#i like english class but the literature they had us focus on? i hated their choices sometimes. i always read the books as a teen andthought | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lokisadvocatee · 2 years

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Missing notes… what else?

A/n: this is my first time posting something here, I love writing especially about Loki so I really hope you enjoy it. also english is not my first language and I apologize if it’s bad.

Loki x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ smut, professor!Loki, professor/student, dom!Loki unprotected sex, daddy kink, praise kink, teasing, fingering, hand job, mention of masturbation, fluff

words count: 2.7k+

You joined your literature class a little bit later because your math teacher took extra time to explain you how your test was going to be structured and a wave of anxiety hit your stomach when you realised how many hours you spent thinking about your literature teacher instead of paying attention to what she was explaining.

It wasn’t easy paying attention when your thoughts were louder than your teacher’s voice. She was irritating and the best way for you to avoid that annoying sound that came out of her mouth, mixed with the gesturing of her hands in the air when she was explaining how numbers turned into letters and letters in numbers, was fantasising about Professor Laufeyson. Imagining how good he would lay you on his desk, bruise your neck so everyone in the school knew who you belonged to and then fucking the shit out of you right there. Just the thought of what you thought he was capable to do to you caused you to but you lower lip and close your legs as tight as you could. It was so pleasing imagining him on top of you, taking his clothes off of him as you were staring at his bare body over yours and tasting every inch of his body with both of your hands.

You needed to stop and focus. For this time at least. You always said this when you felt your slit dripping wet and felt the growing need to leave the classroom and touch yourself.

Fortunately professor Laufeyson wasn’t in class yet so you took your notes and read them one more time just to make sure you remembered everything correctly. You hated disappointing him, but you hated disappointing yourself even more, you hated the idea of failing something you liked that much. Professor Laufeyson, besides his handsomeness, was an excellent teacher, the way he talked about philosophers and poets was almost erotic and his accent wasn’t helping at all. You knew he loved his job and it was amazing seeing how everyone was shutting up when he was talking. There was dominance in his words and you loved it.

You fantasised a lot about him, and that was pretty obvious. You imagined thousand times how good he could’ve used that voice on you, how good he could’ve pleased you without even touching your skin. Everything was wrong, you were not supposed to think such things in school, especially about your teacher.

Since the beginning of the year you caught his eyes on you a few times but you immediately looked away when his eyes met yours. At some point it almost felt like a fight between you and him and you were unconsciously falling for those green eyes, you were almost craving for his body and it felt even worse every time you came back to reality and remember that he was your fucking teacher. Surely there was something in him that attracted you, something you didn’t know what it was but you weren’t scared to find out.

“Hi everyone” You were so focused on your own thoughts that you noticed that professor Laufeyson had joined your class and sat on his chair ready to present you today’s topic. You almost chocked when he looked directly at you before anyone else in the room.

He was wearing a white shirt that was perfectly fitting his chest, you could’ve count his muscles one by one from where you were sitting, even though he never stopped walking up and down the classroom and between the desks. Dirty thoughts filled your mind again, his trousers were tight and slim, they were well wrapped around his long legs and you gasped when his hand touched your paper and two of his fingers pointed on the right side of the book “as we were saying… we’re here darling” he whispered you as he walked away with his hands behind his back and his shirt tightening around his arms.

Fuck he caught you.

You blushed and bit your lower lip hoping he didn’t catch that too and stared at the page he pointed to with his long fingers.

The lesson ended and you were finally able to leave even though, whatever he explained today was needed for an essay he wanted done for the next week. How were you supposed to do it? You surely needed an extra lesson to take those notes again. You opted for YouTube but it was too obvious, you could’ve asked him to explain it again but how were you going to explain that you stared at him instead of listening to the lesson and taking notes?well… you simply couldn’t.

Everyone packed their stuff and left the classroom while you tried to write down some missing parts of your notes, but you mind was blurred by the way he walked towards you and pointed your book, you were amused about how he called you. That darling was echoing in your head like a melody. what else could’ve he called you? The imagine of his fingers scrolling down the page of your book was drinking you crazy.

Professor Laufeyson was staring at you, his eyes locked in every motion of your body, his fingers were tapping on the wooden desk and you swallowed hard, trying to avoid his eyes on you.

“Did you miss anything?” your pen stopped writing as your hand froze with the rest of your body. You stared at the paper in front of you and you were as terrified as exited to look at him.

“no- I’m just trying to finish some.. homework” you tried your best to make a good excuse to justify yourself but your babbling didn’t help at all, in fact it didn’t take him so long to understand how badly you were lying.

“you’re a bad liar, do you know that?” He laughed a bit standing up from his chair and walking towards you. Hands behind his back and the full view on his chest is what turned you on the most. His hair was framing his pale skin and exposed his cheekbones, his shirt was wrapping his body so delicately, and those tight trousers. You were about to lose it. Everything about him was turning you on. All the thoughts and dreams you had about him were now running into your head as your blood started flowing faster causing your heart to punch your lungs and hit your throat.

You tried to ignore his presence next to you as you kept writing down random words and forced your eyes to stare straight to your book and not at his trousers.

“Well I never used that word today” he smirked looking down at your paper. You said nothing but stopped your pen again, swallowing hard knowing how fucked you were now. In all senses.

“you were too focused on me to take your notes, am I right?” You swallowed again tightening your legs together. He noticed that, he noticed what effects he had over you, he noticed how desperate you were and he surely like that too.

“I should punish you for that…” he walked towards his desk and sat on his chair again. “And give you extra assignments” you immediately stood up in total embarrassment and desperation.

“No professor I’m so sorry for not taking them.. I was distracted I admit it but please don’t give me extra assignments” you almost cried looking at him.

“Come here” you shook your head in confusion and followed his hand pointing to his lap.

“You don’t want the extra assignments right? So come here” he ordered you.

You sat on his lap as he wanted to and his hands landed on your bare thighs while his fingers moved up to raise your skirt.

You held a moan back and bit your lower lip looking down where his hands were touching your skin.

“you’re always so…” he stared at every feature of your face, caressing your thighs while you were only imagining him on top of you and kissing all the day down and cumming all over your body.

“So?” You teased staring at his parted lips. God You were so close to kiss him but what if he pushed you away? Well after making you sit on his lap what was he planning to do? Telling you to go away or fuck you on his desk while the whole school was leaving? Perhaps he knew what you wanted and he wouldn’t let you go unsatisfied and unpleased.

“So quite” he moved his hand to your cheek and his thumb brushed your lips ready to devour you.

“Kiss me” You whispered him. You felt his pants tightening around his legs and his cock was already hitting your ass as you moved yourself closer to him. He kissed you softly, scared that you were going to stop even if his hands tightened on your waist and two of his finger were slowly sliding under your skirt. The kiss started getting more passionate as your tongues were dancing together and your hands were now on his thighs.

he took your panties off and you moaned into his mouth when his fingertips were pressing close to your slit.

