#i hope more professors and teachers and school staff are like that

[evelyn-art-05]

forever grateful to the exam proctor who, not only let me step out for as long as I needed during the exam, but also sent me a message to check on me when I came back (for context it was an online zoom supervised test) AND continuously sent me encouraging and understanding messages whenever she noticed I was especially struggling

like,,, yeah, it might not seem like much, some could even say that she was distracting me or whatever, but the relief that I felt just from knowing someone, anyone, was looking out for me even when they had no reason to, was immense

she kept an eye on me for the whole test, and when I was done and I asked her if I could leave, she said that she was proud of me for making it the whole way through, and that I did a good job. I genuinely hope that she has a fantastic rest of her life because even though that was one of the worst tests I've ever taken, she made it so much more bearable

[dilatorywriting]

Heroes vs. Villains : The Staff

Platonic GN!Reader x NRC Staff vs. RSA Staff Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: Woe to the Ramshackle Prefect, being caught up in the drama between the Disney Villains and their respective heroes. NRC Staff Version (Part 1: Crewel and Crowley)

ie. Headmaster Crowley is a nightmare, and Professor Crewel is, well, cruel. And to be perfectly honest, after meeting another dog-loving professor who doesn't treat you like absolute garbage, the Royal Sword Academy is starting to look a lot more appealing.

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4]

‘Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me!’

Crowley had chirped that very sentiment to you ad nauseum, with all the enthusiasm of an old raven eyeing a shiny penny.

“Do you really believe that?” you sniffled, angry, as you sat slumped over in one of his rickety office chairs.

People at this stupid school were mean. And yeah, school yard insults and casual accusations of being the House Wardens’ little bitch were one thing—but these assholes would go right for the throat. All of your insecurities—your fears—all laid out like a nice spread of hors d'oeuvres ready for the picking. You had endured enough sharp barbs for a lifetime, and the fact that your glorious Headmaster and self-proclaimed parental figure kept writing it all off as a ‘learning experience’ was driving you mad.

“Of course I do, dear child!” he beamed. “What sort of educator would I be if I didn’t practice what I preach! Words are but the wind, as they say!”

You nodded, sage, and shot him a smile so sugary sweet it could rot the teeth right out of his skull.

“I wish I’d never met you and I hope that all your feathers fall off one by one,” you chirped. “And I use the ‘Number One Child’ mug you gave me to scoop water out of the toilets when the plumbing fails.”

Crowley’s mouth fell open with a nearly audible clunk, and if he weren’t so wrapped up in all kinds of immoral, black magic, bull-shittery, you would have liked to imagine that maybe that had been the sound of his heart cracking in his stupid, embroidery-covered, chest.  

You popped up from your chair and breezily made your way to the exit. You propped yourself up against the intricate, wooden, frame and clapped your hands together like a bubbly preschool teacher addressing a room full of particularly dull children.  

“I’m glad we could get that out in the open in a completely pain-free way. Words really can’t hurt anyone!”

You managed to slip the door closed just as he started to wail.

.

.

That afternoon you made your way to Professor Crewel’s office, as had become your routine. It was nice. Sometimes you would help him grade papers, sometimes you would just nibble on fancy cookies and listen as he ranted about the incompetence of certain staff members which shall not be named.

Sometimes his dogs were with him in the afternoons—a pair of giant, lithe, wolf-like beasts that were most certainly of a very proud and expensive lineage. Jasper was the black one and Badun the white, and each had a coat so glossy and well-maintained that they could put your own hair care to shame. Badun was enthusiastic, charismatic, and would bound to greet anyone who entered. Jasper was more quiet, reserved, but he was secretly your favorite of the duo. Whenever you stopped in after classes, the shadowy hound would lumber over and rest his giant head in your lap.

“No puppies today?” you called when you were greeted with silence rather than a wave of happy kisses.

“They’re in for their groom,” Crewel mumbled, busy at work with his head bowed over some lab reports or other. Normally he would grouchily correct you that his two precious pooches were adults. Dogs. And should be addressed as such. He must have been really distracted today. Or maybe you were just wearing him down.

You settled into the lovely, plush, chair off to the side that you had long since claimed as your own, and set your bookbag on the floor by your feet with a thump.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence with nothing but the sound of scratching ink over paper to break up the monotony, Professor Crewel dropped his head into his hands with a miserable sort of sigh.

“You should not have spoken to Crowley as you did.”

You blinked, startled. “What?”

“I of all people understand how frustrating the Headmaster’s antics can be,” Crewel continued, firm. “But you are still a student of this Institution—and one in a precarious enough position as it is. So you need to be mindful of your tongue.”

Indignation roiled through your gut, followed by a sharp prick of disquiet that you couldn’t quite place.

“Then he should be mindful to treat me like a student and not some—some pet project,” you huffed, kicking irritably at your patched backpack for want of nothing else to do. “And besides, what’ll he even do? Expel the one person in this entire college who mops up every single one of his messes? And I mean, it’s not like he’s running around the school crying or anything. I wasn’t that mean.”

Crewel pinched the bridge of his nose and you paused, mouth parting in surprise.

“Oh come on, he did not.”

“In the name of preserving our esteemed leader’s dignity I will say no more on the matter,” he grit out, and you fought the urge to immediately whip out your phone to message Ace, and Cater, and every other rabid gossip you could think of.

“Well, maybe he deserved it,” you snipped, crossing your arms stubbornly across your chest. A bit of cautious warmth spread through you and you nervously plucked at one of the loose threads on your uniform sleeve. “And besides,” you mumbled. "He can cry about me calling him a shitty father all he wants. You’ve been way more of a dad to me here than he could ever try to be.”

“I beg your pardon.”

You froze, fingers locking in place around the picked-apart edges of your jacket. The ice in his voice was unfamiliar and entirely unpleasant. It sent a frigid wave of worry curling through your veins. Had you overstepped? You’d thought—You’d just thought—

“I-I mean,” you spluttered. “I only meant that, well… Uhm… You’re really nice to spend time with. A-And, I just…” He made you feel like you were home again. Like even though Ramshackle was empty and cold, that you could still walk into this little office and say ‘I’m back!’ to an actual, real-life person and not just the shadows that lived in your foyer.

“Let me be perfectly clear, Prefect,” he sneered. There was an undercurrent of hostility running so sharply through every word that you were left wondering frantically if you’d unintentionally trampled over a sensitive topic. You hadn’t thought it was a big deal. You just—you just really, really looked up to him. And felt safe with him. And—And—

‘I’m sorry,’ you wanted to say. But instead you just let out an odd kind of choked squeak.

“I have no intention of playing parent to anyone,” he snapped. “Let alone an untrained brat who can’t even be bothered to play civil with the people who do attempt to care for them.”

Ouch.

“R-Right,” you spluttered, swallowing around the burbling lump in your throat and the warmth prickling along your lash line. “O-Of course. I’m sorry for assuming. I—I… uhm…”

‘I’ll just go then.’

But just like with failed apology, those four little syllables just couldn’t seem to make it past your lips either. So instead you just shakily snatched your bag from the floor and bolted from his office, burrowing your stinging cheeks as far into your collar as they would go. The last thing you needed to do was give anyone at this stupid school any more ammunition against you. And ‘Cry Baby Prefect’ sounded like another nasty nickname that would stick to you like gum to a flat-heeled shoe.

It’s fine, you whispered to yourself, voice wobbling far more than you would have liked. Grim hated when you came back smelling like dogs anyways.

.

.

“My goodness, are you alright?”

You blinked, harried, and glanced around yourself properly for what felt like the first time in hours. You were… not on campus anymore. Huh. What a trip. You’d never been so upset that you’d blindly run off into an entire new town before. But you supposed there was a first time for everything. You did remember feeling too nauseous to return to your little hovel for the evening, but you hadn’t really expected your frantic pacing to take you quite this far out of the way.

“Hello? Can you hear me?”

Oh. Someone was talking to you, weren’t they?

Standing in front of you was a tall, lanky, man in a tweed jacket. He was stooped down a bit to make eye contact with you, and those hazel eyes were creased with worry. His blonde hair was pushed half-off his forehead in a style that looked more haphazard than intentional, and the hand he was offering you was littered with splotches of ink. There were patches of white and black dog fur littered across his entire outfit like some horrible fashion statement, and the thought of puppies made your throat tighten up all over again.

“My name is Cliff Rogerson,” he said, steady and kind. “I’m one of the instructors at the Royal Sword Academy. Are you lost? Do you know how to get home from here?”

Do you know how to get home?

You laughed once, manic, and then promptly burst into tears.

“Oh, dear,” he sighed, his heavy brow furrowing low with concern, and patted you consolingly on the shoulder. “Oh, dear.”

You were herded into a nearby café and directed into one of the quiet, corner, booths. The lights were soft and fuzzy in here, and the pleasant warmth of fresh pastries brushed gingerly along your frayed nerves. Mister Rogerson pressed a steaming mug of hot chocolate into your hands, and placed a delicately wrapped muffin off to the side of it. It was a tempting offering, and you decided to unbury your head from your hands long enough to partake.

“So how did you end up out here, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I’m a student at Night Raven,” you mumbled into your cocoa.

You could tell he was doing his best not to look shocked, which was at least a dozen steps above the way the rest of your stupid school would just gawk at you in outright consternation.

“Forgive me,” he smiled, gentling his apprehension into something that was more polite curiosity that anything. “But you don’t really seem like one of their usual pupils.”

So you explained your situation—the Mirror, and the magiclessness, and the homelessness. You talked about your friends, and your new demon cat/evil baby, and how much you missed stupid things like good shower pressure and fuzzy socks. Mister Rogerson listened to all of it with an attentive sort of sympathy that you hadn’t seen since, well, probably since you were dropped face-first into a school full of burgeoning war criminals.  

“That sounds like a time and a half,” he said once you’d finally tired yourself out. “I’m sorry you’ve had to go through all that.”

You picked at your muffin. It was ridiculously fluffy and eating it felt like pulling bits and pieces out of a cloud. A very, very delicious cloud.

“Forgive me for saying so,” he hummed, pensive. “But your situation doesn’t sound particularly safe.”

You laughed. “That’s one word for it.”

Mister Rogerson frowned, another twitch of that uneasy worry playing across his face. He ruffled around in his jacket pocket for a moment and pulled out a neat, cream colored, business card.

“It may be overstepping of me to offer, but at the same time I do think as an educator it’s my duty to try and help every student that I can,” he smiled, kind. It crinkled the skin around his eyes. “The RSA is not overly far from Night Raven College. If you ever want to stop by—if you ever need an ear to listen, or just a space to get away from it all—my door will always be open to you.”

You took the little piece of paper carefully, like it was something precious. There were swirls of colorful music notes splattered across the backdrop of it—raucous bursts of neons that were as endearing as they were ugly.

‘Tacky,’ spat a too-familiar voice in the back of your head. ‘What sort of statement was this lowlife trying to make?‘ You could practically feel the phantom distaste emanating from wherever a certain two-toned professor had camped out for the evening.

Probably at home, you thought bitterly. Because he has a home, right? And you are not at all upset that you will never be welcomed into it. And that you will probably never get to cuddle his puppies ever again. Nope. Not at all.

You swallowed the little burst of unpleasantness that accompanied the train of thought, and pocketed the card with a smile.

“Thank you. I’ll definitely have to take you up on that.”

.

.

.

Divus Crewel was many things, and unfortunately, being as cruel as his namesake was often one of them. He glanced back to the clock ticking on his wall for what was perhaps the dozenth time that hour. You hadn’t been by since his—ah—outburst a few weeks prior.

He had perhaps reacted a bit more unpleasantly than he normally would have. You’d just… caught him off guard was all. It was a bold declaration you’d made, and what? Had you really expected him to be overjoyed by the idea of forced parenthood? To swoon over the notion that someone had decided to latch onto him and his perfectly pressed suit like a leech despite the fact that he was so obviously thriving in his life of solitude?

And it wasn’t that he expected you to take his biting comments lying down. Oh no. You were fierce, and determined, and were most likely on your way here to bang down his door demanding recompenses for all your suffering. There was a tray of those too-expensive cookies you liked tucked away in his top drawer. Just in case you did show up and throw one of your tantrums, and he needed something quick to pacify you. That… That was all.

But each day that he waited for you to sneak back into his office was another spent in quiet solitude. Badun had taken to whining at the door and Jasper hardly got up from his bed at all—just tucked his black nose into his equally black paws and stared straight into Crewel’s soul. Like he was judging him.

He caught himself glancing at the clock again and forcibly turned back to his work.

This was ridiculous. You were ridiculous. And stubborn. And so, very, danger prone. Had something happened maybe? Was that why you’d disappeared—because you’d gotten caught up in some sort of trouble again?

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick—

He looked back at the clock.

Tick. Tick. Tick—

His office door flew open with a BANG and he swiveled in his chair, ready to chastise you for making such a ridiculous entrance. Instead, he ended up nearly nose-to-nose with a weeping Dire Crowley. The man wailed into his clawed hands, looking very much like he might accidentally stab himself in the eye all the while.

“HOW AM I SUCH A FAILURE OF A PARENT?!” he bawled. “WHAT COULD I HAVE DONE TO PREVENT THIS?!”

“What?” Crewel gaped, head spinning. “What’s happened?”

Crowley let out another inhuman squawk and shoved a piece of parchment into the alchemist’s crimson-gloved hands. It was torn at the top, likely from where it’d been pinned to something before the raving Headmaster had swiped it. Crewel read over the familiar script with narrowed eyes, something unpleasant twisting in his belly.

‘The Ramshackle Prefect kindly sends their regards, but unfortunately has other commitments for this evening. Please contact Professor Cliff Rogerson of the RSA music department in case of an emergency.’

“MY BABY LEFT ME!” Crowley sobbed, nearly inconsolable. “WHO’S GOING TO DO MY TAXES NOW?!”

The leather of Crewel’s gloves groaned in protest as his hands tightened into fists—his nails biting into his palm even through the sturdy material.  

“What do we even do?” the old crow lamented, sounding so genuinely crestfallen it was almost unnerving.

Jasper and Badun circled their master’s ankles wearily, eyes bright and lips twitching with nervous whines.

“I think,” Crewel grit out, the note crumpling between his fingers, “that it’s well past time that we have a chat with the Prefect about the importance of personal safety. And of the consequences of running off with strangers.”

.

.

.

[lizzaneia-elizalde]

Yandere! Rival! Male! Teacher x gn! Teacher! Reader

This one is long overdue I'm afraid. Have my boy, Elias >c< not much yandere traits here, but I hope y'all enjoy still!

Trigger warning: toxic academic set-up

Yandere! Teacher name: Elias

Elias was about to loose his mind.

For years, he's the teacher that produced geniuses! It's his class that had majority of their students on honor rolls. It was his magnum opus, his way of teaching that pushes his kids to full potential.

Parents scramble to have their children under his advisory. He made sure that all of his students become the talk of the school.

Pressure? What's that? The students should be privileged to be under him and his care!

After all, Elias started small.

He's the black sheep of the family. The entirety of his family members were geniuses in their own right.

Of course, it meant Elias is also a genius.

But he kept getting outshined by his own step-brother, Tae-Joon.

Tae-Joon is not as much of a genius as Elias when it comes to academics, but he's charismatic to a tee and is an amazing singer.

Amazing in fact that he's a popular idol.

And poor Elias always getting snubbed due to his brother's naturally nicer personality.

And Elias? Straight up nasty sometimes. His tongue is sharp and is always more pessimistic than optimistic. He's higher than thou personality definitely earned him a lot of enemies. Even his own family.

He knew that he can't count on his own family to give him the validation he wanted. So, with a resentful heart, he made sure to snub his own family and focus on himself.

This made him want to help other people. And he did it by offering tutoring lessons to his struggling, dumb, and idiotic classmates who can't understand such a simple topic.

Well, not everyone can be a genius like him.

But this proved to be a good path, as Elias found out that he had a knack in teaching. His way of teaching was so easy to understand that a toddler will be able to know how to do physics.

It's odd, but it's true.

His classmates suddenly became experts on the subject and this snowballed into others wanting to learn from Elias too.

This inflated his ego a lot. He loved the fact that people wanted to learn from him. The validation he seek was given by his tutees who praised and thanked him for making them not just understand, but even excel in their chosen topics to be taught with.

And Elias knew he wants to go down the Education path.

At first, he's a bit whiplashed by how different actual teaching is to the "ideal" way of teaching is. It was almost too good to be true that even the professors said that the ideal way is just a bunch of baloney that they can just flat out ignore the way once they're actually on field.

Not for Elias though.

He wanted to bring to life the "ideal" way of teaching.

So once he graduated, he continued to exert so much effort in his instructional materials, his facade of approachability, but still so strict that it feels like you want to choke from it. Sure, he has the art of being a perfect teacher to a tee, but people know that Elias is a demon in disguise. He hates it when things don't go his way, or the rules aren't followed. One trash means a personal lection that ends up with the students in tears.

The parents? Only said that their student must have deserved it to have stoked the ire of the respectable teacher. Like a brainwashed hive, the parents and other staff say that "Teacher Elias won't do anything without reason". This meant that the students are walking on eggshells everyday. And they know they'll get Elias' anger if they don't improve at all.

And, with Elias' incredible way of teaching, and the "ideal" way combined, the students under him become geniuses.

Like his family genepool, the children Elias' produces are geniuses in their own rights.

Elias felt whole now. He has a family to boast about, to care and love, and to nurture unlike his idiotic family who favors his brother over him.

But what he didn't expect is that by the first recognition ceremony, his class will be shoved aside just like that by another class.

Elias walked down the isle up to the stage, smiling proudly as his stoic yet prideful students stood up to receive their recognition. 25 of them are in the honor roll, and 5 of them are high honors. That much elicited a thunderous applause from other classes.

With his head up high, he put medals on each of his student and gave a slight nod of acknowledgement. Everyone was mystified as this class took their awards with such entitlement and arrogance that some found it off-putting.

Did they care though? No. Did Elias care? Also no.

They're the pride of the academy! Who would dare to mock and snide them?

After giving the students their medals, they sat down and waited for the other classes to get their awards.

Elias' students, adapting his high and mighty attitude, looked down on the other students who walked to the stage to receive their "measly" awards of perfect attendances and other irrelevant, non-academic awards.

"Thank you, class Uranus. Now, class Neptune, the art program class!"

Art program class? When was that added?

Elias sneered. In his head, he hated anything that concerns art because of his brother. It just reminded Elias of being untalented other than being a genius and snubbed because of it.

He crosses his arms, looking at the adviser and scoffing.

Y/n L/n. From what he remembers, you are the same age as him, and was from a different school before you transferred here in the current school year.

What could a new teacher do in such a short time? Nothi--

"Class Neptune, boasting 5 high honors, 2 highest honors, and 23 honor students, and excellence awardees for their respective art specialty."

"EXCUSE ME?!"

Everything went quiet when Elias stood up, disbelief marring his face as he heard the emcee say the tally of the class.

It was so quiet save for the background music that sounds embarrassingly loud for such a pin drop environment.

Elias, feeling his ego and pride getting kicked and bruised, slumped down on his chair as he stared at you who was looking at him with disbelief.

You...

You're an enigma.

How did you do it?

He bits his nail, his eyes low and shadowed as he watched your sweet and proud smile directed at your happy students.

You don't look arrogant, nor prideful. Just happy and elated for your also equally elated students. No pretenses, no eyes that judges others, just pure joy.

It pisses him off so much.

That's where he knew he must take over you. Nobody dethrones him as the best teacher in the academy! Especially not some art teacher. Anything but an art teacher.

Once school resumed again for the second semester, he spotted you walking along the hallways with your students tailing behind you, talking and chatting happily.

"tch." Elias says underneath his breath as he watches how comfortable the students are with you. He envies it.

"Oh? Good morning Mr. Elias." You found him by his doorway and smiled politely. "Do you need something?"

He freezes, not realizing he's looking at you too intently. He clears his throat, looking away in embarrassment.

"I need nothing, art teacher. I will get going." He said coldly, slamming his class door close.

You didn't like that.

"well, that was rude." You whispered, clasping your hand together.

In all honesty, you didn't really like how Elias leads and teaches his class. You saw how tense they are, always studying and studying with nothing to do afterwards but only studying again. There must be a balance at all times.

"Let's go kids." You said sternly, looking at the closed door intently, sensing a competition forming.

After that, it was tense always.

Doesn't help that your class is across him.

Your students weren't hostile with them initially, but after the blatant aggression from them due to being upstaged in the recognition ceremony, they're starting to pick fights too.

So, whenever you saw Elias, you became hostile also. Not outwardly like him who's openly glaring, but you have your reservations as you smiled curtly everytime you pass by him, and words stringing along some sarcasm in them.

School events like quiz bowls, spelling bees, even exams became a fierce competition that made your students head butt with each other.

And you always made sure to support your students in a way that's opposite from Elias.

