#Foreign Language Classes Near Me

[namastemandarin]

https://www.namastemandarin.com/

The Chinese program offers Mandarin Chinesecourses at all proficiency levels. Students will develop Chinese language skills and transcultural understanding that enables them to interact with Chinese language users in a linguistically correct and socially appropriate manner. Instructional materials and communicative activities are carefully integrated with grammar structures to help students learn the language form with connections to meaning and function. Instruction is learner-centered, communication-oriented and task-based.

[dawnthefluffyduck]

With the word ゆうめい finally entering my vocabulary list, I have successfully squeezed my utdr obsession into my Japanese homework

(edit; oh yeah translations, ゆうめい=famous

私は… ゆうめいね -> I'm... famous?? (In lieu of "popular")

アンダーテール -> undertale)

[sequelinternational]

Best French Language Course in Lucknow For Beginners

Are you ready to embark on an exciting journey of language learning? If you’ve ever dreamed of speaking French, now is the perfect time to start. Lucknow, with its rich culture and vibrant community, offers a fantastic opportunity for beginners eager to dive into this beautiful language. At Sequel International, we believe that learning French can open doors to new experiences and connections. Whether you’re motivated by travel, career advancement, or simply a passion for languages, our tailored program will guide you every step of the way. Let’s explore why Sequel International is your ideal destination for mastering French in Lucknow!

Sequel International | French language course in Lucknow

stands out as a premier institution for learning the French language in Lucknow. With a focus on immersive and interactive teaching methods, we ensure that students grasp both the fundamentals and intricacies of French.

Our experienced instructors bring passion to the classroom, creating an engaging environment that fosters curiosity. Classes are designed to accommodate beginners, ensuring personalized attention for every learner.

At Sequel International, we understand that language is not just about grammar; it’s also about culture. That’s why our curriculum incorporates cultural insights alongside vocabulary and conversational skills.

With flexible timings and small class sizes, students can feel comfortable participating without the pressure of larger groups. This approach allows them to build confidence while practicing their newfound language skills effectively.

Benefits of learning a new language, specifically French

Learning a new language opens up a world of opportunities. French, often referred to as the language of love, is not only beautiful but also widely spoken across several continents.

Mastering French can enhance your travel experiences. From Parisian streets to African markets, speaking the local language enriches interactions and deepens cultural understanding.

Cognates in English and French make vocabulary acquisition easier for beginners. Words like “restaurant” or “ballet” are instantly recognizable, easing the learning curve.

Moreover, proficiency in French boosts your career prospects. Many global companies seek bilingual candidates who can communicate with diverse clients and partners.

Engaging with French literature and film adds another layer of appreciation for art and culture. Reading classics or watching films in their original language provides insights that translations may miss.

Course details and structure at Sequel International

Sequel International offers a comprehensive French language course designed specifically for beginners. The curriculum is structured to facilitate gradual learning, starting with basic vocabulary and phrases.

Classes are interactive, combining speaking, listening, reading, and writing exercises. This balanced approach helps students develop all aspects of language skills simultaneously.

The course is divided into levels that cater to different proficiencies. Each level includes engaging activities such as group discussions and role-playing scenarios to enhance conversational skills.

Students benefit from experienced instructors who provide personalized attention. Regular assessments help track progress and identify areas for improvement.

Additionally, Sequel International incorporates cultural elements into the lessons. Understanding French culture enriches the learning experience and fosters a deeper connection with the language itself.

Student testimonials and success stories

At Sequel International, student success is a source of immense pride. Many beginners have transformed their lives through the French language course.

Take Priya, for instance. She joined with little knowledge but emerged confident in conversational skills within months. Her newfound fluency opened doors to opportunities abroad.

Then there’s Rohan, who enrolled as a travel enthusiast. He now navigates Parisian streets effortlessly, thanks to his lessons at Sequel International. His experiences in France have been enriched dramatically.

These stories are not unique; they echo throughout our community. Students frequently share how learning French has broadened their horizons and deepened cultural appreciation.

With dedicated instructors and an engaging curriculum, each journey reflects personal growth and achievement. The supportive environment fosters friendships that often extend beyond the classroom.

Comparison with other language courses in Lucknow

When comparing Sequel International’s French language course to other options in Lucknow, several factors come into play. Many institutions offer language training, but not all provide the same level of immersion and personalized attention.

Sequel International stands out with its experienced instructors who focus on interactive learning. Unlike some generic courses, the emphasis here is on conversation skills alongside grammar fundamentals.

While many centers use outdated materials, Sequel updates its resources regularly. This approach keeps learners engaged and motivated. Additionally, smaller class sizes ensure that each student receives ample opportunities for practice and feedback.

Other programs may also have rigid schedules, making it challenging for working professionals or students with tight timelines. In contrast, Sequel offers flexible timings that cater to varying needs without compromising quality.

How to enroll in the course and pricing information

Enrolling in the French language course at Sequel International is a straightforward process. Interested students can visit the official website to fill out an inquiry form. This ensures you receive all necessary information tailored to your needs.

Once registered, you’ll be contacted by a friendly representative who will guide you through the next steps. They will provide details about class schedules, materials required, and any prerequisites.

As for pricing, Sequel International offers competitive rates designed to make learning accessible for everyone. Various payment options are available, including flexible installment plans that cater to different budgets.

Don’t forget to check for seasonal discounts or promotional offers that may apply when signing up! With such transparency and support throughout enrollment, taking that first step toward mastering French has never been easier.

Why Sequel International is the best choice for beginners learning French in Lucknow

Sequel International stands out as the premier choice for beginners eager to learn French in Lucknow. The institute’s tailored approach ensures that each student receives personalized attention, making language acquisition smoother and more enjoyable.

The experienced faculty at Sequel are not just teachers; they are passionate linguists who bring real-world experience into the classroom. This connection helps demystify the complexities of French while fostering a love for the language.

Classes are designed with practical engagement in mind, incorporating interactive activities that promote speaking and listening skills. Students can immerse themselves in authentic conversations from day one.

Moreover, Sequel International provides a supportive learning environment where students feel comfortable practicing their skills without fear of judgment. This nurturing atmosphere encourages growth and confidence throughout the learning journey.

With flexible timings and comprehensive course materials, Sequel adapts to individual schedules and learning paces, ensuring everyone finds success on their French-speaking path.

Conclusion:

Choosing to learn a new language can open many doors. French, in particular, is not just another skill; it’s an opportunity to connect with a rich culture and diverse communities worldwide. Sequel International stands out as the premier choice for beginners looking to embark on their French learning journey in Lucknow.

With expert instructors, a well-structured curriculum, and flexible timings, students find themselves immersed in an engaging environment that fosters growth. The testimonials from past participants highlight transformation and confidence gained through the program.

When compared to other courses available in Lucknow, Sequel International consistently ranks higher due to its commitment to quality education and personal attention given to each student.

For those ready to take this exciting step towards mastering French, enrolling at Sequel International is straightforward. With transparent pricing options tailored for beginners, you can easily fit this enriching experience into your budget.

Sequel International truly sets itself apart as the best option for anyone eager to start learning French effectively and enjoyably in Lucknow. Take the leap today — your journey awaits!

[sooniebby]

Idea for an OC, just a little draft idea right now (for this to work, reader speaks mandarin)

A foreigner reader who goes to a smaller city in Japan to live with his brother after he married a Japanese woman. It’s all awkward not speaking Japanese well but luckily Japanese uses a lot of traditional Chinese characters

So you manage when it comes to reading most of the time, but your speaking is very… childish at this stage—the classmates at your school find it cute, and luckily you have another foreign classmate who helps you out

But because of this language barrier—you get the wrong idea about a certain classmate your class seems to hate.. you misunderstand and think they’re describing him as cool

When really they’re saying he’s fucking scary, but you don’t understand why. Mainly because you can’t tell that he sounds like a yakuza member

So when you’re paired with him in a group project, everyone is “mourning” you while you are excited. He’s very handsome (when he’s not doing an ugly face, he should really stop snarling, it’s not cute)

Getting him to agree for you to visit him at home was a challenge but he finally agreed. When you reached his apartment you walked inside a bit shocked to see it was a one bedroom. No parents?

But before you could even ask, he grabs your arms and presses you against the wall, his eyes narrowed. “You’re oddly calm being near me, what, do they have a plan to ambush me or something?”

He spoke a bit too fast for you to properly understand him so you only grinned, “yes, the plan to do our homework! Everyone describes you as very organized!”

“Organized?”

“Yes… 構成 (kōsei)…”

He blinks before a wolfish smile appears on his lips. “You’re really dumb… they said I have an aggression problem. 攻勢 (kōsei).”

You still didn’t quite understand him as you tilted your head. “What’s wrong with being organized?”

“Dumb and cute…” his hands slowly trail down your arms to the side of your waist, his thumb digging into your skin. “Hey.. so you’re not scared of me at all?”

“I am now....”

“But your cock is saying otherwise .”

You raise an eyebrow, he keeps using words you don’t understand until he looks down at your pants. You glance down and quickly blush, you had a boner in your pants.

Shit.

The plot is literally just delinquent boy with innocent reader.. with reader learning he’s really into being accosted and manhandled by a handsome guy

Whatcha ya think? Yay or nay?

[fligniuz]

sex for homework

luigi mangione x reader

｡𖦹°‧ you ask your cute tutor to help you study for your math final.

word count: 5.5k • part of my study buddies series (read here!) • nsfw • read on ao3

warnings : f! reader; EXPLICIT; dumbification if U squint; praise; oral (m! receiving); pre calc lol

notes : crossposting my shit to tumblr and starting with arguably one of my greatest uses of free will in history. title frommm:

You have a bit of a dilemma.

Well, it would be more accurate to say that you had a dilemma, have had one for quite a while now—your current grievances are merely extensions of a constant, one raging, blood-thirsty, borderline psychopathic problem of a class. MTH121, Concepts & Applications, is the only remaining mathematics credit required for your degree, and, coincidentally, absolutely no one told you that that’s really just a fancy name for pre-calculus. Because the universe hates you.

Your final is tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow. If that wasn’t bad enough, your brain has utterly fucked you; months spent poring over formulas and right triangles amounts to nothing in the moment, every relevant fragment of knowledge completely foreign to your burnt out, sleep deprived, caffeine ridden psyche. So here you sit, “studying”, armed with just your textbook and Khan Academy tutorials.

Is it too late to switch majors? Yes, you decide, massaging your temples as you take another glance at your notes. A mass of numbers, variables, and scribbled matrices clogs the pages, complete with your near ineligible annotations, details added in the heat of a lecture. You never knew there could be so many different types of numbers. Solve for x. 5 + 2x to the 2nd power = 8x. Factor x3 - 3x to the 2nd power - 4x + 12. Find the vertex of the function f(x) = x to the 2nd power + 4x + 3. Determine the value of x if the sum of the following sequence converges to 5. How any of this is relevant to your future non-mathematics degree is beyond you.

What the hell is a vertex again? And what does it matter? You’d rather be sleeping, or drunk. Whatever.

You have one saving grace. Since your freshman year you’ve been employing a little cheat-sheet, your one-way ticket to having math explained to you in a language understood by plebeians like yourself: one Luigi Mangione, a friend of a friend of a friend, possibly the smartest guy you know (and you’re far from the only person to voice that opinion). Your self-appointed tutor—and unfortunately for you, probably the most appetizing of any of the frat guys you’ve met in college, to put it chastely. The actual knowledge is just a bonus, really, because unlike other tutors you’ve worked with Luigi seems to actually care; he wants you to walk away from him with a solid understanding of the material, rather than a temporary knowledge that gets your homework done but is absent from your memory by the time of your exams. And it’s hard to write off the fact that he’s easy on the eyes.

…Pretty damn hard, actually. Because—in all honesty—you’re really into Luigi. Another thing that’s hard to do is get your math homework done when you’re busy fucking yourself with your fingers, like you tend to do after your time with him, thinking about his cock, his hands, the way he would fill you, pin you down underneath him, smirk at you and tell you dirty things like that’s my girl, that’s my good fucking girl, that’s it, give it to me, show me how pretty you look when you come all over me like this…

Great. At this pace, you’ll never get anything done.

Your phone buzzes.

About an hour ago, you sent him a photo of your current predicament: your laptop and notebook open, and you sitting criss-crossed in front of it, an exaggerated pout on your lips. A few moments later, you sent another, this time of your middle finger pointed directly at your professor’s official portrait. Now, he responds:

Academic Weapon (Luigi) : Smh

Who studies the night before their final?? Dummy

You smile, replying:

i do :(

help pls :((

Academic Weapon (Luigi) : You poor thing

And then:

Academic Weapon (Luigi) : Come over. In like 15

We’ll work it out together

Score. He adds:

Academic Weapon (Luigi) : And I better not hear any complaining when I make you actually do the math

Your crush feels elementary, like you’ve got the hots for the nerdy jock on the playground that’s miles out of your league and that every girl on planet Earth is fighting tooth and nail for. You respond:

no promises :P

You pray to your lucky stars that you can study as nonchalantly as humanly possible.

You told him you wouldn’t complain, and you’ve tried, you really have. But dividing radicals is fucking stupid and useless and the more you look at your paper the more these numbers and symbols really start to look all the same to you, just scribbles, meaningless scribbles of made-up concepts that have nothing to do with your career prospects whatsoever. Who gives a flying fuck about solving equations with these weird ass numbers that normal people don’t even use?

You must be thinking out loud, because Luigi laughs next to you on the couch. He is laughing at your frustration. What an emotionally supportive tutor. You groan and thread your fingers through your hair, massaging your temples.

