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katszumi · 1 year ago

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Studying with bakugo is almost NEVER studying with bakugo. The mf can yell at you to pay attention all he wants but a few seconds of it and you’re already back to yapping about the latest drama. Drawing little doodles on your paper (and a few on his) while you tell him about how kuroiro finally confessed to Komori from class 1b, and although he doesn’t like to admit it he’s paying more attention to your yapping then his studying. (Your the only person who can do that)

i hope i did your ask justice😔 this is the first one i’ve done, but thank you sm for requesting. and gosh, i love silly highschool romance sm REQUEST MORE PLS

sorta linked to this but can def be read as a standalone

“did you hear about kuroiro’s confession today?” you asked. you were laid on bakugou’s room floor, your notebook wide open with a few math equations along with a dozen of doodles.

you just asked him another silly question, one of the countless ones that you’ve already made in a hour.

bakugou already knew that you were a sociable person from the way you find a new person to talk to everyday, but he didn’t expect you to be this talkative.

truth be told, you’ve talked more than you have actually studied. which was the main reason why you had come to his room at nearly eight o’clock at night, close to his bedtime.

he only accepted the late study session was because the other reason for you to come was so he could speak with you privately. this was the best way he could do it secretly without being found out.

bakugou looked up from his textbook, directly at you. “no. not that i even care about that stuff anyway.”

your chin rested in the palm of your hand, silently drumming your fingers against your cheek.

“it’s hilarious though, cmon!” you pleaded with a small smile on your face.

“we’re supposed to be studying, y/n. did you forget that you didn’t exactly ace that test?” he rhetorically asked.

you pursed your lips together in a thin line, looking away from bakugou and back onto your textbook. you were dumb enough to even think you could gossip with bakugou.

he offered to help you study, not to bond more as friends clearly.

you picked up your pencil and began to write the equation that was written in the hardbook next to you.

hearing that there was no response from you, bakugou internally began to slightly panic. it was never like you to just shut up so easily. he couldn’t help but come to the conclusion that he came off too rude.

it’s not that he didn’t want to hear you speak, he just didn’t want to make his crush on you so obvious. he was trying so hard to be his normal self which was much harder towards you than he thought.

bakugou placed his textbook down, leaning back into the palm of his hands behind him. “what did that extra do?”

almost immediately, you released the pencil that was in your hand and made eye contact with the ruby eyed male in front of you. a smile tugged on your lips, one that bakugou couldn’t help but think was so fuckin’ cute.

“he made her a bouquet of mushrooms, because you know, her whole mushroom quirk thing. he tried to give it to her discreetly but someone walked past and made it a whole big deal.” you described. “honestly, i feel bad cause i think they’re both kinda shy. they probably didn’t want that attention.”

bakugou unknowingly listened to every word of yours, feeling himself being drawn into you. what was it about your voice that made it so compelling for him?

if it were anyone else like stupid shitty hair or raccoon eyes, he’d shut it down immediately, not caring about a single word they had to say about it.

but, he found it a little more difficult than usual to refuse when it came to you.

he snickered. “public confession? what a romcom move of him.”

you looked back down, noticing bakugou’s blank paper. out of boredom, you grasped onto his notebook. you started to doodle on the small square in the upper left corner; a couple of hearts, stars, dots to make it less bland.

“i think it was sweet. it’s hard to confess already, but to do it in front of an audience? takes guts honestly.”

bakugou watched you draw on his paper. he felt a little jump in his heart, some part of him liking the fact that you took initiative to add your own touch to something of his.

something so stupid. so small. but he couldn’t help but feel a tad giddy.

bakugou sat upright, gulping nothing but his own saliva. “is that something you would like?”

at first, bakugou curses at himself. why would he ask something like that? something that could definitely give away his small crush on you. but he remained his same stone-cold look.

you looked up at bakugou, noticing his eyes softening slightly before returning to their original position.

you thought about it long before responding. “nah. don’t think that’s something i’d really prefer. i’d like a simple confession with just the two of us.” you described.

it seemed a little weird to you that you were casually speaking of your own relationship preference with bakugou, but you tried your hardest not to think too much about it.

you assumed he was only trying to make small talk.

“good.” again, with bakugou’s one worded response. even though he didn’t add more to his sentence, his eyes lingered with yours. as if he was deciding something or carefully analyzing you. but it was a different look. not a competitive, angry look. but rather a tender look. one you have never seen bakugou wear, ever.

suddenly, he looked away, back onto his textbook. you seemingly didn’t mind considering the small tingle you were receiving in your face.

bakugou looked over his shoulder, begging to anyone even the gods above to remove the deep-set blush that was occurring on his face.

the male cleared his throat. “alright, let’s fuckin’ study. gossipin’ and yappin’ won’t help you get a better damn test score.” he chose the defensive route to move on.

you silently agreed with a nod. but, your mind goes back to the thought that you successfully just gossiped with the katsuki bakugou. the one that’s listed to only care about being the number one hero.

you bit the inside of your cheek to hide a smile as you tapped your pencil against your notebook.

just now, a kaleidoscope of butterflies slipped through the cracks of your stone wall, entering your stomach, and began to harvest a life within that had bakugou’s name branded on it.

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deadsetobsessions · 10 months ago

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Snart Jr.

Lovely prompt by @stealingyourbones in her long prompts list, in which Danny Phantom meets the Rogues of Central City! This will have multiple parts, I just haven't written them yet.

Disclaimer: I know very little about Captain Cold and Mirror Master despite having watched some of the Flash. The general vibe I get from Flash is that Flash just really cares about his rogues as evidenced by how he talks to them and doesn't immediately one-shot them like I'm pretty sure he could do. And that Captain Cold is a snarky asshole that just wants to steal things and follow his plans as planned? Tbh, the whole mini-arc/episode with him just felt like Snart was trying to coordinate the world's riskiest group project. He was so done by the end lmao

"Huh. That's new."

Danny hovered an inch off of the ground, having just been spat out by swirling green portal. He was going to have to get back to the Zone later to hot potato Skulker through a couple of portals in revenge. He had a math exam he had to study for, dammit.

Danny sighed. Might as well see what's happening. The portals rarely lead somewhere boring, and Danny was bored. He floated further in, form going intangible and invisible as he passed through thick but insulated marble walls. See, Jazz? He could totally plan ahead. He's also learning that he could probably rob a bank easily, but Danny would never.

"Never been spat out in a bank before," he hummed, eyes flickering on the numerous forms of cowering people in the lobby. The goons scattered about don't see him, but it would take another ghost to even detect his presence so it was to be expected. He moved further in with little hindrance and soon touched down onto polished floor behind two incredibly suspicious individuals.

"What-cha do-ing?"

The two figures, currently and obviously robbing a bank, whirled around in surprise. Their respective weapons whirred to a start before they stopped, baffled by the meta teen standing there with his white hair waving about and innocent look pasted all over his face.

Leonard Snart knew instinctively that the kid was so full of shit. He'd bet his entire plan on the fact that the kid knew exactly what kind of shit he was stirring. Still, Snart was guilty of a lot of things but direct child-endangerment wasn't ever one of them.

"How'd you get in here, kid?" Mirror Master raised his laser pistol, ready to distract and divert the kid with threats of violence- which Snart glared at him for- or with his hall of mirrors that he'd run to.

Danny shrugged. "I walked. If you guys didn't want me here, you should have guarded the place better."

"They were supposed to," Snart drawled. He cased the kid. Teen. The kid had a weird halo effect, that seemed to draw the eyes to the stylized letter on his hazmat suit. The kid was young. Meta. Non-hostile. "You trying to stop us?"

Danny shook his head. "Nah. Came from the Ghost Zone so 's really non'a my business. I was just being nosy."

Snart gave a curt nod and nudged Mirror Master back into cracking the security measures.

Mirror Master scoffed. "What the hell is a ghost zone?"

"I mean, it's pretty self explanatory, right? It's a zone where ghosts live. Hence, you know, Ghost Zone." Danny did a little jazz hands (oh, yeah, he was definitely gonna get Jazz to make that joke sooner or later) for emphasis.

Snart paused for the slightest bit before continuing with his task. Did ghosts exist?

"...Did the Flash send you here, kid?"

"I'm not a kid," Danny scowled, walking right up to them. He got enough of that from his own Rogues, thank you. "And what's a Flash?"

"The Flash, kid." Mirror Master corrected, shoving monitors and PC's and expensive looking office chairs into... a mirror dimension? Danny shrugged and rolled with it.

"Who's that? Your boss?"

"Local superhero, not our boss. You're not from here," Snart quickly deduced as a small smile wormed onto his face from successfully cracking the security without setting off an alarm. They'd have ten minutes before the system cycles the access codes again and flags the fraudulent ones. That should be enough time.

"Superhero? Are they fast? Actually, where is here?" Danny glanced around at the now bare security office like the Flash would show up.

The guy in green and yellow took everything not nailed down to the ground. Danny respected that, even if he kind of wanted to stop the robbery. But he's not really supposed to interfere. That would be uber rude, since it looked like the guy in the fur jacket seemed like he had planned everything precisely.

"You're in Central City, kid. Did you take a wrong turn trying to get to Keystone or something?" Green-yellow guy snorted.

"Gonna be real honest with you, I've got no idea where that is. What state are we in?" Danny followed as the pair rushed to the safe doors. He could offer to phase them through but no matter how flexible Danny's morals have become over the years, he was going to draw a line at actively helping a person commit crime.

"Kansas. Do you teleport? Are you a teleporting meta?" Snart asked, eyes intense as he both glared at Danny and pressed an ear to the safe door.

"Nah, I wish I could teleport. Getting to school would be so much faster. Kansas? Huh, I've never been."

"How lost are you, kid?" Mirror Master incredulously paused from robbing the packages that were delivered to the bank.

Danny shrugged. "Oh, I'm Danny. Who are you guys?"

"Captain Cold. That's Mirror Master."

Danny shifted as the safe clicks open. "So, uh, are you guys the villains here?"

