#It’s just another thing I have to worry about on top of math classes AND work AND cleaning the house AND planning for my 18th bday

[bensiskos]

(…)

[the-guilty-writer]

The Faces of Emily Prentiss

Request from anon: Could I request Emily Prentiss & teen!daughter? Maybe Emily doesn’t notice how her daughter pulls back and keeps to herself more and more because she struggles with her mom being gone so much recently and school being a lot for her (procrastination, problems concentrating when worrying about her mom, …). You can do with this whatever you like Gill, I’m just excited to read more of yours 🥰

Emily Prentiss x daughter!reader (can be read as teen!reader)

Summary: reader’s grades have been slipping and it brings up many feelings between them and Emily.

A/N: Okay, wow, I did not expect for this fic to come out this long. Maybe I should write more mom!Emily because apparently it’s inspiring. Kinda angsty with a fluffy-ish ending. There were no places to put in pronouns, so even though it’s daughter!reader it can be read as teen!reader.

CW: brief mention of psych evaluation, Emily is an absent mother, one mention that Emily wears weapons, nickname for reader is “kiddo” (if you think you know why let me know and I’ll give you a pat on the back for the right answer), reader has hair but length is not specified.

---

Manila, in your opinion, was the worst color. Not because of the color itself, but because of the things adorned with it - walls poorly painted by landlords, rags that should have been thrown out years ago, the hair of the snooty girls at school, the tug-of-war rope used in gym class that always burned your hands.

Folders.

If you could have tossed the one your teacher gave to you into the trash, you probably would have. I might as well, you thought to yourself. The thing was destined to get lost in the pile of similar ones on your mother’s desk. Would you rather go to a landfill, or sit with a bunch of cases on serial killers?

The folder, expectantly, didn’t respond. If it did, you would have been worried for your sanity. Then the next folder that landed on Emily Prentiss’s desk would have been a concerning psychiatric evaluation instead of your report card. At least with the evaluation she might have to pay a little more attention to you.

The door to your mother’s home office was always open. She locked you away from too many parts of her already - and even though she was well aware that some of the information in that room was supposed to stay classified - the idea of locking you out of a room that was in your own home, was too physical for her to bear. Not that she would ever tell you.

You knocked on the wood softly, though you didn’t know why. She wasn’t home. She was never home anymore; knocking was just a polite habit. You put your hand to the knob and swung open the door, then found yourself disappointed when she wasn’t asleep at her desk. Knocking wasn’t a polite habit; it was a hope that, for once, she would be there to answer. A hope that was far out of reach.

You put the report card folder on top of the stack, becoming just another document that had to be marked with the initials E.P. before it could be filed away.

In a house this big, the quiet should have been eerie, but it wasn’t. The quiet was normal. You sat down at the kitchen table and pulled out your phone, opening to your messages with your mom.

Badass Maman:

Hey, kiddo. Leaving for an emergency case. Be back soon. (Received 2 days ago)

You:

Okay. I love you. (Delivered 2 days ago)

Yep. Normal.

It was still that way an hour later when you did your homework, and when the nanny came to check on you. It was that way when you went to bed that night and woke up the next morning. Everything about it was normal.

You wished it wasn’t.

---

Phones weren’t allowed in classrooms, but they were allowed in the hallways. A familiar ding went off as you walked with your friend to second period math. Your friend pulled their phone from their pocket and frowned.

“Did something happen?” you asked.

They shook their head. “No notification.”

You pulled your phone out, and the world stopped entirely when you saw it was a message from your mom.

Badass Maman:

Flying home now. I’ll be back when you get home from school. I love you. (Received Now)

Relief flooded over you.

“Did something happen?” your friend asked.

“My mom is on her way home.” For the first time in days, you felt air could fill the entirety of your lungs. The million-mile-an-hour heart that was beating in your chest slowed to a regular pace. The tension in your too-tight shoulders loosened.

You:

Okay. I love you too. (Read Now)

---

You had all but forgotten about the manila folder holding your report card. It hadn’t crossed your mind since you placed it on your mother’s desk. You hadn’t bothered to look inside when you received it, too focused on the cursed cover to think about the letters inside.

When you unlocked the front door and stepped inside, you called out immediately for her. “Mom! I’m home!” but there was no answer. “Mom?”

It wasn’t unusual for her to fall asleep on the couch, waiting for you to get home from school after being sleep deprived for days. Still, the living room couch was void of any life. You turned to the kitchen, but found nobody there. So you made the walk to the only other place your mother might go in the house after a case: her office.

The door was half-way open, but still, you knocked. A polite habit.

She turned from her seat at her desk, took in the sight of you, and smiled. Within seconds you were wrapped in her arms. Your head landed on her shoulder, while she ran a gentle hand through your hair.

“God, I missed you, kiddo,” she said. The exhaustion in her voice contradicted the strength of her embrace.

“I missed you too, mom,” you whispered. She held you for a little longer than normal, and when she did let go, you couldn’t help but profile her a little.

There were three different faces Emily Prentiss wore:

The Agent Face: a raven-haired, modern fem fatale that runs off enough coffee to kill a small horse, she walks through bloody crime scenes unfazed. She’s a no-nonsense attitude dressed in heeled boots and a glock. With intelligence sharper than a blade and a smart-mouth to match, it’s only fitting that she works for one of the most elite units of the FBI.

The Emily Face: always classy with a little bit of fun sprinkled in. She’s got a wicked sense of humor, a brilliant laugh, and a bright smile to match. The kind of friend who is down for a night on the town or a quiet movie night. This, you know, is the face she wears outside of work, around her friends; you can only imagine what this face looked like before the agency, and before you.

The Mom Face: the one you see the most. It’s the face that can’t cook to save her life, though she tries very hard. The one that celebrates your ups and supports you in your downs. She’s started to find a few more gray hairs as you've grown older, but that’s to be expected from a strong woman raising a child alone. The only one of the faces that’s unsure about if she’s good enough; everything in you wants to tell her she is.

The face she wore right now, seemed to be a combination of all three. She hadn’t been home long enough to have changed from her work attire into a normal tee shirt and jeans. You could see the traces of mascara on her shoulder where either Penelope or JJ had needed a friend’s shoulder to cry on. The unsteadiness that crossed her expression only ever appeared when it came to parenting… when it came to you.

“There were kids, weren’t there?” you said. And though her past was full of secrets, she didn’t bother keeping this one in.

“There were,” she sighed. Once again, she brought her hand to your hair, as if she were trying to sooth herself with the texture of it while making sure that you were real. “But it’s over now.”

You didn’t know if that meant the case ended good or bad, and you were thankful that you weren’t a good enough profiler (yet) to read the answer in her expression. “I’m gonna finish up some work and then we can catch up, okay?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I’ll go do my homework.”

She pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead and you gave her a tight-lipped smile before she moved back to her desk and you moved towards the door.

“Open or closed?” you asked her, standing in the threshold.

“You can leave it open,” she replied.

It was her answer every time, but you still always asked. A polite habit.

---

Two hours later, you were still struggling through your math homework at the kitchen table and your mom was still in her office. Knuckles tightened around your pencil before you let it go with an exasperated sigh and crumbled up the loose leaf paper you were working on. You sifted through your notes, trying to find the formula, but you had either written it down incorrectly or not at all.

You pulled the textbook from your bag only to find that you’d forgotten to write down what section the class was studying. With your brain feeling fried inside your head, it made skimming through the chapter more difficult, and by the time you’d gotten to the end, you were no closer to figuring out the answer than when you started.

Fueled by frustration, a trail of French expletives left your mouth.

“Well, I’m glad you’re at least keeping up with your language studies.” You looked up to see your mom standing on the threshold of the kitchen.

Even in duck-print pajama pants, she still looked intimidating, leaning on one hip with her arms crossed over her chest. As soon as you noticed her stance, she began walking towards you, uncrossing her arms. In one of her hands was a dreaded manila folder. With the ease that only a master interrogator could have, she sat down at the table and pushed the folder towards you, opening it so you could see the grades inside.

You were sure the many files on her desk showed far more hellish images than your grades, but it even caught you off-guard to see that you were failing or close to failing every class. It dawned on you suddenly that your grades had been slipping, but you didn’t imagine that they had gone down so fast.

“I-” you started, but the shock was flooding you. Emily took the folder and closed it, pulling it out of your line of sight and snapping you back to reality. Your genuine reaction must have been enough to tell her that you were as unaware of the situation as she was.

“Kiddo,” she sighed. “What happened?”

Her voice and features softened - The Concerned Mother Face. It wasn’t one that appeared a lot… just when big things happened, like moving to a new country or faking both your deaths. That kind of stuff.

You shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. This year has been…” With a shaky breath everything rose to the surface. “It’s hard to do things when I’m never sure if you’re dead or alive.”

A new face of Emily Prentiss formed in front of your tear-filled eyes. This one was vastly different from the others. It was exhausted from sleepless nights in random police stations across the country, when all she wanted was to be home; it was pain-filled from every wound she wore on her body that she insisted she didn’t need help cleaning; and it was that of a mother who had just brought home a newborn, with no clue as to how she was supposed to raise an innocent being into a human.

She said no words, only embraced you. After the familiar comfort of her arms calmed you, you went to pull away. She didn’t let you go. A spot on your shoulder had become wet with her tears. You held her tighter, and when a sob racked through her weary body, you hummed the tune of the ballad she used to sing you as a little girl.

Only when she began to sing the words of the song, you knew it would be okay. Only then, you could be sure that Emily Prentiss - the smartest, strongest, bravest person you had ever known - wouldn’t fall apart if you let go.

In French just as smooth as her English, she began to whisper the rhyme. A dozen times you had wondered why that was the primary tongue she chose to raise you with. You were passable in Spanish and Arabic, but it was the language of love that your mother had wanted you to speak fluently.

That reason was good enough.

The song came to an end and she pulled away to look at you, caressing your cheek with a gentle hand. “I’m sorry,” she said.

You shook your head. “You don’t have anything to be sorry about, mom. You save people.”

Emily sighed. “But I can do better letting you know that I’m safe. I can at least find time to make sure to answer your texts.” You looked down, feeling the slightest bit guilty. But your mom wasn’t a profiler for nothing. “Don’t you do that,” she said sternly - The Agent Face.

“But-”

“No buts. It’s you and me. It’s always been you and me.” A sneaky smile escaped from her lips. “Plus I promised myself I wouldn’t be like your grandmother and put my job in front of my children.”

That had the both of you giggling - The Emily Face.

She pulled you back into her arms, stroking a gentle hand through your hair. “I love you, kiddo.” - The Mother Face.

“I love you too, mom.”

[chouxsardine]

Permission to Fall -- Jake Kiszka x reader

Summary: "Don't be afraid of falling, because he will catch you everytime" --Where things became too much at your company's Christmas party and Jake comes to the rescue as the most thoughtful boyfriend that he is.

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x reader

Word Count: 3211

Warnings: descriptions of a panic attack, feet (nothing gross or super detailed), a drop of superstition (let me know if I've missed any)

Genre: Fluff, hurt/comfort

Author's note: This is originally an idea inspired by @jakesguitarsolo and written for her. I hope you feel better now, dear. One idea spins into me pulling an all nighter...And here it is. This also goes to whoever feels stressed around this time of the year. Yes, things are tough, but you are stronger. I am so proud of you. If you want to talk, feel free to send me an ask or message. This is my first gvf fic and my first time writing anything for threes years. I really enjoyed writing it. I hope you enjoy reading it too.

🎧: I am listening to I Need You Most of All by Stephen Sanchez while writing this (you can tell the title is taken from the lyrics)

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Suddenly everything is too much.

But you know damn well that it doesn’t just happen “suddenly”. In fact, shit has been building up for days, or even weeks. You don’t know if it’s the end-of-year frenzy getting into everyone’s head, Mercury is in retrograde, or the depleted Vitamin D levels due to shortened daylight, you’ve had it particularly rough recently, from small inconveniences like your favourite snack being out of stock at the local grocery store for three consecutive weeks to mishaps like you taking the blame for your impotent coworker. You are exhausted, to say the least; you couldn’t wait for the holidays. Not entirely for its cheer, but for the few precious days off. You just need a break from everything.

Now you are stuck in your company’s holiday party. The annual event that you dreaded the most. It involves too many fake smiles, false-hearted small talk, and tooth-rotting-sweet cupcakes that clearly have too much food colouring. All the mental preparing goes south as you stand in the room, the stabbing pain from your high-heels growing more and more unbearable by the second. Too many people.

“Just another thirty minutes, you can do it. Just another thirty minutes”. You hopelessly glance at the clock on the wall, flashbacking to your childhood self squirming in the seats waiting for math class to end.

But of course, something has to make matters worse. The real straw that breaks the camel’s back is your clumsy coworker accidentally bumping into you and spilling her drink on your shoes.

“Oh my god, I am so so sorry, y/n!” She hastily apologizes in a high-pitched squeal. A few people turn their heads toward your direction.

“No, no, it’s okay, don’t worry about it.” Embarrassment. Embarrassment. Panic. Trouble. You try to wave her off. The shoes aren’t even your top concerns right now; you just want her to stop talking and stop attracting more unwanted attention.

“Really? Oh I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to! It’s just—”

“Please.” You take the handful of tissues from her, look her in the eyes, almost pleading, “It’s fine. Please excuse me, I’ll just go to the washroom real quick.”

Once the washroom door is closed behind you, you feel like collapsing right there on the floor. You wobble your way to the sink, arms propped up on the cold marble surface. You don’t dare to look at yourself in the mirror. Your ears are buzzing and the twisted feeling in your lungs tightens. As if a cold hand is wringing a wet towel inside your stomach, as if someone is shoving your head into cold water, you can't breath properly. You try to draw a breath, but end up sounding like a stranded whale. Before it develops into a full-blown panic attack that you can’t handle, you managed to muster the last bit of your sanity and dial that number with trembling fingers.

Jake picks up on the second ring.

“Hi, love. What’s up? ”

Upon hearing his voice, your tears break free. You are sobbing so hard that you have to bite down on your knuckles to keep the volume down. God forbid any busybody out there overhearing sobbing coming out of the washroom. “Ja—Jake—-”You struggled to form a coherent syllable.

“What’s wrong, y/n? Are you hurt?” His voice immediately grows sterner, stripped of of the previous languidness.

To talk under this state feels like squeezing words out of your veins. “Ca—can—you..come p—pick me up? Company—p-party.” You stutter through gritted teeth.

There is some shuffled noise over the phone, a loud bang sounding like he had bumped into something, a silent “fuck” under his breath, then his voice reaches your ears again: “Coming right now, baby, take a deep breath for me.”

You hear the faint beeping of car keys. More shuffled noise. More beeping. That means he has started the car, right? That means he will be here soon, right? You mind is racing and spinning and your lungs are still acting up, only allow silvers of oxygen into your body. You feel like you are watching the world through a distorted filter. A scarier thought jumps into your brain: you whiny puny thing, continue crying and your panic will affect Jake. The roads are slippery now, and it will be all your fault if he ends up in a car accident.

As if being slapped in the face, you manage to suck in a deep breath like a scuba diver resurfacing to the water: “Drive safe please, please Jake, please—I will wait for you.”

Jake makes a sound that is somewhat between a relieved laugh and a resigned sigh. He knows instantly what’s going on in your overthinking brain; you are worried about him. The thoughtfulness must be engraved in y/n’s brain, he thought, always, always putting others in front of herself, even when she’s having a panic attack. And Jake knows you are correct. It is only upon hearing your words that he realizes how hard he was gripping the steering wheel. He recomposes himself, relaxing his shoulder, “Don’t you worry about me, love. I will stay on the phone if that makes you feel better, yeah? Ain’t nothing gonna happen to me.”

“Knock on wood!” You hiss between sobbing, frantically searching for any wooden material around you. Damn it, why is everything so shiny and glassy?

Jake is amazed that he even lets out a short laugh under the circumstances. Yes, his heart aches hearing his girl being a mess over the phone, and he wishes he could grow wings and fly to her side. But meanwhile, he can't help but find you cute like this. He knocks three times on the mini wooden tissue box that he keeps in the middle console.

“Yes, knock on wood. You hear that, doll?”

“Hmm.” You would honestly believe anything now. Hearing Jake’s voice and imagining him coming to you is like brown noise for babies. Your lungs finally decide to have mercy on you, and you can now somehow draw in shallow breaths albeit the pain in your chest.

Jake is relieved as he sees the green lights shining at the last intersection before turning left onto the side road where your company is located. “I’m here. Can you come down by yourself, love? Or do you want me to get you?”

“I can come down.” You say. The thought of him finding you in a messy pile on the bathroom floor makes you wince, even though he’d probably seen worse.

“Okay baby, see you in a second.”

You don’t remember how you collected your coat and pushed your way through the crowded room without many people noticing. The next moment, your sensations are restored, and you find yourself already in Jake’s arms. He's waiting for you in the area between the automatic glass door and the revolving door outside, a place that is warm with air conditioning but won’t attract nosy people. He wraps you in a hug with his wool jacket. His comforting scent fills your nostrils, a powerful pacifier for your naughty lungs. For the first time this evening, you can finally breathe properly like a normal human being. The rush of fresh air makes you release a loud sob like a newborn baby. The relief of seeing him safely standing in front of you and the release of finally being free from the stressful and stuffy environment ushers more tears to stream down your face.

“Shhhh…..you’re okay now, y/n, safe now. I’m here.” His hand wraps protectively around the back of your head as he plants kisses into your hair. “Poor girl, let’s get to the car and go home.”

Home. Home sounds heavenly to your right now. You couldn’t think of a better combination of these four letters in the whole of human history.

On the way back, you curl into a ball on the passenger seat like a battered puppy. Jake holds your hand whenever he gets the chance, his strong calloused fingers gently massaging yours, tracing the patterns on your palm, his thumb brushing the back of your hand, providing warmth. No longer crying, your shoulders occasionally shudder with involuntary sobs that escape you. But other than that, you are falling into a trance. Your gaze concentrated on Jake’s perfect side profile through hooded eyes, watching in awe as the passing streetlights formed patterns of shadow on his graceful nose and cheeks; your mind numb without a single thought.

It is only when Jake wakes you up that you realize you have fallen asleep. The car is already parked in the garage, the familiar and comforting damp smell seeping in.

“We are home now, sleepyhead.” Jake smiles at you, tapping on your wrist to signal you to wait as he gets out of the car and opens your side of the door. Just as you were about to step off, Jake reaches to cradle you by the shoulders and knees, carrying you bridle-style into the house. You hide your face shyly in the crook of his neck, secretly grateful because your feet are indeed sore in those heels.

Jake puts you down by the shoe rack, motioning you to put your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself as he squats down in front you, holding your ankles and taking off your shoes. If he did see the stains, he didn’t ask any questions, only cooed when he saw the blisters on your heels.

“Let’s go upstairs and get your makeup off, then we’ll cuddle and go to bed, yeah?” Jake stands up, hanging up your coat before cupping your cheeks and placing a kiss on your forehead.

You never hated makeup more than now, regretting to put it on in the first place, now that it has become the annoying barrier lying in your way to bedtime. But Jake says “let’s,” that means he’s going to do it together with you, right?

“Jake?” You whine bashfully.

“Yes, love?”

You tilt up your chin and close your eyes, “One more kissy, please?”

Jake swears he feels a part of his heart melt right there. Who is he to deny you?

“Of course, as many as my princess would like.”

Stepping into the bathroom, Jake sits you on the closed toilet seat. He opens the drawer, grabs your makeup remover and some cotton pads. He applies some liquid onto the wipes and lifts up your chin.

“Close your eyes for me, love.” The cool liquid on your eyelids makes your eyebrows twitch, causing Jake to chuckle, “I know, I know. Just a little longer.”

You sit quietly, mesmerized and hypnotized under his touch. His movements are almost rhythmic. Is this how cats feel when their owners scratches behind their ears? You fear that if you make a sound, you will actually let out a purr.

Jake continues until most of your makeup is gone. “Hold out your hands,” you hear him say and complied. Two dollops of foamy liquid landed in the centre of your palm, and you opened your eyes to recognize they are your face wash. Jake tugs on your wrist, leading you to stand in front of the sink.