Still smiling just slightly, he starts to gather up your things. “Alright, look, how about we take a break?” He glances over at you, still holding your head in your hands. “Yeah, let’s take a break for a minute.”

He gets up from the couch, disappears into the kitchen for just a moment. Comes back with a glass of orange juice. For you. You try not to think about how pathetic it is that the most romantic gesture a man has done for you in the past three years is bring you juice. Instead you watch him, sipping slowly—no pulp, he knows you so well—and peeking through your eyelashes as he scuttles around his dorm, just the two of you alone together, while he throws some laundry into a basket and absentmindedly closes doors of unoccupied rooms. You have never noticed how defined his calves are before, nor how his curls bounce just slightly when he walks fast or how his shorts sag on his hips just right, just enough for you to get a peek of his V-line and the waistband of his boxers when he raises his arms to stretch—

Nonchalant. Demure. Mindful. You are failing so hard at the one thing you’ve forbidden yourself from doing: staring at him until your eyes are practically burning holes in his clothes and he’s melting into the floor. Not entirely your fault. He should’ve known to dress modestly around you. Around anybody, for that matter.

Luigi comes to sit by you now. As you tuck your hair behind your ears you can feel his arm move to rest along the back of the couch, almost around you, but not quite.

“Hi,” you say, propping your head up on your arm.

He smiles at you. You can’t even look him in the eye. “Did you think more about your radicals?”

“Don’t remind me,” you groan, rolling your eyes. “No. I didn’t.”

“Well, what were you thinking about?”

You swallow the conspiratorial intuition that he has to be fucking with you. Maybe he sees it on your face. Can smell it on you. Something.

“I was trying to think of some things I’d rather be doing,” you offer. “Instead of math.”

Your heart feels three beats faster all of a sudden, and when did he get so close to you? Your thighs are touching, his knee brushing against yours. “And what did you come up with?” he asks.

Oh, fuck. He’s definitely fucking with you. Right? He has that goddamn smirk on his face, that one that makes your insides twist with a feeling reserved only for boys who look at you just like this, like you’re busted, like he knows exactly what you’ve been thinking about every second you’ve spent sitting next to him doing algebra. You want to kiss it right off of him.

“Nothing,” you lie, sitting up straight and trying to pretend like you really are interested in your studies. “Here, will you show me how to do it again?”

He calls your name. He doesn’t even have to ask for you to look at him; the tone of his voice and the tilt of his head makes his intentions entirely clear. When your eyes meet his he inches closer, and all you can manage to do is stare at his lips.

“Tell me what you want,” he demands, stern and warm enough to boil.

If he truly knew what he was asking for he wouldn’t be asking at all, you think. Not unless he was prepared for whatever your fervent need has in store for him. Embarrassment feels bright red and prickly on your skin. “I shouldn’t say.”

”But I think you should,” he whispers.

Oh. Oh. All bets are off, now. This has officially progressed from studying to “studying”.

Luigi lets you lead, his hand settling on the small of your back as you come a little closer to kiss him, properly. You hear him giggle before your lips meet; the curve of his smile against you is unmistakable, casting sparks through your body and down your thighs. He tastes like spearmint. You learn quickly that he is a fantastic kisser, and his tongue finds yours with curious excitement when your breathing starts to pick up. Without question, he claims the expanse of you, drinking in your essence, licking, biting. Those irresistible curls demand attention, and so you thread your fingers through his hair, your hand sweeping from behind his ear to the nape of his neck. Luigi shivers under your touch, exhaling softly against you.

When the fingers of his left hand raise to grasp your leg, you stop kissing him only to swing your body over his lap so that you’re straddling him. Luigi breathes in deep then, like his nervous system collectively seizes at the feeling of you so close. To give him room to breathe you stop short of settling all your weight onto him. Lips meeting once more, his hands greet your hips; his touch is warm, and timid, like you’re made of sand, like you might collapse and dissolve into immeasurable particles between his fingers.

He groans into your mouth. Murmurs your name. “This isn’t very productive,” he quips.

“Intellectually, no,” you agree, nails brushing the back of his neck. He has goosebumps. A ghost of a smile dancing on your lips, you slowly lower yourself down onto his lap; there are two layers of clothes between your bare skin but he is impossibly warm against you. “But what about physically?”

Luigi smiles, and fuck, he is too fucking beautiful. “I guess I can’t argue with that.”

And so you kiss him again and again and again, your heart doing backflips inside your chest when his big hands glide lower, and lower, thumb toying with the waistband of your skirt, and lower still, until he’s gripping your ass. You can’t help but nuzzle against the growing stiffness underneath you, poking between your thighs—and you definitely can’t help but love the way he grinds back, hips meeting yours with just as much enthusiasm. Fuck. About an hour ago you were working through polynomials and linear equations, and now the dreamiest guy you’ve ever met is hard for you, holding you in his lap. You might as well thank your professor.

When Luigi sucks at your bottom lip for a few euphoric moments, you make the most pathetic sound into his mouth, and he growls, his hands suddenly coming up to grasp your hips and hold them steady. “Was this your plan all along?” he rasps, his lips moving swiftly to the side of your face, your jaw, the junction between your neck and shoulder.

Sharp teeth graze skin and you whimper. “What do you mean?”

“What, now you’re playing coy?” Luigi finds the pulse point in your throat and bites, softly at first, then harder when your fingers curl into the hair at the back of his head. “You didn’t want to study. You called me because you wanted to get fucked, because you knew I’d want to touch you just like this, didn’t you?”

This boy is out of his mind. First he practically eye-fucks you while schooling you about imaginary numbers, and then he “scolds” you like he’s disappointed in your lack of interest in algebra, like he’s mad that you can’t resist him for being so damn gorgeous. That half-hearted meanness in his tone leaves butterflies in your stomach, in no way helped by the feeling of his tongue sliding over your collarbone.

“No,” you mutter. It’s not completely a lie. You really did need his help with the math, which he is really good at…but you can’t deny that you were really hoping you two would end up like this, with him kissing your neck all over until you’re speckled with purple and pink. You don’t even care about the obvious evidence of him on your skin—you want his entire dorm hall to know just how well-acquainted the two of you are by the time he’s done with you. The thought of everyone knowing you’re his makes you weak.

Luigi is kissing you again, slowly and deeply, one hand coming up to cup your breast through your shirt. His touch is too much and not enough simultaneously, your need overwhelming, and your hips are searching desperately for friction, rolling against him eagerly. So much for nonchalance.

He grasps your chin, firm but not at all painful, and flashes you that pretty smile, tutting, “I don’t believe you.”

Your mind is far too preoccupied with thoughts of his touch in other places to try to formulate a witty rebut. You opt instead to kiss him harder and sneak a hand between your bodies, tracing over his chest, down his carefully crafted abdomen, and then over the front of his shorts, groping his hard cock through polyester. Luigi groans into your mouth. He is big, almost intimidating, and imagining him inside of you has your body feeling hot all over.

As you palm the outline of his length through his trousers, his hands make their way underneath your sweater, the sudden warmth of him jolting through your torso. You look up at him through your lashes and he smirks.

“Do you want to sit on it?” he asks you, entirely stoic despite the weight of his words.

You kiss him, still squeezing his cock. “Can I put it in my mouth first?”

Fuck. You have him wrapped around your finger. How could he possibly say no when you ask so sweetly? Luigi is instantly pulling down his shorts for you, the rustle of fabric making your head spin. He’s left in just his boxers and a sweater that you quickly help him shrug off, too. Once you have him undressed, he takes a moment to survey you, your cheeks flushed, eyes lidded, hair tousled from his hands. You feel a surge of confidence now that you have his full attention and so you pull your top up and over your head, smiling when he reaches behind you to help you with your bra. He has it and your skirt off in just a few seconds, leaving your combined clothes to pile up next to the couch.

You shift so that you’re kneeling on the floor in front of him, wearing only your panties, watching him watching you. He is grinning, his cock standing proud, and you know you must be blushing by the way his teeth flash from under the curve of his lips. You feel gooey and hot in the pit of your stomach. Swallowing your shyness, you reach forward to take him in your hand. He’s already sticky at the tip, precum glistening on his slit, and so you begin to stroke him, starting at the head of his dick and spreading slick down his shaft. His cock is probably the most gorgeous thing you’ve ever seen, at the very least a runner-up for his face: tan and thick, his girth evenly distributed, and big enough to have you feeling your heartbeat between your legs. There is a prominent vein along the underside of him, ending at his frenulum. He pulses with each movement of your hand.

Once he’s as wet as you like, you come closer to tease him with your tongue, licking up the base, tracing his vein, passing over his slit. Luigi groans—“fuuuuuck, baby,”—and threads his fingers into your hair, tugging hard.

“Don’t be a fucking tease,” he rasps. “You asked for this. Show me what that mouth can do.”

Your lips are halfway wrapped around the head of him and when you moan at his words it vibrates through him, his abs flexing deliciously. You move further down, then, mouth closed around his length, applying light pressure on your way back up. He’s too big to take all of him at once and so your left hand grasps the length you can’t reach, pumping gently. You start a subtle, easy rhythm, evenly paced and obviously satisfying enough to have Luigi panting and swearing above you: your mouth starts at his tip, sucking gently, then gliding lower, until you can feel him in the back of your throat and you’re nearly gagging on him—and then you move upward again, cheeks hollowing around him, finally reaching the head of him once more. Rinse and repeat. It is organized. Formulaic. Your process leaves you practically drooling on his cock, spit collecting at the base where you are stroking him. Fuck. You haven’t pleased a guy like this in quite a while, and under any other circumstances you’d probably feel a bit insecure about your work; but it’s difficult to justify any doubts you might have, what with the noises coming from above you:

“Oh, fuck, yes, baby, yes, just like that, fuck yes,” Luigi moans, fingers knotted tightly in your hair. “Oh my god, your mouth…”

You slip your free hand into your panties, middle and ring finger rubbing your clit.

As your ministrations intensify, his reactions do, too. You can feel his thighs and hips tensing in an effort not to fuck into your throat. But you made a promise to yourself; you want to take the entirety of his length in your mouth before all of this is over, and so you move your left hand down to his balls, kneading him and carefully lowering your face until your nose is pressed into the curly hairs of his groin, his cock as deep as it can reach. And Luigi keens, head thrown back against the couch, one hand in your hair and the other gripping the armrest tight. You can feel him twitching in your throat.

There are a few blissful moments of you sucking him just like this, sinking him deep into your throat and pinching your lips around his tip, and you almost wish the two of you were recording because the sounds he makes are top tier jerk material for at least the next few months. He’d be a natural on camera. You want to commit every second of this to your memory.

When he goes quiet for a moment you open your eyes to look at him. You find him staring down at you, mouth agape. “Are you touching yourself?” he asks.

It’s difficult to answer with his dick in your mouth, so you settle for moaning around him again, eyes fluttering shut.

“Holy fuck,” he grunts, his voice sweeter than sugar.

You could sit here sucking him off for the rest of your life—you could die with his dick in your mouth—but you regrettably begin to feel your jaw aching, knowing full well that keeping this up will have you hurting. Not that you really mind. When you begin to sputter and tear up around him, he grabs both sides of your face and pulls your mouth off of his cock. You are crying, just a little, crocodile tears streaming down your cheeks, your throat raw.

Luigi looks down at you sweetly. “Oh, baby,” he coos, wiping your wet face dry with his thumbs. “That’s my perfect girl. So good to me. Come here.”

He welcomes you back onto his lap with open arms and a smile. He is warm, so warm and soft against you, you could fall asleep just like this. But he is kissing you now, so slowly that you feel dizzy, and so you ground yourself, fingers embracing his curls. His hands move to your hips, grasping the waistband of your panties, teasing you, rubbing the fabric against your heat. When he finally has them off his fingers are instantly examining you, collecting your slick, slipping through your folds.

“Let’s see about a little reward for you, hm?” he whispers, capturing your lips with his.

You kiss him eagerly and arch your back so that your thighs spread wide enough for his fingers to enter you with ease—not that it would be difficult without, considering that you’re so wet you can hear him touching you, even over the sound of your blood rushing in your ears. Two long digits move inside of you, stretching you, massaging that spot that makes your knees buckle and your eyes cross, plus a few more that you never knew existed. His touch feels so good, just how you imagined, and you have to lean forward into the crook of his neck to keep yourself upright, your teeth sinking into a firm shoulder. Luigi makes a gruff sound, almost a chuckle, and his cock jumps at your whiny, choked noises when he adds a third finger into your pussy.

“So needy, aren’t you?” he teases. “Have you been thinking about this, gorgeous? About sucking my cock and taking my fingers like this?”

You nod, because of course you have. In that exact order. Who wouldn’t?

Luigi smiles at you, soft and adoring. You make a curious sound and his fingers depart from you, lingering at your entrance until you grind down into his lap. Your cunt brushes against him, raw, hungry, slathering his cock with your slick.

“I want you,” you whine, grabbing his face and kissing him again. “I want all of you.”

“Yeah, baby?” His hands are guiding your hips, moving you slowly against him. “Tell me about it.”

Well, you would, if your brain weren’t short-circuiting at the moment. His fault. You mumble into his ear, something about infinity, something about the way you hug your pillow at night and all the times you’ve fucked yourself stupid thinking about this very image of you and him together like this. But there are countless words for your endless feelings, words you would preach to him from high places if your body had the agency to; your attraction to him is primal, but neatly arranged, layered, wrapped up with variables galore and multiplying with each moment you spend in his presence. A mess, no doubt about it, but one you can control, a tangle to unravel, an equation to solve. Nothing less. You aren’t sure of how this ends but you know that you need him, bad, more than you knew was possible before.