Captain Cold shot him a weird look. "We're actively robbing a bank, kid. That should be obvious."

"Also, you're acting real calm for a kid speaking to two of Fawcett's best super-villains." Mirror Master chimed in, laser-ing off locks on deposit boxes and shoving cash and stuff into his mirror dimension.

Danny padded in after them. "Eh, you haven't shot at me- not even on sight- yet, which is more than I can say for law enforcement, so you're pretty chill in my book."

Captain Cold snorted, pointedly taking his freeze gun and breaking off a large manual lock. "I believe it's my job to be the chill one. Plus, we don't kill. The Flash would be up our... business if we did. It's not worth the trouble."

"You can say ass. I've heard worse."

"Not from me, kid."

Danny hadn't had that kind of consideration from anyone in a long time. Even if it's a bit... mother-hennish, the halfa couldn't find it in him to be annoyed. "Ah, okay. Well, you also haven't kidnapped me or tried to stop me from following you, so..."

Mirror Master shoved a giant painting into his dimension. "You haven't tried to stop us; it'd be weird trying to stop you."

"Makes sense."

"Heh. You're alright, kid. Though... who's kidnapping you?"

"My fruit loop of a godfather. It's a thing," Danny avoided the searching gaze like a pro.

"Hold this." Captain Cold said suddenly, giving Danny a massive dufflebag.

"Wait, what?"

Captain Cold began stuffing the bag with cash and once the money in the vicinity (not that much) went in, he said "Go look around. Having another person in here is a risk so you might as well make up for it."

Danny's calling it. Captain Cold was full of shit. The guy's a big softie. Danny smiled sheepishly and agreed. Danny circled the place, pointing out expensive looking stuff- "for fun" and not because they were nice to him- when he felt the tell-tale zaps of an anomaly in Clockwork's domain.

"Move!" He shouted at the two villains, both of whom dove out of the way. Instinctively, Danny threw out his gloved hands and iced the floors, instincts bristling at the incoming danger. His jaw dropped as a blur encountered the ice and went ass over tea kettle onto the floor, unable to stop its own momentum.

"Oh shit!" Danny uttered, eyes wide as the blur slammed into the opposite- reinforced- wall with a pained shout. The stopped person was wearing red, with a lighting bolt motif all over their uniforms. That implied speed. Speed implied "The Flash." Danny knew a hero when he saw one and he just iced him. Shit.

"What-" The Flash groaned. Mirror Master and Captain Cold gaped.

"OhmyancientsI'msosorrygottagobye!" Danny shouted.

"Hey, wait, kid-!" Captain Cold shouted. Danny ignored him, going invisible in a panic and sank into the ground, mortified. After thirty seconds of self-hatred, he zoomed out and away. Danny held his head in his hands as he flew back to where Amity was...

Only to stare down at the empty plots of land where his city was supposed to be. Danny shoved a hand into his chest and pulled out his phone.

[No results for Amity Park. Did you mean "Amity Arkham"?]

"What."

Any research he did after that only turned up a Jasmine Fellona, a budding neurobiologist in her field, and other people that were adjacent to the people Danny knew. But nothing, nothing from Amity Park.

"Oh, yeah, we're definitely not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy."

---

As the Flash stood around to keep an eye on the hand-cuffed villains, he couldn't help but ask.

"So, uh, Snart. Did you... get a kid?"

"What." Snart asked, incredibly done with this shit.

"You know. Snart junior? With the ice and everything?" Flash gestured at the un-melting ice that covered the floor leading into the safe. "I mean, I'm not thrilled you're pulling your kid into a life of crime..."

"No."

"Wait, you had a kid and didn't tell me?" Mirror Master asked, mildly offended. "That was your kid? No wonder no one shot at him!"

"He's not my kid." Snart gave Flash the stink-eye. "And don't you have a couple of baby sidekicks running around?"

"C'mon dude, you're so obviously fond of him. It's okay, you don't have to hide it." Flash avoided the topic... in a flash.

"Can someone arrest me right now so these idiots can be removed from my vicinity?" Snart snarked to the approaching officer, jerking his head to point at the beaming Flash.

"You and me both, buddy," Officer West sighed.

---

One trip to the zone and a stressful conversation with Clockwork later, Danny was found in his keep, smacking his ghost head into the ghost wall of his ghost keep. Danny would unleash a Wail if it didn't have the nasty habit of bringing everything around him.

Apparently, he got "Amity'd," a process which meant Amity spat him out like an over chewed dog bone and refused to take him back.

"That doesn't even make sense! I left there a bunch of times! And came back!"

"The city has decided that it was your time to leave, Danny." Clockwork spared a wane smile for the curled up boy-king.

"I have people to protect there! My entire life! My haunt!" Danny yelled, breaths that he didn't technically need coming shorter and shorter. The neon green of the Zone whirled in and out of his vision in a dizzying shudder of anxiety and incoming panic.

"It wasn't your haunt, I'm afraid. The city nurtured you as a young spirit- thus shared her haunt- and has decided that it was time for you to... leave the nest, so to speak."

That stopped Danny's panic in its tracks. "Are you telling me she NightVale-d me? Some kind of involuntary coming-of-age bs?"

If he weren't on the edge of hysterical laughter, Danny would take a moment and proudly say to Mr. Lancer that he had paid attention in class.

"...Yes."

"Fuck." Danny dropped his head down in despair. His head made a loud thunk. The bag of cash he'd accidently made away with sat innocently at his feet. Further proof that it wasn't some nightmare he'd wake up from anytime soon.

---

Danny slumped over the desk, exhausted. Technus had lent him a ghostly hand and hacked into government data bases to re-establish his social security number and all the other dumb bits and bobs that he needed to establish his identity because Amity was an actual ghost town. Ghost to reality, ghost to real life. Ancients, Amity even had their own data network, which he couldn't access outside of Amity itself. This meant that Danny couldn't even call anyone. Ugh.

"I gotta find a place to live," he mumbled to himself. Danny, despite knowing that he needed to do things, did not move for another ten minutes.

Then, as his phone alarm went off, buzzing on the table. Like... Clockwork... Danny sat up straight and wiped all traces of wallowing self pity off his face. The people in the library- students- gave him solemn nods of solidarity. Danny nodded back and left the library.

He wandered around Fawcett City, somewhere Clockwork had recommended he stayed. With Clockwork, recommendations tended to be life-important (plot-important?) orders. Danny liked the place, really. It gave off the weird and settled "what-the-fuck,-Box-Ghost-did-you-have-to-destroy-the-mall?" vibes Amity constantly gave off after the ghosts started coming through. He thought he even saw a talking tiger! Awesome.

"Hey, are you new here?"

Danny looked down. His reflection stared back at him.

Did he have another kid? Did someone clone him again? Ancients curse you, Vlad!

"Uh- yeah."

"Oh. Do you need help getting around? I was born and raised here all my life, so I can totally do that!"

Oh thank the Ancients, this wasn't another Dani. Just a weirdly similar looking kid.

"You know I'm a stranger, right?"

"I don't think anyone helping Nanny Mae pick up her oranges would hurt kids," the kid said archly, but with a grin so like Dani, it made Danny miss his younger sister.

"Okay, you got me there. But still."

The kid sighed. "I know how to be safe, thanks. I'm Billy!"

"Danny. Nice to meet you."

"Okay, Danny, where you off to?"

"I'm actually trying to find a place that'll be cheap to rent." He's sixteen, but Danny could totally pass as eighteen. "I'm thinking about moving to Fawcett. It's nice here, with all the ambient magic and stuff."

This got him a wide-eyed look. "Do you use magic?"

"Something like that."

"Cool."

Danny took in the considering glint in Billy's eyes and decided that it was future!Danny's problem. Present!Danny was currently occupied with trying to stay off the streets. That giant bag of cash he'd accidently absconded with would be helpful and Danny felt kind of bad... but his growling stomach had chased that away quickly.

"This way!"

Danny shrugged his wavering morality off and followed the kid, shouldering his new and stolen duffle bag. If anything happened, he could just go ghost. It wouldn't be the weirdest thing that's happened in this city, Danny made sure to check.

"Have you been by the zoo?" Billy began to rattle off his favorite details about the Fawcett city zoo as he wove around the city.

Danny didn't think he'd actually have to go ghost.

"Not yet, actually. Is it true that there's a talking tiger there?"

"Yeah! Tawky Tawny! He's my friend!"

"Awesome."

#dcxdc #Danny Phantom #leonard snart #central city rogues #the flash #dcxdp #dpxdc #dp x dc prompt #stealingyourbonesprompt

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mxrcurysb1tch · 4 months ago

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˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ Astrology 🐉observations pt. IV ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

: ̗̀➛ Gemini moons are super intelligent and generally study maths or engineering. They’re also super good at getting stuff done even though they never seem to ever be actually working? It’s like a talent.

: ̗̀➛ Ever wonder how someone can think a certain way and yet speak in a totally different way? They likely have their moon and mercury in completely different signs. For example, I’m a Capricorn moon with a Leo Mercury and while I am generally very hard on myself and sometimes pessimistic, it sometimes comes out as me appearing overly confident or self obsessed even though I feel anything but that. Another example is, a Gemini moon I know, he is always overthinking in his mind, feels anxious or flighty but his speech is very calm and levelled, since he is a Capricorn Mercury. This can sometimes lead to frustration especially if Mercury is debilitated or retrograde. People with complimentary or the same moon and mercury sign might have a more congruent way of expressing themselves and because they are sure of their convictions, many people may listen to them and respect them.

: ̗̀➛ Mars and Mercury conjunctions make someone very good at insults or even verbal aggression, depending on the sign/house and other placements. Their humour is likely to be playfully making fun of people or even themselves. They may be witty with it too. When it comes to arguments they always know exactly what to say to win.

: ̗̀➛ Virgo placements especially rising, sun and mars have a tendency to be very connected to their bodies, and even hyper aware of the processes going on inside them. They’re not usually the types to forget to eat or rest. Not because they know better (but let’s face it they usually do) but simply because they feel their internal sensations so strongly. It can also sometimes develop into psycho-somatic conditions or health anxiety if it is too pronounced.

