#Free Classes for CA Students | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

seumyo · 2 months ago

Text

DABI | TODOROKI TOUYA ✰ RESONANCE

SYNOPSIS. Todoroki Touya abandoned the bass years ago, unwilling to chase a passion that had only ever led to disappointment. Now a distant but undeniably skilled third-year, he’s pulled back into music when a persistent second-year recruits him for her struggling band. He tells himself it doesn’t matter—but the stage has a way of unraveling the lies he’s built around himself.

PAIRING. [Third Year] Todoroki Touya and [Second Year] Fem!Reader

WORD COUNT. 13k+

CONTENT. Slowburn, Strangers to Acquaintances to Friends to Lovers, College AU, No Quirk!AU, Unhealthy Family (because Ende*vor), Angst with Happy Ending, Music as a Metaphor for Feelings, and so on.

AUTHOR’S NOTE. Haha (hides). This took SEVEN MONTHS, oh em gee. I’m never attempting to write long fics ever again (this was so fun). For my dearest, @seneon. Your long-overdue Bassist!Touya fic is finally here. And also @suksatoru, an absolute icon with who inspired me to write for Touya this way from her Carnations series <33 Special thank you to all my beta readers: Ali, Fio, Rinne, my brother—because without you guys, I would’ve just scrapped this whole idea and never let it see the light. I hope all Touya fans are fed with this !!

“Mr. Todoroki,” the professor began, leaning against his desk with arms crossed. “You’re intelligent. That much is clear from your written work. But intelligence without effort will only get you so far.”

Touya leaned against his chair, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. “Didn’t realize effort was part of the grading system.”

“It is,” the professor replied. “That, and participation—which you’re both lacking. I suggest joining an organization—something to engage you beyond sitting in the back of a classroom and coasting through your courses.”

Touya let out a humorless laugh as if he just heard the funniest joke of his life, shaking his head.

“I’ll pass.”

“And why is that?”

“It’s just… not my thing, sir,” he muttered finally, his tone clipped. He didn’t need to say anything else to him.

The professor studied him for a moment, then sighed. “You’re only wasting your own potential, Mr. Todoroki. Though I do understand that you’re still adjusting from just having transferred two months ago. One day, you’ll realize that life isn’t going to wait for you to catch up.”

Touya didn’t respond. He just left the room once he was free to do so and didn’t bother letting his professor’s words linger too long with him.

Potential? What would his professor know about his own potential? As if the word hasn’t already been engraved in his mind from the moment he turned six, haunting him like a ghost out for revenge.

“Stupid professor,” he muttered under his breath. But even as he said it, he knew the real frustration wasn’t with the professor—or the thing that’s been holding him back, or anyone else.

It was with him.

Lunchtime was always so chaotic in this university. Touya didn’t understand what the fuss was all about. But the food was good, surprisingly; he’ll give them that.

He settled into a routine. Sit on the farthest free table and have his earphones in, not because he was listening to anything, but because they were a convenient excuse to ignore anyone who tried to talk to him. He liked the solitude and how students here respected each other’s personal space.

So when a shadow fell over his table, he barely glanced up, assuming it was someone asking to join him at the table or grab the extra chair. You know, the usual stuff that happens in college—where everyone’s apparently too busy with their lives to meddle with others.

“Hey. You’re Todoroki, right?”

The voice wasn’t familiar. It was clear, a little raspy, and full of smugness that just screamed that this someone found the person they were looking for. Reluctantly, Touya looked up, locking eyes with the girl standing in front of him.

You weren’t anyone he recognized—definitely not from any of his classes. Your hands were behind your back, your posture casual yet still somewhat polite.

“And if I am?” he replied, his voice as flat and uninviting as he could manage.

You tilted your head slightly, offering him a smile. “Good. Saves me the trouble of asking around.” You bowed slightly in greeting, introducing your name and the department program you’re in. “Second year, I run the school band.”

He didn’t return the gesture, though he did raise an unimpressed eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. “Congrats? Do you want a medal or something?”

“I heard you’re good at playing bass.”

The words caught him off guard. Touya’s nonchalant expression is replaced by a flicker of something sharper, something guarded. “Who told you that?”

You shrugged, the motion deliberately casual. “Word gets around. Especially when someone is as good as you supposedly are.”

“Well, whoever said that was wrong. I don’t play anymore.”

Touya clenched his jaw, looking past you toward the window. The question scraped against old wounds he thought he’d buried—memories of playing in his room, of pouring everything into the bass that he’s only ever known.

“It’s not my thing anymore,” he muttered, barely loud enough to hear. “Sorry, kid. You’re years too late to have met me in my prime.”

“Not a kid—we’re probably around the same age,” you quipped. “And I don’t buy that.”

Your bluntness made him pause. He blinked, his head snapping back toward you. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t quit something like that unless there’s a reason,” you answered simply, your tone light but unrelenting. “And honestly? Professor Hamasaki actually forwarded his concern to me, so I think you really need it.”

Of course his professor had to have come up with an intervention for him. He spoke too soon about this new university letting him mind his own business.

“What does that even mean?”

“It means,” you said, crossing your arms and straightening up, “you look like someone who’s got way too much going on up here”—you tapped your temple—“and has no idea where to put it. Trust me, I’ve seen it before.”

Your words hit closer than he wanted to admit, and the smug look on your face didn’t help. He shook his head.

“You’re annoying—putting your nose in other people’s lives.”

“I—”

He scoffed, raising a hand as if to stop you. “I told you, I don’t play anymore. Find someone else.”

“Can’t.”

“You’re the only bassist worth tracking down. And I’m not just looking for anyone—I’m looking for you. You ever heard of this university’s motto?”

“No, and I don’t care. Leave.” His voice was curt, unwelcoming now.

“Ut Optimi Simus.” That we may be the best.

Touya stared at you, his expression unreadable. You just couldn’t take the hint, could you? That much was clear on his end.

And to drop the school motto? What is he getting himself into?

What kind of self-obsessed students did this university have?

“Look,” you continued, “we’ve got a spot open in the band, and I think you’d kill it. Just come to one practice. One. If it sucks, you can walk out, and I’ll never bother you again. Deal?”

There was a challenge in your tone, one that sparked something dormant in him. He could have shut you down again, could have sent you packing with another snarky comment. But for some reason—maybe it was the way you spoke or the strange mix of stubbornness and sincerity in your expression—he hesitated.

Maybe you would just bother him again if he refused; who knows?

But Todoroki Touya was screwed before he realized it.

“One practice,” he muttered finally.

“Yes!” you cheered, a bit too loud, which had the other students’ heads turning toward your direction. Touya had to rub a hand over his face. Great. More unwanted attention.

“Whoops—but that’s all I need. Music room, next week, after your class. Building GENM. Don’t be late, Todoroki.”

He stared at the empty space where you’d been standing, then at the table in front of him, where his phone lay forgotten.

“What the hell did I just agree to?” he muttered under his breath, but he couldn’t shake the strange feeling that, for the first time in a long while, he might be walking into something worth his time.

Then again, it might be.

The week had passed in a blur for Touya. He hadn’t thought about the band—or you—much since your brief, honestly impulsive encounter. He convinced himself it was just another passing distraction, something to shrug off and forget about, like he usually did with things that demanded more of him than he wanted to give.

And yet, there he was, standing in the dimly lit hallway outside the music room, staring at the door like it might open on its own and save him the trouble of deciding whether to walk in.

It wasn’t like he owed you anything. He’d said he’d come to one practice—only one—and even then, he hadn’t really promised he’d participate. If you had any sense, you’d take the hint that he wouldn’t touch the bass.

Still, something made him turn the doorknob and step inside.

The room smelled faintly of old wood and metal, a mix of familiarity and nostalgia that hit him square in the chest. His gaze flicked around, taking in the scattered instruments, the amplifiers, and the slightly worn drum set shoved into a corner.

At the center of it all was you.

You were perched on a stool, your hoodie hanging loose off one shoulder as you leaned forward over a notebook in your lap. Your hand moved in quick, messy strokes as you scribbled notes, humming softly to yourself. A keyboard sat in front of you, the occasional sound of a chord filling the space as you tinkered with the rhymes and chords.

Your voice was soft, pleasing to hear, the kind of voice that could wrap around someone and pull them in without asking. Sort of like a siren, enchanting—bewitching.

“Damn, still doesn’t feel right,” you muttered to yourself, tapping the pen against your lips before crossing out a line.

Touya stood there for a moment, unnoticed, just… watching. There was an ease to the way you worked. Quiet and focused. He didn’t know if it was weird to just stand there and watch, but it took him a minute to compose himself.

Finally, he cleared his throat.

You jolted, nearly dropping your notebook. You glance around to face him, your eyes meeting him before recognition softens your expression into a joyful one.

“Would it kill you to knock? We should’ve really put a sign to knock first before entering around here,” you joked, closing the notebook and setting it aside. “Didn’t think you’d actually show up.”

Touya shrugged, slipping his hands into his jacket’s pockets. “Guess I had nothing better to do.”

“Sure, keep telling yourself that.”

Your teasing tone was annoying, but it wasn’t enough to make him leave. Instead, he let his gaze wander to the instruments again.

“Is that for me?” he asked, nodding toward the bass leaning against the wall.

“Yup. Freshly tuned and everything. Had to get new strings because the last idiot who used it was just awful.” You stepped aside, gesturing toward it. “Figured you’d want something decent to work with.”

It had been a long time since he’d touched a bass. Too long. But he forced himself to walk over, crouching down to inspect it. His fingers brushed the strings lightly; it felt like meeting something familiar again.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

But before he could even pick up the bass, the door burst open with a loud thud.

“[Name]!”

The shout startled you both, and Touya turned to see a tall guy—not as tall as he is, probably—standing in the doorway, a guitar case slung over one shoulder as he tried to catch his breath. His face was flushed, and he looked like he’d sprinted all the way there.

“Kaito?” you said, frowning. “What’s wrong?”

This guy, Kaito, ignored your question, his gaze landing on Touya briefly before shifting back to you. “We’ve got a problem.”

You groaned, running a hand down your face. “Of course we do. When have we never? What now?”

“One of the judges for the festival just backed out,” Kaito explained, stepping fully into the room. “And the committee’s freaking out. They want all bands to perform a teaser set tomorrow to convince the others to stay on board.”

You blinked. “You’re joking.”

He shook his head, the guitar case slipping slightly on his shoulder. “I wish I was. They’re saying it’s our only shot at keeping everything on track. Rikiyama said so herself.”

Touya raised an eyebrow, looking between the two of you.

“Festival?” he asked, his tone flat.

You let out a long sigh, finally turning back to him. “School music festival. Big deal, lots of bands competing for sponsorships and a chance to compete nationally. We’re signed up, obviously, but now they want us to play tomorrow. Which is insane, by the way.”

Kaito finally seemed to register Touya’s presence, his head tilting to the side. “Is this the Todoroki you were talking about, [Name]?”

“Our new bassist,” you answered breezily, grinning as if the words were the most natural thing in the world.

Touya shot you a glare, his posture stiff. “Not yet. I haven’t agreed to anything.”

“Well,” you said, clapping your hands together, “looks like you’re about to. Lucky for us, huh?”

“Hold up,” Kaito said, stepping closer. “This guy’s the bassist? You’re bringing in someone new now? Do the others know?”

“Relax, they know,” you replied, waving him off. “Oh, and he’s good. Better than good.”

Kaito didn’t look convinced, but before he could argue, you turned back to Touya.

“Guess you’re jumping in sooner than expected.” Your statement was something that can’t be denied; even Kaito caught onto it.

Touya stared at you. He could feel the weight of the bass guitar in his hand, the pressure of the situation finally making itself known to him.

And yet, for some reason, he didn’t leave.

The day of the teaser set was supposed to be the day you reclaimed your band’s undefeated title.

The kind of event that set the tone for the upcoming music festival. To keep spectators and sponsors engaged. Not… whatever was happening backstage.

Backstage was tense. You stood near the edge of the curtain, peeking out at the crowd as they settled into their seats. The band was set to go on in less than ten minutes, but your focus wasn’t on the audience—it was on the absence of one particular bass player.

“He’s not coming,” Kaito said from behind you, his voice flat. He leaned against a stack of amplifier cases, arms crossed, his usual laid-back demeanor replaced with thinly veiled irritation. “I called it the second he said he hasn’t agreed to anything yet.”

You didn’t answer immediately. You let the curtain fall back into place, turning to face the rest of the team. “We don’t know that yet. He might just be late.”

“True,” Haru sighed dejectedly. He’s the one who handles the keyboard and prefers to keep his opinion to himself most of the time rather than voicing it out loud—a second-year in your class.

Kaito scoffed. “Late is still bad. This isn’t some casual jam session, [Name]. This is our shot at keeping the sponsors happy. If they pull out, it’s over.”

One of the other band members, the usually energetic drummer named Yuuma, chimed in. “Kaito’s got a point. If he hasn’t shown up by now, he’s probably not coming.”

You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair. “Then we’ll do it without him,” you decided, trying to mask the knot of disappointment tightening in your chest.

Kaito shook his head, clearly exasperated. “This is why I said you shouldn’t go scouting random people at the last minute. You can’t trust someone who’s barely committed. Plus, we could’ve offered the slot to someone else.”

“Kaito,” you frowned, your tone sharper than usual. The entire band looked at you in surprise, and you softened slightly, your shoulders relaxing. “Look, I get it, okay? But we don’t have time for this. We’ve played without a bassist before, and we can do it again.”

He muttered something under his breath but didn’t push further.

The stage manager appeared a moment later, signaling that it was time for your set. You took a deep breath, adjusting the strap of your guitar as the band moved into position.

As you stepped onto the stage, the audience greeted you with polite applause, and the blinding stage lights made it impossible to see the faces in the crowd clearly. You swore someone from the technical team really wanted to blind you and your team one of these days.

You approached the microphone, your voice steady as you introduced your band and the first song. “Thanks for being here, everyone! This is a little something we’ve been working on for a while now.”

Yuuma gave the count-off, and the music began.

The first song went smoothly. Kaito’s electric guitar filled in the gaps left by the missing bassline, and your vocals were working overtime to keep the audience engaged. The crowd seemed to enjoy it, clapping along during the choruses and cheering loudly by the end.

But something felt off.

The music was fine, technically speaking. You hit all the right notes and kept the rhythm tight, but it lacked the depth that a good bassline could bring. It was like there was a hollow space in the sound, a space that Touya’s presence could’ve filled.

It should’ve felt like a victory. To be able to perform without a bassist.

You also noticed the way the judges whispered among themselves, one even talking to the university’s president.

“Well, that wasn’t a complete disaster,” Kaito murmured, though his tone was less than enthusiastic as you all returned back to your practice room.

“Could’ve been better,” Yuuma muttered, packing up his drumsticks.

“I guess,” Haru pouted, flicking his wrist back and forth.

You didn’t say anything. You set your guitar down carefully, your movements slow and deliberate, as if everything wasn’t real just yet.

Kaito noticed your silence, obviously, and leaned back in his chair. “You’re not seriously still thinking about him, are you?”

“I’m not thinking about him,” you replied quickly.

He hummed faintly, clearly unconvinced, but he let it drop.

As the rest of the band packed up their gear and got out of the room, you stayed for a minute. You found yourself staring at the bass leaning against the wall, untouched and waiting. For a moment, you allowed yourself to imagine what it would’ve sounded like if Touya had been there, if his bassline had woven seamlessly into your music and added the missing piece to tie the whole performance together.

But then you shook your head, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder.

“Doesn’t matter,” you muttered under your breath, the words more for yourself than anyone else.

“He already made his choice.” You did sound a little bummed out about it, though.

With one last glance at the bass, you left the room, making sure to lock it on your way out, determined to push Todoroki Touya out of your mind. This would be the last time you’ll ever think of him.

Or so you told yourself.

The aftermath was everything but light. It was merciless.

The following week wasn’t as pleasant as you thought it’d be; you couldn’t walk two steps without hearing the agitating murmurs.

“I thought she said they had a bassist?”

“What happened? Did the guy just dip?”

“Damn, imagine embarrassing yourself in front of the whole school like that.”

You clenched your jaw and kept walking, ignoring the sting that settled deep in your gut. You had been prepared for some backlash, sure, but you hadn’t expected the weight of it—the way the entire school seemed to know, the way the student council president looked at you with thinly veiled disappointment when the secretary and treasurer greeted you down the hall.

You had been so sure. You had told them, had promised them that you finally had a full band, that you were ready to compete. Just like once upon a time. And now, you had nothing to show for it.

Now you seem like a liar.

And Touya just… disappeared completely from your radar.

It was your fault; you knew that now. The man hasn’t even known you for longer than two weeks, and you expect him to do something as big as perform for a teaser set? You must have been so entitled to have thought of that.

So selfish to have only thought about what you want and never thought about what he wanted.

The meeting with the president later that afternoon only made it worse.

You sat stiffly in the office, your hands clenched into fists in your lap. Across from you, the president and a few teachers sat with unreadable expressions, while the event’s organizers and two members of the student council looked far less amused. Haru and Kaito flanked your sides—Yuuma called in sick on the second day of the week.

The president sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Ms. [Last Name], I’ll be honest with you. This situation has put us in a difficult position.”

You forced yourself to stay calm.

“We do have a band,” you said evenly. “We just had an issue with our bassist showing up. But it’s temporary. We’ll fix it.”

One of the organizers, a woman in a navy blazer, exchanged a look with the student council members. “That may be, but you don’t have a bassist right now,” she pointed out. “And without one, your band does not meet the minimum requirements to represent our school in competition. The sponsors and judges of high authority weren’t too thrilled with your performance last week as well. We had to compromise some of them to stay for the music festival.”

Haru sighed softly. “Then what will happen to us?”

The president hesitated, as if reluctant to say it out loud. “We’re giving you until the end of the month,” he said finally. “If you can’t secure a bassist by then… I’m afraid we’ll have to dissolve your band.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Disband? Just like that?

Kaito shot up from his seat, palms flat on the table. “You can’t be serious. We’ve been working our as— very hard on this since last year, please.”

“We are very serious, Mr. Watanabe.” The president's voice was firm but not unkind. “The school’s music program is already under pressure for funding. With many bands making themselves known each year. If we can’t prove that your band is viable for competition, we can’t continue allocating resources to you.”

Haru exhaled sharply beside you, shifting in his seat.

You could feel the walls closing in, the weight of their situation pressing on your shoulders.

One month. That was all you had.

Your mind raced, going over every possible option, every potential bassist you could reach out to. But the truth was, other bands had already scouted most of the available musicians at school. If there were any other bassists capable of keeping up with you, you would have known.

And the worst part? The absolute worst part?

You already had the right person for the job.

You had found someone who could play at the level you needed—someone so good that even Kaito, with all his attitude, had begrudgingly acknowledged his skill.

But he was also the same person who didn’t want to play anymore. And you can’t force someone to do the things that make them unhappy.

You sucked in a deep breath, steadying yourself.

“We understand,” you said finally, forcing your voice to stay calm. “We’ll find someone. Thank you for your kindness.”

The meeting wrapped up shortly after, but the weight of it didn’t leave you, even as you stepped out into the hallway. It felt like your heart was lodged in your throat, rendering you silent.

The moment the office door clicked shut, Kaito exploded.

“This is bullshit,” he snapped, running a hand through his hair. “All because some spoiled rich kid couldn’t be bothered to show up just for one gig?” He let out a bitter laugh. “Unbelievable.”

You didn’t say anything.

Kaito turned to you, eyes sharp. “Tell me you’re not still thinking about him.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m thinking about where we’ll find a good bassist. That’s all.”

Kaito scoffed. “Right. And who exactly do you think is good enough to replace him on such short notice? The others combed through almost all musicians in school.”

“Easy, Kai,” Haru told his friend.

You had no answer.

Because no matter how much you hated to admit it, there wasn’t anyone else.

Kaito must have caught the hesitation in your silence because his expression finally relented. “No. Let’s not think about it anymore.”

You adjusted the strap of your bag.

“We’ll figure it out,” you said, sidestepping the subject entirely.

Kaito sighed.

“She’s right,” Haru said. “We don’t have a choice.”

You nodded once, more to yourself than anyone else.

One month.

One month to fix this.

One month to… figure things out for better or worse.

And unfortunately, there was only one person who could.

And you were sure that he no longer wanted to see you.

But you had to talk to him one last time. For closure.

It was late. Touya’s classes usually stretched to 7 in the evening on Thursdays.

Touya was halfway down the stairs of the main building, hands shoved in his pockets, his steps unhurried. The night air was crisp, but he barely felt it. He had done what he always did—attended just enough classes to stay off his professors’ radar, killed time, and now, finally, he was going home.

But then he saw you.

You stood near the entrance, arms crossed, your bag slung over one shoulder. You weren’t blocking his way, but you didn’t move when he approached, your stance solid like you had been waiting for him.

He raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t know you were the waiting type.”

You didn’t react to the teasing. Not even a glare.

“I get it,” you said instead, your voice unnervingly steady. “You don’t want to play.”

Touya slowed to a stop, tilting his head.

Something about the way you said it made his neutral expression turn to a simple frown—because there was no anger, no frustration, no accusations. Just a simple statement, like you had already accepted it.

Took her long enough.

He shrugged. “Took you long enough to figure that out.”

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head, and for the first time, he noticed how exhausted you looked. Not physically—no, you were still standing tall, still looking him in the eye—but there was something in your expression, something worn down at the edges.

“I know.”

Your hands are clenched at your sides, knuckles tight.