Elias pressured them, always making sure they're working hard by being extra strict than usual that one thin slice to the air can cut the atmosphere.

Meanwhile you encouraged your students, making sure they're well rested and happy while doing it. You made sure not to force them to do these honestly toxic rivalries.

So, guess which one excelled more?

"WHAT IS HAPPENING WITH ALL OF YOU?!" Elias yelled at his students, completely dissapointed at their performance at the annual intramurals' quiz bowl. Other than in the World Literature and Science section, they were second to your class. "DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY HOURS I SPENT TEACHING ALL OF YOU?!"

He's so close to snapping. Maybe he already did. But now he's going insane.

Everything he believed about himself is shattering slowly because of you and your class.

What's even eerie is that the students are just looking down, unfocused or dissociating.

Annoyed and feeling like he failed them, he marched out of the classroom and slammed the door close.

He sped walk outside, sitting on the grass as he tried to suppress the imminent tears settling on his eyes.

"fuck... I'm such a failure." He gritted out, gripping his once perfectly ironed shirt. "This is all I'm good at and I'm still lacking at it?! What am I doing wrong?"

He started to question everything. His worth, his value, his time and knowledge spent on nurturing geniuses like him.

Is he even a genius? Or just a hard worker?

"Sir Elias?"

He jumped, looking at you. Your eyes were wide with concern as your voice mellowed out from the usual curt yet cold voice you always sported when talking to him.

You sat down beside him as he looked away in shame.

"what happened? I heard yelling and..." You whispered, a gentle clasp on his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

Elias' throat burned, and his jaw trembled as he tried to stop himself from crying.

Did he really just have to get comforted by his rival? Really?

But god, did it feel nice to have someone care for him.

"I'm... I'm not." He whispered, looking away. "I know I'm a terrible person for pressuring these bright young minds but... How do you do it, y/n? How do you nurture students to their full potential? Are you some kind of monster or what?"

For the first time, you laughed out loud in front of him.

And for the first time also, it made his heart skip a beat. What's happening to him?

"No, I just... Teach normally." You said. "Well, other than that, I don't really pressure them to do anything. But I encourage them greatly with intrinsic motivations. And I make teaching enjoyable."

Enjoyable? When was the last time Elias enjoyed something? No. When did his students last enjoyed studying?

"Really..." He whispered, looking down. "Enjoyment, huh? And motivation?"

You smiled and stood up, handing your hand to him.

"Truce? I could teach you how to be less strict and let your students be more inclined to study without potential punishment." You suggested.

His eyes followed your hand, and his heart raced.

Without hesitation, he clasped it.

"Hey, did you do our project?"

"Yeah, duh. Here's mine."

"That looks so good!"

"I had help from the Neptune Class for the planets. It's actually really fun to paint, believe it or not."

"I had help too in exchange of teaching them with physics."

Elias smiled, looking at his students actually Converse with one another and not just burying their heads on their books. The once quiet classroom is bustling with life thanks to you.

After that fateful day, you taught him on what's the most important. And it's the students, not the academic gratitude.

Elias apologized deeply to his students, and they had a heart to heart conversation that you supervised to make sure both sides say their thoughts equally.

Now, the Uranus class is livelier than ever.

And you?

You're still the same brilliant teacher he came to admire and love.

Love is a loaded word, but he truly felt grateful to you. You made him see the truth, the light, and the way to become a teacher he tried to achieve by pretending.

He found himself wanting to be around you more and more.

At first, it truly was just gratitude. But now, he can't bear to be away from you.

You're his salvation that he deeply desired in his heart.

He wishes to worship the ground you walk on, the breath you take in, and consume your entire being to be with him.

His heart lurched when a student called for his name, breaking him from his train of thought.

"Teacher Y/N is here for you!" The student said, pointing at the door.

He quickly closed his phone, which the wallpaper is a stolen photo of you just outside of your home, and pocketed it.

You're the only one who understands him. The only one who asked him if he's okay, and sees him for him and not his genius.

And he'll be damned to let you go.

You're his family now, alongside your students.

He can feel the heavy weight of the engagement ring in his backpocket.

In his head, there's no way you're going to reject.

And if you do...

He shook his head. It's impossible! Truly impossible. He won't allow it at all.

In his head, you two are perfect for each other. He'll worship your entire being, and spoil you rotten. It's going to be a good life with him.

But the both of you aren't even together at all.

What will happen?

Who knows.

All you must know is that things aren't gonna go smoothly no matter the choices.

He's too far in his head to think properly.

[capslocked]

KINKVEMBER DAY: 9

[prompt: problematic relationships]

male reader x nana

10k words

"Do you have any idea how long I've thought about it?" Nana slips a finger between the buttons of your shirt. "You, me - us?"

And here, you actually, truthfully do not want to know.

So, go ahead, cue up the sound of a mental rolodex spinning out while you start to list the very real, very valid, very adult reasons you should never, ever put your hands on her. (1) She's too young for you, (2) you're kind of a community figure, or at least someone who has to appear to be one, and more pertinently (3) she was your student not long enough ago - in your ethics class, the irony of which is not lost on you - and that makes it the kind of dirty, low thing you'd feel guilty for even masturbating to. Let alone actually attempt to live through, no matter how insistent some parts of you might be to the contrary, a point emphasized by the pressure of her finger against the dip just below your sternum.

"These... oh, how should I call them." Nana hums softly just before easing a bit of distance between the two of you, head tilting like she's in a trailer for this summer's romcom, and not, you know, trying to drag you into hell. "Filthy little fantasies?"

-

You're a high school teacher, interdisciplinary. Sometimes history, other times philosophy, you've also taught math - and once, egregiously, home economics when the faculty member whose usual duties consisted of teaching the class was out on a very sudden and scandalous maternity leave. But it's your love of literature that finds you in a bookstore near enough to the high school to sell more used copies of intro textbooks than actual novels.

You're paging through a book you'd say you're considering buying - if any of the store staff were to push the question onto you - when she appears at the other end of the fiction aisle.

You catch the look first of her dyed hair, this perfect shade of chocolate, to the edges, the fade-to-brown, cascading over where a more formal shirt would ostensibly have shoulders.

She smiles; it's pretty.

Then, you make the mistake of glancing down and seeing the modest rise of her chest beneath a crisp-collared sleeveless top; all your typical college-age tells but for the red flannel, rolled back down around her waist. Her fingers, long and thin, dangle from where a uniform button-down would taper off around her wrist, thumb rubbing lazily at her forearm. The briefest glimpse of her nails, all done up in acrylic - perhaps the most potent way to show contempt for an old dress-code.

You have, admittedly, also noticed the length (appropriately, the lack thereof) of her pleated skirt and those frilly stockings that ride so far up the creamy curves of her thighs that it has your stomach rolling and tightening when she shuts closed the book in her hands and says -

"Isn't it weird how most of the novels in the romance section are written by women?”

- she speaks with a slow deliberateness, like she'd only ever hoped to find one of her old teachers alone and slightly vulnerable in a used bookstore -

“Like, how do you think a man would even go about writing those kinds of stories?" She grins, because maybe this isn't really a question at all - not one meant for you, certainly. And for one wild moment, the rush of relief (she's not actually talking to you), then panic (she's actually talking to you.) surges through you.

But then the girl pushes another couple books along the shelf and continues.

"Because I'll tell you what, Professor - all this stuff," a flip-flip-flip of her fingertips against a leathery dustjacket, "about just feeling it, not being able to control it. It's all women, always women." Another wave of her hand to set another row of spines a-shuddering. "Do you ever think maybe people will get tired of listening to girls talking about feelings when what they really need to see is what guys would do?"

There are so many reasons you should turn and run. 

So many little flags, flickering wildly in your mind. This is one of your students. Was it this fall? Maybe the last; she had sat front-center. Never slept in, was one of your best by several measures - not simply in regards to the simple repetition of classroom work, but by her insistence on getting in the kind of heated discussion where one might dig their fingers through the innards of your lectures. Not just good - fantastic.

"Nayeon," you end up saying, flat as your suddenly paper-dry mouth can make it - with just the tiniest hint of unease. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

And almost as if she knows that you're trying not to let your eyes dip any lower than the collar of her shirt, her shoulders do that lilting little move (hiking up and away just so), the one that your girls tend to learn a long, long time before your boys ever manage to figure out. She laughs out this pleasant sound, adds: "not that long, sir."

"Well," you're clearing your throat, looking around the bookstore like it might contain a way out, and eventually landing somewhere on her skirt, "you know how fast it all goes."

"Nana, by the way."

“I’m sorry?”

“Nana,” She gently corrects you again with this mischievous slant to her smile, and you start remembering: all the gossip and rumors, how she was being courted by these talent-scouts and labels. A prodigy, or as close to it as anyone from this town could ever get.

Your eyes are starting to sting again when she, this perfect-fit model of your worst impulses, runs her hand through her hair, tugging at the roots a little bit, a silver wristwatch falling slightly down the perfect length of her forearm. It almost hurts not to reach out and steady her. And it definitely shouldn't, but it has you breathing a bit faster. The rationalization: you are a man, and there is a perfectly ordinary part of you that might be aroused by any amount of smooth, inviting skin. That's fine. You're fine.

"Just for the record," Nana starts, still looking like she wants to put a hand forward and hook one long fingernail into the buttons of your shirt. "You were, like, absolutely one of my favorite teachers."

"I guess it's nice to hear I'm not a complete lost cause," you say.

She snorts. "Oh, definitely not." And maybe because, after all of the years you have been teaching these soon-to-be lawyers, politicians, and doctors, you've come to not look down on them for saying the wrong things so much. Though you do envy their absolute ability to say the wrongest of things - just so - just on purpose.

"Are you," you nod at the thick stack of paperback novels that she is still holding, and with which, suddenly, she's bashful and flustered - this perfect shade of pink blossoming through her cheeks. "Actually here to buy those?"

The response: a demure little shrug. A drawl. "We all have our vices, professor."

"I'm not your teacher anymore," and remembering at the last moment, "Nana, you can drop the honorifics, please."

She holds a book out, cover turned toward you, and your mind stalls - even your fingers slip a little where they are resting on the spine of your own paperback purchase. The title is an affront to literacy, and the art on the cover seems to have been produced only with stock photos, gaudy.

"Have you heard of it?"

"Can't say that I have."

"Well," she laughs and has the courtesy not to lay it at your expense, "it is so good." Then, without missing a beat, she twists her lips together, and finds the book flush against your chest. "I'm sure it beats reading textbooks and essays about the merits of Locke and Hobbes' life-after-death stuff all day, anyway. An hour if you can spare the time? I'd love to hear your thoughts on it"

And - ah, there it is. The push.

-

There is a zero percent chance that, after any of this, things will end neatly for either of you. 

You still wonder, slightly, how long Nana will keep up the charade before breaking character - because there's no way in hell she doesn't see what she's doing: wrapping you around her pretty fingers, her shiny, manicured nails, twisting every chance you get to reject her into an excuse to linger that little bit longer.

But it's well over an hour spent at the cafe-end of the bookstore, where she orders an iced-coffee and fills you in on the details you don't really need to hear, what she's been up to these last couple semesters - playing twenty questions; questions about other faculty members, the school, if the school newspaper is still anything like it used to be (for the record: no), then coming back to if you've been seeing anyone lately. That last one slips in so naturally you can't stop yourself from taking a slow drag off of the straw in your drink and answering: "not recently."

Because no honest deed goes unpunished, or however the saying goes.

"Hey," her hands splay out over the tabletop, pushing the cold, condensing water of her glass, smudging where a finger drags a line through the pool.

Maybe she knows. How you're already caught, and there's no going back, which is to say you're perfectly free to watch, hungrily, where her throat moves, and then where her lips part.

"I’ve got the perfect thing for that," and for one unhinged, hysterical moment you picture it, Nana: lying back against a counter or maybe in the cushions of a sofa, panties thrown carelessly over her shoulder; heaving out this soft, heady gasp. You: pushing inside of her for the very first time, both of your legs bracing, the heel of her foot pressed into the small of your back - but before you can convince yourself that she can't be talking about that, and just barely before the air gets stuck in the back of your throat and you realize that you might be so thoroughly, tragically fucked -

"Read this." A snap back into the here and now. She is looking at you very pointedly, not naked - but beautiful and perfect as she leans a bit into the table and crosses those lovely, lovely legs of hers, and tilts the copy of that awful, awful filth at you.

"Nana, respectfully, this is drivel," you say, immediately and plainly, listening to Nana laugh out loud as you glean more than you need to know from the info on the inside cover. "They've crossed like five major genre boundaries for a hook-up. Why should anyone bother?"

"Come on." She waves it off with a careless gesture of her hands. "There's plenty of things to like. Maybe you should give it a chance - broaden your horizons, teach. Besides - the sex scenes?" She rolls her shoulders with the same shrug you remember watching so carefully all those times she made her way, out of the hallways and back into that front-and-center-seat she was always occupying whenever the bell rang. "So filthy. I can show you one of my favorites."

"Doesn't really seem like appropriate reading material for -"

"You said it yourself," her voice has a bright, saccharine tone, just on the right side of strained. And between sips of that straw stuck in the purse of her pert, little mouth, she draws that next sentence - the ice cracking, thinning under your feet -

"Not my teacher anymore."

Nana smiles; this brash, cock-sure thing that reminds you, as you try to clear your throat of the nerves making a bed there: you are actually so, so fucking gone on her. So far gone it hurts, when, with a flourish and a bounce and a complete, reckless lack of discretion, she starts paging through the first chapters.

"Who says you can't study these kinds of stories on an academic level? Think about it: sex sells. Whoever ends up writing, it's a whole lot easier and a hell of a lot cheaper than trying to do it all yourself." She looks up, this mischievous twinkle in her eyes, as she angles her fingertips down on the book and opens it - page after page of very obviously poorly-written sex. You look, not even consciously.

But of course, her fingertips drift lower and lower along the pages until it's evident: she doesn't have an exact page in mind, but only a particular passage -

"Here. Let me show you, just one."

"Alright, fine," you start - trying for an effect of exasperation, something to mitigate this god awful throbbing, "whatever - you get one, one sample paragraph and I'll, you know, whatever."

"Yeah, you'll definitely see. Just trust me. Just the one."

She drums her long, gorgeous nails against the table, then eases back with a finger highlighting the text.

You're screening and scanning the words as she tells you about the heroine in the story: a pretty girl who comes down with a bad case of infatuation for her teacher - unrequited, of course. And then, into a passionate affair, of course; all the most raucous, explicit details laid out over the table for everyone else to hear. She says it is about as nonchalantly as though she had been reading you the daily weather forecast and not an elaborate metaphor for - and here, you stop her.

"He cums on her desk?"

"Fucking hot, right?" She nearly snorts and gestures you onward, her eyebrows jumping - go on, go on.

So, you skim along: a heavy rush of nausea (alongside another) pulsing down around your gut at the thought of actually doing such a thing, your ears going hot and your legs crossing on instinct. There's not so much a breath of hesitation as Nana, cool, unfazed, and utterly unaware of the uncomfortable churning of your stomach and the simultaneous thrumming in your cock, takes another deep swig of coffee.

She hums, thoughtful. "Honestly? Kinda wished it happened to me like that. You were a good, good teacher, professor. I wouldn't have minded your hands all over me." You hear her laugh, and the entire universe collapses like the end-days. You are struck down with feverish conviction: this girl is the worst. 

"Anytime you wanted," she adds, so carelessly.

There's a clunking sound, of glass on wood; a half a second where you almost lose control over yourself.

“Nayeon,” you let slip, the old name - a mistake of an invitation she grasps like a weapon. All coming to a glint in her eye that says she knows how you see it, how you can still picture her sitting with her hands folded over the skirt of her uniform, chest rising and falling beneath her cotton shirt. Studious, taking notes, acting every bit the naive sweetheart everyone believed her to be.

You shudder out some pretense of composure and settle back a few inches as she continues to coax a reaction out of you, prodding: "how many girls did you make confess back then, hm? Did it ever do them any good?"

"Dial it back, Nana."

Her expression is all feigned, gentle surprise. "But sir," she looks at you so innocently, "you said I should drop the honorific."

You want to argue that, you also want to tell her off for being such a brat - to demand that, instead, she cut the shit, sit back, and remember who you both are, but when, with a wink and a smirk, she's getting up out of her seat, Nana sets a gentle, reassuring hand on your shoulder as she pushes her chair back beneath the table. You get onto your feet, and when the two of you are stood close together like this - she's really and truly that much smaller than you remember. Waist so tiny you think you could almost, almost wrap two hands all the way around her; skirt rising all too easily when she tosses her weight between her heels.

"I hope you know what you’re doing," you tell her, sternly - the voice of a teacher whose patience is running thin.

But no matter where you look, the consequences are dire and immediate: an abject fascination, a kind of debilitating greed; the absolute fucking loss of ability to look her directly in her eyes. Not like Nana isn't staring right through you. There's no doubt some part of her relishes the feeling.

"Hey, what do I know?" This sweet, demure-like chuckle follows. "It's just porn, right?”

-

Eventually, Nana says to call it a night because the sun's long set into the horizon and the chill starts getting at the both of you.

She tells you while you're packing up your belongings to come by again sometime, her voice teasing as she explains that you should pick out a new novel to read for your benefit.

Which is possibly the ideal outcome, all things considered, if it wasn't for the way she found herself in your hands just a few paces into the parking lot - no one around to catch you, where you're gripping fast onto her wrist and pressing the lines of her body into door of your car, looming and ready to give a piece of your mind.

You know what you ought to say - things like don't bother, you've enjoyed her company, she's fun and sweet, and in a dozen different ways: be a good girl, and go home. You had your fun, didn't you? But she's practically begging, those huge, wide doe eyes that stare straight up into your soul.

"C'mon,” her voice lilts into a deeper, more purposeful register, “you wouldn't turn down a student on her way home, would you?

(This fucking girl.)

She speaks of propriety, like you aren't a man of your own principles - like you aren't reaching down to press a kiss to the swell of her lips like she undoubtedly deserves. To lick into her mouth and pull and kiss and bite until she's trembling, teeth caught in a delicate whimper. Or, that you aren't running your hands down her sides to find the backs of her knees and draw them upward, hooking your hips flush against hers.

She's all too breathless, watching you draw off her lips, fingers fast in your shirt, your hair - holding you close.

Then finally, a true, honest reflection of your heart. Nothing less than sheer and utter capitulation: "let me take you home."

Nana just nods before wrapping her arms around your neck and kissing you again.

-

It's definitely on you for expecting anything different, but Nana fucks like she talks.

Conceited. Brash. A little selfish.

The girl's sitting there on her kitchen counter with one leg hooked over your shoulder. She's stripped herself down to near nothing save for those fuck-off ridiculous panties: slick, shiny with a thick strip of satin between her lips, complete with white lace frills and all; the same ridiculous pattern as the thigh-high stockings clinging tight around the soft-gentle fat of her legs and the lace top of her garter. Her pussy - all tight and pink and soaked - has left this shimmering, shiny mess that's trailing down the insides of her thighs.

Your fingers are in the elastic of her panties, near bruising the curve in her waist where she's rocking, flushed and keening against your grip.

You tell her, "take these off."

"Off?" She repeats it back to you with the same little grin: playing dumb, the smart, charming ass she's been all night.

"I'd tell you what I really want to do to you," you start, pushing your fingers in a little harder, eliciting another pretty moan. "But I'm really, really sure you can fill in the blanks yourself.

"I hope you're not planning on being rough with me," she teases, running her hands all through your hair as she pulls herself against you - and of course, it's her audacity to insist, "no marks." She drops a chaste little kiss along the underside of your jaw. "At least, nothing that might show up on a camera."

Someone with a little less baggage might have done just that. Might have jerked her panties down a couple inches further - ripped the cloth, exposed her even more. You might have followed the waistline further along the perfect round of her ass, found those dips and dimples that, maybe, no one else has ever gotten to explore. You may have grasped at the ends of her hair and gotten your fingers in her pussy without ceremony - driven Nana to the very brink of her climax just before palming two greedy handfuls of that ass - shoving yourself right there between her lips and, lost to shame, put a fucking kid in her.

All the things she must be dying for you to do.

"Something the matter?" She pushes her mouth into yours for a kiss that has all the urgency of a lazy Sunday morning. Your tongue against hers, languid and gentle at first; wet-sloppy, kissing and sucking on her bottom lip. You can feel her smirking when she says, "don't tell me you've forgotten how."

It's a lot, the effort you're putting in not to crumble - to crack at her taunts, snap your restraint, the temptation. You just wanna grab her pretty tits in both hands, shake her, and say: "shut the fuck up." But no - even in your wildest fantasy, you want to hear her first - beg you to make a wreck of her. So you force the words between your lips, dry and cracking:

"Not a fucking chance."