You crash into him, mouths colliding, everything that you left unsaid spilling into your embrace. Words are hard. Kissing Luigi and grinding your warm, throbbing cunt against him takes much less brainpower.

He is speaking to you when you pull away: “Baby, just a second, wait right here, let me get something.” Gently you are pushed from his lap and he disappears into his room momentarily, leaving you waiting, alone, aching for him, until he rounds the corner again with a familiar foil packet, finding his way back to the couch and sweeping you on top of him once more.

“Hi. Sorry.” And now he is fully yours.

You whine and wiggle against him the second the condom is on.

“Shh,” Luigi whispers, “I got you, ‘s okay, gorgeous. Gonna take good care of you, yeah? Don’t you worry. Gonna give you just what you need, baby.”

The tip of his cock is pressing into you, then, slowly easing himself inside, and fuck, he fits just right, fills you up perfectly, has you seeing stars already. The sound you make when he bottoms out is a hop, skip, and a jump away from pornographic. Luigi purrs underneath you.

“Oh, I know, baby, I know.” His hand slides down to grip your ass, spreading you, and from this angle you can feel just how much he stretches you out. And then, as he begins to roll his hips: “My sweet girl, working so hard, can’t even think for yourself, can you, beautiful? That’s okay, baby. I can do all the thinking for you, you just sit back and let me work it out for you, yeah? Don’t think. Just let me please this pussy.”

It’s like he’s trying to kill you. Every single word he says into your ear shoots straight to your cunt, the mere sound of his voice so near you electrifying. He’s deep, and with your thighs spread wide like this you just have to take advantage of the perfect angle to rub your clit against him. You can’t help but squeal into the crook of his neck each time his hips ram up into you, thighs clapping against your ass; by the way his muscles tense you assume it must take much of his energy, and yet he pounds you like you weigh nothing in his lap, exerting himself like it’s a cakewalk so long as he can watch your face shrivel up with overwhelming delectation. You can tell that he loves it when you tug his hair or bite him, and so you do it every chance you get, just in case your hushed utterances in his ear fail to make your message clear enough:

“Luigi, fuckfuckfuck, oh my god, oh, fuck…”

As he paces himself Luigi wraps his strong arms around you, one caging your waist and the other pulling tight at your hair. Your neck is arched and exposed, leaving him free to smother his love all over you in sharp, uneven hickeys. You needed this, so, so bad, and you tell him exactly that, chanting thank you, thank you, thank you and holding him tight.

“Whatever you want,” he whispers. “You can have whatever you want with me. Anything.” His lips meet yours, fleeting, and then, with the slightest hint of a grin: “You earned this, baby.”

You groan directly into his ear. It’s straight from your dreams, you think, like you’ve been swept from your bed in the midst of the night and dropped right here, in the lap of the sweetest, smartest, most handsome boy you’ve ever so much as looked at, bouncing on his cock while he kisses you like you’ll float away if he lets go. The two of you work together to heighten each other’s inevitable undoing, like a function of sorts; Luigi pushes and you push back, meeting his hips every time, your clit brushing against him just right, and him breaching unknown depths of you, hands roaming, learning you inside and out.

“My sweet girl,” he grabs your face and rests his forehead against yours, driving into you with precision. “This is all yours, baby.”

Sweat starts to gather at his hairline and you can feel him shuddering in your arms. Kissing him, you press down on his toned chest, pinning him against the couch, and Luigi is practically singing for you, little grunts and babys and murmurs of your name traveling through your ears and echoing in your mind. You want this to last forever. His hips slow to a stop when you begin to move on your own; you raise yourself up, resting all your weight on your knees, with him sliding out of your cunt until just the tip is still inside—and then you drop down, letting him sink back into you quickly, slick and smooth, his cock so deep you can nearly feel it in your stomach.

Fuck. You love this. You love the way his hands grip your ass, your thighs, rubbing your back, moaning your name and kissing behind your ear. You love the way he looks at you. The pupils of those dark eyes are blown wide, watching you move, worshipping how your tits bounce, the gyration of your hips, the blush of arousal all over you, your bottom lip wedged between your teeth. The sounds of sex and the shameless way he takes in every feature of your body have you feeling hot and ready to burst. You moan his name, drawn out and raspy.

“Yes,” Luigi groans. “You’re so pretty on top of me.”

Even through the haze of your pleasure you smile at his praise. He is telling you everything, every single thought that passes by in his mind, as if there will be no proof of how good he fucked you once you leave his dorm, as if every word will dissipate into thin air and leave you waiting, unsatisfied, hanging on the edge: “You take it so well, baby, my sweet girl, so perfect, so perfect just for me.”

His big hands are all over you. One cups your breast, sucking your nipple into his mouth, with the other splayed over your hip. You start to feel dizzy, anxious for his attention, a little bit crazy. Close. Luigi must notice the way your eyes screw shut and your pussy squeezes him tight, because his hand moves down your chest, over your stomach, and then to your clit, circling his fingers with purpose. He wishes—almost—that you were beneath him, so that he could replace his hand with his mouth, trace down your body with his lips and bring you to your very edge with his tongue, over and over again, until you’re begging him to stop.

He settles instead for kissing you, hard, slowly, lingering. “You have no fucking idea how bad I’ve been wanting this, baby.”

You nod, moaning, “yes, yes, me too,” your noises pained and rough in your throat.

The way his cock slams into you with each movement of your hips is ruthless, bruising; he’s kissing you so sweetly and you can feel your climax churning in your abdomen, rippling through you. It knocks the air from your lungs. Sex with him hurts so good. It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before.

“Gonna come,” you huff. There are fingernail-sized dents in his skin. “Gonna come for you.”

Luigi nods, whispers, “good girl, such a good girl,” and circles his fingers over your clit as fast as he can manage.

You tense around him at that. You can’t even count how many times you’ve come imagining those very words whispered in your ear by the very man that you’re riding right now.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “Yeah? You like that? You like being a good girl for me?”

You nod wildly, and everything feels so real all of a sudden, like you’ve been floating mindlessly in space and you are crashing down into reality. His teeth dig into the sensitive skin of your neck and his hips start to pump again and by the time he’s meeting your thrusts you’ve had enough, thighs shaking, and he starts moaning into your ear so that you know he’s right there with you, and fuck, he’s really trying to kill you—

Your orgasm hits you like a truck. A 5’11, dark haired and brown eyed muscle truck that looks at you like you are the only good thing left in the world.

For a moment there is only your deep panting and his equally spent breaths as the both of you rest, his hand tracing gentle patterns on your back, yours combing through his sweat-soaked curls. The dorm is quiet, calm, almost with an air of innocence, completely unswayed by the heady aftermath of what the two of you just did right there on the couch. You lean back and look into his eyes, brooding and trained entirely on you. And he has that stupid grin on his face, the one that gives both of you away for good, the one that screams we’re not the only ones who know what we’ve been up to.

You want to kiss it right off of his beautiful, beautiful face. But right now you just sigh, lean into his shoulder, and let him hold you tight. Tonight you will walk back to your dorm, all the way on the other side of campus, where your roommates will be waiting for you, likely getting ready for bed. You will walk inside and they will watch you without a clue as to whose hands have been on you, whose name has been on your lips, whose cock has been buried to the hilt inside of you for the past hour. Your legs will be aching—you are sure of it.

Your roommates will ask you, “how’d it go?”, completely unaware of what your wobbly smile really means, how you really spent your time with your cute tutor.

And you will respond, “oh, great,” with a barely masked giggle. “I’m gonna ace my test tomorrow.”

^ dividers by cafekitsune

[attapullman]

Bob From Stats | Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: College is a wild time, but absolutely nothing could prepare you for the quiet guy from Stats riding around campus as a cowboy. Or what a good kisser he is.

Word Count: 4.9k

Warnings: f!reader, smut, 18+ ONLY as always, dry humping, alcohol, drunken party games, mentions of studying because that gives me PTSD, semi-exaggerated Greek life for theatrical reasons

A Note From Mo: Somehow my frat!Bob, drunk Bob is Rhett, and 7 minutes in heaven ideas all rolled into one fic - wild! Massive shoutout to everyone who listened to me talk about Stats Bob (who is now officially my #2 Bob, I love him) and for supporting this here lil blog. May you find a hobby-horse-wielding future WSO to sweep you off your feet too!

If you liked this, you may also enjoy on our syllabus Bob From Pi Kapp.

“I hate this. I’m going to quit school and become a stripper.”

Anna gives you a wry look. “That joke was only funny the first time you said it.”

“So you admit I’m funny!”

The two of you have been spread out in the library the majority of the evening. Textbooks, snacks, and highlighters littering the glossy dark wood. You’re on hour five of assignments and your brain is pounding against the front of your skull. Your other classes aren’t too bad, a bit time consuming, but Statistics is a foreign language. Thinking in probable numbers? It was one thing when the nice guy who sat behind you helped explain concepts, but Anna does not have quite the same analytical mind.

The sky outside is an inky black and the library is quiet except for your frustrated huffs. It’s Saturday night. The rest of campus is indulging in cheap beers at Barney’s, slinking along Greek Row, or enjoying tonight’s episode of Saturday Night Live. It’s time to get out of here and crawl into your soft bed. Torturing yourself with Stats homework will be just as painful on Sunday.

“If I buy us a pint of chocolate chip cookie dough, can we blow this off and hang out back at the dorms?” Anna is nodding before you’ve even finished. Stuffing notebooks into backpacks and capping pens low on ink, you’re strolling down the library stairs not even five minutes later.

As the balmy evening campus air hits your face, you already feel fresher. Campus is quiet, late enough that most people are settled into their Saturday night plans. As the two of you near Greek Row, there’s a comfortable silence as you appreciate the breeze through the trees and the warm glow of campus housing windows.

That is, until a low whoop rings out. An undercurrent of boisterous cheering and what sounds like stomping feet. You exchange eyes with your roommate. What is that?

As if summoned, a group comes galloping through the neatly trimmed cypress trees around the corner. They’re stomping their feet in a rhythm, hands held mid-air to imitate holding reigns. Drunken laughs ring out between cries of “Whoa!” and “Steady there, Lucky!” To round it off, the leader of their horse play (literally) is full-on cosplaying as a cowboy, his jeans tucked into boots and a Stetson perched atop his head. 

Wait, is he holding a hobby horse? It’s been decades since you’ve seen those horse heads stuck on a stick. The stuffed felt Appaloosa head is reigned in the cowboy’s hands, where he pretends to spur it back into action. 

Just when you think you’ve seen it all.

The group continues its way toward you and you’re equally secondhand embarrassed and amused. As they grow closer you recognize a few guys from the Pi Kapp house and wave. But it’s Anna who makes the most shocking discovery when Mr. Cowboy tilts his brim up.

"Is that Bob from Stats?" 

It takes a second to look past the brown felt hat and the hobby horse he's taking for a spin, but that's definitely the same pink-cheeked Bob Floyd who has lent you a pencil all semester. 

“Howdy, ladies.” He tips his hat to you, all toothy grin and droopy drunk eyes. "Can I offer you a ride?"

You stare open-mouthed. Shocked. That slow rancher drawl is new. The unbridled confidence is new. Actually, the entire getup is new. For nine weeks you’ve seen him in the same trucker hat and sweatshirt combo while going over homework answers together. What is going on?

He’s clearly in the middle of his house party crawl, bright blue eyes half open behind his metal frames. Just as gorgeous as ever as a tendril of sandy hair curls against his forehead. Normally your reaction to him is tender, a puppy dog crush. But this wild, inebriated version of him? You’re hot under the collar.

“You think there’s room on your horse?” Ever since that first Stats class he’s made your brain feel like it’s on RedBull. The way he noticed you missing a writing utensil and offering you his extra. His kind smile when you get a homework answer completely wrong. Anna hasn’t noticed your crush, but it feels obvious with the way you can barely keep eye contact with him yet are unable to look away. Especially with that stupid cowboy hat on.

He bites his lip, considering your response, and his buddies all razz him as he drawls out, “There will be if we squeeze in.”

The wink makes your mouth dry.

Someone from the back of the group complains of the cold and the group prepares their steeds to head back to Pi Kapp. Anna explains you’re headed back to the dorms, tone deaf to the sexual tension, and Bob nods with his brow furrowed. 

“Another time then.” His white tshirt practically glows in the moonlight. “Have a good night, chickadees. Get home safe!”

With another tip of his Stetson to you, Bob Floyd gallops away toward another keg. 

You’re sprinting across campus, cursing how late your meeting with your advisor went. There was ten minutes to get across campus and he had spent four of those questioning whether you really needed another semester of French. You make it into the lecture hall with a minute to spare, finding your preferred spot in the lower rows where you can actually see the board. Right in front of Bob.

“What? No cowboy hat for class?” His cheeks flame red, the hope you’ve forgotten about his Saturday antics lost. He looks like himself today, his signature trucker cap keeping the hair off his face. Those friendly ultramarine eyes shyly focusing on his notebook because god forbid he makes eye contact after you’ve seen him gallop across campus on a fake horse. 

He rubs the back of his neck over his soft-looking crewneck, an awkward smile playing on his lips. “It’s at the cleaners.”

You give him an amused grin before settling yourself into one of the classically uncomfortable lecture seats. Anna waves to you from where she’s rushing in, historically always late. The professor is shuffling notes at the podium as she collapses into the seat next to you, nodding her head in greeting to you and to Bob. She raises her eyebrows to you, a “remember when Bob was dressed as a cowboy” gesture, and your lips twist happily. 