“Can you wash your pretty face now, darling? Wash up, and I’ll be back in a minute.”

You nodded, feeling lighter and more relaxed now without your makeup and even more content when you turn on the tap and find out that Jake has already tuned it to a lukewarm temperature for you.

When Jake returned, he was calling you from the bedroom. You have already brushed your teeth and let down your hair.

You walked into the bedroom and are welcomed by the scent of bergamot and sandalwood from your favourite candle glowing on the night stand. Jake was pulling an old T-shirt out from the closet. It was the vintage Joan Jett and The Blackhearts shirt, the patterns half faded, and materials worn-out soft. You saw him laying out one of his boxers for you too. He knows you always prefer them to your own underwear as pyjamas.

“Come sit, angel.” He patted the bench at the foot of the bed, him sitting across from it on a small stool.

It is only when you walked close that you saw the wooden foot spa basin, with clouds of steam rising from it. As you sat down, he gently took your ankle and balanced your feet on the edge of the basin, so that the hot water is steaming your sole.

“It’s still a bit hot.” He looks up to you. “I put Epsom salt and eucalyptus oil in it.”

“Where did you get this?” You feel like the heat from the bottom of the feet is slowly being absorbed into your veins and rising up to your cheeks. You wiggle your toes nervously.

Jake lets out a giggle, “Well, mum suggested once to Josh about the foot spa thing, said it helps with stress and tense muscles. You know, with him running barefoot on stage and all.” He reaches down to sprinkle some water onto your feet, letting you adjust to the temperature. “But Josh got the fancy electric ones. I thought this is better. More authentic, don’t you think?”

“Uh-hmm.”

“Your nails are all chipped,” Jake looks down, “maybe tomorrow we can repaint them? I saw you bought a new colour the other day.”

Tender. So tender. From his tone to his caramel brown eyes. The light from the lamp illuminates the left side of his face, giving it a solemn, smooth glow like a wax statue. Your heart swells; love makes it rise like Soufflé in the oven. The soft surface rises up until it touches your ribcage, threatening to spill those tears again.

“Thank you, Jake.” You dare not raise your voice, fearing that it will break, “I just got a bit overwhelmed at the party, is all.”

Jake eases your feet slowly into the water now that it’s the perfect temperature. The slight sling of your blisters is soon overwhelmed by the all-encompassing warmth that rises all the way to your ankle.

After a few heart beats, he speaks again. “You’ll always have me, y/n. You are allowed to fall, to break. I will be here to catch you, to piece you together. Whatever you need.”

Finally you were snuggled together in bed. You, a human koala, cling to Jake with your face pressed against his chest. His arm snakes around your shoulder, fingers mindlessly tracing your collarbone, strumming some unknown patterns. His heartbeat thumping in your ear, the perfect lullaby. The steady rise and fall of his chest is like waves, rocking you into a sweet slumber. Your eyelids feel heavy like velvet drapes. There’s still a stubborn voice in your brain keeping you from falling asleep. There’s still one more thing you need to do, even though you understood each other perfectly.

“Jake?” Your voice low like a murmur. Jake almost didn’t hear you at first.

“What is it, babe?”

“I love you.” Those words come out as a slur, and like a magic spell, you fall into the deep embrace of sleep as soon as the last syllable leaves your lips. Now clear of any stress and worries in the arms of your lover, the strained string in you brain that has been holding on for dear life the whole evening finally snaps. You’re out like a light.

“I love you back, y/n, through and through.” He whispers into your dream.

You woke up to an empty bed, the sheet on his side still has the human-shaped imprint. Jake is a night owl; it is pretty common that he just gets up in the middle of the night and ends up doing some random things around the house. Most often it’s him strumming the guitar and experimenting with his ideas for new tunes in the home studio downstairs. But you have also caught him fixing chipped paint on the walls, repotting the succulents in the garage, and pouring broth into the crockpot with chicken thighs and smoked ham hock (“so we could have warm chicken chili in the morning!”; to be honest, it’s indeed delicious; you had two bowls and had to skip lunch that day). Just to name a few, so the possibilities are endless.

You get out of bed, creep cross the corridor and tiptoe your way down the stairs. The lights at the doorway are on; you thought Jake forgot to turn them off. However, as you approach, you see Jake squatting down next to the shoe rack, his back towards you, and a brush and some spray bottles laying nearby.

You move closer and see him holding the clothes steamer near your wine-stained shoes. The heels you wore have a suede tip in the front, and unfortunately, that’s where the wine was mostly spilt on. After a few moments, Jake uses the wire brush to clean the surface. He stops from time to time, holding it further to inspect the result.

You waited until he stops again to make some sounds, announcing your presence. Jake immediately turns around. His eyes softens upon seeing you.

“What are you doing up?”

You go to squat down next to him, kissing his temple before resting your head on his shoulder.

“You just bought these not so long ago, yeah? It’d be a shame to leave them stained.” Jake lets more steam soak into the fabric before brushing them again. “I’m almost done. I saw this trick online, and it looks pretty legit.” It’s only then that you noticed his phone on the side, the screen showing the replies from some Reddit post.

“Thank you, baby.” You rub your cheeks slightly on his T-shirt; the feeling of warm pastry once again fills your heart.

“No worries, doll. I think it’s good for now. Let’s leave them here and check in the morning.” Jake starts putting away his tools before pulling you up and wrapping his arm around your waist, leading you back upstairs.

On your way, something familiar catches your eye. You must’ve missed it earlier.

“Wait, where did you get that?” You stop, pointing at what happens to be a whole case of your favourite snack lying on the kitchen counter.

“Oh, I saw the stores are out of them, so I ordered them online. They just arrived today.” Jake scratches his head, his tone tainted with slight disappointment.“I thought they’d be a nice surprise as stocking stuffers, but…”

You stopped him mid-sentence with a kiss.

“I love you.” This time you said it clear against his lips.

“Oh doll, I love you back,” he smiles, showing the cutest wrinkle on his nose. His hands brush your shoulder as you resume your steps upstairs. “Let’s get a few more hours of sleep now. And when you wake up, you will wake up to some yummy pancakes and a pair of stain-free shoes, huh? How does that sound?”

Oh Lord, that sounds heavenly. That sounds just like home.

“I’d like that, Jake. I’d like that very, very much.”

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Thank you for reading :) any comments and feedbacks are greatly welcomed and deeply appreciated

(The stain-removing tips comes from malccy72 on reddit :D

If you also feel like reading a smutty (but also fluffy?) piece🤭: Mariner's Complex || Love is a four-legged word || The Lucky Ones

or some Christmas fluff: Ticked (all my boxes)

[manicpixiedreamcurl]

The More You Give ❧ (Part I)

Pairing | Eddie x reader

Warnings | 18+ only, do not interact if you are underage. Heavy petting, fingering, nothing much else this chapter. Reader is 18+ and has been since before Eddie was interested. Reader is a virgin who has bad previous sexual experiences (not assault). Mentions of bullying and anxiety around this. Under 21s drinking alcohol. Eddie makes a little joke about getting reader high and taking advantage. Expect coming of age vibes the whole way through and as a result there is a fair amount of exposition this chapter. I’m trying to capture the particular way girls hurt each other. Non canon-compliant; the gate closed forever in 1985.

Word count | ~6,950

A/N | Some of you hate girly-girl reader, some of you hate not-like-other-girls reader. I am here to unite you against a common enemy; not-like-other-girly-girls reader. I really think I can bridge the gap with this one. I joke, but my point is Eddie Munson is capable of loving literally every person ever put on this planet, who dress all sorts of ways and are interested in all sorts of things. My y/n loves Rilke.

Reposting one more time and tagging @darlingpumpkin for her lovely comment on the post that didn’t show up that made me cry. 

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"Please!" May cries again, clasping her hands together like she's begging. "I just know bringing something tonight will get me my chance with Liam. And the freak...freaks me out!”

"But I don’t get why that means I should be the one that meets him.”

"You know, I thought you kind of liked Eddie.”

Heather’s smile is innocent, her head tilting like she doesn’t know exactly how much you like Eddie. Like you hadn’t sat and told her every detail of your gooey, warm crush on him that one time she’d snuck a bottle of pink gin to your house.

"Wait, you like the freak?" May asks, her face a picture of confusion. You twist your hands in your skirt when she makes a noise of disgust. "Oh my god!" She says your name incredulously. "That is so gross!"

Your mouth opens, then closes with a bite to your lip. You want to defend yourself, defend Eddie, but find yourself toeing the ground with your shoe instead.

"If I'd known you might enjoy a little rendezvous with Eddie Munson in the woods, I'd have begged a little less," May says, voice all amusement until she catches your hurt look and sighs. "Look, please just get the weed from him for me? You don’t even have to talk to him, but he really does scare me. Heather’s meeting Patrick, otherwise I would totally ask her."

Another version of you, one that knew how to get into conflict and come out on top, would tell her that's not true. Would list every time, at least every time you remember, that you'd done something like this for your friends. Risking trouble, going out of your way.

You take the $20 she has ready and tuck it into your purse.

"Hey," May says, tone all innocent mocking. "Maybe you should try flirting with Munson. You might be able to get me a discount."

Your leg starts shaking the second you’ve sat yourself down on the picnic table in the woods, placing your bag on the bench at your feet. Smoothing your skirt down, you take a deep breath in an attempt to calm the harsh pounding under your décolletage before he gets here.

For the first couple years of High School, you didn’t really think about Eddie Munson. You thought he was cute, on the odd occasion you’d catch sight of him looking smiley or laughing, but you had a million other things to worry about before any feelings of attraction to a boy so far outside your sphere. Math tests and making enough money babysitting to buy that particular skirt. Keeping up with the love life of each and every cheerleader that so graciously allows you to sit with them, despite your lack of green and white uniform.

But then, he didn’t leave High School with the others his age, and you started hearing his voice, his laugh, in class each day. You saw the cycle of him desperately writing notes, eyes intent on the board, before his attention would drop, neat bullet points bordered with doodles until he’d flinch, realise what he was doing, and start writing again despite what he’d missed.

Once you were aware of him as more than a cuteish boy who was best not to think about on account of the rumours (failing school, dealing drugs, parents in prison), a couple things planted the seed.

With your arms above your head, body swaying and rolling, you found Eddie’s eyes. In that comfortable space, your brain just nicely cottony from what you’d drank, still one shot away from searching for May and convincing her to hold your hand for the rest of the night just so she knows you love her, you were happy to move this way in front of Eddie.

Eddie’s gaze was shifting from the boy buying from him, the money he was being handed, to you, your hips, and back again. For a minute, it didn’t matter who he was, his eyes on you had the space between your legs warming pleasantly. You caught his stare with yours, thought about reaching out and asking him to come put his hands on you and feel you move. Some other boy touched you instead, and by the time you’d politely guided him away from your body, Eddie was gone. You just caught the mass of his hair weaving between warm bodies towards the door.

The details were fuzzy when you woke up the following morning, but you felt the lack of his presence the next time you found yourself dancing, wishing you were being watched by dark eyes.

Weeks later, COCKTEASE, written in black ink across your locker, the first Monday after Andy’s brutal, ranting break up speech. Your eyes were bubbled with tears as you ruined the sleeve of your pretty white cardigan trying to rub it away with just wool and spit. It smudged and spread. The letters remained clear and every whisper behind you was a repetition of this taunt.  

“Hey, no need for that.” Hands decorated with metal rings interrupted yours, replacing your sleeve with a paper towel that smells like vodka, the ugly word gone in seconds. You sniffled, looking up at community menace Eddie Munson, whose eyes are shiny and brown. “All gone.” He’d given you a soft little smile, leaning in enough that tingles ran up your neck at the feeling of his warm breath on your face. “If that ever happens again, just come find me, okay? I keep a stash.” He handed you another piece of towel for your wet eyes and straightened, rolling his shoulders back. Eddie waited for a little nod of assent before he left you standing there with something small but alive, green and growing, sprouting in your chest.

At the end of last year, when classes were winding down, you had a presentation for English. You hate public speaking. More than anything in the world, you hate public speaking. To talk, even about your favourite book, something you knew inside and out, was a nightmare. You’d regretted your choice as soon as you were in front of the class. You could have lied, picked anything. Old Yeller, The Great Gatsby, 1984, something distant from you, something that wouldn’t matter, but instead you went and picked-

“Sonnets to Orpheus is, um-” You swallowed, fingers pulling at the back of your skirt. “Is a book of poems by Rainer Maria Rilke.” Blank faces stared back at you. Your face was hot all over, down to your décolletage. “He was an Austrian poet-”

“Did she say the guy’s name is Maria?”

Your head snapped to the faceless question, the scoff, finding a couple of confused boys. The question was an unwelcome shock to your word for word rehearsed script. The interruption left you rudderless and trying to grab pieces of information from the unsettled ocean of your mind.

“It’s all generally sort of about how, well, things like poetry influence life. The life of a poet. Um-” You tucked a foot behind your ankle, dragging it up and down your calf. Betty Melville blows a bubble with pink gum, the pop of it making you flinch. “Like Orpheus! He was a poet- the best poet, or a musician. And in the myth - he’s part of a Greek myth about him and his wife - in the myth, he travels to the underworld to save Euridice, who’s his wife, from Hades.”

“Oh, fucking cool,”

You blinked. Eddie Munson was sitting forward in his seat, staring at you intently. His eyes were wide with interest. Catching your gaze, he gave you an encouraging, prompting smile.

“Eddie, please keep that kind of language to yourself.”

Eddie apologised to Miss O’Donnell with a charming grin just bordering on sardonic, then, looking at you, said, “it is cool though.”

“Yeah, yes, it’s really cool. Actually, the whole book is poems that are sort of intended to be lessons to people like Orpheus, about dealing with the things that happen in life.” Your eyes were fixed on his face, on the encouraging smile you could hardly believe was there. “My favourite, in the whole book, is Want the Change, which is about learning to appreciate things you might not necessarily have wanted to happen, and how they can actually lead to good things, if you let them. I can, I can read it, maybe? It’s only short.”

Your teacher said something, but it was Eddie’s excited nod that made you open the book you held in trembling hands and find the page most worn at the edges.

“Want the change,” you started. “Be inspired by the flame, where everything shines as it disappears.”

You spent the rest of your minutes looking only between the words you loved and Eddie’s kind eyes, the soft earth of your heart blooming with colour.

“You lost, sweetheart?” Your head snaps up from your bare knees to find Eddie walking towards you, in the process of shrugging off his jacket.

"I'm May's friend," you say quietly, followed by your name, unsure if he’d even know it. "She couldn't come because…well, because-"

“My guess is she's scared of meeting the freak in the woods?” Your expression must be answer, enough, because he rolls his eyes. Eddie places the black lunchbox on the table by your hip, eyes focused on where his thumb plays with the latch. “So she sent you. You're not scared of me?"

Of a boy with big eyes and a stash of paper towels to rub mean words off lockers? You give him a little, friendly smile and shake your head.

Eddie grins at that, eyes crinkling around the sides with it. He clasps his hands together in front of him then lets go, drumming a little on the table. For a second you’re just looking at each other, listening to the rhythmic beat of his knuckles against wood until he clears his throat. "Okay. Down to business."

"May told you what she wanted?"

"In the five seconds she was willing to stand near me? Sure did.” He flips open the box in a smooth motion. "I normally charge $20 for the half ounce."

You open your mouth to tell him that's what she gave you, cut off by Eddie continuing.

"If she'd given me the chance, I would have told her that sending her pretty friend out to collect would get her a 25% discount. But, uh,” he holds one of the plastic bags out to you, shrugging, brown eyes shining. "I guess it's just her lucky day."

Your mouth must be filled with cotton, or else your brain, because you don’t say anything. You just stare at him long enough that he starts to tilt his head, looking like he regrets his last words. "You okay?"

“I'm sorry.” You shake your head, smoothing your palms down over your calves awkwardly. "That’s very sweet of you, Eddie,” you finally answer, sounding almost out of breath when you take the bag from him. “But it's still her money. You might as well take the twenty."

"I won’t tell, if you keep the five."

Your eyes widen, scandalised even as you zip up your backpack to hide the weed inside. "Oh, I would never do that."

Eddie tucks the offered $20 into his wallet. “Thought not, but I mean, I never thought I'd ever see you out here, either.” Eddie says, sitting up on the table next to you. Not close enough to touch, to feel the softness of his t-shirt or his skin, but enough that you get a hint of the warmth he’s radiating.

“Oh. Why not?”

“Uhhh.” He’s not subtle, eyes drifting up your body from the frilly edges of your socks to the bow of the scrunchie that’s currently holding your hair back from your face. “I guess I was worried you might be like your friend.”

“May’s a good person, Eddie,” you say. “But, well, she has to fit in with the cheerleaders, you know? That’s why she says mean things sometimes.”

There’s a pause while Eddie blinks. Then, eyebrows together, he asks, “she ever mean to you?”

You’re about to shake your head instinctively, but you end up staring at him. It wouldn’t be like telling Heather, you realis, or even your Mom who had known May since she was in pigtails. Eddie would listen, you think. Eddie would listen and Eddie would understand. You look down, considering your next words, realising that you’re about to tell Eddie Munson something that you've never voiced to anyone else.

But your name comes in a yell from behind you. Speak of the devil springs to mind, followed by guilt and the question of when you started thinking about someone you love this way.

May stands there with Andy, of all people, at the edge of the trees. "Come on!" May eyes Eddie nervously, glaring when he waves at her with waggling, ringed fingers.

“You’re that scared of me that you had to bring some muscle with you?”

“She was worried for her friend after she was out here with you so long," Andy answers, crossing his arms. He looks at you. "We both were."

Defend him, you think. But then May is shaking her hand at you again, telling you to move. Your name is a rough order in her mouth.

Grabbing your bag and sliding off the table in a rush, you pause for a second to look him in the eye. "Thanks, Eddie."

"Nice doing business with you, sweetheart."

"Sweetheart?" May repeats, incredulous, grabbing your arm and pulling you close so Andy can’t hear her hiss. "Please tell me you were not actually flirting with the freak."

You look at Eddie over your shoulder, catching his intent gaze before May presses on your back, forcing you to look away.

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That night, your fingers flex under the wet stroke of polish. "He was actually really sweet."

“Stop moving!” Heather yells, tsking at the quick drying yellow smudge on your finger. She wipes it away with a piece of cotton and acetone before she grants you a smile. “It’s so funny, how people can come across one way, and be so different when you really talk to them.”

Your face is warm, your voice is a whisper. "He called me pretty."

“I cannot believe what I’m hearing,” May says from across the room. “Not only do you have a weird little crush on Eddie Munson, you’re now actually thinking about, what, dating him?”

Your smile fades a little. “He really isn’t like what people say.”

“Except he literally is exactly like what people say?” She answers, her voice cutting. “He started a club called Hellfire. He has all those boys wearing that shirt like some kind of cult!” She rolls her eyes, going back to applying her lipstick. “My Mom said that game they play is all to do with Satanist stuff, too.”

Heather's fingers hover in the air over the cross around her neck. She only drops her hand at the sight of your deflated expression, looking over her shoulder. "Your Mom doesn't know everything, May.”

“Well, she didn’t make it up herself! There’s studies on what it does to people, Heather! Real studies!”

You feel wilted by the end, unsure of how to explain yourself. You’re silent, continuing to blow on your nails even once they’re dry just for something to do. You watch after May’s form when she leaves to get changed before looking at Heather again. “I just liked talking to him, I guess.”

Heather laughs, giving your arm a soft, comforting touch. “When are you going to see him again?” At your unsure shrug, she rolls her eyes. “You have to talk to him soon!”

“I wouldn’t even know what to say.”

Heather's face breaks into a sly little smile. “Oh, Eddie!” She cries, voice comically breathy, clasping her hands together by her cheek. “You’re the man I have been waiting for my whole life! Take me no-OW!”

You bash her with a cushion with as much force as you’re willing to put behind hitting Heather. She falls back, giggling away while you clench your hands around the fabric of the pillow, preparing to strike again if she keeps going. “Okay, so that’s a no,” she says, considering. “Maybe you could ask to buy something from him yourself."