A laugh. "Guess I'm in good hands, then. Have to admit," Nana slides her hands down to hook under your own, bringing them lower. She grinds your fingers in slow circles over that one, aching, perfect little bud - a shock that has her curling tight inward until she's whining, clutching at her waist. "Not the - not the situation I had in mind."

Nana shifts her weight a bit more on one hip, guiding you through rubbing along the entrance to her slit - sloppy with precum, silky and aching - and when you place just the lightest pressure over all that hot skin, she opens her mouth: 

"Ah."

Her eyes, her hair, her fucking mouth - you can’t look away - she’s so gorgeous it hurts.

Even the way she pants; the perfect furrow between her brows. And then, you dip a finger inside her, just to the first knuckle. It’s enough to make her whine, all shaky and high.

"Go on then, with how you’d pictured it," you press, already easing your digit in and out; slow, slick pumps that she is growing hotter, needier around. "I'm sure you've touched yourself to it more than a few times. The details and - stuff - must have been vivid."

"You haven't the slightest clue."

A brief kiss. You coax another shy sound from her, drawing a long sigh against her mouth -

"Try me, Nayeon."

"This is a lot closer to the truth than you’d think, professor." This time, no correction, she just smiles wide and tosses her head back, asking, sweetly, as if to absolve you of the responsibility. "Do you have any idea how long I've thought about it? You, me - us?" 

Nana slips a finger between the buttons of your shirt and starts to pull.

On that detail, you actually, truthfully do not want to know.

"These... oh, how should I even call them." She hums softly just before easing a bit of distance between the two of you, head tilting like she's in a trailer for this summer's romcom, and not, you know, trying to drag you into hell. "Filthy little fantasies?"

"You know," you start. And by this point, her cunt's that much tighter. You've managed two fingers now, but no further, and she's making these desperate, punched-out gasps. Her clit's a swollen pink nub, jutting out from its soft hood. "I really had you pegged all wrong."

"Not - not at all. You can fuck me just fine, trust me - ah. Please, you can fuck me anyway you want."

And here, you grab a little higher on her hips, pinching her on the outside of a thigh, and begin working your fingers fast. You've never cared much for teasing, not really, but something about the way she squirms in your grip, tries to lean up and grasp onto your shoulders with shaking hands, it gets you smiling. It gets you grinning, even, especially the way she makes these pretty noises: a long, desperate little, "ah," at each press and thrust, her breath going high and uneven. 

"Listen, Nana -" She squeals out loud when you push your fingers just a little deeper, a little bit harder. "I'm not going to talk about what a slut you've been today or how badly I want to spread you wide open," you can already tell it's affecting her: the sudden change, the subtle hitch in her breathing, the tremor where her thighs press together. "Tell me about you, about your little ideas. Let me help."

"Wouldn't be fair." Her pussy's getting tighter, urgent with want. And still:

"C'mon now. Humor me a little. There was probably-" you say, sliding down that ridiculous pair of underwear along her ass, tugging them over the curves of her legs - so slow and easy, all while you're not bothering with easing off. Nana moans again; voice pitched. "Lots. Lots and lots of dirty things - and, I'm willing to bet my career that they made you a hot, mess - an awful, soaking fucking wreck. Who could've guessed? You, of all people, with just the right kind of teacher's-pet-appeal, hm?"

And you meant it to be a joke, just some ribbing. But the question has her immediately tensing, looking at you very intently, no trace of shame as she snaps back -

"Your mouth." She rocks forward. "Your fucking mouth."

You shouldn't keep touching her, you shouldn't keep staring, you shouldn't push her flat on her back and shove your face right into her cunt, you should pull away before this goes too far - it shouldn't be your fingers drawing out sopping-wet gasps out of her pussy, nor should you press your tongue to her cunt, your mouth to all that delicate flesh and, at your first taste, shiver.

Nana laughs: shaky, nervous. Then, your fingers sink back into her pussy alongside your tongue, your lips, the way even your hot breath against her aching pussy has her all stunned, breathless - and -

"Please."

- right before she breaks off into a beautiful sound that catches her hard in the chest.

(A sound like you’re all she could ever want in this life, maybe the next; it’s this wordless plea.)

"Hah, I had - ah, had so much - hah - dirt on you, used to masturbate thinking - ah," and there, she arches her spine, forcing a sigh out, "thinking about how you might punish me." She laughs - nearly choking. "How you might break down all your veneer of being a good, moral man and fuck me raw and rough and - ah - fuck. Oh god, fuck."

You twist your fingertips up just so, right against this perfect spot in her, and all the sudden the entire line of her body seizes - stiffens up, the muscles in her thighs twitch as you both moan through the moment, the spasms reverberating in your own ears, loud and unashamed, right against her wet, wet clit. Your fingers are fucking and fucking and fucking away in her cunt, harder and faster and sloppier, every word, every groan, every gasped breath only making it easier to forget. To give in. And with every heavy slap and squelch of your fingertips digging in as deep as her body allows - you're sending her that much closer.

You pull back long enough to bite out: "cum whenever you want, Nana.”

She can’t, she can’t, she can’t, is what she’s trying to say, bracing against how your tongue moves around her clit, and she knows, there’s no use fighting it.

A kiss against her swollen mound and she writhes. “There you go sweetheart, cum for me.”

Nana comes undone. Gradually at first, then vaulting over that edge all at once. She lifts and lowers her hips - pushing your fingers into the smooth, velvety muscles of her cunt; rocking up and up again. It's a torturously slow kind of grinding, and her feet find purchase on either side of you as her toes curl, one heel digging into your shoulder. An assurance; a promise; a lifeline; that she might tremble and shake through it, moaning.

“Fuck,” and, “god,” and, “you’re gonna make me-” slip past her lips alongside all the assured gasped-out cries for relief - the orgasm sweeping through her, tearing her apart.

Back pitching, shoulders narrowing, face twisting, cinching tighter and tighter -

Until she collapses.

Until it’s over.

As she lays there, chest heaving, arm draped carelessly across her forehead and half over a kitchen cutting board - her thighs splayed open, fucked and spent - she's so, so beautiful.

And it’s in that sort of fucked-up-noodly-state where she just slides right into your arms - those long, slender legs wrapping tight around your middle. "Here's the deal," you say, grabbing hold of her hips and steadying her, as best as either of you can.

"Hm." This lazy, sated look, the way her tongue's dragged out - slow and slick - across the top of her teeth and bottom of her lips. "Go ahead, sir. I'm listening."

The lip service - that coy little appeal to authority that maybe you’re actually plenty fond of - it makes you stop for the barest of moments. This girl, she's unreal. How hard could you ever be asked to resist her?

She lifts a brow. "Professor."

So you continue:

"I'm going to get out of these clothes, and we are going to see what happens after that - if you have a preference for the bed or the sofa, now's your chance to pipe up. Or else -"

"Or else-" She repeats, shifting her weight around again. You can feel how she adjusts her heels to hang higher up your ribs, rocking her weight against your abdomen, against your cock - and the instinctual twitch that runs through your spine is turgid and rough. Like a shot. If it had a smell, it'd probably remind you of gasoline.

And then, maybe just to rile you up even more: "the dining room table makes a good impression of a teacher's desk, no?"

You slide your hand along the backs of her thighs until you have a good, tight, high hold on them and pick her up, leaving the panties, the stockings, all of it down where they can gather dust or whatever - she giggles, and tightens her hold around you like she doesn't need to worry about falling.

"I'd rather fuck you into a mattress to be perfectly candid."

Nana throws back her head and laughs - this real, honest-to-goodness peal of laughter, a hint of playfulness where there was usually just a practiced ease. "Oh. So forward."

(In all likelihood, you're both going to hell, and on the off chance you meet down there, you figure you'll fuck her then, too.

You've read the myths, the Greek tragedies, the ones that have these gods descending from the heavens on human women, for pleasure and nothing but, you've read those stories and plenty more - the details don't matter: it's always a bad, bad end for everybody involved.)

She takes you upstairs. And the two of you fall through the doorway to her bedroom, stumbling all the way.

Her apartment is simple and clean in the way all young adults try to emulate, all white countertops, but with pictures hanging in little, neat rows on the walls and the space void of anything with some sort of character or history.

You know because you're fumbling toward a dresser or desk or bookshelf in an attempt to orient yourselves, bumping and tussling, half-blind, on your path forward and all of a sudden there's a goddamn framed photo in your hand - not of her family, thank god. Though just about every other person in the picture is familiar to you, you remember every single one - but all you're capable of focusing on is Nana, Nayeon: not quite the same. The same glint in her eyes, the way her smile has a timeless kind of quality, the faint dimples in her cheeks. 

And some wicked part of you is all too willing to ignore the whole timeline of events that has led up to you, Nana, like this: you want to pull her hair. You want to shove her around like she doesn't matter - is in any way disposable or replaceable; the most selfish parts of you wishing you could keep her pinned down by her slender neck; pressing a palm, bruising, into her collarbone as you start to work at your belt buckle and slacks with your other hand.

It's hard, getting a grip on yourself as Nana, sliding onto her bed and rolling across the sheets, pulls her stockings down the length of her legs - only stopping herself long enough to meet your eyes. Her throat bobbing.

“Of course,” she says, because your cock is hanging out by that point, straining and a little pent-up. "I fucking knew you would have a perfect cock."

"Flattery or sincerity?"

"Um, let's say both." She shifts around the pillow - that sweet little pout on her lips. Her gaze dropping from your mouth and running all along the length of your torso, lower and lower. Like her hands. And when her eyes flick up to meet yours, just when you're stroking at your cock, base and shaft, teasing yourself, well past the point of pretense, a devious smile spreads wide across her pretty, beautiful face. The implication: you aren't leaving here until you're cumming inside her.

And with a glimmer in her eyes, the sheer audacity, her fingertips ghost the underside of your cock as she draws up toward the head, "you're going to ruin me with this thing. You know that right?"

"A bit dramatic."

Nana moves to rest with the tops of her knees at the edge, her chin resting against the insides of her wrists, elbows propped up - poised, playful, everything she should be as the both of you regard each other a moment longer. "Can you blame me? It's not just that it's huge, I mean - I've barely even gotten a hold of it, and yet... god," she snorts. Her eyelids are heavy, mouth curved, almost a snarl as she drags her bottom lip through the grip of her teeth and sinks down onto the mattress.

"Say something filthy again," and this is a test, this is Nana testing you to see what exactly you'll get away with.

(Hint: it's a whole lot.)

She sighs. The image of indigence, innocence, everything pure and good you couldn't hope for. "Should I suck it or not? Or maybe, I don't know. Would you prefer me to beg for it first, ask if you'll put it in? Like, I think if you ordered me to put it in my mouth, right now, I wouldn't be able to say no."

"Really," the most sarcastic answer.

"Really," she continues. "For instance. If you came over here right now and guided me up and onto your dick and told me, specifically, that you were going to face-fuck me? I couldn't say no. No sir."

You could have her any damn way. You could have her, and you both know it.

"So tempting," you tease, mostly in earnest, "maybe another time, when my self-control isn't quite so lacking."

Nana hums a low, flippant sort of noise - like: whenever you're ready - and just how much trouble it gets you in, the mere suggestion, is what she is banking on.

"Hey," is her invitation, "I won't beg yet. You still want me to put my mouth all over it," and to emphasize, she slips her fingers between the plump pillows of her lips, smiling at how that makes you reach over the nightstand, accidentally pulling open a drawer, possibly reaching for the first aid kit, "or would you rather watch me stuff all these fingers in my wet, little hole."

A sharp inhale: it really would be fun, probably, but you can't take it.

"Nana," this voice, gravelly-ragged and harsh, "if you're planning to make me snap, you are, without question, on the right track."

"Then before that happens," she says, pulling you down into the bedsheets beside her. Your body flush against hers, the beat of her heart loud against your own; this gorgeous, pristine girl, so nakedly giving - this is an honor and a curse all rolled up together, no doubt.

And after a hot, wet kiss: "fuck me like I always thought you would."

(She was made to be like this; it's the only explanation.

Made for wanting. Made for fucking. Made to be loved and made to have her cunt fucked full - ruined by your fingers, your tongue, your cock. This absolutely perfect body, and all the delicious parts of her; this thing of desire, bashful and coy and that deserves all the world and, having none of the grace or courtesy to actually beg, orders, like she always knew she could:

"Like, right fucking now."

Or else.)

Then you're there - her hot mouth, her cunt, your fingers digging in bruising-tight all along the curve of her thighs where they meet her ass, hips, thighs, waist. She's pumping her soft palm and delicate fingers, slick with her spit and yours around the length of you and this isn't going to last long; not that there's any doubt you're going to leave her sore. But still, you drag the head of your cock across the swollen lips of her pussy, down through the plump swell of her clit until it rests where the ridge just begins and every slide, every pressure along every inch of your cock, the thought of being enveloped entirely in all that silky warmth is nearly the end of you.

A whimper, "professor."

You wrap your hands tighter around the smooth, firm muscles in her thighs; dragging your fingers back and forth across the supple skin there - just firm enough to elicit a reaction from the tension in her legs, until you have her flipped over on her stomach. Because if you're going to fuck her properly, it's going to be with her face buried deep into a pillowcase and you perched above her, holding her down against the sheets.

You watch her get her elbows underneath her, laying almost flat. Watch her trace the shape of her own jaw, her nose, her neck - the smooth expanse of her chest - as you straddle her thighs. With her ass pointed right up at you and the heel of her ankle gently grinding into the underside of your leg, you groan, placing both hands just above her ass. And once you're gripping the whole shape of her, you push your cock into her, just an inch, listening to the shift in her breathing.

She shudders, "don't tease - oh, please, sir-"

"Is this what you expected, Nana?" You grab onto her hair. Then again, when she tries to get her hands on herself. Her shoulders are high, tight. You just don't give her a chance; pushing yourself another inch, a couple. The pace, so gradual she starts making these soft, little breathless sounds as you stretch her tight pussy open. A few moments when she stops trying to bury her noises, her gasps - stops trying to angle her hips or squeeze or resist the thick shape of your cock where it is so, so hot and full inside of her - and there you stop. "What is it you had in mind, hm?"

"Ngh - oh."

Her cunt's clamping tight around just the first few inches of you. The tightness, the wet heat is staggering; how it pulls and begs with the words she seems reluctant to spill out.

So - you lift a hand, bringing it back down again onto the pale, rounded flesh of her ass with a smack, a gasp, and this wet sound from the sopping heat of her pussy, all aching and sobbing, "don't, fuck, stick it - fuck, put it - just. Just fucking get on top of me and pin me down - make it hard for me to breathe - do it, just. Like I, fuck, like I always wanted, sir, please-"

And you sink all the way in.

"Fuck." She bites into those consonants, a whole-body motion that pulls at the tension in her spine, the muscles in her legs. But her hips angle right up, and she presses her ass into the hollow of your abdomen and says, "thank you. Thank you. God."

"Don't get lazy on me," you say, grinding the tip of your cock in little circles; pulling it out and angling it down until it's prodding at all the right places to make her arch and shiver.

"Please," she says again, louder this time, almost a moan. "That. Fuck. Yes. It's."

"Yes, yes, I know. Nana, you-"

"Just use me. Whatever you like," she pants; then, once you've pulled yourself out to the tip, slowly filling her again, "use me like a fucktoy, alright. Because - fuck," Nana shivers, pushing her hips into yours. Her shoulders lower, as if by degrees, "please. Use me. Make it rough. Please, professor - use me however you want, I don't care - anything's fine with me - use me, as long and as much as you need, I. Please."

The real difference here, beyond anything else, is that this is no longer the game it was; the very instant she was sprawled across the mattress with a line of drool dripping into the sheets, all her bright, polished glory has vanished, leaving this bare edge of her exposed - the girl who lives solely to be fucked and used by your cock, her cunt leaking, begging for more. Reduced to the basics and nothing else.

"Your fucking cunt, Nana, the goddamn clench - you feel - it's-" (So fucking good, is what you can’t quite say, because she’s tight and wet and her tiny pussy is quivering like mad every time you bathe your cock in its scorching heat. Over and over.) It’s hard to think; you’re truly - truly - fucking her, but you can’t ignore the tautness in her spine either, bent below you. There are probably tears beading down her cheeks, but there's no helping the raw instinct screaming through the core of her being, pleading with you to pull yourself free, before sinking hilt-deep into her again, again, again - to a chorus of sloppy, loud, nasty, fucking whimpers and moans.

Like music. 

It's easy after all, how her pussy gives way to you. How she molds around you - sleeves onto you like a glove - like there was only one cunt in the world you should ever be fucking up and fucking apart. 

"It's incredible. Fuck. Just that perfect."

Nana, as best as she can, trying to stay steady, braced against her hands and knees, is raising her hips.

But it's clear with the way she's slipping all over, slicking the sweat off her palms and rocking her ass back into your thrusts, a cry falling out of her, unbidden, when she speaks and not.

"Please," she pants, through tears probably, this breathy-shivering. A renewed enthusiasm for your grip on her - where, in another place, you'd worry about leaving marks behind - for the feeling of your weight slamming down into her, driving the air from her lungs.

The sheets are a crumpled mess, pillows knocked from the mattress, where the two of you are shaking it apart.

You're pulling her apart, slowly, thrust by thrust into her sopping cunt, and in a promise of how you'll put her back together, you get your mouth on her shoulders, her neck, kisses in her hair, behind her ear - Nana just whimpers, curling her toes and ankles along the backs of your knees, her face against the pillow and gasping, "thank you - thank - thank-"

And when your palm smacks against the generous swell of her ass, again, she keens so perfectly for you.

It's a breathtaking sight, so good, so perfect: her flawless ass pitched high, round and flushed pink. The flutter of her eyelashes and the tears and drool. The outlines of her pale white cheeks sent into ripple after ripple, and then the way you can slide one hand forward between her shoulder blades and slip it into her hair, nails raking her scalp, grabbing a handful of hair in your fist and tilting her face - to the side, enough for her cheek against the pillow and the way her hips try to press against yours; try to chase the pleasure; this brash, gorgeous, slim-waisted, well-curved, exquisite young woman - like everything.

"Please," is all she says as you fit your chest up tight to her back and mouth at her neck - lick all along the sweat. "Please."

You can't take it anymore, can't keep watching this masterpiece, can't stand the molten heat wrapped around your cock every time the drag in and out of her pussy pulls sets every nerve on fire. Right in her ear: "I'm cumming, Nana, I'm cumming inside this tight, little pussy."

A short gasp, "yeah."

"Yeah. Inside, Nana. Cum inside, you -" You twist your fingers against her scalp and find purchase, an excuse - a means to yank her head around and lean into her, teeth against skin, that familiar coiling in your gut and the burning sensation that flows right alongside every slap and smack of her hips on your skin.

"Fuck me." You watch her bite down, swallow a sound, try to say: "fuck your load so deep inside me it’ll be all I think about for weeks, let me feel it, all that hot, all that sticky, fucking cum"

And you drag your hips, these final, punishing drags through her drenched cunt. Her fingers are white knuckled and fisting the sheets, until the very second you've pressed every ounce of your own body's worth into her own, when you're collapsing her spine and pushing her face into the bedspread, this wave rushes through your ears like the buzz and hum of insects and waves and things out of sync - the high, the peak -

And then:

Sobering, subjugating silence.

In fact, you're shuddering; You're cumming, spilling pools of thick cum deep inside of her. It's all in that warm, filthy sensation, a heady, hazy, desperate thrill when her own cunt seizes in its climax around you, trembling, throbbing, quivering, clenching; drawing everything out and taking your cock deeper - even while the whole of her is thrashing and bucking, all of this messy with her pleasure and her voice caught up, writhing and breathless.

"God-" is the last thing out of her mouth before you can kiss it quiet, tug on her lower lip and open her up like a present - messy and breathy, crying out, you're making this mess inside, this beautiful fucking mess - as the whisper you feel against your lips:

"Inside me, like that."

As you groan, deep and hot, "filthy fucking cumslut-"

Right on the verge, riding out every twitch of your cock and each flex of your hands at the skin around her ass, her waist, back and shoulder blades; even after you've caught your breath, you keep pumping more and more inside of her, you don't stop, won't, and even when you manage it, pulling out the head of your cock - you can feel every slick detail - just the slit and rim, resting the throbbing head of your cock at her swollen little mound, feeling the length of her fucked-out pussy spasm at the emptiness and trying to grasp around nothing - empty, tight and aching, sopping.

There's her hips, just this, right there; the line, the silhouette. Her thin waist and the curvy swell of her ass, jutting out straight - the cream-colored flesh dusted pink. The lithe, soft line of her stomach and the insides of her thighs a little farther along, sweaty and inviting.

She's so pliant in your grip, even though she's trying her best to curl herself backward - to angle your spent cock back into the ready, welcoming warmth of her slick, wet pussy - and once the afterglow has begun to wear away, that same greed and yearning takes its rightful place. A glimmer in her eyes. The unmistakable need and drive.

"One more," she says, wiggling her hips back into your stomach. "For me."