“Alright, class, who’s ready to talk probability?” The collective groans and hollers mark the start of lecture. You flip open your notebook and start digging around for a writing instrument in your bag. Like usual, you seem to be missing a pen or pencil when you need one most.

A tap on your shoulder. You turn and lock eyes with the frat boy-turned-cowboy with the shy smile. He holds out a pencil to you. Taking it sheepishly, you mouth a thank you and turn back to lecture. After nine weeks it shouldn’t be this embarrassing, but every week he’s given you a pencil since you whispered shoot! a little too loud on Week 1.

Risking a quick glance back at him, engrossed in the Empirical Law of Averages while he twirls his pencil, you’re not sure you can survive the rest of the semester.

By the end of the Stats lecture on Thursday, you have one brain cell to your name and seven pages of notes. What a brutal class. Midterms were quickly approaching and not a single professor had any mercy. As you pack up your stuff - including the borrowed pencil that would promptly disappear before next class - you make a study plan with Anna for that evening. She brings the chips, you’ll supply the vodka.

“Are you two not hitting the houses tonight?” He looks uncomfortable having interrupted the two of you.

Bob shifts his backpack to his other shoulder, adjusting the collar of his navy blue sweatshirt. Other than when he’s kindly exchanged homework answers before class - or been drunkenly galloping across campus - the two of you don’t speak much. The odd quip here and there, but overall the two of you exist in pencil-sharing quiet. “Everyone’s having pre-midterm parties before buckling down to study.”

“Oh, that sounds fun!” You look at Anna encouragingly. As needed as a vodka-infused study session was, one night out couldn’t hurt. And it was Thursday. No classes tomorrow meant you had three days to buckle down and attempt to understand anything you’ve learned this semester. 

She eyes you warily, but agrees that Greek Row sounds like a better option than highlighting textbooks. Bob flashes you his timid smile beneath the brim of his cap. “It’ll be a fun night. Maybe I’ll see you? If not, have a good weekend!” 

As he starts to walk out, a feeling takes over you. “Bob?” You watch him slow down and turn, wide blue eyes watching you from behind those unconventionally cute glasses. “You’ll be at the Pi Kapp house, yeah?” He nods. “Cool. See you around!”

Despite standing next to it the entire conversation, neither of you notice the pencil sitting on the desk, left behind as you head out for your respective weekends.

“What did you say?” You’re practically yelling to be heard over the EDM that Sigma Chi is blaring. They’ve turned their house into a rave with glow sticks, body paint, and music so loud your eardrums must be burst. The beer is warm, your arm has supernaturally purple paint smeared across it, and Anna has been unsuccessfully telling you a story for ten minutes.

Huffing, she grabs your arm and drags you toward the entrance, tossing your cups onto a random hallway table where a heated makeout session is taking place. They move out of the way just enough so the two of you can slip out of the old colonial house and out into the cool night. The ringing in your ears subsides slowly as you lean against the columns of the front porch. 

“House number three? Also sucked. Three strikes and you’re out? Can we go home?” Anna grabs your wrist and pouts. She wanted movie night with vodka and a pizza from Pietro’s. You wanted to blow off steam.

But Alpha Sig had mostly been freshman and Phi Delt, while not a terrible party, had the most smarmy men on campus. The bleeding eardrums of Sigma Chi was preferable to pushing off men in polos just to grab another drink. You just wanted a semi-decently flavored alcoholic beverage - maybe three - while chatting with some friends. You weren’t asking for much.

Allowing Anna to drag you in the direction of the dorms, ready to admit defeat, you slow to a stop seeing the bricked entrance to Pi Kappa Phi. Bob’s fraternity. A few minutes wouldn’t hurt, right?

It takes a little convincing, but soon you’re in the warmly lit foyer of the Pi Kapp house. The vibe is more relaxed than Sigma Chi, with a keg in the corner, an array of liquor bottles in the kitchen, and hip-hop softly filling the house. You’re impressed they’ve even gone the extra mile with multi-colored string lights across every surface to brighten up the otherwise dark house. 

“Yooooo, how’s it going?” A drunken loaf of snapback and Deep Eddy envelopes you in a hug. It’s Tyler, one of your freshman seminar PK friends. Exchanging pleasantries - the best you can with someone that far gone - he drags you further into the house. Miscellaneous groups of Greek and geed litter the hallways. Anna sees her friends from Delta Gamma and ditches you, promising to get home safe. Tyler continues on his mission to god knows where.

At least he’s considerate enough to stop in the kitchen so you can grab a whiskey lemonade to sip.

Eventually you’re spat into a sitting room of sorts, groups crowding the ring of sofas while drunkenly jeering at the game. You set yourself on the arm of one, trying to make sense of the theatrics. The latest victim laughs out a “Truth!” before everyone giggles wickedly. Are they playing truth or dare? 

Your eyes gloss over the group, trying to figure out who else you know. A few PK’s you recognize, a girl who smiles but looks unfamiliar, and…a cowboy hat that is a dead giveaway.

Standing up and walking around the group, you tap him on the shoulder. The biggest blue eyes meet yours, a surprised smile splitting his face. 

“You made it!” That deep drawl is back and that tingle reappears on your spine. Bob jumps up from the couch, beer bottle dwarfed in his hand, and comes to stand with you. “You having a good night?”

Ironically, your night is much better now that you’ve found him. He’s back in his cowboy gear, a worn denim shirt tucked into his jeans and those same cowboy boots scuff against the hardwood. You’re tempted to steal the felt hat from his head just so he looks a little bit more like Bob from Stats. 

Squeezing your eyes shut, letting the alcohol be an excuse, you succumb to the obvious question. “I need to know - what’s with the…cowboy?” You gesture up and down, drawing a chuckle from him.

He blushes under the felt brim. “You know I have a slight accent, yeah?” You attempt to stifle your laugh as he incidentally talks in a thicker accent. “When I was a pledge they started calling me cowboy. Saw the hat while I was in town one week, ended up leaning into the joke.”

“And the hobby horse?”

He beckons you closer, bringing his lips to your ear. “Stolen from my little sister over summer break.”

There’s that wink again making your knees weak. He pushes his glasses back up his nose and takes another sip from his beer. Despite the party raging around you, nothing else seems to exist past him asking about your night and if you want another drink. You’re wrapped in the warmth of his words, itching to snuggle into his broad chest. 

The spell is broken when “Cowboy Bob!” rings out from the crowd. The entire room is turned to you two. “Truth or dare, man?”

In the background of your intimate conversation with Bob, the truths and dares have reached full raunchiness. People have been stripped of clothes and dirty secrets. A bead of sweat gathers at Bob’s collar, aware that neither option is safe. 

His worried gaze flits to you, as if you hold the correct answer, before tipping his hat back and exhaling, “Dare?” 

It’s gutsy, but if there’s one thing you’re learning about the quiet guy from Stats, he’s full of surprises. The crowd bubbles with excitement, anticipating what dare will be dealt out. Next to you, the wannabe cowboy looks more annoyed than anything. He was enjoying talking to you not in a classroom and with a little liquid courage.

An evil smile crosses the dare-dealer’s face. He knows Bob and isn’t blind to what’s going on. He’s gonna help his buddy out on this one.

His arm stretches out and he points (with the red plastic cup in his hand) to the coat closet at the end of the hall. “Hmmmmm, I dare you to, hmm, play Seven Minutes in Heaven with…” It’s no surprise when the cup-turned-pointer lands on you.

Ice water down your back wouldn’t be as panic inducing. It’s hard to tell who swallows harder, you or Cowboy Bob. Every instinct is telling you to run, but that little voice in the back of your head wins out. As Bob starts to tell you it’s okay, they’re joking, you don’t have to, you grab his thick wrist and give him a nervous smile. You don’t even care what the punishment is for not completing a dare, this stupid drunken game has given you an opportunity.

The dealer of the dare follows the two of you down the hallway, leading the whoops and wolf whistles. Bob’s cheeks flame scarlet in the low light. You keep your chin high and eyes forward. He can definitely feel the way you’re trembling around his wrist.

Whether in anxiety or excitement it’s hard to tell.

The inside of the closet is dark, the faint light under the door casting only the faintest of shadows. Your heart is pounding, blood pulsing through your ears. Bob rubs his lips together nervously. It’s all you can do to not run your tongue along them. 

“We don’t have to do anything, we can just talk.” The way he prioritizes your comfort makes heat pool between your legs. The brim of his hat is as far back as it can go, his eyes tracing the lines of your face as he gauges your emotions. He’s welcome to figure them out, you’re unsure of them yourself. 

His large, warm hand rubs your forearm comfortingly, your skin too cold without his touch. You’re suffocating under his sweat-and-bergamot scent, citrusy and warm.

You bite the bullet. “What if I want to?”

His breath stops. Fingers find yours in the dark, interlocking on either side of your hips. Eyes you know are the deepest blue lock onto your gaze, a million emotions passing behind his irises. Face descending upon the space between you, tentatively showing his intentions. You meet him in the middle, caution out the window.

The kiss is gentle, puzzle pieces slotting together for the first time. He tastes like malt sugar and peppermint. Mouth warm and soft, enveloping you fully in his comfort. It’s even better than what you’ve imagined for the past nine weeks.

Bob begins to pull away, ever the gentleman. Your hand finds his collar, holding him in place. “Not yet, we still have, like, five and a half minutes.”

Despite the low light, his smile lights up the closet.

His lips return to yours in a rush, swallowing your mouth in a passionate heat. The press of his body to yours is delicious. Hands previously at your side meet your hips, lightly squeezing as you moan into his mouth. You reach up and hold the back of his neck, bringing him even closer as your lips toy with the tiniest bit of stubble along his jaw.

“You know,” he starts, holding the moan in the back of his throat. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since September.”

You pull back momentarily, a crinkle upon your brow. “Bob, we didn’t start Stats until January.”

He kisses the confusion from your face, his hands wrapping further around your body. “And you looked very pretty in that green dress at the homecoming barbecue.”

Bless your love of school spirit and free food. “Why didn’t you? Kiss me?”

“I don’t normally make a habit of kissing girls I don’t know. And clearly it takes an entire fraternity for me to get you alone.” The way his chuckle bounces against your skin has you squirming. Your schoolgirl crush on him wasn’t one-sided, and suddenly you’re hot for teacher. 

You capture him in another kiss, tongue searching the seam of his lips for entrance. He obliges immediately, groaning as you explore his taste. Four hands roam skin, finding purchase in anything and everything. Your body has a mind of its own as you press against him, chest heaving with your passion. The right shift of fabric on fabric reveals that he’s equally as affected by the chemistry.

Reluctantly, he pulls away once more, threading his fingers across the back of your neck. Takes a moment to capture his breath as he sees the lust in your eyes. A deep breath. “As much as I like you, I don’t want to do anything if you’re drunk.”

Soft fingers follow the line of his arm to where it wraps around your waist. How is he this impossibly sweet? Thoughtful, respectful, and looking hot as sin with swollen lips. It’s unfair.

“I promise I’m not.” You stroke the back of his hand. “Please kiss me?”

His large hands unwrap from your waist and travel down, shifting behind your legs and pulling you up, resting your back against the wall. You tangle your legs around his waist as best you can in the small space, relishing his firm body pressed deliciously close, warm and solid. Kisses smeared across lips and jaws as noises crescendo. You’re panting as you trail down to his impossibly long neck, desperate to cover it in affection.

You’ve barely explored the expanse of skin when the door flies open, the boisterous party sounds flooding in. Reality strikes like a slap across the face. The truth-or-dare ringleader takes you in - legs wrapped around Bob and hands creeping toward your ass - and whoops in delight. Who knew Cowboy Bob had it in him!

“Time’s up, lovebirds!” He crows and reaches forward to slug Bob lightly on the shoulder. 

Not skipping a beat, Bob shoves his friend back and throws up his middle finger. “Fuck off, Milburn.” 

The closet door slams shut, blanketing you again in the intimacy of the moment. You’re looking at him with unsure eyes and he’s praying the moment hasn’t been ruined. He’s waited seven calendar months for this opportunity and his fingers are so close to enjoying the plump squeeze of your ass.

“We can go back to the party if you want?” Your voice is so small, nervous outside of those bold seven minutes. Tentative breaths exist between you. 

In lieu of an answer, he bows his head to give you a searing yet gentle kiss.

That cramped coat closet suddenly is an inferno, his tongue slipping inside your mouth and groaning at the burning sweetness of your taste. Your hands grip his shoulders as you fight for dominance, fingers tangling in denim. Hips brushing together, still clinging to the idea of this being innocent. 

An innocence immediately lost when Bob strikes up the courage and palms your ass. Soft and pliable and perfect to squeeze in his palms. He remembers the exact day you came to class in the tightest jeans known to man (laundry day) and the way he had dug his pencil in his palm to avoid a semi as your curved ass met the lecture seat. Something unavoidable now as you squirm against him, moaning your pleasure against the pulse in his neck.

Nothing has ever felt as good as rubbing against Bob Floyd’s clothed bulge. One glance down and you’re dizzy with arousal. Rutting yourself against him as best you can with your limited mobility, sloppy kisses exchanged as the two of you can barely keep your mouths closed. It feels so good, too good. 

Lost in the moment, one hand slips below the hem of your skirt, warm skin on skin. Any noise from outside the closet dims to a hum. Two hearts beating rapidly as desire fully consumes, directing lips to too hot exposed skin. You murmur your need in his ear. You don’t care where you are, you need him.

Bob tucks a finger under your thong, feeling the slick coating your folds. The whine that leaves him is desperate and gruff. He groans against your throat. “Shit, I don’t have a condom.”