“you’re so wet darling” he whispered when his lips moved to your neck and sucked it with such passion and desire and you imagined all the red and purple bruises he was leaving all over your soft skin.

“can you blame me?” You moaned and kissed him again moving your hands up to his chest and finally tasted the body you were staring at for so long.

He never let you neck go as he noticed how much you liked when his teeth were biting your skin. He was good that but you wanted more.

He slide two of his long fingers inside you as you gasped and tightened your grip on his shoulders.

“I’m gonna ruin your pants” You looked down and bit your lower lip imagining how good he would’ve looked with his pants wet of you.

“I want you to do so” he whispered and slide his fingers out of you before pushing them deep inside you again and hitting your highest spot already. You moaned out and let your head fall backwards enjoying his magic touch inside you.

“Oh Please fuck me please” you cried out when his fingers spread open and circled your slit so perfectly.

“Why are you begging me little one?” he held your back and fastened his fingering inside you, pushing you over the edge.

“I want- I want your cock inside me” you moaned when his free hand cupped your breasts underneath your shirt.

“you’re not ready for it darling” he teased you and tossed your shirt away kissing your neck again as you quickly moved your hands down to his pants and opened the leather belt around his waist.

“Such a needy slut, aren’t you?” He slide his fingers out of you and tasted them both as you moaned when you watched him tasting what you left of him and his pants as well. His cock was pushing against his pants and you couldn’t deny how desperate you were to have it inside you. Your slit was dripping wet again just at the thought of it.

You looked down at him and fully opened his pants as his hard cock hit your stomach and damn it, it was huge, bigger than what you expected.

“you truly believe you can take me?” He teased you again, making your need grow even more. You’re breathing started getting heavy when dirty thoughts filled your head and you moved your hands on his length.

You started rubbing his cock with both of your hands. His head fell backwards and his neck was now fully exposed for you to kiss it and taste it as he did with yours. His hands were working on your breasts and down to your waist as his moans and groans were echoing in your head.

“I want you inside me” you whispered and kissed his neck again.

He said nothing but enjoyed the way you were rubbing his length, fastening your hands every time you felt his breath getting heavy and his hands squeezing your breasts. He was close to cum all over you but he didn’t want to waste it in that way, not for now at least.

“Ride me” your eyes were now locked into his as you positioned yourself on his hard cock and he forced you to sit properly.

“Oh fuck” you moaned when his whole length was finally inside you and your eyes started getting watery. Your head fell backwards and you exposed your skin and let him marking your neck again.

“What is it pet?” his hands on your waist ready for you to ride him.

“It’s- it’s big” you gasped when you found the right position. You felt his smirk on your neck and you started riding him. Moving your waist up and down his, feeling his cock sliding in and out of you, hitting your highest spot and making you moaning his name out of you mouth.

“did you imagine it like this?” How did he knew you have imagined it? How did he know you’ve been having dirty dreams about him for months now. How he know it, you didn’t care, you just wanted to be fucked. That’s all you wanted and that’s all you needed.

“No. I ah I didn’t” you moaned again as he helped your movements oh his waist.

“was it better then?” He felt your walls clenching around his cock whenever he spoke to you.

“No, this is better” you were close to come. You couldn’t deny how much you were enjoying it, how much you were dying to be filled by your literature teacher and yes he was handsome, he was hot, he was attractive, he was everything you’ve ever imagined and he was even better than how you dreamed him. His kisses on your hot skin felt like little flames over your body, his lips on your skin were addicting, his cock was addicting and you didn’t want him to stop that beautiful rhythm inside you. He was kissing your lips again and you never stopped calling his name out and moaning whenever he hit your favorite spots.

“Wanna come princess?” he asked moving his fingers down your slit. You nodded and bit your lower lip again, harder this time and trying to hide all the pleasure he was giving you. “Words” he ordered moving one of his hands up to your belly before cupping your breasts and reaching to your throat.

“Yes, yes please let me come professor please” you cried out holding his shoulders so tight you were scared to hurt him.

“you’re desperate, look how tight you get when I talk to you pet” his voice was the only sound you wanted to hear for the rest of your life, the way you wanted him to touch you and own you was killing your mind. His hand was gently squeezing your throat making it hard to swallow and he was really driving you over the edge this time.

“Please” you moaned again speeding the rhythm and crying his name out again.

“Come for me princess, show me how you come around my cock” and you ride him even more taking control over him, kissing him and biting his lips when you both moaned to each other.

You milked him and tears started falling down you cheeks. It was painfully pleasing feeling his whole length filling your body so perfectly.

You were a moaning mess when you came and squeezed him inside you. You knew it wasn’t over, you wanted him to come too, you wanted him to fill you.

“Cum inside me please” you whispered and kissed his neck again seeing how much he enjoyed that. He moved your body up and down on his lap and speeded the rhythm until when you came again.

He came right after you and filled your body with his godly seed, letting you rest over him and letting his cum stay inside you even though some drops fell down your thighs.

“such a good girl for your teacher” he smirked and kissed your lips again.

He slide his length out of you and you almost fell from his lap before he held your waist.

He helped you getting dressed as you zipped his pants again.

“I might give you an A” he said brushing your hair away from your face and leaving a soft kiss on your forehead. “Oh, I almost forgot about that but damn.. an A?” you laughed.

“Yes, you’ve been so good for me and you deserve it pet”. He held your waist close to his body and looked straight into your eyes.

“well, I don’t think it’s fair” you smirked and played with the buttons of his shirt.

He already knew where you were going with your little head and your fantasies were not new to him.

“want me to help you out?” You smiled and kissed him thinking about what you’ve just did with him.

“Oh I’d be honored” you smirked and left the classroom well pleased and ready for round two.

#loki smut #loki x reader #loki imagine #loki fanfic #loki x you #loki friggason #loki laufeyson #loki layfeyson x you #loki laufeyson smut #loki odison x reader #loki oneshot #loki of jotunheim #loki x y/n #loki x female reader #loki fluff

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maatryoshkaa · 4 years

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between the lines | lee minho

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘 𝐊𝐈𝐃𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐋 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒!𝐀𝐔

✑ Late fines, shared lockers, and a missing love letter:

In which a frantic search for an overdue library book leads to you finding other things that are...long overdue.

✑ PAIRING: student librarian!minho x bookworm!reader

✑ GENRE: retro!high school au, slow burn, slice-of-life romance, slight enemies-to-lovers shenanigans

✑ WORD COUNT: 9.7k

✖︎ TAGS/WARNINGS: fem!reader, mild language, bullying themes, skz are all around the same age. mc is insecure and a bit of a valentine's day grinch. minho is whipped but too hardheaded to admit it. also, an embarrassing amount of classic literature/pablo neruda references.