: ̗̀➛ Having multiple detriment placements (especially if you also have no domiciles and if Saturn is involved) can make the native feel like they have to work super hard at everything they do and like nothing comes naturally to them. They might feel like they aren’t talented or gifted in any way or that they weren’t blessed in life like other people are. This usually isn’t true though, what these natives need is a bit of self belief and self love.

: ̗̀➛ Meeting someone with the same moon sign as you is an elite experience. You might just feel connected to them in some way and just intuitively understand each other. Of course it will depend on their other placements too, but usually you guys will feel like you just “get each other” This is because you won’t have to explain to them why you feel a certain way or modify your expression in order to relate to them on a deeper level. My childhood best friend has the same moon sign as me and I have always felt like we are platonic soulmates.

: ̗̀➛ Whichever house you have Scorpio in can show where/what in your life you are most secretive about. For example, if you have Scorpio in your 2nd house you might be very secretive about your money, home or possessions. You might not want people to know how you earn money/how much you earn or you might not like having people come over to your house. If you have Scorpio in the 7th house you might be secretive about your relationships, you might engage in a lot of clandestine flings or affairs.

: ̗̀➛ People with the same sun as their rising feel so warm and genuine, what you see is what you get. They’re usually super confident in their own skin. They can’t help but be transparent and bare their souls to you. The degree to which will depend on the sign, of course. However, People with the same moon as their rising might feel overexposed and vulnerable. They usually have a more quiet presence, or always look like they’re sad or far away. They’re usually lost in thought or emotion though as they can’t help but be forced to examine their inner world in excruciating details.

#astroblr #astrology #astrology community #astrology signs #astrology observations #astro placements #astro moodboard #astro observations #Spotify

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suhkusa · 1 year ago

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TO THE TOP.

PAIRING. Sakusa Kiyoomi x f!Reader

SUMMARY. Sakusa Kiyoomi was ranked #1 in his class. Was, at least until you came along. After this revelation, he makes it a (personal) challenge to overtake you. Sakusa Kiyoomi is a genius at everything he does, but for once he finds it a challenge when it comes to you.

CW. hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, rivals to lovers except kiyoomi is the only one competing, idiots in love (but theyre actually geniuses), high school setting, ~3k words

A/N. Got inspired from a tiktok and came up with this word vom hope u enjoy

Everything came easy for Kiyoomi. Academically, at least.

While all his classmates found themselves struggling to take tests or study, it was as natural as breathing for Kiyoomi. There were some cons to being as incredibly intelligent as him, but he found himself drowning in the gratification of being #1.

At least until the 2nd semester of his third year. At least until you.

———

Class Rank: 2

Sakusa finds himself staring at the transcript in his hand, as if his ogling would have an effect in changing the number presented before him.

His eyes scan through his class history, looking for any clues as to how he might’ve dropped in ranking. But there was nothing. All A’s, and as many extra classes stuffed into each year as possible.

Kiyoomi’s home room was rowdy as students caught up with one another, as winter break had just ended. While in his own little world, his ears catch onto a couple of words his classmates threw around.

“I heard Sakusa isn’t the top in our class anymore, is that true?”

“Woah, hasn’t he been the top of our class since the 1st year? I wonder who was able to catch up,”

His eye twitched a bit at that one.

“It was that new girl, Y/N,”

The paper crumbled slightly under his grasp. Y/N?

The ring of the bell, signifying the start of class, caused him to slightly jump in his seat. Kiyoomi crumbles his transcript before tossing it in his bag, it’s going to change soon anyways.

He would just have to step up his game.

———

It was ironic really. The world really loved to test Sakusa Kiyoomi, and not only at his school subjects. Of course, you were his desk partner in his math class. Only he had the amazing luck of being seated next to his new self-declared rival.

Kiyoomi knows it’s rude to stare, but he can’t himself because you’re the number one student? You?!

Honestly, you don’t seem like the academic type. You seem too pretty to be caring about stuff like that. At first, he considers the fact that you could be using your looks to get people to do the dirty work for you. But he witnesses first-hand as you write down every math equation, answer every question correctly, and even check your work not once, but twice.

His hyperfixation on you is bad. So bad, he missed the whole introduction lesson and is trying to rapidly copy down what’s on the whiteboard as the teacher is erasing it. Fuck-

“Would you like to see my notes?”

Kiyoomi’s pencil comes to a halt as he looks back at you, your papers are being pushed towards him on the desk. He watches as your eyes widen, as if you suddenly became self conscious.

“I-Is there something on my face? You were staring at me so I wasn’t sure…”

Shit.

“No,” he tries to make up something, but what comes out of his mouth is stupid, “I was just looking past you,” it appears it’s sufficient though, as you nod in response.

“I see, well, did you want to see them?” you gestured to the notes between the two of you.

Kiyoomi tells himself that if you hadn’t offered, he wouldn’t have asked. But since you oh so kindly offered them up, who was he to say no? He doesn’t need them. He could always ask his cousin, though his handwriting resembles chicken scratch more than human writing.

“Sure,” he takes the papers and positions them in a way where he could just look between them and his own.

In his head, Kiyoomi is scolding himself over and over again for not paying attention. This cannot be a regular thing. If he was going to take back his rank, he needed to be on his A-Game.

His pencil slaps against his desk as he finishes, quickly sliding your papers back towards you.

“Thanks,” Kiyoomi offers.

He watches from his peripheral vision as you smile and give back an “Anytime,” before gathering your things and getting up to go to your next class.

Kiyoomi doesn’t know what it was about you, but he could tell he was going to need to up his game. This was war.

———

By the second week of sitting by you, he decides you’re annoying. More annoying than the people who talk while the teacher is talking. Which, in his book, is hard to beat.

Maybe you weren’t as smart as he pinned you to be, since you kept helping Kiyoomi with his work when he did not need it.

Though, you were only able to backseat his work because you somehow finished before him. He’s used to being the only one who sits back and relaxes as the rest of his class struggles to complete the practice problems.

It’s weird though. Because as much as Sakusa hates your yapping, he doesn’t find himself putting an end to it. Instead your voice plays in the background as he completes his work.

He hates it, or at least that’s what he tells himself, the way you praise him like a little kid when he finally completes the work sheet.

“Nice job!” you smile at him, “but, how come you don’t check your work to make sure you’re right?”

“Because I’m always right,” he replies with a slight roll of his eyes.

You laugh at that, I’m not joking, he thinks.

“You’re funny, you know that?” you tell him.

Kiyoomi gives you a shrug, “Whatever,”

———

A month in, he begins to indulge in your shenanigans. But only because he had felt bad.

During the third week of sitting by each other, you had taken his short and dry responses personally. You halted your chatter and no longer offered to help like you usually did. The way the classroom felt quiet without your talking was eerie, so Sakusa reluctantly decided that he’d rather hear your voice instead of nothing at all.

So a month in is when your friendship, or whatever you called it, began with him.

“Why do you use erasable pens? Just use a pencil,” he questions you, eyes peering down at your pen.

You look taken aback as you respond, “I don’t know, is there something wrong with it?” you examine your pen, “I just found it on the floor and stuck with it,”

First of all, gross, remind him not to touch you or your belongings ever. “It’s just a hassle, sometimes it doesn’t erase,”

“Well, it hasn’t given me any problems, so!” you exclaim as you get back to write on your practice quiz. “This is kind of challenging, huh?”

“Nah,” he lies, “You’re just stupid,”

You laugh in his face, “Rude,” Kiyoomi watches as you glimpse at his paper before going back to yours, “That’s why you got the first problem wrong and I didn’t say anything,”

Sakusa can feel his eyebrows scrunch up, he’s quick as he glances at it and then yours. Fuck. He’s mumbling something under his breath and he begrudgingly erases the circle around his answer.

“Told ya,” you smile before moving onto the last problem, “you know, we should hangout or something,”

“No,” he’s quick to cut you off, catching you by surprise.

“Whaaat, it doesn’t have to be like that, weirdo,” it seems like you’re going back on what you meant, “Like to study,”

“Still, no,”

“C’mon, don’t knock it till you try it,” you nudge at him, and to be honest, if you were anyone else he might’ve punched you, “please, just once,”

You’re annoying and pushy. But he supposes that if saying yes to you would get you to leave him alone, he’d say, “Fine, whatever, it has to be my house, though. Your house is probably messy,”

Kiyoomi watches as your face slowly brightens before silently celebrating to yourself as you get your way with him once again.

———

“Wow,” you’re amazed as you walk through Sakusa’s house, “your house is so nice, do you have a maid to keep it clean or something?”

“No, just me,” he says before leading you into his room, “please don’t make a mess,”

“I won’t, I won’t,” you say before settling down on his rug, playing with the soft threads, “Okay, I was hoping to review the practice quiz, I know the teacher said I got it right but I feel like there were some parts that had me second guessing myself,”

You’re quick to open up your textbook and blab about whatever problem you were having trouble with. You actually came over to study. Kiyoomi was under the impression that once you got over to his house you’d make him do whatever silly shit you usually have in mind. But no, you actually respected his wishes. Which in turn, earned you some respect from him as well.

“So you’re number one, huh?” He asks, looking up from his textbook to meet your eyes.

“Yeah, but it’s surprising that all my credits from my old school carried over,” you mindlessly say as you continue to write on your sheet of paper.

The sound of the pencils scribbling on paper fills the room before you interrupt it, “You were rank one before I came, right?”

His pencil stills, “Mhm,” It was a touchy subject, though he never thought he’d hear it from you.

“I’m sorry,” you surprised him, “When I found out I took your ranking spot, I was nervous because people are serious about that stuff. And then, when I got seated by you and you stared me down, I thought you hated my guts,”

Well, you had it down to the T, but he wouldn’t tell you that.

“You don’t have to apologize, it’s out of your control,” you smile at his words.

“Thank you,”

It’s then, in his room, when he realizes he’s losing sight of his goal. To overtake your position. As he watched you look back down at your textbook, he found himself locking in as well.