(The truth: you can't refuse her, not as she bites her lip and twists, all that soft hair splayed across her face, stuck to her tear-damp skin.

One more, because you both still want it. One more, because in the dim glow and evening air of her bedroom, everything that happens now matters just as much as anything that happened before.

One more, because you need her again.)

-

When she wakes in the dark, you figure her bed will be empty.

Nana will realize that you're gone. Of course you’ll be - it was never going to go differently; the sex had to end at some point. After all, if you stayed, eventually she'd start saying something you'd find a fault in or your skin would be so sensitive she couldn't stand not running a finger up your spine and maybe kissing your hip.

The reasons to go always outnumbered the reasons to stay.

The world would catch up and someone would find out and that's the sort of gossip that might leave both of your careers in shambles. Or else, you'd do something you couldn't come back from, the moment the heat of the sex left your body and her cunt, god, her perfect little cunt was spent - slackening - and the moments-after-haze, her legs locked up and her arms a bit sore, would clear up. Then you'd look at her, or else the shame would win out - the guilt and you'd call it quits. She won’t blame you. She can't.

-

But then again,

Her heart won't fall completely to pieces, because:

You've stayed. And it isn't an easy position, even if she is easy.

Here she is, though: sleeping on her side with her wrists crossed in front of her face - peaceful and quiet, probably tired enough to sleep without dreams. The dark has long since settled across her bedroom, save the pinpricks of stars in the sky out her window and a sliver of moonlight. You can see her, or you could reach out and run your hands all along her calves and thighs, but you don't.

Nana's shoulders slump forward in the faintest of sighs, and there it is - the slow, gentle swell and fall of her chest.

-

Here's how you got here:

In this scandal-in-waiting of a relationship. Here's the stupidest possible path, where a bright-eyed student with a crush fucks her older professor just once, and somehow you both find yourselves coming back for more, like maybe your very, very bodies belong together - a maddening compulsion.

Even once you've managed to work through the idea of your cum all inside of her, a seedy, twisted corner of your mind murmurs how it makes the most sense. To stick your cock inside of her again.

Where she can show you the way it can look; the mess and the texture of the slick, white spill - dribbling out of her pussy in the afterglow, onto her palm, and down the crevice in her ass and lower.

It's the phone calls probably - and not just the phone sex - late-night talking, conversation and every once in awhile, the kind of hot, hard fucking that gets you in trouble, but also a reason to be with each other again. Not just the quick fucks but the nice ones - the days, the late nights and mornings and what have you: all the casual intimacy of it. All the sweet nothings exchanged.

The after-sex cuddling, with her straddling your lap;

The sensation of her thighs sliding into place around the tops of your legs, her arms tucked around your neck;

The kisses you don't take and kisses you'd be okay with, all the promises made to love you as many times as necessary, however necessary, wherever.

That's all here too.

Again:

She is young. But, who the fuck are you to say? Who the hell can tell you she doesn't deserve the least rotten, least painful, most promising love she can find in this particularly fucked-up world?

Who else is going to keep the both of you safe and hidden?

And who else, despite everything, seems to like having a secret that they're sure only you know; every glance or accidental touch with her eyes brimming, alive, and the whole of her bent like a bow-string - all held back and wound-up tight.

To the point her spine will shiver and shake; you know how it can be.

-

"Are you actually going to buy those?" Nana asks one day, dangling on her toes, chin rested comfortably in the sweep of your shoulder.

When she crowds the swell of her hip and her breasts and her entire body into your back and snakes her arms around your shoulders, you think there's nothing else in the world you need.

"You called them drivel," she adds, almost pouting - which is a look you're slowly trying to inoculate yourself against because the moment it comes up, you have a knee-jerk reaction to drop anything and everything and carry her off someplace else. To have a place where she could, could, could -

"Hah," you roll your eyes, not taking the bait. There's a shelf-full of campy, smutty romance novels in the dollar bin. "It is. The story was less than complicated, but I couldn't figure out what the hell two or three characters' plotlines had to do with one another, and sometimes you just want a little guilty pleasure, you know?"

"Ooh. So," Nana smiles, the devious sort. "I guess there is some honesty in you after all."

"Come on, this one at least has an original story," and it is a shameless attempt, "plus-"

"I know, I know. Fine. And if it is so terribly bad, well, I suppose I can use your chest as a pillow to take a nap," she says, before throwing this particular glance over her shoulder.

The cashier doesn't need to ask if the two of you want your copies of 'Wild West of the Heart' or whatever-the-fuck this one is titled, scanned separately.

All of that, those paperback-cover love stories and TV drama plots, these are the sorts of things you do just for Nana; as the two of you wait in long lines, get carried along, get bumped and pushed, like every other ordinary-person thing you've done for her ever since.

("Honestly, this isn't my kind of thing either," you tell her in the aisle of a grocery store once. The fluorescent lighting only accentuates the blush high on her cheeks. "don't make me fuss over something like this."

"Have a little sympathy," she insists, nudging the handle of the shopping cart against the inside of your shins. "A girl like me isn't good for much else.")

It's not romance, really, that's such a fucked up way to go about describing any of it, but then there's Nana, bouncing on her heels and prattling on, this girl in the spring of her life who is full to the brim and bursting with the most chaotic and eclectic sorts of thoughts and passions -

So, what.

"Really," she adds - another side, another angle on an issue the two of you had an hour ago while cooking breakfast. "Just, think about it. Would you honestly put all this effort into somebody who doesn't make you laugh at least as much as they irritate you? Because like, you would never tolerate some self-obsessed jerk long enough to eat their burnt, terrible pancakes every day of the week."

"Fine. Maybe." You sit across the table. "You're right."

Nana blinks and this look of wonder crosses her face as she grins. A moment of triumph for her and that was more than the honest truth. It's still strange, admitting defeat in any argument here or there, or that the two of you make an actual decent couple - together. The kinds of things that come naturally to other people.

"Any more caveats to all of this, professor?"

"You’re gonna end up bent over that counter again if you keep pushing it, kid."

The both of you break out laughing and then you finish your coffee, or she stabs the last few pieces of cantaloupe on her plate, or you kiss her neck, and just -

Everything.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Heel, Stay, and Shake.

🐦‍⬛ What’s this? A wild bird in our classroom? Now we can’t have that, can we? 🧪

By My Hand.

Raven didn’t know what to expect when Professor Crewel asked to see him after class. A summons from him typically meant one of two things: a thorough scolding or remedial work. Sometimes both.

She wasn’t the type for either. Raven kept her head down and behaved—and thus stood off to the side of his wrath. And now here she was, standing in the line of fire.

“Wooow, sucks to be you,” Ace had sneered on his way out. “The goody-two-shoes finally gets into trouble herself!”

“Leave her alone, Ace,” Deuce grumbled, “You don’t want to make things worse for her than they already are.”

Even the Prefect, Yuu—level-headed, neutral—had passed her a look of sympathy. But they cleared out of the laboratory the same as the rest, leaving Raven to her doom.

The heavy wooden door slammed shut, trapping her in with their teacher.

Crewel had traded his lab coat and safety goggles for his usual attire: a black and white color-blocked vest, black undershirt and slacks, smart shoes that clicked with every step, blood red gloves, socks, and tie. Over this, a striped fur coat with several tails, the insides a shocking scarlet.

He ran a hand through his hair—black slicked back, white in a graceful sweep of parted bangs. His eyes, a shade of iced onyx, dug into her like the teeth of a dog. Not enough to pierce the skin, but enough to threaten to.

She struggled not to tremble under his gaze. Raven knew it to be discerning and, more importantly, unrelenting in its critique.

“Crowley.”

“Y-Yes!!” Raven yelped, standing at attention. Her posture naturally corrected itself at his voice. Back stiffening, head lifting. “Wh-Whatever it is I’ve said or done to offend you, I apologize! I will reflect on my actions and do better in the future!”

“Offend me?” Crewel’s surprise melted into a devilish smirk. “You’ve done nothing of the sort. However, I’m flattered that you would think yourself in such dire need of my private instruction.”

“Eh? Then what did you need me for…?”

“A curiosity of mine. I hope you do not mind.”

“N-No, sir! Curiosity not minded!”

A chuckle.

Crewel extended his pointer to a line of shelves. “I’ve heard from the headmaster that you care for colorants. Is that correct?”

Raven was all too eager to provide the answer and then book it out of there. “That’s right. I brew some in my spare time. They’re enchanted inks, meant for writing and journaling.”

“Inks? What, may I ask, makes them ‘enchanted’?”

“Well…” Raven gestured to a potted mandrake. “It’s like cultivation. I infuse magic into the ink, which grants them fun properties. Smelling like an orange slice, glowing even long after you’ve penned it, words that produce the sounds they write out.”

“I see.” Interest had started to seep into Crewel’s voice. “Have you ever thought to extend this skill to other areas of application?”

“No, not really. It’s just something I got into to save on pocket money. Commercial inks can be expensive, so I thought to make my own with the ingredients gathered from around campus…”

Raven trailed off.

A glint had settled into Crewel’s eyes. The very same shine that came into Crowley’s at the mention of money or fresh game.

“It seems to me,” Crewel said slowly, “that you have a talent.”

A stone dropped into her stomach.

Uh-oh, here comes trouble.

“I would very much like to train that talent.” He tapped his pointer into an open palm. Each strike light, but had all the gravity of a gravel.

“Huh?!”

“You’re familiar with Night Raven College’s charity ball?”

“Yes…”

She couldn’t forget it even if she tried. The headmaster had droned about it for the last several weeks, declaring it a “prime time” to look good to the public. (Half of those weeks had been spent preening and wondering which suit and tie to wear.)

“School staff are to be in attendance to oversee the event. This year, we’re donating the proceeds to an animal shelter on Sage’s Island—a cause I’m particularly passionate about. As such, I would like to wear something stunning—and to dazzle at a show, you must have the element of surprise. I will be designing my own outfit. That is where you will come in.

“I will provide the materials, and you will prepare the dye for it. I want a unique color and magical effect that suits my image and enhances it.”

“But I don’t know the first thing about fabrics or treating them,” Raven protested faintly.

“Which is why I will mentor you. It will be a collaborative effort.”

“I-I’m sure you’re entirely capable of accomplishing this on your own, Professor! After all, Crewel-sensei is so very skilled…”

“Tch.” He frowned, making his displeasure clear. “You are missing the point, pup. Do you really think I wouldn’t have already done so, were that my intention?”

Raven flinched. “I don’t know, sir.”

“Night Raven College is making efforts to promote teamwork in its curriculum and extracurricular activities. For such a front-facing event, our new direction will be center stage. You’re a clever girl. I’m certain I do not need to explain the importance of this.”

“Surely there are more ideal candidates, sir… Students far more qualified than me. V-Vil-senpai? Or a Science Club member? Rook-senpai might be interested.”

“Of course I am aware of that—but this isn't about them. This is about you."

His pointer sliced through the air, so sharp that it cracked like a whip, aiming itself right at her. Crewel's face was the picture of arrogance, a high and mighty king looking down at the peasants. (Raven suddenly understood why he, of all teachers, was a Night Raven College graduate.)

"Since the day you scampered into my classroom, you've been nothing but a meek little thing. Obedience is all well and good, but you lack a bark and a bite, the confidence to be bold and to demonstrate your ability with pride. Schoenheit and the others already have that.

“You must learn how to speak up, pup! And this Crewel-sama will be the one to teach that to you.”

“B—But…”

“No buts!” he snapped. “If you’re going to reject the idea, then do so with your entire chest! I will accept it as proof of your bite. If you cannot muster that, then you will submit yourself to my guidance. What will it be?”

Raven shrunk back—proving his point. Speak up? Louder, more sternly—against her own teacher? She couldn’t.

Yikes, he’s so fired up about this… There’s no way I can comfortably say ‘no’!

She balled her fists up, terribly twisting her skirt. Raven sighed deeply, resigning herself to her fate.

“… Alright, I will do my best to assist, Crewel-sensei. In return, I will be relying on you too.”

“Good girl. You’ve made your choice.” Crewel offered a hand. “Then let us shake on it.”

She hesitantly took it. His grip was firm and resolute, hers limp and unenthusiastic.

At last, he smiled in satisfaction. “I look forward to instructing you, Crowley. I expect you to keep up.”

Never in her life had she felt more like some poor dog strung along on a leash.

[himegureisu]

Can you please write a fic where reader sends Snape a plush (which she crocheted)of a cat which looks like her(or her favourite breed) and she send him a picture of her with a black cat plush(also made by her) which looks like him to keep eachother company

Bonus If he opens it infront of the students in the great hall😄

A Momentary Lapse in Judgement

A/N: I think I was blushing the whole time I was writing this. I did it in a single go, didn't even need to edit it much my brain was in a continuous💡. Everything is there plus a bit more.

——————————— 🪄———————————

In the Great Hall, lively chatter from students’ conversations echoed throughout as the warm light filtered through its’ windows on this fine morning of the school year. On the other hand, at the High Table, only a few words were spoken between the staff.

It wasn’t long until the owls arrived to deliver the morning post.

One amongst them, your tawny barn owl landed gracefully in front of the Potions’ Master. In front of his plate, a beautifully wrapped gift in deep green and silver ribbon. Their students’ attention caught by the shiny display and the whisper of who would send that smarmy git a present was briefly heard.

His dark eyes flickered in curiosity, the sight of your stationery attached on top eased his frayed nerves. His fingers delicately opened the parchment to see an enchanted candid postcard of you smiling, holding a black crocheted cat plush that eerily resembled him. On the back, in your neat handwriting, a short message.

I miss you always. I hope this is sufficient company until I come home. Counting down the days.

His hands tugged on the silver ribbon, and neatly unwrapped the package that contained a single crocheted cat plush very similar to you. Its’ fur, the color of your skin, bright eyes the hue of yours, a pout on its’ tiny lips, and flushed cheeks reminded him of you whenever you didn’t get your way. There was a tag that said “Hug Me,” and so he did.

Boy, was that the wrong move.

Your voice echoed throughout the hall, a soft I love you came from the cat. His stern features softened, cheeks flushed, the tips of his ears a tinge of crimson, and a soft smile appeared on his lips from the pronouncement. His students and the professors agape at the sight of their strict professor undone.

On the edge of the table, he gently banged his head and quietly wished for the ground to swallow him up whole. His eyes locked on the cat plush that resembled you, an internal debate of whether to burn or not to burn the blasted toy came across his mind until he was reminded that it carries your voice.

You.

The woman he loves, who chose and chooses him every day. The one person he couldn't bear to lose. He couldn’t. He would never. It was a very thoughtful gift from you and truly, he did miss you.

His composure returned. His face was its’ normal color by the time he raised his head from the edge of the table to see the intrigued gazes of students and teachers alike.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he packed up the plush, “This needs to be in safekeeping,”

On your side of the bed, by his side until you return.

[tlouadditc]

hate to hate you.

enemies to lovers abby x reader.

a/n: this was an ask but i forgot to put this under it 😭 anyway thank u anon for asking!! this was so fun to write tbh and also i am not a nursing student so idk how any of this works .... hope you enjoy anyway :,) also might write a pt. 2 depending on how this one does!

warnings: 18+/MDNI, men dni either, mean!abby [kinda], super fem!reader, abby's a bully :,((, switch!abby, switch!reader, clothed grinding [?], oral [a!receiving], dirty talk ;), pussy slaps [?], rushed ending because im crocheting, probably more. NOT PROOFREAD AGAIN.

abby has been your rival since middle school. she was always making fun of you- could be how you had lower grades [by a couple points, to be specific], how you always dressed in pink and in skirts and were a "tryhard", literally anything. hell, when she found out you were interested in nursing, she made it a competition to see who could be the better doctor. eventually, the amount of taunting had gotten to you and you started dressing like everyone else and becoming a quieter person.

ever since then, there's been some silent tension between you two. it was stupid, of course, but neither of you made an effort to end the rivalry. every class you had together in high school was a competition to see who could participate the most, get the most praise from the teacher, highest grades- everything. but no matter what you did, you'd always be second to her. once senior year was over, you were free from this hell and decided to finally be your true self in college.

or so you thought.

it was your first day of freshman year. you were doing your makeup in your bathroom, trying to calm your nerves. you've done this multiple times before, you thought to yourself. why am i still nervous??

you were adding little finishes- a bit more blush, curling your lashes one more time, adding a bit of glitter to your inner corner, etc. you check the time: 8:03am. class starts in 20 minutes, and you have to walk! you quickly check your outfit, straightening out your pink skirt and grabbing your bag before leaving out.

the walk to class isn't bad; a little confusing, but there's staff around to help direct new students, so you easily find your class. you walk in as soon as the class starts. to your horror, all the seats in the front are taken. the professor stops her introduction and walks over to you to speak. "hi, you must be y/n? you're a tad late, but it is your first time here, so i'll let you have a pass. your seat is in the back corner next to ms. anderson."

anderson...? your smile fades as you look towards the seat the teacher is pointing at. there she is- sitting there with her smug smirk and her always-braided hair. fuck my life actually. you turn back to the teacher, crack a small smile, and nervously walk over to your seat.

"didn't think you'd see me, huh?" is the first thing that comes out of abby's mouth, her big smile growing wider after seeing the dread on your face. all you can do is glare at her and get your things out. as you rummage through your bag, you hear the professor say:

"the person you are currently sitting with will be your partner for the semester."

you've LITERALLY have to be joking. the girl who's been borderline bullying you for years is your partner for the rest of the semester?? you debate asking the teacher to change seats, but decide against it.

"can't believe im stuck with you," she mutters, mocking the disbelief on your face. "shut up, abby," you hiss, trying to keep your voice down.

this was gonna be quite a year, huh?

abby was unbearable the entire class. always asking useless fucking questions, moving her braid from one side to another- it all annoyed the fuck out of you. however, to pass this class, you had to work with her and put your feelings aside.

the first assignment was to study and review the human anatomy with your partner. the test on the subject was in a couple of days, making it the first grade of the semester. everyone else in the class was easily discussing plans for studying while you and abby made a horrible attempt for friendly small talk.

"so.. we have a test-"

"i heard."

"goddamnit, abby, i'm trying to pass this class. can you be nice for once?"

"stop staring at me like that and maybe i will."

"i wasn't even- [sigh] just give me your number so we can figure out a time and place. please."

and with that, you two later that night made the plan to meet up at your apartment and study there the next day.

the next day

you spent most of your morning doing your usual routine; cleaning, listening to your podcast, organizing your things- basically a mini-spa day. since abby was coming over, you didn't want to give her any reason to ridicule your space. you also debated on wearing some bland outfit to avoid the bicker, but ultimately decided you shouldn't care anymore. you settled on something casual; a floral tube top, a pink cardigan, and some comfy shorts to match the top. you also threw on some pink bunny slippers to match the ribbons in your hair.

as you finished the kitchen, the doorbell rang. must be abby. you walk to the door, slowly losing your happiness as you turned the doornob. upon opening the door, you see abby, leaning against your doorframe. she's dressed in a black wifebeater and gray sweats. she has a small tote bag and headphones around her neck.

as you study her look, she does the same to you. you suddenly feel small in comparison to her; almost feeling weak in her presence. if you were honest with yourself, in all the annoyance that you felt toward her, you could admit she was hot. she was your lesbian awakening, if you were 100% honest. but since she didn't like you, you suppressed all feelings.

"someone got dressed up," she teases, looking you up and down. "this is just how i dress," you say, rolling your eyes. "come in."

an hour later, you and abby are sitting on your couch, going over flashcards for the test. abby has her information down, of course- you keep missing the same two vocab words.

"you dumbass," she laughs, watching you pout over missing the same word for the 4th time in a row.

"this is so annoying," you say, burying your head in your hands. the frustration you feel is so intense, you feel tears well up in your eyes. you attempt to hide it as abby continues to laugh, but a sniffle gives you away.

"are you- there's no way you're crying right now," abby says, genuine disbelief in her voice. "don't be a crybaby, bun. you can get it."

bun.. ?? what the hell? she's being... nice? no fucking way.

you lift your head, tears running down your face, messing up your makeup as you wipe your face with your hands. abby analyzes your face before sitting back on the couch. she pats her thigh, "c'mere, let me help."

okay, this has to be a dream.

you hesitantly get off your side of the couch and sit on her lap. almost immediately, you feel the warmth radiating off her body, making you shiver a bit. she chuckles lightly, "what, are you scared or somethin'? just trying to help you since you clearly need it." you're still wiping your face, too busy to rebuttal.

she begins to explain. "so, these two are similar, but they aren't the same thing. y'know why? because this one.."

all you can focus on is the amount of contact you two have right now: her right hand slightly touching your inner thigh. her abs resting against your back. her voice, soothing and calming, in your ears. the scent of pine and clean laundry filling your nose. you knew it was wrong, but fuck, you were wet. there was probably a puddle under you by now.