Ah, Valentine’s Day.

Call it the most romantic day of the year if you will, but in the treacherous hallways of Levanter High, it meant a minefield of hormonal couples, crushed chocolate boxes, and supermarket rose bouquets. Clutching your backpack with a grimace, you narrowly dodged a pigtailed cheerleader as she leapt into her jock boyfriend’s waiting arms. Turning into another hallway, you plugged your ears to block out a senior boy’s cold rejection of a freshman’s nervous love confession.

You finally caught sight of your locker and breathed a sigh of relief. Levanter High’s lockers were split in half lengthwise—one top row, and one bottom row. You dropped to a crouch to wrench yours open—you’d lost your lock a couple of weeks ago—trying to block out the early morning commotion as you rummaged for your English books.

“Hey, watch ou—”

The locker above yours opened with a screech, and you looked up just in time to see a pink avalanche of cards and chocolates raining down on your head in a painful, deafening crash. The student who had called out the warning was frozen with a comical look of shock on her face. You swore the entire hallway fell silent, blood rushing to your cheeks as you slowly raised your gaze at the person who had opened the locker.

Lee Hana—head cheerleader of Levanter’s pep squad, and in your humble opinion, the spawn of Satan herself.

“Ohmigosh,” she exclaimed, raising one hand to her mouth in mock horror, “I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there.”

The crowd around you was beginning to snicker and point, and you felt your face growing redder by the minute. “What are you doing here?” You asked tersely, motioning towards the locker above yours. “That’s not even your locker.”

Hana smiled and held up a small, glittery package. Oh. You didn’t have to look closer to know that the envelope was a love letter, elaborately tied to a box of expensive chocolates—the kind your parents would probably have to work overtime to afford. “My Valentine—for your locker buddy,” Hana replied matter-of-factly, then added, “Not that you would understand, hm? Since you’ve never received one yourself, and all.”

A smattering of laughs erupted from the crowd that was building around you. Biting back a retort, you looked down at all the other Valentine’s trinkets that had spilled around you. Of course—you should have gotten used to it by now. After all, your locker was right underneath the one that belonged to the student librarian, school heartthrob, and the absolute bane of your existence, Lee—

“Minho!” Hana exclaimed, and you looked up to see him shuffling through the crowd, his eyes briefly falling on yours. You immediately turned away as the pretty cheerleader skipped up to him, and shoved your books into your bag. Slamming your locker shut—twice, because Levanter’s damned lockers always jammed before shutting properly—you snatched up as many of Minho’s fallen Valentine’s Day trinkets as you could before shoving them back into the now-emptied top locker. The metal door was still swinging wide open. You’d overheard Minho complaining to the boy who always did the announcements—Han Jihyun? Han Jisung?—about how he kept losing his own lock. Both of you seemed to have a habit of misplacing things (not that you liked to admit to that similarity).

Out of the corner of your eye, Minho was still watching you over Hana’s shoulder, his lips tilted in a half-smile. Your gut twisted unpleasantly. Four years and counting—that was how long you’d ended up with a locker right under Minho’s.

“You’re so lucky!” Lia—your best friend—had gushed, while you had scoffed in utter disbelief.

“Oh, sure. Just my rotten luck.”

“Come on, y/n. Are you still hung up about that love letter from freshman year?”

Yes, you had thought sourly. “No way,” you had snapped, and Lia had giggled, unconvinced.

It wasn’t like you’d always had a personal vendetta against Minho. In fact, in ninth grade, you’d been head over heels for him, just like the rest of the student body—to the point where you’d even slipped a small love letter into his locker on Valentine’s Day, too. It had been one of those gaudy 99-cent corner-store cards, and you'd saved up your pocket money just to buy a matching pack of candy hearts. Then you’d spent the day with butterflies in your stomach, anxiously waiting nearby his locker to see his reaction.

But when he hadn’t shown up, you'd shrugged and begun heading home—and that was when you had caught sight of Minho, throwing all the love letters he’d received straight into the Dumpsters in the back parking lot.

Talk about a reality check.

As if that hadn't been traumatizing enough, you’d been forced to face him nearly every morning for the following three years. To make matters worse, being Minho’s involuntary locker mate also meant that all the girls—and guys, for that matter—saw you as little more than a stepping stone to him, always asking you to relay party invitations or trying to curry favour with you to get to him.

“We’re not close,” you’d insist to his persistent admirers every time, but it didn’t help. Minho, on the other hand, you thought bitterly, seemed to think he was too good for anyone—he didn’t even respond much to Hana’s advances, and she was drop-dead gorgeous. There was no way he’d even look twice at you—you’d been firsthand witness to that. You finally gave up trying to clean up the fallen Valentines, and stood up with a sigh. Throwing him a death glare, you pushed past the crowd just as the bell rang and students began scurrying away.

What did it matter if Lee Hana was trying to get with Minho? If anything, they were a match made in heaven. Or hell. With a decided huff, you plopped yourself down at your desk just as your English teacher began class.

“We’re starting the poetry unit today! Remember, you’ll be writing a love poem of your own for the final project—so I suggest you all get started on reading!” You teacher had winked and clapped her hands excitedly while a collective groan had swept through your class. A few couples had nudged each other meaningfully, already promising to write their poems about each other, and you’d thrown up a little in your mouth.

Romance was a bit of a touchy subject for you— now, you didn’t hate the notion of love, per se, you’d just always been somewhat...wary of it. After watching your friends fall in and out of disastrous relationships and fleeting feelings from the sidelines too many times to count, your own defense mechanisms had skyrocketed, and now you found yourself trying not to roll your eyes at every piece of romantic writing you read. Still, this inexperience only made you more determined to get a head start on the topic— and so, once the last bell had rung, you made a beeline for the school library. You would tackle love the only way you knew how to—by hitting the books. Pushing open the door, you overheard Hana and her friends muttering in disappointment and immediately recoiled.

“You said he’d be in here!”

“Well, I thought I saw him! Let’s wait for a bit.”

You peeked over the librarian’s desk, and sure enough, it was vacant— save for a tray of half-shelved books and stamping cards. Maybe Minho left early today, you thought, shrugging. That’s a relief. Then you shook your head quickly. What’s it to me whether he’s here or not? You tried to ignore Hana’s disdainful glance at you, heading straight towards your favourite nook at the back of the library instead: a cozy alcove tucked behind the last row of shelves. With a deep sigh, you pulled out the first book of poetry your teacher had assigned—Shakespeare’s Complete Sonnets—and sank into the bean bag chair.

‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May…’

A couple lines in, and the Englishman’s words were already making your head spin. You grimaced, massaging your temples. ‘A summer’s day?’ Seriously? You could swear you’d seen something less cheesy on a dollar store card. After a couple of pages, you could already feel your treacherous eyelids beginning to droop, fighting to stay awake as you tried to make sense of Shakespeare’s verses. But thy eternal summer...shall not fade...nor lose...possession…

“The library’s closing.”