“You could’ve just said no. You could’ve told me in the practice room that you weren’t going to do it. That you actually didn’t care. That you were going to let me stand up there and make a fool of myself in front of the entire school—because at least I would’ve been prepared.”

Touya’s smirk twitched but didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I never promised you anything.”

Your shoulders stiffened.

“Because you didn’t refuse that day, when Kaito asked who you were. You picked up the bass, played a few chords, and stayed an hour or less than you intended to. You let me hope. And maybe that was entirely my fault.”

Touya didn’t respond.

Didn’t shift, didn’t look away, but something in his posture went unnervingly still.

You let out a breath, closing your eyes for half a second before opening them again. “Do you have any idea what it was like?” you asked. “Standing up there, knowing everyone was laughing at us? Knowing the only reason we even got to play was because the judges were being polite?”

He had heard.

He hadn’t gone to the teaser set, but the rumors had found him anyway. Your band had been the first to perform to keep the judges on board—only to be the one band without a bassist.

A missing piece in an otherwise well-practiced performance.

A joke.

The sponsors and judges weren’t happy at all.

Your laugh was quiet, bitter. “We were supposed to set the standard, Todoroki. We were supposed to show them why the school backs us—that’s why we were the first to perform. And instead, we just… gave them every reason to doubt us.”

Touya’s jaw tightened just slightly, but his expression remained neutral. “That’s not my problem.”

“Yeah. I figured.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The sounds of the city beyond the school gates filled the silence—the distant rumble of a passing car, the buzz of a streetlamp overhead.

Then, finally, you straightened.

“But I was happy,” you admitted. “To have seen you play in person. To have known that I was one of the first to approach you for your talent before anyone could even connect the dots with your name.”

Touya was quiet as you spoke, allowing you to tell him how you truly felt about the situation.

“Thank you for taking your time to visit our music room. And… I’m sorry, really sorry if you felt pressured to play because of my persistence. I know that now.”

Well, that took a turn, Touya thought to himself.

“I’m not going to bother you anymore,” you continued. “But I do really—genuinely appreciate you giving us your time.”

Touya felt something in his chest shift, but he ignored it.

You bowed for one last time and turned on your heel without another word.

He didn’t stop you.

Didn’t say anything as you walked away, disappearing into the dimly lit street.

Didn’t watch as you left him alone with the cold and the distant echoes of everything you had just said.

The house was silent when he got home.

It always was.

Touya kicked off his shoes in the entryway, not bothering to turn on the lights. Everything was still—too still.

His siblings wouldn’t be home for another hour.

The scent of old wood and polish lingered in the air, clean and sterile. The housekeeper must have been here earlier, tidying up everything that didn’t need tidying. It felt suffocating, the way nothing ever changed here.

His steps were slow as he made his way up the stairs, fingers dragging along the smooth railing. The portraits lining the walls were familiar, but he didn’t spare them a glance. Family pictures. Moments frozen in time. He knew what they looked like without having to see them—his siblings, perfect and poised; his mother, distant yet present; and his father, always standing in the center like an immovable force.

Touya wasn’t in most of them.

Who knows what he must’ve been doing—or what he’s done for him to not be included?

His fingers curled against the wood before he withdrew his hand.

At the end of the hall, his bedroom door stood half-open, just as he had left it that morning. He pushed it open fully, stepping inside.

The room was clean, untouched, just like the rest of the house seemed to be every time he came back. Sometimes he questions if a family truly lives in this house. A house, because it never felt like home.

His gaze flickered across the shelves first. Medals hung from carefully arranged hooks, ribbons still tied neatly around them. Gold, silver, bronze—some gleaming, some dulled with time. A display case lined with trophies sat against the wall, their engraved plates catching the little light from his window.

They were proof of what he had once been.

A prodigy. A name whispered among teachers and musicians alike.

Someone who had been going somewhere.

But none of it had mattered.

His eyes landed on the bass guitar in the corner.

It rested against the wall, still in its worn case, the handle covered in faint scratches from when he used to carry it everywhere. He could almost feel the weight of it in his hands again, the familiar press of strings against his fingertips.

But it had been years since he actually played.

Years since he had felt anything when he looked at it.

Touya’s throat felt tight as he stepped further into the room.

At first, he had tried so hard. He had thrown himself into music with everything he had, drowning in it, desperate to carve out a space for himself in a family that never had room for him.

And for a while—just a little while—he had been good enough.

His teachers had praised him. His instructors had fought over who got to mentor him. People had noticed him.

But then his younger siblings had grown up.

And suddenly, his achievements weren’t enough anymore.

His father had never said it outright, but Touya had known. He had felt it in the way the encouragement faded, in the way the compliments grew fewer, in the way Enji barely looked at his trophies anymore.

You should focus on something more practical, his father had said once, as if music had been nothing more than a hobby. As if Touya had wasted all those years for nothing.

So he had stopped playing.

What was the point? What was the point of pouring himself into something that didn’t matter? What was the point of trying when no matter how good he got, it would never be enough?

Touya exhaled slowly, his gaze dragging back to his bass.

Even now, even after years of refusing to touch it, something in his chest twisted at the sight of it.

He told himself he didn’t care anymore. That it didn’t bother him.

But then your words came back to him, quiet but sharp.

You let me hope. And maybe that was entirely my fault.

His jaw clenched.

You looked so—tired. Not just angry, not just frustrated, but done. Like you had spent everything you had trying to reach him.

To reach something that could never be reached.

And for what?

Because he couldn’t face his own ghosts?

Touya let out a quiet scoff, running a hand down his face.

What the hell was wrong with him?

He turned away from the bass, shoving his hands in his pockets.

You weren’t entitled to his skills.

It didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter that it used to mean everything to him. It didn’t matter that he used to love it. It didn’t matter that for a few years, music had been the only thing keeping him from losing himself completely.

None of it mattered.

Not anymore.

And yet—

Touya lingered in the doorway, staring at the bass for one second too long before finally walking away.

Dinner was quiet that night.

Touya sat at the far end of the long table, arms crossed, eyes heavy-lidded with the kind of exhaustion that never seemed to leave him these days. The air in the house was the same as always—too clean, too cold, too silent.

He propped his elbow against the table and rested his chin on his knuckles, watching his father from across the room. Enji Todoroki, a powerhouse of a businessman, always the center of everything, even here. He ate in silence, posture rigid, movements deliberate.

Touya barely touched his food.

Natsuo sat two seats away, quiet but visibly tense. Fuyumi kept sneaking glances at him, her fingers fidgeting against her utensils. Shouto sat at his usual place, unmoving, eating mechanically like he wasn’t aware of the thick tension hanging in the air.

Touya let his gaze drop to the table, to his own reflection faintly visible in the polished wood.

It was funny, in a twisted sort of way.

He used to sit here as a kid, hanging onto every word his father said, desperate for even the smallest ounce of approval. He used to listen to Enji talk about Shouto’s lessons, about the weight of responsibility, about greatness.

And for a while, he had been a part of that.

For a while, Touya had been someone his father actually looked at.

The kid who could play with instinct, who picked up the bass and made it sing like he had been born to do it.

And back then, Enji had actually acknowledged it.

Not praise, not exactly, but recognition. His father had seen the way Touya played, the way his sponsors praised his name, the way his name had spread through competitions like wildfire, and for a short while—Touya had mattered.

Until he didn’t.

Until his siblings started excelling at everything else.

Natsuo was an academic. He soared through school with ease, outpacing everyone in his classes. His teachers raved about his intelligence, his potential.

Fuyumi was diligent and capable, always responsible, always steady, the one who excelled in sports. Swimming, volleyball, badminton—you name it, she could probably learn how to do it within two days maximum.

And Shouto—

Shouto was the golden child. The one their father had molded for years. The one meant for greatness, destined to surpass even Enji himself. He had a fragment of each of his siblings’ greatness.

And Touya?

Touya played music. And suddenly music wasn’t as great as academics, or sports, or arts.

One day, his father had simply stopped asking about his lessons. He had stopped attending his performances. Had stopped looking at the trophies he brought home, the medals he placed on his shelf.

And Touya knew then.

Knew that to Enji, he had already been left behind.

He swallowed down the bitterness clawing at his throat, his fingers curling against the table.

The silence in the room was unbearable.

So he broke it.

“You know,” Touya said suddenly, voice slow and deliberate, “I’ve been thinking.”

Enji didn’t look up. “About what?”

Touya tilted his head, watching him carefully. “About how pointless everything is.”

That got his father’s attention. Of course, it would. Enji finally met his gaze, brow furrowing slightly.

“Watch your tone,” he warned.

“Or what?” His voice was light, careless. “You gonna scold me? Ground me? Tell me that I’m throwing my life away in studying politics?”

Fuyumi’s lips parted slightly, like she wanted to interject. Natsuo tensed. Shouto kept eating, but Touya knew he was listening.

Enji exhaled slowly, setting his chopsticks down. “If you have something to say, say it.”

Touya dragged a hand through his hair, breathing in sharply. “Alright. Fine.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I spent years playing the bass. I was good at it. No—scratch that. I was the best at it. You know that. My teachers knew that. Everyone knew that.” His voice hardened. “And you let me. You let me believe that it mattered, that it was worth something. And then one day, just like that, you decided it wasn’t.”

Enji remained impassive. “I never told you to stop playing.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He could still remember it. The shift. The subtle, almost imperceptible way his father’s attention drifted. How the words of encouragement—rare as they were—had faded. How the pride that once flickered in his father’s expression whenever he won had dulled until it was nothing but disdain.

Because music wasn’t important. Because it wasn’t a legacy. Because Touya playing the bass isn’t important. Because music wouldn’t help him become a candidate to rise to the business world.

And that had killed something in him.

“Do you even get it?” Touya’s voice rose slightly, sharp and bitter. “Do you know what it feels like? To pour everything you have into something, to love something so much it becomes a part of you, only to have it tossed aside like it’s nothing?” His fingers clenched against the table. “What was the point? What was the point of me trying? What was the point of all the competitions, the trophies, the lessons? What was the point of any of it if you were just going to decide it wasn’t worth your time?”

Enji was silent.

Of course, he was.

Touya’s laugh was louder this time, almost incredulous. He shook his head, his grip tightening. “I should’ve known, huh?” His voice was quieter now, something bitter curling around the edges. “The moment my siblings started excelling, I should’ve known.”

Enji’s brows furrowed slightly, but he didn’t refute it. Didn’t deny it.

Because it was true.

Because Touya had spent years waiting—waiting for something, anything, that told him he still was important. That he wasn’t just something his father had already discarded.

But Enji was as quiet as ever.

And that told him everything he needed to know.

His fists slowly unclenched. His expression smoothed over into something colder. He exhaled, pushing his chair back with a quiet scrape of wood against the tile.

“Forget it.”

He stood up, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Fuyumi called out his name softly, but he ignored it. Natsuo watched him leave with something tight in his expression. Shouto didn’t move.

And Enji—

Enji didn’t stop him.

Touya didn’t look back.

Because what was the point in arguing with a wall?

But Touya knew the conversation was far from over.

“We need to talk.”

Touya let out a slow breath through his nose, already bracing himself. He didn’t stop to acknowledge him right away, just leaned down to untie his boots, drawing out the motion. He knew how this worked. Enji didn’t like raised voices, didn’t like drawn-out arguments, and didn’t like things disrupting his carefully maintained order. If Touya ignored him long enough, maybe he’d just drop it.

But, of course, Enji Todoroki never dropped anything. Especially not after the stunt he pulled earlier.

Touya sighed and finally straightened, rolling his shoulders as he turned. “Yeah?” He blinked lazily, voice laced with dry amusement. “What groundbreaking wisdom do you have for me this time?”

“You need to stop this,” Enji said, tone clipped.

“Stop what, exactly?” He tilted his head. “Speaking my mind?”

“Throwing a tantrum.”

“Ohhh. That’s what we’re calling it?” He let his voice drop into something almost conversational. “No, you see, I thought I was just telling the truth. You did say honesty is the best policy.”

Enji’s expression didn’t change. His silence pressed against Touya’s ribs like an iron weight.

Touya rolled his eyes. “Alright, fine. Lay it on me. What’s the lecture this time? That I’m being unreasonable?” He snorted. “That I should be grateful?”

Enji exhaled carefully. “I never told you to stop playing music.”

“Oh yeah? You sure about that?”

“I told you not to rely on it,” Enji clarified, tone flat.

Touya clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Yeah. Yeah, I know. Keep it as a hobby. Something to do on the side. Something that wouldn’t distract me.” His voice dipped into something laced with mockery. “Because that’s what you always do, huh?”

Enji narrowed his eyes slightly. “Touya—”

“No, seriously.” Touya let out a sharp, humorless chuckle, stepping closer. “First, you push me into it. You tell me I’ve got talent, that I should hone it, that I should train.” His voice dropped into something razor-sharp. “And I did.”

His gaze burned, unrelenting.

“I played,” he continued. “I trained. I performed. And I was good, wasn’t I?” His voice was laced with something bitter. “I was great.”

Enji didn’t deny it.

“But then one day, you just…” He snapped his fingers. “Checked out. Like it didn’t matter anymore.” His jaw tightened. “As if playing music was the most disappointing thing any of your children could’ve done. Or maybe that case only applied to me?”

Silence.

Touya inhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “But, hey, that wasn’t enough, was it?” His lips curled into something sharp, his voice laced with venom. “No, because after making it real clear that music wasn’t worth your time, you decided to shove me into something else instead.”

His eyes burned.

“Business administration.”

Enji’s face hardened.

“You actually thought I’d be like you.” Touya laughed. It was a clear joke to him. “Like I gave a single shit about your business.”

Enji exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “You’re intelligent, Touya. If you had stuck with it—”

“If I had stuck with it? Are you kidding me?” His voice rose, heated. “I never wanted that, old man! You wanted that!” He gestured wildly. “And you shoved me into it like you do with everything else because you thought it was better than me playing music!”

He took a slow, measured breath, voice lowering into something cold.

“And the worst part? I still tried.” His lips twisted. “I spent two years in that goddamn conservative, traditional university, forcing myself to study something I hated just because you thought it was acceptable.”

His fingers curled into fists. “And the second I transferred out, you had the audacity to act like it was my decision.”

He dropped his voice into a dead-on mimicry: “Why didn’t you say anything sooner? How could you waste two years?”

“Like you didn’t push me into it in the first place. You do that with everyone—Fuyumi would’ve still been competing today if you hadn’t discouraged her, Natsuo and Shouto as well.”

Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.

Touya inhaled sharply through his nose. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, but no less bitter.

“I didn’t even want to just play music,” he muttered. “I had a plan. I was gonna study law. Be a lawyer.” He scoffed. “Did you even know that?”

Enji’s brows furrowed slightly, but he said nothing.

Touya scoffed. “Yeah, I didn't think so.” He shook his head. “I wanted to help. I wanted to be something. And I still wanted to play, still wanted to keep music as a part of my life—because it was with me for almost all of my life. But you made me feel like that was stupid. A childish dream that I was bound to let go of.”

His throat tightened.

“You made me feel like it wasn’t worth it.”

“Touya, you needed direction.”

“No,” Touya snapped. “I needed a choice. I needed support. But you never gave me one.”

Silence.

“You forced me into music. Then you forced me into business. And when I walked away from both, you just acted like none of it ever mattered. Like I had humiliated everything that you had built for this family.”

Enji’s expression didn’t change.

“No surprise, though, huh?” He tilted his head, voice dropping into something dangerously quiet. “Because Shouto could finally fill in my shoes.”

Enji’s jaw tightened, just slightly.

“Yeah, that’s what it is, isn’t it? Did I hit a nerve there, Dad?” His voice wavered, barely perceptible. “You didn’t need to focus on me anymore, so you didn’t.”

Touya’s fists clenched.

“I should’ve known better.”

Enji remained silent.

“Forget it,” he muttered, stepping out. “I’m going back to my dorm.”

And so, it did.

What used to be a room full of noise was now uncomfortably quiet.

You stood in the middle of it, arms crossed, gaze sweeping over the half-empty space that had once been yours. It didn’t feel real. The shelves where you used to stack your equipment were bare. The walls, once lined with posters and setlists, were empty now—just blank, peeling paint and old tape residue. The air smelled like dust and memories you weren’t ready to let go of.

You swallowed down the lump in your throat and forced yourself to keep moving.

Yuuma was coiling up the last of the cables, his usual easy grin nowhere to be seen. Kaito crouched near the amplifiers, wrapping them up carefully like they weren’t just equipment but something precious. Haru had already taken down the band’s old posters, stacking them in a neat pile like he couldn’t bring himself to crumple them up or throw them away.

It was too quiet.

The kind of quiet that came with the weight of finality, of something ending when you weren’t ready for it to.

You bent down and picked up a box of loose sheet music, flipping through old setlists and unfinished lyrics scrawled in fading ink. Some of these songs had never made it past rehearsals. Some of them had performed on your biggest nights, your loudest wins. And now?

Now they were just scraps of paper.

You exhaled softly and shoved them into the box.

A few feet away, Haru stacked another case onto the pile by the door and sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You think the next band’s gonna do anything with this place?”

You shrugged, not trusting yourself to answer.

Yuuma snorted softly. “They won’t be us.”

No one disagreed.

Because it was true.

You had been the best. The best. Your band was the one that had carried the university through every local competition, every festival for a year straight. You have been known for your energy, your chemistry, and your sound. You were the band that made people stay even after the headliners left.

The absolute blueprint.

But now?

Now, you were just another band that fell apart because people moved on. Your former bassist chose to focus on his internship, which you respected. The others started quitting as well due to some other conflicts, and only Kaito, Yuuma, and Haru stayed. You were thankful for that.

Kaito let out a slow breath and leaned against the table. “We really thought we could hold out, huh?” He smiled, but he was tired, resigned. “Guess we were all kinda stupid.”

“Not stupid,” you corrected. “We just… we wanted it to last.”

And for a while, it had.

For a while, it had felt invincible.

Until it wasn’t.

Kaito didn’t argue. He just nodded, pushing another box toward the door.

You glanced around, taking in the room one last time. The cracked stool where Kaito used to sit when he got too tired standing. The corner of the room where Haru always left his water bottle. The space near the set of drums where Yuuma used to zone out between rehearsals. The spot where you had spent so many late nights rewriting lyrics, surrounded by the sound of your friends messing around, playing half-finished chords, and making stupid jokes.

It was hard to believe that by next week, another band would be standing in this same space.

That this room—your room—would belong to someone else.

“Alright.” You clapped your hands together, forcing a small smile. “Let’s finish up.”

No one argued.

Because there was nothing left to fight for.

So you worked.

Packing up the remnants of what used to be something grand.

Touya wasn’t used to asking for things. Not from other people. Not from institutions. Not even from himself.

But here he was, sitting in the suffocatingly sterile office of the university’s administrative staff, pushing down every instinct that told him to just walk out and let things be. He couldn’t let things be.

The chair was stiff. The air was too still. His leg bounced impatiently under the desk, but he forced himself to keep his voice even.

“I’m here about the band that oversees the music club.”

The staff member—a woman who looked about one budget cut away from quitting her job altogether—barely spared him a glance as she shuffled through a stack of papers. “The band that was dissolved?”

Touya clenched his jaw. Yeah. The one I fucked up.

“…Yeah,” he muttered.

The woman sighed, rubbing her temples. “If you’re here to file a complaint, I’ll stop you right now. The rules are clear—without a complete lineup, the band can’t maintain active status, but the club is still available for students who want to learn to play instruments.”

“No, no. I’m not here to join the club,” Touya exhaled slowly, fingers twitching against the fabric of his jeans. “And I’m not filing a complaint about the band,” he said. “I’m fixing it.”

That got her attention. She gave him a once-over, unimpressed. “You’re fixing it?”

“Yes.” His fingers dug into his palm. “Reinstate the band.”

The woman stared at him for a long moment, then let out a dry chuckle. “It’s not that simple, kid.”

Touya hated that. Hated how she dismissed him so easily, like he was just some desperate student throwing a last-minute plea.

But, to be fair, he was desperate. He’s never been this desperate before, but the moment he saw another band in your practice room, he couldn’t leave it as is.

He swallowed back the frustration rising in his throat. “Look, we need a full lineup, right?” He met her gaze evenly. “They’ve got one. I’m playing bass.”

The woman raised an eyebrow. “You?”

Touya nodded.

She tapped her fingers against the desk, considering. “…And this isn’t just some last-ditch effort to get back on a technicality?”

“No. I was just… a little late due to some… personal conflicts.”

She gave him another long look, then sighed, shaking her head. “If the band can prove they’re competition-ready by the end of the month, we’ll consider reinstatement on a probationary basis.”

Touya exhaled, relief flooding his chest. “I’ll take it.”

The woman slid a stack of papers toward him. “Then fill these out.”

The first thing Touya did after leaving the office was find you.

It wasn’t hard—because he asked a few students from your department where you usually stayed. The rooftop, they all said.

“What now, Todoroki?” you asked, not even bothering to look at him.

“I was going to play.”

The words were soft. Too soft for him.

Your hand stilled, pausing from rewriting your notes.

Touya let out a slow breath, stepping forward, leaning against the railing a few feet away from you. He didn’t look at you. Just stared out at the view below, where the campus stretched out in the afternoon light.

“I was ready,” he said. “That night. Before the music fest. I had my bass; I was going,” he admitted, shaking his head. “And then my old man showed up.”

Touya rarely talked about his father. Much less to anyone—especially you. You had heard things, of course—whispers, rumors, the kind of stories that floated around when a family name like his carried a reputation. But you never asked. It wasn’t your place.

