torture? Flaying the guy alive? Chopping off his—”

“Ouch.”

“I was gonna say limbs—” You swat his chest.

“Okay, okay, ouch, hey!” He is still chuckling when you settle again. He squeezes your arm.

A moment of comfortable silence passes. You resume your absent-minded fidgeting, twisting the loose material of his t-shirt around your knuckles. You do not dare meet his eye when you ask, “I know what you said earlier but… if you could… what would you do for a first date?”

His whole body goes stiff with tension, then he just exhales, a pitiful sound of resignation.

“There’s no point in thinking about it,” Felix says. “And I don’t know anyway. What do people do on dates?”

“Oh come on, you’ve been watching the dramas with me,” you say, keeping your voice light. “You could have some ideas.”

“Well, I don’t,” he says, not unkindly but firmly.

“Fine,” you say. You roll over so you are half on-top of him, a leg thrown over his. You make a show of rolling your eyes, but his returned gaze is too soft for any real animosity to linger. “For the record, I would plan an amazing first date if I didn’t have my dad – blegh – orchestrating the whole thing.”

“I believe you,” he says with a chuckle. “I’m sure you would sweep Hyunjin off his feet, hmm?”

“Hmm,” you echo. “Sure.” You raise your head so you are peering down at him. “I don’t even know what Hyunjin would like. He’s pretty but he’s… I dunno… a liar or something. Like he obviously just wants to date me because we’re both rich, but he wouldn’t admit it till I said it. Who knows what other secrets he could be keeping.”

“Hwang Hyunjin,” Felix muses. “Deep, dark secrets… maybe… hmm… his hair routine?”

You laugh before you can stop yourself. “Don’t be mean,” you say.

“Uhh, I’m never mean,” Felix says. “You’re the one who called him a liar.”

“Or something,” you argue playfully. He says ahh, like that differentiation mattered at all. “Maybe he collects teeth from all his dozens of girlfriends. Or their hair. Maybe he’s a cannibal.”

Felix sighs with theatrical exasperation. “From hair care to cannibalism, really?” he asks.

“Could be,” you say, trying and failing to stifle your giggles, especially when it makes him laugh. “He might gobble me all up on the first date.”

“That would be very rude,” Felix says. “He should wait until the third date at least.”

“Oh, is that what a gentleman like you would do?” You laugh. “Maybe provide a written invitation to the event?”

“Of course,” he jokes. “If I planned on eating you, you’d be the first to know.”

The double-entendre is clearly unintentional, smothering the giggly playfulness with a sudden heady air. You both hear the accidental suggestion, and you both stare at each other, and you both take too long to say something so it turns awkward. You become very aware of all the places you are touching, so aware that you cannot compel yourself to move thanks to sudden nerves.

Felix reliably comes to his senses first. He nudges you gently, forcing himself to laugh as he slides out of the bed.

“Umm, sorry,” he says. He shoves a hand through his hair, the blonde fluffing with his rough touch. “I just need to… uh… bathroom? I’ll be... um, back.”

You return to your side of the bed where you curl into a ball of appropriately eighteen-year-old angst. Your current state of peril has nothing to do with power-corrupt businessmen and their fragile egos, and everything to do with a boy in your bed. You shove your face in a pillow and keep it there until he returns. You do not look at him, still too riled up in the silent tension.

You are convinced you will never fall asleep but it inevitably sneaks up on you. All at once, you are blinking awake in the morning light. You drifted closer to Felix in your sleep but kept your hands to yourself. You are both laying on your fronts, faces turned to each other. He sleeps so lightly that he wakes from the faintest shift in the cadence of your breathing.

The sleepy quiet of morning has none of the awkwardness of late night silence. It feels hazy and gentle in its golden breath, held long enough for your hands to meet between you. It is the only place you are touching, fingertip to palm to knuckle and back again. Your whole head goes fuzzy with tingles when he traces the pad of your palm.

You think about the many romance stories you have surreptitiously read on your laptop, flipping between smut and homework. In all those stories, it seems that when the hapless leads find themselves sharing a bed, they manage to entangle themselves overnight, always suggestively, always accidentally.

You do not appear to have that kind of luck, that accident of circumstance where you are not responsible for your own actions. Instead you are laying in the sunlight, lit up so brightly that there could be no mistaking intention, his dark eyes catching the light as he looks at you as if he knows what you are thinking.

It has to be deliberate. Nothing will change on its own.

Is this combination of terror and desire normal? Is it simply a matter of age and inexperience? Or is it in indication of damage, something inherently broken in you? When your fingers interlock, it feels wonderful. It also activates alarms in your head, none of them equipped with an off switch.

You close your eyes. He breathes and you know him so well that you recognize him by that, by the way he inhales sharply, like he has suddenly remembered where and who he is. You know it means he is about to pull away.

Sudden, sharp, panicked adrenaline propels you out of your timid repose and into his arms. It is not so different from the millions of times he has held you, except this time you are frantic and strange, your heart beating wildly as you hide your face in his neck and cling to him like he will float away if you don’t hold tight enough.

It surprises him. He has the skill to deflect an attack but he lets you barrel into him, taking your weight with little more than an oof. For a moment, he does nothing, his arms open at his sides. You feel his shoulder twitch.

He says your name in sleep-rough voice, barely more than a whisper. A reminder, scolding you but half-heartedly. You know what he sounds like when he is mad, when emotion slips through the cracks of his careful facades. This emotion is not anger.

“Felix,” is your reply.

His next breath shudders out of him, sounding almost painful. Then the arm beneath you shifts. He touches your lower back tentatively, through your t-shirt yet hesitating like the contact might burn skin. Another breath, then his palm is flat on your back and he is rolling onto his side to face you.

Your heart is leaping around like it is being electrocuted, sparks of electricity zapping to every extremity as his other hand curls around your bicep. His eyes are screwed shut and his mouth is open, nothing but another shaking breath passing his lips.

You touch his face with trembling fingers, the very tips lightly brushing his temple. You know, on some level, this is nothing deserving of alarm despite the cacophony still ringing in your head. This is little more than an intimate embrace, fully-clothed and only barely touching each other.

You are not even kissing. With your adrenaline in the dregs, you cannot push yourself across that space. Instead, you find yourself staring into his face when his eyes open. You look at each other, forced to reckon with your proximity, looking at his mouth while he looks at yours. There is no denying this could be a kiss, that it would require very little more than a lean.

His knuckles skim your side as his hand slips from your arm to your waist. Your breath catches when he lays his hand on your hip, not moving or pushing but holding.

Still such simple touches. You wonder how other people can do more so easily when this alone is overwhelming.