He needed to get serious, now.

———

These hangouts, or study dates, or study hangouts, whatever, became basically practice. Always at his house, though. Since he couldn’t fathom the idea of how dirty your room might be.

“I don’t know how you balance volleyball and school, Omi,” you say from your position lying on his floor.

“Don’t call me that,”

You laugh before continuing, “All I do is school and I’m always exhausted. I had to quit my shifts at the cafe down the road because I would fall asleep before making it to my room,”

“Dangerous, Y/N,” he says, frantically writing down practice problem after practice problem.

Picking yourself off the ground, “Wow, you’re serious about this final, huh, Omi,”

He glares at you, causing you to laugh again, “Sorry, sorry,” your eyes meet his for a brief second before he looks back at his paper, “but you know it’s okay to take a break, right, that’s all you’ve been doing. We haven’t even gotten to try to compete for today’s Wordle yet,”

“Mhm,” is all he offers you.

You sigh in response to that, “Boring, so boring,” you say as you lay back down

“You can go home if you’re bored,”

“Ugh, rude,” you roll around to make yourself comfortable, “I would but sadly I like being in your presence,”

“Whatever you say,”

“Do you like being in mine?” you question, causing Sakusa to hesitate on the problem he was on.

“You’re tolerable,”

You find yourself cheesing, “That’s a yes in my book,”

———

Finals are coming up. There’s so much on your mind, that you finally decide to let one of the thoughts that have been driving you crazy go. The fact that you like Sakusa Kiyoomi.

It’s nerve wracking. Not only because you’re basically confessing your feelings, but also because he’s your only friend you’ve made since being here. A lot of people think he’s rude and condescending, but to you he’s different.

He lets you talk your head off about whatever your brain decides fits best. And while he gives you short responses, they show you that he’s listening and observant. He’s on your level regarding academics and can keep up to your train of thought. He just cares.

And while you hope he might feel the same despite only knowing you for the past couple of months, you chalk it up to fate as to whether or not your intuition is correct.

As you approach the gymnasium, you slow and quiet your steps as you hear familiar voices by the entrance.

“You’ve been hanging out with Y/N quite a bit, huh, cous’? Your mom told mines,” you assume is Komori based on his words.

“Yes. It’s not like that, though,” you recognize as Sakusa.

You assume he might be fronting since it is his cousin, and feelings are embarrassing at times.

“C’mon, you can’t tell me you don’t like her, she’s like one of the prettiest girls in class and she’s smart. So like, your type,” Komori pushes. And while part of you likes that he said that, you soon take it back after Kiyoomi’s words.

“I don’t like her. I only put up with her because she’s so pushy and always hovers over me while I try to do my work. Plus, she took my ranking spot,”

The world feels silent for a second, the only sound audible to you is the sound of your heart slowly breaking.

“She’s just a nuance, honestly,”

Your feet are moving before you realize. Slowly backing away before running the opposite direction.

He doesn’t like you? You were right that he hates you because you’re number one? He let you into his house but only because you pushed him? Your thoughts are running faster than your own legs, you don’t even realize the drips of water slowly running down your cheeks.

If number one was what he wanted, then you were going to give it to him.

———

Kiyoomi finds it weird. Finds you weird. Well, he’s always found you weird, but particularly as of recent. But only because you’re quiet. And have been for the past couple of days.

At first, he assumes it’s because the finals had finally arrived and you wanted to focus on your work. Which, respect, because it also allowed him to focus on his own.

But even after the finals had passed, you were still quiet. You opted for doodling in your notebook instead of talking to him about a new video game you’ve hyper fixated on or this new show you started to watch.

It’s even weirder when the teacher is going around passing out the graded math finals, that he stops by your desk, letting out a whispered, “I’m disappointed in you, Y/N,”

Kiyoomi hears, and it calls his attention towards your paper before even his own. His eyes widened.

A big, fat, red 0 marked at the top of your quiz.

“Y/N-”

“Are you happy now, Number 1?” you ask, still looking down at your paper.

He’s about to ask you what the hell you’re talking about before the bells conveniently cut him off, allowing you to take off without a second glance back at him.

His mind is caught up on your words, Number 1. Kiyoomi has never brought up his disdain regarding the rankings to you, ever. Yes, it bothered him at first. But eventually he didn’t mind it, since the only person he’d ever allow to be above him is you.

Kiyoomi thinks back on any time he’s ever mentioned it before he remembers the one time he had ever verbally brought it up to anyone. But there was no way… unless.

Fuck, Sakusa thinks as the bright red 100 on his paper stares back at him. It mocked him, poking at his head uncomfortably. Without a second thought, he crumbles the paper before stuffing it into his bag. Kiyoomi had finally gotten back what he’s been working for this whole time, so why does he feel empty?

Kiyoomi realizes then that while you may have lost your Rank 1 position, he was the true loser. Because he didn’t have you.

———

He finds himself at your door before he even knows it. He’s giving an excuse of “she left her notebook,” to your parents as they direct him to where your room is.

When he finally walks in, he’s shocked. Your room is clean.

Even as you lay in your bed so peacefully, the space around you is clean, and he feels like it’s safe to walk in.

“Y/N,” is his first attempt at waking you up, before he’s walking closer to your bed, crouching down a bit to pat your back, “Y/N,” again.

It’s by the fourth or fifth time that he calls your name that you finally look up at him, and you look heavenly.

He’s always known you were pretty, but even more so now you were gorgeous, hair messy, eyes droopy with sleepiness. You were perfect.

Your eyes blink a couple times before you look like you’ve processed who is standing before you. Quickly sitting up, hands moving every which way to fix your appearance, “Omi- I mean Sakusa what are- what do you want?”

Ouch.

“You need to leave, I-I don’t want to see you,” your voice is beginning to tremble and it hurts him, “You finally got what you wanted, I don’t know what more you want,”

“You, I want you,”

Your face drops in disbelief, “No, you don’t. I heard you, what you said,”

“Y/N-”

“No, you hurt me, Kiyoomi. I like you,” you cry, “You can’t just say all of that and then show up out of nowhere claiming otherwise,”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he’s kneeling now, allowing him to be the same height as you as you sit in your bed, weeping, “I-I’m sorry,”

His rough thumb smoothes away your tears as they fall, “I didn’t mean it, I was frustrated- and that’s no excuse for what I said, I fucked up really bad,” with every word another sob breaks loose from you, “And I’m sorry,”

“At first, all I ever wanted was to be rank #1, but then you came along and changed everything… Then I realized that it wasn’t being #1 I wanted, it was you,” he continues, “and that’s scary, because my ranking was all I’ve known all these years,”

“But even so, you made it okay. I was okay with being #2, I was so caught up in you that I forgot I ever wanted to be #1 in the first place,” your eyes finally meet behind the thick tears in your lashes, “I like you, Y/N,”

He can tell you’re at a loss for words. And for once he can finally say he has out-talked you.

Until finally, you decide words aren’t sufficient in this situation. Before he knows it, you’re leaning forward, and your lips are on his. The kiss is short, but definitely more than a peck. But it felt infinite to Kiyoomi. He never wanted the moment to end, and found himself sad as you finally pulled away.

You stared him down for a brief second before tackling him down to the ground in a big hug, “I hate you, Omi,” you laugh angrily.

“Sure,” he smugly replies, watching as you smile into his shirt.

“My number one,” you sarcastically mutter as you fake pout at him.

He cringes, “Ugh, don’t. I feel guilty, why would you even do that? You’re crazy,”

“Because I don’t care about the ranking. I never did. Plus it somehow only dropped me to #2 since the rest of our class failed and I’ve taken too many extra classes,” you say, “I only cared about you,”

Kiyoomi smiles at you before crushing you in his hug.

Everything came easy for Kiyoomi. Especially now, his feelings for you.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst #sakusa x reader #hq angst #sakusa angst #haikyuu x reader angst #sakusa fanfic #haikyuu fanfic #raeworks #sakusa x reader angst

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makis-eyebrows · 1 month ago

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Request: 🍓

One Page At A Time

Exam stress is something Lily and Oscar never want to see from their daughter. So they do what they can. They help her.

The house was quiet — not peaceful, but tense.

Upstairs, the only sound was the furious scratch of a pen on paper, the occasional frustrated sigh, and the muffled thud of a textbook being slammed shut.

Y/n Piastri-Zneimer sat hunched over her desk, hair piled into a messy bun, eyes darting over formulas and facts that refused to stick. Her room looked like a war zone — colour-coded notes scattered across her bed, flashcards stuck on the wall like battle plans, and a half-finished mug of tea that had gone cold hours ago.

It was exam season. The final exam season.

The one that decided her future.

University applications were around the corner, and her grades this year would carry the most weight. And though Y/n had always been a steady, self-motivated student, the pressure had started pressing in on all sides like a slow tide. Her highlighters were running dry. Her sleep was inconsistent. And she hadn’t smiled — not really — in days.

Oscar had noticed.

So had Lily.

They had heard the small, tired voice from behind her door whenever they checked in. Had seen her rubbing her temples at breakfast, eyes still glazed over from late-night revision. Oscar had even found her dozing off on the couch with her physics notes stuck to her cheek one evening after a study break turned nap.

That night, as Lily stirred pasta in the kitchen and Oscar leaned against the counter with a quiet frown, they exchanged a look.

“She’s going to burn out,” Lily said softly, voice laced with concern.

Oscar nodded. “I keep telling her to take a break, but she won’t listen. Says she doesn’t have time.”

“Then maybe we make the time for her.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “Operation Parental Intervention?”

Lily smiled. “Exactly.”

It started small the next morning.

Oscar brought her breakfast in bed — toast, berries, and a soft-boiled egg with a silly little smiley face drawn in sharpie.

Y/n blinked at the tray. “Dad… what’s this?”

He shrugged casually. “Brain fuel. Straight from the Piastri pit crew. You’re the car, exams are the race, and you can’t win if you don’t refuel.”

Y/n laughed softly despite herself. “That was so cheesy.”