And your priorities lie elsewhere.

You stayed silent, letting him speak.

“He told me to drop it. Said there was no point. That I was wasting my time.” Touya’s fingers curled slightly against the railing. “And I don’t know why it got to me. I thought I stopped giving a shit a long time ago. But right then, it was like I was a kid again, standing in that room full of trophies that didn’t mean anything to him.”

His voice was quiet. Not bitter, not angry—just honest.

“And I got scared.” His jaw tensed. “Because what if he was right?”

You blinked at him as he turned to face you, though you were quick to avert your gaze.

“What if I was wasting my time?” Touya said more than asked. “What if I walked into that music fest, got on stage, and realized I didn’t have it anymore? What if it wasn’t worth it?”

He got a bit closer to where you sat.

“So I didn’t go.” He glanced up at the sky. “I stayed home. Didn’t answer my phone. Figured it wouldn’t matter anyway.”

You stared at your notes, but the words were starting to blur.

“You were right,” Touya mused after a long pause. “Giving you hope was the worst thing I could’ve done.” He sighed. “You should’ve hit me for that one.”

You finally turned to look at him, and for the first time, he actually met your gaze. His eyes weren’t cold or distant, not laced with sarcasm or carelessness.

They were just… open.

You swallowed and looked back down.

“You used to love it,” you concluded. It wasn’t a question.

Touya gave a slow nod. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I did.”

The wind was the only thing that spoke for a while.

You weren’t sure what you were supposed to say to that. To him.

But…

You could hear it in his voice. The regret. The way he hated himself for it more than anyone else ever could.

That didn’t change much. Your band was still dissolved either way. And you’ve been drowning yourself in your studies to ignore the ache.

But maybe—

Maybe it meant something.

His hands were still in his pockets, his shoulders tense like he wasn’t used to saying things that actually mattered. Like he had already braced himself for whatever you were going to throw at him—anger, disappointment, indifference.

But instead of waiting for you to say anything else, he spoke first.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me.” His voice was steady, quieter than usual. “And I’m not asking you to.”

You blinked, fingers tightening slightly around the edges of your notebook.

He sighed, shifting his weight. “But I talked to the organizers, professors, and staff. The university president, too.” He glanced at you, searching for a reaction, but you just stared, waiting. “The band’s registered again.”

Your breath hitched, barely noticeable—but he caught it.

“As long as you want to have a band,” he continued, his tone more certain now, “it’s yours. I’ll play.” He tilted his head slightly, something almost pleading flickering in his gaze. “I should’ve played from the start. So if you’ll let me, I’ll do it now.”

He was serious.

There was no sarcasm, no deflection, no half-hearted attempt to make it seem like he wasn’t doing something that mattered. He wasn’t trying to be cool or detached.

For once, Todoroki Touya wasn’t running.

“And if I say no?”

Touya smiled slightly, but there was no arrogance in it—just something quiet, maybe even hopeful.

“Then I guess I’ll have to find a way to convince you.”

You looked at him, your knuckles white where they pressed against your closed notebook. The wind picked up, rustling the pages slightly, but you didn’t move. You barely breathed. Forgot to, maybe.

God, you hated him.

You hated how genuine he was being.

But more than anything—

You hated that you wanted to believe him.

“You really think it’s that simple?” you ask. It’s soft this time around.

“No.” Touya’s voice was level, calm. “But it’s a start.”

“You don’t get it.”

“Then tell me. I’ll listen.”

You couldn’t tell him.

Because the truth was, you believed him.

And that was the worst part. You’re too hopeful again, and what if this time around, the damage would be even more severe?

“You don’t have to do this.” Your voice was steady, but underneath it was something raw. “You don’t have to do all of this because you feel bad. Because you suddenly decided it mattered to you again.”

Touya didn’t flinch. He just listened.

You wanted to scream at him. Hit him. Something. Because how dare he stand there so calmly while you were unraveling all over again?

“I believed in you. Even when I knew I shouldn’t have. Even when everyone told me not to.” You had to clasp your hands together and take in a steady breath.

Touya was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, quietly—

“I understand.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do.” His voice was lower this time, more certain. “I know because I did the same damn thing to myself. To be scared of something inevitable, I chose to run.”

That stopped you cold.

This made you realize—

This wasn’t easy for him, either.

The exhaustion in his posture, the way his hands curled into fists in his pockets—

He wasn’t just standing there expecting you to forgive him.

He was waiting for you to tell him no.

Waiting for you to tell him he had lost his last chance. To tell him to stop bothering you.

To leave you alone.

And you should.

God, you should.

But then there was the way he looked at you—

Not with pity. Not with indifference.

But like you were the only person in the world whose opinion could ruin him.

And you had never seen anyone look at you like that before.

Practice ran late. Not that anyone was really complaining—well, except for Kaito, who kept muttering about how his fingers were cramping up, but nobody paid him much attention. You were all riding the high of a solid rehearsal, the kind where everything clicked, and even though Touya would never admit it out loud, it felt good.

Really good.

It had been so long since he played in a group like this, since he let himself enjoy it instead of overanalyzing every note.

And then Yuuma, with his usual lack of impulse control, had to break the comfortable silence.

“Okay, but seriously,” he said, spinning a drumstick between his fingers as he leaned against the wall. “How the hell did we get you?”

Touya, who had just been double-checking the tuning pegs on his bass, glanced up with a raised eyebrow. “Huh?”

Kaito grinned. “He’s got a point, man. You’re Todoroki Touya.”

Touya frowned. “Yeah. I know my own name.”

“No, but seriously,” Yuuma insisted, gesturing vaguely. “You’re like—this mysterious, untouchable figure on campus. The guy who doesn’t show up to class half the time but still somehow passes. The guy who sits in the back of the room and barely talks to anyone. And now, suddenly, you’re our bassist?”

Touya exhaled through his nose. “You make it sound like some divine intervention.”

“It is,” Yuuma said, completely serious. Then, without missing a beat—“Do you have a girlfriend?”

…

“What?”

“Yeah,” Kaito snickered. “That would actually explain so much.”

You, on the other hand, were completely distracted with your phone to even pay the boys any attention.

Haru, who had been silently observing the conversation like he was watching a wildlife documentary, finally chimed in. “Are you implying that Touya was bribed into joining the band?”

Yuuma nodded sagely. “Exactly. Like—imagine he’s secretly dating some hardcore musician chick who was like, ‘Touya, babe, you need to do this for me,’ and he just couldn’t say no.”

Touya gave him the flattest look imaginable. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“So you don’t have a girlfriend?” Haru asked, adjusting his glasses.

Touya sighed, already regretting all of his life choices. “No.”

Yuuma snapped his fingers. “Damn. There goes that theory.” Then, after a beat, he turned to you. “By the way, do we have a budget for a talent fee?”

You glanced up. “Huh?”

Yuuma jerked a thumb at Touya. “I mean, we basically landed a celebrity. Should we be paying him or something?”

Touya scoffed. “You can’t afford me.”

Kaito snickered. “Damn, that’s bold.”

“What?” Yuuma grinned. “I’m just saying, we might as well treat him like a high-profile guest artist.”

Touya smirked. “You should be honored.”

“This is dumb,” you laughed.

Yuuma, still grinning, slung his bag over his shoulder. “But for real, you’re actually sticking around this time, right?”

Touya hesitated.

The question felt heavier than it should’ve. Because a few months ago, the answer would’ve been an easy no. Why would I waste my time? This wouldn’t matter.

But now?

He exhaled, shifting his bass case higher on his shoulder.

“…Yeah,” he muttered. “All the way.”

Kaito whooped, slapping him on the back. “Hell yeah.”

Yuuma smirked. “Good. Because if you did bail again, I was fully prepared to start charging you a dropout fee.”

Touya snorted. “You wish.”

You, who had been watching him carefully, finally exhaled and gave him a slight nod. “Then don’t be late tomorrow. Same time.”

Touya smirked. “No promises.”

You gave him a knowing look.

Yuuma grinned. “Alright, then—welcome to the band, officially.”

And for the first time in years, standing there with his new bandmates, feeling the weight of his bass strap across his shoulder and the lingering buzz of rehearsal in his fingertips—

Touya actually felt like he was home.

With the recent turn of events, jealousy is an apparent feeling for those who aren’t as privileged to have snagged Todoroki Touya.

And it all started as whispers.

Small, snide comments whenever you walked past the other bands in the music hall. Barely-there smirks, little glances, and the occasional scoff from some second-rate bassist who thought they were so much better because they had never once lost a performance slot.

You ignored them.

You had better things to do. Your band was back, and with Touya as your bassist, things were better and stronger than before. You were making up for lost time, running setlists late into the night, writing new songs, fixing old ones. The fire was back in your chest, the thrill of the stage creeping closer.

But the whispers didn’t stop.

And eventually, they weren’t whispers anymore.

You were passing by the courtyard, Touya trailing half a step behind you, when a group of students—members of another well-known band—let their conversation just slip into earshot.

“She’s lucky, isn’t she?”

“Right? If we had a prodigy like Todoroki, we’d be unstoppable.”

“I mean, let’s be real, he’s the only reason they even got reinstated.”

“I wonder if she realizes how much she’s riding on his talent. Kind of embarrassing if you think about it.”

Your steps faltered, just for a second.

But you didn’t stop.

Didn’t give them the satisfaction of giving them your time.

Touya, though—he did stop.

You had taken another step before you realized he wasn’t beside you anymore. You turned, frowning, just as he stuffed his hands into his pockets and tilted his head at the group, expression unreadable.

“Oh, sorry,” he drawled. “Didn’t realize I had groupies.”

The students stiffened. “What?”

“You’re talking about me like I’m not right here.” His tone was light, almost amused. “That desperate for attention?”

One of them scoffed, recovering quickly. “We’re just saying. It’s obvious [Last Name]’s band wouldn’t stand a chance without you.”

You clenched your fists, but Touya—he laughed.

It wasn’t a friendly laugh.

It was sharp and unimpressed.

“Yeah?” He raised a brow, amusement fading into something colder. “Then why is it that even before I joined, they were the best band on campus?”

The students shifted uncomfortably.

“I mean, that’s what pisses you off, right?” Touya continued, taking a slow step forward. His presence was overwhelming, gaze sharp as he looked them over. “They were already winning before me. [Name] built that band from the ground up, and everyone knew they were the ones to beat.”

No one said anything.

He smirked. “But if it makes you feel better to pretend it’s all me, go ahead. Must be easier than admitting you just suck.”

One of them clenched their jaws. “What’s your deal, man? You don’t even care about bands or competitions.”

Touya rolled his shoulders, casting a glance back at you.

You hadn’t said a word, but he could see it—the way your grip on your bag had tightened, the way your jaw was locked. You weren’t going to defend yourself.

Which was fine.

Because he would.

“I didn’t care,” he admitted, looking back at them. “Didn’t give a fuck about any of this.” His smirk widened, but his eyes were sharp.

“But I do now. And you know what I found out?”

The weight of his words sank in, and no one had a response.

“I actually kind of like it,” he hummed. “So try to keep up. Because for the remaining two years, we’ll never lose as long as [Name] and I are onboard.”

With that, he turned back to you, nodding toward the path ahead. “Come on. We’ve got practice.”

You stared at him for a beat longer, then let out a slow breath and walked beside him, leaving the others behind.

They didn’t talk about it and didn't bring it up again.

But as you headed toward the music room, Touya nudged you lightly with his elbow.

“They’re just jealous,” he said, voice quieter now. “You know that, right?”

You exhaled, then, finally, nodded just a little.

“Obviously.”

“Alright,” Yuuma had said one afternoon, spinning a drumstick between his fingers, “hypothetically, if you were going to make it up to [Name]—properly, not just half-assed—what would you do?”

Touya, who had been tuning his bass, barely spared him a glance.

“I already apologized.”

Kaito snorted. “Yeah, and she tolerated it. Barely.”

“Then what do you want me to do? Write her a sonnet?” Touya asked.

Haru, from where he was perched on top of the amplifier, added, “Not a sonnet. A song.”

“Excuse me?”

Yuuma grinned. “Dude, it’s perfect. She’s all about the band, right? Music’s what she actually gives a damn about. So if you really want her to believe you’re in this for real, show her through music.”

Kaito nodded. “Exactly. Words don’t mean shit to [Name] unless there’s proof behind them.”

Touya frowned, fingers idly running along the strings of his bass.

Writing a song.

It had been years since he’d tried—since he let himself create rather than just play. Back then, his notebooks had been filled with half-finished compositions, lyrics scratched out and rewritten over and over again. He had loved it once.

He was conflicted.

Yuuma clapped him on the shoulder, snapping him out of his thoughts. “You in?”

Touya exhaled sharply. “…Fine.”

Yuuma grinned. “Good answer. It’s sooner or later that you’ll learn that we actually can’t take no for an answer here.”

The first problem?

Touya had no idea where to start.

Sure, he knew how to write—he knew chord progressions, rhythms, and structure. But what the hell was he supposed to say?

It wasn’t like he was about to write some sappy, ‘I’m sorry for being an asshole.’

The actual writing process was a disaster in itself.

Yuuma wanted a fast tempo—something that hit hard and kept the energy high.

Kaito argued for something more melodic, something with room to breathe.

Haru, the only one thinking practically, kept reminding them that it had to fit your vocal range.

Touya, meanwhile, wanted to strangle all of them. It’s hard to believe that he and Yuuma were in the same year because the latter acted so childish—so energetic.

It took days of back-and-forth, of testing out different riffs, of scrapping entire verses because they weren’t good enough.

But eventually, they had something.

Something undeniably theirs.

Now all that was left was playing it for her.

Practice started like any other day.

You arrived on time, as usual, already flipping through your notebook and mumbling about setlists before anyone could even say a word.

Touya, despite knowing what was about to happen, stayed silent.

It wasn’t his place to introduce this.

It had to be them. All of them.

And, sure enough—

“Actually,” Kaito cut in, casually adjusting his guitar strap, “we’ve got something new to go over today.”

You tilted your head to the side. “What?”

Yuuma grinned. “Surprise.”

“If this is another one of your pranks—”

“It’s not,” Haru assured you. “Just listen.”

You sighed, clearly not in the mood for their antics, but you leaned back against the chair anyway, crossing your arms. “Fine. But if this sucks, we will proceed with the hardest entry as our warmup song.”

Touya smiled. “Noted.”

And then they started playing.

The first few notes were soft, subdued—a simple melody carried by Haru’s keys, the kind of sound that felt like waking up from a long dream. Then the bassline came in, low and steady, grounding everything. Touya’s fingers moved instinctively, muscle memory taking over, like the song had always existed in him, just waiting to be played.

Kaito’s guitar layered over it, bright and sharp, a contrast to the weight of the rhythm section. And then Yuuma’s drums kicked in—fast, insistent, alive.

The song had movement.

Had feeling.

It wasn’t an apology.

It was a promise.

By the time the last chord faded into silence, [Name] was staring.

Not in shock, not in disbelief—

But something Touya couldn’t quite name.

He adjusted the strap on his shoulder, avoiding your gaze.

“Well?”

“…You wrote this?” you asked.

Touya nodded, feeling strangely exposed. “Yeah.”

There was a long pause, and for a second, he thought maybe this had been a mistake. That maybe you’d say too little, too late.

But then—

“…It’s good,” you told him, laughing quietly. “Is this our entry for the Music Mayhem Event?”

Yuuma grinned. “Hell yeah, it is.”

Touya smiled, nudging at you a little. “So. Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

“I… actually forgave you when you sought me out on the rooftop.”

“Wait, really?:

“Yeah, I— really don’t hold grudges for long.”

Yuuma clapped him on the back. “Dude, that’s so romantic.”

Kaito laughed. “Congrats, man. You got to apologize twice and wrote a song for the competition. Killed two birds with one stone.”

Haru just nodded, satisfied. “Saves us the trouble and time, then.”

Yeah.

Looked like it was.

The venue was packed.

Touya rolled his shoulders, gripping his bass a little tighter than necessary. The strap dug into his shoulder, grounding him, reminding him that this was real. No running this time. No excuses.

You were beside him, your fingers tapping against your mic, an old nervous habit you refused to acknowledge. You exhaled through your nose, a slow, measured breath, but Touya could see it—you were excited. No, more than that—you were ready.

Kaito was tuning his guitar, barely holding back a cocky grin. Yuuma stretched his arms, rolling his neck, hyping himself up under his breath. Haru was calm, adjusting his keyboard settings with precise movements, unreadable as always.

“Make sure your voice doesn’t crack, Todoroki,” you commented.

Touya chuckled. “We’ll see.”

Then the announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers:

“Next up—give it up for—”

The crowd erupted.

Lights flooded the stage, hot and blinding.

And then, it was just them.

If you told Todoroki Touya that he’d be playing the bass again after eight years, he would’ve laughed right in your face.

(Mm, yeah, I know how this goes…

You stand in the light, I fade in the smoke…)

He would’ve told you that he didn’t care how good he used to be. He’s lost interest, to put it into simpler terms.

(Didn’t ask you to chase me down—didn’t need another fight…

But there you were, reckless and loud, saying we could get it right…)

He would’ve told you that he had better things to do.

But now, he did. Touya was playing the bass.

Touya didn’t just play—he felt it. His fingers moved on instinct against the strings, like they had a mind of their own, like he was carving out something raw, something familiar, something that had been trapped inside him for too long.

Then came the pre-chorus. The tension built.

And that’s when he came in.

(Yeah, I left you hanging, left you cold—swore I’d never play that role…

But damn, you still play me like a note…)

His voice was rougher, rasping with emotion, clashing with your smoother tone in a way that shouldn’t have worked—but it did. You turned toward him, stepping closer, your voices winding together like opposing forces caught in the same storm.

And then—

The chorus hit.

(We’re smoke and starlight, burning too bright—

Falling too fast, getting lost in the night!

Say you don’t need me, say you don’t care—

But we both know I’m still hanging there!)

You and Touya met in the middle of the stage, mic stands forgotten.

You were fire; he was smoke.

Then came the second verse, and it was yours to claim as his voice faded into the background.

(You don’t beg, you don’t plead—

But I hear it in the way you breathe…

Sick of ghosts and dead-end dreams—

But somehow, you still look at me…)

Your gaze caught his. And Touya—he didn’t look away. He looked at you because you were the only one he could see—that he wanted to see.

The music dipped again, shifting into the bridge. Everything stripped back—just the bass and your voice.

(You don’t get to walk away, not this time…

Not after leaving me behind…

You play ghosts, I play fire…

But even flames need something to burn inside…)

The way you sang it—low, steady, sharp as a blade—it sent a shiver down his spine. It tugged at his heartstrings in a way that didn’t feel like him.

Then—

The build.

Drums creeping back in. Guitar humming under the surface. The energy climbing—

And then everything crashed into the final chorus.

(We’re smoke and starlight, burning too bright—

Falling too fast, getting lost in the night!

Say you don’t need me, say you don’t care—

But we both know I’m still hanging there!)

It was undeniable. It was everything.

As the last note hit, ringing through the venue, the whole place seemed to hold its breath.

And then—

The deafening eruption.

Viewers screamed. Hands shot up. The cheers were deafening. Even the judges looked impressed, their quiet conversation lost under the sheer force of the audience’s reaction.

You stood at the front, chest heaving, sweat beading at your temple, but your eyes—your eyes—burned with something victorious.

Touya, gripping his bass, let out a slow breath.

This was it.

For the first time in a long time, he felt it.

Not just the music. Not just the stage.

But the want.

The need.

The need to keep playing.

You had done it.

Done this to him.

And it was only the beginning.

Todoroki Touya never thought he’d come to this point.

His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, sweat dripping down his temple, his adrenaline spiking so hard that he could barely stand still. The entire band was high off the energy, voices overlapping as they half-shouted, half-laughed at each other, Yuuma swinging an arm around his shoulders while someone shoved a bottle of water into his hands.

“That was insane!” Your guitarist, Kaito, was saying, practically vibrating with excitement. “Holy shit, did you see how the crowd lost it when we hit that last chorus?”

“Dude, [Name] killed that bridge,” Yuuma added, shaking his head in disbelief. “And Touya? Bro, your bass solo? I felt that in my soul.”

Touya barely registered the words.

Because across the room, you were glowing.

To Touya, you had this look about you, the way you always did after a performance—flushed cheeks, the slight sheen of sweat on your skin making you radiate under the dim backstage lights. You were standing just a few feet away, laughing breathlessly, one hand gripping the back of your neck as you spoke with their events coordinator, your body still thrumming with the rush of the performance.

Touya swallowed.

There was something clawing up his ribs, something tight, something desperate, and before he even realized what he was doing—before he could stop himself—he moved.

His fingers curled around your wrist, firm but not rough, and you barely had time to react before he was pulling you with him, slipping past the others and into the dimly lit hallway behind the stage.

“Hey—Touya, what—?”

You didn’t finish.

Because the second you were out of sight, the second you two were alone, Touya turned, one hand still gripping your wrist, the other lifting without hesitation—

And he kissed you.

It was instinct, thoughtless and reckless, but it felt right.

You went rigid.

For a single, heart-stopping second, you didn’t move, didn’t react—so still that Touya almost panicked. Almost pulled away, almost started to stammer some kind of half-assed explanation, almost—

But then you inhaled sharply, and your fingers curled into his shirt, gripping him like you were trying to ground yourself.

And that was all it took.

Touya’s grip tightened, his palm cupping the side of your face, thumb brushing against your cheek. His lips moved against yours with the feeling of overflowing feelings that are just too good to put into words.