Undeterred, your lip catches between your teeth, core muscles contracting as you grind your hips forward. “Doesn’t mean I can’t go for a ride.”

He’s immediately on board, teasing you briefly before extricating his hand to support you better against the wall. His hands practically swallow your ass, flooding you with lust. You thrust your chest against him, desperate to touch every spot on his handsome body as your hips begin to grind. 

His hands are sweltering as they trail down, effortlessly clutching the back of your thighs to give you leverage. Your clit finds friction against his jeans and your mouth hangs open as you buck frantically into him.

“Look at you move, cowgirl,” he breathes out, infatuated. The nickname spurrs you on, whimpering against his lips.

One hand clutching his bicep, holding on for desperate life, while the other snakes its way atop the damned cowboy hat that’s stayed on the entire encounter. Gripping the top of it and holding fast as you ride his clothed bulge with everything you’ve got. Denim and lace against your clit, rubbing deliciously as your brain fuzzes. His hot mouth focused at the hinge of your jaw, sucking soft bruises into the skin; moaning when you brush him just right. 

“I’m close,” you whisper against his cheek. Time has stood still, but it’s embarrassing how close he’s gotten you to orgasm with just his clothed cock and strong hands. 

He ruts his hips forward, meeting your thrusts in heavenly synchronization. You’re panting as the pressure on your clit catapults you, so close to the ultimate prize. Whispers of you can do it, cowgirl, cum for me, doing so good riding me, just a bit more, cowgirl fizzle your senses. 

“O-oh!”

It’s intense, the blinding pleasure coursing through your body. Prolonged by the thick bulge still rutting against you, ready to burst itself. Lips tickling your ear as he praises you. You want to live in this perfect moment of bliss. A moment only perfected when Bob’s fingers grip too hard and his hips stutter up into yours. His all-consuming orgasm only muffled by the skin of your shoulder as he rides it out. 

The rhythmic slowing of your breaths is all you can focus on. You breathe in, he breathes out. Small smiles and a blush barely visible in the low light. 

Delicately, like he knows you might break, he releases you back to the ground; taking his time to smooth down your skirt and straight out your top. Your own hands reach up to his chest, fixing the fabric that had bunched up in your passion. Adjusting his fogged glasses to look into his beautiful eyes.

It doesn’t matter how much you clean up, one look at you two and anyone would comment you’ve been ridden hard and put away wet.

With one final kiss to your lips, you feel something land on your head. The brown cowboy hat with the rip along the edge. Cowboy Bob showing off his cowgirl.

You tentatively open the closet door, eyes adjusting to the normal light. Painfully aware of the wet splotch on the obvious front of his jeans, Bob holds your body against him as a human shield. The party is still going strong - your antics have not interrupted anything - and you slip toward the front door without notice. Well…mostly, as a few wolf whistles reach your ears.

“It’s not that late, you want to go back to mine? I’m just off Thornton. It’s quiet since everyone is here.” His eyes are so hopeful in the dark night. So desperate for you to say yes. For you to be his cowgirl beyond tonight.

You wrap your arms around him and pull him close, careful to avoid the spot where your bodily fluids have drenched his jeans. “I’m in.” Your smile is blinding. “We have about nine weeks of Stats to make up.”

The brick is uncomfortable behind your back, but it’s hard to care when his lips feel so good. Broad shoulders shielding you from the hallway, trucker hat turned around and glasses in his pocket so there’s not an inch between your faces. Agreeing to meet outside before lecture was such a good idea.

Despite spending most of the time between Thursday night and Tuesday afternoon in Bob’s apartment trying every position in the book (with teasing hollers from his Pi Kapp roommates adding to the soundtrack) you can’t help but steal these five minutes. He looks so cute, to not kiss him would be a crime.

Bob squeezes your hips, lips trailing down your jaw. “What’s on your mind, cowgirl?”

“I’m trying very hard to convince myself that we pay a lot of money to attend this school and should go learn about statistics. Even though I really only want to head back to my dorm and see how sturdy that loft bed is.”

From where his nose traces your ear, a guttural whine leaves him. “You can’t say something like that and expect me to go to class.”

You pull back to look at him, fingers tickling the close cropped hair at his neck. God, he makes it so hard to want to be responsible.

“Let’s make a deal, okay? We’ll go to class, learn, and tonight you come over and for every study guide question you get right I’ll take off a piece of clothing. Sound good?” He’s practically panting as he smothers your mouth in another kiss. He’s really good at Stats. A steady stream of students files past Bob’s back, a sign that class is about to start.

You press another kiss to his lips. “Let’s go or we’ll miss out on seats. Plus I need to dig through my bag for a pencil.”

“Do you think you actually have one today?” He smirks, amused. The eighteen pencils he’s lent you say otherwise.

Your cheeks are hot under where he kisses them. “Uh…if I don’t can I borrow one? If you have one, that is.”

He lets out a soft chuckle and holds you closer, rubbing your noses softly.

“You do realize I’ve been buying pencils all semester just to give to you, right?”

Turning his cap around - insides fully melted - you know you’re in this rodeo for the long run.

Want more Frat Cowboy Bob? Hang out with Bob From Pi Kapp!

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[imustbenuts]

Wolfwood is an underdog character screwed by social hierarchy and Japanese cultural subtext more ways than one: a messy half-assed write up.

This is me saying that Wolfwood is in no way the equivalent of 'white' or even near the top in terms of class even when viewed with a Japanese lens and there's at least a few threads you can follow that will lead up to that conclusion. So to try and (badly) cover this topic as best as I can, the sections highlighted in this post will be the following

Colorism and imperialism

Tribes and burakumin

Shintoism and the burakumin people

Wolfwood's entire fucking design

I explode

Colorism

So in short. Asia has a colorism problem on top of a racism problem, but people like me get really frustrated when a more American POV is applied to try and shoehorn the discussion into purely racism. The reason is: history.

So. Japan was super imperialist back in history. And so was China, which Japan took many inspiration from in terms of language, culture, and most importantly, governance.

In order for their particular system of governance to work, both China and Japan ended up having their own respective court systems where the aristocrats and nobility would spend their days indoors as they administer governance. (Or more accurately, to be so educated, cultured and refined as the world outside implodes.) Thanks to this system, there is essentially a walled garden system where the well-educated nobles would spend their time well away from hard labor like farming under the sun.

This meant there is a greater amount of favoritism towards fairer skinned people as opposed to tan, since it became a quick indicator of class and status. Bc only laborers tended the field under the harsh sun, and women got this especially bad, bc imagine her having to tend the field like a peasant. Gasp.

Anyway bada bing bada boom white skin eventually became so associated with beauty and status. The old poverb, "色の白いは七難隠す", or White skin covers seven flaws, refers to women with pure white (sometimes powdered) skin is attractive no matter what their physical flaw might be. Think Geishas and their job of entertaining at private events with a face full of white powder makeup.

This colorism also hits men less, but the idea of status stays.

...Wink. (To note the above gif here for a sec: IMO Vash doesn't qualify as desirable purely because he's a blonde. A foreigner. An Other. But the hiding flaws part might be worth chewing on.)

And now we suddenly are looking at some kind of a vague hierarchical system. And indeed, Japan has had a caste system of sorts in with varying degrees of social mobility depending on which era you look at. The lowest in some era were slaves. And even then, there is another class even lower than that, the Burakumin. Put a pin in this bc it'll be important in the next part.

Tribes and Burakumins

There are actually, in fact, different tribes (or rather, ethnic groups) in Japan even today. Current day, the well known ones are the Yamato people, who make up 98% of the population in Japan. Mostly fair skin, black hair. East Asian.

Then there are the Ryukyuans, who live mostly in okinawa with their own culture, and then the Ainus.

I don't want to get even MORE historical, but those two groups were conquered and forcibly had their culture identity, language, and even land stripped off them. Attempted to have loyalty towards the emperor instilled towards them at various points. One might think the presence of these two might mean that there were more tribes back in ancient Japan, and, yes, you would be right!

Many of them might have been assimilated into what we think of as Japanese people today. There are always variation in skin color, hair color and facial features alone if one pays attention even in Tokyo. Not all East Asian are fair skin and have straight black hair, but an overwhelming majority do. (plus hair dyes and perms wahoo. who's to know sometimes)

One example perhaps is this. Ever watched Princess Mononoke? Did you know that part of the story centers around Ashitaka, who is part of the Emishi tribe, who are a group who has been rebelling against the Emperor Yamato for 500 years? And so he shoots samurais on the regular?

So here's the rub: the Emishi were in fact a real indigenous group who were basically conquered and assimilated. Some did resist during the 11th century, with their villages/hamlet out deep into the north of Japan. They were of course, greatly outnumbered.

These people who resisted the rule all over Japan with different identities, names and culture and survived came to be called the Eta 穢多 (lit. abundance of filth). Later, Burakumin.

EDIT: Another class of people called the Hinin 非人 are also closely associated with the Eta. 非人 lit means non-human. Hinins were more criminals in the eyes of the law, as these are the people who did not pay taxes or commited crimes like theft etc. The status is hereditary, same with Eta.

Now I mentioned the Burakumins. Burakumin are written like this 部落民, and refer to a strongly discriminated class of people who live in discriminated villages/hamlet. The kanji though, literally translates to "People who falls outside of the order", or, "Outcasts". In other words, even though there's a caste system which basically at least recognizes people as part of a governing system, the Burakumins do not qualify to even as to be human in this system.

And indeed, some of these tribes who had their culture and identity stripped off them are not even people in the eyes of the ruling government. Today, the term refers to the descendants of these people, and they do encounter a lot of discrimination and abuse in their daily lives from social to work. It's so bad that parents do not tell their children of the ancestry to avoid discrimination. Also its possible to know if one is a burakumin just by checking family names and registers jsyk, since they were once location based.

EDIT: thus the word Burakumin will refer to both the Eta and Hinin. These two are closely associated with each other even in feudal Japan.

More info by a Japanese guy regarding current day burakumin problem here on youtube.

Oh and also, many burakumin ended up joining criminal gangs like the yakuzas. Put another pin in this.

Shinto and the Burakumin people

Preface: shinto is a very sacred religion to many Japanese people and is still actively practiced today. Be respectful and just know I'm being hyper specific about this singular aspect of shinto. It is a very old religion full of fascinating history.

But to not talk about this specific topic would be to kinda miss what Studio Orange has been doing to Stampede Wolfwood so I'm just gonna do this super quick. A more indepth messy write up can be found here if you like.

Right. So. Like with many religion, Shinto was also used as a means to convince people to fall in line. One thing that Shinto has is the concept of cleanliness, in this case spiritual cleanliess. Dirtiness/defilement/pollution is generated upon contact with death, blood and disease. Being dirty would then draw evil spirits and invite terrible misfortunes, so being clean is important in Shintoism. So important that meat was considered dirty. (With the exceptions of game meat and the whole religion thing applied to them.)

It's so important that certain professions such as Butchers, Tanners, Gravediggers etc were seen as so terrible that no one but the etas, the burakumins would do it. This whole thing then reinforces the hierarchy. And meanwhile the rulers in their court and shinto priests could conduct rituals to purify themselves.

And for me, this is the most insane thing since dirty jobs like that must be done no matter what era it is. Just by being alive, people get dirty and there's no avoiding that.

Anyway. In Trigun and even Japanese media, this gets translated into what I would call The Tormented Ones Whose Hands Are Permanently Stained With Blood.

Nicholas the Undertaker was certainly an interesting choice of writing. At least imo.

FUcK

Ok now to recap. I've established that even without colonization and talking about (american pov) racism specifically, there are still very real elements of Japanese history that is too strong, too deep, to intertwined with classism to ignore.

This is the historical baggage of Japan's colorism. Whether or not if Wolfwood is a burakumin here is not the point, but rather that it borrows from that issue all of its influence in varying shades.

It's the erasure of ethnicity and culture in its totality, or to be so consumed by the bigger ruling group that this thread straight up disappears. And to be considered so unwanted that even their descendants today are considered dirty.

They abolished the feudal caste system in the 1800s by the way. Still dealing with like over a thousand years' worth of shit though.

Now I can finally talk about Wolfwood.

Wolfwood's entire character design and writing choice.

Since trimax wolfwood is the base, I'll start with that.

Dark(er) skin, sunglasses, a business suit and a kansai dialect.

All of those are significant.

Now remember that I've mentioned Fair Skin and Black Hair to be the most defining trait of an East Asian. Even people who say East Asian even casually have that specific image in mind. But Wolfwood with the exception of BLR has always been depicted as just slightly tanned especially beside Vash.

The shade fluctuates all the time depending on the artwork, but it's clear that the production staff knows the roots his character design is touching on in order to elicit that "otherness" from the Japanese audience. Which is all that above. The entire post.

Sunglasses and business suit also has a significance. One might think it's just the outfit of an average Japanese salaryman, and yes, that would be technically correct. More so though, this combo is also the outfit style of the Yakuza. Sans ties maybe bc Ww hates his organization.

This is a picture of a Yakuza group known as the Yamaguchi-gumi. Their leader stands in the middle of this photo, the oyabun/father of the group, Kuzuo Taoka. More info and another rabbit hole here.

The Yakuza are a historically violent criminal gang whose membership often consisted of societal outcasts. Outcasts like the Burakumins, who due to their status in society could not find a proper job, and suffer abuse. Being in the Yakuza meant respect and status, and turned boys into men.

All that was needed is absolute loyalty to the leader, the oyabun or the patriarch of the group. If he says it, white is black and black is white. Disloyalty means to chop one's finger off.

If any of this sound even familiar.... Well, yeah. Unhinged criminal boss Knives and his merry Gung Ho Guns.