“I aim to please.”

Later that afternoon, Lily walked into Y/n’s room with a stack of hot chocolate, fluffy socks, and a candle that smelled like vanilla and old libraries.

“Okay,” she said, clapping her hands. “Five-minute breathing session, followed by a twenty-minute reset walk with your very stylish mum. No negotiation.”

“But I have—”

“Y/n.”

Y/n looked up and saw the gentleness in her mum’s eyes. The kind that didn’t push too hard, just held space. Slowly, she closed her textbook.

“…Fine. But only because I’m starting to smell like exam stress.”

They walked around the neighbourhood, talking about everything but school — their dog barking at leaves, the colour of the sunset, how Lily once fell off a Segway in front of a busload of tourists.

And just like that, some of the weight fell off Y/n’s shoulders.

But the big move came the next evening.

Y/n was hitting a breaking point with her maths exam. Graphs and derivatives blurred together, and nothing made sense. Her hands trembled from too much caffeine. Her chest was tight.

“Stupid curve,” she muttered, eyes burning. “I don’t get it, I just… don’t get it.”

A knock sounded on her door.

Oscar poked his head in. “Hey, I need you for something.”

“Dad, I’m really not—”

“Y/n.”

She sighed, standing reluctantly.

But when she followed him downstairs, she blinked in confusion.

The living room had been transformed.

A blanket fort — a giant one — took over the couch, twinkly lights draped along the top like constellations. A projector lit the wall with her favorite movie’s opening scene. Popcorn sat in a bowl shaped like a racing helmet. On the floor was a handwritten sign:

“NO EXAMS ALLOWED BEYOND THIS POINT.”

Lily popped her head out from under the fort flap. “Come on in, Professor. Time to shut off that brain.”

Y/n stared, eyes wide. Then she let out a choked laugh.

“You guys are ridiculous.”

Oscar beamed. “And you love it.”

She crawled inside, curling up between them under a mountain of pillows. Her hand found Oscar’s and squeezed.

“Thanks, Dad.”

He squeezed back. “One page at a time, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

That night, after the movie ended and Y/n had fallen asleep against her mum’s shoulder — breathing finally even and calm — Oscar looked down at her peaceful face and smiled.

She’d be okay.

Because she didn’t have to carry the pressure alone.

Not when she had them in her corner, cheering her on — no matter the grade, no matter the result.

Just like he’d always wanted to be for her.

Another piece of work done :)

I'm heading to bed now. I can't wake up upset or anything or I'll miss the bus, since I have school and all.

That's Gang Gang out!!!!

#f1 dads #f1 drivers as fathers #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #daughter!reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #formula one #f1 fluff #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x daughter!reader

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fligniuz · 3 months ago

Text

sex for homework

luigi mangione x reader

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

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

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

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

You have a bit of a dilemma.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your phone buzzes.

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

Academic Weapon (Luigi) : Smh

Who studies the night before their final?? Dummy

You smile, replying:

i do :(

help pls :((

Academic Weapon (Luigi) : You poor thing

And then:

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

We’ll work it out together

Score. He adds:

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

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

no promises :P

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, what were you thinking about?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”But I think you should,” he whispers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

^ dividers by cafekitsune

#luigi mangione x reader #luigi mangione imagine #luigi mangione fanfiction #luigi mangione fic #flig’s work #✏️tutor gi

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jwonnn · 1 month ago

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God, you're so annoying - Yang Jungwon

"Just take it, will you?"

────୨ৎ────

Genre --> academic rivals, high school, childhood friends

Summary --> -Jungwon has been the perfect student, son, and class president since the start of middle school. His vice president, y/n, had always lost by one vote. Now that high school has started for the two of them, Jungwon begins to realise his determined vice president has fallen behind, losing her spark day by day. He doesn't even realise it, until he finds himself missing her ever-annoying presence. -

────୨ৎ────

Whenever y/n saw Yang Jungwon pass by in the hallways, she couldn't hide her frustration. It was in his perfect posture, smug face, and broad shoulders that did it. Not once did Jungwon seem intimidated by her. His position had remained the same for all the fourteen years she had known him, the only president her class had ever known.

And, her?

Always second to Jungwon.

She was nothing but Jungwon's vice president. When, Jungwon was sick, she was the replacement. When Jungwon had important taekwondo tournaments, she was the replacement.

And after over a decade of trying, she couldn't take it any longer.

The summer before high school began, y/n had a plan in mind. A "social experiment" - that’s what she told herself. Although she knew deep down it was just her pathetic self burning out.

It would start off with coming to school late (which, she never had in all her years of school), then missing assignments (that she had to train herself not to reach for and complete), and then refusing to study.

Bringing her to the horrid situation she was placed in now. Y/n sat in awe at the modest little numbers “89%” on the most recent math test. An A-. How sweet, she thought.

Instead of crying over a careless mistake that had her one mark off from a hundred, whilst Jungwon stood unfazed, handing his perfect paper properly back to the teacher, she smiled.

She could feel the strain in her cheeks as she kept the smile up. Just one more week. After this semester, I’ll be better than ever. This is just a test. It’s a calculated experiment, I swear.

She stood up calmly and walked towards the teacher’s desk. Preparing herself for whatever disappointed comment she would receive for her newest grade.

Jungwon stood behind her - waiting to hand back his paper as well.

"Mr. Perfect probably got a hundred again" - she muttered to herself.

He stood confidently tall, paying zero attention to the fuming girl in-front of him.

“Y/n this is the first time in a while! Even the class average was a 90. This is not the grades a vice president should be achieving. Have you not been sleeping well? I can see your eyebags…”

“I have miss…”

She knew Mrs Park was old, but she may have well screamed it in the morning announcements. The same broadcasting club that Jungwon had been the captain of. How irritating.

She winced in embarrassment, and walked back towards her seat. Just as she rolled out her chair, a gentle tug on her blazer sleeve stopped her. Turning around she faced,

Yang Jungwon.

Looking down on me again - aren’t you?

“What happened?” His eyes narrowed in genuine curiosity.

“Nothing, I guess I just didn’t try” y/n snapped back at the boy.

“You? Not trying? That’s a first” he scoffed turning his head away, before leaving the class with his friends.

And, he didn’t say another word.

Y/n clenched her fists like a child having a tantrum.

Why does he always have to have the last word? And, why is it so hot in here? Did Mrs Park lose the ac remote again??

“Y/n come on, you can blush over your boyfriend later.” Ella screamed from outside a window.

Taking off her jacket, y/n rushed out the door in a hurry. Speaking to herself like an idiot.

Hah. Yang jungwon? Never in a billion years would that guy be my boyfriend. He’s so proud and smart and-

Her thoughts were cut off by the overwhelming noise of the cafeteria.

Why else?

Certainly not because of the awkward eye contact she had made with him, whilst he sat with his friends.

The day had gone by quicker than expected in y/n's mind. When you spend all your time resisting the urge to raise your hand it tends to go by even faster.

Guess I don't need to go to table tennis club today. Great. I don't have to witness Jungown win every match for the whole hour either.

She took out her phone with a sigh. Only to see,

"Sweety, can you take the bus today? The car's broken again." : from Dad <3

Oh. It's starting to rain though. And its cold. Where the hell did I leave my blazer now??

Y/n ran back and forth between the hallways, in search of her jacket. Only when she noticed how dark the sky had gotten, she realised there would be nothing worth waiting for at the bus stop.

And, she was right.

She sat in despair.

No jacket? No car? No phone battery. What am I gonna do with my life. Hopless, she hung her head low.

"Nice to see you too." Jungwon cocked his head to the side. A knowing grin plastered on his face,

"Late again, are you y/n?"

"Shut up." Y/n turned away, scrunching up her face in annoyance.

He sat down calmly next to her, watching the raindrops slowly increase. "I would, but you'd be bored then. and your dumbass is just gonna keep whining like usual, and wait for your imaginary bus."

Y/n couldn't really collect her thoughts. She envied how carefree his life was. Naturally gifted. How nice would that be? Must be nice to have a jacket in this weather as well. I bet he he has his driver to come pick him up too. Spoiled.

She turned her head to look at him.

"Where's your chauffer?"

Jungwon laughed, shaking his head, he handed her his bus ticket.

"Oh." Y/n's ears flushed with embarassment.

Thought I knew him at least a little bit...

Even in the now downpour, an old lady emerged from beside the dimly lit bus stop, pushing a trolley of mangoes. For it was Spring.

Without even thinking, Y/n ran quickly towards the lady in the pouring rain.

"Auntie! Aunte!! Please wait."

The lady swiveled her head towards the young school girl, her eyes lighting up.

"One mango please!" Y/n took a quick glance at Jungwon, who had ironically taken "a quick glance" at her too, before changing her request. "Actually, two will do. Thank you!"

She waved the lady goodbye, letting her keep the change, before running back towards the bench. Only to see Jungwon finding the roof of the bus stop incredibly fascinating.

"Nice weather up there?"

She was met with no words. Instead, a blazer was sternly shoved in her face.

Jungwon cleared his throat. "Please take it."

"Why?"

"God, you're so annoying. Just take it, will you? I'm being serious."

Not until then, did Y/n decided to look down at her bright pink bra on full display, underneath her drenched (practically transparant) white blouse.

"Uh-", she reached for the blazer without any further questions.

They sat in silence for the next five minutes, giving Y/n just the right amount of time to reflect on the incident that had just occured.

Monotonously, she handed Jungwon a mango.

"Here. If u wanna eat it now, I have an extra spoon in my lunchbox,"

Jungwon had taken it, but couldn't utter the words "Thank you." To him, he felt it was unnecessary with Y/n to do so.

Y/n didn't expect one either. She sat back in her seat, took out her spoon and began eating the mango herself, comfortable in the warmth of his large blazer.

"I'm good. I'll save it for later."

Still digging into the fresh yellow flesh with her spoon she mumbled, "I actually hate mangoes."

"Who?" Jungwoon sneered

"What?"