Your morning alarm is not due to ring for another twenty minutes. There is nothing to disturb you. You press your fingers into his shoulder. This already has him tensing, then you scratch your nails along the nape of his neck, up into his hair, and it unravels him with a shiver, eyes closing and cheek pressing hard into his pillow.

He wrenches away all at once, making a noise like it hurts to do so. You feel dizzy as you stare at the indentation on his pillow while he swings his leg off the bed. He doubles over, elbows on his knees, hands on his face. He digs his fists into his eyes and scrubs hard. He takes a minute to catch his breath.

Eventually he stands. He pauses like he intends to speak but then he just pivots into the bathroom. The door shuts with a heavy click.

You roll onto your back and stare at the ceiling. You have no idea if he is coming right back, but you know this intimate moment has conclusively ended. Your whole body is alight, the places he touched you still radiating sensation. There is such a desperate pulsing between your legs that you can’t help but touch there, palm pressing hard to quell the incessant thrum of want.

You really do not intend to do more. You only just barely know the mechanics for touching yourself thanks to reading, but you are afforded little opportunity for discovery due to obvious reasons. You do not know how fast he will return, but you doubt you have enough time to work it all out.

You slide a hand under your clothes only to temper the worst of that wanting, applying pressure clumsily. Your eyes close when you feel how ridiculously wet you are, far more than you have ever felt before. Your mind then projects the unbidden image of Felix, wondering if he is on the other side of that bathroom door touching himself in a similar way.

It makes you gasp, turning your head, heel of your palm still pressing down hard inside your shorts. You open your eyes just in time for Felix to step back into the room.

He looks at you and completely freezes. You have never felt more like a deer caught in the headlights.

He turns and stumbles back into the bathroom, uncharacteristically clumsy. You yank your hand out of your shorts and roll onto your front, shrieking into your pillows with a combination of frustration and embarrassment.

What is my life, you ask yourself. You really have no answer.

The first date with Hyunjin is not a proper date at all. Your father extends an invitation to Hyunjin and his parents, requesting their presence at another one of his good-press charity functions.

This one is a silent auction and banquet in a luxurious hotel ballroom. Despite the fact you attend the same school, you are formally introduced at the party, the whole charade making you feel like a ridiculous character in a historical drama.

You are already more than a little grumpy because Felix is not here, your father logically determining that his own security entourage was plenty for the night. There is also the matter of Felix’s cover. Hyunjin knows him as a student and your friend, not a bodyguard. You will have to tell him eventually if this goes anywhere but—

That thought abruptly sends you on one of your overthinking spirals. If your father intends to force this relationship along, you do not know if he will fire Felix rather than explain him, if one day you will suddenly go home and your bedroom will be empty, Felix gone without a trace and you with no way to contact him.

Your throat strains with a choked back sob as you struggle to remember every little detail about Felix – the animes he claims he only watches because Jisung does, but that he definitely secretly enjoys, the horrified lemon-sour face he pulls when he accidentally drinks your coffee instead of his sugar-laden tea, the way he likes taking apart electronics and rebuilding them, his sharp mind, his goofy wit, his complete and total weirdness that he skillfully masks in public but drops at home. That house could be full of people but if Felix was no longer there, it would feel horribly empty.

“Are you okay?” Hyunjin asks. He looks resplendent in white, his dark hair a sharp contrast to his dress shirt and pants. Other people are swooning at the sight of him. You have not looked at him for longer than a few seconds at a time.

“Sorry,” you say. You take a swig of water like it’s hard liquor. You try to smile but you can feel how crooked it is. “Just… the parties are a lot.” It is only a partial lie. Your mind is somewhere else, but the parties are a lot to handle.

Hyunjin smiles. He props his chin in his hand and leans towards you. “Good company makes them better, though,” he says.

“Yeah.” You look away again, staring out the window at the cityscape and thinking about Felix. “It does, doesn’t it?”

The ordeal is a success by your father’s standards. You sit with Hyunjin all night. You dance a few clumsy dances where you scuff his expensive dress shoes with your missteps. You wander onto a balcony and he gives you his coat. Beat for beat, moment by moment, it all goes perfectly.

A moment that genuinely moves you is the only one your father does not care about. Conversation between you and Hyunjin is stilted for a long while, then someone mentions one of the paintings up for auction and he lights up. No one else acknowledges it, so you ask him about it. You do not miss the warning look his father shoots him, but when you smile at Hyunjin like he is the most charming person alive, it placates him.

Hyunjin does not observe most of this. Once you let him talk about the art, he cannot stop. He becomes someone else when immersed in this subject, more animated, more open, much more sincere. You could almost like this Hyunjin.

You like him even more when he forgets his propriety and snorts at your derision for a few pompous assholes. This party is crawling with creepy elites, only a few known to Hyunjin. You catch him up on the latest high society nonsense, pointing out the affairs and scandals, as well as telling him which few individuals are somewhat more tolerable.

You are leaning against a wall, licking the icing off a cupcake, when he suddenly smiles at you, big and huge. You choke on the sugar. You feel hot under your skin, wondering if you were accidentally suggestive with your licking, but he doesn’t comment on that at all.

“I’ve never known someone who sees people so well,” he says. “Especially somewhere like this. Everyone is a bit—”

“Off in their own world?” You share a giggle. “I’m just bored,” you say, deflecting the compliment because Hyunjin doesn’t know what he’s talking about. You do not see anything special in your observations, just your own loneliness as you sit back and watch the world go by.

You don’t tell him that. You distract him by pointing to another figure across the room, a well-dressed older man flanked by his own entourage. You can separate the immensely wealthy from the nouveau riche by appearance. The former are sleekly sophisticated at events like this, almost nonchalant in their presentation, whereas the latter overdress themselves to flaunt their wealth, as if they feel the need to prove they belong. The former know where they belong.

This man is undeniably the former.

“You see that man over there?” you whisper, pointing discreetly with your cupcake. “That’s Mister Miroh. He is my father’s biggest competitor and most hated rival. They are exactly the same person and trust me, that’s not a compliment. They hate each other more than anything.” You say this very casually then take a bite of your cupcake.

“Huh?” Hyunjin’s brow furrows, making you laugh. “If they hate each other, why was he invited?”

“Because rich people are insane,” you say. “It’s just about keeping up appearances. Yeah, they’re rivals, but that also makes them equals, so it’s bad form to neglect them in public company.” Hyunjin nods here, clearly understanding. You remember what he said about his own parents and appearances. You must admit, it is nice talking to someone who understands you from his own first-hand experience. “Also,” you say, “I’m sure it’s like that saying, keep your friends close and your enemies closer. If Miroh is here, then he’s not off somewhere disrupting my father’s business while his back is turned.”