You jolted awake, hands fumbling blindly before you could even force your eyes open. The library came into focus first—the lights had been dimmed, the flickering EXIT sign from the empty hallway casting a warm glow through the panelled window across the room. A dull headache still throbbed in your temples.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes groggily. You had to practically peel your cheek away from the Shakespeare book, fingers gingerly feeling the dent the cover had left in your cheek. “I-I’m so sorry, I must have—lost track of time studying.”

A familiar chuckle sent your heart plummeting to your stomach. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

When your eyes finally adjusted, your expression automatically soured into a glare.

“Now that’s more like it.” Smirking, Minho crossed his arms, leaning back on a bookshelf. He glanced down at the book in your lap—the book that you clearly hadn’t been studying. “Didn’t know you were one for Shakespeare.”

“I—” You threw your hands up in exasperation. “I’m not. His writing gives me a headache. It’s like it’s all in another language or something.”

Minho raised an eyebrow. “Old English. Why are you reading it, then?”

“We’re doing poetry in class—and our final project is to write an actual love poem, based on the poets we’ll study. Shakespeare was just first on the reading list, so…” you felt yourself trailing off, flustered. Why were you even bothering to explain this to Minho, who probably couldn’t care less? “Nevermind.”

You felt his piercing gaze on you as you shoved your books into your bag, glancing outside at the nearly emptied parking lot. If you squinted, you could spot a couple—Seo Changbin, judging by the male’s iconic leather jacket, and his lover—making out under the bleachers. You shook your head incredulously. Valentine’s Day. Love poems. Hormonal couples galore. It was like the universe was playing a long, cruel joke on you: Ha-ha, look who’s spending Valentine’s Day studying in the library alone.

Well, alone except for a student librarian with whom you had a mortifying history. Not much better. Eager to leave, you got to your feet, only to see Minho flipping through a smaller book he’d pulled off the shelf next to him. “If you want some real inspiration,” he began slowly, pushing up his glasses, “I’d suggest you start closer to our time period.”

You looked down at the book he was holding up, brow furrowing as you read the title out loud. “Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair. Pablo Neruda.”

“The best Chilean poet of the 20th century,” he nodded. “‘I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way, because I do not know any other way of loving but this.’”

It took you a second to realise Minho was quoting a poem, and you were suddenly grateful that the dimly lit library hid the flush of red that had betrayed your cheeks. Clearing your throat, you mumbled, “That actually sounds...kind of pretty.”

He didn’t look up, but you thought you saw the corners of his mouth shoot up ever so slightly. Maybe the shadows were playing tricks on you? Flipping through the book, Minho fished out a pad of sticky notes from his back pocket and marked a few pages. “Here. ‘The Song of Despair’...‘Tonight I Can Write’...‘Here I Love You.’ Those are good.” Clamping the book shut, he held it out towards you.

You almost thanked him, but the words faltered on your tongue as you took it from him suspiciously. “What’s with the sudden helpful attitude?”

He shrugged. “It’s my job.” You raised an incredulous eyebrow, and he smirked. “Consider it my apology for this morning, then.”

That left you at a real loss for words, and for the first time, you struggled to find a retort. “That’s...considerate of you, apologising on behalf of your girlfriend and all.”

“Hana’s not my girlfriend.”

You breathed a small laugh. “Soon-to-be, then. Don’t break her heart.”

Minho scoffed, bringing the book to the front desk and scrawling your name on the sign-out card. He stamped the dates, then held it out at you before glancing out the window. Dusk had fallen, the empty football field lit only by rows of flickering lampposts. “You can get home safe?”

“Screw off, Lee Minho.” You eyed him warily, shoving the book into your bag before practically running to the double doors. The strange atmosphere that had suddenly built up in the library felt terrifyingly foreign to you, and your first instinct was to be rid of it as soon as possible. In the hallway, you spotted a janitor dumping a bin into a trash bag. A familiar avalanche of pink envelopes and gifts caught your eye, and you felt a wave of humiliation. Just the memory of Minho throwing yours out—after reading it and having a good laugh, no doubt—made you want to ram your head into the lockers all over again. You’ve got no chance with him, y/n, you thought blearily. Right when you’d thought you’d finally come to terms with Minho’s brutal (albeit unintentional) rejection, here he was again: crashing back into your life like some...cat-eyed, pointy-nosed meteor.

“Oh, y/n! One more thing.”

You’d already had one foot out the front door when Minho called your name again, making you jerk your head back in surprise. Minho had his bag slung over one shoulder, a pile of books in his arms as he waved to get your attention. His smile looked almost...genuine in the warm shadows, his round glasses softening his usually sharp gaze. Despite yourself, you felt your heart skip a beat.

Then Minho made a wiping motion over his face and grinned. “You’ve got drool on your chin.”

Your face reddened, and you slammed the library door shut, earning a glare from the janitor down the hall. Smacking the heel of your palm against your forehead repeatedly, you stormed out of the school muttering curses under your breath. Typical Lee Minho.

To your surprise, you practically devoured the poems in less than a week, taken aback at how much you genuinely enjoyed them. It was the first time you didn’t find yourself cringing at romance—and sure enough, in a couple days’ time, you found yourself reluctantly standing back in front of the double doors of the school library once again.

Carefully, you craned your head to peep into the panelled window, scanning the room for Minho. As per usual, a gaggle of girls were huddled on the other side, blocking your view.

“Looking for someone?”

Flinching, you nearly tripped on Hana’s long legs as she came up beside you. Before you could respond, she fixed you with a withering look. “You’ve got some explaining to do, Little Miss Perfect.”

“I—sorry?”

The cheerleader rolled her eyes, sneering. “Don’t act all innocent with me, you sneaky b—”

Sighing, you pushed open the doors before she could finish. Hana followed you into the library, still sputtering angrily. Her hand snatched your arm, French manicure digging painfully into your cardigan.

“The Valentines,” she hissed, and it finally clicked.

She’s talking about the love letters, you realized. The ones Minho throws out every year.

Gut twisting, you looked up to see all the other girls crossing their arms and looking back at you expectantly. “None of you...got a response?” You asked incredulously, already knowing the answer. This happened every year: Expectant admirers showered Minho’s locker with gifts, Minho wouldn’t even glance at them— and then, for some reason, you were left to take the blame. A twinge of annoyance shot through your chest.

“You stole them from his locker, didn’t you?” Hana continued accusingly, pupils shaking. “You sneaky, jealous bitch— of course you did.”

He threw them all out, you wanted to scream back at her, but the words wouldn’t budge from your tongue. Somehow, saying them out loud felt like tearing off the stitches of an old wound; a painful reminder of your personal humiliating memory. And—though you hated to admit it—a small part of you still didn’t have the heart to throw Minho under the bus just yet, even after all that he’d done.