"Asked." He stared at her shoes, trying to hold his laughter like a fool. Only Y/n could mess up Jungwon’s poised composure.

"Wow. Mr. Perfect has jokes now huh?" she mocked, rolling her eyes.

"But why eat it then?" he observed her childish behaviour.

"Can't avoid the things you don't like all the time. Can you? Plus, I just felt bad."

"Is that why you aren't avoiding me?" he asked innocently.

"You really are a pain in the ass, Yang Jungwon." she sighed.

"I missed you, you know?" he whispered, as though he were talking to himself.

Y/n stopped having a go at the mango - just to process his words.

"What was that?"

He coughed, flustered. "What I meant was, I missed having competition. Class is so boring without someone worth competing with. So, what happened?"

"I already told you. Nothing." she avoided Jungwon's persistant eyes. Hiding her reddening face.

"Then stop ignoring me, stupid. Come back." Jungwon took out his phone, calling a taxi driver he had trusted. "There, she's here now."

"Who?" Y/n raised her eyebrows, concerned.

"Your taxi driver. She's a woman. You'll be safe. I know her," Jungwon casually said.

"Good to have female connections. Right Jungwon?" She found it hard to ignore the bubbling jealously rising in her heart.

Get a hold of yourself Y/n. Why do you even care? He literally just called a taxi for you.

"She's my cousin, relax. You're cute when you're jealous." He laughed, pointing towards the small white Honda. “And she's here now. Say hi to her for me."

"I hate you." Unsure of what to say, Y/n grabbed her things before getting in the car.

"Love you too," Jungwon replied softly, gazing at her blazer, which he had forgotten to return folded neatly in his bag.

#enhypen #jungwon x reader #yang jungwon #enha x reader #enha fluff #high school #school #enemies to lovers #jungwon fic #fluff #enhypen fluff #highschoolenhypen

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scentedpeachlandcreator · 1 year ago

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Random things to manifest:

ੈ✩‧₊˚A fancy car.

ੈ✩‧₊˚To become a billionaire or a millionaire.

ੈ✩‧₊˚A tiny fairy.(success story here and here)

ੈ✩‧₊˚A flying magical pet or plushie that helps you and grants your wishes.

ੈ✩‧₊˚A magical wand.

ੈ✩‧₊˚A Magic door that exists inside your closet.

ੈ✩‧₊˚A hidden garden just for yourself.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Superpowers.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Able to shapeshift.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Just snapping your finger once and you tap into the void state instantly.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Having a photographic memory.

ੈ✩‧₊˚A billion dollar mansion/penthouse. (Success story here)

ੈ✩‧₊˚Owning a Land.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Having a (hot😏)Bodyguard.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Princess treatment.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Ideal boyfriend (down to smallest details, they could even be your fictional character).

ੈ✩‧₊˚Winning a lottery.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Always receiving expensive gifts.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Desired phones (iPhones or even Samsung).

ੈ✩‧₊˚Supernatural Friends.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Your desired Friend group.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Desired best Friend. (Success story here)

ੈ✩‧₊˚How people view you (high self-concept).

ੈ✩‧₊˚Desired career.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Being a famous youtuber.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Meeting with your favorite celebrities.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Owning a big company.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Being a nepobaby.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Having the ability to appear things from thin air.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Being popular in school.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Being the most beautiful girl in the entire universe.

ੈ✩‧₊˚modeling.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Having A marks in every subject no matter what without studying.(success story here)

ੈ✩‧₊˚Revising your past grades to perfection.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Revising your whole life.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Having pretty privilege.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Getting food for free.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Manifesting fictional characters to reality.( A success story about it here)

ੈ✩‧₊˚Desired scenarios to happen (even the most unrealistic one).

ੈ✩‧₊˚Dating your crush (they Can be your celebrity crush). (Success story here and here)

ੈ✩‧₊˚Ability to fly.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Turning into mythical creatures.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Expensive apartment.(success story here)

ੈ✩‧₊˚Desired pet (cats or dogs).

ੈ✩‧₊˚Getting accepted into a desired college.(success story here)

ੈ✩‧₊˚Desired face and body.

ੈ✩‧₊˚You Can change the eye color of your eyes at will.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Your house get all cleaned with just a Snap of a finger.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Turning into a vampire or mermaid.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Can read Minds.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Telekinesis power. (Success story here)

ੈ✩‧₊˚Superhuman intelligence.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Living in a castle.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Having maids.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Revising your whole family.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Ranking first place in your school or college.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Having fans.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Having rich parents.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Get popular on tik tok.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Being the trend.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Revising embarrassing events.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Getting asked out by hot and loyal guys.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Living the Wattpad life.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Being skilled in something (art,sports,..ect).

ੈ✩‧₊˚Less period pain.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Able to shift instantly on commands.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Having your Desired wardrobe.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Skilled in playing games at first try.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Your desired setup.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Getting money out of nowhere. (Success story here)

ੈ✩‧₊˚Lucky girl syndrome.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Scripting your own story.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Your Pinterest board becomes true.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Manifest your desired app.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Making classes get canceled.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Making exams get canceled.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Manifesting Xbox or PlayStation 5.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Ability to Time Travel.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Travel to your desired country.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Move out to your desired country or place.

ੈ✩‧₊˚Having a Magic tattoo that have powers (inspired by the k-drama “my demon”).

ੈ✩‧₊˚being a math genius.

#loa tumblr #law of assumption #things to manifest #how to manifest #fun things to manifest #loa

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sinsxo · 1 month ago

Text

do you like me? —itoshi rin

synopsis. best friends for years, you thought you understood everything about him. but lately his actions have you questioning if there's something more.

cw. long drabble, fluff, best friend!rin x fem!reader, soft!rin, slight misunderstanding, confession, high school

wc. 567 words, proofread.

no matter how you look at it, it’s ridiculous to even think about it. how could your best friend, itoshi rin, possibly have a crush on you? how did you even come to that conclusion in the first place anyway?

maybe it’s the way he never bothers to interact with — let alone acknowledge — anyone that isn’t you or his teammates. yet he still stops by your classroom during recess, pulling over an empty chair just to sit with you. sometimes he watches you study in silence, other times he just listens and stares at you quietly as you rant about how your math teacher sucks at explaining differentiation.

or maybe it’s the way he shows up at your house uninvited with a bunch of your favourite snacks, reminding you to take breaks every 20 minutes while you study. he doesn't say much. he's just there lying on your bed with his earphones in, watching soccer videos and keeping quiet so he doesn’t disturb your study session.

it could be because he can see through you so easily — how he observes you for a few seconds without saying anything when you don’t start talking about how your day went, staying quiet instead of being your usual chatty self while you walk home together. even so, he still doesn’t say a word. he just takes your bag without asking, carrying it as if it might lighten the weight of whatever burden you were carrying — and somehow, it does.

or maybe it's the way he lets you touch him, the small nudges you give when you're teasing him that he doesn’t pull away from. or when you tug gently on his sleeve to show him something on your phone, your fingers brushing over his skin as you push his bangs aside — and he doesn’t flinch, he just lets you. how he doesn’t step back like you expected him to when you lean in close to whisper, instead he leans in just a little more, as if he’s waiting for you to get even closer.

maybe it’s the way he always, always shows up when he says he will. no excuses, no forgotten promises, not when it’s you. for example, despite grumbling about how hot the weather was today, he still met up with you at the cafe you frequent every weekend to study. well, at least for you to study. doesn’t he get bored just watching you?

however, studying can wait. he always insists on you eating something before you study. perhaps it’s also the way he offered to switch dishes with you when you decided to try a new dish from the cafe (which you didn’t expect to not suit your taste buds). for some reason, he just felt like ordering your usual dish today instead of his typical breakfast dish.

but he’s always like this, right? maybe he’s just a good friend. maybe you’re just reading into it.

“what’re you staring at?” rin asked, his usual scowl gracing his face.

it left your lips before you even realised it, “do you like me?”

rin tilted his head, his eyes flicking over your panicked expression before he let out a sigh. “for someone so smart, you sure are stupid,” he muttered, rolling his eyes.

“what?” you stammered, utterly lost. it couldn’t be. “you like me?”

“for almost three years now. thanks for finally noticing.”

all images, aside from the dividers, do not belong to me. credit belongs to their original creators on pinterest & xhs.

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nevereclipse · 3 months ago

Text

Perfect All-American Bitch

Pairing: Tony Stark x daughter!reader

Genre: Hurt/comfort, ANGST.

Words: 1.5k+

Summary: It's not easy being the daughter of Tony Stark. Your father is a genius, billionaire and philanthropist, so how could you ever dare to be anything less?

Requested: No

Warnings: perfectionism, media & paparazzi, alluded to sh and mentions of scars, panic attacks, pressure, mentions of bodyshaming, use of y/n, reader is referenced wearing a bikini and having a period

A/N: entirely self indulgent, i wish tony was my dad

----

Being Tony Stark's daughter was hard. It wasn't supposed to be - you had the money, the brains, the influence, the body and the face. It should've been easy. After all, your father was a genius. A philanthropist. A hero. Always in the spotlight. Being his daughter was a privilege.

And that was exactly the problem.

Because the thing is, when your father is a hero, everyone knows who you are. The media knows who you are. And the media wasn't known for being kind, or gentle. Everyone was expecting you to live up to your father's legacy - he was a genius, so you had to be too. He'd left a mark on the world, and so should you - but more than anything, they where waiting for you to fail.

And it wasn't even the media - it was everyone, except perhaps, your admittedly oblivious father, who was in your life. Your teachers, your peers, even your friends. They all expected you to live up to Tony's standards. To be perfect. You couldn't lose a mark. Couldn't have a hair out of place. Could never say the wrong thing in public.

It was a crushing weight for anyone to bear, but a seventeen year old high school senior most of all. Your father wasn't completely oblivious to the way the media affected your life, but his knowledge was... limited. You refused to tell him anything, not wanting to worry him. He dealt with enough, what with being an Avenger and near-constantly having to save the world. And he worried enough already. When you were thirteen, he'd found you crying over an article suggesting you needed to lose weight, and he'd spent the next six months constantly checking in on you to make sure you ate, on top of banning you from looking at media articles.