“This is exhausting,” Hyunjin says, shaking his head.

“No kidding.” You laugh again. When Hyunjin looks at you with a dimpled smile, you smile back. It feels friendly, not like his forced flirtatious grins earlier in the evening. You like this Hyunjin more. “You want some cupcake?” you ask, holding up the very big, very rich dessert.

Hyunjin eyes it then shakes his head. He tucks some hair behind his ears.

“I’m supposed to be on a diet,” he explains, laughing at your expression because you cannot hide your horror. “It’s not a bad thing—” he starts.

“You are so skinny, a hard wind could blow you out the window,” you say, shoving the cupcake at him. “You said I was good at seeing people, well, I can see you want the cupcake. So eat it or I’ll push you off the balcony.”

He looks around to see if anyone is looking but his parents are occupied with their own conversations. He looks at you conspiratorially then acquiesces, finishing the cupcake in just a couple big bites. You applaud and he shakes his head, laughing and spitting little flakes of cupcake. It makes you laugh more. He is in good humour the whole time, even if it takes a second to swallow all that cake.

“What else do you see?” he says when you are both settled. He is relaxed from all the giggling.

“What do you mean?” you ask, trying to keep a straight face as you remember the cannibalism conversation, supposing he might not want to hear that precisely.

“When you look at me,” he says. He tips his chin as if striking a pose. “Tell me my fortune.”

“I’m not a psychic,” you say, nudging his shoulder, but nonetheless you oblige and strike your own pose, a finger on your chin as you consider him. “Hmmm.” You look him up and down, the showman smile, the little crumb of cake on his lip. “I think you’re very smart and very handsome,” you start.

“I like it so far,” he says.

Smiling, you roll your eyes. “And,” you say, “I think you know your strengths and how to use them to make people look at you. Or at least – to look at what you want them to see.” You watch his brow furrow, his hand disappearing into the length of his sleeve as his fingers curl up. “I think you have more going on than anyone knows,” you say. “And I think those parts of you might be the best, and I’m sorry that you have someone telling you it’s the part you have to hide.” His gaze is cast low at nothing in particular. It seems to scan the floor thoughtfully. You laugh to brighten the mood. “Parents,” you say. “Image. Expectation. Whatever.”

“Yeah.” He smiles at you again. It is not one of his fake, smarmy grins, but it is not his carefree smile either. It is polite, and it doesn’t reach his eyes, darkly reflecting a familiar sadness back to you. “Whatever,” he echoes. Then he stands straight and offers his hand, his face once more shielded with a showy, flirtatious demeanour. “Wanna dance?”

You do, and it pleases the parents, and the night passes. You and Hyunjin share an amiable glance before going your separate ways.

When you arrive home, Felix is sitting in the kitchen reading a book for school. He is not obliged to do the readings but he seems to enjoy it, certainly more than you. You never thought you would be so happy to see such a simple sight, Felix at the counter with a book. Fortunately, you are a smart enough to mask your enthusiasm around your father.

You don’t have to worry because your father pays you no mind. With your purpose evidently served, your father dismisses you for the night and calls Felix to his office for a debriefing.

You step inside your walk-in closet to change clothes. You frown at your dress, once more thinking about all those romance stories. If the dress had a zipper, you would need help, then you could ask Felix to unzip it, and it would be an excuse to initiate contact without you truly propositioning him. But the dress slides off easily, so you put on shorts and a t-shirt, then you are sitting in bed scrolling on your phone.

You are in a good mood as you usually are when you get back from a party, happy it is over. The energy you stored to endure the socializing can now simmer to a pleasant hum. You are also extra happy to see Felix after dreading his demise all night. Those worries seem silly now. You will always need a bodyguard and Felix is reliable.

Then you feel terrible for thinking that, because you should want Felix to go. He should not be here at all, trapped with you in this nightmare. Then you start thinking about Felix and his past nightmares. If Felix disappeared without a trace one day, it would not be to freedom. It might be to something worse again.

Even though you feel uneasy, gazing at his empty side of the bed, you fall asleep before Felix returns. You wake in the darkness to Felix leaning over you. He carefully extracts your phone to place it on the bedside table. You fell asleep awkwardly slumped, clutching it.

You are barely awake, still half-dreaming about him disappearing, about what worse nightmares might chase him from your arms. You wrap yourself around him completely, arms around his middle, head on his chest, leg curled around his, the totality of your embrace surprising him. He chuckles, a low sound that vibrates in his chest.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, settling as comfortably as he can with you twisted around him like an amorous vine.

“Nothing,” you mumble into his shirt. “Just missed you.”

“It was just one night,” he says.

“Mmph,” is your sleepy rejoinder. You reach for his hand and slap it onto your back, groaning. He gets the message and strokes your back with a gentle sweep. You start to doze again, snuggled and warm, then he clears his throat. You recognize the sound as his warm-up to vocalizing something awkward.

“I guess, uhhh, I guess things went well… with Hyunjin… tonight, yeah?” he says. He clears his throat again. “Your father gave me an itinerary for future dates and arrangements…”

“I’m gonna blow this fucking house up,” you grumble.

He chuckles. His touch is absent-minded now, a lazy caress as his attention strays.

“Did he, uh, did he… kiss you?” Felix asks. His hand stops altogether, freezing low on your spine. “Not that I—I’m just wondering. Because of what you said before. It’s, like, a big deal to girls I guess, right. So I wasn’t sure—”

“No, Felix,” you say, rolling your eyes. “I’m still very unkissed and very pathetic, so don’t worry about my honour.”

You lift your head to give him a withering stare, but his face is very close and he is already looking at you. You have not spoken about the previous morning. Every second comes rushing back when you meet his eye, when his gaze flickers down to your mouth for a brief but hypnotizing second.

“You’re not pathetic,” he says, just above a whisper. That ridiculous voice of his rumbles so low when he speaks this softly. It’s like the sound is directly connected to something inside you, tugging when he speaks, waking up every sleeping nerve.

“Sure,” you reply, at a loss for any other retort.

His mouth is a perfect bow. You look away from it, resorting to your natural expression: a glare, intensely and resolutely locked on his eyes.

“Well, I’ve never kissed anyone,” Felix says, drole. “Am I pathetic?”

“That’s different,” you say, not meaning anything by it. It’s an automatic response, meant to simply dismiss his very good point.

But you feel him tense. The silence feels heavy. You belatedly realize how he might have interpreted that. That’s different because you’re not a person like the rest of us.