Feeling defeated, you sighed and turned towards her. “Why would I want to do that?”

Hana scoffed, tossing her chocolate curls over one shoulder. “Oh, please. We all know you’ve had a massive one-sided crush on him since ninth grade.”

A rush of heat flooded your cheeks, the other girls’ snickers at your reaction drowning out any of your protests. “That’s not—”

“Not true? Then—is it mutual?” Hana sneered mockingly. “Don’t make me laugh. He wouldn’t be caught dead with the likes of y—”

“Can I help you with anything?”

The small crowd fell silent as Minho appeared from one of the aisles, eyebrows raised slightly in his usual nonchalant manner. A chill of panic rushed down your spine, palms growing clammy with cold sweat. H-how much did he overhear? In your peripheral, Hana was practically batting her eyelashes at him, but Minho’s mild eyes were focused on yours expectantly.

“I—uh. Well,” you stammered eloquently, your entire body suddenly paralyzed. Hana’s cherry red lips were twisted in a smug smirk, clearly waiting for you to embarrass yourself. “The book,” you blurted, immediately rummaging for the poetry book in your bag and holding it out to him.

Minho took it from you, fingertips grazing yours slightly. They were surprisingly warm. “How’d you find it?”

“R-really good, actually.” Then, you hesitantly added, “I...like the way Neruda uses imagery—he’s precise without being plain, and artful without deviating too much into purple prose. I think I liked Tonight I Can Write the most— y’know, ‘Tonight I can write the saddest lines...’” You swallowed, then instantly began regretting having ever spoken. Great job, y/n, now you sound like a full-blown nerd.

But Minho nodded, his eyes gleaming. “‘I loved her, and sometimes, she loved me, too.’”

“That’s the second verse,” you muttered automatically, and his lips twitched.

“It’s one of my favourite lines.”

The other girls had begun to awkwardly shuffle out of the library, their absence easing your racing heart. With just a few mildly spoken words, you noted, Minho had managed to make you feel as though you had blocked out the rest of the world. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Hana glaring daggers at you, and the small smile dropped from your face.

“Do you need something?” Minho asked her blankly, his gaze trailing down to Hana’s hand, which was still painfully latched onto your arm. With a roll of her eyes, she spun on her heel and stormed out of the library.

As soon as she was gone, you breathed an audible sigh of relief. Minho was peeling the sticky notes off from the poetry book you’d returned, eyes still watching you intently. Giving him the side-eye, you deadpanned, “She’s pretty, you know. Maybe you should go talk to her sometime.”

There was a small smile on Minho’s lips. “Does she like Chilean poetry?”

You could only give a short—slightly too shaky for your liking—laugh in response, ruffling your own hair as you tried to calm your frazzled nerves. Don’t forget, y/n. One, that he’s out of your league. Two, how this was all his fault to begin with.

“Is that all you came here for?” Minho’s voice broke into your thoughts again, making you jump. There was a glint of amusement in his eyes. He finds this—me—amusing.

“Well…” you looked down at your feet, then grudgingly nodded at the poetry book you’d just returned. “Do you...have any other recommendations?”

Minho’s face broke into a shit-eating grin, and you bit back a groan. before your pride got the better of you and you changed your mind, he was already heading towards the back of the library, sliding books out as you struggled to keep with his pace. “First of all, Dickinson. Hit-or-miss, but you never know. Then there’s Sylvia Plath, some Emily Brontë…”

Before you knew it, you’d been whisked into a world of verse and metaphor, flying between numerous time periods and continents as you and Minho perused the shelves. Just like the time when you had accidentally fallen asleep in the library, the library seemed to grow cozier, quieter, more peaceful during moments like these, as if the entire world was holding still as you lost yourself in pages upon pages of books. Soon, you found yourself heading to the library nearly every day after school. Despite yourself, you found yourself looking forward to that sunset hour, the fleeting period where most students had left, and the entire library would glow warm as though it were blushing under the swathes of golden light. And in these same fleeting moments, you found your gaze lingering more and more on Minho—the way he would push his silver glasses on, furrowing his brow in concentration whenever he searched for a book, or run his long fingers over their worn spines whenever he was lost in thought—

“Like what you see?” With a flinch, you realised Minho had begun walking back towards you, a crooked smirk on his lips as he set a new pile of books down at the desk you were sat at.

“No!” You snapped, too quickly. “Just—spaced out for a bit. Too concentrated on the project.”

The smirk hadn’t budged from Minho’s face, and you resisted the urge to throw a copy of Emily Dickinson’s Selected Poems at his long, pointy nose. “Mm. You seem to be coming here a lot more often.”

“That’s because the due date is coming up.”

“No. I mean, you seem to be talking to me a lot more.”

You rolled your eyes, snatching a book from the top of his pile as you muttered, “Screw you, Lee Minho.”

His eyebrows shot up in wicked mischief. “You’re more than welcome to try.”

With a cry of exasperation—and surprise at having been heard—you hoisted your book bag onto the table, building a makeshift wall between the two of you.

You didn’t catch the way Minho’s laughter slowly faded as he rested his head on one hand thoughtfully, quietly watching you read. Your lips were pursed in concentration as you muttered your notes under your breath. Cute, he couldn’t help thinking.

Minho had always been good at memorizing things, but he couldn’t remember exactly when you’d begun disliking him so much. You had always intrigued him—what with the way your locker always seemed to be overflowing with books, or how you used to lend him your copy when he forgot his, back in ninth grade. That Valentine’s Day, four years ago, your name had been the only one he’d hoped to find as he rifled through the cards he’d received. But he’d come up empty, and so he’d thrown them all out. And for some reason, you’d been cold to him ever since.

Minho had assumed that you were probably annoyed with all the letters that would fall out of his locker and onto you, and so every year he tried his best to get rid of the Valentines as soon as possible. Nevertheless, you only seemed to be getting more and more annoyed with him.

And now here you were, right in front of him, four years later, and he still couldn’t bring himself to ask you why. Confrontation had never been his strong suit—his words always seemed to come out too blunt, too cold, too soon, and so he’d always avoided bringing it up with you again. Minho sighed, raking a hand through his hair. Written words—that is, books—had always been so much easier than people.

He did, however, remember when he’d started falling for you.

Tenth grade, literature studies. He’d begun arguing against your thesis during one of your presentations, and the two of you had ended up bickering the entire class—pulling out quotes from nearly every chapter of Pride and Prejudice before the class president had to intervene, and your teacher had sent you both to detention.

You had glared at him once, and he’d fallen head over heels.

These violent delights have violent ends, he’d mused in his head back then—Romeo and Juliet—and with the murderous stare Minho sometimes caught you fixing him with, he was willing to bet that you were wishing a violent end on him, too.