You frequently ignored that rule. So frequently in fact, that you had Google notifications turned on for Y/n Stark. You were admittedly a bit obsessed with your public perception.

For all your father's fear around the media, and all your knowledge of the fact that they would descend upon you the moment you slipped up, the articles were usually... kind. Which was almost worse. Every post praising your mind, or your body, or anything, just raised the standards which you had to meet.

----

You sat at your desk, hair still damp against your back, and muscles aching from almost an entire day spent at the beach. It’d been your best friend, Zahra’s birthday, and she’d insisted that you and your friends have what she called a ‘water and art festival,’ which really only including the five of you swimming all morning and painting on the beach all afternoon, whilst lounging in bikinis. You’d been hesitant at first – your period had just finished, and you felt slightly bloated, and you had a maths exam coming up which you desperately needed to study for. But Zahra was the youngest of your group, only freshly 17, and when faced with her pleading puppy dog eyes, you’d given in and agreed to attend her ‘festival.’ Besides, two of your friends had spent the day not-so-subtly eyeing off your body, jealousy in their eyes, and another had made numerous comments about how you could easily afford to skip a day of study because you were just ‘so naturally smart.’

Despite that, it'd been an amazing day, though part of your mind had been preoccupied running through formulas, but you were feeling the costs of it now as you sat, staring at the half-done practice test on your desk. So far, you were confident you’d gotten everything right, but the test only covered half the content you needed to have perfected by next week. You were decidedly not a maths person, a fact you were painfully aware of. Sure, you managed to maintain straight As in maths, but it was a lot of work, and it left you feeling constantly inadequate when compared to Tony ‘My maths is always right’ Stark.

You couldn’t afford to fail this exam. It was your senior year, and everything counted, and anything less than an A couldn’t be accepted. Universities were watching your every move, practically begging to hand you scholarships, and the media was perched waiting to joyfully announce that you’d secured valedictorian – or failed to. And so, you slaved away.

The question in front of you taunted you. You knew, in theory, how to do it, but every time you tried, you got it wrong. Every cross shaped mark of the red pen seemed to scream ‘NOT GOOD ENOUGH.’ Your hands started to shake as you tried the question another time. You shouldn’t have gone out, you’d wasted so much time and now you were going to fail and everyone was going to realize you were an imposter and you didn’t deserve to be a Stark because you weren’t good enough.

Your pen clattered on the desk in front of you just as you started to hyperventilate. Your breath wasn’t coming normally, and it seemed as if static was playing in your head, mixed with voices chanting out all the ways you didn’t live up to standards.

A series of notifications on your phone pulled you out of your panic. The sound snapped you back to reality, and you closed your eyes for just a few seconds. The panic started to subside, and you managed to get some air into your lungs. Only then did you check your phone.

And by God, did you regret it. Three new Google alerts stared back at you, all accompanied by different images of you at the beach earlier that day. The first wasn’t too bad, though it sent thoughts of time-wasting whirring in your mind again–

‘Y/N STARK: WORKING HARD OR HARDLY WORKING? DOES THE DAUGHTER OF A GENIUS EVEN NEED TO STUDY?’

The next was worse, and you breathing again quickened-

‘BIKINI BODY OR BIKINI BELLY? Y/n Stark’s new bikini is a… bold choice.’

One arm instinctively wrapped around your stomach, and you knew, you knew it was stupid, but you couldn’t stop it. You should’ve known this would happen, should’ve known better than to go outside not looking perfect. Still, this had happened before, and you fought off the tears pricking at your eyes. But it was the final article title that sent your blood running cold.

‘STARK HEIRESS NOT SO PERFECT? SCARS SPOTTED ON THE TEEN AT FRIEND’S BEACH PARTY.’

The article heading was accompanied by an inappropriately close up shot of your thighs, which were dappled in thin, straight, white lines. Your stomach dropped, your worst fear coming to life. The scars were old, from over a year ago, at one of the worst periods of your life. You’d spent every spare second obsessively checking the news and the weight of your perfectionism had nearly crushed you. Still, you’d managed to marginally improve and hadn’t touched scissors in that way in over a year. And you’d managed to make sure the media hadn’t found out. But you’d been so preoccupied by your stomach, and your upcoming exam that you hadn’t even thought about making sure the scars were covered.

You’d failed, and soon the whole world was going to know you were a failure, and you weren’t the perfect princess they thought you were. You were scarred, fragile, not as smart as your father, never as good as your father and- your vision was starting to go black. You hadn’t realized you’d stopped breathing, but you were soon quickly trying to suck air in. It wasn’t working. Because why would something you ever did, work?

“Kid?” Your father was knocking rapidly at your door, “Y/n, honey, I need you to open the door.”

You couldn’t get enough air in your lungs to say anything, so you made some vague gesture you hoped JARVIS would interpret as ‘let him in.’ You heard the door click, and soon, Tony was rushing over your desk, kneeling in front of you.

“Honey? Y/n, honey, hey, what’s going on?” Tony quickly looked over you, clearly recognizing you were having a panic attack. He’d talked you out of enough of them to know them by just the sound of your breathing. His eyes fell to your maths paper, and he was going to ask about it, but then they fell further and landed on your phone screen, the article title still visible. His eyes immediately darkened, and he bit out an angry ‘motherfuckers’ under his breath. He quickly shut off your phone, throwing it onto your bed and out of your reach.

“Okay.” Tony grabbed your hand, his warmth grounding you, “Honey. I need you to look at me? Can you look at me, kid?”

Just barely, you managed to meet his eyes. They were filled with concern.

“Good job, you’re doing great. Okay, can you squeeze my hands? That’s perfect. Alright, breath with me, okay?” Tony took an exaggerated breath in, “Like this,” And an exaggerated breath out. “In… and out…”

You slowly began to breath with him, but as soon as your breath returned, you collapsed into his arms, sobs wracking your body.

“They fou- they found out, Dad.” You sobbed, “They weren’t supposed to know, I can’t- They can’t know- I shouldn’t’ve let them find out, ‘m a fuckin’ failure, Dad…”

You couldn’t see it, but as soon as the word ‘failure’ left your lips, Tony’s entire face collapsed. He slowly smoothed one hand over your hair as he whispered, “Hey, kid, that’s ridiculous. You’re not a failure, at all. They’re the fuckin’ failures, for making news articles out of information they shouldn’t have. You are perfect.”

“But I’m not,” You cried, pulling back to stare at Tony with a tear-streaked face, “I’m NOT. They all think I am, but I’m not, I can’t do it Dad, I can’t do it. I can’t even do fucking maths, I’m barely passing as a Stark! I can’t keep doing it, ‘m never good enough…” You trailed off, chest heaving and chin dripping.

Your father’s face hardened, “Is that what you think? You listen to me, okay, Y/n? Are you listening? You. Are. A. Stark.” He spat out each word, “You. Are. Good. Enough. Nothing they say will every change that. You don’t need to be perfect, honey, not for me, not for anyone. You don’t even have to be good, okay? I love you, no matter what.” He stroked the hair out of your face, before pulling you into a tight hug. “And for the record? I don’t give a shit if you can do maths or not. I love you, kiddo. Always remember that. You will always be enough, no matter what your friends think, or the paps say.”

Your breathing started to even out, and you looked up at Tony with wide eyes. “Promise?” You whispered, hating how small and childlike your voice sounded.

Tony brushed away a stray tear with the pad of his thumb, “Promise.”

You sniffled and nodded slightly, “Will you help me with my maths?”

A small smile broke onto Tony’s face as he cradled you. “Absolutely. But not tonight. Tonight, we are going to put away this test, go watch a shitty action movie, and gorge ourselves on Ice-cream and New York style pizza, okay?”

“But…”

“Uh-uh. No buts, little miss. Pizza. And ice cream. Now.”

You couldn’t help but smile slightly, before forcing yourself to nod and whisper, “Okay.”

“That’s my girl. Let’s go, kid.”

Tony guided you from your chair and towards the Stark Tower theatre room. And only when you were curled up under a blanket, absentmindedly flicking through Netflix’s selection of action movies (you were going to end up watching something with the Rock, he knew), did Tony quietly command JARVIS to block any sort of notification with your name from your devices, and to start drafting a law suit against the outlet who wrote that article.

fin.

!! DO NOT REPUBLISH OR FEED TO AI !!

#never rambles #MCU #marvel #marvelposting #never writes #tony stark x reader #tony stark x daughter!reader

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itsnotyouithink · 2 months ago

Text

AFRAID

SUMMARY: You, the star of the Blackmore University basketball team, is failing the easiest class at the university: Film Studies 101. The only person who can help you pass? Tara Carpenter, the girl who hates you no matter what you do.

PAIRING: tara carpenter x fem!reader

WARNINGS: TBD, underage drinking, smoking, mature language, mentions of verbal abuse, violence, gore, ghostface shit

WORD COUNT: 2.3k

part one | part two |

A/N: been forever since i’ve written so bare w me, ok! also, i hate calculus & math in general so whatever i said abt math in here is a complete lie

———

Every Division One basketball team had thee player.

UCONN had Paige Bueckers, the University of Iowa had Caitlin Clark, and Blackmore University had you. You—cocky, sweet, competitive, and overwhelmingly perfect, you.

So, of course Tara Carpenter knew who you were—it was practically shoved down her throat. The countless posters of you playing basketball hung on banners around the school, or how someone would always ask about you during one of the tours she would lead as a Blackmore Student Ambassador. It was constant; what're you like? What do you do on your free time? Are you actually that hot in person?

She would put on her fake smile and count the minutes until the tour was over, reminding herself over and over again that the amount of money she was being paid for this would be worth it. New York City was not cheap.

Even at countless parties, some Film Studies 101 classes, hallway passes while you were talking with Mindy about something, or in one of the campuses cafeteria, you and Tara had never interacted before. You and Chad certainly have, though.