You are trying to think of an appropriate apology when he gently moves you, shaking himself free of your embrace.

“You should sleep over there tonight,” he says. “Your father is home and I’m— I’m. I should be over here. Anyway.”

He turns over, putting his back to you. Even though it feels like your whole head is on fire, you muster the resolve to slide closer. Then you lean over and kiss his cheek.

You flop onto your back and stare at the ceiling.

“Sorry,” you say.

You look at him but he hasn’t moved. Your lips are tingling from that simple, stupid touch and you feel so ridiculous that you want to shriek. You suffice to close your eyes, shaking your head like that will erase the last sixty seconds of your life. You look at the ceiling again, face twisted up with pain.

That falls away when Felix flips over. He was so still and so quiet that it genuinely startles you. You swear your heart stops when he leans over you with a determined expression, one you usually only see when he is working out hard. Your stopped breath is a cluster in your throat, your voice tangled in it. Your mouth is open and eyes wide when he cups the back of your neck and lifts your head.

Your heart starts all over again, pumping so fast that you are scared it will leap right out of your chest.

He leans down. He kisses your forehead for one second, two, three. You count it. Your fingers curl up. Your eyes feel huge. You look at him when he pulls away, his expression morose. He does not meet your gaze.

“I’m sorry too,” he says.

He lays your head on your pillow and rolls away, his back to you once more.

You fall asleep on opposite sides of the huge bed, so close and so far. Your sleep is fitful and uneasy and you keep waking to check if he is still there.

It is very early when you fully wake, the pale blue of morning only just seeping into the gloaming. It is a quiet hour but despite its gentle ambiance, you are woken with a fright. You settle when you realize it is just Felix grabbing you. He crossed the bed to gather you into his arms, mumbling an apology but nonetheless wrapping himself around you.

You realize he had a nightmare. He has not had one in a while. Your back is to him so you reach around to pat him consolingly.

You shiver when he exhales, his warm breath brushing the back of your neck, but you do not linger on the sensation. The previous morning and all its stirrings are far from mind now. He is upset so you comfort him, simple as that, letting him wrap his arms around your middle and rest his head against yours. Your thighs sit neatly against his, bodies slotted together neatly, like it is the most natural place to be.

“Can you, uhh, just…” He clears his throat. “Can you talk… to me… please.”

Felix does not like to talk about his nightmares but he does like a distraction. You are the same. There are times you wake in a fit and he speaks in a soft voice to lull you back to rest. Your voice is not as unique as his, lacking the deep dulcet colour, but he seems to like listening anyway.

You tell him about the party, all the frivolous details and gossip. Two women wore the same dress, what a scandal, someone dropped a pearl earring, what a loss. This couple broke up, that couple is having an affair. Miroh was there and predictably austere the entire night—

Felix was beginning to relax but he tightens his grip when you mention Miroh.

Your voice trails off.

Your father has many enemies but Miroh is his only true rival. You are not directly involved in any business but you pay attention to your father and his work. You know about the political bribery and the underhanded dealings and the illegal trading. You know Miroh is the same except he is also a military man, that he has dark connections and turns a profit on some very backward schemes. Of course, your father depicts his rival as a worse villain than himself, so it is hard to say precisely what Miroh does, but you know the look of a bad man regardless.

You have suspected for some time that Miroh played a part in Felix’s dark past. You do not know what or how or why, as you have never pushed Felix to tell you, but you know Felix well. Your father has many enemies and Felix is always alert, but Miroh receives extra vigilance. Every trace of your companion will disappear before your eyes, replaced with an emotionless soldier.

You feel all that tension in his body now. He is holding his breath.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you ask in a small voice. It is a vague admittance to your suppositions.

A little tension leaves his body with a humourless laugh, the breath bursting on your neck.

“No,” he says. “Not… not right now.”

“Okay,” you reply. There is a moment of silence. Your heart is beating hard, his pounding as fast, his chest pressed against your back. You shift in his lap. “What do you want then?”

That laugh again, a little more pained. Then he sighs.

“I don’t know,” he says in a rough voice. “Just… distract me.”

Just like that, the energy shifts, at least inside of you. You know very well what would distract him, having witnessed the other morning just how to rattle your bodyguard. The recollection alone has you flushed with heat, embarrassed and nervous and exhilarated all at the same time.

It has always been hard for you to do the simple, normal thing. You cannot smile for a long time, you cannot make pleasant small talk, you cannot kiss the boy you like. But the difficult feats, the outlandish actions, those you have always done with ease. You argue with your terrifying father, you break out of cages, you throw yourself into dangerous situations with little sense of self-preservation.

You cannot turn and sweet-talk him. You cannot lean over and kiss him. You cannot smile and implore him.

You can stare ahead through the pale light, warm with memory and fantasy alike, and slide your hand down between your legs. With a little swivel of your hips, you press against his lap. The effect is remarkably instantaneous, the adrenaline of his fears seemingly diverting course at the merest suggestion.

He makes a choked noise, then his hand is overtop yours. You always forget how strong he is, all that hidden power and dexterity. He clutches your hand with ungiving control, down between your legs, over your shorts, preventing you from going further.

“That’s not what I meant,” he says, his stern voice as affecting as a touch. It makes you whimper.

His hips shift. His baggy shorts do little for modesty and you can feel him twitch with interest, stiffening against your backside. You try to move your hand but he pins your wrist and says your name warningly.

“I won’t touch you,” you whisper. “You don’t have to touch me.”

“Other people are home—”

“Then stop talking and be quiet,” you say. It is always easier to be brazen when you are arguing or asserting a point, so when he releases your hand, you slide it into your shorts without a second thought. It is only once you’re there that you realize you don’t really know what you’re doing. Your belligerence only takes you so far.

Then Felix breathes a surrendering sigh. He squeezes your hips with trembling hands and rolls away, onto his back. You spill onto your back too and look at him. You feel vulnerable and uncertain until he closes his eyes and touches himself through his shorts. The sight makes it easy to stir a reaction under your clumsy fingers, watching his hand cup and stroke the shape of himself through his shorts. You slip the other hand down there too, spreading yourself to your own exploratory touch. You press and rub and circle, your heartbeat thundering erratically when he opens his eyes and looks at you.

Your lips part but you withhold all noise, breathing hard into the dark as his hand dips under his waistband. His eyes are cast low to where your own hands move under your clothes, your fingers moving more frantically than his lazy stroking.

When you finally find a place and pattern that feels right, your breathing gets heavier, a soft whine slipping into your exhale. His reflexes are quick as ever. His arm slips under your head and curls around your neck, hand covering your mouth to catch the surprised yelp that passes your lips.