"uh, y/n? you there?"

you snap out of your slutty daze, realizing you're supposed to be listening. "mm, what? can you explain that, uh, again, please?"

she laughs, putting the cards on the coffee table in front of you two. "i'm sitting right here, trying to teach you and you still can't focus that pretty little head on this? god, what am i gonna do with you?"

you turn slightly, face to face with abby. her piercing blue eyes study yours, searching for something. you don't know what comes over you, but you completely turn to face her, move your hands to the sides of her face, and kiss her.

she immediately kisses back, hands finding comfort on the top of your hips. she falls back on the couch, lips still connected as you straddle her lap. you can feel the passion, intent with every kiss you give her. her strong hands push your hips onto hers, grinding through her sweats. a soft moan leaves your lips, giving her the opportunity to insert her tongue into your mouth and deepen the kiss.

you pull back, catching your breath as abby continues to make your hips roll onto hers. "you know how long- hah- i've wanted to do this to you?" she breathes, eyes moving from where you two meet to your flustered face.

you look at her, eyes wide. ".. what?"

"i've wanted to kiss you for forever. wanted to have you close like this. wanted to fuck you. everything." shes now completely focused of your face, trying to read your expression.

"i thought you hated me." you're so confused, you don't know whether to cry, smile, get angry, or whatever.

"fuck- i didn't mean to, i'm sorry," she's desperate, her hands moving to your cheeks to bring you back to her face. "let me make it up to you, yeah?"

after a while, she moves her hand to cup your throbbing cunt, earning a whimper from you. "you're so fucking wet, shit," she hisses, feeling the wet spot on your cotton pink shorts. "who's this for? hm?"

the embarrassment takes over you, making you pitifully whimper as you cover your face. she's quick to swat your hand away and ask in a more demanding voice, "who made you this wet, baby?"

"y-you," you manage to choke out, subconsciously grinding into her hand. she smirks, "good girl."

the praise catches you by surprise, not to mention the way her palm accidentally catches your clothed clit. a soft moan leaves your mouth, feeding into the power dynamic between you two. "oh, you like that name, huh?" she whispers, keeping eye contact with you as she rubs your clothed cunt. "you wanna be my good girl?"

"yes, oh my god-" you're chasing your high, overwhelmed by all the feelings you feel. she hums in response, clearly satisfied by your state. she moves a hand to your face, inserting a thumb into your mouth. you suck on her thumb, moaning around it as your hips stutter against her palm. "you gonna cum f'me, bun?" she coos, not slowing down at all. all you can do is nod, too caught up in the knots forming in your abdomen. "go ahead, pretty girl. cum for mommy."

the name pushes you over the edge, making you clench around nothing in your shorts. abby still has her hand over your cunt, feeling the wet spot grow as you pitifully moan. she talks you through your orgasm, mostly praising you for how good you are to her.

as you catch your breath, she removes her thumb from your mouth and peppers small kisses across your cheeks, releasing small praise in between. once you come to your senses, she's still under you, chuckling at your fucked out state. she mutters something along the lines of 'you're so cute' before you start to giggle with her.

you accidentally grind against her while laughing, making abby whine. you immediately realize you haven't helped her at all, making you guilty. you reach a hand down to her heat, feeling her warm cunt under her sweats. she hisses, hips bucking up onto your fingers. you get up and stand in front of her.

"sit up," you say, catching abby by surprise. she hesitantly sits up, looking suspiciously at you. "what for?" she questions, side eyeing you. you chuckle as you kneel in front of her, placing hands on her strong thighs. you reach a hand up to the band of her bottoms, signaling for them to come off. "m' gonna help you."

if her boxers weren't already soaked, they definitely were now. her face heats up as she shyly takes off her sweats, leaving her in just her wifebeater and undergarments. she puts her knees up to her chest, looking away as you assess the wet patch on her boxers.

"i make you this wet, abs?" you say quietly, pointer finger tracing her slit. she slightly gasps at the contact, slightly nodding to answer your question. "use your words. i know you can do it."

"you do, clearly. you've made me this horny for you for years, so yeah." she's being a brat, acting like she's in charge! you give her cunt a small slap, a small surprised moan leaving her lips.

"act like a brat, get treated like one." she stares at you, surprised that you went from such a submissive state to a dominant persona. you tease her, feeling her sensitive bud through her boxers. she whimpers, gripping onto the couch for any stability. "i think it's about time we get these off," you pull at the top of her boxers, "don't you think?"

she immediately gets up and takes them off, sitting back on the couch. she sits and moves her hips to the edge of the couch to reveal her cunt, glistening with slick. you study her sopping cunt, making her nervous under your gaze. "not so cocky now, hm?" you tease, making her face heat up as she huffs and puffs.

"please t-touch me," she almost whispers, barely able to be heard. you could've let up from here, but you don't.

"what was that? i'm gonna need you to be a bit louder, babe."

she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, swallowing her pride. "please touch me," she musters out.

she was such a pretty site to see, how could you possibly deny her? "okay, baby."

you spread her lips apart, revealing her swollen, sensitive clit. she shudders, cold air meeting her core. she's not sure what to expect until you dip your head down and place a flat tongue on her heat, making her gasp.

her reaction makes you smile; you quickly latch onto her clit and suck, still watching her reaction. she throws her head back, moaning loudly.

"oh, you like that," you say, quickly going back to placing kitten licks onto her cunt. she's overwhelmed with pleasure, loud moans and groans leaving her mouth. when you decide to insert your middle finger into her heat, she's going over the edge, babbling your name and please's. her hand comes down and grips the back of your head, pushing your face deeper into her pussy.

her sounds get you wet all over again, making you moan into her pussy. "s-shit, m' cumming- oh, fuck," she cries, gripping your hair and pulling you closer than ever to her as her heat clenches around your finger. tears are streaming down her face as you continue to lap up her juices. after she catches her breath, you pull her into a sloppy kiss, sharing her fluids in between you two.

"shit," she breathes, pulling away from the kiss, "i'm gonna have to fuck you harder next time."

"next time? oh, we're already making dates?"

"yeah, we're gonna have multiple assignments like this later."

you both laugh and get cleaned up before cuddling on your couch and sleeping in each others arms. :,)

taglist [if you're striked out, i can't tag you!!]: @ellabsweet @digit4lslut @macaroni676 @mostlyhornyandsad @yorlenybaires @Pigwideon

[kitty-tea]

Why do you hate me?

Link to masterlist

Part two

Severus Snape x f!reader

WC: 1.5k

Summary: After starting your job as a professor at Hogwarts, you don’t understand why Professor Snape is the one person who doesn’t seem to like you.

Warnings: age gap, angst, SFW, crying, slightly OOC Snape

I still have some stuff I need to catch up on but maybe I can make a part two soon?💁🏻‍♀️

You were more than thrilled when you were accepted to fill in the position for the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. As Dumbledore introduced you to the school at the Welcoming Feast, your eyes went over to the Slytherin table where you recognized some of the students you went to school with who were younger than you. Your memory went back to your last year sitting at that table with them, and it was as if you’d blinked and they were already old enough to be taking their N.E.W.Ts the upcoming year. You gave a wave to them as they saw you which they returned with a thumbs up.

It seemed as if someone else didn’t give off the same welcoming energy that the rest of the staff and students were giving you. That person was none other than your former head of house, Severus Snape, who was sitting right next to you, rolling his eyes.

He had started teaching when you were in your first year, and it didn’t take long for you as an impressionable student to accept his strict ways of teaching. It wasn’t until your fourth year when you noticed you’d feel different around him than you did with any other teacher which made you realize you were developing a little crush on him that you waited for to go away throughout the rest of your time in school. It never did.

And now, there you were, sitting right next to him, with the same flame within you that caused you to blush.

After Dumbledore was finished making the rest of his announcements, you turned to Snape with a smile on your face.

“Hello Severus, you’ve been a teacher for a while now. Doesn’t it get exciting seeing all these new faces ready to have their minds filled with knowledge? I saw a good number of new additions to our wonderful house during the Sorting Ceremony!”

“It’s Professor Snape to you. And what makes you think I would enjoy having new students to teach?” Even though he turned to you with that same scowl on his face from all those years ago, there was something different about the way he looked at you that you couldn’t put your finger on.

“I’m sorry.” You apologized quickly, a meek smile on your face. “I just thought that… well, you’re a teacher, so… or maybe you see it as having new victims to torture?” You didn’t know why you had rambled on like a fool as the butterflies in your stomach continued to flutter. Having a crush on someone you’re not supposed to can make you do strange things, sometimes without your control it seems.

“The students better hope their new teacher takes her job seriously enough and doesn't treat it as a joking matter.” Snape pointed his sharp features at you which were emphasized by his pale face making you shrink back into your seat.

The more time went on throughout the school year, the more apparent it became that your former teacher hated you no less if not more than he used to. Every wave you gave to him in the corridors was only returned with a scowl, every “hello” with a “go away.” You didn’t understand why he could be so rude to you when you’ve been nothing but kind to him. Hearing rumors that he favored the Slytherins over the other three houses, you thought that he would have treated you with less disdain, but even as a student and teacher, it seemed like he treated you as if he forgot that you shared the same house.

The more you thought about it, you noticed that he used to single you out from the other Slytherins in your school days. You remembered storming out of class in your seventh year one time after he yelled at you for being an “embarrassment” to your house. All you had done was defend a Gryffindor student from the taunts of your fellow housemates. He then had the audacity to complain that you were the one disrupting his class!

Since becoming a teacher, you had in a way used Snape’s mistreatment of you as a motivation to be kind to every student and work with them in a way that was suitable to their needs. You never wanted another student to feel the same way about you that you had towards Snape.

Within a month of school, you had gained a reputation as one of the nicest teachers at Hogwarts, a stark contrast to how everyone else viewed Snape. There were some nosey older students who had taken the liberty of spreading gossip around which included information of how you were once his pupil making the younger students wonder in disbelief of how you turned out nothing like him.

Then there was Snape himself, whom you’d sometimes catch looking in your direction, looking as if he was dazed out, a sight that amused you as someone who had only seen him wear one other expression on his face. It was only when the soft sound of your laughter would hit his ears that he’d snap out of whatever trance he was in, narrowing his black eyes at you silently accusing you of mocking him.

You didn’t understand what was so different about him, what changed since the last time he saw you before you started teaching.

This lead to you becoming more intrigued with him, striking up a conversation with him whenever you were together only to be shut down by his familiar dismissiveness.

It was a Hogsmeade weekend which meant that you were alone in the library with the exception of some studious first and second year students. You had taken advantage of the near emptiness of the library to gather however many books you could fit onto two hands before leaving for your quarters. Thinking about how excited you were to bundle up in your blankets with the books you considered reading to your students, you sprinted through the castle. Maybe you got a little too excited because the next thing you knew you were plumeling face first into a wall of black fabric before the books were knocked out of your hands.

“I should’ve known it was you. Running around like the invasive pest that you are.” You looked up to meet Snape’s eyes for daggers, his taller frame looming over you.

“I’m so sorry, sir.” Your eyes widened as you frantically fidgeted with the skirt of your dress.

“Even after I thought I’d seen the last of you, you return like a persistent weed that has evolved into a thorn in my side.” He used his snarky attitude to ignore your apology.

Something inside of you deflated at the sound of his words, puncturing the previous excitement that was bubbling inside you making you momentarily forget about the books you had to pick up.

“I just thought we could be friends now that we’re coworkers.” You said in a near whisper.

“It might have escaped you when you were that pathetic student, but you can’t force everyone to be your friend.” He was clenching his fists at his sides.

“Why don’t you at least try being nice for once then?!” Hot tears were starting to simmer inside your eyelids, threatening to pour out. You hated how no matter how hard you tried standing up for yourself, you’d cry every time.

“Still weak as ever.” Snape said, eyeing your tears that were now running down your red cheeks.

“I am sick of you always treating me and looking at me like… I’m pathetic and calling me that!” You started to choke on your sobs. “Everyone has been kind to me! I don’t understand why you can’t be too when I’ve always tried being friendly with you, but you’ve been nothing but mean to me!”

“Being a pathetic excuse for a Slytherin doesn’t help.” Snape said loud and clear.

“Being a pathetic excuse for a teacher doesn’t help!” You shouted as loud as the tears would spill out fast. “You act like you know everything and that everyone else is beneath you! Maybe that’s why all the students hate you!”

“Thank you. For bringing my attention to something that is absolutely not new and wasting my time.” Snape said sarcastically, huffing under the layers of black.

“Why do you hate me?” You finally asked the question, a wall of tears clouding your vision.

The next thing you felt was calloused fingers brushing along the soft skin of your wet cheek before a pair of lips landed onto yours.

You were in too much of a shock to dwell on the fact that the man you’ve had a crush on for years was kissing you. You planted your hands against his hard chest as you returned the kiss. You let out a breathy whimper as his tongue traced your bottom lip. Both of you closed your eyes, savoring the moment until it was time to break away unless you wanted to take your last breath in his arms, which you would’ve been happy to.

“Because it infuriates me that I’ve wanted to do that to you every time I’ve looked at you since that day you returned to Hogwarts. You have no idea what you have done to me with those innocent eyes I can’t stop thinking about.” Snape’s voice broke you out of your daydreams before he stormed off without giving you a chance to speak.

You wanted to call out after him as you stood alone, trembling in your dried up tears.

[babey-fruit-bat]

Practical Life Skills for Everyone

Wolverine X Reader FLUFF

Content: The new Home Ec teacher encounters the Shop Class teacher at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters

Note: photos come from Pinterest and collage made by me hehe

Tw: SAFE FOR POC/FEM READERS- Author can’t write dialogue, Logan is called short ONCE (written with comic accurate Wolverine in mind-but can be movie Logan too) reader is given pet names/refered to as she/Ms.

I haven’t written a serious fic since high school and I want to get back out here again hooray!

—————————————————————————

A new semester, apple on the desk, pots and pans freshly washed, sewing machines at the ready. Nothing this semester could stop you- starting fresh at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters brought to fruition everything you’d hoped for. Family, a career, children, and most importantly- stability.

A word normally foreign for mutants of all kinds, yourself included. Settling down as a teacher helped to blend your identity. Charles had located you on purpose- something you’d come to terms with over the last few months spent bonding with the staff and fellow X-Men. You’d been offered a position as a teacher and had accompanied several missions, all successful due to your mutation. It wasn’t easy- and took many years to develop and control your abilities the way you could. You’d managed on your own just fine before this but life was lonely at best, suffocating at worst. A life spent using your mutation to survive- Now you could live.

You’d initially been brought on to train a young mutant named Rouge- with a similar ability, training her was rewarding. It was like a reflection of your younger self staring back st you. About a century ago you had no community, family, friends.

That reality seemed so far away compared to the life you lived now. You mused this thought to yourself unlocking the door to your classroom. You set the books on top of your perfectly organized desk- perfect timing as the students began filling in for the day.

You pulled up their bell work to complete on the projector watching one by one as they sorted themselves into groups ready. A slight drone of music started down the hall and the bell announced the start of another day.

Beginning with collecting the bell work, you started the students off with a simple recipe to complete before the end of class. Classic chocolate chip cookies- a family favorite and good way to observe the student’s skill levels.

“More salt Colby, the acidity is necessary”

“Yes Ms. Y/N”

“Scrape the flour off the top of the measuring cup for an even amount, Emma”

“Thanks, professor Y/N!”

It wasn’t long before each student had a decent batch of cookies ready to grade and devour- the edible ones at least..

But before any grading could be done- or eating the music level from the hall rose to an absurd level

“Does anyone know who has their music so loud this morning?” You stated opening the door to the hallway “I hardly think this time of morning is-“

“It’s the shop class down the hall” one of the students stated, also mildly annoyed

“Hmmm, shop class? I didn’t know we offered shop this semester.. Do you think the professor would-“

A chorus of “No way!” “Do not!” and “He’ll kill you!” erupted from the students

“Who? I hardly think anyone would be so ill-tempered about asking to cut the music down so early”

“It’s professor Logan, he’s back this semester”

“Then I guess we’ll have to give him a ring- this volume is a little much, surely he wouldn’t mind?”

The students held their breath as you dialed the shop’s classroom on the school phone

It was a wonder anyone picked up the phone in the shop. Many students gathered around the bike Logan was introducing as the senior class project. A chance to not only test their skills but add personal flare- a teenagers wet dream truly.

Some eager students had been sent to gather the tool on the bench when one notice the phone ringing. They answered and briefly spoke to the teacher on the other end before hanging up the phone. One student simply turned the music down- enough for Logan to notice. He didn’t like the settings messed with unless he did so himself, especially by his students.

“Who touched the radio?” He demanded

The students silently stood there as the music paused completely. One student bravely spoke up

“It was the phone-“

“The phone cut the music down?” He interrupted

“No, a teacher called and asked us to do it”

“Who? I sweat if you answered Scott and listened! What’s the first rule in shop!?” He sighed, already tired from the day and needing a drink.

He wasn’t cut out for this ‘teacher’ shit, Logan thought to himself. He’d tried to argue with Charles claiming he had better things to do and had been promptly reminded of how much time he spends in the garage should be put to good use.

He signed as he sensed his pupils unease and cut the music back on and instructed them to get started. He stalked to the phone clicking a few buttons to figure out what classroom called to complain ready to give Scott a piece of his mind. He ran out to steam seeing it was your classroom that had called. The new teacher who’d started their first semester just down the hall. He’d meant to stop by and welcome you but meeting people without confrontation had never been his strongest quality. What better time than now. He left the students to their assignment and carried himself down the hall ready to introduce himself.

A knock on the door interrupted the classroom buzz and a hush fell over the students. You padded over to the door and peeked out the small window. A short man, clad in a black t shirt and jeans stared back at you with an unreadable expression.

“Good morning! What can I do for you?” You trailed off not recognizing him.

“You called the shop a minute ago” he stated twirling the toothpick in his mouth

“Yes, I’m sorry to bother- You must be professor Logan”

“Mm hm” he answered shortly, stepping out further in the hall while you closed the door behind you.

“I’m sorry if I upset you, it was just a little loud for my students and I this morning-“

He held a hand up “Not a problem, doll. I can’t upset my favorite teacher, right?”

“Favorite teacher? We just met” you said with a light laugh

“I’ve been around a long time- I know a good girl when I see one”

“I hardly think that’s appropriate to say here”

“No? Maybe I can say it another way or another time?” His lips curling up in a smug smile “How about you come down to the shop after classes- Grab a drink later?”

“Oh! Uh sure? I guess so?” From the way the students reacted you’d assumed this teacher was awful, even horrible. Be here is his- polite as ever and asking to grab a drink?

“I like that answer” he laughed leaning closer “Meet me later at garage three- I’ll take you to Abe’s”

Abe’s was one of the nicer bars in the city, a place known for anniversaries, couples flocking there left and right for an evening out. You’d never stopped by until tonight- now you had plans for once with a complete stranger- a handsome one at that.

“I’ll see you later then, garage three”

“Looking forward to it, sweetheart” he said turning to head back to his class

You entered your room once again as the class held their breath. No yelling, no cussing, no words of any kind were heard and the students had feared your first day would be your last- they didn’t know that this was just the beginning

[twistedwonderlandshenanigans]

School-side Staycation - Staff Shenanigans

@ashipiko has a super fun 1k follower event going on that reminded me of a conversation I had with a friend a While ago!! I decided to turn it into a drabble, so I hope you guys enjoy some NRC Staff Shenanigans!! (Including my staff/greenhouse caretaker oc, Aspen Zoi - I apologize in advance for the stim word "like" OTL if you don't check out his profile, just know he speaks like your stereotypical surfer/hippie/stoner)

Also apologies OTL I have to write on my phone due to Technical Difficulties, RIP my formatting. Um just as a heads up, there is some food talk in regards to calories and dieting. It's not talked about a lot, but it is in there.

Also also this is my first time writing all the staff together so I hope it's at least entertaining!

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

"Turkey burgers, really Divus, I'd have thought better of you." Mozus scoffed lightheartedly over the younger man's shoulder, watching the black latex clad hands work in a mix of shredded vegetables into the meat.

Crewel raised a questioning brow to his senior, using his shoulder to push away hair from his face for the upteenth time that day. Even with his dark shades on, both the unamusement and the spark of competitiveness was felt to be fanned.

"Well, Mozus, if you cared to ever look past those dusty old history books of yours and indulge in the dietary world, you would know that ground turkey-"

"Sucks. It sucks." Vargas interrupted, shaking his head in disappointment. He was wearing near neon orange shorts and a white tank top, though clearly splattered with some stains from his preparation, shades sat nicely atop his lofty locks. His food was currently concealed in the two heaping platters he had under aluminum foil as he set them down on the table next to the barbeque. "It's got less protein, less iron, less zinc, and more sodium than ground beef. It has a little more 'healthy' fat," the air quotes were heavily emphasized by the gym teacher, "but for Sevens sake Divus, it's supposed to be a vacation sort of thing. Let the kids loose for a little while."