“But I’ve never done anything like that,”

“That’s not an issue. Just ask him to teach you,” she answers confidently, moving to do her mascara at her vanity. “Guys like that.”

“Guys like teaching girls how to smoke?”

She smiles at you through the mirror. “Guys like teaching girls anything.”

On Monday, May barely wants to talk at all, still miserable from Friday night. You'd spent the weekend at hers, visited periodically by Heather, stroking her hair and plying her with ice cream and fresh baked cookies. At lunch, she leans her head on your shoulder while she plays with cafeteria pasta.

“Listen, it’s his loss,” you remind her, having moved past soft hushing and placation to accusations about Liam's mental fortitude. “You looked amazing on Friday. He must be blind or insane.”

“What kind of guy takes drugs you bought and leaves with them, anyway?” Courtney says from the other end of the table, having heard the story through the grapevine, apparently. It strikes the wrong nerve, leading to May burying her face in her hands as the tears start to flow again. You and Heather spring into action, comforting her as the three of you walk to the bathroom.

Together, you chorus the things she needs to hear right now.

“I didn’t want to tell you this, but he is totally not on your level.”

“100 percent! Did you see that girl he was with? Clearly he likes them easy.”

“Easy and ugly,” May agrees, sniffling. “So it was never going to work.”

“Exactly,” you nod, smiling to see her rubbing her drying eyes. She wraps her arms around you then, letting you give her a comforting squeeze.

“Thank you,” she whispers. “You guys are the best friends in the world.” She sighs deeply, fanning her face to stop any more tears. “God, look at me. My make up is ruined.”

“We have plenty of time to fix it.”

“I’ll go get your bag, okay?” You say, heart warm at her soft thank you.

As you’re leaving the cafeteria, May’s bag slung over your shoulder, you catch sight of Eddie, his head thrown back in laughter while he walks with his friend. His nose is scrunched and you have butterflies.

“Hi, Eddie,”

Eddie looks happy to see you, if surprised at the greeting. He gives a quick wave to Gareth. “Tell everyone I’ll be right there.”

Coming towards you, Eddie stops close enough that you find yourself tilting your head back to keep eye contact. His hair moves around his face when he leans forward, lips pink and wet from the little lick he gives them before speaking.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” you say again, having to restrain a nervous laugh, clenching your toes in your shoes. “Um,” you glance down the empty hall before you look back up at him again. “Can I buy from you? I have my own money this time.”

“Uh, sure,” Eddie answers, blinking slow, eyebrows together. “Wasn’t expecting that, though. You got a taste for it from what I sold your friend?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“You guess?”

You nod, not trusting your voice.

“Okay. I have a Hellfire thing just now,” he says, pointing down the hall in the direction Gareth went with his thumb. “But I can meet you at the end of the day.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. I have to go to the bathroom, anyway,” you say, before catching yourself. “Not like, go to the bathroom, but I have to meet May. Not that we- I don’t hang out in the bathroom.” Eddie’s smile is unwavering. “She’s in there because there’s a boy she likes and I’m bringing her this.” You lift the shoulder her bag hangs from, going back over your words. “The boy she likes is a dick.”

“You don't ever have to explain yourself to me, sweetheart. Meet you at the same place?” You’re still going over everything you said in your head, but you nod anyway. “Okay. I’ll see you later then.”

“Okay. Bye, Eddie.”

His eyes jump quickly down your body and back up to your face before he turns to walk confidently down the hall, leaving you warm all over.

You compose yourself before returning to the bathroom where Heather and a newly barefaced May are waiting for you. “Will you do my eyeshadow?” She asks sweetly. “Blue, like you did Chrissy’s last week?”

“What took you?” Heather asks once you have the palette in one hand, brushing shades of blue along May’s eyelids with the other.

You glance at her, wondering if May’s in the right mood to hear the truth. "Andy stopped me in the hall to ask about Ms Fredrickson’s homework.”

“Andy’s totally still into you,” May says, eyelids flickering. “He was so excited to charge in and save you from the freak last week. Wanted to show off to you.”

You pause your work on her eyes, stomach twisting uncomfortably. “I’m sure that’s not true,”

“It is.” She opens her eyes, fixing you with an amused look. “The second I said you were out there with Munson, it was like a whirlwind. He was just desperate to save such a sweet girl." Her mocking pout gives way to a smirk when she closes her eyes again. “Don’t worry, I didn’t tell him about your little creep crush.”

You stare at her for a second. Then, gently touching her chin to keep her face steady, you blend the colour over her lids.

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Eddie’s waiting for you this time, sitting up on the table again with his lunchbox by his side. His jacket is gone, leaving him in a t-shirt that you just know is warm from his skin and the Summer heat. The shirt is graphic, with the name of a band you don’t know, a picture of a demon standing over a mountain, and what looks like a priest tied in chains, splashing about in water. How Eddie manages to look so friendly in such a shirt defies science. The way he’s sitting, the way he’s smiling, you want to climb up into his lap for a cuddle.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” you say, desperately close to a giggle you know would be the most manic, girly sound ever made if you didn’t bite down on the inside of your lip.

That’s where Eddie’s eyes are, just for a second, before he’s looking at the box to his side. “You, uh, want a half ounce?”

You hum the affirmative, taking your bag off to dig through and find your little beaded purse. He spies the $20 in your hand and scoffs.

“I said fifteen for you, sweetheart,”

You’re leaving dents in the gum behind your lip with your teeth. “It’s not my fault if you don’t carry change.”

His lips purse in a smile at the tease, his dimples making an appearance just to send you into a tizzy, you’re sure. Eddie’s tucking the money away when he asks, “you got rolling papers and everything?”

“Oh, uh.” Yes, just say yes. “No, can I get those, too?”

Eddie blinks, expression shifting to confusion. “You didn’t know you needed those?”

Special papers? No you did not. “I did. But I, I forgot.”

Eddie looks over his shoulder like he’s looking for someone then he tilts his head at you. “Hey, uh, is something happening here that I don’t know about?”

“Hm? Like what?”

“I don’t know. Maybe one of your friends sent you out here again.” Your mind jumps to Heather, wondering if he might work out you had lied, just to talk to him. He reads something into your expression, because suddenly there’s a hurt in Eddie’s eyes you weren’t expecting; a panic. “They get a kick out of the freak giving you a discount for batting your eyelashes, is that it?”

“What? Of course not.” You’re shaking your head desperately, but Eddie’s already muttering angrily.

“Jesus, Munson. Learn your fucking lesson.” He starts gathering his things, glancing up for a second looking like he wants to say something to you. Eddie shakes his head. “Fuck this, man.”

He’s going to leave. He’s going to leave, angry at you for something you’re still trying to work out. You want to tell him to stay, let you explain everything from start to finish, but the words catch in your throat.

There’s alarms in your heart, ringing out a warning that you need to do something. When the thought strikes that Eddie’s sitting at just the right height for you to run up and kiss him, that’s the only action that makes any sense.

Your body moves for you. Eddie’s watching you rush towards him, and then he’s gone. He’s hidden by your eyelids as you press your lips to his, hands moving to hold his shoulders like you could physically stop him from walking away from you.

His lips are pillowy soft in your chaste kiss.

You look at his pretty, expressive face. He’s closed his eyes, too, even though it only lasted a second, and then he’s blinking at you and waiting. Your fingers twist shyly into his shirt the way you normally find yourself doing with your own clothes. His soft hair tickles your wrists.

“Eddie,” you whisper. Your throat hurts. Your body’s trying to stop you from getting the words out, from risking embarrassment. “Eddie, I-” You swallow, bringing a foot up behind your calf and running the toe of your shoe up and down the skin of your leg.

“Tell me,” he says. “It’ll be okay. I promise.”

There’s tears pricking your eyes. You have to stare at the dark curls on his forehead to get it out. “I have a crush on you.”

“Yeah? You have a crush on me?” You nod. Eddie squeezes your waist, laughing. “Well, shit, if I don’t have quite the crush on you, sweetheart.”

You finally look into his eyes, mouth open. “No.”

“Fuck yeah,” he nods in earnest. Then he looks sheepish, closing one eye tight. “I kinda thought that you knew that, for a second there. Or that your friends had worked it out.”

The tone of his last sentence goes right over your fuzzy head. “I didn’t know.”

“For a while, now,” he admits, cheeks pink. “Couldn’t believe my luck when you were sitting out here last week, and then when you came up to me today.” Eddie grins. “So, the plan was to keep buying weed you weren’t gonna use?”

“I was gonna use it,”

“Without papers? Gonna tell me you hide a sparkly pink bong under your bed or something?”

“No, was gonna ask you to teach me.”

Eddie’s pleased grin makes you feel weak in the knees, warms the space between your legs in the way that looking at him often does. “Is that so?” Your little nod has his hands digging more into your waist, pulling your body right between his open legs. “You were gonna come to me one day, give me that sweet smile, and ask me, please, Eddie, will you teach me to smoke? Mm?”

It’s a strange kind of embarrassment. Not like standing in front of the class, or realising with a snap you’ve said the wrong thing at lunch. You like this, feeling caught out by Eddie in this way. It’s making you feel giddy, excitement building wet and hot.

Eddie’s hands stroke your waist, soothing even as he’s winding you up. “Tell me.”

“Yes, Eddie.”

“And then what? Come up, here, baby.” Eddie’s hands hook around the back of your thighs, skin finally on yours as he helps you sit up on the table over him, the wood digging into the front of your knees. “What was gonna happen? After I’d taught you to smoke?”

His hands are running up and down your legs, fingers just teasing the skin still hidden under your skirt before he’s drifting away back towards your knees.

“Was it something like this?” Eddie presses kisses to your cheek and down your jaw, breathing heavy through his nose when you tilt your head for him. The thumb of his right hand ventures further, brushing against the frilled edge of your cotton panties. “Hm? Thought I might touch you, after?”

The questions have your mind batting back and forth from whatever it is he’s asking to how much you want him to just take.

“Thought I’d take advantage of a pretty girl like you, sweetheart? Get you high in the back of my van and open these legs up when I had you all dizzy and giggling?”

He snaps the elastic of your panties on your leg and you bear down on him, trying to trap his hand where you want it but he’s back to stroking the soft skin of your inner thigh. You close your eyes to hold in the tears that are building up again.

“Tell me,”

“I don’t know! I don’t know, Eddie! Just wanted-” You sniffle a little, seeing him pull his lips from your neck to catch a glimpse of you starting to cry. “Just wanted to talk to you, wanted you to like me.”

“Oh, baby.” He kisses you soft for a second, then Eddie’s tongue is wet against your lips and you let him in without hesitation. He groans at the taste of you, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you towards him and up a little. Your mouth is wet when he pulls away, and he whispers into your cheek. “Want you to pull those panties to the side for me.”

You whimper, moving a hand from his shoulder to reach under your skirt and hook a finger in the cotton, exposing your heated clit to the air. Eddie looks down between you, the hand that was on your thigh grasping the front of your skirt to pull it up and tuck it under your locked arm. “Jesus Christ,” he says, teeth gritted. “Jesus H. Christ!”

He sweeps the rough pad of his thumb over your swollen button and your body jolts. Eddie’s laugh rings in your ears as he keeps you steady over him with the arm on your waist. “Oh, she’s a little sensitive. Got it.” It doesn’t seem like he got it when he presses two fingers against your bud and rubs in tight circles, your hips shaking in an effort to both escape and get closer to the feeling. “So good, so good of you to open yourself up to me like this. How about a little more, yeah? Let Eddie see the rest of her?”

You mewl, bringing three fingers down to the elastic to pull more to the side. Immediately, Eddie slides his fingers down and around your leaking hole, dragging slick back up to ease his work against your throbbing clit. “Eddie!” 

“Yeah,” he says. “That’s better.”

The hand that isn’t displaying your wet cunt for him wraps around the back of his neck, pulling his face to yours so you can kiss him again, let him breathe in the way you’re moaning for him. Eddie hums, moving the tips of his fingers back again, just his thumb remaining to give your button quick rubs. His middle finger circles your entrance and you clench down, breaking the kiss to gasp and whine.

His finger presses in to the first joint and then he’s looking at you with wide eyes. “Sweetheart,” he says, gently. “Has anybody ever touched you like this?”

You make a soft whining sound, shaking your head, because they haven’t, not like this.

“Do you-” His tongue sweeps over his lips nervously. “Do you want me to stop, or keep going?”

“Keep going,” you cry. “Keep going, Eddie, please. Eddie, Eddie-”

“Sh, sh, okay, okay.” The arm around your waist gives you a sweet squeeze like a hug. “Need you to relax a little, otherwise it won’t feel so good inside, mm?”

Relax? How can you relax when his thumb is still torturing the top of your sex? Eddie presses a soft kiss to your cheek where tears are running, then another under your eyes. “Just relax,” he says, rubbing his hand up and down your back. “I’ll make it good. I promise.”

You sigh, feeling yourself melt into him, your face falling into his shoulder. The thick finger slides further in, filling up the space that wanted filled and leaving you clenching gently with excitement. “Fuuuck,” Eddie says, teeth gritted. “Nobody has ever treated this pussy the way she needs, huh? Oh, sweet girl, it’s a fucking travesty.”

You make a high noise of agreement at the back of your throat and Eddie breathes a laugh. He pulls his finger from you slowly, thumb still playing constantly with your bud, then presses back inside for you to feel the sweet drag against your walls. “Eddie,” your voice sounds like a mumble with your mouth pressed to his soft t-shirt. Eddie shakes his shoulder a little like he wants your attention, as if he isn’t the only thing you’re thinking about, could try to think about.

“Your pussy feels amazing inside,” he says. “Gonna need to stretch you good before we can even think about you taking my dick up there.”

You feel yourself squeezing tight around his finger, your hips rolling into him. Eddie’s talking, but you’re too far gone now and everything sounds like it’s underwater. The tone of his voice is clear, gentle but teasing, as are the slick sounds of his hand moving between your legs. With a jolt and a long cry into his shoulder, you’re coming around his fingers, pleasure travelling up and down your body in waves.

You’ve only ever cum by yourself, and never with anything inside. Something about clasping down on him adds to your orgasm, to the satisfaction you’re feeling as it crests and fades.

Your head lolls, rubbing your temple against Eddie’s soft hair. He gives your clit one last cheeky rub just to make your body jump.

You feel his elated laugh before you hear it. He pulls his fingers from your pussy and you hear Eddie groan, followed by the distinctive popping sound of something pulling from pursed lips. “Tastes like heaven. Jesus, sweetheart, you are something else.” He gives you another squeeze, helping your body settle on top of him, moving your hand that remained exposing yourself and tucking your panties back over your slit with a soft little pat.

“Look at me?”

You have to force your heavy head up to do as he says, and Eddie coos softly. “You’re so sweet, so good for me. You did so, so well, you hear me?”

Your heart flutters, and you tilt your chin for a kiss which Eddie gives without a thought. The taste of your own slick in your mouth is heady, drawing you slowly back to reality as the sights and sounds surrounding you return to focus.

A car door slams in the distance and you’re jumping, suddenly tense. You’re sitting in a boy’s lap, outdoors, where anybody could come by. You let him touch you, let him make you cry out into the fresh air.

Eddie feels the afterglow dimming rapidly, and allows you to climb off him, watching the nerves creep into your body language. “You okay?”

“Yes, I-” Your toes curl, feeling embarrassed that you don’t know how to deal with this, either what you’re supposed to say after being touched you like that, or how to tell him that you loved every second and it has your mind whirring because you’ve never been able to do that with somebody else before.

“Let me take you home, yeah?” Eddie says, sensing your thoughts moving a mile a minute, that there’s nothing he can do right now to get in and fix it for you like he’s realising he wants to.

He picks up his bag and the box he carries with him, then takes yours from the ground where you’d dropped it before running up to kiss him. Eddie debates holding your hand, but you take his on your own, giving him a gentle, thankful smile because, even with the nerves driving you silent, through the haze you see him being kind with you, even now.

He settles you into his van with your backpack at your feet, makes sure you’re belted up before closing the door for you and climbing up into the driver’s side. It smells like a thousand Eddie’s; smoke, weed, cheap aftershave, and boy. You’d giggle at that if you weren’t running over every detail of your last relationship, trying to work out exactly what must have happened to keep you from letting yourself be touched like that before.

Seven months. You dated Andy for seven months last year and you didn’t let him do anything close to what Eddie did to you on a picnic table in the forest. Not for lack of trying on your part, and certainly not Andy’s.

You had liked Andy, up to a point. He took you on nice dates, and would compliment your outfits. He was a good kisser, and the way he looked at you when you were lying in his bed made you feel pretty. But the second his hands drifted anywhere more salacious than over your bra, your whole body would shut down. The one time you’d gritted your teeth and let him pull your panties off, his fingers inside you had hurt from how tense you were and he’d given up within thirty seconds. The time he’d suggested you touch him with your hands, or even get down on your knees, the bubbling tears in your eyes as you’d told him, if you want, had him groaning in frustration and slapping your hand away from his boxers. Every time you slept over at Andy’s house, you’d end up bent over with him rubbing himself against your ass through layers of cotton elastane.

After, you’d feel uncomfortable in your skin, wanting him to hold you. Generally, exhausted from the mental game he had to play with you to let him grind against you, he would fall back to his bed and pass out about twenty seconds after he came. The uneasy feeling would last into the next day, sometimes longer.

You search for that feeling now, and find just the remnants of flushed pleasure, the memory of Eddie’s breath on your temple and his voice calling you sweet and good. There’s a little guilt, but only because of how you ended it, realising only now that you hadn’t done anything at all for him. That is one of the things you do know about boys, they come first in these scenarios.

“Have I ruined everything?” You ask when he’s pulled up to your house, ready to make a quick getaway if need be.

“What?” His eyes are wide. “Jesus, no,” Eddie grabs your hand, settling the shake there. “I was gonna ask you if I had. I shouldn’t’ve taken it that far, I just, I could hardly- can hardly believe this is happening. You, sitting in my lap, letting me touch you? That’s a dream I’ve had a hundred times, sweetheart.” He squeezes your palm. “I really think about you a lot, you know?”

You do know.

“Can I take you out Friday?” He ventures, thumb rubbing over your knuckles. “No funny business, I promise.”

Your thighs press together, the rough pad of his thumb against your skin reminding you how nice those calluses felt playing between your legs. “I think,” you look from your joined hands to him. “I think a little funny business would be okay.”

Eddie’s clearly pleased by that, his shoulders relaxing even as he holds his remaining hand out dramatically and turns his head to the side. “Nope! No funny business at all. You’ll see, they’ll be calling me Eddie the Chivalrous by Saturday.” His face gets softly serious. “I’m gonna do it right with you, sweetheart.”

Butterflies erupt, and you just wish he’d kiss you then. You give him one last look, hoping he will, a little sad when he just smiles. You squeeze his hand before letting go. “Bye, Eddie.”

You jump out of his van and close the door gently. You’re in the middle of wondering if either of your parents are home, what they might have seen through the window, when you hear the van opening. Turning, you find Eddie jogging your way, his hair a dark cloud flying around his face. “I know I just said no funny business,” he breathes. “But I gotta get one more kiss. Just to keep me going, you know. Then I can be Eddie the Chivalrous for at least the rest of the week.”

“Kisses- kisses can be chivalrous.”

“Oh, thank God.” Eddie kisses you through your giggle, hands covering your cheeks. You whine a little at the warmth of his tongue and he separates from you. “Okay, that’s enough, Munson.” Another sweet press, then one more lasting barely a second. “Okay, I’m going now. Friday?”

You nod rapidly.

“Okay,” he says again, letting you go. You watch him jog back to his van and climb in, looking like his head is just as fuzzy as yours. Eddie Munson gives you one last grin before pulling away, his van disappearing down your suburban street.