He couldn’t pen a love letter to save his life, either— and so, he resorted to pettily glaring at any admirer that approached your locker like Gandalf—you shall not pass—until they backed off. Minho didn’t think you would appreciate him revealing that, either. The more he thought about it, the more ridiculous his actions seemed—and like a poorly written plot twist, you had ended up stumbling back into his life again. Never in his life, however, did Minho think that Pablo Neruda would become his wingman. Glancing down at his portrait on the back cover of the book, Minho could almost imagine the Chilean poet pointing his pen threateningly: “Don’t screw this up.”

“Hey, Minho?” He snapped out of his thoughts to see you waving your hand at him from the other side of your book bag. “You were right. I don’t get any of Dickinson’s poems.”

Your words took a moment to register, Minho caught off-guard by the soft golden hour light illuminating your pretty features. You waved your hand in his face again, and he blinked, breath caught in his throat. Almost tripping over his tongue, he finally quipped, “How on earth are you passing AP English?”

You glowered and smacked his shoulder, the near-silent library ringing with Minho’s laughter once again.

With a week left to the deadline, you were planted at your desk in your room, the wastebasket littered with crumpled up half-sheets of notebook paper. To your dismay, none of the words seemed to be coming out the way you wanted them to. Gnawing the back of your pencil in frustration, you dumped the contents of your book bag onto the desk, and spotted your latest library book—100 Love Sonnets, by Pablo Neruda. Inexplicably, out of all the poets Minho had introduced to you, you always found yourself coming back to him.

Flipping through the well-thumbed pages, your fingers stopped at one titled Sonnet XVII. “I love you without knowing how,” your eyes scanned the verse curiously, “or when, or from where. I love you simply…”

It was the poem Minho had quoted that evening in the library, you realized, heart skipping a beat. “...without problems or pride / I love you in this way, because I do not know any other way of loving / but this, in which there is no I or you / so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand / so intimate that when I fall asleep, your eyes close.”

With a sigh, you buried your head in your arms, lying face-down onto the desk. Maybe the reason why you instinctively disliked reading love poems so much was because of the sheer sincerity of them all. You envied their ability to put feelings into words—with unabashed, unapologetic ardour, and be celebrated for it, to boot. Eyes scanning the verses again, your mind wandered to the way Minho’s eyes had lit up as he’d explained the lines to you, his brow furrowed in focus.

At Levanter High, you had grown used to being pushed around and out of the spotlight. It was either the popular girls and their backhanded compliments, or the boys who spoke to you condescendingly just to a) get you to do their homework, or b) get in your pants. But Minho had always taken you seriously, albeit while driving you half-insane with his infuriating remarks. And as much as you hated to admit it, that same fiery look in his eyes whenever he got worked up—so different from his usual reserved facade in front of the teachers and swooning students—had always made your heart skip a beat. In tenth grade—back when he seemed to pick a fight with you nearly every English class until Bang Chan had to hold the two of you back from killing each other—you’d thought you’d successfully quashed your feelings for the mild-voiced, hazel-eyed librarian. Yet every time he spoke, he left you feeling vulnerable, disarmed, and you were back—though you refused to admit it—to square one.

“‘I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul,’” you whispered, fingers tracing the words on the paper. Feeling a sudden surge—of confidence, or simply exasperation, you weren’t sure—you seized the pen and began scribbling on a new piece of paper. For years, you’d been afraid to face your feelings, terrified of the humiliation if Hana—or anyone at school—found out. But if getting them all out in one cheesy, hot mess of a love letter could give you some closure, you thought tensely, you were more than happy to oblige. You would write it all out under the guise of a love poem, and then it would never have to see the light of day again.

Words began coming to your head like a floodgate had been thrown wide open, and you began scrawling onto the page. “‘I love you as the plant that never blooms, but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers,’” you quoted thoughtfully as you drafted your own poem. In a way, it felt cathartic—you could get all your feelings out, pass it off as an assignment, and never think about the forbidden fruit again. For all you knew, it was a win-win situation. The pen kept wobbling, ink spilling out haphazardly and skipping, but you relaxed slightly. Maybe this assignment wasn’t too bad, after all.

Head filled to the brim with poetry, you set the pen down and dozed off.

“You’re not coming to the football game?” Lia flashed puppy eyes at you, and you smacked her hand playfully, swiping a french fry from her plate.

“Lia, since when have I ever gone to one?” The two of you had dropped by the Sunshine Coffee Shoppe for a quick pick-me-up during lunch hour, but one smile from the cute waiter—Yang Jeongin, if you remembered his name correctly—had dazzled Lia into ordering an extra burger combo, complete with a plate of fries. “Sports and crowds—not my thing. And I have an English project due the next day.”

She pouted. “Oh, come on! Knowing you, you’ve probably already finished it by now.”

You grinned, thinking back to your love poem and fighting the urge to cringe. You’d read it the morning after, and it had taken every fibre in your being to hold yourself back from ripping it to shreds. Piercing, catlike eyes, you’d written in one line. Silver spectacles. Long fingers on dusty pages. Shuddering, you’d stuffed it into the Neruda book before banishing them both to your locker and going about your day. Love poems are supposed to be cheesy, y/n, suck it up. It’ll only be this one time. Besides, it wasn’t like anyone other than your teacher would ever read it.

When you dropped by the library after school, you spotted Hana’s familiar figure by one of the cubicles. As she tossed her hair over her shoulder with a laugh muted by the plexiglass windows, you saw that she was talking to a grinning Minho.

“Are you sure you’re not coming to the game on Thursday?” Hana was whining as you pushed open the doors to the library. She patted his arms playfully. “You could be on the football team if you wanted to, you know! Why don’t you try?”

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not that quick on my feet.”

“Well, tell you what. They’re having a party at Hyunjin’s place right after—his parents are out of town. If you don’t feel like coming to the game, at least join us at the afterparty to loosen up a little—have a little fun.” She blew him a kiss and stood, throwing her purse over her shoulder and spotting you. You instinctively froze, bracing yourself for whatever slew of insults she had for you today, but all Hana did was beam and wave at you.

As she passed you by the door, she threw you a knowing wink. “Have fun on your little study date!”

Her words made your ears grow hot again, but to your surprise, there was no trace of venom in her voice — only a lighthearted teasing, as if she had been your friend all along. Hana really did look sweet when she smiled genuinely, and you could see why she had so many people easily wrapped around her finger. Maybe people do change. Or she’s just in a good mood. Before you could shrug and turn away, you sensed Minho’s presence behind you and yelped.

He held his hands up in mock surrender, and you could swear he was suppressing a laugh. “Here to work on your project again?”