An audible "hmph" left the alchemy professor, moreso at Trein's smug grin than Ashton as he refocused on his work. His UV protectant, black, long sleeve shirt was rolled up to his elbows, a simple red short sleeve button up layered on top. "Not everyone can afford to give up their calorie intake over a vacation."

"Then you may as well have just made black bean patties and volunteered yourself to make the vegan option."

Trein sighed and shook his head at Ashton's apparent naivety as he opened his grill, throwing a few patties on. Perhaps his air of superiority would have been less humorous if not for the cargo shorts, white shirt, the blue, green, pink and yellow tropical overshirt, the matching, tropical bucket hat, and the apron that read "Grillmaster", but Trein continued anyways.

"He's using the leftovers of his dogs food that he thawed and forgot to use."

An awkward silence filled the air between the three of them, save for the soft sizzling of Treins burgers and the distant sounds of their beloved students having fun. Ashton spoke up in near disbelief.

"....Divus is that-"

The older of the two suppressed a scowl, trying to play it off best he could as he waved off his former underclassmans concern.

"Ground turkey is ground turkey, how I was going to use it is irrelevant! Really now Mozus was that necessary?!"

Vargas exchanged glances with Trein, before grinning a little more, willing to 'poke the bear'.

"I know you call them your pups but..."

Crewel felt his eye twitch slightly. Not much got to him, but the implication that 1. His dogs weren't incredibly dear to him, and 2. That his students weren't held to the same regard as his dogs in terms of how he cared for them, was not something he felt he could articulate well enough to get it through Ashton's thick, thick skull.

" It's still perfectly fine food, it's ought to be better than whatever Dire has!"

In an attempt to get the attention off of him for once, Crewel directed his, and his colleagues attention to the approaching headmage, ignoring the soft snickers behind him from Ashton for the sake of his sanity.

The headmage wore a huge grin under the stupid mask of his, dressed in his normal vacation attire. His arms were outstretched, as if anyone there would hug him as a greeting - none of them would, but especially not now that one was grilling, the other had his hands plunged into raw meat, and the third...well Vargas wasn't doing anything that would impede him from doing so, but he pretended to look busy as he fidgeted with the aluminum foil from one of his platters, careful to not lift it up.

Trein glanced at the headmage as he joined them under the white tents, his clawed gloves drawing most of his attention as Dire lowered his arms to his sides.

"Dire. What are you bringing to cook?"

The headmage looked at him blankly before smiling, chuckling a little awkwardly as he took his hat off and held it to his chest. As if he didn't already look pathetic, now he looked like he was going to apologize, and the staff in front of him already looked unamused.

"Ehe, well you see, I was generous enough to allow our students host this event-"

Knowing glances were exchanged between the three as Crowley continued.

"So neeever did I ever think my kindness would be taken advantage of like so! After all the budgeting and set up and organizing and ordering and nights laying awake and wondering how to make today the best success it could be, I didn't think I would be expected to cook too!"

The masked man rested the back of his hand against his head dramatically, trying and failing to gain the sympathy of the staff who all very well knew he had signed off on the event, and being a part of the catering. Hell, he had admitted it himself- he hadn't done any of that. That was all part of hosting, something that had very much not been on his shoulders, like many other responsibilities this year.

Vargas moved to the table across from Crewel, starting to make a protein-packed sauce to go with his still-mystery food, shooting Crowley a bit of a shit-eating grin.

"Well I guess you better go buy hotdogs or something from Sam's and be prepared to lose."

An indignant squawk left Dire, his dramatic display clearly not working in his favour, and he couldn't fathom why.

"Lose??"

"Hot stuff comin' through! And it ain't just me-"

Sam wheeled a tri-level service cart over the grass with ease, thanks to magic, each level with absolutely delicious smelling, but hidden food. Aspen followed close behind, Willow, his Pekin duck toddling after him.

Dire moved out of the way so as to let the trio through, Sam moving next to Vargas and starting to load tray after tray onto the serving table, a determined and slightly crazed expression on his face.

"Ain't nobody beatin' Mama's mac'n cheese recipe. Not even your fancy ass brisket Ashton, don't pretend like that ain't whatchyer tryna hide under there, I know you too damn well fo' you to try an' hide it."

Vargas and Same broke into easy conversation as Aspen hung back with Crowley, who was still visibly confused. He looked down at his hands, as if they held the answer to his questions.

"Lose?? Beating his mother's recipe??? What have I missed????"

Aspen's single, amused "haaah" was rather annoying to the headmage. Despite the sharp turn of his head and the glare he directed at Aspen, he just gave him his same old dopey grin.

"Aww man, you really didn't, like, read anything you signed, did ya? The teacher who like... looses the cook off gets pelted with water balloons by like...the whooole student body. It would really suck if one of us forgot to bring something. It'd be like...immediate disqualification or whatever."

The blond tilted his head a bit and giggled as he watched a few of the students play volleyball not far from them, oblivious to the rising panic on the headmage's face.

"But you haven't brought anything?! So what if two faculty members didn't bring anything?! The penalty is halved, right?!"

Aspen let out a small laugh.

"Hah. As if. Babygirl and I made seven layer salad, which is like, on Sam's cart, and a buncha desserts last night, isn't that right?" He bent down to pick up Willow, kissing her head as he cradled her. "I mean sure, baking isn't, like, COOKING but I don't think anybody is gonna complain about brownies 'nd, like, homemade ice cream, y'know? I just gotta wait to bring it out cuz..like....the ice cream...duh."

He waited a beat, the rising panic from the man beside him finally catching on. He was about to ask, but Crowley was on his knees next to Sam in a split second, holding his hand and groveling.

"PLEASE- no, actually, as your boss, I DEMAND you open your shop and sell me the best cuts of meat- no, actually, I want as many tube's of ground beef, ah, no, Trein is already- ground PORK-"

Sam shook his hand away from Crowley in mild disgust.

"Oh hell no, might I remind ya, I'm on vacation, as are the rest of us and the little imps. If you want to serve hot dogs, you'll have to go into town and move fast. Otherwise you're gonna have to embrace your fate of death by a thousand waterballoons." Sam swapped the position of one of his trays with Vargas' platter, so as to get his jerk chicken onto the grill after changing his glove out for an untouched one.

"With all due respect, your poor plannin' does NOT constitute an emergency on my part, Mr. Crowley, Sir."

Dire let out an undignified noise at Sam's facetiousness and lack of cooperation.

Trein looked down at the rather defeated looking headmage and sighed at the mess of a man, shaking his head again in disappointment.

"For Sevens sake, pull yourself together Dire. You could go ask the ghosts in the Cafeteria if they've got anything they'll lend you to cook."

Crowley looked like a kicked puppy at Trein for a moment before standing back up, beaming and near launching himself at him for a hug, which Trein avoided as if this was something that happened often. Despite not getting what he wanted, Crowley clearly had new vigor.

"Ah! You're right. Of course, if the ghosts are there I could- hm! Nevermind, nevermind, yes thank you my dear friend, I knew you wouldn't let me suffer! Unlike SOME people." He shot a fake dirty look at the rest of his beloved faculty, only to be met with snickers and mildly amused expressions. Yes, even with all their jests and disagreements, these were the people he felt most comfortable around. His expression softened for a half second before he clapped twice and smiled widely again.

"I'll be back with something delicious! I swear to defeat you all!" His voice lilted playfully, before he disappeared in a puff of smoke.

A shared sigh came from Trein and Crewel, amusing their younger colleagues with the similarity.

Crewel wiped at his head with his shoulder again, grinning knowingly at Trein.

"Mozus."

"Divus." Trein kept his focus trained on his burgers, though his voice had an air of amusement to it, and it was clear the corner of his mouth was kicked up in a small smile.

"Were you really trying to be of assistance?"

Crewel finished rolling the last of his turkey blend into disks, turning his full attention to his conniving collegue.

Trein hummed a bit in response.

"Yes. Not to him, to us, but his absence makes it much easier to concentrate."

Crewel shed his latex gloves, put some hand sanitizer on and walked over to 'supervise' Trein's grill, before grabbing a patty that was cooked and looking over it in mild disgust.

"Concentrate on what, perfecting a burn on your patties, oh 'grillmaster'" he mocked, breaking a piece off and eating it, hardly hiding his distaste.

"Ah, I see, you're trying to make up for your lack of seasoning using charcoal, well old man I can guarantee the turkey burgers you were so quick to dismiss will certainly be better than that piece of semi-edible Sahara."

Trein sighed, annoyed, plucking the rest of the patty from Crewel's fingers and throwing it out.

"I always burn my first one. It guarantees I won't burn the rest of them. If you used those astute powers of observation you're so proud of, you'd have seen the rest of the burgers are cooked beautifully."

He lifted the foil just enough to show Crewel the admittedly, mouth-wateringly delicious looking patties underneath, though Divus refused to show any indication that he was impressed.

"They're still bland. The students don't have a grandpa stomach like you."

Trein rolled his eyes internally, huffing, but even Sam and Aspen snickered at the comment.

"It will be fine once I make my sauce to go with them. My daughters love my cooking, I'm sure our students will as well. You have your dogs as reference for your tastes. I would be more worried if I was in your shoes."

Crewel moved towards Sam, who made room for him, moving his chicken to the top rack so Divus could use the main part of the grill to start cooking.

"You say that as if I don't cook for myself either. Really Mozus, I'm hurt by how lowly you think of me. Besides, I understand cooking as not only an art, but from the very chemical bases of it. I have every confidence that if no one else, I will be getting votes from Pomefiorians."

Aspen snorted from behind him, waving his hand dismissively.

"Nahh, Poms are gonna go for Sam's mac or, like, his chicken. They're like, tired of eating that Vil guys super bland food. Ya might, like, get Vil himself? Maybe? But I feel like he's prolly just gonna beeline it to my salad cuz of that new green diet thing one a his freshies said he's on. I only know cuz like, they were getting veggies from the greenhouse. If anything, I think ya might pull a few votes from Savanaclaw, but like, to be honest, even as a vegetarian, Ashton's brisket looks really good and prolly will come in after Sam's food."

Crewel let out a soft sigh, but Vargas was beaming, as Sam and Aspen exchanged finger guns and a wink. Trein squinted slightly at his watch.

"Lunch is meant to be in about 45 minutes. Aspen, Vargas, seeing as the two of you have nothing better to do, I suggest you start cutting up veggies for the burgers and fruit for after. Just make sure to use some hand sanitizer first."

The two exchanged a glance, both mouthing a mocking, lighthearted 'yes dad' behind Trein's back, making Sam snicker a bit.

"Dontchya worry Mozus, they got it covered."

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

And that's where my brain stopped RIP

In case you're wondering, Crowley showed up like 3 hours late and got ambushed. It's okay though his "food" would have put him in last place anyways.

I'm not used to typing things like this out on my phone, and I'm even less used to reading them so this is not proofread or betaread or like. I'm not. Rereading it so here's to hoping it flows okay and it's as engaging as I think it is lol.

ANYWAYS thank you for such a fun event Ashi!!

Taglist: (ask to be added)

@fluffle-writes @my-cursed-brain

[joka13]

Hello! Feel free to ignore this, but I was wondering if I could request a unrequited love trope thing with one or both of the Weasley twins! And maybe where the Hanahaki disease exists, and if you don’t want to write that and is out of your comfort that is totally chill with me!!! You can go about with the plot however you like :]

Remember to feel free to ignore, thanks! :D

Hi, there! I'm flattered by your faith in me, haha. I will say I found this prompt very interesting and was thankful for the challenge! Hope you enjoy🫰

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Dear reader,

As you may or may not know, I post extensive, multiple part fanfiction stories. I must remind you or clarify that I do not consider any requests I write as parts of those stories. Thank you for reading❤️

FANFICTION (REQUEST): Weasley Twins x Reader (Hufflepuff Girl) - Lovesick - Part 1/5

WARNINGS: none

Everybody likes to have fun sometimes. Fred and George made sure to have fun all of the time. Unfortunately for the school staff, the twins' idea of fun usually involved starting up trouble. The brothers were widely known, even outside of Hogwarts, for their mischievous hobbies. So, any time the obvious results of a prank came about, all heads turned toward Fred and George. That was fine and all with the twins; they were always responsible for every prank anyway and everyone knew it. But then, one day, they were blamed for a joke that they did not set.

In the middle of their Potions class, Fred and George were summoned outside by Filch, Hogwarts' caretaker. Normally, the twins would've given anything if it meant not facing Filch's confrontation, but they even more could not stand the Potions class teacher, Professor Snape (he was more difficult to fool than anyone else in the school other than the Headmaster; they could never have any fun in his class), so they gladly cooperated.

"Ah, Argus!" Fred and George greeted the caretaker in unison as they stepped out into the hall. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"Don't call me that," Filch growled. "And you know exactly why I'm here!"

"Don't worry yourself. You already spat at us about that last dungbomb," said Fred calmly.

"Just this morning," George added.

"That's not what I'm talking about!" Filch pointed a bony, accusing finger. "A bunch of fish were found flopping about inside all of the toilets in the first floor girls' lavatory!"

The twins laughed.

"We're willing to stoop pretty low, but never low enough to actually enter the girls' bathroom," George snorted (he and Fred once released a small family of gnomes into the girls' bathroom while Pansy Parkinson was occupying a stall, but the twins technically never went into the bathroom).

Fred nodded, still chuckling. "Indeed. You know us better than that, Argus! We're rapscallions, not creeps."

Filch's face reddened. "You have magic!" he huffed. "You could have easily placed the fish from outside of—"

"I'll admit, we're not so talented. I would've liked to take credit for that one," George sighed wistfully.

Fred placed a hand on George's shoulder. "Don't worry, dear brother. We'll think of something just as equally impressive," he comforted.

"You think so?" asked George timidly.

"Aargh!" Filch exclaimed in frustration. "I know it was you two!" And with that, Filch turned around and stomped away in the direction of Professor Dumbledore's office.

George snickered. "I'd say that one went rather well."

"Yes, yes," Fred chuckled. There was a pause. "I wonder how those fish might've gotten there..."

"Shall we go check it out?" asked George. "It's probably been labeled, so no one will go in."

Fred shook his head. "Na, Filch will be in to take care of the mess after he finishes fussing to Dumbledore."

"So we have time to go raid his office while he's busy cleaning up!"

"I like the way you think, George."

"Thank you, Fred."

After filling the toilets in the first floor girls' lavatory with fish you'd collected from the lake as a distraction for Filch, you quickly headed for his office to go through his drawer marked CONFISCATED AND HIGHLY DANGEROUS.

You'd hoped to find something good, but you were disappointed. All that was in the drawer were little, mostly insignificant things. You did recognize a few of the Weasley twins' inventions: firecrackers, puking pastels, dungbombs, etc. It wasn't much, but you started to pocket the Weasley bits anyway because you didn't want to have pulled that fish stunt for nothing.

Just as you were finishing up, you heard the door creak open behind you. You froze. Assuming that it was Filch who had entered the room, you turned around slowly while displaying a guilty expression, knowing you'd been caught.

To your surprise and relief, you were met with none other than the Weasley twins. They seemed just as surprised to see you.

"Merlin's beard, you blokes scared me!" you exhaled dramatically. You looked down at the objects in your hands that had once belonged to the twins and held them out, chuckling sheepishly.

Fred laughed while George simply grinned.

"Keep 'em," George said. "We've got plenty."

"Really?" you asked. "But I thought you guys only sell."

"That's true," said Fred. "But if you're the one who dumped those fish in the bathroom, then you've earned them."

It was your turn to laugh. "Let me guess: you two saw the opportunity I made for myself. I'm sorry to say that there's not much worth taking here," you said as you closed the drawer and shoved the goods into the pocket of your robes. "Well, other than your things."

"That would be our doing," George said shamelessly.

"We ransacked Filch's stash a while back. Guess he hasn't confiscated much since then," said Fred.

You nodded in understanding. "Ah... Well, I'd better get going. The sooner we're all gone, the better."

Fred and George stepped back, holding the door open for you as you exited.

"Thanks!" you said. "And thank you for these." You patted your bulging pocket.

"No problem," the twins replied simultaneously.

"See ya." You smiled and waved, then started to head in the direction of the Hufflepuff common room where you could hide your new toys.

"Wait!" Fred called after you. You turned around.

"What's your name?" George asked.

You grinned. "Y/n. Y/n y/l/n. Pleased to meet your acquaintance," you giggled, curtsying loosely, and then went on your way.

Fred and George watched in silence as you walked away.

"Fred," George eventually spoke. "Do you believe in love at first sight?"

"I didn't, George," Fred responded, still staring down the hall though you had already gone. "But... I've also never seen a girl steal from Filch... 'til now. It's kinda hot."

George nodded in agreement. "Yeah... Did you notice her house colors?"

"Yeah, can you believe it? A robbing, pranking Hufflepuff!"

"I think we just witnessed a miracle."

The twins laughed together. Though neither of them confessed it out loud, both Fred and George felt something take root (quite literally) inside their hearts that day.

TAG LIST: @jasm-1ne @tomhockstetter7-111 @costheticbabe @luthien-elvenia-asher @megablonde22 @thecuteavocado @websfromallthespiders @rubyintheforest @weasleylover4eva

[megs-98]

Mesmeric Revelation

The Mystery of Gale Dekarios

“We’ll stop wasting your time then, Mr. Dekarios.” Mara said in a rough manner as she turned her body to let Fox and Astarion leave the room first, her fierce gaze still locked on Gale.

A/N: This is chapter 1 of a slow burn, enemies to lovers, modern au between Gale and my tav Mara! I've had so much fun writing it and appreciate the love on the snippets I've shared about it. Also! A huge, huge thank you to all my followers as I've hit 100 followers now ^_^ I appreciate each and every one of yall

Characters: Gale, Mara, Astarion x Fox (@justporo 's tav), Shadowheart, a little bit of Gortash and Orin, and a mention of Thorm I'm hoping to add all the companions eventually

Summary: It's the start of a new school year at Chiontar High and there's been talk amongst the teachers about how the esteemed Professor Dekarios from Blackstaff Academy has joined the schools faculty. After a chance encounter between Gale and Mara, leaving her less than impressed with the professor, will the two be able to start a friendship and maybe something more?

Tags: Really none for this first chapter, just a little bit of pining and Gale being a jackass

Word count: 2.8k

It was a week before the fall semester was set to start at Chionthar High School. Mara and the other teachers sat in the cafeteria as they listened to Principal Gortash and Vice Principal Orin as they attempted to talk over each other about what to expect throughout the week; have all materials printed out, classrooms ready, and a good attitude to greet students with. Fox, Astarion, and Mara were sat in the back, in the middle of their own hushed conversation.

“God, I don’t understand why Thorm keeps them around. It’s not like they get anything useful done.” Fox quipped as she checked her phone in one hand and rubbed Astarion’s back with the other. 

Mara didn’t take her eyes off the athletics schedule as she said “At least we don’t have Thorm actually here. I’d rather have these two than him. We wouldn’t be able to get away with anything with Thorm here.” 

Mara heard Astarion as he let out a sigh as he tightened his grip around Fox’s waist. “This is true, darling. If he were here then our ‘meetings’ would have to be especially clandestine.” He said as he nipped at Fox’s shoulder. Mara rolled her eyes and smiled as her two dearest friends cavorted with each other. 

The trio resumed their conversation as they slowly grabbed their things as the meeting came to a close. Just as everyone was about to stand to leave as Principal Gortash had already left the cafeteria, Vice Principal Orin cleared her throat.

“One more important piece of information, that Mr. Gortash forgot,” she said with a sneer, “we will be having a new AP literature teacher this year. Gale Dekarios, from Black Staff Academy.” She waved her hand as she left, as if she were shooing away the teachers. There were immediate murmurs between the teachers as they left for their classrooms, Mara could hear whispers about a professor now being at their school and how disconcerting it was that he wasn’t present nor had been seen at all during summer prep. 

The trio made their way to their respective classrooms slowly, knowing that they had already completed everything at Mara’s behest. As they came upon the front doors to the school, Mara collided with a man she’d never seen before. She caught the man by his arm as she kept the two of them standing. 

“Fuckin’ hell, I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you! Are you okay?” She asked in a frantic tone as Fox helped steady her. Mara noticed that he was shorter than her, but not by much, with ever so slightly graying dark brown medium length hair, a single dangling earring in his left ear, and the prettiest brown eyes. She glanced at Astarion after thanking Fox, he raised his eyebrows and gave her a cheeky smile as he glanced between Mara and the mysterious man. Before she could give Astarion a smack, the man answered. 

“Quite alright. It appears I, also, was not being as observational as I should have been. Gale Dekarios,” he said with an outstretched hand and slightly irritated tone, “pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Mara shook his hand and introduced herself, and the other two. After their pleasantries, Gale awkwardly asked if any of them would be able to help him bring some boxes to his classroom. Mara agreed that they would all help him. 