Next Chapter

[emeraldspiral]

So from what I understand, the initial pitch for Invader Zim was that the main source of comedy was Zim thinking posing as an elementary school student was the best use of his time as a spy and making leaps of logic based on his lack of cultural knowledge. And we did certainly see stuff like that happen in the show, but I think over time there was a shift to more episodes focusing on the Zim/Dib rivalry or things going on in space that didn’t feature the skool setting at all or didn’t revolve around cultural misunderstandings to drive the plot. IDK if they did more of that in the comics, but here’s some ideas I feel were missed opportunities. Not including anything obvious like “skool dance” episode, or “forced to work with Dib on a project”.

1 - An episode that’s just Zim and Dib narrating short stories they wrote for a creative writing assignment. It might be low-hanging fruit for them to both write the same story of a real incident between them from either of their perspectives, or a self-insert wish-fulfillment fantasy about defeating one another. I kinda like the idea of Dib writing the kind of story he himself would enjoy, like a noir-style detective story with a supernatural twist or gothic horror ghost story. Zim would just copy a story told to him by GIR, which itself is a mangled retelling of something that happened on TV that neither of them actually understand, but no matter how ridiculous and nonsensical the plot was he’d read it like it was Shakespeare.

2 - Similarly, an episode that’s just Zim giving an oral presentation on a historical figure or event, but he gets a ton of stuff wrong due to misinterpretation, or mixing up factual sources with like, a historical fantasy. Like if he read TF2 lore and told the class that stairs were invented by Abraham Lincoln.

3 - Zim gets an exam/report card back and finds out he’s performing poorly, which makes him question whether he’s learned anything at all from all the time he’s spent gathering intel. He decides to put his plans for conquest on hold to spend more time studying, except he’s not studying anything actually assigned by the skool and nothing he learns is on his next test or useful for conquering the humans.

4 - Alternatively, Zim is warned that because of all his absences and poor performance he’s at risk of being expelled. Dib mocks him for it at the first, but then decides he’d rather not have to worry about what Zim’s getting up to all day while he’s stuck in class, so he decides to help Zim break into the server room for the skool’s computer system so they can change his report card, but because this is Zimworld the security system is ridiculously over-the-top and the stakes are a like a Die Hard movie.

5 - The skool needs a team to represent for an academic decathlon. Zim signs up because he wants to show off his superior intellect and Dib joins the team to keep an eye on him (and prove his superior intellect). Zim and Dib are the math and science experts while their other teammates specialize in different subjects but everyone except Zim at least knows enough about the other subjects to mostly get the answers right if they’re forced to answer something outside their specialty. Unfortunately all the questions Zim and Dib know the answers to go to their less science-minded teammates and they get stuck with all the insane questions about skinning moose and other lectures from Ms. Bitters that they didn’t pay attention to.

Either that, or they keep getting quizzed about pop culture trivia they don’t know because they don’t keep up with mainstream television. Zim ends up getting a question right that wins the game however because he remembered it from some insufferable show GIR watches constantly and everyone treats him like a fucking genius for it. Dib meanwhile is treated like an idiot for getting all the stupid pop-culture questions wrong.

6 - The class has to read some classic lit out loud and Zim’s over-the-top dramatic narration leads to him being asked to audition for the skool play. Zim scores the lead role and gets way too into method acting. To the point where Dib can’t even tell if he legitimately thinks he’s the character or if he’s just doing it to mess with him.

7 - Zim joins a skool club and quickly usurps the club’s leadership and rules over the other members with an iron fist, twisting it from its original purpose into just being a club dedicated to serving his whims/messing with Dib. It all falls apart for some stupid reason like one member leaving and forcing the club to dissolve because it didn’t have enough members or some forms not being filled out correctly or budget issues forcing a bunch of clubs to shut down. Meanwhile, Dib tries to start a paranormal club but can’t get any members and gets kicked out of every other club he joins for trying to steer it away from whatever its original purpose was to make it about the paranormal.

8 - Baseball/team sports episode. Zim and Dib are both actually pretty decent so their team begrudgingly puts up with them. They let their rivalry get in the way at first and don’t pay any attention to the skool’s rival team talking trash about their skool. Even when it turns into an 80s cliche where the skool will actually be closed if they don’t win the game they don’t care because it is a shit skool and if it closes they’ll just go somewhere else. It’s only when one of the rival team members interrupts Zim and Dib in the middle of their own little pissing contest that they finally get their act together and start strategizing with the rest of their team. They win and finally get a taste of what it’s like to be appreciated momentarily for carrying the team until everyone else finds out their shitty skool is staying open because of them.

9 - Some Yu-Gi-Oh/Magic-type card game becomes really popular and Zim decides to get into it to blend in and find a way to exploit it to gain power over the humans. Dib naturally gets in on it too and they get way too serious about it. It either becomes an over-the-top parody of Yu-Gi-Oh and its hyper-realistic holograms and battle arenas that turn card games into genuine life-threatening experiences for participants and audiences alike, or it satirizes the satanic panic by having some kind of reveal that all the cards are actually possessed by real supernatural spirits and the games are part of some nefarious third party antagonist’s plot to overrun the world with demons or something.

[jungle-angel]

I NEED 2. “I um… I made you dinner” with Rhett pretty please 🥺

My love, I've been thinking about this all day long, you don't even know how hard (lol).

"Alright, everybody put your chairs up on your desks and make sure you have everything," you told your fifth graders. "Bus students, you know where to go."

The wooden chairs and desks in your classroom clunked against each other as your fifth graders put them up, gathering their coats and backpacks from the cubby spaces and hooks in the back of the classroom. Thank God today had been a half day and that your main lesson block on math was finally over. You swore that if you had to look at another fraction one more time, you were gonna go insane.

"Mrs. Abbot!" chirped one of your students. "I think I'm missing my bus tag."

"It's right here Jaime," you told him, clipping the yellow tag to the top strap of his backpack.

Your students came to shake your hand and say goodbye before they left the room, heading to the front of the school to wait for the busses or their parents. Your phone suddenly began vibrating in your back pocket and when you saw the contact picture, you knew it was Rhett.

"What's up Grumpy?" you joked.

"You've still got a half day right darlin?" he asked.

"Yeah and I'm on my way to get Amy and Hannah, what's going on?" you asked. "Did another calf come?"

"Nope, I've got a little surprise for you."

You made a face, wondering what sort of hair-brained thing your husband had been up to, being home alone all day with Tatum and Tanner. "Alright I'll be home in twenty."

"See ya then sweet cheeks," Rhett replied before hanging up.

You headed out the front doors of the school and down the cobbled path to the early-ed building, the last of the fall leaves just having fell from the quaking aspens near the play yard. Out of all the buildings on the school campus, this one was by far your favorite.

You walked right through the creaky front gate and up the steps that lead into the building, the kindergarten class immediately on your right and the preschool one to your left. There were only a few kids left in Amy's class, most of them already having taken the bus home, but you knew that in less than a few minutes, they too would head for home.

"Amy, sweetheart, Momma's here," her teacher called happily.

Amy ran right to you, giggling up a storm as she threw her arms right around your waist. "You ready to go home?" you asked her.

"Yeah!" she chirped.

You thanked her teacher and let her grab her coat from the hallway cubbies while Amy proudly showed you the little symbol she had chosen on a painted stone to show that it was hers......a bull kicking up his back legs.

You gathered up Hannah from the preschool room and led the girls out to the dirt lot, loading them up in the truck and buckling them in before heading for home. It was only eleven-thirty in the morning, but the earlier you could get home and get everything out of the way, the better, seeing as you and Rhett had a long vacation to look forward to.

Finally you reached home and unloaded the girls, the two of them charging into the warm and cozy house to kick off their little fuzzy ugg boots and strip off their hats and coats to go play down in the basement playroom. Yet a rather spicy and enticing smell had started to waft from the kitchen and a fire already crackling away in the living room fireplace.

"You're home early," Rhett chuckled as he poured a little bit of milk into his coffee mug.

"Half day," you said, dumping your back on the hallway bench. "And thank God. Our math main lesson block is finally over and I don't have to worry about it anymore."

Rhett laughed again as he lifted the lid off the crockpot and filled the whole kitchen with a spicy and herby scent. "Is that my little surprise?" you asked with a sly grin.

"I um.......I made you dinner," Rhett said as his cheeks began to go hot.

"You made me dinner?"

"I'm not the greatest cook in the world darlin but....."

"Rhett, how can you say that?" you laughed. "You made a prime rib last Christmas that had your godfather begging for the recipe."

Rhett laughed a little bit. In all the years you had been married, you still thought Rhett was an excellent cook, no matter what.

All day long, you let the chicken legs cook in the crockpot until they were practically falling off the bones. You, Rhett, his parents and the kids all ate until there were no leftovers to be had, surprised and grateful by Rhett's sweet little gesture.

[ye-olde-sodor]

Ok so I just found something weird about Ryan and Thomas' classes…

I was looking into the LB&SCR E2s and GNR N2s because I wanted to write some fanfiction with Thomas and Ryan. As I was reading some Wikipedia articles, something caught my eye, and that was the difference in Traction Effort.

In simplest terms, Traction Effort is basically the amount of pushing and shoving forces that an engine has. The higher the number, the more the engine can pull and push. It’s measured in both Kilo-Newtons (kN) and in Pounds Force (Ibf). 1 kN is equivalent to 22.8 Ibf. There is a way to calculate an engine’s Traction Effort but the formula is super complex even in its simplified form and I suck at math. If anyone wants to double check this, be my guest.

So, according to Wikipedia and its subsequent sources, Ryan’s traction effort is 19,945 lbf (88.72 kN). Thomas, meanwhile, has 21,397 lbf (94.78 kN).

If this is accurate to both the E2s and the N2s, then that means that Thomas had nothing to worry about. Thomas is, at least from a traction effort standpoint, the better engine. Yes, there are other factors when determining which engine is better, but Thomas beats Ryan in one of the most important factors, that being how much he can pull and push.

“So Thomas was jealous for no reason? We already knew that, so what’s the point?" Well dear reader, you’d be half right. See, here’s where things get interesting.

I’m sure we all know that the E2s sucked at their job. They were too big to work on the lines they were meant for and had a plethora of other issues. Their small bunkers made them unfit for long distances, and the Second Series (the ones with the extended side tanks that were supposed to replace the first) had an inadequate water supply. Due to these issues, they didn’t last long and they were all withdrawn and scrapped between 1961 and 1963.

What I bet you’d probably figured out by now is that Ryan’s class faired far better than Thomas’ class. While most were withdrawn much sooner than Thomas’ (from 1955 and 1962), they were frequently used and considered reliable. Most of Ryan’s siblings worked at Kings Cross and Moorgate as suburban passenger services, meanwhile the E2s were kept mostly at docks and yards at London Bridge Stations and Victoria and hardly did anything but shunt. On top of all of this, Ryan's class had a much better fuel and water capacity.

Now take all of this info and place it in context of SLOTLT.

Imagine a SLOTLT movie that shows us that Thomas is insecure about his faults despite his numerous rebuilds. Then in comes this fancy new GNR engine that, while slightly weaker than Thomas, can travel farther thus can deliver more trains across Sodor. Now have that same engine show off this ability on Thomas' own branchline. On top of all of that, have everyone brag and comment on how better Ryan is as a passenger train than Thomas. Cut back to Thomas at the construction site hearing about this, and becoming furious (but moreso scared) about Ryan and becomes convinced he's being replaced.

Now imagine Ryan being the one to pull the shipwreck instead of Donald and Douglas. Now Thomas is convinced he's being replaced and either sent away to another railway or sold for scrap.

It's a small fix but it makes such a difference. It helps explain why Thomas becomes so reckless and irritable in the movie and when Sailor John rolls in with Skiff, he feels more willing to help him since "Hey, he bought Skiff, maybe he can buy me if I prove myself to him!"

There are so many other stories we can write using all of this, and you all know damn well I'm gonna abuse the hell out of this lol.

[illgiveyoueveryfirst]

hwelloooo would u be comfortable writing first kiss with gunwook? he keeps doing nootnoot and i can’t help but starting at his lips 😚

First Kiss

pairing: gunwook x gender neutral reader

summary: your best friend gunwook helps you study for an exam but silly banter soon leads to you having your first kiss with him

genre: fluff

word count: 1.7k

warnings: you're smaller than him, some parts could be read as a tiny bit suggestive

a/n: ayyy, first published story!! this got so much longer than i planned to make it but oh well, hope you like it :)

masterlist

"Come on, y/n, you're gonna fail if you don't focus", Gunwook sighs as you playfully mess with his hair.

Living in the same neighborhood, you two had been good friends for several years and got even closer when you both entered the same high school. You had an important maths exam coming up at the end of the week but really struggled with the material. Since Gunwook is top of your class, you begged him to help you study.

"Only if you promise to actually sit down and study. I know you get distracted quickly."

"Yay! I promise, thank you!", you squealed, hugging your best friend tight out of excitement.

Yet here you were, kneeling on your chair, using your hands to put his hair in a little ponytail, the textbook long forgotten.

"But we've been studying for the past 5 hours! Don't you think that's long enough? Hehe, you look like a unicorn when I do this", you giggled.

Gunwook shakes his head to make you let go of his hair.

"It's only been half an hour, y/n, and most of that time you spent messing around. Do you want me to help you or not?"

You sink back in your chair, opening your mouth to make some playful remark. You decide against it when your eyes land on Gunwook's serious expression and you realise he's genuinely worried about you failing. Taking a deep breath, you pull the textbook closer to you again and pick up your pen.

"Alright, no more getting distracted. I'm gonna ace this test!"

Gunwook chuckles at your newfound motivation and leans in closer to read out the next maths problem. When his shoulder touches yours, you feel your heart skipping a beat.

Lately, you've noticed yourself thinking about him more than usually. Makes sense, since you're now seeing him every single day in class, you've told yourself. After all, you're just friends.

You've always just been friends.

But in moments like these, when he's so close that you can smell his perfume and feel the warmth radiating from his body, your mind starts to wander. What it would be like to be more than friends. To run your fingertips over his soft skin. To feel his hands around your waist. To rest your head on his chest. To press your lips on his.

Gunwook's voice reading from the textbook pulls you out of your thoughts.

"Okay, let's go over this again", he says, pointing his pen at the numbers in front of you.

Another 15 minutes pass while you're doing your best to focus on his words instead how softly his lips move as he's explaining how to solve the equation. He has a habit of pursing them whenever he talks, effectively making him look like a duck. You always thought it was the cutest thing.

"Ah, I think I got it now! Like this?"

Your face lights up when Gunwook excitedly nods yes at your right answer.

"Yeah, exactly! Looks like you won't fail after all", Gunwook chuckles, gently hitting your shoulder. "Now let's strengthen that knowledge with some more practice."

You groan in frustration at his words. His sense for responsibility is incredibly admirable and you're grateful he's helping you but you just wanna take a break.

"Come on, Wookie, it's been almost an hour and I think I actually understand how to do it now! If I look at any more numbers, I might actually go insane."

Unfortunately, he's invested in your success now and no amount of pouting and puppy eyes can convince him.

"If you stop now, you might forget it all again and all of this will have been for nothing. Let's just finish this page and then we can take a break."

He points his pen at the next problem and you come up with a plan. Taking the opportunity, you grab the pen from his hands. Without it, he can't write down the explanations and it will force him to let you take a break. What a genius move, you think to yourself.

"Hey! Give it back!" he laughs at you.

When he reaches out for the pen, you quickly get up from the chair and hold it as high as possible. The playful smirk on his face tells you he's accepted your little game. He slowly gets up from his chair and walks towards you, making you walk backwards. As he inches closer like a cat stalking a mouse, trying not to alert it, you suddenly hit the wall behind you.

"You know I could reach that, right? I'm taller than you."

You quickly realise he's right and hide the pen behind your back instead. He's now standing dangerously close to you, towering over you. He traps you against the wall with his bare arms on each side next to your face and a victorious smirk. Being reminded of how much taller he is than you has your heart racing again.

As much as you try to suppress those thoughts, you can't help but think of what a wonderful boyfriend he would be. He's smart, funny, charismatic, tall, gentle. He smells good, has warm hands and his soft hoodies just beg to be stolen. You quickly try to shake those thoughts, telling yourself he probably doesn't feel the same way. Your best friend came over to help you with studying and here you are fantasising about dating him. He'd probably be weirded out if he knew.

"Y/n, give me back my pen. Don't make me tickle you because I will if I have to", he says in a threatening but warm voice.

Knowing you're incredibly ticklish, your eyes open wide and you know you have to find a way out. You're not willing to give him back his pen just yet though so instead you resort to sneaking out under his arms and running away.

"Not if you can't catch me!" you yell from the other side of the room.

He smiles and chases after you. The room is soon filled with the sound of laughter and the occasional "too slow!".

After a while he catches up to you and tackles you on the sofa. To make sure you can't escape again, he pins your wrists down and entangles his legs with yours. You immediately notice the warmth radiating from his body and how soft the skin of his hands is against your wrists.

Your carefree smile slowly fades as you study his features above you in awe. How plump his checks are. His soft and slightly wet lips. The way his deep brown eyes are seemingly lit up by the golden sunset shining through the window.

At this point the way he makes you feel is impossible to ignore. The butterflies in your stomach are going crazy with him being so close and all you can think about is how badly you want him to lean down and kiss you.

Even it ruins your friendship.

Gunwook must've noticed the shift in your mood because his mischievous demeanor disappeared as well. Apart from both of your breathing, the room is so quiet you could've sworn he can hear your heart thumping.

You notice his eyes trailing down to your lips and for a second your mind lands on the idea that maybe, just maybe, he might feel the same way. Before you can convince yourself of the opposite, Gunwook leans down and presses his lips against yours.

It takes a moment for you to process what is happening but when you do, your entire body reacts. It feels like the world is suddenly spinning around you. Your heart is beating faster than ever before and your stomach feels like it's been turned upside down from excitement.

His lips are so warm and smooth, it feels like a dream. You take a deep breath in through your nose, taking in the smell of his perfume mixed with his natural scent. He smells manly but like vanilla at the same time. Even though he's so tall and strong, he's pressed against you in the most gentle way possible, like you're a fragile doll and he's trying his best not to break you.

After the first moment, which felt like an eternity, his lips part from yours, only to carefully press against them again. Your mouth moves on its own and matches his sweet kisses, both of you finding a comfortable rhythm.

Suddenly he leans back up, his eyes filled with worry.

"I'm sorry, I should've asked if it's okay first. I don't know what I was thinking, you just looked so pretty lying there and-"

"Gunwook, it's okay", you smile at him, still somewhat out of breath. "I wanted you to kiss me."

He lets out a relieved sigh and gently moves a strand of hair out of your face.

"Really? Because you have no idea how long I've been wanting to do this. I've had a crush on you for ages and had no idea how to tell you."

His words sound unreal to you. He had a crush on you all this time and you didn't even notice? You grin widely as the realisation that he likes you back kicks in.

"No way! I have a crush on you too but thought you didn't feel the same way! So we were both oblivious, huh?"

He smiles and leans down again to press a gentle kiss to your forehead.

"Well, at least we can be together now", he says but quickly concern spreads over his face. "I mean, if you want me to be your boyfriend, that is."

You laugh at how much of a gentleman he is. Hearing the word boyfriend from him feels like a dream come true.

"Of course I want that," you say, pulling him back down to you to and placing another kiss on his lips.

"Even if I tell you I'm still gonna make you finish that maths page?"

He grins at you and you both break out in laughter over his determination. But you couldn't imagine wanting anyone other than your boyfriend to help you study.

[ladynaberrie]

you're walking tall (no need to hide)

Pairing: Kix x Translator!Reader

WC: 2.3k

Rating: T

You're assigned to the 501st again. Kix hovers.

part 1 part 2 part 3

sfw but mdni pls <3

Sometimes Kix wishes you were assigned to his unit more. 

It’s a stupid thing to dream about, certainly not something he should be thinking about when he’s on the precipice of sleep. He knows from chatter you tend to see more generals like Plo Koon and less of the Quinlan Vos types, which, rather unfortunately, includes General Skywalker. 

It’s unfortunate because he’s about had it with Senator Amidala’s protocol droid. (Whenever the golden droid drones on and on, Kix finds himself envious of Wolffe, who gets to see you more than he does).