Hana’s strange exchange with you on her way out had left your mind reeling, and you scrambled to form coherent sentences. “No, I, um—I actually finished it last night. I just…” Thought I’d just drop by to say hi. But your pride turned the words to mush before they had even formed, and you ended up trailing off awkwardly.

“Really?” There was a flash of disappointment in his face, then Minho’s gaze landed on the book-borrowing register on the front desk. “Right—your book is due today. Did you want to return it?”

Your eyes widened, silently cursing at your own forgetfulness. “Um—yes,” you lied, pretending to search in your bag before giving an awkward laugh. “Yep. I think it’s in my locker—let me go get it.”

After jogging to the other side of the school, you flung open the bottom locker, making another mental note to replace your missing lock. Still catching your breath, your hand sifted through the notes and textbooks before coming up empty. Where is it? You could swear you remembered putting it there, unless—

Breath catching in your throat, you shut the locker with a mortified bang. The English classroom. You practically sprinted down the hallways, earning another dirty look from the janitor as you raced past. Bang Chan looked up in alarm when you nearly crashed into the English classroom door. The entire room was empty, save for the class president, who looked like he was helping to file the teacher’s papers.

“Where’s the fire?” He asked jokingly as your eyes frantically raked the room.

“Have you—seen a book, by any chance? 100 Love Sonnets. Pablo Neruda.”

Chan frowned. “We shelve all the books after class, and if it’s one we don’t recognize, we keep it until the students come back in the morning.” He shrugged. “I don’t remember seeing anything.”

Your heart sank, and you saw the corners of Chan’s mouth lift bemusedly.

“What’s the hurry, anyway? I thought you hated love po—”

With a groan of frustration, you left the baffled class president staring after you as you turned on your heel and back into the hallway. Your mind was racing, panic making your ears buzz. The love letter’s in there. Where the hell did I put it? You sprinted to the Sunshine Coffee Shoppe next, but only got an apologetic shrug from Jeongin even after you’d scoured every nook and cranny of the diner. The sun was already beginning to set as you trudged, defeated, back to the school. Spotting the library’s dim windows in the distance, you wrestled with your options — if it weren’t for that cursed love letter, you could’ve probably just told Minho you’d misplaced it. But now the book—along with everything you’d never dared to tell anyone, crammed onto a sheet of notebook paper—could be anywhere, and there was no way in hell you were going to stop looking until you found it. Heart heavy with dread, you did a full 180 and began walking home.

It was no use. You’d practically pulled an all-nighter tearing your room apart searching for the book— and then, the better part of the following day running around town. But no matter where you looked—the record shop, Blockbuster’s, or even the laundromat—you came up empty.

It’s like it’s disappeared entirely, you thought as the lunch ladies piled your tray with a few sad-looking burritos. The cafeteria was buzzing with teenagers jittery with caffeine and sugar, and you had to duck as a boy chucked an apple at another across the room. You passed the cheerleaders’ table, trying to avoid eye contact, but their giggly conversation carried over the chaotic commotion.

“Did you see how cute Hyunjin looked today on the field?”

“Are you sure he doesn’t have a girlfriend? Maybe Hana can talk to him for us—if he doesn’t fall for her first.” The blonde cheerleader that had spoken nudged the older girl insistently.

“Me?” There was a smile in Hana’s voice. You could feel her eyes on you as she mused, “Oh, I don’t know, Hyunjin’s not my type. I much prefer boys with—how should I put it—catlike eyes, silver spectacles, and long fingers perfect for turning dusty pages…” She clasped her hands together in mock adoration, and her friends erupted in giggles.

“What the hell was that? Sounds like a cheesy love poem.”

You had frozen stiff as soon as she had uttered the words, stunned eyes finding Hana’s only a couple feet away. She gave you a winning smile—the same one you’d deemed friendly just a couple days ago—and winked.

“Give me my book back.”

You pulled her aside after the last bell had rung, voice shaking. Hana only tilted her head innocently, eyes round as a puppy’s. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Before you could spit a biting retort back at her, the taller cheerleader tapped her chin thoughtfully with one bejewelled nail. “But I might think harder if...I got a little something in return.”

You grit your teeth. “What do you want?”

“Make your librarian boy come to Hwang Hyunjin’s party as my date,” Hana beamed, “and tell the office you want to change your locker.”

“You’re crazy,” you blurted, and her face immediately darkened. Dropping her voice, she leaned in closer, until her voice was right beside your ear.

“Oh, I can be even crazier. What would happen if I made copies of this little letter on Monday, hm? Or published it in the school paper for everyone to read? I’m sure Han Jisung would love that—”

Your eyes trailed down to the slip of paper she’d pulled out of her purse, the sight of your own familiar handwriting making panic surge through your veins like ice. Snatching it from her hand, you quickly began tearing it apart before noticing the calm smirk on Hana’s face.

“Photocopy, silly,” she giggled in a sing-song voice as you peered more closely at the shredded pieces, hands shaking. “Oh, all right, don’t cry. If you want the original so badly…” she leaned in again, cruel smile on her lips. “Then you might want to look in the library.”

Eyes widening, you immediately pushed her away and bolted for the stairs. “Don’t forget the deal! Thursday night,” Hana called after you, and you broke into a run.

Most of the classrooms were already empty, their dark windows reflecting your own face back at you as you hurtled past them. Your heart pounded in your chest as the library finally came into view at the end of the hallway, but you nearly came to a screeching halt when you saw that the lights had been turned off. Had Minho gone home early? Chewing your lip anxiously, you peered past the plexiglass. Aisles empty, books all shelved neatly, chairs stacked. The library was quiet as a tomb. Desperately, you tried the knob—and to your surprise, the door creaked open. Maybe he forgot to lock it. You had nothing to lose. Holding your breath, you slipped in.

Even the faint click of the door closing again sounded deafening. You rifled through the front desk first, dropping to a crouch as you inspected the carts and borrowing-bin. To your dismay, they were all empty—they must have all been re-shelved already. Heart sinking, you began tip-toeing through the shelves, fingers trembling as they ran over the laminated Dewey Decimal labels. Please, please, please…

You reached the poetry section at the back of the library, eyes squinting to try and read the spines of the books under shrouds of shadows. Poets— Nash. Naidu. Nemerov…

“Neruda,” you gasped, eyes falling on the book you had practically gone through hell searching for. 100 Love Sonnets. Almost sobbing in sheer relief, you reached out to grab it—just as another hand shot out from beside you. Your yelp of surprise broke the still, dim quiet, and you didn’t have to look up to know who the warm, pale fingers belonged to.

“Care to explain what you’re doing here?”

Spectacles glinting under the twilight, one hand in his pocket, nonchalant as ever, was the boy that had gotten you into this mess. Lee Minho.