Next, kansai dialect. So, Japanese dialects are never properly taught when one attempts to learn Japanese. It's a thing that's not Standard and therefore unnecessary to learn. We learn the -desu's, -masu's, the keigo, but never the '-yan's', the 'eenen', the 'akan' or the 'chau''s. (Or even the many other dialects out there)

I will now ask you to hold the idea that 'dialect' and 'language' can be interchangeable. The implications of the Standard Japanese is that it is the ruling class' language and the most proper form of it above all else. Seeing as the Capital of Japan is Tokyo, and their government centers there, it would not be stretch to also call Standard Japanese Tokyo Japanese.

Which means, Tokyo is the classy city and Osaka, the largest city in Kansai, is not as classy. Not as important. Not as well educated or hold as important of a place to the entire country.

It is also very common to hear Japanese people mask their dialect with Standard Japanese when they're in Tokyo, and then go back to their hometown and code switch. Because it's considered 'hick'.

Which, if you haven't considered is also a thing many of us do, I now present you the gift of this fun knowledge.

I Explode

In closing I hope this at least is interesting to chew on for anyone interested. It's by no means perfect and I might have gaps in my knowledge but fwiw, I hope it's at least fun.

Nightow has stated Wolfwood's ethnicity is ambiguous, which I would also interpret as him saying indirectly that Wolfwood is as valid an interpretation to see him as anything but a privileged guy having a good time in the story of Trigun.

It's possible that his ambiguity of roots is meant to simply elicit the idea of a "stolen child".

One fun thing I do consistently notice is that Fanon Wolfwood almost never is in a comfortable position in life even in AUs, and always somewhat broke. In both EN and JP. Which, yeah. Yeah.

There is intersectionality going on and I hope this post helps people see some of it at least. So thanks for reading! (sorry it got so long...)

Additional cool posts other people have written from their pov:

udon-tea's write up about wolfwood's unestablished canon ethnicity

interesting thoughts about tortoise matsumoto being the base and what they think of wolfwood's possible ethnicity

[sirxaibs]

Hizashi Yamada X Reader Drabble/Crack

🖇️✩ +̊🎧 MOMMY?!?? 🖇️✩ +̊🎧

masterlist

a student calls you mom

·+̊🖇️✩ +̊🎧⊹♡ Setting up for Hizashi’s English class was something you did often as his TA, but today, you felt particularly playful. The classroom was empty, the morning sunlight casting golden rays through the windows as you arranged papers on his desk. Hizashi stood near the whiteboard, adjusting the projector settings, his glasses slipping slightly down his nose.

“You know, Y/N,” Hizashi mused, tapping at the keyboard, “I think these kids would riot if they knew how excited I was for today’s lesson.”

You chuckled, glancing over the syllabus. “They always riot when it comes to English.”

You smirked, stepping closer until you were right behind him. Your fingers ghosted over the fabric of his vest as you leaned in, breath warm against his ear.

“Oh, they always riot when it comes to english,” you murmured, voice dripping with mischief. “But lucky for you, I’m here. and the faster this lesson goes means we can finally have some… fun.”

Hizashi stiffened for half a second before he turned to you, eyes slightly wide behind his glasses. His ears, hidden beneath his wild blond hair, were definitely burning red. “Oh? Is that so?” His voice cracked just a little, and you bit your lip to hold back a laugh.

Before he could recover, the bell rang, signaling the start of class. The door swung open as students began filtering in, chatting amongst themselves. You took a casual step back, arms crossed, watching as Hizashi cleared his throat, adjusting his collar as if it would help hide his flustered expression.

“ALRIGHT, CLASS! LET’S GET THIS SHOW ON THE ROAD!” he boomed, though you could hear the slight edge in his voice.

A collective groan cut him off.

“Not English…” one student muttered, resting their forehead against the desk.

Another let out a dramatic sigh. “Why do we even need to learn this? Can’t we just use our quirks in other countries and let a translator handle it?”

You smirked, stepping forward. “Actually, no. A lot of hero agencies overseas require their heroes to have at least basic conversational skills in English. And trust me, you don’t want to be that one hero who has no idea what’s going on in a mission briefing.”

A few students exchanged glances, though the enthusiasm was still lacking.

Hizashi nodded. “Yeah! Plus, how are you gonna do interviews with foreign news outlets if ya don’t know what they’re askin’?”

“That’s what subtitles are for,” a student shot back, earning a few chuckles.

You sighed, shaking your head. “Look, I get it. English can be frustrating. But it’s not impossible. And since I actually spent time in America, I know the best ways to help you guys get comfortable with it.”

One student perked up. “You were in America?”

You nodded. “Yeah. A few months, actually. Lived there, worked there, and had to use English every single day. Trust me, I made all the mistakes you could possibly make, so I know exactly what you’re struggling with.”

“Wait… So you were, like, an American hero?”

“Not exactly,” you admitted. “More like I was there for a temporary collaboration. But I did patrols, worked with some American heroes, and had to communicate with civilians. So if you want to hear some embarrassing stories about me messing up English in public, now’s your chance.”

That seemed to spark some interest.

“Did you ever say something really bad by accident?”

“Oh, definitely.” You smirked, crossing your arms. “I once tried to compliment someone’s shirt and accidentally told them they looked like a banana.”

A few students laughed. Even Hizashi chuckled beside you.

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” he said, gesturing dramatically. “Language isn’t just about books and testsit’s about communication! And sometimes, communication is messy, but that’s how ya learn!”

The class groaned again, but at least this time, it was with less resistance.

You smirked. “Alright, let’s start simple. Let’s go around and have everyone introduce themselves in English. Just a basic ‘Hi, my name is ____, and my quirk is ____.’”

The students groaned again, but one by one, they hesitantly began their introductions, stumbling over words and laughing at their own mistakes. You and Hizashi guided them through the pronunciations, offering encouragement where needed.

Midway through the lesson, as you walked between desks helping students with their pronunciation, a sleepy voice mumbled, “Mom, how do you say ‘speed boost’ in English?”

Silence.

You blinked, turning slowly toward the student who had spoken. The entire class went dead quiet as the realization hit them. The student, wide eyed with horror, turned an impossible shade of red.

“I I mean uh” They clamped their hands over their mouth, mortified.

The room erupted into laughter. Even Hizashi doubled over, his laughter echoing through the classroom. You couldn’t help but smirk, arms crossed as you arched an eyebrow.

“Well,” you said, grinning, “at least you said it in English.”

·+̊🖇️✩ +̊🎧⊹♡

The final bell rang, signaling the end of class. Students packed up their things, still chuckling over the earlier slip up. The poor student who had accidentally called you “mom” had bolted out of the room the second they could, face burning red. You were still amused by it, though.

“Alright, see ya next class!” Hizashi called after the last few students, waving as they shuffled out the door.

Once the room was empty, you sighed, stretching your arms over your head. “Whew. That went better than expected.”

“Oh yeah?” Hizashi drawled, turning toward you with a mischievous glint in his eye. “You sure about that, Mommy?”

You froze. Then you turned to him slowly, narrowing your eyes. “…What did you just say?”

He grinned, far too pleased with himself. “What? I’m just embracing my student’s interpretation of our dynamic! I mean, you are helpin’ me teach, you keep ‘em in check feels pretty parental to me!” He stroked his chin dramatically. “Maybe I should start callin’ ya that more often”

You smacked his arm firm, but playful.

“OW!” He laughed, rubbing the spot where you hit him. “What?! It’s a term of endearment!”

You shook your head, grinning. “Oh, you think you’re funny, huh?”

“I know I’m funny.”

You crossed your arms, smirking. “Well… I could be a mommy.”

Silence.

Hizashi just stood there.

His expression froze completely like his brain had just cut out. He wasn’t even blinking, just staring at you with his mouth slightly open.

You bit back a laugh at the way his mind was clearly racing at a million miles per hour.

And then, just to mess with him even more, you leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips before pulling away and sauntering toward the door. “See you later, Daddy.”

You barely made it out of the room before he exploded.

“WH WAIT! HEY! ARE YOU SERIOUS?!”

You laughed as he stumbled after you, his voice rising in sheer panic and excitement.

“Babe, hold on WAIT A MINUTE” He caught up, following you into the hallway. “Are you just messin’ with me, or ? ‘Cause, like, if you’re serious”

You threw him a teasing look over your shoulder. “What? You want to make me a mom right now?”

His face went completely red, but his determination didn’t waver. “I MEAN IF YOU’RE DOWN I’M JUST SAYIN’”

You only laughed harder, enjoying how flustered he was. you had no doubt this is going to be a topic of discussion when you get home today.

[onskepa]

Left behind: Ready?

Hiiiiiii! So I lied, I need one more chapter before we get into the way of water. Just this one chapter and then we go! So enjoy~!!

Left behind series

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

“I see you brother….thank you for these gifts…” neteyam mutters a prayer as he gives his hunt a merciful kill. His family will eat well tonight thanks to this mighty beast. His fellow hunters in training give him praise, but the one that matters the most smiles down at him with pride. 

“Well done neteyam, words can't express how proud I am” jake speaks with joy in his tone. Neteyam nods, feeling happy that his dad feels that way. He lets out a tired sigh of relief. Jake pats him on the back, “go on home, the others will take the yerik to the cooks”. Nodding, neteyam does so. Finally having a few minutes to himself. 

To be honest, on the outside he was calm and collected, but on the inside? He was down right terrified. That one he caught was already big enough, and had brute strength! He had his doubts that he could make the kill. 

He exceeded many expectations from not just his father, but from the village elders and even his grandmother. Now the next big step is taming an ikran. 

Neteyam for sure as hell he is not ready for that. 

1 year.

It's been 1 whole year since the RDA took in young sully. A year of boring, hellish, cold, lifeless isolation. No way to track time. No way of going out for even a walk. E-Mags are forbidden. Click-Like is a no go. Literally any form of contact with the outside world is non-existent. The urge to message someone, anyone that she is ok. Someone has to be worried about her. 

Her roommates? Her best friends? Or her peers at her favorite Class? Her favorite teacher? 

“Anyone….” 

The fear of being forgotten is something that sully dreads about. To exist yet making no imprint on the world. 

Surely someone must have also tried to contact her. Tatianna is the type that blocks out anyone from going near little sully.  What is that old hags problem? Does she hate humanity or something? 

What about her dad? Is Tatianna keeping his calls away? Surely he has been meaning to keep contact. ‘He isn't coming back’ her ass! 

“That old hag hates me or something…” she mutters to herself. 

Just then, the door slid aside, revealing tatianna. 

“You have been cooped up all morning. How about a little field trip?”

“And why the hell do I gotta speak na’vi? Its bad enough I look like one” quaritch groans in complaint. Dr. Sanchez rolls his eyes, this blue ball ass is starting to irk him. 

“Look bud, I know you hate your extra tail limb and elven smurf looking ass but you are na’vi. Like it or not. So to fully go into the Pandora ecosystem and learn the way, you gotta learn na’vi” Dr. Sanchez explained for the 4th time. 

And for the 4th time, quaritch just scoffed. 

“And what? I suppose you know na’vi?” 

“I have a master’s degree in foreign language, so yes, I speak na’vi fluently,” Sanchez said with a bit of grit in his teeth. The recom cackled at that. 

“You? From what I can tell, you never went to Pandora, unless you were supposed to. Either way, I dont see the nick nack in all that bullshit” 

Sanchez was just about ready to throw his tablet at the blue ass’s face. How did anyone in the rda deal with him? Just now he feels just a teeny tiny bit of sorry for little sully. She has to grow up by his side. What a way to grow. 

“Speaking of, where is that tatty lady? I’ve been meaning to get some new routes” 

“New routes?” Sanchez repeats. 

“Yeah, giving me more access to where ever the fuck we are. Im gettin bored and I gotta stretch these legs” miles reasons. The scientist sighs, “she is busy giving a small field trip to miss sully” 

Quaritch raises an eyebrow, “where at?”

“Right here, you must work your arms better” neytiri instructs kiri and lo’ak in their archery lessons. While early into their lessons, neytiri can already see the weak spots. Lo’ak tries to keep his aim steady but his arms shake, while kiri struggles at the whole concept of archery. 

“Kiri?” she approaches her daughter who hasn't picked up her bow. 

There was a frown on her face, glaring at the bow like it offended her. 

“Why do we have to learn this?” she asks. With patience and grace, neytiri bends down to her level and a kind smile on her face. 

“It is important that we learn how to strike an arrow. Archery has been part of our customs for generations. Teaches us how to defend and hunt. It can also be part of an artistic sport” neytiri explains. 

“Hunt…” kiri whispers. Shaking her head in defiance, “no” she says. 

“Why no?” neytiri asks, trying to understand kiri. 

“No, I don't wanna learn archery. I don't wanna hurt animals. They are our brothers and sisters, are they not?” her daughter questions. 

So that seems to be the problem. 

“Indeed” neytiri begins to say. “They are part of us as we are part of them. However, when we hunt, we give our thanks and pray that they depart in peace and be with Eywa once more. And be grateful of their gifts, that we appreciate what they give us” 

 Kiri huffed a bit, not yet picked up her bow, “I still don't like it, I don't like causing pain” 

“I understand,” neytiri whispers patiently. Gently she cradles her daughter, giving a short glance over at lo’ak who resumes practicing his archery. 

“But at some point kiri, even for not hunting but for defending, archery is a skill you must hone. You never know when you will need it, and you must be ready for it. 

“And where are we…?” young sully asks. 