The music, the rush, the way your voice had wrapped around his on stage like you had been made for this, for each other.

Whatever this feeling was, it had been simmering beneath the surface, lingering in the way he always found himself seeking you out, the way he stayed just a little longer after practice, the way you looked at him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention.

And now—now—it was spilling over, like an overfilled cup, impossible to ignore any longer.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless; Touya didn’t move far. His forehead rested against yours, his hand still cradling your face, fingers brushing along your skin.

You were staring at him, wide-eyed, your lips parted in shock, chest still rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath.

“Huh..?”

Touya exhaled sharply, trying to steady his pulse, trying to make sense of the mess in his chest.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, voice rough, strained.

His thumb brushed against your cheek, his breath still mingling with yours, but one thing’s for sure.

“But I think I wanna do it again.”

309 notes · View notes

perseephoneee · 4 months ago

Text

scarf [ficmas day 15] [isaac lahey x f!reader]

↳ masterlist ↳ ship exchange ↳ taglist ↳ ficmas 2024

anon: Hiya! Can you write something for your Ficmas 2024 with Isaac and a scarf? (I know it's so obviously choice 😆) I will be very grateful. @mayfieldss : For ficmas you KNOW I have to ask for scarf with isaac lahey! I love you, you're the best. 💓

author's note: merry christmas you guys <3 i can't believe we finished this challenge (by we I mean me i was burned out at the end). every fic i wrote i was excited to share with you guys, and truly i am so thankful for every single person who reads these. i love writing, and i love writing knowing i'm improving someones day.

i'd love to hear what everyone is excited for this holiday season, feel free to drop an ask in my inbox or message me personally <3 love y'all

playlist:

buy me presents -- sabrina carpenter

cold december night -- michael buble

christmas song -- phoebe bridgers

Isaac always wore a scarf because despite it being in the seventies constantly in Beacon Hills, CA, it was his Mom’s and he liked to remember her. This sentimental fact did nothing to stop the other boys from relentlessly teasing him. Because men are idiots.

You witnessed it firsthand very often.

“I can’t take you seriously when you wear that,” Stiles shook his head, stabbing his fork into the cafeteria’s excuse for a salad. Isaac just flipped him off. Lunch was often like this.

“It’s in style,” Lydia defended Isaac.

“But with the leather jacket?” Stiles waved at Isaac’s outfit. “It’s like if a grandmother joined a biker gang.”

“This isn’t very Christmas spirit of us,” you chided. You had brought lunch from home and were not sad about missing out on today’s lunch specials. Stiles stole a carrot from you in protest.

“How much do you want to bet that Christmas will be ruined by something supernatural-related?” Stiles asked. You hit him with the back of your hand.

“Why must you be like this?”

“I didn’t get enough attention growing up,” Stiles smiled at you before swiping more food from your plate.

“I also didn’t get attention,” Isaac added. “Because I was–”

“Locked in a freezer, yes, we know,” Stiles sighed. “Still milking that?”

“Yeah, still milking that.”

“Very cute; your sadness goes with your scarf.”

You were about to yell at Stiles again when the bell rang. You gave Isaac an apologetic glance but he just smiled. He was a good sport, and could handle Stiles teasing. You don’t know how he managed to keep such a cool head with everything in his life.

You both shared the next class together, U.S. History and debated asking him. You sat together near the back of the classroom. As it was the last day before winter break, your teacher was playing a movie. A teacher’s cop-out to an actual lesson plan. You couldn’t disagree with your logic.

You ended up at the table first, like you always did. You were pulling out your journal and pens when Isaac finally came in, sitting next to you. You felt your heart skip a beat as he smiled at you. Neither of you got to say anything as your teacher started class, droning on about the ‘importance’ of the movie and whatever. You were a good student, but you did not care enough to listen to this spiel. Isaac agreed.

“I just want to go home already,” Isaac rolled his eyes, leaning back in his seat.

“Me too,” you sighed, scribbling in your notebook. You doodled when you were bored. “Although I need to stop by the archives first.”

“Archives? Why?” Isaac asked, sitting back up. His knee bumped yours, but he didn’t pull away. You didn’t want him to.

“Just doing some research on whoever is committing human sacrifices,” you whispered. Your pack’s latest problem. You wondered if you would ever get a break from the supernatural. You also wondered if you even wanted to.

“It’s the holidays, take a break.”

“This thing won’t take a break.”

“You’re too good,” Isaac muttered. He said it the way someone comments on an art piece, with reverence and understanding. “I’m going with you then.”

“Isaac, it’s going to be boring.”

“So’s sitting at home,” Isaac took one of your pens, flipping it between his fingers. His fingers were nice and long, and you looked away before any unwanted thoughts came into your head. “Besides, I like hanging out with you.”

Sometimes Isaac said things like that, and you wondered if maybe he liked you the way you liked him. How could you not like him? You liked him before he was a werewolf and was just the quiet, lanky boy in your class. You liked him after he turned and started hanging out with your friends. He was always kind to you and always remembered the things you said when no one else did. You hoped that maybe one day he might feel the same. You weren’t always so sure.

“Okay,” you whispered back, a small smile on your lips. He grinned. He took your journal from you and put it in the middle of the desk so you could both doodle. You drew a whale. He drew an elephant. You drew a gecko. He drew Stiles being electrocuted. You took the pen out of his hand. He wrapped his own around yours to take it back. Sometimes, you really hated him.

The end of class came sooner than you imagined. You and Isaac decided that the rest of the school day was stupid (you both had two periods left, and both were filler classes), so you decided to skip out. You had driven to school in your parent’s hand-me-down Honda and decided to head out to the Beacon Hills library where the archives were. You weren’t sure if you were going to find anything, but you thought maybe you’d try. Sometimes, the best answers lay in the past.

You regretted bringing Isaac to the library about twenty minutes into being there. He was all anxious energy, as you researched. He asked you a ton of questions, moved around, and overall was a distraction. It didn’t help that he took off his scarf and jacket, so he was just in a t-shirt. A t-shirt that had shrunk in the wash and, therefore, hugged his body a little too well. The urge to climb in his lap and make out with him right then was overwhelming. You started thinking about things like the Vietnam War and statistics to quell your lust.

While you didn’t find anything in the archives, you did find some books on the history of human sacrifices and another on pack dynamics that you thought might be interesting. You checked both out and ignored the look of the librarian as she read the titles. Isaac stifled his laughter.

You were about to ask Isaac if he wanted to grab some coffee before going home (any chance to prolong your time with him), but the question caught in your throat as you regaled who was leaning against your car.

Ethan and Aiden were waiting for you both, or maybe just Isaac. You were never sure how much of a priority you were to your enemies. You assumed you were low on the totem pole.

“Lahey,” Ethan called out, stepping out of your car. Isaac gently pushed you behind him.

“Ladies,” Isaac grinned. “What can we do for you today?”

The twins bristled. “In the spirit of Christmas, we wanted to give back to the people who got us where we are today,” Aiden drawled. Your blood chilled at the connotations. “You destroyed our ride; we destroy yours.”

You very much did not like this idea.

“This isn’t my car, sorry,” Isaac shrugged.

“It’s hers,” Ethan pointed to you. You wanted to yell at him, but Isaac refused to let you come out of behind him. “And she’s important to you, so we thought it would be the same thing.”

You would’ve spent more time pondering that comment if Aidan hadn’t proceeded to smash in your windows. You yelled at them, your voice carrying across the parking lot. Isaac growled, rushing forward and pushing Aidan away. Both twins laughed like this was a joke to them. You were in disbelief and anger over the state of your car and knew you couldn’t afford to fix it, especially with extra expenses around the holiday season. You also were angry that these three idiots were having a fight out in the library parking lot.

“Hey!” you yelled, attempting to get them to break it up. Shockingly, Isaac was holding his own against the alpha twins. Unfortunately, he was still losing. Ethan grabbed the scarf from his neck, dangling it in front of him. You cried out as Ethan ripped it in half. This was only going to end badly, you knew that. Especially as Isaac turned right after, with the twins following.

You were no match for three werewolves; you were barely a match for a full-grown human man. But you needed to get Isaac out of here before people started noticing and before he got himself killed. You rushed to your car, avoiding the glass and looking in your center console. You found what you were looking for. You gathered up your courage and rushed back to the twins. You sprayed the pepper spray at Aidan and blew your air horn at the same time. All three covered their ears in pain while Aidan cried out about his eyes. You felt smug satisfaction. That was for my car, you asshole, you thought.

“You three need to knock it the fuck off,” you growled out. They all turned to look at you, resembling wounded puppies. “You’re acting like children and, in the process, damaging Isaac’s property and my property.”

Ethan had the audacity to look slightly ashamed.

“No wonder you guys were omegas,” you seethed. “You act like bitches.”

You grabbed Isaac’s arm, pulling him away from them. You had no idea where you were going; you just wanted to get away from the parking lot until they were gone. You decided to drag him behind the library. You leaned against the back wall while he paced around.

“I’m sorry about your car,” Isaac cursed. He still hadn’t turned back, his voice raspy. You shook your head.

“Not your fault,” you picked at the threads on your sweater. “I’ll figure it out.”

“It’s bullshit,” Isaac growled, kicking at the sidewalk. You let him work through it.

“I’m sorry about your scarf,” you said earnestly. He was still breathing heavily.

“If I wasn’t a fuck up, if I hadn’t harassed them, this wouldn’t have happened.”

Your heart broke at his harsh language. You walked over to him, blocking his pacing. He was forced to look at you, golden eyes and all.

“You are not a fuck up, okay?” He tried to look away, but you grabbed his hand, pulling him back. “You are wonderful, and knowing you have been a gift. You are not responsible for their behavior. You are responsible for your own.” You reached a hand up to smooth the space between his brows, his wolf side subsiding. “You are worth it.”

You watched the gold fade from his eyes, the blue returning. It looked like the sun hiding behind the ocean. You didn’t break eye contact; even if it made you feel uncomfortable, you held on. You needed him to see you were serious. Isaac brought his hand to your face, thumb tracing over the apples of your cheeks. You shuddered at his touch.

“You’re beautiful when you’re angry,” he murmured. You choked on your words. He cradled his face with both of his hands, kissing your forehead. Your breath was shallow as he kissed your eyelids, the tip of your nose, and finally, your lips. You opened your mouth to his, already desperate to have him in every way. He was gentle with his kisses as if you were a treasure he didn’t want to break. He licked your teeth, and you felt your breath hitch. You sighed when he applied more pressure. Your lips followed after his when he pulled away. You couldn’t even find it in yourself to be embarrassed as he chuckled.

“I really enjoyed that,” you hiccuped. Isaac brushed your hair back, hands drifting down your arms to your waist.

“Me too,” Isaac grinned, kissing your cheek. “We should do it more often.”

“I don’t usually put out on the first date.”

“Hey, I’m not that easy,” Isaac raised a brow, and you laughed. “But I think we can arrange something like that.”

You managed to get a vacuum from the library, citing ‘vandals’ as your reason for needing it. They were very polite as you and Isaac cleaned up the stray glass and taped trash bags over the windows so you could drive home. You told your parents the same reason, and they fortunately didn’t blame you. You couldn’t find it in yourself to be upset because all you could think about was your kiss with Isaac. You called Lydia to tell her the news and to tattle on her boyfriend. She was elated that you guys finally did it (“Allison and I had a pool on who would make the first move”) and aggravated with Aidan. You hoped that she yelled at him.

Isaac texted you at the end of the night that he was going to take you out the next day. You agonized over what to wear (you settled for something nice but still casual). He ended up taking you to a double screening of “Die Hard” and “Scrooged.” You ended up making out in the back of the theater.

You had dates throughout the rest of the week. You had no idea how to define your relationship (there had been nothing official yet), and you were too afraid to ask. You wanted to be his; you felt like his. You knew there would be no one else for you.

Isaac invited you over for Christmas dinner. Your parents were heading out to a dinner party and were fine with it. You knew Stiles and Sheriff Stilinski would also be in attendance. You felt welcome into a family you weren’t 100% sure was yours.

You arrived at 6pm on the dot, wearing a maroon red dress with tights. Isaac answered the door in a dark button-up you haven’t seen on him before.

“Merry Christmas,” you smiled. He leaned down, kissing you. You had to pull away before you made out on the McCall’s porch. “Can’t keep your hands to yourself, huh?”

“Not when you’re dressed like that,” Isaac looked you up and down. You scoffed, but your heated cheeks betrayed you. Isaac let you in the front door and to the living room where everyone was. Melissa and Noah were preparing dinner while Scott and Stiles drank Martinelli in the main room. They greeted you upon entering. You handed them both their gifts.

“I can’t believe you and Isaac are dating,” Stiles scoffed, unwrapping your gift by tearing through the paper. “He doesn’t have enough class to keep a girl like you.”

You waited with bated breath to see if Isaac denied the dating claim, but he just wrapped his arm around you instead.

“Pot calling the kettle black,” Isaac coughed. Stiles glared at him.

“That analogy would require me to have Lydia, which I don’t.”

“Shocker,” Isaac raised his brows. You elbowed him. Stiles laughed when he saw the collectors editions of Sherlock Holmes you got him. You sat down on the ground next to him so he could give you a hug.

“You’re so good with gifts,” Scott whistled as he beheld the jacket you thrifted for him.

“It’s my superpower. You guys are werewolves, I’m actually Santa,” you grinned. Isaac sat down next to you.

“I didn’t know Santa was hot.”

“I have to keep my identity a secret, or I’ll never get any work done,” you responded. Isaac smiled, leaning in and kissing your cheek. Stiles made gagging noises.

“I hate seeing you happy.” You and Scott both hit Stiles at the same time. “I was kidding.”

You pulled out your gift for Isaac, handing it to him. Instead of unwrapping it, he grabbed your hand pulling you up.

“We’re going to exchange gifts elsewhere,” Isaac announced. “My Christmas gift to you is not kissing her in front of you guys.”

“You’re so gracious,” Stiles mumbled.

“Happy for you, man,” Scott was too busy trying on his jacket to look at you guys. You hid your face in your hands as Isaac dragged you towards his room. You hadn’t been in it before and already had butterflies in your stomach when he closed the door behind you.

“Did you have to say that?”

“I speak only truth,” Isaac said. “Plus, I do really want to kiss you.”

He didn’t give you time to explore his space before his lips were on yours. You grabbed his waist as he cupped your cheeks, backing you up slowly. Your knees hit the bed as his lips trailed from yours to your neck. You moaned as he nipped your pulse point.

“Isaac,” you breathed, attempting to push him away. You would let him divest you of your clothing if it was any other day, but today, you were cognisant of his family downstairs.

“I just like kissing my girlfriend,” he sighed, pulling back to look at you. “Is that a crime?”

“I’m your girlfriend?” you asked, voice small. His gaze softened.

“Yeah, if that’s okay…”

“It’s perfect,” you beamed, kissing his cheek. “Now, open your gift before we get too distracted.”

Isaac grumbled as he pulled away from you but grabbed the gift that had been discarded when he started kissing you. You hid your smile as he unwrapped it. Unlike Stiles, he spent a little more time being delicate with it. His breath caught as he saw what it was. He sat down on the edge of the bed, putting the box in his lap as he unfurled a darker blue cashmere scarf. You sat next to him as he caressed the material.

“I know it’s not your Mom’s,” you murmured. “But I thought it would look nice on you.”

“It’s perfect,” Isaac sighed, folding it nicely and setting it aside. “You’re perfect.”

He kissed you again, this time gentler but no less passionate. He imbued every word that wasn’t created into that kiss until you felt your head spinning, and you thought you might fall over into the abyss with him. He pulled away with difficulty.

“I do have a gift for you,” Isaac said, hesitation in his voice. He pulled something out of his pocket, putting it in your hands. You opened them to see the car keys. You looked up in disbelief.

“Before you ask, no, I did not buy you a car,” Isaac held up his hands in defense. “I can’t afford that. However, I found out that Derek was attempting to get rid of one of his older cars because he had a ton for some reason, and I offered to do maintenance around the apartment complex for three months in exchange for the vehicle. Plus, after I told him it was Aidan who destroyed it, he was pretty amicable.”

Tears pricked your eyes as you beheld your kind boyfriend, who had gone out of his way to replace something and, in exchange, became beholden to someone else again. You didn’t have words for the love fueling you right now. You just pulled him close, clutching him in a hug that almost knocked him over. You breathed in his sweet scent, holding him close.

“You are amazing,” you grinned, pulling away. “Thank you, Isaac.”

His cheeks turned a cute shade of pink as if he had no idea how to process your love. He looked down at your entwined hands, hiding a smile. You bit your lip.

“I could think of one more Christmas gift I could give you,” you whispered, hand trailing up his thigh. “If you’re up for it.”

Isaac looked up at you immediately, his breath catching as you traced over his jawline to his collarbone.

“Yes, I think I’d like that gift,” he grinned, pushing you farther back on the bed and kissing you.

He was the best Christmas gift you had ever received, and you wouldn’t trade him for the world.

taglist: @alice3612 @rafecameronswhore @evasmlp

#isaac lahey #isaac lahey x reader #daniel sharman #daniel sharman x reader #teen wolf #teen wolf fic #my writing #ficmas #ficmas 2024

135 notes · View notes

andbreakmynose · 8 months ago

Text

cowboy films on gloomy afternoons

you loved everything about working at your local cinema, besides that one employee who just really confused you. he's just as pretentious as you thought but maybe he's also... something else.

WARNINGS: smut!! p-in-v, soft dom! al, one use of slut, office sex, age gap (unspecified, reader is in university). this is really fucking self indulgent

WORD COUNT: 4.7k

written with tbhc alex in mind because tbh he's the only one i can imagine being this level of pretentious tbh

You believed that you truly had the perfect job. For a film student, working as the projectionist at the little independent cinema across the street really was too good to be true. You spent your long hours watching movies—the kind that mattered. Sometimes you’d get stuck with the blockbuster of the week, but you were mostly met with true classics and arthouse features, which not only stuck with you long after watching but actually helped you get ahead in class. Your workspace was cramped and less than ideal, but not even that made you hate the job. You were surrounded by what felt like cinema history in unused rolls of film and posters left over from all 78 years the theater had been open, plus there was a half-decent couch to nap on. And yeah, you got free soda and snacks from it. Perfect.

The company was nice too; if the film ran long and you felt like you needed to stretch your legs, you could walk down to the never-busy lobby and talk to Lucy at the concessions counter (and steal some food) or Dylan at the ticketing stand. Somehow you even got a pretty good boss; Marty was one of the coolest and most experienced people you had ever met. He also wasn’t ever that busy, so he could help you with your homework if you really needed it.

But there’s always that one confusing co-worker, isn’t there? The one that’s either always out for the day or just plain weird. You had Alex. He worked in programming, getting to decide what movies the theater would show regardless of anyone else’s opinions. And goddamn, he was really good at it. Almost every showing you saw was completely sold out (who knew Sheffield had such an audience for auteur films?). But every time you praised his talent, he’d just... shrug it off. He was an enigma wrapped in an encyclopedia of film knowledge.

The problem with Alex is that he was aloof and painfully so. At team meetings, he’d stay in the corner, and you never really saw him out of the office. He also had a habit of being fickle; one day he’d decide he wanted to do an entire week of Tarkovsky films, and the next he’d want to do 1940’s horror films instead. His behavior echoed the type of students that would be dismissed in your class as ‘obnoxiously pretentious’, and god he was, you still remembered the time he went off on poor Marty for suggesting they show a Star Wars movie. But you were still interested in what he had to say; you loved Lucy and Dylan, but they couldn’t hold a conversation about a movie. Alex could, you assumed, if he was able to hold a conversation at all.

The first time you ever talked to him in private was when you went to ask about the copy of the film that was being shown. You had heard there was both a director's cut and a theatrical cut, so you wanted to make sure which you were playing. He answered your question with one sentence; “Director’s. Why the hell would I pick the theatrical edition?” And then went back to his work. It was a while before you talked to him again.

The next time you talked to him was for the same reasons, he seemed a little deep in his work when you came down to his office but you had 20 minutes before credits hit and your boss needed you to do this now. It was something about a high paying donor having a desperate question, whatever.

This exchange was almost the same, except this time he insisted that it was the theatrical cut and that the director’s cut was cash-grab bullshit. Ever the confusing man. You started on your way out when he called at you.

“Hey, what’s your favorite movie?”

It was an unexpected question, he never asked you anything let alone a personal question. It must be a trap, he wanted to hear your favorite movie and then would make fun of you for it. And it’s not that you had bad taste or anything, you're just sure he could find a way to tease you for literally anything you said.

“C’mon, I don’t have all day.” He says, an almost bored expression on his face.

You hesitated in choosing your words, anxious not to provoke the irritation you had seen in men like Alex, even though you knew he was likely to remain impassive. And even though you hadn’t seen him lose his temper, his distant demeanor made you uneasy, as if any slight could provoke a reaction. You had no reason to be scared but you couldn’t shake the feeling of unease in your bones.

Alex on the other hand finally turned to face you fully. He had been observing you for a while, you were always around and so was he, and he noted that you also seemed genuinely interested in the films and not just your paycheck. He also found himself begrudgingly noticing that you always wore the same type of skirt, ending right above your knees. He thought that if you were a character in a film it’d be one of your defining traits.

“Mulholland Drive.” You coughed up after a second of thinking. It was an answer that was both honest and, perhaps, intended to impress him. You didn’t want to dwell on whether that was your true intention or not though, you had other things to do.