“Shh,” he says.

And for some reason that takes you over the building crest. Your body curls, tight as coil even while a white heat unravels inside you. You gasp into his palm, eyes closing, swallowing down your own sounds.

You are still twitching with aftershocks when you grab his hand with your very wet fingers. You are not thinking about that, you are still hazy and powered by instinct, prying his hand off your face.

But he realizes it. He makes another choked-up sound and looks at the closed door, his breathing coming out hard through his nose. He pulls his arm back, closes his eyes. His hand, wet with you, just hovers for a second.

You watch him. His mouth is open and his eyes are closed and his hair is falling in a messy sweep around his handsome face. You are slow in your approach, giving him time to open his eyes, to see your own hand near his face.

He exhales sharply and his eyes close tight. He grabs your hand and pulls it to his mouth, your own sex pulsing with renewed interest when he licks across your fingers then lets two curl into his mouth, just resting on his tongue. He finishes a second later, shoulders hunching and face screwed up, freckles dancing like a dark constellation.

You bring your shaking hand to your own lips, tentatively kissing the fingers he had in his mouth. He blinks his eyes open slowly, gazing at the ceiling for a second then looking at you. When he sees you, your lips pursed against your fingertips, his mouth opens and closes with some unspoken thought, desperate to vocalize. In the end he swallows it down and closes his eyes. He nods sharply.

“Okay,” he says, his voice ragged. “Thank you. Sleep. You should… You should. Um. I’ll just—”

He shakes his head and rolls out of bed, then darts into the bathroom. The shower starts. You look at your clock and see you have more than an hour to your alarm.

You lay your head on your pillow but you do not fall back asleep.

#skz smut #stray kids smut #lee felix smut #lee felix x reader #felix x reader #skz x reader

988 notes · View notes

xatsperesso · 2 years ago

Text

Lol can you imagine iruma teaching his class how to make those flower crown thingys?

Iruma gives azz one and azz is trying his hardest not to combust into flames so the crown can be safe?

Everyone in the class gives sabro a crown? He's wearing twelve and like six of them are dangling on his horns

Gaap gives purson one, and for the day whenever purson fwooshes his crown is visible because he likes it and he wants to show that he's proud of what his friend made for him

Clara and Ix open a class teaching students how to make flower crowns. It's rare to look at the garden and not find at least one group making them

Robin-sensei is the best out of teachers at making them and he gifted one to his cousin(/sister? Dont remember their relationship)

Iruma is confused as to how bachiko has one

Buer keeps getting them as gifts

Every once in a while balam will give kalego one because he knows kalego's prideful ass refuses to get caught making them qt school

To be fair if either dali, sullivan or opera caught him making one his life is over

Sullivan is forever waiting for iruma to make him one. Iruma doesn't know his grandpa wants one and thinks the stress of work is what makes him all grumpy

Sullivan nearly cried when opera went to him wearing a flower crown that iruma made for them

Kalego wants to know if he can do something decorative with his cacti. Corners iruma and asks him and iruma is afraid to tell him that he doesn't know

One day iruma recruits his classmates and their kouhais to make one giant crown. They gift it to thoth

Remeber the class's mentors at the harvest festival? They all get flower crowns

Except for general furfur. He too will forever await his crown, not knowing that he'll never get one

(Iruma learns about jazz and alloce not giving their mentor one, so he sends him an anonymous one because he doesn't want him to feel left out)

#mairimashita! iruma kun #m!ik #iruma kun #naberius kalego #balam sensei #robin sensei #buer sensei #azz asmodeus #clara valac #sabnock sabro #purson soi #gaap goemon #ix elizabetta #general furfur #barbatos bachiko #m!ik sullivan #m!ik opera

458 notes · View notes

enmstorytime · 5 months ago

Text

Policy Change

My first mistake was believing that I had the power to take down our university's Title IX Coordinator, Cory Corvallis. In case you don't know, it's the Title IX Coordinator's job to investigate and decide punishment in cases of sexual misconduct on campus. Cory Corvallis has been under investigation from the federal government due to his mishandling of cases, and due to his creative and retaliatory punishments. Last year, the President of the Sigma Tau Delta fraternity had been caught streaking across the quad by Cory Corvallis. The fraternity president was told he had to live in one of the Sorority Houses in nothing but his boxers and a cock cage for the rest of the school year or face expulsion. The fraternity president lasted a week before he chose to take expulsion.

The federal agency in charge of our campus investigation gave Cory Corvallis a warning.

A month later, a personal friend in my department, another creative writing professor was reported to Cory Corvallis for using new and creative methods to motivate his students. While I could never imagine going to the lengths he went to, not even our Dean could deny that his methods had been effective. I've never seen more vulnerable writing from the students on this campus. When Cory received the report that my friend had spent half of last semester teaching his classes in the buff, my friend was called into Corvallis's office to explain himself. In the name of equity, Corvallis altered my friend's contract. He is now required to offer what was supposed to be a one time deal to every class he teaches while employed at this institution. The top post on his Rate My Professor reads, "If you write some sad story about your grandma's death, he'll show you peen." His classes filled up faster than any other class on campus this semester, and he's been teaching naked since the first week of classes.

I decided this could not stand. Last Friday I sent an email to the lead federal investigator overseeing the Cory Corvallis case. I asked to set up a time to meet to discuss my concerns about Corvallis. I never heard back from the investigator.

Instead, when I returned to the office Monday morning, I found an email from Cory Corvallis in my inbox:

Dear Professor Watson,

It has come to my attention that you have something you'd like to discuss with me. I recommend in the future that you avoid trying to circumvent the system we've established on this campus. All concerns about misconduct should be reported directly to the Title IX Coordinator: Me.

You are a mandatory reporter on this campus, Professor Watson. If it comes to my attention that you have chosen to neglect reporting your concerns to the Title IX Coordinator, I promise you that there will be consequences.

Please consider this warning, and thank you in advance for your future compliance,

Cory Corvallis

My stomach plummeted as I read Cory's email. I didn't like the idea of discovering what any of Cory Corvallis's punishments might be. I would have left it alone, if I hadn't walked out of my office to bump into my friend whose office was right across the hall from mine.

I still hadn't gotten used to seeing him in all his glory, even though a stipulation of his contract was that he wear the exact amount of clothing to and from his classroom that his students had earned. My eyes swept up and down his body quickly absorbing the slight hair on his toes, the tight calves, the defined abs, the veiny forearms, and of course, his glorious, cut cock with a neatly trimmed bush.