It felt a bit cold but the lights and choice of colors in the room were warm and golden. Almost like a sunset illusion. From the entrance all the way down to the hall was filled with many ancient artifacts, old art, scrolls, sculptures, statues, old armor, evidence of a long forgotten era. But young sully noticed something, something that they all had one thing in common. 

“Female….warriors?” she asked. 

Tatianna smiled with glee and joy, a weird smile in sully’s eyes. 

“This is my personal collection. I come here from time to time and look at all that once was.  What more it could have been” 

Sully turns to her left and sees a mural, its paint very faint and worn down. Cracks and chipping away, Its age speaking for itself. Depicting and army of women in armor, shields close to their body and long spears ready to pierce the enemy on the other side of the mural. 

“Ah yes, this is one of the rarest pieces in my collection. It was difficult to find, harder yet to retrieve it” tatiiana explains as she also admires the artwork. 

Silence came after, letting the young girl take in the whole thing. Hint of wonder in her blue eyes. 

But it soon broke, “little one, have you ever heard of the Amazon warriors?” the scientists asked. 

Young sully shrugs, “heard a bit. Mostly because of that old comics of wonder women” 

Tatianna chuckles, patting on the girls shoulder she continues, “amazon women are one of the worlds greatest pieces of history. As time futhers into the future, we distance ourselves from the past. These collections are remnants of that. Amazon women is one of my favorite pieces of history….” 

“Clearly….” 

Still this doesn't clarify the whole point of this ‘trip’. 

Tatianna sees the silly expression from the young girl, earning another chuckle, “come, let me tell you something….” 

“That was fun, are there more?” young kiri clapped her hands as she just finished watching a vlog of her biological mother, Grace. She binges them every day was there was plenty to watch but she just cant get enough. 

Young spider looked through  the computer they were using to watch, he frowned. “no, that was the last one…” 

Kiri copied his expression, that isnt right, surely there had to be more? 

“What about the other computers?” she . Spider shook his head, “I am not allowed to touch the other ones. Only this computer” 

Kiri understood but didn't like it. She wanted more, she needed more. Until spider made a fist and lightly slammed it on his other hand. “I know! The backup storage!” he exclaimed. 

Kiri tilted her head, spider grabbed her hand and led the way. 

“Norm and others go to the backup storage to look for copies of things they are looking for. Maybe there might be more videos of your mom in there” 

Now this made her excited. 

Spider was quick to put the password on the lock pad and enter the massive room. 

“The files are in the back! We just have to find your mom’s name, "Spider says with excitement. Quickly they went to work. Going all the way to the back, using kiri’s height, the two were quick to narrow down Grace’s name. But just before they could pull the drawer, a voice was heard behind them. 

“And what are you two doing?” 

Both kids jumped in surprise but relaxed once they saw it was max.

“Spider is going to help me find more videos of my mom” kiri was quick to explain. Spider nods  quickly.

 He shook his head and was quick to guide the kids back out of the storage room. Both of them groaned and moaned in disappointment. 

“This isnt a place for kids, if you need something tell me or someone else. You know we can get them for you” 

Spider looks up at max a bit curiously, “but why can't WE go in?” 

“Because knowing you two, stuff will break or cause a fire. And we will lose very important things that won't be recovered anymore. Now go on, you had enough monitor watching for today” 

“B-but-” 

“No buts! I will let you guys know when the next grace’s vlogs are ready to be watched” 

“Look at them jake, all so beautiful…” neytiri whispers as she looks at each of her children with adoring motherly eyes. It was night and the Sully children were sleeping peacefully silent. All huddling close and sharing their warmth. 

Jake shares the view with his mate. His endless love for them is always growing each day. 

“All so perfect…” he agrees. 

His sons are growing strong, his daughters becoming lovely each day. All of them growing up bright and wonderful. 

Yet, in the back of his head. There is an itch, a little itch that he just cant scratch. He can ignore it and put his mind in things that will keep him occupied, but the itch comes back. Thankfully, to him at least, the itch lessons each day. Painfully slow. 

Not something he should bother mo’at about. 

“Ma’jake, as his father, do you believe neteyam is ready…?” neytiri wonders. Her soft eyes landed on neteyam’s sleeping face. 

Not too long ago he tamed a pali, the ikran is next. 

Jake let out a low rumbling chuckle, “knowing him, he is ready for anything” 

Without needing words, neytiri agrees.

The door opened and out was tatiana and young sully. Her eyes and mind are now slightly shifting to a new perspective. 

“Now do you understand how important it is to learn everything?” the older lady asks. 

The young girl nods. 

“I want to head back to my room…to recharge for tomorrow’s lesson” 

This made Tatianna smile in glee, “of course, I will bring your dinner later. I will talk with Sanchez about making a new schedule” 

With that, they part ways. 

Tatianna’s mind is now on overdrive with so many new ideas and experiments to explore. It took too damn long but she finally managed to get that sully kid to see her way. 

FINALLY! 

Her amazon warrior shall come to fruition! 

Now it is time to see if Sanchez can pull his side of the deal. 

Speaking of. 

“The hell are you doing?” she orders/asks. 

She reached his lab and saw Sanchez jump around like a loony tune idiot. Waving around something in his hand. 

“TATTY! Guess what?!” he shouts maddeningly excited. 

Sully lays her head on her pillows. After that little field trip through the old hag’s amazon warrior collection, a new idea sprouts in her mind. 

“If you can't come back….then I will come to you” she whispers to herself. A promise. She will do whatever they want her to do. If it is to get to Pandora, so be it. This is her key. Feeling a bit dumb for not noticing it earlier. 

She shot near quaritch, maybe she can do it again. Using his stupid words as her fuel. 

Speaking of, that is one thing sully will have to suck up. Working with him. She has tolerated idiot guys back in school, she can take this knock off blue ass. 

All to go to pandora. 

This is her promise, her determination, her goal. 

“I will bring you back home dad…and we will be together like we used to. I promise”

Tatianna stares in absolute shock at what she was holding. 

“Is this real? Not fake?” she asks, she had to be sure. 

Sanchez nodded, “insane right? I tripled check, our mole says its 100% legit” 

He once again laughed, his cheeks starting to hurt from smiling constantly. 

Oh this is just perfect. Too perfect. 

It seems the traitor didnt wait so long. 

“This will shatter the poor girl…!!” Sanchez wheezes out. Tatianna couldn't agree more. 

“Exactly, this will ruin whatever little hope she has….maybe even change her view on him” the more the lady thought about it, the more tempting it became. 

“Hold on a sec….heh….are you really going to show her?” Sanchez couldn't help but laugh in between his laughs. 

Tatianna didn't need to give a verbal answer, it was already decided. 

“Amazon warriors have gone through hardships to become strong….both physically and mentally. Let this be the first step of her process. Hopefully this will drown that spark in her eyes. And soon, very soon, she will be ready to become the perfect warrior I desire her to be, recoms be damned” 

Sanchez stopped laughing. Looking at his partner's eyes, he knows that look. The same look his long gone peers had. He can only hope that whatever Tatianna throws at the child, that she will be ready for it. 

Aaaaaaaaand that is it for this one! Now I promise you in the next chapter, NOW we begin in the Way of water plot! Hope you guys are excited for this one! Until next time! See ya!

Liking the story, click HERE to put your name on the taglist!

P.S: If you see a weird gap in the taglist its cause apparently there is a character limit per paragraph so that's why!

----------

Taglist:

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[ambitioninstitute]

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[glamourscat]

Can I get any headcanons for Rin Okumura w/ a foreign s/o who’s trilingual? Like maybe they have a sort of culture shock in their lifestyle differences? Maybe the s/o can be from a completely different continent and studying to become an exorcist from their nationality section? Just a thought, if not, feel free to ignore mad delete the quest plz and thank you!

a/n: I ABSOLUTELY LOVE RIN THANK YOU FOR THIS ASK😭🙏🏻 also sorry for eventual grammar errors :/

* now, this might be wishful thinking of me, but considering the Japan branch is controlled by the grigori and there are multiple scenes in the manga where some of the characters mention just being back from the Vatican

* I like to think the oldest, and main, branch of the exorcist is indeed in Italy, Rome, near the Vatican headquarters. Is basically the oldest and most powerful institution, having people all over the globe.

* I imagine that one day, the Japan branch is in need of new members, so the Italian branch sends some of the students to form overseas

* Which is how you meet the others and Rin. Mephisto presented you and your whole group to the class. Maybe you just so happen to sit beside Rin. Which would be both amusing and awkward as he is an odd ball.

* Especially if he is under the impression you don’t speak Japanese very well, he will stare at you like this 🧍🏻‍♂️(cut to a broken English moment like bachira in that one clip of blue lock)

* But anyway, I think he would be the most prone and interested right off the bat. He loves cooking and baking, we know that right? So imagine him asking you for recipes on recipes from your country.

* Still, Japan has a very different culture, especially if you’re from Europe/the states. I can see someone who’s not used to remove their shoes indoor 24/7 for example, forgetting about it and Rin just looks at you like this

* The thing is, despite the little differences Rin always felt he didn’t fit in. Since before he found out he was half demon. So, falling in love with a foreigner it’s not too far fetched for him. He is probably one of the few who I can actually see dating (and marrying) a foreigner.

* He knows what it means being different, feeling the odd one out, so the little cultural differences don’t really face him that much

* If anything, with the excuse of spending more time with you, he will try to teach you a few things here and there

* How to use chopsticks. The proper honours greeting in Japan. How to act in temples.

* Rin is not one to follow the rules, but he is still respectful and excited for traditional Japanese celebrations. By good or stories, he will try to immerse you in the culture somehow

* Which side note, but I can 100% see him dressing you and him up in a kimono for a festival that requires more traditional wearing

* Also, he was sheltered most of his life— considering his troubled childhood. We saw in the impure king arc how excited he was at the idea of travelling to Kyoto that I wouldn’t put it past him if he had looked up “Kyoto itinerary what to see”

* So having a s/o who speaks multiple languages? That’s just a bonus. He will follow you like a puppy around the world just excited to be with you and being able to share these opportunities.

* After all, being an exorcist means travelling all over the place the higher your position in. And Rin wants to become the paladin. Sooo, kill two birds with one stone?

[ni-kidaily]

NI-KI's interview with News1

Part. 1

👤: please introduce yourself

🐥: I'm ENHYPEN Ni-ki. Our team doesn't have official positions, but I'm called a member who cares a bit more about dancing than other members. (laughs) I'm the youngest of the team, also the maknae.

👤: You're well known for your dancing skills. How did you get started with dance?

🐥: When I was little, my dad played Michael Jackson music videos for me, and that's when I first became interested in dancing. I started by copying the dances and learning on my own, but then I really wanted to learn properly, so I went to a dance academy near my house for about 10 years. I learned various dance styles there. Dance just became a part of my everyday life since then. Later, there was a choreographer I really wanted to meet in another area, so I went there, and I guess they saw potential in me. Fortunately, that choreographer was working as SHINee's performance director at that time and looking for SHINee Kids dancers. They chose me, saying I matched well with Key sunbaenim, so I was given the opportunity to perform with him.

👤: Were you also interested in K-pop back then?

🐥:Being part of Shinee Kids was the turning point. I was in 6th grade at that time. Afterward, I started looking into K-pop more, and the more I looked it up, the more I realized how high-quality the whole genre was; it really caught my attention. I felt like this was something I just had to do. So in 8th grade, I took an audition, decided right away, and came to Korea without any hesitation.

👤: That's an impressive decision for someone so young. How did your parents react?

🐥: They have been supporting my dancing since I was little. Their mindset was that as long as I didn't give up, they were okay with whatever I wanted to do. They never once opposed it.

👤: Moving to a foreign country at such a young age isn't an easy decision. Was there a specific reason you wanted to become a K-pop idol?

🐥: My personality is kind of all-or-nothing. (smiles) If I want to do something, I want to do it right away. If I don’t, I just don’t. I'm pretty extreme like that. Haha. At that time, I was so focused on this career path that it felt like if I didn’t take action then, I'd miss my chance. And when I heard that the audition program I-LAND was being prepared, I thought, “I might not get another opportunity like this.” Even though I was still inexperienced, I felt like I had to go for it.

👤: After coming to Korea, you trained for only eight months before joining I-LAND. Was there anything particularly difficult about that time?

🐥: I practiced alone when I was a trainee. The rules even said we weren't supposed to talk to other trainees, so even though it was only eight months, it was tough. Watching the other trainees motivated me and made me want to push myself, but once I got there, I had to do everything on my own, find what I lacked alone. No matter how many teachers I had, it was hard because there's a limit to how much I could learn without any breakthroughs. Once I entered I-LAND, the language barrier became an even bigger challenge. If I had been with other Korean members when I was a trainee, it would have been easier, but just going to classes wasn't enough; I struggled with communication. Jay hyung was good at Japanese, and there were other Japanese trainees too, so they helped me a lot. That was probably the hardest part. Also, I had to lead the other trainees through dance on I-LAND, and that came with a lot of pressure. There were moments where I needed to teach or guide others, but my Korean wasn't good enough back then, so communicating wasn't easy.

👤: What was it like living in Korea, away from home?

🐥: Honestly, the trainee period was the hardest. It was just a routine of commuting back and forth every day, and since I couldn’t really talk to anyone, I felt pretty lonely. But after debuting, the members started to fill the emotional space my parents used to fill, so I definitely felt less lonely than I did as a trainee. We debuted during COVID, so I didn’t see my parents for years, but now we go to Japan often, and whenever we do, my parents come to see me to make up for the lost time, so it’s fine now. At this point, I don’t feel lonely at all anymore.

👤: Your Korean is really fluent! Since you mentioned struggling with the language barrier as a trainee, how did you study Korean?