Alex felt a flicker of satisfaction at your choice. He anticipated a more predictable answer, so Mulholland Drive was certainly a more compelling choice. In his mind, it confirmed that his suspicions were true; you were a different type of girl than any other employee he had seen in his 10 years of working at this theater. Maybe he really was pretentious, but he felt like if anyone was to work with him it should be people like you. He gave you a satisfied nod and a hum of approval, returning to the emails at his desk. He found you just as mysterious as he found you, he wanted to tear down the layers you had shown to everyone else.

Taking that as your sign to leave, you made sure to stop at the concessions stand for a bag of popcorn before going back up to the projectionists booth.

Two weeks later was when things started to change.

Alex had started to smile more, but you decided that was just because it was warm outside again. He had an interesting smile, it was warm and took up his entire face. It wasn’t the smile you’d expect him to have, you expected him to have a sneer if he was even capable of smiling.

You always liked to look at the schedule of films for the next week when they dropped on Thursday afternoons, you’d compare it to your classes’ syllabus to see if there was anything you could watch to get ahead. It seemed like Alex had decided on cowboy films for the next week, he’d done Sergio Leone before but this was just… a lot of 1960’s cowboy movies you had never even heard of. Nothing that would be helpful at all for you.

In between ‘Navajo Joe’ and ‘Billy the Kid Versus Dracula’ (god, where did he even discover these things), your eyebrows shot up. In the midst of all these damn horse operas he had snuck in… Mulholland Drive.

To say there were a million thoughts going through your head would be an understatement. A small, selfish part of you wanted him to have included the film because he had a soft spot for you, maybe this was his way of saying he saw how much you liked movies too. The logical part of your brain told you that there was some other reason, maybe an anniversary or something.

Checking the remaining time on Sabrina (Alex was on an Audrey Hepburn kick this week), you saw you had an hour left. That was plenty of time to wander the lobby and see if you could catch Alex. You slipped your phone into your pocket and climbed down the ladder from the projectionist’s booth to the lobby, praying to every god possible that Alex is somewhere to be found.

Lucy called out to you the second she saw you, beckoning you over with popcorn. You sighed and walked over, smiling at her.

“Hey look, I can’t talk for too long… have you seen Alex? Urgent question from someone at the screening.” It’s an utter lie, your mother would’ve reprimanded you for how filthy it was. But you needed to talk to him.

Lucy thought for a second, tapping her chin with her finger before she remembered. “He’s in his office, he’s always in his office, remember?” She said like it’s the most obvious thing ever. You nodded and gave a thumbs up, taking a handful of popcorn in your mouth before standing up again.

And that’s how you ended up in his office again, although you were shyer this time. If it was actually a question from a patron you’d ask it so easily, but this time it was your own. He’d have to give you an insight into his mind, you weren’t sure if he had ever done that before.

Your foot tapped lightly as you knocked on the door to his office, you heard him shuffle some papers around and groan.

“Come in.”

You have to take a deep breath before you open the door, there’s no reason this stupid movie should be making you feel this nervous but god…

“You’re gonna make me watch shitty westerns for an entire week, Turner?” You say with a small smirk, you embarrassingly had thought of your words all day. You didn’t want to just come in and ask him about why he picked your favorite film.

His eyes darted over to you the second you walked in, slowly taking you in. You had on the same skirt as last time. “I was watching one at home last night and was reminded of how brilliant the genre was. What, you don’t like a good shoot-em-up?” He asks you with raised eyebrows, leaning back slightly in his desk chair. Of course he liked westerns.

“Not my thing at all.” You replied, taking a small step closer to him. His hair was messier today than it usually was, his beard had gotten longer. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a bit, although he never looked like he got a lot of sleep. “Is it yours? Is your favorite film a western?”

He took note of how you were asking his favorite, the same way he asked yours. Smart girl. He smirked and shook his head, “Nah. My favorite film is ‘Le Samouraï’, you seen it?” Alex wouldn’t judge if you hadn’t seen it, but if you have it just might make you his favorite person on the planet.

You have to rack your brain on what you’ve heard of this film before, maybe it’s been mentioned in class before, you haven’t seen it. “No. Is that a sin?” You asked, leaning against a file cabinet in his office. His office was definitely bigger than the projection booth, he had made it very Alex.

Alex scoffed and shook his head, “I’m sad you haven’t seen it because it’s so brilliant but not mad. They haven’t taught you Melville in that expensive film school yet? You’re getting ripped off, sweetheart.” He matched your comfortable stance by leaning further back into his desk chair and crossing his legs. He had noticed that you aren’t scared of him, not even intimidated by his knowledge. He liked that, he liked talking to you.

“I’ve heard the name, we just haven’t watched it yet.” You respond, looking for the next thing to say to bring you to your point. “But I guess you’ve seen my favorite film, right? I saw you included Mulholland Drive in the lineup, was that a coincidence or are you being deliberate?”

Alex laughed at your words, of course you picked up on that. You really were too smart for your own good. “Well I suppose it’s a bit of both. I wanted something different in case not every regular audience member was on board with my westerns-’ he paused to roll his eyes, as if that thought disgusted him, “but yes. I figured it might be a pleasant surprise for someone with a discerning taste.” His eyes met yours and he smiled again, mostly because he saw a smile creeping on your face. He wanted to keep you smiling.

There was something about him admitting that it’s for you that made you feel… something. You didn’t quite know what. Maybe excited? You were excited and felt validated that he found your taste in film good enough to put on a lineup. You liked that he was perceiving you. “You’re saying you picked it for me? And here I thought you were just gonna be cryptic... What's your angle here?” You asked him; the smile was still on your face, but now your eyebrows were raised.

“Ah.” Alex uncrossed his legs, finally standing up. He got a little closer to you; he wanted to make stronger eye contact with you. “A great teacher back when I was in film school told me that it’s not just about what you watch; it’s about connecting. Maybe it’s all worth it if I can connect with someone who also appreciates the genius of Mulholland Drive.” Pretentious bastard; even his flirting was fucking pretentious. You would’ve made fun of him if you weren’t fighting back a blush.

You took another second to decide your words; it wasn’t often you were speechless, but you were now. "Well, I didn’t expect you to remember, let alone care enough to do that. Maybe there’s more to you than I thought... but don’t get any ideas about being my hero because you saved me from a complete week of westerns.” You had to throw an quip in there; without it, you thought your words felt too… vulnerable. You weren’t sure you were there with Alex yet.

He had to admit that you were funny, even if it was obvious what you were trying to say. He let out a laugh and shook his head. “I’m not trying to be your hero, sweetheart. I just figured that someone who loves the film as much as you deserves to see it on the big screen. Even if it’s from your tiny projection booth.”

His words, once again, leave you stunned. That was really sweet—maybe the top 5 sweetest things anyone had ever done for you. It was almost impossible not to blush and grin at him, and your body betrayed you by making you step forward. “Yeah? That’s… nice. But if you’re not trying to impress me, what’s your real game here? Or do you just have a thing for making people feel special?” You asked him; your smile was somewhere between teasing him and being genuinely flattered.

“You are special.” He responded, also taking a step forward. You started to feel his breath on your face; somehow just this one conversation had made you go from being terrified of him and thinking he’s so pretentious to wanting him.

As if he could read your mind, he reached forward and placed his hand on your hip, giving it a small squeeze. “Maybe I just enjoy challenging expectations; I can’t always be the mysterious bastard in the office. And like I said, you’re special.” His voice lowered, and his face got impossibly closer to yours.

Against all odds of being at work, and that just a week ago you thought he was the most confusing man on the planet, you needed to fucking kiss him. And you did; you took a half step forward and smashed your lips against his. He kept his hand on your hip, squeezing the soft skin as he pushed your back against the filing cabinets. You guessed that he wanted you as bad as you wanted him because he was practically sucking your face; you thought that was just a saying. It was an absolute mess of tongue on tongue and teeth on teeth; your noses even collided a few times as his beard scratched your face. It was uncomfortable in the best way; it was damn hot.

You moaned the very first second you felt his hand grope at your ass and his mouth slip from your lips to your neck. “So fucking pretty, so good,” he muttered before he started to attack your neck. It was an added sensation to have his beard pressing against you alongside his mouth (and teeth; he almost teethed at you). He definitely would leave more marks than just hickeys, but you were so in pleasure you didn’t even have time to think of work.

Oh fuck, work. You cursed silently to yourself and looked up at the clock, just as his hand started to snake under your blouse and over your bra, giving your tit a nice squeeze. “Fuck!” you called out, not just from the intense pleasure but from the fact that you only had another 30 minutes left before you told yourself you needed to be back in the booth. In an ideal world, you’d have an entire night with him.

He continued his mouth’s attack on your neck and hand’s attack on your breasts, feeling his pants start to become tighter; he could only imagine how wet you were. His fantasies were interrupted by you pulling him away and sighing, trying to catch your breath. “Alex… Alex I don’t have much time before I need to go. Do you want-”

He interrupted you this time with his hand coming up to squeeze your lips together, promptly making you shut up. “You got enough time for me to fuck you? Because I’m going to fuck you,” he said as if he'd already decided, and then he started to work with the hand not on your face to unbuckle his belt.

You weren’t able to really form words, so you just whined and nodded, giving him that permission he wanted. He took it quickly, flipping you over and bending you over his desk, your tiny skirt riding up so he could get a view of your pants. You were soaked; he knew you would be. His large thumb started to trace your folds before he made a ‘tsk’ noise and flipped you over again. He wanted to see your face, he decided. Alex Turner was nothing if not confusing.

“This wet only from a little kissing, god, sweetheart, I didn’t know I was dealing with a slut. Although I could’ve guessed from these tiny skirts you keep wearing.” His voice is cool and calm, a complete contradiction from how sinful his words were. You whined at them.

“Alex please. We don’t have much time; please just fuck me!” You cried out, hastily pulling your skirt down so he had easier access. Alex nodded and began to work faster on pulling his pants down. He was so goddamn aroused watching you act like this; you were such a gorgeous girl, and now he had you completely under his control. You moaned loudly, and he grunted, bringing his hand up over your mouth.

“Sweetheart, I’d love to hear all those pretty little noises, but not now. I’m not getting fired because you had to talk all sweet to me and get bent over.” It was an unholy whisper into your ears, causing your skin to shiver. You nodded, and he took that as a sign to slip your panties down. “Knew you’d have a pretty cunt.”

If it was even possible, his words caused you to get even wetter. You could’ve guessed that he was big from the hardness in his jeans, but by the time he slipped his pants and boxers off, you were left gasping against his hand. There was an underlying fear—how the hell was that supposed to fit inside of you?—but also a great arousal because THAT was supposed to be inside of you. Alex tilted his head down to look at your pussy before he smirked, adjusting himself so he could get closer to your entrance.

Your cunt started to clench around nothing, getting excited just at the sheer closeness of his cock. He looked at your entrance again before he spat on his hand and started to rub it along his length as extra lubrication. “I don’t want to hurt you, babygirl,” he whispered before gently forcing the head into your heat, causing you to scream against his hand.

He shushed you again as he kept pushing himself further in; all of your tiny moans and whines were hidden by his hand, but that was for the best; he’d hear them eventually. You were so tight, so warm, and in that very moment Alex decided he was never going to fuck another girl in his life.

When he bottomed out, you gave in and bit at his hand; it was the only way you could keep an actual scream from coming out. You felt so full, you could even feel him throbbing in your cunt (or maybe that was your walls clenching; it could be both). He smirked and started to move, setting a pace that was relentless. He’d prefer to take you apart slower, but you didn’t exactly have the time for that.

His cock was hit every spot in you that made you mewl and arch your back; it was like he knew things about your body that you didn’t. His eyes were focused like you were one of those damn emails he was always writing; it was hot to you that he was that focused on your pleasure. Gentle grunts started to fall out of his mouth as the hand not on your mouth came up to twist at your nipples. The pleasure was starting to become unbearable, and you weren’t sure how much longer you had until you started crying.

You knew you were close when a particularly hard thrust caused your eyes to roll so far back in your head it hurt, so you brought your thumb down to your clit. You needed to cum, and you didn’t care what you had to do to achieve that.

Alex cared though; he wanted to be the one to make you cum. He took his hand off of your nipple and smacked yours off your clit, causing you to whine at the loss of sensation. “None of that. If you needed that, you could’ve just asked,” he grunted, bringing his thumb down to your sensitive bud. It was a funny thing for him to say, as you couldn’t exactly speak, but you still bucked up at his manipulation.

His pace started to become sloppy; you knew he was close too. His breath was also starting to become staggered, and you could almost see a tremble in his legs. You’d never seen him this undone, and it was so damn arousing that you caused it. Alex had already memorized all the spots that made you shake and whine; he knew you were close, so he made sure to hit them all on his thrusts. He knew he didn’t have much time left, and he wanted to make sure you didn’t leave unsatisfied.

It was a particular stroke where he somehow managed to hit your g-spot and pinch your clit at the same time that had you over the top. You felt your legs start to shake and your back arched. You were sure the noises coming from your mouth were starting to get louder than his hand-cranked control, but you didn’t care. You didn’t even care when your hand spilled the pencil cup on his desk all over the floor. All you cared about was that you were cumming and he was making you cum.

Alex grinned at the sight of you becoming this undone because of him. That was what sent him over the edge—the idea that it was his work that just made you coat his member in juices. He pushed until the last second, until his cock was actually twitching, and then he pulled out. The loss of contact was hardly noticed, and he came all over his office floor just by seeing how fucked out you were. You still hadn’t caught your breath, but you were watching him with awe. His dick was really damn nice, and now it was leaking so much cum onto the floor.

He collapsed onto his desk chair and reached for a tissue from his desk. He wiped off his cock before tucking it back into his boxers and then wiped off your pussy, cleaning up the table too. He threw the tissue away and made a mental note to take his own office trash out later.

Once you had caught your breath enough, you stood up, legs still wobbly, and put your pants back on. It took a second, but eventually you had them and your skirt on. Alex just smirked at you.

“That was... good,” you said with a small smile. You were starting to get shy being around him; you just fucked him, and now you had to go back to work.

“It was. You’re uh, you’re perfect. I meant it when I said you’re special.” His smirk turns into a genuinely warm smile, and he brings his thumb up to trace your chin. There was a faint mark on your mouth from him keeping you quiet. You looked down at his cum on the floor, raising your eyebrows in a silent offer to clean it up. He just shook his head; he’d deal with that.

You nodded and sighed, “I should probably get back to work... I don’t look like I just had sex, do I?” Your hair was slightly messy and your shirt was wrinkled, but it also always was. “No one will notice sweetheart,” he replied with a bit of a laugh. He was glad this was your secret.

"Right, uh, thank you, Alex?” It comes out as a question; you’re not sure if you should thank your co-worker for making you cum like that. He shook his head and stood up. “No, thank you for being such a damn good fuck and a special girl.”

You smiled at this; his words gave you a slight hope that maybe this would happen again. You opened his door when he called out to you.

“Sweetheart, I was thinking that maybe I could come up with you and watch Mulholland Drive next week.” It was an optimistic idea; he was worried that you only wanted to fuck. But you grinned and nodded, “I’d really love that; we even have a couch up there.”

He chuckled and stepped closer to you, placing his hand on your chin again. “A couch, fancy!” He joked before he pressed a singular peck on your lips; he wanted you to know that you meant something more than a fuck in the only way he knew how. He wasn’t exactly the best with words. You laughed back at him.

“Alright then, it’s a date.” You grinned at him before leaving his office; you would’ve stayed longer, but time really was running out. You were so lucky that Lucy seemed to be on a bathroom break; you didn’t have to deal with her asking why you were in Alex’s office for so long.

When you got settled back in the projection booth and the credits began to roll, you took a minute to think about what the fuck had just happened, and when you opened your phone, the list of his stupid fucking westerns was still on it. But that was Alex, and maybe you liked that about him.

A/N: yeah like i said... self indulgent (i used to work at a cinema lol). but i'm already obsessed with this version of alex ahh.

#andbreakmynose #alex turner fanfic #alex turner fic #alex turner smut #alex turner x fem!reader #alex turner x reader #alex turner x you #fanfic #alex turner #arctic monkeys smut

118 notes · View notes

otakubimbo · 1 year ago

Text

You Don't Know Me

Gojo x F! Reader

You're just some hot bimbo who needs help with their advanced college classes right?

Context: Cussing. Misunderstanding. Typical Gojo Behavior. College AU. No curse.

Today was the beginning of your sophomore year of college. You would probably be more excited about this if you weren’t lost, again. Your newfound friend, Shoko Ieiri, just showed you how to get to all your classes this semester. The two of you became fast friends over the summer since you were both pre-med and had taken the same summer classes. You found her hilarious and cool, and she enjoyed your positive and calm personality. Just last week, she showed you around all the buildings you were supposed to be at for your classes because if there is one thing people can say about you is that you are directionally challenged. No matter what it seemed that you were always getting lost, that’s even how you initially met Shoko because you were lost and luckily, she was going to the same classroom as you.

Reluctantly, you reach into your pocket pulling out your phone and hitting her contact.

“You’re lost, aren’t you?” She didn’t even bother with the pleasantries and got straight to business.

“No!” You started and you could hear her try not to laugh at you on the other end of the line, “It’s just that I wanted to make sure that I knew exactly where the building was at, ya know, a second opinion some may say.”

“Hmmn, a second opinion? Alright,” She takes a drag of her cigarette. Who the hell starts smoking before 8 am? “Where are you right now?”

You look around at any landmark you could use to give her your location, “By the dining hall.”

She sighed, and you knew you weren’t even close to the right building “You need to be near the library, which is on the other side of campus.”

You groan, realizing that you’re going to be late on your first day. You hated being late, even if professors gave students a pass on the first couple of days to navigate around campus, you prided yourself on your punctuality despite your inability to figure out how to get where you are going.

“Alright. Got it. Thanks, Shoko.” You say as you begin your long walk to the other side of campus.

“Yeah yeah. We still on for lunch?”

“Yeah of course. You know I got that 11 am physics but after I’m free.”

“Cool, so around 12? Yeah? You gonna need help finding it?” She teases and you roll your eyes even if she can’t see you.

“Bye Shoko.”

“Bye,” She laughs before hanging up.

Eventually, you make your way across campus only a few minutes late, not even missing the 5-minute grace period. Even with the directions that you were given, when you enter the lecture hall you do look around a bit confused just to make sure you were in the right location.

“You look lost, pretty. I don’t think you’re in the right place.” Your eyes shift to the voice coming up behind you. Your brow furrowed because you thought you would be able to follow these basic directions Shoko gave you. You look back at your phone and your schedule just to make sure. The white-haired man in front of you scans over your body from head to toe while you look. You had a figure that a lot of women would pay for, and you weren’t shy about flaunting it. Currently, you were in a pair of low-rise jeans, thong showing of course, with a V-neck crop top that displayed multiple chest tattoos on which a letterman jacket sat on your shoulders. Your hair was in a slicked-back bun that had your coils neatly tucked away in the back, a fresh dye job of a dark purple. Every inch of visible body parts was shimmering brown from what must be some sort of body butter you used which made you smell like heaven, a mixture of cinnamon and vanilla.

He thought you were stunning and just knew a pretty girl like you couldn’t be in the same organic chemistry class he was taking. Especially with the way you looked, a girl who looks like you, like a bimbo, on top of the fact you looked absolutely lost.

You finally looked up from your phone, catching his eyes wandering your body but brushing it off because of course he was,

“No this is definitely it, I’m sure of it.” Your words did not come out as confident as you wanted them to, “This is advanced organic chem with Professor Sho right?” You bite your lip hoping that you were right so you wouldn’t have to go looking for the correct hall. His eyes widened at you in surprise when you said what class you were looking for.

“Yeah, this is it.” He says in a confused tone which makes you a bit confused, but you brush it off.

“Whew great.” You say and turn to go take a seat in the middle of the lecture hall. You were so happy you made it to the correct place. The middle was the best place for you, since you had accommodation that allowed you to record the lectures and it was best if you sat in the middle. If you sat in the back sometimes the audio would cut out on some parts and sitting too close sometimes gave feedback, so you found sitting in the middle to be the perfect spot for you.

As the professor begins his lecture, you are in your little world that you didn’t notice that boy you spoke to earlier watching you over your shoulder. Something about you intrigued him, you weren’t even paying attention, just doodling in your notebook not taking down a single note. Yeah, he wasn’t either but that’s because everything came so naturally to him that he would be fine regardless. On top of the fact that you didn’t even attempt to fawn over him when he spoke to you, all you cared about was whether you were in the right class or not.

After the lecture was over, you grabbed your things and stopped by the boy you met earlier to thank him again.

“Oh hey” you call to him getting his attention, he looks up at you while he’s packing his stuff. “Thanks again for letting me know I was in the right place, I’m terrible with directions. Kaneko, by the way.” You extend your hand out to him.

He smirks up at you, finally, you were going to give him the attention he just knew he deserved from you. “No problem, Gojo.” He reaches out and shakes your hand. You grin back at him. “Well, see you are. Bye” you say letting his hand go and waving to leave. Now he was left, stunned by your absence because surely you had come over to flirt with him. But no, you just wanted to thank him and then left. He was left watching your hips twitch in those too-tight jeans, gazing at the rhinestone of your thong leaving the doors of the lecture hall. Did you think you were out of his league or something? He had looks and brains, no way was he out of your league. This annoyed him to no end, and you had no clue what you even started with him.

Luckily, for you, you were able to find your next class with no problem and by that you mean you asked someone beforehand while you were getting your morning coffee, and they gave you impeccable directions. So, you were in high spirits by the time you met Shoko for lunch at the dining hall.