But at the same time, it’s a relief, one less person to keep an eye on. If anything were to happen to you…

Well, there’s no real reason he should feel anything more than normal. He knows that, and he realistically knows he’d be fine, move on, and get to work. It’s war. Another day, another casualty. 

Kix’s train of thought derails. 

You weren’t made for war, he concludes. Not like him or his millions of vode. His childhood was math, combat, and logic problems that asked him to determine the difference between life and death. You got to follow your passion, and dream of languages and stories. (You probably never had to worry about the consequences of who you kissed).

Kix’s train of thought derails. Again. 

He tosses and turns in his bunk. This was going to be a long fucking night.

The next morning is infinitely better. In fact, Kix is elated.

You’re standing at attention next to Rex, and you look as pretty as ever. Your eyes drift over his unit before they land on him. The satisfaction he feels when your eyes stop on him for a second and light up in recognition is embarrassing. It should be studied on Kamino as an example of what can go wrong when a Clone meets a kind and pretty natborn. 

He tunes back into Rex, who’s relaying information from the General. The more the Captain goes on, the more effort it takes for Kix to not frown. This planet’s terrain was rough; rocky and steep, full of gnarled roots and obstacles. Not suited for you at all. And on top of that, there's a mountain you all will have to climb.

Fucking typical.

While Kix doesn’t like having to split his brainpower to factor you in, he’s not going to complain about having an excuse to stay close to you.

If you notice the way he’s orbiting you, keeping an eye on you, as you carefully step through especially uneven ground, you keep it to yourself. Kix is grateful for that. He’s already getting enough teasing on the internal commlink, as the transcript so kindly reminds him.

[FIVES: 30 credits Kix fumbles this.

JESSE: You’re on.

ECHO: 50 credits that he specifically tries to make his move while doing medic shit.]

But it seems you’re the one who makes a move first. You fall in step next to him, bumping into him in a friendly manner.

Kix grunts in greeting. The comm lights up as he gets absolutely slandered. He mutes it as Fives demands Jesse’s money.

“You know, you could talk to me instead of just hovering around.” He winces at the surge of activity in the transcript.

“Oh. I apologize, Officer.”

“Now, what has you so focused on me?” you ask in a sing-songy voice. Sing-songy? He's certainly never used that word before...

“Terrain. Worried about you falling,” he says gruffly, face heating up. He can practically hear Fives cackling.

“Oh. That’s very kind of you,” you say graciously, probably to save his pride.

He hums in response, mentally kicking himself. Was he going to need to take a class from Jesse on flirting? He’d never hear the end of it. But if it meant sweeping you off your feet the same way Jesse’s woos his person of the week…

He’d put up with teasing until the day he took his last breath.

The silence draws his attention back to you.

“It’s nice having you back. Million times better than Senator Amidala’s droid,” Kix says quickly, hoping to dispel the odd tension in the air. He’s rewarded by your laugh, and his chest feels warm. 

The transcript updates as Jesse goads Fives.

“C-3PO isn’t that bad. Though I will say Commander Wolffe sometimes ignores him if I’m there.” You giggle a little at the memory. Wolffe, huh? Kix frowns to himself, imagining Wolffe standing way too close to you. 

“Commander Wolffe may be onto something there…” he trails off. You glance at him from the side, sending him a pleased look that he wished he understood better.

The ground ahead of you two steepens rapidly. It’s nothing for a Jedi or a clone, but an unease settles in Kix’s stomach, eyes flicking down to your feet as you trek alongside him.

The mountain slope isn't completely vertical, and he's grateful for that. He is, however, ungrateful that the local lifeforms built their village at the very top of this peak.

“Well, I know you and Commander Wolffe, are pretty anti-droid, but they have their uses.” He rolls his eyes at that, thankful for his bucket.

“I think having a sentient translator in addition to a protocol droid makes sense. Access to a very large number of languages and automatic translation, paired with creative thinking, context, and interpretation. A decent team,” you finish, nodding to yourself. He would prefer C-3PO with you, as opposed to just the droid. But still.

“You’re smart enough to do that with just a datapad,” Kix argues, taking a large step up the incline. “And some protocol droids are clunky and can’t always move very fast.” You huff, following him up the slope. 

Kix slows down a little, eyeing the upcoming terrain, and he has to stop himself from audibly groaning. He just had to be grateful the slope wasn't vertical.

He eyes the cliif warily. It's a short climb with plenty of visible handhelds and ledges before the slope evens out again.

Kix gestures for you to go ahead of him. He’s got a feeling if anything were to happen, it would be here. You huff past him, slowly scaling the mountain.

“A kriffing datapad,” you say. “I guess…” you relent, diverting your brain power to not falling.

It grows quiet again as the majority of the company ascends with ease and continues onto the gentler slope.

Kix’s brows pinch together in annoyance; he somehow missed the fact that there was a fucking tiny cliff they'd have to scale. There must’ve been a better way to go about this. Did General Skywalker and Rex forget you would be with them?

Kix pauses on a relatively stable ledge, keeping an eye on you as you climb ahead. His eyes scan the area you're reaching for.

He notices it before you, but not soon enough, and Kix winces as you grab onto a loose rock. It gives way, and you let out a small scream, as you drop.

Reacting as fast as he can, Kix reaches to grab you. His arms grapple around you, pulling your back tight against him. You’re both upright, with Kix supporting the brunt of your weight.

It’s a somewhat awkward position, resembling a trust fall as opposed to some romantic carry. (Romantic? Kix scoffs at himself) It’s not by any means graceful or elegant, but you’re ok. Maybe a little shaken, but ok.

Keeping you pressed against him, he eyes you carefully, assessing any possible injury you may have sustained. When he reaches your face, he freezes. 

You've twisted to face him, and you’re looking at him in a way that makes him inhale sharply. It's a soft and warm look, one that Jesse and Fives are often on the receiving end of. Not him.

Fuck.

It’s at this moment he realizes his arms are still nestled above and below your chest, anchoring you to him. He snaps out of his haze, helping you stand.

“You all right, cyar’ika?” he asks, doing another survey for damage once you’re up. You nod before smiling sheepishly. 

“Good thing you kept such a good eye on me," you say gently, hand resting on his plastoid-covered forearm. His ego swells. 

Echo’s “PAY UP” in the transcript alerts Kix to the eyes on the two of you from above. He wants to curl around you and hide you away from the rest of his vode.

Based on the way you’re looking at him, Kix begins to think you may want the same thing. And the logical part of his brain is telling him he’s not sure it’s a good thing.

Kix’s doubts follow him all the way back to the star destroyer.

It was one thing when it was just him daydreaming, but now, it may no longer be one-sided.

It was one thing when he would steal glances at you from behind his helmet, but now, he sees you staring at him first.

It’s become something all too real because now there’s hope he’s not alone in this predicament.

Kix is pondering this development as he peels off bits of crusted-over synth flesh away from his arm. It’s been a tense day on The Resolute. At least for him.

Your close contact with him had made him lose focus for the rest of the mission. He's lucky he was the only casualty of his negligence.

He examines where his wound was. The skin color is normal; any internal or external trauma has healed. 

“Hi,” you chirp out, eyes widening a little as you enter the med bay. Kix meets your gaze, instincts firing up at the way your voice drops suddenly.

Your body’s stiff, face twisted into a flustered expression he wishes he could appreciate more. Kix tenses a little when he realizes what may have prompted your reaction. 

His blacks hang at his waist, leaving the upper half of his body exposed. He watches as your eyes dip down to his pecs before jumping to hover respectfully above his shoulder.

Interesting. 

Kix flexes a little, chest expanding in pride. 

“I just wanted to say thank you. For, uh, y'know...” you trail off. Your eyes zero in on his bicep, eager for a topic change. “And sorry you tripped. Are you alright?” Fucking hell.

All Kix wants is for a hole to open up in the side of the ship and pull him into the vacuum of space. (You would remain safe in this little morbid fantasy. Space and the Force are able to sense your innate goodness thereby saving you from his fate).

Kix settles on nodding, not wanting to discuss his embarrassing fall at the village. His brothers would never let him forget.

You shuffle forward until you’re right by him, fingers hovering above where the synth flesh had dried. “May I?” you ask. 

He nods, bracing his arm for the soft touch of your hand. Your fingers are light as they ghost over his skin; he nearly groans at the faint contact. 

Kix’s eyes jump to your face; your mouth's twisted up in a grimace as you closely inspect his arm. He smirks a little at your concern.

“Hey,” he says, voice soft, as if he’s trying not to spook you. “I'm alright, cyar'ika. I was just stupid. Distracted because I couldn't help but worry about you all day." You look embarrassed at his minor confession, but then the same soft look you had when he caught you comes back, and Kix's heart thumps heavily.

He wants nothing more than to kiss you, to feel you pressed against his bare skin. Would you look at him like you are now? Like he’s not just CT-6116?

Your hand drifts from his arm to the side of his head. The feeling of your fingers dragging along his scalp makes him shut his eyes and suppress a shiver. Some soldier he is; reduced to a pile of mush the second you touch him.

It tickles slightly, as you trace the patterns of his buzzed hair. But he would never ask you to stop; it feels too nice. The pad of your finger sweeps over his tattoo. His eyes feel heavy as they open, and his chest aches at how close you are. 

"Thank you," you whisper again, eyes boring into him as if you're trying to say something else. He really wants to kiss you.

The sound of footsteps echoing towards the med bay wretches him from his own personal paradise.

Kix backs away from you and your wandering hands. He swallows loudly, and your gaze meets the floor as you deal with your own embarrassment. “Anytime, Officer. Please be more careful. The GAR would be worse off without you.” Kix is pretty sure the GAR would be fine without either of you, but he’s hoping you can tell what he wants to say. (He would be worse off without you). 

You nod and keep your eyes on the ground until Hardcase enters, drawing your attention. He looks at the two of you, mouth open in surprise.

“I was wondering if you could check something out…” he trails off, sheepishly rubbing the back of his head. You spring into action, taking the opportunity to flee.

“I’ll leave you to it.” You give Hardcase a warm smile, any nerves you had seemingly evaporating. Before you exit, you look over your shoulder, finally looking at Kix again. “Bye.”

He nods at you in dismissal and tries his best to ignore how your departing gaze fluttering across his chest and biceps makes his codpiece feel too tight. The silence lingers in the air, as he looks at the door, wondering if he should up his chest routine when they're back on Coruscant.

“I can come back later, sir.” Hardcase's lip twitches. "Echo and Jesse are debating what entails "medic shit," and I'd like to weigh in."

“Shut up, Hardcase.”

[missjanjie]

The Greatest Show | Nymphia x Sapphira

Title: The Greatest Show Summary: Nymphia is an anxious new art teacher. Sapphira is a well-established and well-loved history teacher who takes her under her wing. But after an inter-subject project has them spending a lot more time together, even the students take notice of the sparks between them. (this is a commission for @derpyavocado) Word Count: 1707 Relationship(s): Nymphia Wind/Sapphira Cristal Rating: T Commission Info | Past Commissions

“You lucked out this year, Ms. Wind,” Sasha hummed as they rounded the corner, “you couldn’t have gotten a better classroom neighbor,” she said as she brought them both to a halt and gestured to the door that connected her classroom to another. “In the ten years she’s been here, there hasn’t been a single person that’s had a genuinely bad thing to say about Ms. Cristal.”

“Careful, Sasha,” Sapphira chuckled as she leaned against the door frame, “you’re gonna make that sound like a challenge, you’re playing with fire, gassin’ me up like that.”

Nymphia smiled at that, feeling immediately put at ease by Sapphira’s presence. She couldn’t quite explain it, but it felt like there was a calm aura surrounding the history teacher like she would never judge her for asking a ‘dumb’ question or mispronouncing an ‘easy’ word. “Rest assured, I didn’t come here to make enemies, especially not with someone apparently so beloved.” 

“I’ll leave you two to get acquainted,” Sasha hummed and left the two of them in the art studio. 

“Don’t you worry, honey, if any of them kids give you a hard time, you just send them next door and I’ll set them straight. I don’t tolerate the hazing of students, teachers, or anyone else that finds their way into my territory, and if they have to learn the hard way, so be it,” Sapphira assured. “And don’t let Ms. Plane scare you, math teachers are all bark and no bite.”

The new teacher exhaled deeply, feeling an overwhelming sense of relief, realizing then how desperately she needed an ally – a friend – in this new environment. It was her first solo teaching job after receiving her Master’s degree. She’d dealt with a wide array of attitudes and personalities, but this one was utterly refreshing. “You have no idea how much I appreciate it,” she replied earnestly.

She waved it off. “It’s my job, baby. We were all new and wet behind the ears once. And teachers have it rough enough as it is. The best thing we can do is support and uplift each other.”

—

“You got a minute?” Sapphira asked as she let herself into Nymphia’s classroom. “I have an academic proposition for you, an interdisciplinary project, if you will.”

Nymphia looked up from the sink, still holding a handful of paintbrushes with a rainbow of colors splattered up her arms. “Oh?” she tilted her head curiously, quickly rinsing and drying herself off before perching herself on top of her desk. “Do tell, I’ll take any help with lesson planning that I can get.” As far as she was concerned, teaching was the easy part – it was figuring out the whats and the hows that had her up at odd hours of the night.

“I had a feeling,” she chuckled. “The class took a vote on what historical facet they wanted to focus on, and fashion won by an overwhelming majority. So, here’s my thought: Historical Fashion Show. I figure we can let them pick which period, have them type some blurbs on the different clothing items, and then you come in to help them modify whatever pieces they find to fit the look. Once it’s all in place, they can have a runway in the auditorium.” 

Her eyes lit up at the idea, the dark brown glistening with enthusiasm. “Oh my god, that’s genius!” She quickly grabbed her notebook and started scribbling rapidly, fast enough for Sapphira to think smoke was about to come off the pages. “Now, are we focusing on a general fashion era or do they have free range as long as they follow the prompts?”

“Nineteenth century and earlier. The last thing I need is some wiseass asking to borrow some clothes for historical accuracy.” 

“Modern history is its own entity anyway. I want to see these kids try to get more creative than a poodle skirt or zoot suit,” Nymphia assured without looking up from her book. “Oh!” She suddenly set the notebook down and looked back at her. “Do you think we can convince Sasha to let us do a field trip? There’s a thrift shop in the West Village that specializes in costume clothing, there’s always tons of historical stuff marked down.” 

Sapphira grinned in approval and, more subtly, affection. “Looks like I’m not the only genius here. I’ll pitch it to the boss after my extra-help session.”

—

Luckily, Sasha decided to give the teaching duo carte blanche for whatever they wanted to do for the project, even making sure they secured the auditorium for the fashion show. She had even suggested taking pictures of the process and the show to submit to the yearbook. 

“Can I please, please, please be in charge of taking the pictures? I’m already in Yearbook so it’s basically saving you guys a step!” Dawn asked, bouncing on the balls of her feet, her myriad of earrings jingling from the movement. 

Sapphira laughed, just happy that her students were this excited for the project. “Sure thing, but if you come back with fifty photos of Amanda, you’re getting a zero.” 

“It’s okay, I know how to ‘diversify my portfolio’,” she assured, adding, “I’ll make sure to get a nice shot of Ms. Wind for your desk,” with a wink.

She pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head. “Chile, if you don’t get out of my field of vision and on that damn bus before I count to three–” But Dawn had scurried away before she could finish her threat, let alone begin the countdown. 

Once the students had taken their seats and everyone was present and accounted for, the bus pulled out of the parking lot, allowing the teachers a moment to breathe. “Do you think we should’ve put a spending limit?” Nymphia asked, “you know, so the kids with fewer resources aren’t at a disadvantage? I mean, I plan on buying some pieces too, to help fill in the blanks, but I didn’t consider it.”

Sapphira smiled fondly and gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I love how much you care for these kids, but what it comes down to is how well they executed the assignment. They could buy all the crap they want, but no one gets away with bullshitting a project on my watch.” 

Nymphia was instantly relaxed by her touch, taking a deep breath to calm down further. “You’re right, as always.”

—

“No, listen, guys,” Plasma insisted, “we can totally figure out how to play matchmaker without them realizing it’s us.”

Amanda and Dawn exchanged doubtful glances before looking back at their friend. “And how, exactly, do you suggest we do that? You know no one has gotten on Ms. Cristal’s bad side and lived to tell the tale,” Amanda warned. 

“I haven’t gotten that far,” she admitted. 

Dawn couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, a positive attitude gets us… somewhere, probably.”

Before the trio could further develop their inevitably half-baked scheme, the bell rang, signaling the end of the first period. Since it was the day of the fashion show, the following three periods would be spent in the auditorium, and they were quick to make their way into Nymphia’s classroom to get their garments, doing a theatre-style quick change that Plasma had taught them, so they didn’t have to cram into the bathroom with the rest of the girls. 

“Wow, you guys look incredible,” Nymphia praised as she carefully took out the rest of the garments – some students had taken them home and brought them in, but she’d kept guard of the rest. 

“You know who else looks incredible?”

“Subtlety, Plasma,” Dawn chastised. 

Nymphia arched her brow, but let it go in favor of setting up, eventually ending up in the auditorium with Sapphira and forty uniquely dressed twelfth graders. 

“Okay, let’s run through the plan one last time,” Sapphira said into the microphone, “we’re doing alphabetical order both times, first my class, then Nymphia’s. Y’all are gonna line up ten at a time, walk from one end of the stage to the other, then to the mic where you’ll read your blurb. If I hear any rude comments, you’re getting thrown out and ten points off of your grade for the project. Have I made myself clear?” 

After a chorus of “Yes, Ms. Cristal,” the first set of students lined up, and the rest sat in the audience.

“These are all rather impressive,” Sapphira remarked, the two of them a few rows back from the students so they could take notes uninterrupted. “How much help did you give them on the tailoring and stuff?”

“Honestly, I just made sure everything fit them properly. We’ve got a talented group of kids. Though I think a lot of them are just trying to impress their favorite teacher,” she mused with a wink.

She laughed, “Who, me or you?” 

Nymphia rolled her eyes and shook her head fondly. “Oh, don’t play coy, Ms. Teacher of the Year. You’re like the patron saint of students.”

Sapphira quirked a brow. “Are you even Christian?”

“No, but my point remains.” 

Sapphira gazed at her softly, glancing back at the stage when the next student began speaking. “You’re selling yourself short, Nymphia. You’re as wildly talented of a teacher as you are an artist. Not a lot of first-years get as warm of a reception as you, and it’s not just because they’re scared of me.” 

Nymphia blushed and looked down at her notebook. “Well, I still consider you my guardian angel… Is that a Christian thing, too?”

“Yes,” she chuckled before focusing back on the show, the entirety of which went off without a hitch. She waited until the students dispersed to get changed into their regular clothes before turning to her fellow teacher. “Forgive me if I’m being too forward, but would you like to get drinks or something tonight? Celebrate a successful project before a weekend of tedious grading?”

Her eyes lit up and a broad smile spread across her face. “I would love that.”

Amanda, Dawn, and Plasma peered over the back row of seats, cheering as quietly as they could. Sure, they couldn’t take credit for the date, but they still considered it to be a mission accomplished.

[dirty-bosmer]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by: the ever-talented @thana-topsy and @thequeenofthewinter. Once again, I had nothing prepared, so thank you, friends, for the motivation to write <3

Tagging: @gilgamish @atypicalacademic @justafoxhound @skyrim-forever @chennnington @inkysqueed @dumpsterhipster @kookaburra1701 @snowberry-crostata @nuwanders @wispstalk @sylvienerevarine @sheirukitriesfandom

Snip from my Skyrim necromancer fic, Slither and Writhe

The carriage hit another rock, and Sylawen lurched forward, praying silently that this time the whole damn thing would fall apart. Or maybe just a wheel. A wheel if she was lucky. Oh please, Stendarr? Is one loose linchpin so much to ask for? 