"It's fucking humiliating," he said, covering his cock quickly with his large, lean hands. "I know half of campus has seen my cock by now, and the half who hasn't hasn't done a simple Google search."

"There are pictures online?" I asked, horrified.

"My dad found them," my friend said, shaking his head. "Sent me a text this morning with a picture of me standing at the whiteboard, marker in my hand, cock fully erect."

I shuddered at the thought of my own father seeing a picture of my erect penis and then letting me know he'd seen it.

"It gets worse, Watson," my friend said, shaking his head, his hands still glued to his privates. "With the picture, my dad wrote, 'Helen,' that's my stepmother, 'thinks we should include this with our Christmas cards this year. What do you think?"

"He's gotta be joking," I said.

"Joke or not, before long, everyone who's ever known me is going to have seen every last inch of my body."

He sighed, looked me in the eye, and then moved his hands away from his cock again.

"Look all you want, Watson," he said, sadly. "It's not like I have any control over any of this anymore."

I watched my friend walk away, somehow disgusted and erect, as his ass jiggled with each step.

I stepped back into my office and drafted another email to the lead investigatory on the Cory Corvallis case. I used my personal email this time. I rationalized that the only reason Cory had discovered that I'd reached out to the feds was because I'd made a rookie mistake and used my work email, which I should have known he would have access to. Hell, he probably had a ping anytime anyone on campus tried to email the feds. But this time, he wouldn't know.

Of course, I was wrong.

The following morning, I found this email in my inbox:

Professor Watson,

I was certain I had informed you that there would be consequences if I discovered that you'd reached out to the Feds again with your concerns about misconduct, without reporting to me first. Did you expect that you could reach out to the feds without them contacting me?

I remind you once more that I oversee all cases of misconduct on this campus. I remind you once more that you are a mandatory reporter. Now it is my duty to inform you that as the Title IX Coordinator I am responsible for defining the punishments for misconduct on our campus. I have the authority to alter contracts and policies as I see fit in order to ensure that misconduct is not repeated.

In my investigations, Professor Watson, in your latest email to the federal investigators, you wrote the sentence: "I hope to lay bare to you the cruel, unusual, and inappropriate methods Corvallis uses to punish members of our campus community."

Since I have found you guilty of not reporting to the Title IX Coordinator, allow me to "lay bare" your "cruel, unusual, and inappropriate punishment." Please report to the Title IX Office at your soonest convenience. Failure to do so within the business day will result in your immediate termination.

See you soon,

Cory Corvallis

My heart pounded and my stomach churned as I walked to Corvallis's office. I couldn't imagine what punishment he would give me, but I didn't like him emphasizing the words "lay bare." Maybe he'd make me give my students the same motivational tools my friend had.

I shuddered at the thought. I don't have my friends lean body or trimmed body hair. I have a gut. I have back hair, and chest hair, and a bushy happy trail down to some wild pubes. I didn't want to show off my body and be compared to my friend. On the other hand, a part of me hoped that if I had to face those consequences, the students wouldn't want to see me naked. Maybe I would be okay, and I'd keep on teaching classrooms full of young adults who had so many other things going on in their lives that my classes barely landed on their personal radar.

Do your worst, Corvallis, I thought as I pushed the door open to his office.

Cory Corvallis sat behind his desk, a smug grin on his face as he looked me up and down. I couldn't deny that he was handsome. He looked like a modern day Jesus: flowy hair down to his shoulders, a full beard, dark skin, and a perfectly fit suit. We'd never met before, but I'd seen his picture in a couple newspaper articles.

"Professor Watson, I assume," his voice was cool and husky.

"That's me," I said, glaring, trying to sound careless.

"Your department is so interesting to me," Corvallis said, steepling his long fingers under his chin. "I think only a few weeks ago I had a colleague of yours in here. Is that right?"

"You know it is," I said. "I wanted to talk to the Feds about how you've ruined his life."

"He ruined his own life," Corvallis said. "Besides, he could always find a job elsewhere."

"It's almost impossible to land a tenure track position in our field," I said. "And with his pictures online, with his Rate my Professor. What other institution would hire him?"

"What a shame," Cory said with an evil grin. "But we aren't here to talk about him. We're here to talk about you, my good man, and the punishment for not reporting to the Title IX Coordinator.

"Things have gotten lax around here. Too many mandated reporters think they can try and get around me. They think I won't catch them. I need to make an example."

My heart sank. I couldn't imagine a stronger example than my friend, spending each class period with his entire body on display. But something inside me warned me that I was about to have the rug ripped from under my feet, my presumably very bare and very naked feet.

He pushed a sheet of paper across the desk.

"I oversee every policy on this campus, Professor Watson," he said as I crossed the room to grab the paper. "Unlike with your friend, I do not have to have you sign a contract to change this policy. You've already signed a policy agreeing to our Professional Code of Conduct, which includes an article stating that at any time this Code of Conduct can be altered without an adjusted contract."

I looked down at the paper and my heart dropped.

"Each department has their own Dress Code written into the Code of Conduct."

I swallowed at the lump in my throat.

"If I had known how difficult it is for Creative Writing faculty to find jobs on other campuses, I would have targeted just you, of course," he said, his voice dripping with false sincerity. "But of course, I can't change it now. Then you wouldn't learn your lesson."

My eyes scanned the paper while he stared at me in silence. It read:

CREATIVE WRITING DEPARTMENT DRESS CODE:

In order to better inspire students, and to encourage transparency, vulnerability, and trust, all male Creative Writing faculty (i.e. professors, assistant professors, lecturers, adjuncts, and graduate instructors in the department) are prohibited from wearing clothing on campus. Clothing is defined as any material used to cover any section of skin, regardless of size. Any clothing brought on campus by a male Creative Writing faculty member will be confiscated by the Title IX Coordinator.

I looked back up at Cory, who shrugged and grinned.

"You can't be serious," I said. "You'll never get away with this."

"Watch me," he said, grinning. "The feds actually like what I'm doing with this campus. The investigation is all a front to squash any complaints, but they've given me total free reign."

I stared at him stupidly.

"Well," Cory said, his eyes sweeping up and down my body with glee. "I think you're in violation of policy."

I stared, my head spinning a mile a minute. It wouldn't just be me. The thought provided relief, and then terror. It wouldn't just be me, but they would know it was my fault.

"I won't ask again," Cory said coolly. "Strip immediately, or go find one of those impossible to find positions."

I slid off my blazer and began unbuttoning my shirt.

"That's more like it," he said, as my hairy, pudgy torso was freed from my shirt.

I undid my belt as I kicked off my shoes, trying to maintain eye contact with Cory so he wouldn't know that he had won.