“Excuse me. Why do I have to haul his stuff around? I’ve already finished my classroom setup, maybe he should have done his summer prep and he wouldn’t be so atrociously behind.” Astarion said with a groan as he looked right at the new teacher. Mara and Fox rolled their eyes and said, “Ignore him”, at the same time, which caused the two women to chuckle as they followed Gale to his car. 

“Seems you three are quite chummy, I take it you all have been teaching together for a while?” Gale asked the group as they made their way back inside. 

“Bit longer than that. We all met during our freshman year of college, were in the same classes for the teaching program, and we did our student teaching here together.” Fox answered with a smile as she looked at her two favorite people. Astarion couldn’t help but smile back at her as he spoke. 

“Yes, yes. We’ve all been such great friends for so long now. But the real question, Gale, is how did such a prestigious professor from Blackstaff Academy end up here?” Astarion asked as he cocked his head at the ex-professor. Gale narrowed his eyes at white haired man, silent as he contemplated his answer.  

“Ease up, Astarion. Let’s not scare him off on his first day here.” Mara said to break the silence. She turned her head to Gale, “It doesn’t matter, anyway, we’re always happy to welcome newcomers.” Gale gave a small nod to her as a thank you. 

Gale cleared his throat as he asked them what subjects they taught. The three each shared that Fox is the Entrepreneurship 101 teacher, Astarion taught Government, and Mara has been the underclassman and middle school PE teacher and was hopeful that she’d still be teaching an elective class. Gale simply nodded and gave a hum of acknowledgement as he followed the friends through the school.  

The group continued in a comfortable silence before they came to Gale’s classroom. There was a note littered with neat and tight cursive as well as crude, barely legible writing taped to the slightly ajar door. 

Mr. Dekarios, please visit my our secretary to receive your keys and to get a badge.  

– Principal Gortash & Vice Principal Orin

Gale rolled his eyes and pushed the door open with his shoulder after he read the note. He looked around the classroom as he furrowed his brow. “This isn’t quite what I was expecting, if I’m being honest. It all seems a bit… small. But then again, this is a small school.” He said as he set his boxes down on his desk. He sounded increasingly more frustrated than when they had first met only minutes ago. 

“It is a little small, yes, but there’s plenty of bookshelves for you. Every literature teacher we’ve had has loved this room.” Mara said as she looked for an empty spot to place the boxes. 

Gale let out a loud sigh that caused the three to stop where they were. 

“I understand you might not understand the difference, but I am teaching advanced. placement. literature, standard literature, as well as a philosophy elective.” He said with a sharp tone in his voice. He locked his gaze with Mara as he finished his sentence. She opened her mouth to say something to remedy the situation but Gale held his hand up. “I do not wish to be rude, but I don’t see how you could understand how my situation here is simultaneously underwhelming and overwhelming. I apologize that I do not have the time to explain the difference between the two to a middle school gym teacher at the moment.” 

Fox’s eyes went wide as she listened to this stranger talk down to Mara. She took a step forward as she roughly placed the boxes down on the desk next to her. Astarion quickly took a step in front of her to keep her from lunging across the room at Gale. Mara kept her gaze on Gale as she took in everything he had just said to her, her eyebrows raised at the audacity. She startled everyone slightly as she stretched out her arms and dropped the boxes on the ground in front of her with a hard thud.  

“We’ll stop wasting your time then, Mr. Dekarios.” Mara said in a rough manner as she turned her body to let Fox and Astarion leave the room first, her fierce gaze still locked on Gale. Fox grabbed Mara’s arm on the way out. She didn’t hesitate as she followed the others after she made sure to slam the door behind her. Mara widened her stride as she stormed down the hallway, her fists clenched at her sides; earning a few worried glances from the teachers that had stepped into the hallway to see what had happened.

Astarion and Fox did their best to keep up with Mara as they tried not to jog after her. They soon realized that Mara had made a beeline for Fox’s classroom as they entered the hallway; Mara opened the door to the classroom for the couple as she huffed her way in behind them, obscenities muttered under her breath. Astarion perched himself on the desk, his legs crossed while he watched Mara pace around the classroom silently and as Fox worriedly watched her beside him. 

“So,” Astarion said, as he made sure to draw out the vowel, “what do we think of our new friend?” A dry chuckle escaped him as he finished his question. His lover was quick to smack him with a glare. Mara didn’t stop pacing as she gave Astarion the middle finger.  

“That pompous, shit eating, jackass is not our friend.” Her pacing finally came to end as she stood in front of her two friends. “He’s just another pretentious savant with an inflated ego. There’s no point in wasting anymore energy on him.” Mara said as she ran a hand through her hair. 

“Oh, boo. I was hoping you two would fight him, like you did in our college days when egotistical men wouldn’t leave the two of you alone.” Astarion said with a smile. Mara tried to keep a straight face but it quickly devolved into laughs as she and her friends reminisced on their years together.

The rest of the week passed with relative ease for Mara. She made a point to avoid the hallway Gale’s classroom was on to prevent seeing him and spent her time between the gymnasium, getting the equipment prepped for the incoming students, and Fox’s classroom as she prepared herself for another year of teaching Introduction to Ethics. She was not able to escape the new teacher all together, though. Wherever she went that weren’t her usual places, she heard talk of the man and rumors that floated around; and even worse yet, she had always listened, wanting to find out more about the mysterious teacher. As much as she hated it, her thoughts traveled back to him quite often. Mara couldn’t help but think that he was quite attractive and from what she had learned from searching his name, he was, in fact, a very accomplished literature scholar and seemed deserving of the awards that he had won throughout his career. She had a hard time convincing herself that the man she met earlier in the week was who Gale actually was and that they had just got off on the wrong foot. Mara, however, was too stubborn to be the first to admit this and had told herself he needed to be the one to apologize before she attempted to make amends. 

“I hear that he was fired because so many of his students had to cheat to pass his classes. Why that doesn’t hardly sound fair though, does it? If it’s true.. the students simply leveled the playing field if he was really that bad.” Astarion said as he organized his desk for the first day of school that was just a day away. Mara sat on the floor as she stretched and Fox kept herself busy as she rearranged Astarion’s desk the moment he finished. 

“It wouldn’t surprise me if he was a dickhead teacher. He had no problem talking to Mara the way that he did, I’m sure he’d have no problem talking down to students.” Fox said as she left a wake of chaos behind her on the desk. 

Mara opened her mouth to say something before she was interrupted by someone stood in the doorway. 

“The two of you are hardly correct. The real reason is much more salacious.” The voice came from the Psychology teacher, Jen Hallowleaf; or as she preferred to be called, Shadowheart. “He left Black Staff because he was ‘involved’ with his department head, the critically acclaimed Mystra. She was going to turn him into the ethics board after he kept asking for tenure, he couldn’t risk losing his license, so he quit and accepted a position here. Took quite a hit to his reputation from what I’ve heard.” She said as she checked over her nails. 

Mara sat up from the stretch she was in, “Shadow, how would you possibly know that?” she asked with a quizzical look. Shadowheart laughed as she told the group that she had her sources. “Really? You have sources all the way in Waterdeep? That give you accurate information?” Mara continued to push, she knew that Shadowheart had a propensity to gossip and mislead. 

Shadow scowled at Mara as she answered, “Of course I do, I can know just about anything about anyone anywhere after a few glasses of good wine.” Astarion looked impressed at her answer and Fox continued to watch her as her gaze flickered to Mara occasionally. 

Mara was off the floor now as she leaned against the wall next to the psych teacher, arms crossed over her chest. “I see, and what else do these ‘reliable sources’ say about Mr. Dekarios?” Her voice was laced in sarcasm but her features betrayed her; her eyes stilled on the woman and a slight blush formed across her cheeks as her body tensed. Fox tapped Astarion with her foot and made a subtle motion for him to look at Mara. A glance was shared between the two as they saw a glint in Mara’s eyes, unsure if it was yearning or repugnance. 

“Well,” Shadow replied, “they say he’s quite close to his mother, has a cat named Tara, I believe it was, and that he has always been quite gifted in literature. Supposedly he was Mystra’s favorite professor at one point but he wouldn’t quit asking for tenure and benefits she thought he didn’t deserve.” Shadowheart seemed quite proud of herself after having relayed such information about the mysterious newcomer in the school. 

Mara shifted on her feet as she mulled over the woman’s words and pretended, not very well, to not care about the information provided to them. Shadowheart announced her departure after she grew bored of the silence between the four of them. Both Astarion and Fox had to say something to get Mara’s attention as to pull her from her thoughts. Mara looked at the two of them and caught a glimpse of the clock on the wall between the two of them.

“Shit, it’s time to leave already. I need to finish organizing the equipment closet in the gym.” Mara grabbed her bag as she gave them a wave, “I’ll call you guys later!” The two returned the sentiment and decided to leave what they saw alone for the moment as they left the school hand in hand. 

Mara made her way through the school as she scolded herself for two different things. The first being that she didn’t finish the work she had started when she started it, which now caused her to leave work late. The second being that she had been genuinely intrigued to hear what Shadowheart had to say about Gale Dekarios. The same man who had talked down to her in such a condescending tone. The same man she had been avoiding all week. The same man that had been plaguing her thoughts when she let her mind wander. She forced her mind to focus as she approached the gym and connected her phone to the bluetooth system so she could blare her music as she finished the last of her work for the day.

As she left the gym and locked it, she heard a voice emanate behind her. It was a warm and sincere voice that she had been wanting to hear; it was Gale’s voice. 

“Hello, Mara. I hope you’ve been well this week?” She saw Gale smiling up at her as she turned around. 

“Oh, hi, Gale.” She kept her voice level and did not return his smile. “I’ve been fine.” 

Gale nodded as he adjusted his bag awkwardly and cleared his throat. “I’m glad, the week of the new semester starting is always stressful so I’m happy to hear you’ve been handling it well.” 

Mara almost broke, in that moment, wanting to ask him if she had done something wrong, but she held her resolve. She didn't answer him, which made him release an anxious laugh to fill the silence. 

“Well, I just wanted to say hello and let you know that I hope you do well with your students this year. Now if you excuse me, I must be leaving now, as you probably should be as well, I’ll see you tomorrow.” And with a small wave, he took his leave as he walked away from Mara.

‘Oh, so he really is an audacious egomaniac.’ She thought to herself as she scoffed. Mara walked to the back doors of the school and pulled out her phone and scrolled through her contact list.

“You’ll never fucking believe what just happened.”, she said into her phone the moment Fox answered her call.

[cissyenthusiast010155]

Can i do 65 with a dom Clarissa were reader and Clarissa has a massive crush on one another and reader gets flustered really easily and Clarissa is always flirting or touching reader and one day reader wore a short dress because most of her dresses were dirty and some she had worn already and all she had left was short dresses anyway reader is a professor at the school for good and when lunch time rolled around and as reader made her way to the lunch lesso and other staff commented on how good she looks in her dress, even students commented and Clarissa didn’t like that so when everyone was sleep Clarissa made her way to readers quarters where she punishes her for putting on that outfit

Heyyyy there anon!! Sure, more Clarissa xReader content is most definitely needed. Hope you Enjoy ♥️

Wardrobe Misdecisions ~Clarissa Dovey xFem Teacher!Reader

Mommy… Master List

Requests & Prompt-List

#65. “I thought the prettiest thing about you was your laugh; I was wrong, it’s your moans…”

Warnings: NSFW, implied smut, passionate kissing, punishment kink, teasing, etc.

Enjoy (;

You looked through your wardrobe , then your drawers, then your laundry, then your room.

“No no no…” you muttered, searching everywhere.

You sighed at a loss. All your dresses were dirty. All except one. One which was quite short… You liked it a lot, but it was not made to wear while teaching… But that was all you had, so you threw it on and got on with your day.

Throughout your classes, you were getting more comments about how nice you looked than ever. People were even stopping in the halls and commenting on your outfit. You simply smiled and thanked them.

When lunch rolled around, you walked into the dining hall. By now, word of your outfit had spread, and so you had a good amount of eyes on you as you sat down at the staff table. You felt one woman’s gaze lingering in particular…

Clarissa’s.

The thought made you blush. That woman had a chokehold on you. And she knew it. She loved teasingly flirting you with little comments and lingering touches. She always got you.

And you hadn’t thought about how this dress might affect her…

To pull you out of your thoughts, the staff began having conversation about your dress and how well you wore it. You blushed even harder now with Clarissa’s full attention on you, mumbling a thank you and returning to your classroom as soon as you were done eating.

Later that night, you finally retired from your classroom and headed to your private sleeping chambers. It was way past the student curfew and you were tired. You entered your quarters and were about to start undressing, when there was a knock on the door.

Before you could answer it, the door swung open, and in came a flushed and determined Clarissa Dovey.

“I… Clarissa. Hi… What—” you started to speak, but the brunette quickly shut you up by slamming her lips against hers.

The kiss was passionate and got heated quickly. Taken aback at first, but quick to reciprocate, your lips entangled with the dean’s. Clarissa’s tongue slid into your wet cavern, dominating the kiss, and eliciting a particularly lewd moan from your throat. At your noise, the woman pulled away, mouth agape, as you stared at the ground, red with embarrassment.

“I thought the prettiest thing about you was your laugh; I was wrong, it’s your moans…” the brunette panted.

At her words you looked up. Your eyes widened. And you gulped. Her eyes were a fiery blaze of lust.

“I want more… Do you…?” She breathed out.

You bit your lip and nodded, blushing even deeper. Clarissa then chuckled, leaving you a little puzzled.

“But then you decided to wear that dress today…” she taunted.

You gulped as the woman came up flush against you, pinning you against the bed’s end.

“You have no idea what that dress did to me…” Clarissa lustfully breathed out.

Your breath hitched.

“I… I’m sorry…” you stuttered.

“Uh uh… that won’t do… I think you need proper punishment…”