But no matter how fervent or how sincere the plea, the carriage trundled on, and Sylawen was forced to realize (not without a note of bitterness) that she did not in fact bear Stendarr’s favor, and the only way left to avoid reaching Skingrad was to throw herself out the carriage door. Fathis had doubtless informed Loriel he was bringing her home. Knowing her mother, she was at the stables already. Sylawen could see her in her mind's eye, the vision as clear as spring water— Loriel pacing wildly, Loriel waiting in agony, Loriel gnawing her nails down to blood-crusted quicks, another handful of hair gone grey from worry.

At the image, Sylawen’s stomach curdled inside her. She pulled the sleeping draught Fathis had given her out of her purse, threw it back, and imagined she was elsewhere. 

Not half an hour later, her consciousness was somewhere between the top of her head and the carriage roof when Fathis’ voice pulled it back into her braincase. “You know,” he said, flipping the page of The Courier, reading by the dim glow of his magelight, “you could always enroll at the College of Winterhold.”

Sylawen squinted. “Wha?”

“I could write your recommendation. Really, it would be my pleasure.”

She scoffed groggily, her mouth tasting of sleep. “Only the desperate and the damned go to Winterhold.”

“Is that so? My son happens to be the Arch-mage there.”

“Eh, Mother says Savos was kind of weird as a kid. Said he failed most of his classes first year too.”

“You’re one to talk. Loriel mentioned your near perfect record of absence in Illusions first semester.”

“Well, that doesn’t count because it was Illusions and no one actually needs illusion because It’s the laziest, most useless of all the schools. I was not about to spend all of fall quarter fiddling around in someone else’s mind, because let me tell you, most people have nothing interesting in there anyway.” 

An ageless grin stretched across Fathis' face. It had a way of crawling under Sylawen's skin, making her feel he knew something she didn't. “If your grandmother heard you talking like that, she’d weep.”

Sylawen flushed but rolled her eyes, then shut them. Illusion. She hated Illusion. She wished she could tell him illusion was for the weak, a field of mind games and emotions, just alteration without the grounding laws of physics. Alteration for people who were bad at math. Illusion required Sylawen to be too close to others' emotions, and though she hated to admit it, sometimes she simply didn't understand how other people were supposed to feel. What was angering to other people? What was calming? Calming was her mother’s voice in the study as midnight valerian simmered in the retort. Sylawen, did you know a land dreugh will regrow its limbs with every molt? Did you know scribs breathe through spiracles that pull air directly into their tissue? 

Calming to Sylawen was verifying each of her mother’s words with her own eyes, the silence of her makeshift laboratory at the edge of Father’s property. The sharp sting of alcohol. The smell of fresh blood. A scalpel in one hand, rat-tooth forceps in the other as she peeled back the skin of a freshly snared hare. Calming was the scratch of charcoal as she sketched every nerve and every vessel, each striation in the muscle that her mother had conjured into her mind when she'd said, Sylawen, did you know a rabbit’s hindlimbs are so powerful it can jump over three feet in one leap?

But when Sylawen focused this image and reflected it onto the minds of her classmates, it hadn’t soothed them. It made them prickle. It made them break out into cold sweats and cringe inwardly until they were slumped over in their seats and dry heaving. She’d gotten in trouble for that on the very first day of tutorial. All her classmates had assumed she’d been playing a cruel prank. Her Illusion professor had made her stay late to clean the chalk boards, and after the third time it happened, Sylawen simply stopped showing up to class.

She didn't tell that to Fathis, of course. Instead she snorted quite uncouthly. "Illusion, pah," she muttered out with the last of her breath, and then she fell soundly asleep.

[itsparis-07]

Brooklyn's sparrow Pt.3

Goin' nowhere fast

(Hey guys it's paris! sooo this part is where the real shit goes down sooo get ready! go read part 1 and part 2 if you haven't and as always please reblog and like! -stay fresh - xoxo, paris)

The air was crisp and cool as Miles and Michiko walked briskly down the quiet, tree-lined street. It was Michiko's first day at Brooklyn Visions Academy, a prestigious private boarding high school in their hometown of Brooklyn. Miles, being the responsible older brother-figure he was, had volunteered to help her get settled in with classes and pick a dorm to stay during school hours. As they strolled along, they chatted animatedly about their favorite movies, music, and video games.

They finally arrived at the school's massive oak double doors, which were carved with intricate designs of books, musical instruments, and sports equipment. Miles took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and gave Michiko a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, as long as you stick with and don't let your wings shows you'll be fine." He reached for the door handle, but before he could open it, a shrill whistle pierced the air.

Miles and Michiko turned around to see their principal, Mr. Delacroix, standing at the top of the steps. "Ah, there you are, Miles. And who do we have here?" he asked, eyeing Michiko curiously.

"Um, this is Michiko. She's my new… housemate," Miles stammered, trying to think of the best word. "She's just transferring in for the year."

Mr. Delacroix nodded, looking amused. "I see. Well, welcome to Brooklyn Visions, Michiko. We're glad to have you. Now, I suppose you two have some things to attend to. Classes start in fifteen minutes, so make sure you head over to the auditorium to get your schedules." With that, he turned and disappeared inside the school.

Miles and Michiko exchanged glances before following Mr. Delacroix's instructions. As they made their way through the bustling hallways, Michiko couldn't help but feel a mix of nervousness and excitement for the day ahead. The walls were adorned with colorful murals depicting famous alumni and various school achievements, and the air was filled with the chatter of students and the sound of lockers slamming shut. They eventually reached the auditorium, where a long line of students snaked its way towards the stage.

"Here, take this," Miles said, handing Michiko a schedule. "I'll go get in line for you. Just stay here and find your homeroom." He gave her a quick nod before disappearing into the crowd.

Michiko glanced down at her schedule, feeling a little overwhelmed. She had classes like English, history, math, science,Spanish, and even an elective in Choir. She wasn't sure if she'd have time to explore her interest in street art with her busy schedule. Just then, a group of girls walked past her, giggling and whispering. "Did you see that new girl's hair?" one of them asked. "Another emo freak." They all laughed, and Michiko felt a pang of sadness. She wished she could fit in, but she knew that would be difficult with her unique appearance and fashion. Her uniform's tie was full of punk bands/artists she listened to with miles, and to top it all off a choker around her neck and black lipstick and lipgloss on her two toned lips.

As she continued to look around, she noticed a poster on the wall advertising an after-school club for anyone interested in street art. She made a mental note to check it out after school. Just then, she felt a tap on her shoulder. It was Miles, returning from getting his schedule. "Hey, I got us both into the same spanish class. I'll help you out when you need it." He said with a grin. Michiko smiled back, grateful for his support.

They finally found their homeroom and took their seats. The teacher, Ms. Smith, was an older woman with graying hair and kind eyes. She welcomed them to the class and introduced herself before asking them to share something about themselves. When it was Michiko's turn, she hesitated for a moment, wondering how much to reveal. "Um, I'm new here, and I'm interested in street art," she said finally. Several students, including Miles, nodded in understanding. She walked back to her seat and sighed with relief. The class continued with a brief overview of the syllabus and assignments. Michiko was relieved to see that there were no exams or papers, just creative projects that would allow her to express herself though, if she only knew what she wanted to do.

During the break between classes, Michiko and Miles decided to explore the school further. They wandered through the hallways, admiring the artwork and taking in the energy of the place. "So, have you decided what club you wanna join?" Miles asked her, his voice tinged with curiosity. Michiko shook her head, still uncertain. "I don't know. I just want to find a one I like and make some friends." She replied, a hint of nervousness in her voice.

"Well you've got me and my mom to help you out, right?" Miles said, giving her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "And the art club should be a good fit for you. There's even a bunch of kids who are new this year, so we can all sort of stick together." He smiled, his blue eyes twinkling with warmth. "Plus," he added, "I've been meaning to ask you about this, but have you ever thought about the bounty they've got you..oscorp I mean." Michiko felt her heart skip a beat. She knew what he was referring to. There had been several news reports about her escape from the metro a few weeks ago, and now with the NYPD looking top to bottom for her and her alone, she knew she couldn't stay hidden much longer.

The bell rang, signaling the end of the break and the start of their next class. As they made their way to their new classroom, Michiko couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. She knew she had to be careful, but she also didn't want to miss out on the chance to make friends and explore her interests. Maybe the art club would be the perfect place for her after all. Maybe gym class would take her mind off of it. Maybe she could find some way to keep herself safe while also living a normal life.

She took a deep breath and tried to focus on the present moment. In the gymnasium, along with kids who wore the school's gym uniform alongs-side her, they were preparing for a game of dodgeball. The air was filled with laughter and energy as they picked their teams. Miles was on the opposite side, but he gave her a friendly wink and a thumbs-up before the game began.

The whistle blew, and the students scrambled to get into position. Michiko found herself surrounded by players from both teams, the red and blue balls whizzing past her head. She ducked and dodged, trying to stay out of harm's way while looking for an opportunity to score a point. As she ran, her eyes scanned the gymnasium, searching for any signs of danger. The game was intense, but it felt good to be a part of something, to be just another student at this school, if only for a little while.

But due to her excitement, black wings ripped through the back of the shirt, tearing it apart as her dark feathers sprouted from her back. In the commotion, she accidentally elbowed another student in the face, causing them to drop their ball. Before anyone could react, Michiko had snatched it up and threw it at another player on the opposite side, scoring a point for her team.

Miles looked at her in shock, his mouth agape. The other students gasped, their eyes wide with surprise and fear. Michiko's heart sank as she realized what had happened. Her dark wings were fully extended now, tearing through the fabric of her shirt and leaving feathers scattered across the gymnasium floor.

Before anyone could say or do anything, their gym teacher, Mr. Thomas, rushed over to them. "Michiko, what in the world is going on?" he demanded, his voice shaking with confusion and concern. She hesitated for a moment, trying to find the words to explain. But before she could speak, Miles stepped forward and put a protective arm around her shoulders.

"Run…Now." Miles whispered urgently to her. "I'll cover for you." Before she could protest, he gave her a gentle shove in the direction of the locker room. As she hurried down the hallway, her dark wings flapped behind her, carrying her through the air with ease. She could hear the commotion in the gym growing fainter with each step she took, but she couldn't help but feel a sense of panic rising in her chest.

Finally, she reached the safety of the girl's locker room. Slumping against the wall, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. She knew that this was just the beginning; she couldn't stay hidden for long. But for now, she needed a plan.

She thought about her options: she could go to the states and try to blend in with the other people. Maybe she could find a place where she wouldn't be noticed, where she could live her life without fear. Or she could stay in Brooklyn and try to find a way to control her powers, to keep them hidden from the world and stay with Miles and Rio. It would be hard, but it might be possible.

The more she thought about it, the more she realized that she couldn't abandon Miles and Rio. They were her friends, and she couldn't just leave them to face whatever was coming for her. With a heavy heart, she decided that she would stay in Brooklyn and try to find a way to control her powers. It wouldn't be easy, but she couldn't shirk her responsibilities.

As she sat there, lost in thought, the locker room door swung open. It was Miles, his expression a mix of concern and determination. "Hey," he said softly, coming over to sit down beside her. "We need to get your out here."

Michiko looked up at him, her eyes filling with tears. "I can't just leave you or Ms. Rio, Miles. I can't abandon you guys to this."

He put a hand on her shoulder, his touch surprisingly gentle. "I know, but we can't just hide forever. We need to figure out how to deal with this. And we're stronger together. We'll find a way to make it work, okay? We'll be safe, and we'll keep each other close." His voice cracked slightly at the end, but there was a determination in his eyes that gave Michiko hope.

She nodded, wiping away her tears. "Okay," she whispered. "But…what about you? If people found out you and your mother have been keeping me…Oh god." The realization of what Miles and Rio could face hit her like a punch to the gut.

"Don't worry about us," Miles said, his voice firm. "We'll be fine. We'll figure it out together, just like we always do. Now, crawl out the window and I'll take you home. We'll come up with a plan there." He paused, searching her eyes for any sign of doubt. "You trust me, right?"

Michiko nodded, tears streaming down her face. "I do. I trust you both with my life."

He gave her a small, reassuring smile. "Then let's get you home." He helped her to her feet and led her to the locker room window. It was a tight squeeze, but with her wings, she was able to crawl out easily and onto the fire escape. Once she was safely outside, Miles joined her, and they made their way through the alleyways and backstreets of Brooklyn.

As they hurried home, Michiko couldn't shake the feeling that something terrible was about to happen. But she knew that she couldn't face it alone, and as long as she had Miles and Rio by her side, she knew they could weather any storm.

When they finally reached their apartment building, Miles paused outside the entrance and took a deep breath. "Okay," he said, his voice shaking slightly. "Here's the plan. You stay here, in your room. Don't answer the door for anyone unless it's my mother, got it?"

Michiko nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. "Got it. Just…be careful, okay?"

Miles smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry, I'll be back soon. And we'll figure this out together, I'll just need some help." He gave her a quick hug, then hurried off down the hall, his footsteps fading into the distance.

Alone in her room, Michiko paced back and forth, unable to sit still. She kept glancing out the window, watching for any sign of Miles or Rio. The silence was deafening, broken only by the distant sounds of traffic and the occasional shouts from neighboring apartments. She picked up the sound of the door opening and closing, Rio rushed inside her room checking for wounds or cuts on her face, body. She was relieved to see that she was okay.

"Miles?" Rio asked, her voice trembling. "Where is he?"

"He went out," Michiko replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "He said he needs some person's help.." Her voice trailed off, her eyes darting back to the window. "But I don't know who."

Rio's face clouded over with concern until she she knew where he was going, "Aaron…Ese chico está en problemas cuando llega aquí, maldita sea." She cursed under her breath. "We need to think of a plan. He's going to need all the help he can get."

They paced the room, trying to come up with a plan. Michiko felt helpless, her mind racing with every possible scenario. "We should call someone," she suggested, her voice barely audible. "The police, maybe?"

"And tell them what?" Rio countered. "That we have you here? They'd lock us up." She paused, thinking for a moment. "We have no choice but to wait for him to come back.."

The minutes ticked by, each one feeling like an eternity. Michiko tried to distract herself with television, but her mind kept drifting back to Miles. Finally, there was a knock at the door. Her heart leapt into her throat as she and Rio exchanged worried glances.

Rio took a deep breath and moved toward the door, her hand hovering over the doorknob. "Who is it?" she called out, her voice shaking.

There was no reply, but the knocking continued. Rio looked at Michiko, her eyes wide with fear. They both knew that Miles would never be that careless. Something was very wrong. With trembling hands, Rio unlocked the door and slowly pulled it open. It was Miles and his uncle Aaron. they walked in with food and placed on the kitchen table, Michiko ran to Miles and hugged him tightly, relieved to see him alive.

"Are you okay?" she whispered, her voice shaking.

Miles nodded into her shoulder. "Yeah, I'm good…we have a plan, my uncle is letting us stay with him and to help you blend in and defend yourself, since your a bounty now." He said, his voice reassuring. "So, eat up, and don't worry about anything. We'll get through this together." He patted her on the back before letting her go.

Michiko's stomach growled as she took a seat at the table, the aroma of the food filling the room. She looked up at Miles' uncle, Aaron, with newfound respect. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his face lined with experience and determination. His eyes were kind, but there was a steely glint in them that suggested he was not a man to be crossed.

As they ate, Rio filled Aaron in on what had happened, leaving out no detail. The older man nodded solemnly, his expression growing more grim with each word. "It seems like the people after you are willing to go to great lengths to get what they want," he said once she'd finished. "But don't worry, we'll make sure you're safe here."

The rest of the evening was spent discussing their plan of action. Aaron laid out a series of strategies to help keep Michiko safe and to prepare them for any potential threats. He also explained that they would need to travel light and be ready to move at a moment's notice. As the hours passed, the four of them grew closer, their shared experience forging a bond that transcended their previous acquaintance.

The next day, they rose early and set about making preparations to leave the city. They packed their belongings into a single bag, leaving behind any unnecessary items that might slow them down or draw attention.

As they were about to leave, Michiko turned to Miles, her eyes filled with gratitude. "Thank you for everything you've done for me, Miles. I don't know what I would have done without you."

He shrugged modestly, trying to play it off. "It's nothing, really. I mean, you're my best friend, aren't you? Of course I'd help you out." There was a pause, and then he added, "Besides, my uncle Aaron is a pretty cool guy. He's been through a lot, and he's taught me a lot about life. So, I figure he'll do the same for you- "

"THIS IS NYPD HAND OVER XJR-10 NOW!" came a voice over the speaker. A flashbang exploded nearby, blinding them momentarily. Michiko and Miles covered their eyes, wincing at the pain. When their, vision cleared, they saw Aaron had drawn his gun and was crouched behind a nearby car.

"Go, go, go!" he shouted, motioning for them to run. Michiko and Miles followed suit, sprinting down the alleyway. They heard gunfire behind them, but Aaron's expert marksmanship seemed to be keeping the cops at bay. They ran for several blocks, weaving in and out of alleys and side streets until they were sure they had lost their pursuers.

Finally, they collapsed onto a nearby bench, gasping for air. "Are you okay?" Michiko asked Miles, her voice trembling. He nodded, trying to catch his breath. "Yeah, I'm fine," he wheezed. "You?"

Aaron appeared a moment later, jogging up to them. "We've lost them for now," he said, sheathing his gun. "But we can't stay here. We need to find someplace safe to hole up until we can figure out what to do next."

Miles nodded in agreement, still trying to catch his breath. "Where do we go?" he asked.

Aaron looked around, considering their options. "There's an old friend of mine who owns a rooming-house in Jersey City. It's not the most luxurious place, but it's quiet and off the beaten path. We can hole up there for a while and figure out our next move." He glanced at Michiko and Miles, making sure they were both on board with the plan.

They nodded in agreement. Miles still looked shaken from the ordeal, but he seemed to trust Aaron's judgment. As they walked through the streets of New York, Aaron kept a careful eye out for any signs of trouble. Despite the danger they were in, he couldn't help but feel a sense of camaraderie with these two young people and a mother. They were all in this together now, and they would need to rely on each other if they were going to make it through this alive. to be cont in pt 4!

[borahaerhy]

Love and Sarcasm (2) - knj

Summary: The second semester of your sophomore year in college has started and there are only two people in your creative writing class that have published works: You, and Kim Namjoon; a pretentious know-it-all that just so happens to be in the same frat as your best friend.

Pairing: Fuckboy!Namjoon x Demi!Chubby!Reader

Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, College! au, eventual smut

Warnings: Namjoon is toxic, Manipulation, College parties, Y/n has a caffeine addiction, references to Jimin and Y/n partying a lot while underage, references to Jimin sleeping with a teacher while underage, references to Jimin getting arrested

Word count: 6k

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“I’m just going to throw this away for you,” Jimin had snuck up behind you and taken the fresh warm cup of coffee from your icy hands, before moving quickly to the trashcan that stood beside the building you were about to walk into.  

“Nonono Jiminie I just bought that it’s only my second one!” You rushed over to Jimin, desperately grasping at the cup just moments before he made it to the trash can. You quickly put the cup to your lips and dumped the liquid into your mouth as you rushed into the building to get yourself away from the trash cans.  

“Fine, but when you have a heart attack before your 22nd birthday fueled purely by caffeine intake and anxious tendencies, I will not resuscitate you,” you smiled lightly as you turned to walk down one of the many hallways in the labyrinth of a building.  

“Good. If I'm dead, let me stay that way, it’s probably way less stressful. Why are you here, anyways? You don’t have class for another hour,” you came to a halt outside of your room, spinning on your heel to face Jimin.  

“I have a study session with some kids before class because we’re a week in and I've already slept through about 80% of the class,” He paused, looking down at his watch before he rolled his eyes and started backing up slightly. “Which I am now late for. I’ll see you later. Dinner after class? On me,” Jimin held his arms out, as if offering you something you couldn’t refuse.  

“I’ll never turn down free food, baby,” He gave a thumbs up before turning fully, now sprinting down the hallway. You chuckled to yourself, shaking your head as you walked into the classroom.  

“I was very impressed by this, Ms. Y/l/n. I hope everything you turn in this semester is half as good as this,” You smiled and thanked her as you accepted your paper, a bright red 98 written on the top along with a smiley face. You folded the paper in half, an old habit you had from middle school math class when your highest grade was a 79, and walked up to your seat.  