"The walk back to your office will be chilly," Cory said, his eyes glittering with sadistic joy.

I slid my pants down my legs and stepped out of them, standing in nothing but an old pair of tighty-whities. I hadn't expected anyone to see me in my underwear today.

"I'll email the policy to your department once you leave my office," he said, breaking eye contact and watching as I moved my hands to the waistband of my underwear.

"I'll let them know who's responsible for this policy," his grin grew, as the root of my cock felt the first rush of office air. "And I'll let them know that if they have any doubts, they should stop by your office. To thank you."

In a quick motion, I pushed my briefs past my cock, and let them go. They fell to my feet, and I stepped out of them, standing before Cory Corvallis with every stitch of clothing pooled at my feet.

"I believe those are mine," Cory said.

He stepped quickly around his desk, bent down directly in front of me so that his glorious hair gently brushed my cock, and collected every article of my clothing for the day.

As he stood, he grabbed my cock with both his hands and squeezed.

"There's nothing to stop me from calling you in here, whenever I want," he said, my cock firming up in his hands. "Enjoy your walk across campus, Professor Watson. You might want to do something about this."

I was now fully erect in his hands.

"I expect I'll see you soon," he said, leading me by my erect penis to the door, opening it, and pushing me out of his office with my dick standing at full attention and my clothes bundled up on top of Cory Corvallis's desk.

#enm #gay #12 Days of ENM-mas

36 notes · View notes

justinssportscorner · 1 month ago

Text

Ryan Adamczeski at The Advocate:

Hundreds attended a school board meeting in Illinois Thursday evening to voice their support for a transgender student after a parent complained about her using the girl's locker room. Deerfield parent Nicole Georgas claimed last month that her 13-year-old cisgender daughter was "forced" to use the girl's locker room at the same time as a trans girl, resulting in daughter refusing to change there. With the help of conservative groups the Defense of Freedom Institute for Policy Studies and the Liberty Justice Center, Georgas filed a federal civil rights complaint. The U.S. Department of Education launched an investigation into Chicago Public Schools and Deerfield Public Schools District 109 in March for supposed Title IX violations. The district has maintained that it is complying with state federal anti-discrimination laws. "Federal Title IX and the Illinois Human Rights Act prohibit all public school districts from discriminating on the basis of sex, including gender identity," Superintendent Katerina Schroeder said in a statement. "Current laws mandate that students must be permitted access to the locker room and bathroom that aligns with their gender identity. We are following the law." Beyond Illinois state law, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled in 2020 that federal laws protecting against sex discrimination in employment, including Title VII, encompass gender identity. Donald Trump's executive orders against trans students, which are being challenged in courts, are not law.

Schroeder also noted that no one is "forced" to change in front of others regardless of gender, as "all students also have multiple options to change in a private location separate from the locker room if they wish." "We are sensitive to the privacy needs of all our middle school students and ensure that no student is required to change into a gym uniform for physical education class in front of others," Schroeder continued. "When both our middle schools were renovated in 2017, we added five private changing stations within each locker room that are available to all students." Deerfield Public Schools District 109 held its first board meeting since becoming subject to the Education Department's investigation Thursday night. The meeting was attended by a local chapter of Moms For Liberty, a designated extremist hate group, which was drowned out by hundreds of community members who showed up to support the young trans girl.

In Deerfield School District 109 in Deerfield, IL, parent Nicole Georgas complained about a trans girl using the female locker room. The anti-trans folk got outnumbered by pro-trans folk sticking up for the bullied trans girl.

#Deerfield #Deerfield Illinois #Illinois #Transgender Sports #Transgender Rights #Transgender #Title IX #Bostock v. Clayton County Georgia #Illinois Human Rights Act #Nicole Georgas #Chicago Public Schools #Deerfield School District 109 #Katerina Schroeder #Moms For Liberty #Awake Illinois #School Boards

18 notes · View notes

anonymousauthorsblog · 10 months ago

Text

Turning Passions

chapter 3 • smile for the camera!!

lowercase intended

*there is writing sections in this chapter!”

symphonia IX - current joys

•.•.•.••.•.••.•.•.•.••.•.••.•.•.•.••.•.•.••.•.•.••.•.•.•

y/n pov..

y/n glances over her phone one more time to see the tweet toge reposted while maki is spamming her phone asking when’s she’s coming home and if she can relieve her from the torture that toge is forcing her to do. as maki would be entering the stream with him that night. she shuts off her phone before shoving it in her dance bag. y/n gets up and enters the dance room where her class is supposed to be. it’s always been routine for y/n to show up 20 minutes earlier before class to get extra practice in to make sure her ballet is on peak, before presenting herself to any dance teacher. this has been a routine for her since she was a young teen in determination to stay on top of her class and to push herself to become more flexible, more precise and overall perfect. But as she walks in she sees students already doing the same thing, many students at the barre, others practicing turns and overall dancers becoming better than her. she quickly finds her a spot at the barre a little more further from everyone with her head facing down so others don’t see the panic rising up. y/n realizes that this dance class isn’t normal from the ones she used to call home, she trembles as she lifts up into a relevè her feet getting shot with the same pain as usual- she sits in that position until it wears off. y/n suddenly understands the situation- in this class everyone is fighting to be the best, she continues the stretches until the teacher walks in, everyone then runs into a line waiting for instruction. y/n quickly follows behind standing in first position waiting to hear from the dance instructor. “welcome to NYSSU academy, you made it in first into the school and now into the dance program. i would say congratulations but the hard part starts now” boomed the small older mature lady walking pass the dancers, judging as they stand tall in perfection. the teacher continues welcoming in a younger looking coach around her twenties “this is my co teacher” don’t be mistaken she isn’t here to play around. the lady continues in a large demanding tone. “your practices are always a test, always be on your best performance- nothing will go unnoticed. But if you’re wondering what your actually graded on in this class is performances. we have big 3 events and one mini in the middle of the year, be prepared because each day is a drill to see if you can make it onto the stage”. hearing those words send chills across y/ns skin as she keeps her head forward, but her eyes are drawn to the teachers movement. y/n isn’t usually afraid of any teachers tone, words or actions- living and growing in the world of dance she’s already used to these types of teachers, even harsher. Instead she takes these as a challenge because how can you succeed without a little push? The teacher words continue- “our first performance this fall, we will be doing the swan lake, make today our first rehearsal. more information on parts and lead rolls will be announced later, but for now let’s start our class, as this is the closest thing you’ll get to a professional taste in the real cold world. I expected you guys already to be stretched and ready?” she asked, many replied with a small yes while others nodded their heads. “perfect she replied okay everyone on the barre.” Practice continues on with additional leaps, pointe work then finally turns- something that y/n excelled in. the teacher groups each student in a group of four before calling each group to do a sequence of turns the last step holding into multiple pirouettes as they can. y/n is confident and collected as the first group goes on- then finally her group is called. she enters the stage, then the teacher calls the counts “alright, 1, 2 3…” y/n tunes her out hitting each step until it’s time to hold the turns. she hits and hits for what seems forever trying to calm down as she assumes that the other 3 members are done. Until from the blink of an eye one person is still standing. it’s a competition in her mind, she turns and turns matching the pace of the other dancer, 5 turns done and the other girl isn’t giving up.