🐥:After I started as a trainee, I went to a language academy for about eight months, but, to be honest, I didn’t really feel like I was improving much. I learned the basics like reading Hangul and some grammar, but not enough to talk naturally. So, when I joined I-LAND, it was really tough at first, but that’s actually where my Korean improved a lot. We weren’t allowed to use the internet on I-LAND, so no Papago or anything like that. (smiles) I had to figure everything out on my own, so I ended up learning Korean naturally. If you’re interested in K-pop and want to connect with Korean people, I think that kind of environment is really helpful. When you’re surrounded by the language, you pick up words and expressions even without realizing it. You want to understand things fully, and if you’re genuinely interested in the language, you improve quickly.

👤: How has life in Korea been? Is there anything about Korean culture you really like?

🐥: I really enjoy Korean entertainment shows; they’re so funny! It’s a different vibe from Japanese variety shows. Japan has its own charm, but now that I can understand Korean a bit, I find Korean shows hilarious. I love Korean-style variety shows and end up watching them a lot. I also watch YouTubers like Choo Sung Hoon and laugh a lot. I think learning Korean through variety shows or song lyrics is the fastest way. And Korean food is just amazing. There are so many flavors and dishes you can only experience in Korea, especially in places like traditional markets. I’ve been living in Korea for about five years now, and honestly, it feels just as comfortable as Japan. Haha. It’s been so long since I’ve been to my hometown, so except for my hometown, Korea actually feels more like home now. That’s how I got used to it.

[sorcerous-caress]

Hi I hope your having a good day by the time you read this! I was hoping I could request Minthara, Karlach, Gale, and Zevlor (If you write for him) reacting to a Tav that looks visibly under the weather but ignores it to continue to do things rather than resting?

Heh I’ve got a cold that’s kicking my ass rn but even tho it’s the week before thanksgiving break my college classes are piling me with stuff to do ya know?

I'm currently dealing with similar things, anon. Life demands us to function even at our worst sometimes. The migranes can be ruthless. Please make sure to rest and take care of yourself. You're more important than your assignments and classes.

Dealing with a stressed Tav who refuses to rest.

[Fluff, comfort, nb!reader]

[Minthara, Karlach, Gale, Zevlor]

Minthara

As cruel and cold as she tends to be, there is certainly some tenderness deep inside her heart that's saved solely for you.

If it was someone else, she wouldn't have cared. If anything she expects her followers to work themselves to the death if it benfited her, she has no tolerance for the weak.

And yet, every principle she has ever held goes straight out the window when it comes to you. The sight of your visibly tired face and exhausted body makes her furrow her eyebrows in worry, forms a tightness in her chest.

She respects you immensely, and she knows for a fact you're not weak. If anything you're stronger than anyone she has ever met before.

Minthara wants to show that she can be strong for you too, prove herself as the capable and reliable partner you entrusted your heart with. Take the burdens off your shoulders and carry it on her own. No price is too great when it comes to ensuring your well being, whether it be a life or gold.

But even her own abilities only extend so far, she knows there are things that you simply can't let her handle. She feels as if she failed you when the only thing she can do is stand there uselessly whilst you struggle through your hardships.

Kind words of encouragement don't come easily for her. There's no softness left on her tongue, and tenderness is a foreign language long forgotten. Yet she tries, she still tries through failed awkward attempts and borderline counterproductive advice. She still tries to offer some sort of relief for you, to understand you better, to just be with you.

Karlach

It pains her in a way, seeing you brush off your own health so easily and discard your wellbeing. You don't realise how much she envies you, envies having the health to spare to neglect.

The engine burns against her chest, sending her on a coughing fit more times than she could count, her time is nearing its end.

If she were you, she'd treasure it. Her life, her body, and her own pulsing heart.

Karlach still buries her feelings and comforts you, putting your needs above hers. Attempting to get you to smile again, tricking you into having at least a nap when you're especially exhausted.

You're a soldier, she reminds you, you're brave, strong, and capable. And she will always have your back no matter what, so don't go fighting the world on your own when it's better to take a step back and recover first.

Gale

She'd drown you with kisses, brighten your day up with hugs, and offer the most loving and tender touches. Each word coming from her mouth is filled with sincerity, yet it barely scrapes the surface of how deep her love is for you.

He's been there more than once. Hell, he still neglects his own health for his studies, even to this day. He can relate to you a lot.

It's the feeling of being left behind, everyone else seems to have their ducks in a row while you're struggling just to stay afloat ontop of the water. How tempting it is just to give in and sink, the threat of the abyss below whispering into your ears.

Yet you stay swimming, the both of you need to. Have to.

No matter how muddy and ruthless the current gets, no matter how aggressive the waves become. He'll hold your hand amidst the storm and anchor you to him.

Each one resurfacing the other whenever they start to drown, pulling each other up.

It's not the most healthy, he is self-aware enough to admit it. But he can't condem you for what he himself is guilty of, he can't tell you to take a rest when the orb bleeds his sins of greed through his chest.

Zevlor

He brings you food, peeled oranges and cut apples, sweet tea and freshly baked cookies. Shares his lunch and dinner with you, shares his own warmth too under the blanket.

He has experienced many things throughout his long life, he has lead an army in hell and did whatever he had to do for the sake of his people.

He has sacrificed many years, decades even of his own life for them. He would've given it all for them if he could, to ensure their freedom, to ensure the kids got to grow up safe and sound.

In the same way, he is ready to sacrifice his well-being to preserve yours. Ready to bear your responsibilities so you can go rest and sleep soundly.

So please, don't refuse an old person like him when he invites you over for some tea and to take a breath. He's absolutely certain that you can relay on him for whatever tasks you have, even stay at his own home if you require assistance.

A big part of why he managed to survive all those years of war, is because he knew when to ask for help, when to cast aside his pride and let even strangers lend a hand for the sake of his people.

He doesn't order you outright. He's not your general, and he doesn't have authority over you. Yet his voice is firm when he insists on you accepting help, allowing yourself this small mercy.

[nyuoqi]

            — PLEASE DON'T HIT (ON) ME!     ౨ৎ     PGW

O2O.    not YET

✸ SYNOPSIS !  : in which you have your fair share of embarrassing moments. one of it being punching a guy's nose for a plushie (which you did not get at the end). but what will you do when he ended up going to the same class as you. wait, oh no! he recognised you. now you're in for one hell of a ride.

1.1k wc (not proofread)

PARK GUNWOOK HAS ALWAYS STAYED OUT OF TROUBLE GROWING UP. Despite his tough interior which often leads people to mistook him as a delinquent, Park Gunwook is far from a delinquent.

During elementary school, whenever his friends would ask him to join them after school and catch tadpoles at the creek near his house, Gunwook would run over to his mother and cry about how he felt bad for the tadpoles because they can't even grow up in a peaceful environment.

When he advanced to middle school, his friends would then persuade him to skip school and sneak over to the nearest PC room, Gunwook would pretend to be sick so he could rest in the infirmary because in his opinion, pretending to be sick is better than skipping school and play games.

High school definitely had the toughest crowd. With a bunch of boys going through puberty who are also experiencing their first loves and enemies lounging around, high school was simply hell if he was to describe it with one word.

The short freedom he had after CSAT was probably the best feeling he has ever had. To others, it is a time for them to hang out with friends after studying studiously. However to Gunwook, it was a time for him to congratulate himself for never steering himself in troubles for 18 years.

That was until you.

You are like a storm on a sunny day no one expected to come.

Gunwook's picture perfect life filled with principles and rules came crashing down when your fist landed on his face.

Never in his life has he ever expected to get punched by a girl smaller than him, and he never expected to see you around the campus and let alone be in his foreign language class.

You are like a small parasite who keeps on appearing and leeching when he least expected.

You will disappear for a period of time and appear again whenever he feels like his life is getting boring and steer up some troubles before leeching on him again.

You shake his whole world and flip it over.

Strangely though, Gunwook never minds it. From the day he saw you around the campus to this very moment— he never minds how you keep putting your nose in his businesses.

Nothing can ever make Park Gunwook hates you— except this very moment.

Multiple gasps can be heard leaving the mouths of onlookers as their widened eyes stare at the commotion that is happening in the middle.

Your chest rises up and down as you breathe heavily and glare at the woman in front of you. Your bruised fist stinging slightly as an aftermath.

The woman in front of you groans in pain and cups her left cheek which is blossoming in red, a hand print evident on top of it. "You crazy bitch. " She mutters under her breath.

"What did you just say? " You stand up straight and start walking towards her. The woman scoffs. "I said, you are one crazy bitch. " 

You laugh, absurdity evident on your face as you open your mouth to fight back when a hand grabs on your collar while the other pulled on your hair.

You scream in pain, "Me, a crazy bitch? Girl you are nothing better than me! " Your hands reach out to grab on her collar and hair too as you pull on them harder than the woman.

Gunwook can't believe that this is really happening in front of him right now.

Punching him was one thing. However it didn't cause that much of a commotion since he refused to pick up a fight.

This time however, it seems like both you and the woman won't stop fighting until either one of you drop dead to the floor.

Gunwook has slways been good at resolving fights— it's the perk of being the class president for years. Male students in his class would start a fist fight over a pencil and he would be able to resolve it in only a few minutes.

But thats the thing, male students. Gunwook only knows how to stop a boy fight but a girl fight? Gunwook won't ever dare.

Next thing he knows, two security guards appear and separate the both of you from each other. Your shirt is all wrinkled and a bit torn while your hair resembles a bird's nest. Scratches litters all over your arms and Gunwook can't help but let out a sigh.

Thank goodness he didn't interfere.

The convenience store located near the Sanrio sale has never been more helpful to Gunwook as he sat you down on the chair outside of it.

A rub alcohol, an antibacterial spray, a plain bandage, and a bandage with Hey Tayo printed on top of it— what even is the differences between rub alcohol and an antibacterial spray?

"I said I'm fine. " You say and give Gunwook a forced smile. "Tell that to the scratches and gashes on you. Also, you look like a smiley potato when you smile like that. " 

Your smile drops immediately and you continue to grumble about how annoying he is and the woman she fought. Gunwook nods teasingly along your words, a foolish smile on his face.

"Sure, sure. Now do you mind shutting your mouth for a bit so that I can treat the cut on your lips? " He cups both your cheeks together with one hand, squishing them and laughing at how ridiculous you look at the moment. "You look like a pufferfish. "

You swat his hand away and grumble, "Maybe if you didn't squish my cheeks together, I won't be resembling a pufferfish. "

Gunwook snickers, releasing your face from his hold before grabbing the antibacterial and gently dabs it on the cut on your lips.

You hiss at the pain and close your eyes. 

Gunwook notices the pain on your face and softly rubs your hand in a comforting way. "It's gonna hurt for a bit but it gets better, trust me. "

After cleaning the wounds and scratches on your face, Gunwook reaches for the Hey Tayo bandaid and put it on a gash on your cheek. 

"Open your eyes. " He says.

You slowly open your eyes and they immediately made a contact with Gunwook's— except his eyes are oddly too crinkly to you. The way his lips curved upwards making his smile lines visible also did not sit right with you.

Without another word, you reach out for your phone and open the front camera only to see a huge bandaid on your cheek with characters from Hey Tayo printed on it.

"Park Gunwook! "

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[capri-ramblings]

[ A Malleus Draconia Novella. ]

Part 1 here : "We met as children in the woods..."

Malleus had a fear he would never be loved. He hadn't known what had caused it nor why it mattered so much to him, but he knew that if he did not die from being hunted down for his horns or his wings or his magic stone, he would have died because of a broken heart.

As he stared at his small human companion, the vast and open field of the forest's green plains spread out like a delicate painting from where they were on their usual hilltop, he wondered sullenly if his friend knew how she would die as well. Of course, he fought the urge to ask this out loud, since she had pointed out countlessly as to how odd his questions could be.

"School...," He repeated her foreign words until it tasted like his own, and that is how he learned her language throughout the years of their friendship. Malleus would take in the sounds she would make, coupled with the weight of the emotions lingering within those sounds, and then he would try his best to piece it all together. Humans were fickle things, but he somehow had a natural fondness for them.

"What is it like...? To learn there...?"

"It depends." She answered with a shrug. He wished she would spare him a glance more often whenever she replied, but as the years grew, she had spent less time looking at him, and he did not know how to question it without causing fear or wariness from her—Two emotions she often harboured towards him despite trying so hard to remain stoic.

"There are classes I like which makes the day worth every hardship and there are ones I don't, which makes me wish I was here instead."

Malleus was still staring at her. "On the hilltop?"

There was a silence, thoughtful and deliberate, then, the girl finally turned to him and a small, genuine smile curled on her lips.

"Yes, on the hilltop, with you."

A breeze winded by. The grass on the field bristled lightly, and it seemed as though the quietness brought forth by the wind, sang a softly merry tune in Malleus's ears.

He did not understand her. Ever since their first encounter, Malleus could sense the existential dread within that small body of hers whenever he drew near to her, and yet, she had welcomed him into her life as if he were some mildly tempered forest animal. It was absurd. But he was grateful. She was his first friend in years.

"...You mean it?," he asked a little while after she had replied and their usual, comfortable silence enveloped them once more.

She laughed and nodded her head.

"I'm not that cruel to lie to you like that,Malleus."

He knew she wasn't. But it was an aching comfort to hear her say it herself.

"I thank you." He said as his gaze became heavy and worn. A small lull had begun playing in his mind recently and whenever it played, Malleus grew weary and had the urge to return to his nest deep in the forest.

"We are friends, Malleus. Why wouldn't I want to be with you?"

'Because I am a monster.'