Namjoon noticed your folded paper and made a brash judgment call. “Looks like my quality beats your quantity,” Namjoon held up his paper, showing you the red 95 written on the top. You looked at it and nodded, giving it a ‘not bad’ expression as you passed him and sat down a few rows behind him. He started chuckling, laying the paper down in front of him before he started pulling things out of his bag. 

“Evidently not,” you said, eyebrows furrowed as you looked down at your paper after you’d taken your seat. Your words grabbed Namjoon’s attention, and his eyes were immediately on you. You flipped the paper around and watched as his face fell reading the higher score you had acquired. “Bet it was hard to find enough time for your own paper, seeing as you had to help the rest of the class with theirs,” You turned the paper back around, looking at it for a moment before laying it down and looking back at Namjoon. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll figure out how to better manage your time for the next assignment.”  

Namjoon clenched his jaw, trying his best not to let his anger show on his face before he turned back around to face the front of the class.  

- 

“Hey, Jimin!” Namjoon called out as he raced up to meet his friend who was walking from one class to the next. He turned slightly, furrowed eyebrows quickly relaxing when he saw it was only Namjoon. He caught up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder as they both started walking again. “What’s up, man? What class are you headed to?”  

“I’m going home actually. Well, Y/n’s, but I just got done with my classes for the day. Why, what’s up with you?” Jimin was slightly confused, the boys in his frat not usually caring too much about each other's studies.  

“Nothing, I was just heading to my human rights class when I saw you walking thought I’d say what’s up. You always go to Y/n’s after class? You're not usually at the house until late,” Jimin nodded slightly. 

“Yeah, usually. We study and take turns ordering take out. So, what’s up with the whole size matters thing you have?” Jimin starts chuckling as he asks the question, knowing those words would probably upset Namjoon, as he could gather that you’d used it to torment him. He only smiled and chuckled awkwardly, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck.  

“Yeah, about that, I think her and I got off on the wrong foot. I made a rash judgment on the first day of class that I shouldn’t have, and I was just wondering if you knew of a way I could maybe make it up to her?” Jimin furrowed his eyebrows, before he looked Namjoon up and down, as if trying to see his thought process.  

“Uh, maybe try apologizing and getting her a cup of coffee? She’s really a forgiving person, as long as you stop being a dick and making judgments on her I don’t think she’d have any problem being civil,” Jimin shrugged as the pair stopped walking in front of the coffee shop on campus, Jimin having promised you he’d grab you a coffee on the way back to your place, as the two of you had to split up so he could run back to his place to grab some of his notes.  

Namjoon looked up and realized where they were. He smirked lightly before looking back at Jimin, who he was now standing across from. “How does she like her coffee?” Jimin rolls his eyes slightly as Namjoon furrows his eyebrows.  

“Black, but make sure to grab like a handful of those fake cancer sugars, the pink ones,” Namjoon nodded his head, surprised by her simple order; most people wanted something far more complicated than black coffee. Jimin turned and started walking into the building before Namjoon stopped him, placing a hand on his shoulder before he spoke.  

“Hey, she’s single, right?” Jimin started laughing at his question, making Namjoon wish he hadn’t asked it at all.  

“Yeah, but not for you. I know you, Namjoon. You try anything with her, and I’ll have to fuck you up as bad as the last guy that thought it was okay to play with her feelings. Just trust me dude, she’s not your type,” The smile never left Jimin’s face as he spoke, and as soon as he finished, he walked into the shop, leaving Namjoon out in the cold, slightly confused.  

- 

Wednesday morning you found yourself out of coffee before you had even gotten to your class. Having to go to work that morning, you could usually drink one while at work and still have time to pick one up on the way to your classes, but that was out of the question today. You drank the last gulp of your lukewarm coffee and threw the cup into the trash can before you started down the hallway.  

“Perfect timing,” you looked up to see Namjoon standing in front of your classroom, smile plastered on his face as he held a cup of coffee and a brown paper bag. You furrowed your brow as you looked at him before turning around to make sure no one was behind you; something he found hilarious. “I’m talking to you,” 

You stopped in front of him, brow tightly knit, your arms crossed as your eyes darted back and forth between him and the coffee he was holding out. “Why the fuck did you buy me coffee?” Your arms remained crossed against your chest as you eyed him suspiciously. He continued smiling.  

“Consider it a truce,” your arms stayed crossed, eyes darting back and forth between him and the cup. 

“Did you poison it?” Your eyes narrowed as you asked the question, kind of joking but not really, as you had no idea what this guy was capable of and you did have a habit of making a fool out of him. He rolled his eyes and grabbed your arm, pulling it out of it’s crossed position and placing the cup in your now extended hand.  

“And here’s the sweetener, Jimin said you liked a lot of it, so I just kind of took everything they had,” he handed you the brown bag he was carrying. You looked at him for a second before opening the bag and seeing probably at least 50 packets of it. You snorted.  

“I usually use 3, but if you’re trying to give me cancer, this’ll probably do it,” he chuckled lightly as you closed the bag, bringing the arm holding it down to rest at your side.  

“I just wanted to apologize. I know I passed judgment on you the first day of class and that wasn’t really fair of me, especially considering you keep proving me wrong. I just think we seemed to get off on the wrong foot, and that’s my fault, I know, but I'd really like to start over. Maybe we could even hang out outside of class. You could let me read that paper that got a 98.”  

He smiled lightly, his apology seeming genuine by all accounts. His tone, his facial expression, everything read the way it was supposed to, and he even did a little sucking up. He’s been nothing but a cocky prick, but now he’s buying you coffee and asking to hang out outside of class?  

You gave a flattered smile, looking down at the coffee in your hand as you avoided his gaze, your face even heating up slightly, as you’d heard something akin to these words many times before, but they seemed to have the opposite effect of their intention.  

“That’s really sweet Namjoon, I appreciate it,” You paused, only looking up after you’d said his name. He was smirking. “But I know when I’m being manipulated,” his face fell as he watched yours do the same. “Thanks for the coffee though, feel free to buy me some whenever you’d like,” You look a sip as you winked, walking past him and into the room.  

- 

“You know I wasn’t trying to manipulate you into doing anything,” Namjoon had run up to you as you’d left the class, thinking maybe you should eat some lunch before going to your next class. Namjoon had other plans though, when he ran in front of you, stopping you in your tracks. “I was just trying to apologize, be nice, I don’t know, do the right thing?”  

“And you decided to do the right thing only after seeing what I looked like in a mini skirt with my tits pushed out?” You crossed your arms, head cocked to the side slightly as you waited for his response, his ears turning slightly red as you spoke.  

“Well, that’s not exactly the reason I decided to –”  

“But you’d still be being an asshole if I wasn’t at that party, correct?” He slid his hands into his pockets before shrugging.  

“Okay, I find you attractive, sue me. What does that have to do with anything?”  

“You’re not apologizing because you feel bad; you’re apologizing because you want something out of it. I don’t know what game you’re playing but find someone else to play it with,” you merely stepped around him and walked away, now far too pissed to actually eat anything.  

- 

On Friday, Namjoon hadn’t spoken to you when you passed him going up to your seat, which you were thankful for. But when you got to your seat, a cup of coffee sat on your desk, a smiley face drawn on the side of it where someone’s name might be. Looking down at Namjoon, you realized he’d been watching you, but quickly averted his gaze as you looked at him. You luckily had about 47 or so sweetener’s in your bag, so you were all set.  

Classes came and went, boring as ever, but you had your job to do until the library closed at 9 pm, so you were exhausted and really just wanted to go home and sleep. You had done most of the actual work needed for the day and were the only person left working, so you found yourself sitting at your desk, knees up on the chair with you as you flipped through one of your favorite books, House Rules by Jodi Picoult.  

You heard someone walk in but couldn’t be bothered to look up as they walked into the giant wall of books to your left. You were very engrossed in your book, one of the main characters having just broken into a house to avoid his emotions, and was having a fairly fun monologue when someone decided to interrupt you and make you actually do your job.  

“What’s it about?” You glance up, watching Namjoon put a cup of coffee down in front of you as he looked at your book, eyebrows furrowed. You rolled your eyes and sat up, putting the book down beside you after you looked at the page number and committed it to memory.  

“Autistic kid kills his tutor, you know that book isn’t due back for another week, right?” He hands you the book he previously signed out, before handing you a new one he wanted to check out. First They Killed My Father by Loung Ung. Another memoir?  

“Yeah, but I finished it early and needed to get this one anyways. Do you always spoil books when people ask what they’re about?” You put the old book onto the cart next to you before you began signing the next out.  

“Only if they’re assholes,” you handed him his book back and leaned back into your seat, opening your book back up to where you left off and continued reading. Namjoon, however, didn’t leave. He instead, walked over to where there were computers set up a few feet away, grabbed a chair, and brought it over and set it down next to your desk, plopping himself down in it, smirking as you looked at him with a cocked brow. “Why are you here?” 

He shrugged, slouching down and crossing his arms, book set down on the edge of your desk. “Thought you looked lonely; could use some company,” you rolled your eyes.  

“I do not.”  

“Well than I do,” You looked back at him, his eyes still glued to you and smirk still showing, though much smaller now.  

“Yes, I’m sure living in a frat house gets very lonely,” He shrugged once more, moving himself to sit up and lean his elbows on his knees.  

“Company’s not as good,” You scoffed, sitting back up and putting your book down, not bothering to look at the page number.  

“Not as good as the person who literally wants nothing to do with you? We’ve already talked about this; I’m not a part of whatever game you’re trying to play here –”  

“We didn’t discuss anything; you talked, then walked away before giving me the opportunity to respond. You have every right to be pissed at me, but don’t expect me to just accept a loss when I wasn’t even allowed to fight,” He paused, as if waiting for you to have a rebuttal prepared. You didn’t, so he continued. “I get you don’t trust me, that’s fine, you barely know me. But I’d like to know you. From what I’ve heard from Jimin you seem like you could be a really cool person, seeing as how he never shuts up about you. You can continue to hate me all you want, but right now I would really like to sit here and get to know you, if you’d let me,”  

Your eyes never left him as he spoke, still very warry of his intentions. You start to relax though, knowing that it doesn’t matter how much you talk to him, you’d never let him in. You turned away from him, looking at your desk as you started straightening up some papers that had become scattered.  

“Who's your human rights professor?” You asked, as you then leaned under the desk and grabbed your bag, opening up the front pouch and grabbed a few packets of sweetener.  

“Thomas. You know the books?” You nodded as you stirred the coffee before replacing the lid and taking a sip. “Is this one going to be more brutal than the last one?” He questioned, a worried expression covering his face as he held up his book. You shrugged.  

“It’s brutal in a different way, but I still say Forgotten Fire has it beat. I almost puked reading that one,” Namjoon smiled lightly, putting his book back down and nodding.  

“Yeah, I can see why. I had to stop reading it at some parts. You take human rights?” You nodded again.  

“Last semester. It was my favorite class in high school, thought it might be fun in college too; even convinced Jimin to take it with me and let’s just say we both preferred the high school version,” You smiled slightly as you took another sip of your coffee.  

“That’s right, you and Jimin went to high school together. You gotta have some good stories about him being a dumbass, no?” You smirked.  

“I may have a story or two of him getting into some shit he probably shouldn’t have, but most of them are also pretty self-incriminating.”  

“I promise you I only care about Jimin making bad decisions, you will be an innocent bystander in anything you decide to tell me,” You knew Jimin had told plenty of embarrassing stories about you to the guys in his frat, having told you on several occasions how funny they thought certain things you’d done were. You thought it was only fair to let him get a taste of his own medicine.  

“What do you wanna hear about first?”  

- 

“Why in the fuck are you hanging out with Namjoon?” Jimin marched into your house without knocking. You jumped out of your seat on the couch, heart trying to jump out of you as you’d never been more scared in your life. I thought I locked the door??  

“Jusus fucking Christ Jimin, you can’t do that shit to me, I almost had a heart attack,” You clutched your chest as you remembered you should resume breathing. You fell back onto the couch and leaned back, eyes closed as you regained your breath.  

“Well?” He said, eyes wide and arms folded across his chest as he kicked one of his feet out, leaning all his weight onto the other one as he stood a few feet away from you. You finally fully looked up at him and almost wanted to cower in fear; Jimin may be smaller than you, but damn, was he scary when angered.  

“Who says I talked to Namjoon?” Jimin’s face fell as he gave you a knowing look.  

“I don’t know, the fact that my entire frat now knows I got caught having sex with our math teacher in the women's locker rooms during homecoming?” You couldn’t help but laugh at Jimin’s anger. You could tell he wasn’t really mad at the fact you told them about it, and more so about the fact that you had to talk to Namjoon to do it.  

“To be fair, how was I supposed to know you didn’t tell them that? In a frat of guys like that, I would think you’d already told them all about Ms. Cline; she was quite the babe,” Jimin groaned loudly before falling onto the couch next to you, laying his head down in your lap before he beckoned your hands to play in his hair.  

“I still would like to have kept some of my escapades private. Mostly because I don’t want you talking to Namjoon, but you know. Respect,” Jimin’s eyes were shut, and his eyebrows furrowed as you scratched his head, which was something he always seemed to enjoy.  

“Namjoon did happen to know a lot about a certain skinny-dipping event that involved us getting chased by the police while ass naked –”  

“You don’t have to continue, I see your point and it’s fair,” Jimin spoke over you, not wanting to hear about his first ever arrest that he had conveniently left out when he told the story to Namjoon. “I just don’t like you talking to him. You know he doesn’t want to talk to you to be friends, right?” I flicked him in the forehead, causing him to open his eyes, betrayal filling them before you went back to softly running your fingers through his smooth locks, making him forget he was upset.  

“I’m not an idiot, Jiminie. I know what he wants is anything but wholesome. But he’s a lot less annoying if I just go along with whatever game he’s playing while still keeping my walls up. He’s a fuckboy. He’s not getting anywhere, Jiminie. Don’t worry,” Jimin hummed, satisfied with your response as you could feel him starting to fall asleep, his entire body relaxed and his mouth hung open. You sighed, bringing your fingers from his hair before slapping his chest playfully, waking him up from his trance.  

“C’mon, let’s get you some food before you start drooling all over me,”  

- 

A few weeks had gone by, and Namjoon was still trying his hardest to get into your pants without any success. He’d gotten you at least one coffee every time you had class, sometimes he’d walk with you to the little shop and refuse to let you pay, even though he never got anything. He told you deep meaningful stories about his life that you mostly assumed were fake or sob stories that he’d always used to play on your heart strings, but you remained strong.  

You’d dealt with your fair share of guys just trying to get with you, and only one of them was ever successful. He was the first one to ever try, and was incredibly persuasive, not to mention a Junior in college when you were a sophomore in high school.  

Namjoon was nothing compared to the shit your ex would do to try to get on your good side once he’d fucked up. Namjoon was good, you had to admit, but you knew what you were dealing with. You knew he was just trying to prove a point and win a game. You knew he didn’t actually like spending time with you, but that was sort of how you punished him.  

Today was a quiet Friday that you spent most of at the library, aside from your classes. The ends of the week were usually pretty dead in here, and today was no exception. You spent most of your day lazily flipping through a few different books to see which one you wanted to start before landing on a fantasy that you’d been eyeing for a few weeks now.  

It was an hour before your shift ended and you’d already done most of the busy work and now just wanted to relax in the stillness of the library. It was honestly one of the main reasons you’d gotten the job; you adored the quiet atmosphere.  

You heard someone walk in the door and looked up, smiling, before you forced your face to fall and rolled your eyes.  

“I have your delivery, Ma’am,” Namjoon put a cup down on your desk, but it was definitely not the usual coffee that he got you.  

“This is not what I ordered,” you looked at the cup before back at him, who was already grabbing a chair to have a seat next to you.  

“Try it. It’s good,” He leaned back into his seat as he looked at you, waiting for your reaction to the drink. You hesitantly picked it up and put the straw to your lips.  

“That’s really sweet,” You spoke, not sure if you liked it or not. It wasn’t bad, just definitely not what you were used to.  

“Like you,” You looked over at him and laughed, completely unable to contain yourself at the worst compliment you’d ever heard.  

“If you’re going to try to compliment me, at least make it accurate,” He nodded, rolling his eyes.  

“Yes, yes, you’re usually intolerable, but every once in a while, when you forget you’re supposed to hate me, you can be really nice and understanding. I’d even go as far as to say people might actually like you if you start acting like that more often,” It was your turn to roll your eyes, taking another sip before you put the cup down. 

“I’m mean for a reason, you know.”  

“Ooo, do tell,” You looked at him out of the corner of your eye.  

“Absolutely not.”  

“Fine, then I’ll guess. You have crippling social anxiety and don’t want to speak to anyone?” You shook your head as you picked up your book, returning to the page you’d left off on. “Your parents didn’t love you as a child?” You shook your head again, now smiling as you weren’t at all reading your book. “Huh, well I know you used to talk to people, be cool, go to parties in high school,” he paused, as if pondering his next guess as you let your smile fade.  

“You went to a party and afterword everyone said you were so annoying that it made you hate everyone for the rest of eternity?” You let out a chuckle.  

“That’s mortifying, and you suck at guessing things.”  

“You get off here soon, right?” Namjoon had conned you out of your schedule 2 weeks ago and now has it memorized, for whatever reason. You simply nodded as you looked at the clock on the wall in front of you. “Why don’t you let me take you out to dinner?”  

“Now why would I do that?” you closed your book again, taken aback by his sudden confidence.  

“It’s free food, why wouldn’t you do it?” you shrugged.  

“Fair. But I feel like it’s a trick,”  

“Now why would I want to trick you?”  He faked hurt.

“The only reason you talk to me is because you’re trying to trick me,” Namjoon rolled his eyes again, slouching back into his seat as he was honestly starting to get tired of you still having your guard up all the time. It had never been this difficult to get someone else to sleep with him, it almost seemed like this little game of his wasn’t worth it.  

Almost. 

- 

“So,” Namjoon started as you took a bite of your waffle, breakfast for dinner always having been your favorite. “I’ve been meaning to ask you if you’d like to go to this party we’re having tomorrow with me. Like as my date,” You hummed as you took a sip of your water before meeting his intense gaze.  

“Sorry, but I already have a date,” Namjoon’s face fell as you smiled, shoving a strawberry in your mouth. It only took him a few seconds to realize that your date would have been Jimin. 

“Jimin doesn’t count,” Namjoon shook his head lightly.  

“And why doesn’t he? He’s been my date to just about every party I’ve gone to, and I have yet to be disappointed by him,” you pushed your plate back slightly, moving to rest your elbows on the table as you watched each other intently.  

“Sure, he’s your best friend, but he’s not a date; I promise you you’d have a way more fun time if you came with me instead,” you smiled.  

“Jimin dances with me, makes all of my drinks, makes sure no one drugs my drinks, doesn’t try to sleep with other people, has punched out several people for me and he guarantees me a safe place to sleep if we get too fucked up and I don’t have a way home. I don’t know that I can say any of that about you.”  

“You can’t even trust me to dance with you? You think I’m just going to invite you to a party and immediately ditch you?” You shrugged.  

“I know you, Namjoon. I know your type and there is nothing wholesome about you inviting me to that party. Or really anything that’s been happening these past couple of weeks,” Namjoon rolls his eyes and leans back into his seat.  

“So what, you date an asshole in high school and now everyone’s the same? What have I done to suggest anything other than the fact that I like you?” Namjoon was starting to get frustrated now. Not that you were wrong, you were actually spot on, but no one had ever called him out like that before.  

“You think you know me just because I don’t trust you? I don’t trust you because you haven’t given me a reason to,” Namjoon said nothing, pulling his wallet out of his pocket as he stood up. He pulled a 50 dollar bill out of his wallet and put it down on the table. “I don’t want your money, Namjoon, I'll pay –”  

“Then the waitress can have a really nice tip. I’ll talk to you later,” And with that, he left, leaving you to sit alone at the table with your waffles, almost mad at yourself for snapping on him. 