“Aye Meya” Shoko calls to you for you to come have a seat with her already at a table. You happily bounce your way over to her table.

“How do you always manage to look so great even when you have 8 ams?” she asks in an annoyed joking tone.

“Every morning when I wake up, I think to myself ‘What if I died right now? What kind of outfit would I want to be stuck in for the rest of my life’ that’s how I get the energy to put myself together in the morning. The last thing I want is to be an ugly ghost.”

This made Shoko almost shoot her drink out of her nose as she laughed at you.

The two of you enjoy the rest of your lunch together and then separate to continue your respective schedules. This is the routine that you two keep for about a month or so now and midterms are coming up soon. During this time, little did you know that Gojo's interest was getting more piqued on you. The two of you only said the occasional ‘hi’ when you saw each other in class but that was it. He wanted so badly to have a conversation with you, but you never seemed the least bit interested but today would hopefully be different. As you leave the lecture hall for your morning coffee Gojo stops you.

“Oh hey, what’s up Gojo?” You ask, taking your AirPod out of your ear, and smiling at him.

“I just wanted to ask if you needed a tutor or anything for the midterm coming up?” he asks nonchalantly with his hands in his pocket. Your brow furrows as you look at him confused.

“No, I think I’m good.” You giggle. Why would you need a tutor? The lowest grade you had gotten in this class so far was an A- but he didn’t know that.

“You sure? I really don’t mind.” He attempts to insist, hoping that you’ll let him.

“Yes, I’m sure. Thanks, though I guess.” You say beginning to walk away putting your AirPod back in.

“Wait” He stops you again, “Are you being tutored by someone else?”

Now you were starting to get a bit irritated but not trying to let it show because maybe he was just trying to be nice and there’s no reason to be mad about that.

“No. I’m not but again thanks for the offer. I gotta go.” You say as politely as you can, giving him a small smile as you leave making an exaggerated movement in putting your AirPod back in, in hopes he doesn’t ask again. He sighs frustrated as he watches you leave.

“There’s no way she can’t be interested in me” Gojo complains to his best friend, Geto Suguru, in their shared apartment, flopping onto his bed.

“Are you talking about the girl in organic chem class?” Geto asks kind of uninterested, focusing on his own studies since again midterms were coming up.

“Of course, no one else is worth my time. Kaneko Meya”

Geto puts his pen down after hearing him say your name, “That name sounds familiar actually.”

“Like you know her familiar?” Gojo asks shooting up from his position on the bed.

“More like, know of. Hold on horn dog, let me see something” Geto remarks as he pulls out his phone pulling up instagram to scroll trying to find what he was looking for. “Bingo.”

Gojo suddenly appears over his friend’s shoulder. It was a picture of Shoko at some type of restaurant with the caption “On a date kind of nervous <3” and Shoko was tagged in it. The original poster is none other than you, TheGirlY/N.

“She’s dating fucking Shoko?!?!” Gojo yells in despair. Geto laughs at him as he keeps scrolling. “No, she isn’t look.” He shows Gojo the comments.

ChainSmokerShoko: Meya stop saying this! This is why I can’t get a girlfriend!

TheGirlY/N: No, it’s fun and this isn’t why you can’t get a girlfriend. Love you bestie! <3

ChainSmokerShoko: REPORTED

Gojo sighs in relief when he realizes that you aren’t dating Shoko but now he had to find a way to convince Shoko on how to get to know you better. He grabs his own phone to pull up your IG and scroll through it. There were a lot of photos like the one Geto showed him that had pictures of Shoko across from you at a table with similar captions, “just having dinner with the loml’ ‘me and bae out of the town’ and each one with Shoko complaining and you laughing her off. Other pictures were of just you, cute selfies, photos of you during summer, pictures of your notes and aesthetically pleasing set ups. You took part in thirst trap Thursdays a lot it seemed. Fuck, you were absolutely gorgeous to him.

“She is definitely out of your league. No wonder she won’t let you tutor her.” Geto teases as he’s also going through your IG.

“I’m probably the hottest guy on campus, we are in the same league” He scoffs turning back to his own phone.

“Did she even ask for tutoring?”

“No but look at her, and plus all she does in class is doodle and look frustrated. AND this is advance organic chem, there’s no way she doesn’t need help.”

“You shouldn’t judge a book by its cover Satoru.”

“Yeah, whatever” Gojo says before he decides to follow you on IG.

The funny thing about it is that Geto had met you before, at a meeting with the National Honors Society. You had a GPA that was higher than his and Gojos but he wasn’t going to tell his friend that, he was going to have to learn the hard way. Especially since you were the only reason that Shoko wasn’t failing out of her pre-med classes, you saved her during the summer break and if anything, you should be tutoring Gojo.

You always took it easy on the week of the midterms to not stress yourself out in every way, you can’t retain information on a stressed brain. But Gojo knew there was no way you were going to pass the midterm so that would be his opportunity to swoop in and assist you with helping get your grade up.

Now midterms were over and as always you got in class early, already doodling on a piece of paper while you waited for class to start. You knew that you would be going over the midterm today, so you don’t have your usual setup out since there weren’t going to be any lecture notes to copy down.

“Hey Y/L”

You hear Gojos voice as he takes the seat beside you, which you find a bit strange since he always sits in the back, but you don’t mind.

“Hey Gojo” You softly smile at him as you continue your doodles. You were just doing some chibi art today, confident in your grade from the midterm.

“How did you think you did on the midterm?” He asks you to try and gauge if you were concerned or not.

“Eh I’m sure I did fine.” You shrug casually. Yes, you were confident, but it wouldn’t matter what grade you got, it just matters what you do after. You didn’t stress but you strived to be better always.

“Well, I’m sure I aced it” He says cockily grinning at you. You just nod your head at him unimpressed with his boisterousness. “How about we both look at ours the same time when they get handed back?” He comments trying to get more out of you.

You give him a small giggle that makes his eyes light up, the sound was music to his ears, “Sure, if you want to” The idea to you was silly but why the hell not.

As soon as the midterms were handed back out, both you and Gojo had yours facing down until the professor said to look over it and if you had any questions today was the day to ask, as he would be going over anything people didn’t understand.

“Alright, you ready” Gojo asks, hoping that you would beg him to tutor you once you saw his higher grade.

“Ready” You giggle at him and the two of you flip your papers over at the same time. A wide smile spreads upon your face as you see the A + plastered at the top, all the chemical compounds that you doodled repeatedly coming to being usual, you had them memorized by muscle memory. You look over at Gojos paper and see that he received a B+, which is still a great grade.

“You did good. Good job” you say earnestly smiling at him, but all Gojo heard was condescension.

“You got a better grade than me?” Gojo says more to himself than to you.

“Well I mean — “You start before he cuts you off.

“How did you get a better grade than me?” He continues and your smile drops from your face, he didn’t even let you answer before he starts ranting. “All I ever see you doing is doodling in that fucking notebook of yours. I was even trying to get to tutor you because I just knew you needed help and was going to fail.”

You were immediately taken aback, why would he say that to you? He didn’t even know you.

“What?” You question, your voice breaking a little.

He looks at you, angrily “Are you fucking the professor?”

“Excuse you?” You must have heard him wrong because there’s no way he just asked you that.

“That’s why you’re always dressed like that. You must be fucking him 'cause there’s no way you got an A + on this hard-ass midterm and did better than me.” He spits as he snatches your mid-term, comparing the answers. Your body moves on its own as you stand up, the tears threatening to escape. Your arm goes back and you punch him square in the jaw, usually, you would be against hitting someone but the rage and hurt that just came over you had your body moving on autopilot. At the sound of your fist connecting with his jaw everyone’s head turned in your direction as blood flew out of his mouth.

Your body was shaking with rage, “you do not FUCKING know me. I worked hard for that grade you condescending prick. I’m sorry that your walnut sized brain can’t comprehend someone who looks like me getting better grades than you. Get the fuck over yourself. Do not EVER speak to me again, don’t even LOOK at me again. Fuck you, you blue eyed freak.”

You grabbed everything but your notebook that had fallen when you got up to punch him and ran out of the lecture hall. You knew Shoko didn’t have a class right now, so you make your way to your shared apartment trying your best to hold back your tears until you get there. Unfortunately for you, you get lost on your way there. Fuck. You think you’re on the wrong side of campus when you quickly turn around running into someone.

“Oh Shit. I’m sorry. Excuse me.” You get out trying not to meet whoever you ran into gaze.

“Y/L?” the person asks, holding your shoulders gently. It was Geto.

“Oh, hi Geto right?.” You meet his eyes, and his face grows concerned as he nods at you. “I was just trying to get to my friend Shokos apartment, can you help me? If not that’s fine, I’m sorry to bother you. I just…. Im just… a bit lost.”

He can tell that you are on the verge of tears, you look completely lost and not just directionally, “Yeah sure, she’s a friend of mine too I know exactly where that is.”

He doesn’t ask you what’s wrong just guides you to Shokos apartment. When you get there, you immediately throw yourself into her arms and try not to cry just yet until you’re sure that Geto leaves.

“Y/N?? What happened? What’s wrong?” She asks rubbing your back, death staring at Geto.

“I didn’t do it. I just walked her here.” He says hands up in surrender.

“Yeah, I ran out of class and got lost trying to find your apartment and ran into Geto. He said you were friends, so he helped me here.” You confess into her shirt before turning to Geto, “Thank you by the way.”

“No problem,” He says awkwardly for a second before checking the many notifications that he received on his phone while walking you here.

Seven missed calls from Stupid Satoru

Text From Stupid Satoru:

I fucked up. Fucked up big time. Call me back! Please!

“I gotta go. I’ll catch you later Shoko and Kaneko.” He says giving you a sad smile before he leaves. Once the door is closed, you immediately break down into Shokos arms.

“Hey, calm down. What happened?” She questioned between your sobs.

“I punched him and then I cussed him out in front of the whole class. Now everyone’s going to think i’m some crazy monster I already have enough trouble as it is because it seems like no one ever wants to talk to me but he just made me so upset. I just did it before I could even think. Then I ran out of class and then I got lost. Luckily I bumped into Geto, I didn’t even know you were friends and he got me here.” You say feeling better after your little crying spell, wiping your tears.

“You punched someone? Who? You’re not exactly telling me what happened.” She asked, her voice full of concern.

“Remember the guy I told you about who kept insisting he tutor me?”

“Yeah, I remember. That shit was weird.”

“Well, we got our midterms back and I got an A+” you say and Shoko cuts you off with congratulations, she saw how hard you were studying for the test, you barely left your apartment for a week. “He got a B+ on his and I don’t know why he was so upset that I got better than him, but he was. He said there was no way that someone who looks like me should have gotten a better score than him, claimed I don’t pay attention in class, and that I must be sleeping with the professor to have gotten such a good grade.”

“He said what?!”

“Yeah and that’s when I punched him” You say with your head down, Shoko squishes your face with both of her hands making you look at her.

“As you should of” She says proudly, she knows you are more of the docile type especially since you actually did know how to fight, you didn’t like using your strength on others unless for self-defense.

“Do I look dumb, Shoko? I dress this way because I like too, and I know I can come off as a bimbo sometimes especially since I’m bad at directions but do I seem dumb? I don’t want people to think I’m dumb, especially not to think I sleep with professors for good grades. I try so hard, you know that, and I just have finally gotten comfortable with myself….” you trail off unable to finish your thoughts, you just felt like complete shit.

“No, you’re just hot and confident and that idiot is an idiot. I know how smart you are. Shit you’ve helped me study with your immaculate notes all summer, you’re one of the smartest people I know. Being hot doesn’t make you dumb, that’s just a stupid stereotype, and the fact that he believes that is idiotic.” She attempts to comfort you.

“But then I cursed him out, said he had the brain the size of a walnut, told him never to talk to me again, and called him a blue-eyed freak.” You confess with a sigh, you really didn’t like how mean you were even if he deserved it.

“And he deserved it… Wait you called him a what?” She blinks at you a few times, hoping and praying you aren’t talking about who she thinks you’re talking about.

“A blue-eyed freak…. I know it was mean, but he started with me first and just….” You trail off, now feeling horrible about what you said.

“No, no, I get it. I would have said worse. It’s just that…. What was his name?” She asks through gritted teeth.

“Gojo Satoru”

176 notes · View notes

just1cefor4ll · 1 day ago

Text

—Wait, you know MCR?!

Sirius Black x f!reader

summary. Sirius Black—loud, reckless, and stupidly cocky. Yet, somehow, you form an unexpected friendship with him. Beneath his brash exterior, he finds peace in your calm presence, and a quiet bond slowly grows.

A/N. if you’d like to be added to the taglist, dm me, let me know in my inbox or comment under this post!

part 1 || part 2

Sirius Black had never truly had a serious relationship during his 6 years at hogwarts. It was either a one time thing or he got bored of the girl just a few days into the relationship. No spark had ever lasted long enough to catch fire.

His friends knew this better than anyone. They often joked about it, teased him for his lack of commitment, and sometimes even took it upon themselves to “find the one” for him. But the girl—whoever she was meant to be—was never found.

Well.. at least not by them.

Sirius was walking to his Care of Magical Creatures class, today they were learning about merpeople who reside in the schools Black Lake. It wasn’t something that completely peaked his interest but it wasn’t boring to him either.

Professor Kettleburn had allowed the students to bring blankets to sit on while he explained the lesson, but naturally, that little detail had completely escaped Black’s notice—leaving him standing awkwardly, glaring at the rocky ground in annoyance. That was, until he saw you—sat alone, utterly absorbed in the class as if it were the juiciest bit of gossip one could possibly overhear. Amused, he smiled and made his way over, crouching down beside you. “May I?” he asked, gesturing to the space next to you. You— althought hesitant at first—nodded, shifting over a little before turning your full attention back to the professor’s rambling once more.

His gaze remained fixed—not on the lake, not on the textbook now half-buried in his satchel, but on you. Your eyes, the shape of your nose, the way your hair framed your face like it had been drawn that way. There was something ethereal about you—something quietly beautiful.

He watched you the way ancient Greeks might have watched Aphrodite rise from the sea—half in awe, half in disbelief that someone so beautiful could exist so casually in front of him.

“Do you always stare like that?” you asked, your eyes still on Professor Kettleburn.

Sirius blinked, caught off guard. Then a grin curled onto his lips. “Only when there’s something worth staring at.”

You looked at him properly this time. Not long. Not with any kind of reaction he could pin down. Just a look. Enough to let him know you’d heard the line—and weren’t particularly impressed.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Black.”

Sirius blinked, a half-second slower than usual, caught a little off guard.

You didn’t look at him when you spoke. “What’s the matter? Surprised I know your name and didn’t throw myself at you?” That earned a small huff of laughter from him. “A little, yeah. Usually there’s more—” he paused, searching for the word, “—fanfare.” You tilted your head slightly, the corners of your mouth lifting in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “I don’t make a habit of applauding people for existing.”

He studied you then, properly. You weren’t rude—just honest. And not the kind of honest that tried to make a point. You simply said what you meant and left it at that.

He liked that. It made him curious. And curiosity had always killed the cat.

The class wrapped up, students starting to gather their things and wander off. You stood, grabbing all of your belongings before dusting off your cloak and started up the hill without a backward glance.

Sirius hesitated. He was meant to stay behind and meet his friends—who all had a free period—but something tugged at him, as though an invisible hand had nudged him forward. Before he could think twice, he was striding after you, falling into step beside you with such ease it felt.. natural.

“Shouldn’t you be heading to your own class?” You glanced at him, faint amusement in your tone as you caught the curious glint in the Gryffindor boy’s eyes.

He gave a lopsided smile and shrugged. “I thought it’d be rather rude to let a lady walk alone after bothering her.” That earned him a smile, and you nodded. Silence settled between you, but being in the presence of Sirius Black meant that peace wouldn’t last long. “You’re unusual,” he blurted out suddenly, his cheeks tinged with pink. He winced inwardly at how it sounded. You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “Thank Merlin. I’d much rather be that than ordinary.”

He looked relieved, emboldened even. “No, I didn’t mean it badly,” he added quickly. “It’s just—you don’t do what everyone else does. You don’t seem to want to fit into this perfect mold most do.”

“That’s because I don’t feel the need to be like everyone else, as cheesy as it sounds,” you said plainly, the corner of your mouth quirking. “What good would it do me?”

He let out a soft chuckle. “Yeah, I get what you mean. Never saw the point in being picture perfect when I can just be myself and fuck around with my mates.”

After a brief pause, he added, “You know, you’re not like any girl I’ve met here.”

You raised a brow, half-teasing. “And what sort of girls do you usually meet, Black?”

He smirked, eyes glinting. “Most girls want something—flattery, a bit of fun, maybe to say they’ve had a go at charming a Black. I don’t really know. But you—you don't even flinch when I talk. I think I like that.”

You let out a small hum of consideration, letting the breeze tousle your hair. “Maybe I just haven’t figured out what I want from you yet.”

That made him pause mid-step. When you glanced back at him, there was something unreadable in your gaze. Sirius blinked, then grinned—slow and genuine.

“Well,” he said, catching up again, “you’ll have to let me know when you do.”

Neither of you spoke again—not because there was nothing to say, but because the silence had shifted into something companionable. Something comfortable.

As you reached your classroom, your paths would part.

You paused first, turning to him with a faint, knowing smile. “I appreciated the company, Black.”

He gave a casual shrug, though there was something softer behind his eyes. “Anytime.”

You lingered for just a heartbeat longer before stepping away, disappearing into the corridor that would take you to your next class.

Sirius stood there for a moment, hands shoved deep into his pockets, watching the spot where you’d gone.

And though he would never admit it aloud—not to James, Remus, to Peter, not even to himself—he hoped you’d want something from him, eventually.

The next few weeks, he’d see you in that same class, the Great Hall or simply walking through the endless halls of Hogwarts.

You two would chat from time to time, although Sirius would be the one doing most of the talking—

—It was a quiet evening by Hogwarts standards, the Great Hall buzzing with its usual clamour of clinking cutlery, echoing laughter, and chatter from every corner. You’d slipped away from the chaos of the students, opting instead for a stone bench tucked just along the corridor outside, half-hidden behind a suit of armour. The low hum of distant voices bled softly through the open doors, but out here, it was far more peaceful.

Sirius found you not long after, as if he’d been expecting you to be there.

“You’ve a habit of vanishing, you know that?” he said lightly, leaning against the opposite wall, arms folded as he watched you with that half-curious, half-amused expression he wore so well.

“I wasn’t aware I was being tracked,” you replied, glancing up from your book. The candlelight from the sconces along the corridor cast warm shadows across his face, softening the sharpness in his eyes.

“Not tracked,” he said, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Just.. noticed. You sort of stand out by being the only person going out of the hall when everyone else is going in.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that what counts as charm in your circle?”

“Absolutely. We’re refined gentlemen,” he said, mockingly formal, before relaxing again. You chuckled, shaking your head. “You must all be exhausting in the same room.” “Oh definitely. James usually swoons over Lily, Peter is.. a bit dimwitted and Remus is just trying to keep us all under control. Would be a lie if he didn’t cause a bit of trouble here and there thought.” You nod, closing your book you’ve long forgotten about. “Sounds like quite the friendship.”

Sirius smiled, a fondness in his expression that softened some of the usual bravado. “It is. Messy, ridiculous, a bit reckless.. but it’s real. They’re more like brothers, really.”

You looked at him, the edges of your smile still lingering. “You speak about them like you really love them.”

“I do,” he said, simply. Then, after a short pause, he added, “But it’s nice to have someone calmer like you when things get overwhelming.”

Your gaze met his, steady and warm. “I’m glad.”

He nodded, eyes still on you.

There was a beat of silence, not awkward, but expectant—like something unsaid was hanging between you.

You turned back to your book. “You’re welcome to sit, you know.”

He glanced at the spot beside you, then shook his head. “No offence, but I don’t think I could sit still long enough. This—” he tapped the wall behind him, “—feels more like my speed.”

You smirked faintly. “Restless soul.”

“Reckon it’s part of my charm.” His voice softened a touch. “Do you ever go in to eat? I barely see you in there.”

“Sometimes. But it’s quieter out here.”

“Too many eyes in there?”

You hesitated, then nodded. “Something like that.”

He didn’t press. Instead, he let the moment stretch, gaze flicking to the book in your lap.

“What’re you reading?”

You held it up for him to see. “Shakespear.”

“Love sick soul?” He teased, mocking your former statement. You laughed—soft, but enough to draw his full attention again. His smile in return was subtle, warm, and just a bit smug, like he'd won something small but meaningful.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he said eventually, pushing off the wall. “But I’ll be around. In case you ever fancy some company that’s slightly more talkative than your book.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

He gave you a final nod, that ever-present grin lingering on his lips as he disappeared back into the Hall.

taglist: no one yet …

#⚖️just1cefor4ll #sirius black x reader #sirius black #sirius orion black #sirius o black #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fanfic #sirius black x y/n #sirius black x you #hogwarts fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #the marauders x reader #the marauders fanfiction #the marauders #marauders sirius black #my chemical romance #my chemical fucking romance #mcr

25 notes · View notes

strangebiology · 1 month ago

Text

Science Journalism / Writing / Communication Master's Programs 2025 Guide

I did an MS in Science Journalism, and I did a lot of research into them, so here is an updated basic guide. If you're interested, check them out and put their application dates on your calendar. Apply to multiple so you can play their scholarships against each other. That's very important--it could mean the difference between a lifetime of intense financial pressure under building compound interest, and being wealthy enough to own a house! Just for a few emails of negotiations!