“Yes please…” you whimpered, making the brunette smile lustfully.

~~~

Clarissa Dovey Masterlist

[silent-words]

Yayyyy I love your game idea for BG3 city! If you’re taking asks, I’d love to read your thoughts about Gale’s school, the one he went to as a child. Maybe that’s where it was discovered he was a prodigy?

Maybe I’ll join in and tag you, too!

I'm sorry it took me so long to answer. I wanted to make it a fic, but then I realised I can only make a headcanon. And there will also be a lot of self-insert (because my school years felt like hell, I was happy to enter my Uni).

A little bit of lore first. As we know, Gale attended the Blackstaff Academy in Waterdeep (he says about it in the Arcane Tower). According to the Forgotten Realms Wiki and other sources Blackstaff is both a school and a university. Only the magically talented students are accepted as apprentices there, and they are at first taught by senior students (probably at the age of university students) and only after a few years they start being taught by professors. So future sorcerers and wizards spend more years in the Blackstaff tower than people do in school IRL. It's like a boarding school and a university campus combined, you can spend up to a couple of decades there.

We also know that Elminster first met Gale when the latter was 8 years old. Maybe it was the age Gale was accepted as an apprentice at Blackstaff. He was young, upset with his own abilities and very talented as a mage. Children at school can be pretty much evil, when it comes to relationships between them. I can picture Gale as a shy, naive person at first. Other children made fun of him both because they all thought they were talented and because he was always "lost in thought". They needed to call him twice or thrice to respond to them. Of course it annoyed everyone and made him an outsider. Maybe he was desperate to have a friend and prove himself in this community, so that he stole the Blackstaff (the staff of the very first headmaster, Khelben Blackstaff himself) and opened a portal to Limbo. /the story with the portal is also from the Arcane Tower dialogue/

In my view he only came to be respected by his peers when he reached the age when apprentices started receiving tutelage from professors and teaching the younger students. That's where, I think, Gale got his experience as a teacher (in the Weave scene he tells the character "I know" if they mention that he is a good teacher). I have a headcanon that his best friend from Blackstaff was a lesbian dragonborn, but she got jealous when he became the Chosen of Mystra, and they parted ways. But that character is only in my head.

We also know that Gale had romantic partners before Mystra. In my opinion he was good-natured, funny and handsome in his late teens and early twenties, and that made him a desirable goal for romance. He most probably liked the attention which he had thrived for in his childhood, so he had a lot of trysts and affairs with fellow Blackstaff apprentices of his age (of all genders and sexes, of course). Yet these romances were not meaningful enough for him to remember them and affect his life. His first serious long term affair was with Mystra, but I think it started after he graduated from Blackstaff.

Even when he was the centre of attention, he was still the weird guy envied for his talents and despised for his vast knowledge. He did not make any bond with his peers (or that bonds were shattered later on), so he had no anchor in the material plane to stop him from pursuing the Goddess of Magic.

That's what I can say on the subject right now. It's very self-indulgent (apart from the "centre of romantic attention" part), because I generally project a lot of myself in Gale. Nevertheless I hope it is interesting to read.

[pebbleswritessometimes]

Hi! Could I request a Larissa x reader who’s a teacher? There’s an event out of town for teachers and heads of outcast schools and reader is Larissa’s platonic date (they’re just friends… for now *evil laugh*). A professor from a different school starts flirting with reader, and since the professor is kind of pretty (not as pretty as Larissa of course), reader gets flustered and Larissa gets jealous. Larissa’s in a bad mood for the rest of the night and when they go back to the hotel, reader follows Larissa to her room to check what was wrong and Larissa kisses them out if frustration and tells reader her feelings. Can you also please make the ending steamy but no actual smut. Thank you!

I hope this is okay, Lovey! I’ve had writers block for a little while and this is the first time my brain has been like “WRITEWRITEWRITE” so I’m sorry it’s super long. Like 2800 hundred words or something and it’s definitely not the best but I hope it works. Let me know if I could do better!

Not proof read, love y’all

JEALOUSY JEALOUSY (that songs been stuck in my head)

AN: sorry about the formatting im so confused as to what happened to it, not proof read

Warnings:none

As much as you loved Nevermore, you couldn’t be more excited for a little trip away. Even if the trip itself revolved around the academy and other outcast educators from around the country. The invitation that was sent out had requested that, “Principal Larissa Weems, and one additional educator guest, of the invitees choice, attend the event for the opportunity to socialize and discuss what’s been beneficial for each schools students, communities, and staff as a whole.”

You had just finished your last class of the day, when Larissa had come in. Unbeknownst to you, she had stood outside of your classroom door for a moment, giddy that she’d be spending a bit of time with you, had you decided to attend the event with her. “Good Evening, Miss Y/L/N,” she spoke with a smile, as she made her way closer to your desk. You spun around,”Larissa! How’s it going?” You grinned and leaned on your palms. “Very well, thank you. So, this morning, I received an invitation to an event, just outside the state line,” handing you the letter, she continued. “Of course, I’ll be attending. However, I came here to see if you’d indulge me and be my guest educator? I know it’s a sudden trip, but I believe the insight gained from conversing with the other educators, may be beneficial for Nevermore.” She watched as you read the letter, biting your lip in thought. She stood tall and confident, as she usually does, only now, she was fiddling with her fingers. Maybe her hands were cold. “It’s this weekend? Sure, I don’t see why not,” you smiled and handed the invitation back to her. “Lovely, I look forward to our excursion. Enjoy the rest of your day, Y/N,” she began to make her way out of the class room before you quickly caught her attention once more, “Oh! Larissa! Sorry, do we know roughly how much the expenses for everything will be? I have to make sure I’ve got enough put away,” you looked up at her. She informed you that luckily, all of your expenses were paid.

By the time the event weekend had arrived, you had everything set in place. Miss Thornhill would keep a close eye on your students hall, spending money was set aside, and you entrusted your most responsible student, Bianca, with tending to the needs of your class goldfish, Hush. Situating your suitcase in the trunk of the car, alongside Larissa’s, you slid your sunglasses to the top of your head and sat in the passenger seat.

“I’m hungryyyyy,” you whined and flopped your head to the side. Laughing at your childish display, “I told you it would be a bit of a drive. You didn’t eat beforehand?” She obviously knew the answer. You shook your head and pouted. Larissa reached back behind your seat, and pulled up a small woven bag, filled with snacks. Gasping, you quite literally couldn’t be happier,” OH, you’re the best! You can pick what we snack on first,” you were too busy drooling over the multitude of snacks in your lap, you didn’t notice how her pale cheeks had suddenly been overtaken by a delicate pink.

The remainder of the drive to the hotel was full of snacking on treats, screaming the lyrics to songs, and Larissa adoring how peaceful you seemed as you slept. You even managed to make her a flustered mess when you insisted she wore your sunglasses to “shield those pretty blue eyes,” of hers.

When you two arrived, you were welcomed by both hotel employees and event volunteer staff. Larissa took it upon herself to check in and grab your room keys. “This is faaaancy,” you shimmied your way down the hall, towards your hotel rooms. “Hey Girlies! This whole floor has been reserved for the event tonight, so I’m assuming that’s what you two are here for,” a woman clad in a brown pantsuit, enthusiastically shook your hand. “I’ve got to run, it was lovely to meet you. Oh! Beware, the alarm clocks in this place have a nasty habit of going off at random hours,” she waltzed into the elevator.

“She seems very chipper,” Larissa chuckled as she pointed you to your door which was right next to her. “For sure, she was really purrrdy, too,” you said laughing. You didn’t seem cognizant as to the reaction Larissa had given to your words.

There was about 3 hours before the event started in the convention center of the hotel. Each of you chose to do what you wanted with the extra time, before you had to be ready and at the event. Your hotel room was modern, yet cozy. You had a comfortable bed with a plush blanket laying on top. The mini fridge was stocked with teas, juices, and waters of many brand names. You were thankful that the event coordinators gave you two free drinks. Grabbing a water from the fridge, you set out your outfit for the evening.

You decided to get dressed earlier than needed, you figured if you did it now, less of a chance you’d lose track of time. you wore a black long-sleeve top that accentuated your collar bones, a beige double-layered mesh skirt with black detailing that flowed around at your ankles, and adorned it all with a stunning citrine necklace and earring set.

Very quickly though, you got bored. What better way to entertain yourself, than to go hang out with a friend? You picked up the hotel phone, punched in a room number, as sat waiting for a response. “Hi, thank you for calling Pizza Place, how can I help you?” You held back a giggle, “I- you phoned me? I’m sorry I believe you must’ve gotten the wrong number,” confused as ever, Larissa had prepared to replace the phone on its stand. “No No! Rissa ! It’s me!” Laughing like a dork, you explained you were just messing with her because you were already ready and incredibly bored. “Oh you- haha, very funny,” she sarcastically chuckled, “you can come here and talk while I finish getting ready, if you’d like.” Less than a minute went by before you plunged the phone back down, grabbed your handbag, and knocked on her door. She tittered as she opened the door to your cheeky smile, before she stopped and admired you. “What? Oh, you like?? Look! It’s got pockets- oh! And,” you paused, stepping back and excitedly twirling around, “ISN’T IT MAGICAL?” She nodded in response,” yes, I love it. Certainly a magical outfit to fit such a magical person,” you giggled at her compliment, before you both moved into her room.

Larissa got ready in the restroom as you sat yourself on her bed. Talking through the open door, you went on and on about how much you anticipated speaking to the other teachers. They might have some good intel on how to keep the children engaged, or maybe they even have grand ideas about events to hold at the academy.

“Do you think that- woah…” looking up from your phone, “you look like royalty, Rissa,” in awe, you took in the sight. Swiftly turning her head in an attempt to conceal her blush, she grabbed her purse, “Thank you, Y/N. As do you, dear. Ready to go?” She asked, before you hopped off the bed, straightened out your skirt, and linked your arm with hers. “Absolutely.” If only you had noticed how much she flustered at the physical contact.

The venue was as elegant as you could’ve imagined. Taking in the scene, you both made your way into the crowd of people. Some quickly recognizing Larissa and moving in your direction. “Larissa, my, you haven’t aged a day,” a man with fangs spoke through a lisp. You stuck by her side as she conversed with principals from all over the country. You had never even seen some of these types of outcast in person. With a whisper, you informed Larissa that you’d be headed over to grab a drink from the bar. “Don’t be long, please. I’d much rather have you by my side than to speak with these people alone,” you smiled and assured her it wouldn’t be long. Selecting the finest lush red wine for Larissa, and an airy white for yourself, Larissa had found you back at her side. Thanking you as she swirled the glass, she took your arm into hers and began speaking to the woman who wore a dazzling hat, as to cover her snakes.

“Hey cutie!” It was the woman who spoke to you in the hall when you first arrived, “Goodness, you look ravishing,” looking over at Larissa who had glanced over for a moment,”You both do.” Complimenting her on her pantsuit, she invited you over to speak with her and some of the teachers from surrounding areas. “I’ll be over there, okay Riss?” Unlinking your arm, your allowed your hand to be taken by the other woman. Previously unbothered, Larissa was hastily overtaken by jealousy. The way the woman took your hand, and you allowed her to do it so easily. The way you nearly folded into yourself laughing at her jokes, the way you visibly flustered when she’d compliment you or she’d “accidentally” graze your skin. She felt possessive over you. She loved you, het you hadn’t noticed. Were the feelings not mutual? “God, this woman is practically throwing herself at her,” she thought.

Trying to spilt her attention in two ways caused Larissa to slip up in her disciplined demeanor. “What? I’m sorry, I lost focus for a moment,” she apologized to the man. She couldn’t care less about the statistics received from his school, her mind was completely overtaken by the thought of you. She completely lost it when she spotted that woman’s hand, resting on your lower back, as she introduced you to some of the higher up educators. What made you throw your head back in laughter? How was it that you so easily took such a liking to her? Would you have preferred to be here with her than with Larissa? She couldn’t help all the thoughts racing through as she quickly made her way to the other side of the room.

You often looked around the venue, trying to spot Larissa’s whereabouts. “Where the hell did she go?” You thought. Finally, about 30 minutes before the event was set to wrap up, you caught a glimpse of her leaning against the wall, nursing her glass of wine. “Rissa? Where’ve your been? I’ve been looking for you for almost the entire night,” you chuckled, still concerned. You received nothing but a hum in response as she downed the rest of her glass. “Rissa?”

“Enjoy the rest of the night, Miss Y/N,” she stood and pushed her glass into the center of the table. “Wait, what? Where are you going? We’re here together, silly. Are you okay?” Throwing questions at her, trying to stop her before she got to the doors.

“I-“ cut off by someone calling your name,

“Y/N! Some new friends and I are going to head to the pool after this, wanna come?”

Larissa scoffed and increased her speed, quickly exiting the venue. “Sorry, I’d love to, but I’ve got to go and help a friend with something.”

Racing through the lobby, you spotted Larissa just as the elevator doors closed. “Fuck,” running to the front desk to ask about the location of the stairs. Promptly speeding your way up the stairs, you made it to your floor just as Larissa had exited the elevator. Rolling her eyes, she continued her walk to the room. “Larissa! What’s wrong?” Shouting as you race behind her, “What the hell happened back there?”

“Please, go.” She shoved open her room door and went in. “I-“ using some strength, you pushed the door as she tried to close it,” Rissa, seriously, what’s wrong? Did someone do something? I may be short but rest assured I will take someone down for you,” finally pushing the door all the way open.

Pulling off her coat, she kicked off her heels. Reaching for her hand, she ripped her hand away from your grasp. “Please, talk to me, Riss?”

She let out a dry laugh. Setting her hands on her hips, she tilted her head up in an attempt to prevent tears from falling. “You- That woman-“ failing to get her words out she groaned in frustration. “What about her? Did you know her?” Stepping closer, you stood on your tippy toes, grabbed her face and wiped away the tears that were threatening to fall. “Don’t do that!” startled by her sudden change in voice, you moved back.

“You can’t keep doing that!”

“Doing what?! I just-“

“No! You can’t just pretend like you don’t notice me trying to win your favor! Stop treating me as if you share the feelings i do! I keep-“ a sob breaking her from her sentence.

“Larissa, I don’t think I understand I’m sorry-“

She grabbed your cheeks, somehow both roughly and gently, and brought your lips to hers. You could taste the wine on her lips. It took a moment for you to process what was happening, but quickly you returned the effort. It was like everything stopped for a moment. Nothing existed, but her. “Oh,” was all that left your mouth as she pulled way. “Oh..oh god. Y/N, i am so sorry, i am so so sorry, i don’t know why I did that. I let my emotions get the best of me and I apologize if I’ve compromised our-“ she was too stuck in her anxious rambling that she didn’t notice you kicking the stool that sat by the desk. You dragged it with your foot, placing it just in front of her, before you stepped up. You spun her around and pulled her hands away from her face. Startled by the sudden height change, she spoke,

“What are you-“ letting out a hum as she melted.

“The feelings are mutual, Rissa. I promise,” you begrudgingly pulled away from her, not letting go of her face. “Did you just…use a step stool to kiss me..” You both looked down before she broke out into a small fit of laughter. “I.. yeah, yes, I did… and I’d do it again” you chuckled before kissing her once more.

“I’m sorry, i shouldn’t have allowed my feelings for you to ruin your night out,” she pouted. “Don’t be silly. I’m sorry that I hadn’t taken upon your advances. I have a hard time with cues, you know,” you brushed your thumb down her cheek, before she lifted you off the stool and placed you by the nightstand.

“That was quite the unexpected fervid display, wasn’t it,” she chuckled and wrapped her hand around yours. “Yeah, movie worthy, if I do say so myself,” smirking, you leaned up on your arm, “hey, so… you should totally kiss me again,” earning a good laugh from Larissa. “Is that so?” She gazed at your lips, memorizing every feature she could. Your heart began to race as you did the same. You never noticed how the apples of her cheeks were naturally, such a subtle pink. Pecking your lips once, she smirked as you let out a slight whine. “Cute,” she said before she smacked her lips against yours. You were completely enveloped in bliss as she bit your lip and delved her tongue between them. Moving your hand to her side, you traced her form. Gently moving your hand beneath her blouse, you trailed your fingertips to the clasp of her bra. Making swift work of it, she crawled her way on top of you, beginning to pull your top from your skirt, you moaned as her cold hands grazed over a sensitive area of skin. “Rissa you-“ startled by the sudden blaring of the alarm clock, you threw her off of you and both bounced away from the alarm. “HOLY SHIT, WHAT- oH… is that was that lady was talking about?” Both heaving from your previous attempt at “extracurricular activities” and the fear produced from the unexpected alarm clock, you busted out laughing. Making her way to shut off the alarm, Larissa picked up her coat and threw it on the bed. “We should get some rest, we can enjoy the day tomorrow before we have to head back home,” she gave a soft smile. You complied, still having a tint of a blush at the look of a slightly disheveled Larissa. “Goodnight, Rissa,” you made your way to your room next door. A few moments went by, Larissa had gotten settled into bed, before the phone started ringing, “Hello?” “Rissa, I’m bored again,” you admitted as she laughed on the other side of the phone.

[moon-witchs-world]

Growing Pains - Remus J. Lupin

Growing Pains – part one

A Hogwarts Tale

Remus Lupin x Fem!WitchReader

2,8k words

Summary: In 1994 both reader and Remus Lupin are newly appointed teachers at Hogwarts, school of witchcraft and wizardry. They meet again after 13 years, when they last saw each other at the very same school. Remus struggles with his secret being shared with the full staff and Y/N struggles with feelings she has for a certain someone.

This is part one of a multiple part series.

Masterlist

You saw him at exactly the same moment he saw you. Thirteen years had gone by ever since you saw him, in this same castle before you both went your separate ways. You were pleased to notice he hadn’t changed much. Sure, he had gotten older, just like yourself, but you would recognize those green eyes and kind smile everywhere. Remus Lupin was standing by himself, surrounded by the other teachers, some of whom were your own teachers during your time at Hogwarts.

As soon as Remus caught your eyes, he smiled and quickly approached you. He seemed happy to see a familiar face.

When he got closer you noticed he had definitely changed more than you assumed at first. His eyes, still kind and friendly, were lined and his face was covered in scars. His clothes were old and repaired at different places.

‘Y/N L/N? What a pleasant surprise to see you here,’ he said after he placed his hand on yours for a moment.

‘Or did you end up changing your last name?’ he added with a grin. His comment made your blood freeze. You shook your head in response.

‘It’s just L/N. How are you, Remus. I wasn’t expecting you here.’

His grin turned into a proper smile.

‘Really? I always assumed you would marry your high school sweetheart as soon as you left Hogwarts as Head Boy and Head Girl.’

You didn’t respond right away. Maybe lying would be easier, but then again, the truth always came out and you weren’t looking forward to having explain why you lied about such a crucial part of your life story. Something that had changed you forever.

‘We did actually. Get married,’ you said softly, hoping no other person but Remus would hear your words. His eyes widened, observing you with a puzzled look in his eyes, as if he was trying to solve a mystery.

‘You got divorced.’

‘He died.’

Remus took a step back, creating more space between the two of you and you immediately wish you never told him. His smile had disappeared as easily as it had appeared and he looked at you with worry written all over his face.

‘I’m so sorry I asked, Y/N. I had no idea.’ He extended his hand, but never let his fingers touch you. Instead he let them float in the air, as if he was not sure where to put them. 

‘It’s okay, Remus. It happened five years ago. He got into an accident at work,’ you explained with a weak smile. The widow part of your life story was always a bit awkward to discuss and you tried to avoid talking about it whenever it was possible.

‘I didn’t know you were a professor,’ you mentioned casually, desperate to change the subject but at the same time genuinely surprised.

‘I’m actually new here. Starting tomorrow as Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.’ He said this with a proud smile.

‘We have that in common. Not the Defence part, but I start tomorrow as well. Charms.’

‘Obviously,’ he said matter-of-factly. You raised your eyebrows in question.

‘I remember you were an excellent student, even for a Ravenclaw. Professor  Flitwick used to rave about your spell work all the time,’ he explained. You averted your gaze when you felt your cheeks burning.

‘It’s only natural you take over from him during his sabbatical,’ he added. Professor Dumbledore had contacted you personally to ask whether you would be willing to return to Hogwarts to teach Charms for a year while Professor Flitwick was away travelling. You felt deeply honored he even considered you and replied by returning owl you would love the job. It was very different from your usual work at the Ministry, where you had been working for the Department of Magical accidents and catastrophes. But Remus was right, your spell work was impeccable.

‘You weren’t a bad student yourself, Remus, you were a prefect as well.’

He chuckled and shook his head.

‘Dumbledore mainly made me a prefect so I could keep my friends in order. I was weak of course and let them misbehave all the same while conveniently looking the other way,’ he said with a smile on his face. You laughed at his comment. 

‘What have you been up to after graduating? I can’t believe we never crossed paths again,’ you asked him. His expression changed and he averted his eyes. But he never answered, for you were interrupted.

‘Lupin. Seeing you here is living proof the headmaster is very desperate to fill the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor to let someone like yourself teach our young witches and wizards,’ you heard a sly voice behind you. You turned around and saw yet another familiar face from your time at Hogwarts.

Severus Snape was looking at Remus Lupin with a look in his eyes that was something between disgust and confusion.

‘Severus, lovely to see you as well. It’s always nice to see a familiar face when you’re about to start a new job. Takes some of the tension away,’  you said sarcastically before Remus could reply.

‘Y/N? I didn’t recognize you right away. I see you’ve found your way back to Hogwarts as well.’ Severus’ voice had softened. The two of you had never been friends, you were simply too different, but you and Severus had always had some sort of unspoken respect for each other. He was smart, cunning and a bit shy. You used to partner during Potions from time to time because you both enjoyed to work with someone who was quiet and studious.   

‘I have. And since we’re all colleagues  now, maybe it’s time to leave the past in the past,’ you said urgently. Remus’ friends James and Sirius had always bullied Severus and even though you were fairly sure Remus himself was never involved, Severus despised him by association. 

Severus didn’t get a chance to respond, because Albus Dumbledore had started talking.

‘Welcome everyone. Before we go to the Great Hall to welcome our students, I have a few announcements to make. First of all, I’d like to thank each and every one of you extraordinary witches and wizards for returning to Hogwarts to teach our young minds. It’s an incredible honour to be in the presence of so many talented and dedicated people.’

Professor McGonagall coughed, which seemed to remind the headmaster he was going somewhere with his speech.

‘But let’s not dwell on that for too long. Firstly I’d like to introduce and welcome miss Y/N L/N. she kindly agreed to teach Charms this year while professor Flitwick is away travelling. Her magnificent work for the Ministry is proof she is more than capable to teach our students everything they need to when it comes to Charms.’ The headmaster beamed at you and started clapping. You felt a bit shy when the other teachers joined in and you were glad when professor Dumbledore spoke again.

‘The other announcement is a bit more serious. I’m very happy to welcome Remus Lupin, who will fill the vacancy of Defence against the Dark Arts professor. He is very capable and intelligent and I look forward to see our students learn from him. However, there is a matter that needs to be addressed about a certain… condition.’

You felt a lump in your throat when the headmaster spoke these words. It sounded ominous. You tried to catch Remus’ eyes, but he was staring at professor Dumbledore, seemingly unaware of your attempts to look at him.

‘Before I explain I have to mention that this piece of information should not travel further than this room. It must not be shared with the students. As a young boy, Remus was bitten by a werewolf. This forces him to turn into a wolf every full moon.’

The entire room had gone quiet and it felt like all there was no oxygen left in the room.

‘Fortunately, we have a very talented Potions Master in our midst who will provide our new professor with the Wolfsbane potion to ease the symptoms around the full moon. I’d like to remind you all again that this information is not to be shared with anyone else, especially not the students. Are there any questions?’

The headmaster looked around the room and a content smile appeared on his face when no one spoke.

‘Thank you for listening and please follow me to the Great Hall.’

~~**~~

All throughout the feast, you tried to get Remus’ attention, but you were unsuccessful. You sat in between Rubeus Hagrid and Sybill Trelawney, the game keeper and the Divination professor. Both were kind and asked lots of questions about your work at the Ministry and why you decided to return to Hogwarts.

However, the feast seemed to last forever and even though you had looked forward to be able to enjoy a Hogwarts feast after all these years, you could barely eat anything. The news about Remus had upset you and you wanted nothing more than to talk to him. To ask him how he was doing and to ask if there was anything you could do to help him.

It was a relief when the desserts had disappeared from the tables and the headmaster had send the students off to bed. You got up quickly as well, but you felt a strong grip on your wrist. When you looked up, you saw Sybill staring at you.

‘Be sure to visit me soon, miss Y/L/N. Your aura is uncommonly strong, I’m sure I’ll be able to see all about your future in my crystal ball,’ she said urgently. You nodded quickly and was relieved when she let go off your wrist. Sitting through an entire feast with her next to you had been dreadful and you had no intention of ever visiting her office, but you were just trying to get away from her.

Remus was already leaving the Great Hall and you quickly followed him. When you pasted the headmaster, you smiled and wished him a good night.

The corridor was deserted and you walked a bit faster. When you turned right, you saw him again.

‘Remus!’ He didn’t respond and you were no longer walking but running.

‘Remus! REMUS! WOULD YOU STOP WALKING AWAY FROM ME AND LISTEN?’ you yelled. You had completely lost your temper. Whereas you were always calm and collected, him ignoring you made you so angry you yelled at him. Your sudden rage felt embarrassing, but at least it was effective. Remus had stopped walking and turned around to face you.

‘I’m not really in the mood for small talk, miss L/N,’ he said without looking at you. This angered you even more.

‘Excuse me? Miss L/N?’ you repeated. You were so surprised at his sudden cold approach to you there was nothing else you could say. You started to tremble slightly.

‘We’re not doing this,’ he said coldly. When he finally looked at you, he looked even more tired than when you met earlier, his eyes bloodshot.

‘Doing what?’

‘Being friendly. Dumbledore explained everything. I’m dangerous.’

You shook your head in disbelief.

‘You’re hardly dangerous right now. The full moon was two days ago. You’re as dangerous as I am for about a month.’

‘You’re not stupid, Y/N. I am dangerous. I don’t want to get close to anyone. I’m grateful to Dumbledore for getting me a job and that is what I’m here to do. Teach.’

‘This is crazy, Remus. I’m not afraid of you and like you mentioned, I’m not stupid. I’m perfectly capable of choosing my own company and I choose you. I don’t care about your stupid problem.’

A tiny, careful smile appeared on his face, though it didn’t seem to reach his eyes.

‘You’re the first person to ever call me being a werewolf a ‘stupid problem’,’ he said gloomily.

‘Well, it is. It’s just a stupid thing. You were a child when you got bitten. There’s nothing you can do to change what happened. The only thing you can do is take responsibility and make yourself less dangerous. And according to the headmaster, you did exactly that. Please don’t isolate yourself, Remus. There’s no need to.’

He shook his head.

‘I’m sorry to tell you, but I have to. It’s safest for everyone.’ He turned around, but before he could walk away, you started talking.

‘Why did you act so nice then? Earlier? You knew Dumbledore would tell the staff about your condition. Why bother being nice to me if you were planning to give me the silent treatment afterwards?’

There was so much you didn’t say. Like the fact that you felt happier than you did in a long time when you saw him. How he had made you feel a little less insecure about teaching when he complimented your spell work from over a decade ago. How proud it made you feel that he had remembered your full name, even though you had been sorted into different houses and were never friends.

‘I was genuinely happy to see you, Y/N. I stupidly forgot I intended to keep my distance. I felt drawn to you,’ he said softly. The silence felt heavy. So many things were left unsaid.

‘But I have remembered it now and that’s just in time. Good night, Y/N.’ Once more he turned around and this time, he walked away.

‘I will not let you get away this easily. Trust me, you’ll want to have a friend around here.’ You had no idea if your words were going to persuade him, but you weren’t just going to let him deal with this all by himself.

Part two