Namjoon on the other hand, was mad at himself for letting you become the only thing occupying his time. Sure, he had a game to win, but this wasn’t the only way to win, and with you even helping him study for his human rights classes when you were sitting in the library bored, his grades would no doubt beat yours.  

He had spent so much time on you, he hadn’t bothered trying to get with anyone else. He hadn’t had sex in almost a month, which was practically unheard of for him. He needed to focus on himself, and the upcoming party regardless of your plans.  

- 

You couldn’t get the fight with Namjoon out of your head. Not that you actually cared about him, or anything, just that you felt like it may have gotten a bit heated a bit fast, and you couldn’t help but blame it on yourself. Namjoon really had been nothing but nice to you, except for those first couple of days, which to be fair, you had more fun with it than you had taken offense.  

You knew who he was, and what he was known for, but he was nice to you, so you really shouldn’t have elevated things that quickly based off of your own opinions.  

You and Jimin got ready for the party together. Jimin was essentially wear a t-shirt, jeans, and a leather jacket and somehow made it look like the most expensive outfit to have graced this planet, while you donned a black bodycon dress with doc martins, as you didn’t particularly feel like towering over everybody tonight. You both looked great, that much was obvious from all the attention the two of you got walking into the party.  

This was always the case, you two were a powerhouse with unmatchable confidence with an expensive fashion sense (even though most of your wardrobe was thrifted).  

You couldn’t help but look for Namjoon as you danced around with Jimin, hoping you could maybe corner him and apologize, but you couldn’t seem to find him as you scanned the ocean of people while taking a sip of your obscenely strong drink. Jimin had been watching you these past few weeks, noticing the increase in the amount of time you’d spent with Namjoon. He didn’t think it was the greatest idea, but you were stubborn; he knew the more he’d try to convince you to stop, the more you’d want to do it.  

He wasn’t drinking as much as he would’ve, noticing you being less present with him than you normally be when with him at parties.  

“Hey, babe, where are you?” Jimin snapped in your face as you leaned against the back of the couch, absentmindedly swirling your drink around in your cup as you looked around the room. You jumped slightly, turning to look back at Jimin who had a half smile on his face, eyes searching yours as you shook your head lightly, taking a sip.  

“Sorry, just distracted,” Jimin grabbed the drink from your hand, taking a swig before putting it down on the table beside the couch before taking your hands in his and pulling you closer into him, a smirk taking over his face.  

“I noticed that much, I was wondering what was doing the distracting,” He smiled gently as his hands found your waist and your hands wrapped around it neck, swaying gently back and forth to a song much faster and more upbeat than your movements.  

“Just some school stuff,” you shrugged avoiding eye contact. Jimin leaned down slightly to make you look at him, and you smiled as soon as you did. His smile was always contagious, brightening his whole face and the room around him as he did.  

“School stuff, huh? Is that his name now?” You rolled your eyes, trying to avert your gaze, but he stopped you, his hand leaving your waist for a moment to grab your chin and pull your face back before replacing his hand. “C’mon, dance with me,” His smile widened as he grabbed your hand, twirling you around before you started dancing faster, more in beat with the music.  

Just as you were starting to loosen up, you noticed the man you’d been looking for all evening. Bright dimpled smile and wide eyes as he was speaking. You only needed to look over at him for a few more seconds before you noticed who he was talking to, and how he was talking to her. Leaning down to whisper in her ear as his hand squeezed into her hip. Her fingers traced along the side of his neck before he grabbed them, still smiling, and led her up the stairs next to them, stumbling their way up giggling and leaning on one another.  

Your face fell lightly as you stilled, Jimin’s eyes following yours once he realized how stiff his dance partner was. He instantly tensed up as he saw what you did, and your reaction to it.  

“Hey, why don’t we go get more drinks?” Jimin tried to distract you, pulling you into the kitchen with him before you gently pulled yourself out of his grasp, giving a half-hearted smile.  

“Actually, I think I’m gonna go,” You looked around the ground, as if trying to collect yourself as you smoothed your dress down awkwardly. “I have some assignment’s I need to get started on and I’m already pretty tired—”  

“Y/n, come on, just a little longer? The parties barely started; we were just having fun.”  

“I know, I’m just kind of over it. Social battery ran out, you know?” He nodded, grabbing your hands and swinging them gently between the two.  

“I get it. Let me walk you home,” you shook your head as you let go of his hands.  

“No, you’re having fun, stay. It's not that late, I’ll be fine,” After going back and forth with him for a minute or two, Jimin finally let you go, but not before he gave you a long coat to cover up with. Your apartment wasn’t far from his house, but the walk gave you time to think. You can’t take your mind off of the way he looked at her; the way he touched her so casually.  

You hated how much he affected you without even trying to. You weren’t supposed to let him get to you; you didn’t let him get to you. It was probably just the fight you had had yesterday. You had seen him as a friend after all, nothing else.  

You just couldn’t seem to make the image of his lips brushing softly against her ear out of your head.

-

Note: Can you tell Water Fountain by Alec Benjamin was stuck in my head while writing this?

Taglist: @canarystwin @scuzmunkie @cuteipat @lovesickbangtan @lovemepie67 @piecesofapril11 

[asbestieos]

Nazuna Nito Idol Story - Kindness

Author: Asbestieos

Characters: Nazuna, Asta

Season: Summer

Location: Seisoukan Apartment Library

“Then again, that’s what happens when you pile too much onto your plate — you can’t eat it all, and what’s leftover goes to waste. Even if you pace yourself when eating such a large meal, being full is still being full.”

Asta: Grrrh…

Asta: Mmmnhhh…

Asta: Raaah!!!

Nazuna: …

Nazuna: Asta, maybe we should take a break…?

Asta: ! I was waiting for you to say that!

Nazuna: I’m hungry, anyway. We should go grab a snack. What do you think? Should we go out to a cafe?

Asta: Cafe break, cafe break! Let’s go to Café Cinnamon since I have an employee discount.

Asta: Yippie!!! All this mathematical work is frying my brain.

Asta: I’m totally useless at this calculus stuff. Don’t get me started on discrete math…

Asta: I feel like I’m just bothering you for answers at this point. We’ve been studying for hours, and I don’t have much to show for it.

Nazuna: Don’t be discouraged. It’s not so bad, is it? You have half of that sheet done! That’s progress.

Asta: Grrr.

Nazuna: Grrr?

Asta: Nana, y’ got all your work done, didn’t’cha? You’re just sittin’ there, typing away, pretending to be working, to spare my feelings of inadequacy.

Nazuna: Um… Yes, and no. I got my classwork covered, but right now, I’m technically doing more schoolwork.

Nazuna: Official stuff, like registering for next semester.

Asta: Ohh?

Nazuna: Actually, I’m also sending a request to drop a class for this semester.

Asta: Oooh?! Really? Which class?

Nazuna: My lab class for chemistry, eheh. Somehow, my labwork always ended up being saved for last, and on top of more important classes, I could never get it done.

Asta: Aah, I had to do that, too! As long as you contact the dean of the chemistry department, it should be fine. Make sure to CC them if you’re emailing.

Nazuna: Oh? I was just going to email the professor. I didn’t even think of the dean.

Asta: Yeah, I didn’t think that neither. But there were a bunch of classes I had to drop ‘cause I just couldn’t do ‘em, so I learned through my own errors that dropping a class is easier if you go directly to a department head.

Nazuna: I heard you had to drop most of your classes. There’s no shame in it, y’know? Post-secondary education is super hard, and you gotta take it at your own pace.

Asta: Mmyaaah. I’m not ashamed, but it’s real frustrating.

Nazuna: Mhm. It’s like, ‘I can totally do this work if it was the only thing I had to do, but as it stands, I have so many other things to worry about that this has no room in my mind!’

Nazuna: ‘There’s just no way I can catch-up with what I missed!’ and all. It’s not like I’m never taking the class again, but since it’s a general education class and we can take it later, I’ll fit it into my class schedule next semester.

Asta: What a long-winded way to put it! You’ve been thinking a lot about dropping this class, huh?

Nazuna: I guess so. Like you said, it’s frustrating. Even with all my determination, I just couldn’t keep up with this class.

Nazuna: Then again, that’s what happens when you pile too much onto your plate — you can’t eat it all, and what’s leftover goes to waste. Even if you pace yourself when eating such a large meal, being full is still being full.

Asta: What an analogy!

Asta: From one class-dropper to another, I’m not judging you, Nana. Besides, you’re juggling a lot between idol part-timing and college work. You’re amazing, y’know~

Nazuna: Well, my idol activities are extremely far and few between… But whenever Ra*bits requires a plus-one, I’m their go-to, and I try to leave my schedule open for them.

Nazuna: Don’t you have to balance work and school, too? You work as a producer, right?

Asta: Hah! Work as a producer! With what unit? Nyaaah, but it is kinda tough balancing my part-time jobs with schoolwork. Even though I now take like, two classes this semester…

Asta: Aaahhh, I dunno! After this semester, I might just take a leave of absence.

Asta: At Reimei, we had this philosophy that it’s okay to reach for your dreams, but it’s also okay to wait, you know? Like, Rome wasn’t built in a day, so if you don’t immediately get what you want, don’t sweat it.

Asta: Sooo~ It’s totally okay to take off from work and school if I plan on coming back later, right?

Nazuna: It sounds like an excuse you’re using to withdraw from everything, though—work, school…

Nazuna: Hmph, from me, too! Even getting you to study with me today was annoying. I mean, didn’t’cha basically ghost my texts?

Asta: Weh?! I’d never ghost you, Nazunyan…!! It wasn’t on purpose, I promise!

Asta: I just saw your messages when I was super depressed, and I thought ‘oh, I’ll respond when I’m feeling better’. But then I didn’t end up feeling better until way, way later…

Nazuna: (Grabs the ears of Asta’s headband)

Asta: Waaahhh?!?

Nazuna: That happens when ya overwhelm yourself, y’ fool! Ya can’t let yer frushtration an’ disappointment take control of ya!

Nazuna: Don’t take a leave o’ absence! Neither from work, nor school!

Asta: Okay, okay! Release me, fiend!

Nazuna: (He lets go) …From what I understand, you overworked yourself, right? Regardless of the classes you dropped, this life at present is the life you’ve chosen, and it looks like you’ve been coping well now that you’ve dropped the classes stressing you out. Compared to the life you had before, it’s not too much, is it?

Asta: Mmmh… It’s not too much. This math work is wayyy easier than the things I was doing before during my time at Reimei.

Nazuna: Right? Do you think giving up on what you’ve got now is okay, just ‘cause things are difficult? Is that fair to the you who fought to be here?

Nazuna: Hardship’s to be expected, so give yourself a break and don’t push everything away just because you don’t think you can handle it. If you need help, you’ve gotta ask for it, too.

Asta: Aaahhh! Raaah! Okay, meow! That’s sensible.

Asta: I gotta be kinder to myself. I’m really trying to do that. I didn’t get enough kindness from myself when I was young, so I’ve got to be nice.

Asta: Sooo…

Asta: For the sake of being kind to myself, could you teach me how to solve this matrix…?

Nazuna: Ah, this one? You know how to solve it! You’ve gotta arrange it like so first…

Asta: …Oh! Oh, I see! When you set it up like that, I just have to multiply across and then… Pop, pop, pop… (Focusing)

Nazuna: Right, then you just have to… ? Asta?

Asta: Baa, moo moo… (Focused)

Nazuna: Asta??

Nazuna: Woah, don’t write so fast, you’ll give your hand a cramp! You’re way too focused right now!

Nazuna: Can you even hear me…?

Nazuna: Aww… W-What happened to taking a Café break…

[marksbear]

Hello Mark. I'm the ome who request the male y/n x rooster fic and I was thinking could you do the after math of that fic? Like what happened after that day, what rooster friends think about the whole relationship and a little additional fluff between the two couple☺️☺️

Hello Anon! I am happy to do this request. It will be like a headcanon but still a one-shot at the same time. If that makes sense lmao

GO TO PT 1 SO YOU CAN UNDERSTAND IF YOU DIDN'T READ THAT YET: https://www.tumblr.com/marksbear/701044533806415872/hi-i-was-wondering-could-you-do-top-male-yn-and

WARNINGS- Male reader,swearing, kidnapping, drug use but it's slightly like only one line says it, Yandere Rooster, calling Y/n wife. SMALL LIME

ROOSTER X MALE READER

Y/n woke up with a killer hangover and memory foggy. He was just focused that he felt like shit and not how he was tied up hands behind his back. When he raised up his hand to cover his face he was surprised. He thrashed at the rope trying to break it but he couldn't. He gave up after a little while he started looking around at where he was at and what happened last night.

"Rooster!" y/n yells out to himself after he remembers that he was at the bar with him. He starts to panic because he doesn't see him and mind starts to think like what if the person who did this to him has him or killed him. "Rooster!" he shouts on top of his lungs. His head turns around fast when he hears the door open. "N/n! You're awake! I was thinking that I slipped too much in your drink heh" The figure says in the dark door way.Y/n ignored what he said and asked "W-who are you! Where is my Rooster."

"Ouch my own wife doesn't know my own voice." The figure walks towards Y/n sitting down next to him. "Roo! You're safe. I was worried sick about you." Rooster chuckles and hugs y/n. "But why am I tied up and naked?" Y/n spoke. "Well to make the story short. We had fucked after we drank at the bar. And well you passed out after so I tied you up so you won't hurt yourself. Y/n listens to the short story completely flustered at the fact he fucked his best and only friend. "So can you untie me?" Y/n ask "Nope." "Be a good wife then i'll untie you. Rooster spreads open y/n legs and gives Y/n a quick look for approval and Y/n nods. Rooster lowers his head and licks the tip of the soft cock and chuckles when he hears a gasp "Lets continue where we left off last night." Rooster says with a cocky smile.

WEEKS LATER. AND ROOSTER TRAINED Y/N TO BE THE PERFECT WIFE.

They both loved each other

Rooster and Y/n never left each other's side. They were attached to the hip. They can be found mostly only talking to one another. Always whispering into another ear during class or passing notes

Y/n usually has a hand on Rooster rather it will be on his thigh,hand,shoulder, arm basically almost anywhere on Rooster. Mostly it will be on his waist where Y/n likes to squeeze out of nowhere and just sways him around like they're dancing.

They can also be seen making out grinding onto each other like some horny teenage couple. Grabbing onto each other's private area and giggling about it.

All of Rooster friends were all thinking the same thing. What the hell happened that night. Phoenix,bob and Maverick were supportive of the couple and praising the couple. They all want the best for them.

Hangman was usually bringing up the negative but still supportive at the same time "Them two are so unprofessional" Looking at the couple. Rooster is on the wall as legs wrapped around Y/n waist as Y/n gripping on his thigh holding him as they make out.

The group likes to take pictures of the couple to give to the couple when its the couple anniversary for long how they have been dating or long they have been friends.

" I love you Roo." Y/n says before he gets in his jet. "I Love you to N/n" Rooster responds back. Putting y/n helmet on for him and kisses him deeply on the lips. whispering good luck on your mission with one last kiss.

[yourunholyeditor]

Can I have Bg3 male romancible companion matchup plz

Gender: cis female

Pronouns: she/her

Sexuality: heterosexual ally

Zodiac: Capricorn

Appearance: 5’2 African American hourglass body (although I’m more top heavy if you know what i mean) black curly wavy hair blackish brown eyes chubby cheeks wears glasses sometimes (im far sighted so it’s usually when driving in class or at the theater)

Mbti: infj

Enneagram: 2w1

Personality: kind smart funny motherly responsible empathetic anxious emotional moody perfectionist helpful people pleaser caring compassionate nerdy curious protective polite respectful indecisive fearful nervous introvert shy awkward clumsy low self esteem low confidence (more pertaining to my talents or personality then my looks) sassy sarcastic (I’m mainly these things with people i feel comfortable with like friends or family) soft spoken cute (my friends think im cute because i can be pretty innocent plus I’m small physically)

Likes: animals books reading writing fantasy magic sci fi anime music video games friends alone time learning personality quizzes sweets and bread helping being a part of something bigger than myself

Dislikes: spiders loud sounds people who harm others people i care about not caring for themselves (im a hypocrite on this i take care of everyone else but not me) not being listened to weird holes and patterns math and tests (I’m being tested for a math disability and i have test anxiety)

Class: I usually play magic based classes (wizard, sorcerer, warlock, bard) but i also think it would be fun if you assigned me a class :)

Love language:

Giving: acts of service gift giving and physical affection (if they’re ok with it)

Receiving: words of affirmation and physical affection (although i can be shy about it)

What I would like in a partner: just someone to love and respect me im not too picky

Extra: i pace a lot i sing when im alone i talk to myself im a picky eater (mainly with textures) i have a cat i have minor ehlers danalos (a hyper mobility disorder) but it doesn’t hurt me like it does my sisters i get abdominal migraines which is basically like a migraine but instead of headaches it’s nausea

Thank you

Thank you for your patience! I hope you enjoy this!

Class: Cleric

Explanation: You’re protective over those you care about and like to be a part of something bigger than yourself. I can see you worshipping Lathander given your creativity and empathetic nature. Plus, I think you’d look gorgeous in gold from your description of yourself!

Match: Gale

Explanation: I think your moral alignment pairs well with Gale’s, but you’d keep him grounded from ascending to godhood and that’s a good thing. He’s definitely a talker, but he also loves physical (and incorporeal) affections. Your tendency to put others’ needs above your own would have you at odds with him, as he tends to do the same thing. Having a partner willing to give as much as you do might cause some problems at times, but I think you two will just end up constantly doing the most for one another. His knowledge complements your own, so you don’t need to worry about stepping on one another’s toes much when discussing each other’s interests. I think he would fall for you during one of your protective moments, just in awe of your gave turning from one of caring towards your party members to malice towards your enemies. In short, your strong moral compass and devotion to a cause complement his ambitious nature and pursuit of power. Together, you two are a powerhouse of magic!

Fic below the cut

You didn’t specify what rating you wanted for a short fic, so I decided to write a fic with a T rating. I took some liberties with BG3/DND rules for the sake of keeping this a short drabble.

Drabble word count: 424

Dawn's Embrace

As the sun rose, you could feel the gentle touch of Lathander’s grace upon your face. The tieflings had all set off for Moonrise Towers as your party slept by the dim flickering campfire. You gazed upon Gale’s peaceful face, admiring his relaxed expression that graced his features as he slept. You began to wonder what he might be dreaming about, if anything at all. 

Glancing around at your companions, you ensured they were still asleep before laying back down on your bedroll, making sure to face Gale. Before you were able to weigh the ethics of what you were about to do, you whispered a short incantation and entered Gale’s mind. It took a moment to adjust to the image that replaced the campfire; a tower by the sea, enveloped in the scent of old tomes, fresh bread, and flickering candles.

There, amidst the comforting embrace of literature and magic, you found an unexpected scene. Gale lay behind you, a book resting in his hand, his other nestled over the midsection of your dream-self. As he spoke softly to your dream counterpart, a golden light emanated from her fingertips: a mending spell. Though a torn page had just been fixed before him, his attention seemed not fixated on the book, but on your dream self. She caught his eye and gently brought a hand up to cup his cheek before kissing him. He immediately set the book down on the table next to him and gave her his full attention, allowing her just enough room to fully turn and straddle his waist and deepen the kiss. 

Your concentration quickly broke at the unexpected turn of events and you were back at the campfire, staring at a blushing Gale. Sensing the warmth creeping into your own cheeks, you hastily rose, seeking solace in the cool embrace of the nearby river. Just as you were about to leave, you noticed Astarion watching you from his tent, a knowing smirk directed towards you. You mentally cursed at yourself, you completely forgot about the pale vampire’s latenight hunting activities when you checked the camp earlier.

 “My, my, someone’s being naughty, aren’t they?” He teased. You looked away from him, knowing he could probably hear your heartbeat. “Just need to get some air,” you managed to say. “Lathander’s little servant, all flushed. I’d say it was cute if you weren’t blushing over Gale” he said, making his distaste evident. You ignored him as you passed his tent, hoping to cool off your heated feelings in the cold river. You'd contemplate your feelings about the wizard later, hopefully with a much clearer head.