Green=FREE! Free ≠ easy or standardless! In fact, free programs can be even harder to get into!

Science Communication MS *NEW!* Location: Hochschule Ansbach in Germany (All classes in English) Price: Tuition-Free! Even for International students! Length: 3 semesters

Science Writing Master's *BEST IMO!* Location: MIT in Cambridge (near Boston) Price: They PAY YOU to go! I've heard the average student profits $40k by going! (Which, of course, will go to living expenses for the year.) Length: 2 semesters (Full disclosure: I didn't go here, but you could say I'm biased in favor of MIT because they're publishing my book. That said, I already believed this was the best program when I saw they pay you to go. Also, MIT is a pretty respectable institution.)

Science Communication Master's Location: UCSC in California Price: $15k for CA residents, $30k for out-of-state. Might be worth living in CA for a year or establishing residence some other way for the discount. (More details) Length: 3 quarters (similar to 2 semesters, roughly a school year)

Science Journalism Master Classes (non-credit) Location: Remote online Price: Free! Thanks to the Kavli Foundation Length: Flexible Note: This one is without any sort of application process, so yes you can do it without experience or quitting your job or moving! The rest are full-time, selective, more traditional mostly in-person programs.

Science Writing MA Location: Remote online via Johns Hopkins University Price: They won't say Length: 16-36 months

Science, Health, and Environmental Reporting Location: NYU in New York Price: They won't say, but I think something like $50k-$100k Length: 3 semesters

Science Journalism MS Location: Boston University Price: $65k Length: 1 Year (Doesn't matter, it doesn't exist anymore. This is the one I attended.) More that I haven't looked into! NOTE: All of these have scholarship options so their prices may actually differ. That's why you should apply to more than one. However I really appreciate that some are free for all students that get in, so you don't have to worry.

#science journalism #science communication #higher education #Master's programs #MS

32 notes · View notes

rapz-rites · 2 years ago

Text

Oh Baby

Damian Wayne x Reader established relationship

Jon Kent x Reader (Platonic)

You’re not telling Damian something, and he thinks it’s that you're cheating

A/N: A lovely anon requested this. I hope you like it and feel free to send more requests or even message me.

Word Count: 2k+

Warnings: misunderstandings, pregnancy, secrets

You and Damian met sophomore year at Gotham Academy. You were in most of his classes. But he never truly paid any mind to you until your government class. It was a small class of 15 students.

Your government teacher was holding a class mock debate. 3 students would ask questions as there were 3 topics of discussion. The rest of the students would pair off into 2s and prepare on all the 3 topics as it would be random and no one would know which topic they might get.

“The three topics of debate will be abortion, racial discrimination, and immigration. And the 3 question leads will be Marcus, Catelyn, and Luca. Everyone else, pair up.”

Girls immediately started surrounding Damian and the boys with you. Damian saw how uncomfortable you were with the boys' awful advances at you. He continued to ignore the girls and walked to you.

“You can leave. I’m partnered with Y/N.”

Everyone was confused. Even the teacher. Damian never willingly chose to work with anyone. But you decided to take advantage of the opportunity before it went away.

“Yup. It’s true. So all can go now.” With that, you waved them off and Damian took a seat next to you.

Everyone else paired off and the teacher started talking. She explained the instructions for the debate and the rubric as it would be graded.

“There are 15 minutes left of class. You have this time to yourselves, use it wisely.”

You turned to Damian.

“When do you want to start working on the project? I'm available after school today to work in the library.”

“I can't today. I am tomorrow though. Let's exchange numbers.”

And that's how it started. The next day, you and Damian started going to the library after school and texted about the assignment. Even after the in class debate you two would talk.

Damian found you more tolerable than the rest of the kids at Gotham, and much smarter. He started hanging out with you more and more. In and out of school, obviously without his brothers knowing.

Eventually, he asked you out, you said yes, and both of you started dating. It’s been over 2 years since. You both have a lot into the relationship. You and Damian opened up to each other. He gave you his trust, which is difficult for him, and you gave him your virginity.

Though Damian wasn’t your first boyfriend or kiss, he was your first time. And you were happy about it. Even though it was a bit awkward, especially at the beginning, he made it special for you. He would ask if you were ok with something, how you felt, and he just took care of you. Something you never truly had with past boyfriends.

“Oh my gosh!”

You and Damian only had sex 2 times, both in the past 6 months. Damian took care of you after and you peed. You were both safe and used protection. That's why you couldn't understand the 3 positive pregnancy tests.

“No. It can't be.”

You suddenly started crying, collapsing on the bathroom floor of your one-bedroom apartment.

Since then you haven't been the same. After a few days of thinking, you decided that you would keep the baby. You lost your parents at 15, in an accident. They were wealthy. They had a mansion on the outskirts of Gotham, just like all the other socialites, and a condo near your school. In their passing your parents left everything in your name. You refused to go in the system. You were able to convince your old nanny to become your legal guardian, at least until you could get emancipated. You’ve always wanted a family anyways

You had to tell Damian. Your mind had been running through any possible reactions you'd get from Damian once you told him. Best case scenario he accepts it and decides to stay with you and be a father to the baby. Worst case, he leaves you and you have to raise the baby all by yourself.

Damian noticed your odd behavior. You were secretive, jittery and would always make excuses not to hang out with him.

“Sorry, I have a test coming up and need to study. I'll text you” you would say. But you never texted.

“I'm volunteering this afternoon. I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you.” You kissed him goodbye on his cheek and walked away

You did the same to your friends. He didn't understand why. Did he do something wrong?

Keeping your pregnancy a secret was eating you alone. You had to tell someone. So you texted someone you could trust.

You: Hey. Are you busy? I really need someone right now.

Suddenly there was a gust of wind in your condo. Before you stood Jon Kent. Before you could even speak, that’s when he heard it. Not one, but 2 heart beats. Before you can even process him getting into your place, he hugs and spins you.

“Oh my gosh! Congratulations!” He smiles from ear to ear. “Wait. I probably should be spinning you.”

Once he put you down he started looking around. Where’s Damian? How come he isn’t here telling me with you? That’s when you started to break down crying.

“He doesn’t know. And I don’t know how to tell him.” You say hiccupping. Jon just comforted you until you stopped crying. You explained everything to him.

“You have to tell him at some point. He probably thinks that you're avoiding him because he did something wrong. But I'm here for you.” You hugged him crying.

“Sorry, it's the hormones.”

For the next 2 weeks, Jon comes to visit you whenever he gets the chance. No one knew.

Clark and Bruce had to collaborate on some League business. So, he and Jon would be staying in Gotham for a few days.

Jon was heading out when he passed the kitchen

“Hey Jon” said Dick.

Damian was paying no mind to them. He was testing you, hoping he could see you today.

D💚: Hello Beloved

Beloved💜: Hiii Dami

D💚: Are you available today?

Beloved💜: I’m sorry I can’t 😕

I promised Layla we could hang out today

We can hang out tomorrow tho

Pinkie Promise 🤞

D💚: Okay 🤞

Have fun and be safe

Beloved💜: I will try

Won’t be much fun without you 😚

Once, at school you were texting Jon. You were stressing over telling Damian for the 4th time that day… It was only 11 am. And you were spamming him phone

Jon 🦸🏻: OMG

We’re both at school go learn or something

My parents are going on a date tonight so I’ll try to swing by

Y/N🤞🏾: ok ok

See you tonight

“Hey Beloved. Who were you texting?” Damian came up to you. You quickly closed messages and put your phone in your pocket.

“Hey Damian. It was Layla.” You responded hesitantly. “It’s nothing really but I have to go. I have to study before my test next period” You kissed him goodbye on his cheek and rushed off.

He knew you weren’t texting Layla, he just saw her a few moments ago when he was looking for you. She told him that you were probably at your locker. Before he went to look for you she told him to tell you that her phone died last period.

Why were you lying and hiding stuff from him? Damian didn’t want to think it, but were you cheating on him?

Damian looked up from his phone to notice Jon wasn’t there anymore.

“Where did Jon go?” Damian asked.

“He said he was going to meet up with ‘a friend’, but it’s obvious he’s meeting with a girl/boy the way he was nervous.” Dick responded

“We should follow him,” Jason spoke up. Damian didn’t know why he was here. Jason wasn’t too fond of staying at the manor. Usually, he would do whatever business he had, get food from Alfred then leave.

“Sure. Why not” said Tim. Damian forgot he was here. But they all agreed.

You hated lying to Damian. You decided that when you were going to see him tomorrow, you were going to tell him the truth, everything. You were meeting with Jon to get everything ready to tell Damian everything tomorrow.

Incoming Call: Jon 🦸🏻

You immediately picked up. You were sitting in a booth at yours and damian fav coffee shop. Damian thought that they had these great muffins that tasted even better the day after, so you were going to get him some.

You told Layla about your pregnancy after you told Jon. She was very upset with you. That you didn’t tell her first.

“I can’t believe it. I mean I can because between both of us, you would have kids and I would be the hot, rich aunt that they love.”

You laughed at her little rant on how your kid would call her “Auntie Lay” and she would bring gifts every time she saw them. How she would have a room for them to crash at her place for when they're a teen and they get mad at you, or they just want to spend time with their auntie.

“Thank you,” you said as you got up and hugged her “for being here for me. I don't know what I would do without you and Jon”

You were so glad that you had Jon and Layla.

Jon was walking up to the coffee shop when he saw your call.

“Hey Jon. Layla and I are at the shop, where are you?”

“I’m across the street I’m heading in now.”

Jon didn’t realize the boys were following him. They were confused as to why Jon was at this coffee shop. He had never been there before.

The boys watched Jon walk in and waited. Eventually, he would come out with whoever he's been secretly meeting up with for weeks.

Being the type they are, they didn't notice Layla coming out of the shop and getting into her car. She was waiting for you and Jon to go back to your place.

“He's coming out now,” Dick said excitedly. They all froze in anticipation. What they didn’t expect was to see you walking out after him.

Damian's heart was breaking. You were secretly meeting up with Jon and cheating on him behind his back. How could you? He kept watch in hopes he was wrong.

You walked out with a light brown paper bag in hand. You were struggling to seal it without dropping it. That’s when Jon took it from you and sealed it himself. They didn’t have audio but they had visuals. They could say thank you to him.

“Thank you my hero,” you said with a small giggle. Suddenly your face was serious.

“What if- What if even if Damian accepts this, he won’t regret it later? He won’t think we ruined his life?”

You started tearing up. From the angle the boys were at they couldn’t see your face. Jon hugged you.

“Shhh it’s going to be fine.”

“What if he thinks I’m trying to baby trap him and he'll end up hating me?”

You were about to cry when Jon took your face into his hands. You were like the sister he never had. He hated to see you cry.

“Listen to me. Damian could never hate you. He loves you.”

You nodded and hugged him again. That’s when Damian’s heart truly shattered.

“I can’t read lips that well but I saw something along the lines of ‘I love you’” Dick said. Damian took off is “disguise”, it was just a hat and sunglasses.

“So she's cheating on me?” Anyone could hear the pain in his voice, even Jon did.

Jon suddenly let go of you, and turned to look at Damian. He could see the pain written all over his face. Even though mind reading wasn’t a Kryptonian power, he knew what he was thinking: that you were cheating on him with him.

You were confused. You moved over to see what Jon was looking at. That's when you saw Damian with his brothers. Now he was looking at you.

“Oh no.”

Part 2

So… what do y’all think??? Please let me know.

#damian wayne x reader #damian wayne #damian al ghul #damian al ghul x reader #jon kent x reader #jon kent #damian wayne x female reader #damian wayne x you #damian wayne x y/n #robin damian #dc comics #dcau #batfam #batfam x reader

693 notes · View notes

todaysdocument · 15 days ago

Text

Aaron Fricke v. Richard B. Lynch

Record Group 21: Records of District Courts of the United StatesSeries: Civil Action Case Files

274-6164

RICHARD B LYNCH

PRINCIPAL

JOHN V DIGOES

ASSISTANT PRINCIPAL

VINCENT P MCCHYSTAL

ASSISTANT PRINCIPAL

TRAIAN S NACU

ASSISTANT PRINCIPAL

Cumberland High School

MENDON ROAD

CUMBERLAND, RHODE ISLAND 02864

(401) 767-2600

FOR IDENTIFICATION

CA 80 NO. 214

Plaintiff's Exhibit 2

April 17, 1980

Mr. Aaron W. Fricke

Eaton Street

Cumberland, Rhode Island 02864

Dear Aaron:

This is to confirm our conversation of Friday, April 11, 1080, during which I denied your request to attend the Senior Reception on May 30, 1980 at the Pleasant Valley Country Club in Sutton, Massachusetts, accompanied by a male escort.

I am denying your request for the following reasons:

1. The real and present threat of physical harm to you, your male escort and to others;

2. The adverse effect among your classmates, other students, the School and the Town of Cumberland, which is certain to follow approval of such a request for overt homosexual interaction (male or female) at a class function;

3. Since the dance is being held out of state and this is a function of the students of Cumberland High School, the School Department is powerless to insure protection in Sutton, Massachusetts. That protection would be required of property as well as persons and would expose all concerned to liability for harm which might occur;

4 It is long standing school policy that no unescorted student, male or female, is permitted to attend. To enforce this rule, a student must identify his or her escort before the committee will sell the ticket.

I suspect that other objections will be raised by your fellow students, the Cumberland School Department, Parents and other citizens, which will heighten the potential for harm.

NEAL&SS [Stamp]

Should you wish to appeal my decision, you may appeal to the Superintendent of Schools, Mr. Robert G. Condon. You will be entitled to a hearing before him or his designee. If you are not satisfied with his decision, you may appeal to the Cumberland School Committee. You are entitled to be represented by counsel, to examine and cross examine witnesses and to present witnesses on your own behalf. Further procedural details may be obtained from the Superintendent's office.

If you have any further questions, please feel free to contact me. I am sending a copy of this letter to your parents in the event they wish to be heard.

Sincerely,

Richard B. Lynch [Signature]

Richard B. Lynch

Principal

RBL: fw

cc: Mr. & Mrs. Walter Fricke

Mr. Robert G. Condon

Certified Mail

Return Receipt #639615

#archivesgov #April 17 #1980 #1980s #prom #civil rights

21 notes · View notes

rainbow-wolf120 · 6 months ago

Note

MORE ABOUT VIVEO ALL ABOUT VIVEO TELL US MORE NEOWWWW !!! GO ON THE LONGEST RAMBLE YOU’VE EVER RAMBLED !!!!! 🔫

Ohohoho. You’re in for a real treat asker >:]

Okay, since I have so much about the TV twink, I decided to lore dump about Viveo and Rayman’s relationship. More importantly…

In College!!

Yes. And they were roommates

Me lore dumping under cut. I know not everyone cares for my OCs or ideas lol:

So, the story is that when Rayman first migrated into America, he was struggling to settle down. People didn’t like him and never really gave him the chance for… anything really.

Then, he heard about this one college (I don’t have a name for it atm), but it was very big on being “accepting to both humans and hybrids”. This was super rare for a college in what? 1950s?? 60s???

Whatever, it was a chance for Rayman.

Sadly, college was nothing like the advertisements, cause when he arrived, he was very much bullied into the ground. Turns out the college may be accepting but the students were not.

However, he wasn’t alone.

This leads into Viveo.

Viveo was harassed, yes, but not as much as Rayman. He is technically an “alien”, but he’s “human” enough to spare a beating.

Also, he’s buff

I do make jokes about Viveo being a twink, and he is. But he has jumpscare muscles. Like, when he flexes you can tell he works out.

(This is a reference to him being based off a JD coach and that burns calories and stuff idk it makes me feel buff </3)

The two met when Rayman was getting bullied. He would’ve fought back, but when last time he did he got in really big trouble because he broke someone's nose and the school sided with the bullies cause like, this is still the 1950s.

Viveo stepped in and scared them away with his tall frame and jacked body. Maybe a bit of psychological manipulation to get the point across.

(I may draw a comic about this, depends on how much y’all like them lol)

That’s how they officially met. Viveo may have heard of Rayman through rumors and drama (cause he’s a sucker for that), and Rayman heard of Viveo through reputation.

It turns out that they shared the same room! They were roommates yay 👏

They both pursued entertainment, so they shared a lot of the same classes which only made their bond stronger.

When Rayman is not trying to get a gig or in class, he takes a job at the college as a desk assistant and soon a CA (the people who patrol the dorms and tell people to shut up). Although it was only late at night, it was the only thing hiring.

Rayman doesn’t really know what Viveo does when he’s not partying, so he lets him stick around until he’s free again.

Although Viveo technically shouldn’t be there when he's on the job, let alone talking to him, it’s the only way people would actually go up and ask Rayman for assistance (even if they only talk to Viveo)

Also, it gives Viv something to do

Rayman doesn’t want to get fired, so when a boss or something comes along, Viveo acts like he’s there for help. Gotta use that acting class for something

As you know, Viveo is popular among the campus, and that popularity comes parties.

He’s a riot at these things. He’s fun, entertaining, and can sing really really good

Viveo is invited to all the dorm parties, but Rayman is not

Since Rayman is a CA, he technically works for the college and is able to rat people out

And partying is forbidden at this one

Even if Rayman is invited, he’s seen as a “stick-in-the-mud”. He tries his hardest to be “fun”, but he’s a bit too "good" to do anything crazy (unless Viveo nudges him too)

So, when Ray works, Viv parties.

(I know it’s a modern phone. If they had flying cars and fully interactive holograms in 1992, I’m sure this is likely)

Viveo is still lowkey selfish, but if he likes you, he’s a bit more lenient.

Being best friends and dormmates with basically one of the security guards, it gives Viveo a lot of power if you think about it

When he gets bored or tired of a party, he hits up Rayman to shut it down so he can leave with a "bang"

Is it unnecessary? Yes. Is it fun to see everyone’s night get ruined because you thought it was boring? A little.

It’s a benefit for them both, though

Rayman gets praised by his boss and coworkers (mostly his bosses), while Viveo gets to party with little to no consequences

Power couple at it finest

When Eden eventually becomes sort of a big name, Rayman takes Viveo with him to his job application as moral support. Viveo stands in the back supporting him, spicing his performance with sound effects, and helping him remember his lines if he slips up (Perks of a TV face)

Rayman does get the job, and he’s super pumped to tell Viv about it (Keep in mind that this is like, senior year of college). Viveo is obviously happy for him, but also a tad bit jealous.

Y’know, until Rayman drags him along.

In Rayman’s mind, he’s nothing without Viveo and vice versa. It’s a little different for Viveo, but that’s not important.

At the end of the day, Rayman gets himself a place as “Eden’s mascot”, and Viveo’s given a place of “Eden’s voice” per Rayman's request. Two aliens against the world.

That’s enough of me yapping, I don’t know who even bothered to read this far. If you did, thank you. You either really like Viveo, or have nothing better to do.

I might do more lore-dumping. This was fun. But it depends if people want to sit down and listen

Thank you for coming to my Gay Talk, hope to see you next time <3

27 notes · View notes

collegiatesins · 9 days ago

Text

── ( jorge lopez. twentyeight. cis man. he/him. ) thank god you’re here, man - have you seen MAXIMO ESPINOZA ORTIZ anywhere? i totally lost them after their rendition of debí tirar más fotos by bad bunny last night. no? they’re like, aye - high and go to LANGSTON - i think they’re a GRADUATE STUDENT studying FILM & CINEMATIC STUDIES ? but who knows, these days. all i know is that they’re CONNIVING, MAGNETIC and a LEO . last night they kept going on and on about how they won MOST LIKELY TO GET YOU TO APOLOGIZE FOR SOMETHING HE DID last year, which is cool and whatever, but i just wouldn’t expect it out of them, considering they’re so, like, PUNCTILIOUS, HUMOROUS, you know? anyways - i’m going to check down by the court yard, i think that’s where they like to hang. text me if you see them, okay? bye! / as penned by lulu. 28. she/they. cst.

BASICS

full name : maximo vicente espinoza ortiz .

nickname(s) : max , maxi if you're nasty .

age : twenty - eight .

date of birth : july 25th , 1996 .

birth chart : leo sun , gemini moon , leo rising .

hometown : new york city , ny / los angeles, ca .

gender : cis man .

pronouns : he / him / his .

sexual orientation : bisexual .

DISPOSITION

myers - briggs : the consul ( esfj-t )

ennegram : the investigator ( type five )

moral alignment : chaotic evil .

likes : cinema . spoilers for movies/tv shows . urban exploration . expensive black coffee . analog photography . hyper-specific wikipedia deep dives . impromptu solo trips . vintage vinyl records . learning dead languages . always having a camera nearby . instigating arguments so he can play the middle man . trying new curly girl hair methods to see which works best . providing goodie bags for hook ups to grab on their way home . TAing for intro to film classes just so he can force people to watch his favorite niche foreign horror films . psychological mind games . witty one liners . comparing himself to greek mythology figures unironically . etc .

dislikes : loud chewing . long lines . matcha flavored anything . small talk . due dates of any kind . having to repeat himself more than once . people not easily susceptible to his bullshit . bad liars (if you're gonna lie, lie well at least) . having to apologize . people who speak spanish with a bad accent . superhero movies . cheapsakes . taking short cuts . etc .

quirks : distinctive and eclectic taste in fashion . often combines streetwear and high-fashion elements . features a mix of bold patterns , graphic tees , oversized jackets , and accessorizes with items like beanies and statement jewelry . essentially , max's style is characterized by its fusion of urban and avant-garde aesthetics . everything about maximo comes across as effortless, the poster child for relaxed and unbothered. if life's a marathon, max's running a easy brisk, never breaking a sweat or losing his place in the lead. after all even if someone were running faster than him, he'd find a way to slow 'em down or disqualify them from competing altogether.