y/n is getting tired, she messed up by putting most of her stamina in the beginning portion making it harder to hit these turns clean. she tries to fight for dominance until the teacher slams on the wall “stop!” she yelled out, “what’s your names?” y/n, l/n maam” “kai, everdeen” the two dancers say. the teacher looks them up and down before saying in a loud demanding tone, “if you’re going to do turns like that for a long period of time, make sure you technique is on point” the teacher dismisses them away, then ends the class altogether. she speaks loudly “that was good for today, but you guys need to step up your game because what I saw today was a disaster waiting to happen, goodbye” with that, the words brought y/n back to reality. she feels her throat closes up realizing with this competition with her peer that in this class, makes her realize that she’s just an ordinary dancer in this world, nothing sticks out making her great or special. y/n feels flush and embarrassed getting called out in the class as she makes it through to the dressing room taking off her point shoes, tossing them in her bag. she quickly puts on her boots and makes her way out towards the door to leave. she runs out feeling her breath quicken, she doesn’t understand, she was supposed to be the best- she grows frustrated. to anyone else this simple call out and for how long the turns were going for it would be a simple okay, but to y/n this proved that she was getting farther towards sheer overall goal. scaring her that all this work and years she put in this sport was for nothing. she leaves and makes her way to her dorm, still fully dressed in ballet clothing, the difference is the strain of dance coming for her mentally and physically.

3rd person pov

Toge and Maki settle down in his room as he launches the discord call. “Yooooo Yujiii” he exclaims. “HEYYY TOG- who’s that” yuji replies. “oh that’s maki, she’s my friend/roomate and she’s going to join the stream if that’s okay” toge explains. “alright that’s cool, we’re just waiting on nobara and megumi and the we can start.” Not even a minute later both megumi and nobara join on and everyone introduces themselves again. After all the introductions and testing each camera and mic are finished, it’s showtime. toge and maki play on split screen, interacting with the fans and instantly clicking with the trio on the other line of the call. they play for thirty minutes and on the line of maki and toge they hear a knock. “Y/N finally”, maki sighs as she gets up waving bye to the stream, she walks up to y/n. when y/n finally looks up to maki she puts on a soft smile. “everything okay?” maki ask, “yeah!” y/n replies a little too fast for comfort, “okay, how was danc-.” maki is cut off by y/n yelling “oh toge your on stream??” he turns around from his desk and happy greets her “y/nnnnnnn welcome home come say hi. “hey everyone!!” she waves towards the computer screen, “smile for the camera!!” toge tells her. She smiles and starts looking at toge screen. maki grows suspicious but lets it be not wanting to cause a scene in the middle of a livestream. Behind the camera on Megumis side he widens his eyes, he scoffs recognizing the same person who ran in late to his statistics class. He then slightly curses at himself for making an expression over someone thats just in the same class as him. then panic overfills his head as someone who’s known for being expressionless and not very expressive just made a face for a random girl who popped on his screen. he tries to continue on, trying to cover up his mistake and focus on the game he’s playing on his computer. yuji suddenly pops up and yells “HI Y/NNN IM YUJII” nobara pops up as well introducing herself making it known that she will become friends with her. toge then pats the chair that once accompanied maki and asked her to join the stream, even though y/n is exhausted she agrees hoping it would take her mind on things. the stream continues on with nobara and y/n tag teaming toge, yuji and megumi each team destroying each others plots and taking each others treasured things. with almost an hour and half passing the stream ends with each player saying its farewells. Yuji bounces off his desk running into megumis room jumping off the walls. “that was fun megumi, megumi was that fun??” megumi looks up with an annoyed tone remembering about the homework he put off for this task. “yeah” he whispered. “i guess”.

megumis pov 3rd person

megumi found himself staring straight into his homework, he was assigned to direct an advertisement for his own made up brand due at the end of the week, assigned in class that day. he slams his fist down not being able to think of anything besides the problem he’s in with the world. after the stream he gained a lot of popularity finally making it to the 10 thousand club of followers. he groans as he starts to get stressed, streaming and posting on the internet was something he did for fun with the peer pressure of his childhood friend- he never thought it would grow to this level of popularity. every time he opens his phone now it’s a reminder of that new fame he has with new demand. with doing the math and thinking, he applies that in order to continue this support for his channel for not only himself but his friends, that means he has to upload a lot more. meaning more unwanted fame and more workload. megumi never really minded playing and uploaded as he thought it was fun and something to do in his free time, but now he’s rethinking his future and his channel completely. he grazes down to see the new “fan edits and ship names” created by his delusional fan base. this ship annoyed him a bit based on the sole fact that she’s in arm reach to him and she definitely knows about this new ship. he gets embarrassed because he has no idea who she is and where she came from. but after this scandal on the internet, she’s been in his mind the whole night. megumi groans frustrated as he turns away from his chair to settle down for bed, he doesn’t understand the complexity of the internet but he knows he’s becoming the middle of it. with many thoughts rushing in and out of his head he finally flips over to finally release the now throbbing headache he has, he falls asleep waiting for the troubles to attend to tomorrow.

Authors note: chapter 3…. a little angsty this chapter but MEGUMI AND Y/N FINALLY MET!!! in this chapter y/n took us along on her first day of dance… i don’t think she expected it to go like that tho… ANYYYYWAYYS i hoped you guys enjoyed this chapter and let’s see how the relationship develops. like always see you next chapter <3

fun facts:

• the gc was being a bit dramatic when they said his eyes “lit up” when he saw her, but at the same time it’s RARE for megumi to show any emotion on his face… maybe he saw something he liked….

• growing up y/n did many styles of dance her favorite being ballet because of how strict and demanding it is.

• nobara got pretty close to maki and y/n (new friendship #girlpower???

• megumi gets irritated when people on the internet ship him with other creators based on the fact that he doesn’t know them at all. making him a little uncomfortable

56 notes · View notes