During your first week at Blackmore after transferring from a college in sunny California, you met the broad-shouldered boy at a frat party. Everyone was crowding around you, asking you questions about yourself and ogling at the idea of you being their college's saving grace.

Chad's lingering eyes boarder-lined on staring. Tara would make a comment or two about how obsessed he was with you. Scoffing at the way his eyes would travel from your half-up half-down hairstyle and end up targeting the small drop of sweat making its way down the left side of your neck. He knew where the droplet was going, and much like everyone else in the city, he wanted a peek as well. His twin-sister, Mindy, would hit his shoulder claiming, "Stop staring at my new friend, perv. You'll scare her away."

He would just scoff and roll his eyes, eagerly heading towards another game of beer-pong. Tara never understood the hype surrounding you... I mean, sure, you had insane biceps from the constant training, a curvy figure, borderline enchanting eyes, a great… rack and one of the only chances Blackmore had at a National Championship. But other than that, she had no idea why so many people loved you. If anything, why didn't they hate you?

You were naturally cocky both on-and-off the court, always having a sarcastic comment to add in times where silence was the best bandaid. She figured your occasional sweetness was just an act—curated by a PR team or something. Tara expected a lot from you; fakeness, bitchy-ness, and most importantly, that self-absorbed egotistical mindset athletes tended to have. But, something she never would've expected?

You were failing Film Studies 101.

The introduction course to movies and television. You were failing! In Tara's expert opinion, Film Studies 101 was literally the easiest class you could take, so how could you be failing it?

You didn't take academics very seriously, the only reason you had the desire to attend college was because of the sports opportunities within. Blackmore University was known for their basketball program, even if it hasn't won a championship since 1976. It was the college your father had attended a few decades ago and the place your mother almost attended—before getting accepted into Princeton University. The school had played a large part in your childhood: always wearing the merchandise during game days, naming an old pet after the mascot, or even having a signed jersey by one of the star players.

But you never wanted to go because it was a great school, you wanted to go because of the basketball team. Achieving your childhood dreams was a championship ring away—if you could bring the "losingest" team in the East to the Finals, everyone would want you!

But no one would want you if you weren't even on the team anymore, kicked off the roster curtesy of the potent D- on your report card. I mean, you barely showed up to class anymore.

So, you received a tutor whether you liked it or not. Your tutor? Tara Carpenter, naturally.

You knew the name Tara Carpenter, but you didn't know her. You knew she was Mindy's friend from back home, you knew she was the girl always raising her hand during class (the classes you attended, at least), and you knew she was a major film nerd. Like, major. You often saw her and Mindy arguing in one of the school's cafeterias over a new horror movie that had just been released, always ending with the raven-haired girl rolling her eyes.

But other than that, you barely knew her!

“You’re late.” She didn’t even look up from the North by Northwest screenplay in her hands as you stood in front of her corner table at a small café, a student favorite for the best coffee in a ten-block radius. “Very late.”

“I’m not that late.” You lightly scoffed before setting your school bag down on the floor next to your chair across from her. “I’m only… oh, twenty-minutes late.”

The raven-haired girl still had her gaze focused on the words in front of her, paying no mind to the elite basketball player in front of her. You cleared your throat, the slight awkwardness of the situation beginning to get to you. You were never a girl of punctuality, always either too early or way too late. In regard to things you barely cared about, you just chose to never show up. An example: Film Studies 101.

She closed the screenplay and placed it in front of her before making direct eye contact with you. You were a strong competitor, playing against the future of the industry as a hobby and a future career. But by this small interaction alone, you quickly realize there was no gaze sharper than Tara Carpenter’s. Your hands began to get clammy just by the sudden eye contact. “If I’m going to help you, don’t waste my time.”

“Got better things to do, Carpenter?” You tilted your head with ease, your small hoop earrings moving with the motion.

“Much better things.” She scoffed before looking at the blank space in front of you. ��Did you bring your screenplay and notes from class?”

You furrowed your brows in confusion, “Screenplay? Notes from class?”

She sighed in disappointment and mild annoyance, “Yes. The North by Northwest screenplay we received in class last week and your notes from the previous classes.” She slammed her hand in a fit of irritation on her copy of the book. “This. Do you have this?”

You stared at her blankly before blinking down at your almost empty backpack, the Y/N Y/L next to your number in bold practically mocked you for your cluelessness and stupidity. “Uh, yeah, of course I have it with me. Take it everywhere with me because why not.” You sarcastically laughed before reaching into the space of your bag, finding the only book in there.

The North by Northwest screenplay. Thank fuck.

“Great, but you don’t have any of your notes with you, do you?”

You tilted your head with a strained smile, “I think even having the screenplay with me is a win for both of us.”

Tara took a deep breath before opening her notebook, “Okay, it’s fine. Just bring it with you next time, okay?”

“Got it.” You nodded with a small salute which would be half-charming to anyone else, but with Tara, it felt like she hated you just for existing. You’ve never had anyone outwardly hate you in person. Sure, there were some rude supporters in high school during away games but people usually loved you, idolized you even. And to be fair, you were from a small town in Maine where everyone knew everyone, but even at that point in your life you were getting national recognition for your talent.

By the time you zoned back into Tara trying to explain the ways directors utilize camera angles to evoke emotion, the hour study session was basically over—well, the forty-five minutes were over—and Tara was just annoyed and dissatisfied.

“You didn’t listen to a thing I said, didn’t you?” She leaned her chin against the palm of her propped up hand with a squint of her eyes. You shook your head, “No, no, I listened.”

“Oh, yeah?” She sat-up straighter in her chair with a small smirk. This suddenly felt like a competition. “Name three of the ways I explained how directors utilize camera angles to evoke emotion from an audience. Hell, if you can name two, I’ll buy you a coffee myself.”

“Buy me a coffee?” You giggled, “Sounds like you’re turning this into a date. Look, if you wanted me that bad, you could’ve just asked, Tara.”

She scoffed, her playful demeanor changing into a look of pure disgust, “You’re disgusting and I should’ve never taken this offer.”

Your face dropped, a sudden level of panic creeping up on you. Whether you liked it or not, you needed this. Without her, you can kiss your dreams to the league goodbye and welcome the bold D- with open arms. You needed her... yuck.“No, no, wait, I was just joking!” You leapt up as she stood up to pack her stuff away, the different array of film textbooks and analyses piling into her small book bag.

“You are exactly what I thought you would be.” She shook her head with a scoff, “Mindy told me you were different, but honestly, you are just.. gross.”

“What? I was just joking!”

“No, this is exactly how it starts.” She shook her head before putting the last of her books in her bag, throwing it over her shoulder without a bit of haste. “You stupid athletes. You joke around and then you flirt a little and then you end up thinking you have a chance with me, expecting me to what? Open my legs for you or something?”

The two of you stood in front of each other, Tara furious while you’re anxious. The rings on your fingers growing hot by every twist and fiddle. “Uh, that’s not what I’m doing at all, Tara. And, um, I like guys.”

Her shoulders sagged while her face changed to look of confusion, “You do?”

“Well, like, kind of.” You shrugged before putting your hands up in surrender, “That’s not the point, but either way, I’m not that type of person. Believe it or not, I really need this. If I don’t pass this class, they’re kicking me off the team.”

She tilted her head, “They can do that? I thought you were too talented or… whatever.”

“They have to hold some type of standard.” You glanced around you at the quiet cafe, the students around you busy preparing for upcoming projects and assignments with no care in the world for the minor argument the two of you were having upon first meeting one another. “I’m sorry. Next time I’ll show up prepared. I’ll have the screenplay, the notes, everything you need me to have, I’ll bring.”

She sighed, silently debating with herself. “You promise you’ll take this seriously? No zoning out, no missing materials, and no lateness. Got it?”

You nodded enthusiastically, throwing your pinkie between the two of you for a pinkie promise, “I promise… as long as you promise not to yell at me again.”

Tara laughed breathlessly as if it were a joke, a small smile cracking between the cold exterior she displayed beforehand until she saw your serious expression. You weren’t a fan of people yelling at you, which was a bit ironic considering the thousands of people yelling at you while you play in stadiums every Friday night. “Oh, you’re serious?”

“Yes, I’m serious.”

“I would hardly consider the volume of my voice before yelling. More like, loudly expressed.”

“So, yelling?”

“Well, no—”

“Promise. Yes or no? You need this tutor-ship just as much as I do. New York City isn’t cheap.” You smugly answered. The two of you had formally met not even forty-five minutes ago and the banter was already flowing. Mindy would die if she found out.

Tara rolled her eyes with a scoff, entangled her pinkie with yours in a quick promise. “Yes, I promise.”

You smiled at her before putting your screenplay back into your half-empty backpack. You heard Tara sigh before she spoke, “I’ll see you on Wednesday at three-thirty sharp. Not three-thirty one or three-thirty two. Three-thirty, okay?”

“Yes, yes, I get it.” You nod, “Three-thirty.”

“Great.” She nodded back as well, her lips tense in the sudden change of slight awkwardness that occurs when you have to say goodbye to someone you barely know. “I’ll see you soon, then.”

“Yep, bye, Tara.” And just like that, the two of you separated paths as you lived on the other end of the campus. When you get back to your small dorm, the poster of Spiderman and a few post-cards from your mother stare back at you blankly. You throw your bag down next to your clattered desk, a desk overwhelmed with extra math problems you do for fun.

Yes, for fun. Because even if Tara Carpenter thinks you’re dumber than a fucking rock, doesn’t mean you actually are. You find the fun in math equations, where everything has a set answer and a set of rules to follow. Film, however, didn’t have a few set rules, no, it’s an art where creativity has no barriers. You could just never understand it—the power of filmmaking and real cinema.

So, instead, you confided creativity—literally.

You kept the screenplay in your bookbag until Wednesday, the day you had to be tutored by Tara Carpenter. Again.

And you, of course, arrived fifteen minutes late. Again.

#fiction #wlw #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #wednesday addams x reader #sam carpenter #scream #scream 6 #melissa barrera #scream 5 #fanfic #aesthetic #wbb

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