CHARACTER ASSOCIATIONS

frank abagnale ( catch me if you can ) , roman roy ( succession ) , logan huntzberger ( girlmore girls ) , ferris bueller ( ferris bueller's day off) , willy wonky ( charlie and the chocolate factory ) , rusty ryan ( ocean's eleven ) , logan delos ( westworld ) , louise belcher ( bob's burgers ) , dewey riley ( scream )

REPUTATION AROUND PALLADIAN

the serpent in the grass. the sly tongue. the inviting smile. the one with an uncanny ability to befriend everyone in his path. the puppeteer. the documentarian with a camera always in hand. the pot stirrer. the bored predator who plays with his food. the born shows man. the master of playing both sides. the wild card. mister unpredictable. alliances always shifting. never let them know your next move. the secret keeper and grudge collector. the problem solver if you’re willing to pay the price. the devil you’re warned never to make a deal with. the late-night therapist. the judgement-free zone. the one call you’d make if you ever landed in jail...if he wasn't already locked in there with you. the alibi. the jokester. the prankster. the “we’re too young to be taking life this seriously” philosopher.

CHARACTER SUMMARY

bi coastal baby

product of an affair when his hot shot lawyer father was in california and got a side thing without letting her know she was a side thing.

she got pregnant with maxxie poo and that's when he had to come clean.

like most cheating men, he wasn't gonna leave his wife. and while his wife wanted nothing to do with his affair baby at first, with his aspirations to go into politics one day they knew it'd be a bad look if he had an estranged child running around.

so it was decided that max would spend the school year with his father in new york and his summers would be spent in los angeles with his mother.

his mother was a public school teacher and max actually spent the first five years of his life solely with her. only seeing his dad on holidays. so it was a shock to his system when he had to move to nyc and live in luxury when his mom pretty much lived paycheck to paycheck.

even as a little kid he thought it was a little unfair how easily life was at his father's. like he felt lowkey guilty about having a personal chef when he knew his mom was having ramen noodle for dinner back in cali.

but....you know kids. they spoil quickly. so pretty soon max didn't really have that guilt anymore and if anything whenever he had to go be in cali for the summers he was a bit of a brat.

he loved his mom though, so he decided instead of complaining about the life he had in cali, he'd just try to make it better. aka he started hustling and running little get rich quick schemes and scams.

his mom would have none of that though and he'd get his ass beat with a flip flop whenever she caught whiff of any of them. so max was like "hmm how can i get money in a legit way then?" hence forth his youtube channel was born senior year of high school. think david dobrik-esque. he'd like film him + his friends doing dumb stuff around LA/NYC. and it kinda blew up in an unexpected way.

his father definitely was NOT a fan of the debauchery but max was a little shit who knew where the proverbial bodies were buried (aka his dad was having yet ANOTHER affair), so maximo sr really couldnt do anything to stop the channel from taking off. what he could do however was demand max to go to college anyway or else he'd be cut off financially.

knowing the world of social media was a fickle beast and that his popularity might not last, max agreed without much complaint. he went to NYU Tisch School of the Arts for his undergrad and was going to langston for his master's when the "incident" happened and now he's in the UK.

#langston.intro #i present to you my most morally gray of gray characters #i hope you hate him so much you love him byyyye

8 notes · View notes

alchimistetyche · 5 months ago

Text

A friend and I were talking about it and we couldn't decide so obviously the next best thing was to leave it up to the spn website. Personally I think he would be some type of humanities major but this is early seasons Cas so maybe he'd try to go to med school and angeliclly cheat his way through or something.

I'm getting all the discs. of majors from google so yeah

Anthropology: study humanity, and they examine how linguistics, culture, biology and history shape human diversity

Philosophy: study of fundamental questions about the nature of reality, knowledge, and value

(BROAD) Religious Studies: an interdisciplinary field of study that examines religious and secular worldviews, rituals, ethics, and philosophies

History: (I can't find many good ones that aren't ai generated boooo) critically examining the connections between the past, present, and future, usually has a specific time period in mind/that is an interest

Pre-med: a program that ensures students take all the required classes needed to apply for medical school

If you had a specifc focus in mind for any of these or something else that would fit him feel free to comment or put it in the tags.

If pre-med wins I'll make another poll to determine what his medical discipline would be because I'm way too invested in this now lol.

#castiel #spn #supernatural #i personally think it would be anthropology or philosophy #purely because i see him being baffled by hot takes from centuries ago #and i think philosophy would give early seasons cas an existential crisis earlier on

14 notes · View notes

deancasbigbang · 2 years ago

Text

Title: A Hard Place

Author: Deanna

Artist: parhelion_ava

Rating: Explicit

Pairings: Dean Winchester/Castiel Novak; Sam Winchester/Jessica Moore; Dean/Meg (one time); Castiel/Mick (one time); Dean/Robin (one time)

Length: 90000

Warnings: undefined

Tags: Professor Castiel Novak; student/rockstar Dean Winchester; BDSM AU; dom Cas; sub Dean; flogging; rough sex; fluff; dom/sub drop; happy ending

Posting Date: October 19, 2023

Summary: Castiel Novak is a college Professor, who values education beyond all else. That is, until a certain rockstar enrolls in his class. As a Dom at the BDSM club “A Hard Place”, Castiel thinks he’ll never find his perfect, permanent sub. When rockstar Dean Winchester needs to go back to college, he’s reluctant to do so. That is, until he meets his smoking hot Professor. Dean is torn between his Professor and a wing-masked Angel he meets at a BDSM club.

Excerpt: Towards the end of class, Castiel notices that some of the students have lost focus. A few girls have even attempted to take selfies with the rockstar. If there had been more time left in their session, Castiel might have said something. Instead, he decides to assign a prompt for the students to work on over the weekend, asking them what they hope to gain out of this class. To wrap things up, Castiel writes his name on the whiteboard behind his desk, along with his phone number. “All my contact information is on the syllabus, but I like my students to be able to reach me anytime, so feel free to write down this number as well. You may address me as Castiel, Mr. Novak, or any variation of the word ‘professor’.” Castiel uses actual air quotes, eliciting a laugh from the class. Nearly all the students are writing down the information, while Mr. Famous takes out his phone and snaps a picture of the whiteboard. Dean then leans over to the girl next to him, nudges her with his elbow and whispers, “Scored the teacher’s number on day one, huh?” He wiggles his eyebrows at her and she blushes, giggling to her peers. Castiel, however, is not so amused. He dismisses the class, but stops Dean when he reaches the front of the classroom. “Mr. Winchester. Please stay behind for a moment.” “Ugh, man, please stop calling me that…” Dean groans as he leans on Castiel’s desk. Castiel stands from where he was seated, hoping to loom over the man, but finds that he is in fact shorter than Dean. Regardless, Castiel isn’t going to let a height difference interfere with their dynamic. This is Castiel’s classroom and he expects his students to respect that. “Of course, Mr. Winchester. As soon as you stop referring to me as ‘dude’ or ‘man’.” Dean huffs out a laugh. “Ha! Good one, professor. That better?” “Lose the attitude and we’re golden.” “Dude, I don’t -” “Dean.” Castiel drops his voice slightly to grab Dean’s attention and Castiel is very interested to know what the man is thinking when he sees Dean’s jaw tighten. “You may be famous amongst your peers, but to me you are just another student. While in this classroom, you are here to learn. You will show respect to myself and your peers, or else face the consequences.” “Consequences, huh?” Dean smirks. “What kinda consequences we talkin’ here?” “The kind where you fail my class.” Castiel replies shortly. He’s not taking anymore of this man’s crap. Dean’s face falls slightly and Castiel is glad to have put his foot down. “Man, you’re no fun.” Dean whines as he pushes off the desk. “I’m here to teach, Mr. Winchester. Not to have fun.” “Suit yourself, handsome.” Dean punctuates his sentence with a wink, then turns to leave the classroom. Castiel sighs. This is going to be a long semester, he grimaces.

DCBB 2023 Posting Schedule

#dcbb 2023 #fic preview #2023 promo #deancas #destiel

120 notes · View notes

my-castles-crumbling · 3 months ago

Text

Anon Advice Asks - February 8

curious anon, bottle anon, USAID anon (new), juvenile friends anon (new), lemon anon (new), all time low anon (new), age shaming anon (new), universal anon (new)

Curious Anon

Hi! So I’ve had some questions about Aromanticism and I wasn’t really sure who else to ask so I’m hoping that this is ok. So, I read a microfic where an Aromantic character got into a relationship with another person and they were both happy in the relationship and I was wondering how that worked. Like, does one person see it as a relationship and the other as a friendship? How does the dynamic work? I just had some questions but I wasn’t really sure who would be the best to ask, but I hope you are having a good night!

Hi! So I'm not aro and all relationships are different so I can't know for sure, but I would say that the important thing to remember is that aro (and ace) identities are a sectrum. Not aro people are repulsed by the idea of a relationship. It might just be that they have different boundaries or they find it more difficult to fall in love. So I'd guess that maybe that character IS in love, but it happens very rarely, or they have relationship-related boundaries that other relationships might not have. But I could be wrong, as every relationship is different!

Sorry I don't have a better answer!

_____________________

Bottle Anon

okay so hi! Very tired bottle anon here. I just spent the good portion of 40 minutes scrolling in the ask cas tag of your blog to find a super old ask of mine. I did use my anon name but you forgot to tag it, not that I really care, it was a fun adventure.

https://www.tumblr.com/my-castles-crumbling/770485761995882496/bottle-anon-again-how-do-i-tell-if-a-guy-is-into?source=share

This one. It goes into detail about the guy I like, mentioned in my most recent ask. I am getting along better with new girl but she's still kinda off to me but we're getting closer. And my guy friend has asked me over to his house. To clarify, we're all in year 9 in Australia so like 14-15. And we have to choose general maths or methods. And I'm kinds failing maths but methods is needed for most degrees and a higher change of going to a better uni. So since my guy friend has just moved back from England, I just just but it's been months, his mum has to retake her teaching degree.

And she's a math teacher. So he offered me to come over to his house, several times to not only be tutored by his mum FOR FREE but to also binge the owl house and finish gravity falls. And his mum will do it because she hasn't taught a student since she had to restart her degree due to a difference in teaching standards.

And we also got into the same class for year 9 core subjects + writers workshop + leisure and recreation. Leisure and rec is the best sport elective cause you just go to bounce (a trampoline place), bowling, time zone (an arcade), fencing, rock climbing and more.

Like I'm just really excited to be with him so much. And we've both been more touchy? I guess is the word. He'd let me ruffle his hair or hold his arm or pat his shoulder and he's allowed to pat my head and hold my arm.

But again new girl is kinda ruining it for me. I should be fucking basking in this and she's just ruining my delusions. I'm kinda annoying in a playful way as a way of showing affection and he's okay with it but new girl is mimicking it in a way? Like I used to take his drink bottle and just hold it until we 'fought' so much we became a tangled mess of limbs and it was our game. And now she's doing it and like distracting him when I'm talking to 'more adult things'.

The reason I'm into him is our childish, random conversations. That's who we both are. I'll talk about lesbian lizards and he'll talk about Tyrone being a real one in gravity falls simultaneously. And that's how we clicked. But she's just showing off her singing skills and talking about class and yawn. I can't deal with it.

Shit, this is long one so I'll cut it off here. Uh yeah, that's where it's at. But I think, and hope, it'll change when new girl realises how disinterested he is in singing and school work. Because I've tried that already. School work stays in class, lesbian lizards are a lunchtime or after school discussion. And unless she knows about this stuff, she's not going anywhere with either of us. And she'll never understand our inside jokes. And I'd rather keep it that way.

Shit, I'm so sorry I didn't tag it!

Okay, it sounds like things are getting a bit better! Just remember to focus on your guy friend. No matter how the other girl feels or what she's doing, it sounds like your guy friend is showing interest and doing his best to make you feel cared about, so try not to let your resentment towards the new girl affect that. Be as kind as you can to her, because getting mad at her probably won't make you look very good, you know? I know it's much easier said than done...but yeah, It sounds like things are settling the way they're supposed to and if you're patient, your guy friend will figure out his feelings.

_____________________

USAID anon

Hi cas, my parents work for the the state department and idk if youve seen this but trump just fired everyone that works for USAID. Ik that people in the US right now know that this is bad but i can SEE what its doing right now in the moment and its horrible. I have friends texting me making sure that my parents dont work for USAID because everybody who does or who is her because of someone working there (EFMs if you know what that means) have to leave this friday. I know of a senior whos in his last semester of highschool and now his parents dont have a job and he has to pack up everything he owns and do one semester of highschool in a school hes probably never been to before. I know someone personally who JUST moved to an entirely new country in december and has only been there for two months and now he has to move schools and countries AGAIN after only living here for around 5 months. They have 3 kids under 6 as well. It terrifying. When the election results came in we were joking around about how we were gonna get deported because we thought it would never happen. It was something we could joke about because it was impossible right? But now just a couple months later im terrified wonderong if my moms job is next. He fired all the workers of USAID simpky because he thought their work was unnecessary. What happens when he decides entire embassies are useless?

I know that this will also heavily impact the people in countries USAID works and my heart genuinely aches at the work that is going to suddenly stop because trump decided that this department was useless. I bring up people getting fired and american families affected because one im devastated and terrified and two because trump doesnt care about americans. If he cared he wouldnt leave all the FAMILIES jobless. He wouldnt leave these people worrying about moving countries, schools, and lives behind while also suddenly losing their jobs with barely a weeks notice.

None of us saw this coming. Idk if its just because i dont keep up with news enough but this came as a shock to most people i know.

I dont know what to do. I dont know whos next. I dont know how people voted this man into office. I had so much hope and optimism realixing that most of the stuff hes trying to do will most likely be turned down but its all come crashing down. Something i thought would NEVER happen just happened. What else is to come? Im scared and im worried for me and my friends and everybody. Im scared, and sad and confused and angry. So angry that this poor excuse for a human being can do this to people.

Im mad about everything else as well but i need someone to talk about this because the rest i can process. This is the first thing i have genuinely been completley shocked by.

Ignore the spelling mistakes please im tired and angry and rushing.

Thank you so much

Hi <3

I am so furious for you. And you have every right to be angry and shocked and scared. The things happening right now are not okay, and they're absolutely terrifying.

I think right now, the best thing to do is to be there for people and to not give up. Share your story and don't let this administration quiet you, you know? Don't do anything dangerous, but don't give in, either. I wish I had better advice, but sticking together is the best thing we can do.

I am sending you all of the love and I would be so glad if you could keep me updated-- I'm thinking of you and your family.

_____________________-

Juvenile friends anon

So cas, i LoVE my friends alr, but some of them are homophobic, as in they aren't outright homophobic but they just make mean jokes and are super juvenile like eww and stuff. But the thing is, I wanna come out to them. I love my girlfriend and I wanna introduce them to her, but like ik they might not have the best reaction, what do I do?

Hi <3

I'm so sorry your friends are like this. Honestly, I think you have to weigh the pros and cons. How do you think your friends would react if you sat them down and told them that you have a serious thing to say and that you need their support, and then came out? If you think they could be rude or even violent, or they might out you to others, then it might not be a good idea. But if you think they might be willing to learn how to correct their homophobia and they're just ignorant, then you could consider it. But I don't know them, you do. Always but your safety and mental health first, though <3

____________

Lemon Anon

Hi I'm anon 🍋

I used to have a marauders fanart account. It grew pretty big but irl friends from insta found it. And I had to delete my insta and tumblr. I'm really sad rn. I've made another one atm. But I'm scared of starting a tumblr and insta marauders fanart account again. Because I feel I've ghosted all my mutuals. Idk what to do anymore.

Frankly I don't want to interact too much with mutuals or even other people, it had become a little toxic as well, especially worshipping small creators and having an hierarchy between fic writers etc.

I do want to post more fanart but I'm torn really.

Also how have you been doing? You really are my safe space in this fandom thank you so so so much Cas x

Hi! I'm so sorry about what happened with your accounts. I can't even imagine my irl people finding my accounts lol.

I mean..I think you could honestly look at this as a good thing though, in a way. You're right that fandom can sometimes get really toxic. It sounds like now, you can re-create a space for yourself and make new boundaries that maybe you didn't have before. Only interact with the people and the content you want, you know? Create just for yourself, if you want! Just share it with a few online friends and never post, if that makes you feel better! Remember that this is supposed to be fun, so only do what's fun and comfy for you with this new account. And if you're looking for new mutuals, you're more than welcome to dm me <3

_____________________

All Time Low anon

this is sort of in response to the anon talking about feeling guilty for watching the hp reboot. i understand that feeling so well it actually makes me nauseous. i dont struggle with this for harry potter so much; part of the reason is what you said in your reply, as well as because i think fanworks are such a grey area in this discussion its hard for me to completely drift one way or the other about it. but my favorite band since i was 12 (im 24, so literally half of my life lmfao) has been all time low. there was a point in time where their music was all that would get me out of bed in the morning and get me through the days when i was at my absolute lowest. they've been on every single playlist ive ever made since i heard their music for the first time. they've been my number one artist on my spotify wrapped every single year ive they've done it. they mean so much to me in ways i find it hard to articulate sometimes, you know? but they've vome under fire the last few years with a lot of god awful accusations against them and from the moment i heard about it as even just a rumor it immediately soured every good thing id ever felt about them. i passively kept up with it and i think (very comfortable being wrong though) that a lot of them were proven false? im not sure; but the fact there were accusations made in the first place makes me queasy enough to not have to know whether or not every single accusation made was true or false. im uncomfortable enough without knowing. but i kept listening to their music anyways because i couldn't bring myself to let go of something that had been so important to me for so long. but recently ive noticed that i cant actually remember the last time i listened to one of their songs. i finally noticed ive been routinely skipping their songs as soon as i notice they're playing. im surprised about how indifferent i feel about having noticed that. sometimes ill pause over the skip button when i hear certain songs but i cant name the last time i could listen to a single song all the way through without feeling uncomfortable. i still cant bring myself to stop calling them my favorite band. i still really want to listen to their music. i feel horrible for not being able to just delete all of their music and walk away. even the thought of listening to them makes me feel so ashamed and embarrassed so why are they still my favorite band? anyways.

Honestly I think it's SO hard to like...let go of something that once helped you through so much, you know? Like even though its obviously the right thing to do and you're doing it, it's a little part of your past, and you can't change that. I think that's why it's SO devastating when we find things like this out. Because it's like...it changes how you look at your entire past. It's like when you find out your parents did something shitty and you suddenly lose that hero outlook of them.

________________________

age shaming anon

Heyy, this is my first time submitting an anon, I hope I do it right.

So what’s happening is:

I have a brother who’s verging on 13 and online friends who are all closer to my age like, 15 and 16.

We all hang out together, and though they know my brother is younger than me they don’t know his exact age.

Yesterday, one of my friends started age shaming someone who was trying to befriend them, I think the person was like thirteen, calling them a baby and childish.

And…it just made me upset you know? I hate age shaming, I think it’s stupid because as long as their not discussing inappropriate topics with adults, everyone matures differently and at different ages, so what if someone is 13 and their friend is 16?

Anyway, my apologies, this was just a little rant.

Have a nice day !

Hi! I think you've hit the nail on the head when you said- there's nothing wrong with people being friends with someone who's a little older or younger, as long as the topics stay appropriate. I mean, if your 13y/o brother was friends with a thirty year old, I'd be worried. But 2-3 years isn't worrisome as long as the people are nice and aren't talking about things that he isn't ready for or make him uncomfortable. But now I'm wondering...ARE these good people for him to be friends with? Because like...if they're judging others, they definitely could judge him too.

______________________

Universal Anon

Hey Cas, I was hoping for your opinion on something?

So my family LOVES Universal Studios in Florida, and we’re planning a trip there this year. As i’m sure you know, they have a huge HP world. But I’m wondering how bad it is to go to the HP World if we’re already going to be at the Universal Studios theme park? It’s not like we’re spending money to go there specifically, and when we went when I was 17 I remember it being a lot of fun, but there were a lot of things I couldn’t experience due to being in a wheelchair that i could hopefully do now, but at the same time, I don’t want to be offensive to anyone. Now when it comes to HP merch, I already almost never get the official stuff, both because of jkr and because of the price point, so I wouldn’t be buying anything there either, it’d just be going on the rides, and sightseeing.

I’m cis and grew up in an extremely bigoted, small, rural town, and know so little about LGBTQ+ culture (I didn’t even know I was bi until I was 21), for reference, up until I was 19 I knew three queer people, and had never met a trans person. I really don’t want to do anything that would harm people, physically or emotionally, but I also don’t want to miss out on the experience if it’s not a big deal, if that makes sense?

This may make people mad, but in my opinion, you're going anyway, so going on the rides in that particular park isn't going to make any difference. Actually, I did some research for you and apparently, JKR does not get a cut of the ticketing sales, she only gets a cut of licensed merch. So if you're worried about giving money to her, you wouldn't be giving her money by riding the rides.

Honestly, I think the decision to participate in HP-related things is super personal and nuanced. Yes, I have strong opinions about what people should and should not be interacting with, and I definitely regret some of the things I've chosen to interact with in the past, but I don't think riding a ride at Universal makes you a shit person, I promise <3

#curious anon #bottle anon #usaid anon #juvenile friends anon #lemon anon #all time low anon #age shaming anon #universal anon #asks #ask #ask cas

15 notes · View notes