As you stared back at him, mouth slightly agape, you felt as though your entire world was balancing precariously over a yawning abyss— as if one wrong move would send everything you’d spent the last two months—no, the last four years—repatching. You swallowed hard. His hand had landed a split-second later than yours, holding both you and the book in place, and you tried to ignore the feeling of his warm fingers on your chilled skin. Forcefully, you yanked the book from the shelves and out of his grasp. “The—book. I-I realised I still needed it for the project. It’s due this Friday, you know.”

He raised his eyebrows, unconvinced. “Today’s only Wednesday. Why not come back tomorrow morning?”

Shit. “I, um, promised Lia I’d go with her to the game tomorrow,” you fibbed, flipping through the book quickly, ready to grab any stray piece of paper that flew out. Nothing. “So I—need to finish the assignment today. Could you renew it for me?” Trying to plaster on an unbothered smile, you flipped through the book again. Still nothing. Had Hana lied to you?

In your peripheral, you saw Minho slowly shift his weight, crossing his arms as he mused, “Well, I’m not too sure about that. We’re getting...careful about letting students borrow books for too long. People tend to leave some...strange things in them.”

Your eyes snapped up, fingers freezing on the fluttering pages. “What—then did you—see anything? S-strange, I mean.”

A flicker of amusement passed through Minho’s eyes, and then it was gone. He cleared his throat, humming thoughtfully. “Why? Do you have something in mind?”

The strange intensity of his gaze seemed to corner you into the shadows, and you swore your heart was pounding so hard it seemed to echo through the room. “Nothing,” you stammered, throwing your hands up in exasperation, “I mean, I just—accidentally left—” Kill me now. You shook your head rapidly. “N-nevermind. I’m heading home.”

“Y/N—”

“Oh, one more thing.” You turned, remembering Hana’s sly words to you back in the stairwell. “You’re invited to Hwang Hyunjin’s party, after the game on Thursday.” Then, hoping you sounded more convincing than you felt, “Hana’s really counting on you to be her date.”

Minho chuckled. “You know I go to parties as often as you do.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no malice in his words, only that same, airy indifference Minho always carried himself with. “Please? Hana—I mean, it would make her really happy if you went.”

“Would you be happy?”

The strange question caught you off guard, making you look up again. Minho was no longer smiling. His hand was still resting lightly over the missing space the book had left on the shelf, and his expression looked strangely lost under the twilit sky.

“Would it make you happy if I went?” He repeated, and you felt your mouth go dry.

Make your librarian boy come to Hwang Hyunjin’s party, and I won’t publish your little love letter for everyone to see on Monday. You nodded firmly, laughing in an attempt to ease the strange atmosphere that had settled over the two of you once again. “Y-yeah. Ecstatic.”

You turned on your heel, breath leaving your lips in a shaky sigh. If the poem wasn’t in the book, where on earth could it be? Option one: It had fallen out somewhere along the way, and hadn’t fallen into anyone’s hands. The best case scenario. Option two: Hana had been playing with you again, and she had had the original all along. Option three…

“By the way, Hana told me not to give this to you.”

You whirled around in surprise, and your eyes landed on a horribly familiar piece of notebook paper dangling from Minho’s fingers. Option three, damn it all. Mortified, you snatched it from his hand, crumpling it into your fist as he laughed lightly.

“It’s a very good poem.”

“Shut up, Lee Minho,” you wailed, wishing the ground would just swallow you up and bury you six feet under for all of eternity. “It’s a cheesy, cliché wreck.”

He hummed in amusement. “What were you writing about?”

Paralyzed, your eyes flickered towards the window before sputtering, “The—sunset. Figurative approach, you know? Emily Dickinson-inspired—”

“Mm. Then what was that quote about—” He tilted his head in thought, fingers snapping. “Catlike eyes, silver spectacles, and long—” He stopped when you plugged your ears instinctively, eyes glowering at him in disbelief. If looks could kill, Minho was sure he’d now have died more times than the characters in a Shakespearean tragedy. “—was that about the sunset, too?”

“Of course,” you snapped, your voice a tad too pitchy for your liking. Damn Lee Minho and his knack for memorizing things. “Haven’t you ever heard of extended metaphors? Rest assured, Lee Minho—I will never, ever, ever—have feelings for you.” You crumpled the sheet of poetry into a ball as you spoke with a note of finality, jamming it into your back pocket for good riddance.

Minho looked unfazed, the light curve of a knowing smile playing on his lips. After a moment, he took a step towards you, making you stumble back in alarm. “‘You can cut all the flowers,” he mused, glancing down at the crumpled love letter, “‘but you cannot stop spring from coming.’”

“Wh-wha—”

“Neruda quote. Tell me if I’m making you uncomfortable, and I’ll stop,” he murmured, eyes growing serious for a moment before his lips twitched with mirth, “but something tells me I deserve to hear more about that sunset from your poem.”

Gulping, you felt hot tears brimming in your eyes, and suddenly wished you were anywhere but here. This confrontation had been your worst nightmare, what you had always wanted to avoid. Your pride’ll be the end of you, y/n, you remembered Lia remarking when you’d sworn up and down that your feelings for Lee Minho were a thing of the past. And it was true—your pride had always gotten the better of you. You were a hypocrite, and a terrible one at that—always telling yourself you had gotten over that stupid, ninth-grade heartbreak, before unravelling into a nervous mess whenever Minho so much as threw a glance at you. And now, you could feel everything you’d feebly repressed for the last four years caving in. Crashing down on you like an avalanche of cheap supermarket chocolates.

“It was about you. You, alright?” You hissed, voice coming out more wounded, rather than venomous like you’d intended. “There. Are you happy now?” You were glad the shadows hid the humiliated tears beginning to roll down your cheeks, and wiped at your eyes furiously. Damn it all. So much for not crying.

“Then why didn’t you—”

“Say anything?” You breathed a short laugh. “Because I didn’t want to see you just throw it out again, okay?”

The silence that met your words was deafening, and when you finally mustered the courage to lift your gaze you saw that Minho’s look of disbelief mirrored your own.

“'Again?'”

Damn Lee Minho and his two-faced ass. Had he already forgotten? “In ninth grade. I left you a—stupid love letter in your locker, with all your other Valentines. Then I s-saw you throwing them all out, behind the school.”

“But I read every name on the cards,” Minho insisted, running a hand through his tousled hair. I left you—a stupid love letter in your locker. Your words sent his head spinning, and he felt his flustered cheeks heat up as he mumbled, “I’ve never—seen yours on any of them.”

Now it was your turn to blink in confusion. Minho’s brow furrowed in vague recollection. “But I did see Hana pulling an envelope out from my locker that day. She said that—she’d heard someone had been sending chain mail on Valentine’s Day, so she was helping the principal clean them up from people’s lockers.”

Hana? Your mind flashed to the missing locks, and the cheerleader that always seemed to be hanging around your locker, and suddenly everything dawned on you. “What did the envelope look like?”

“A corner store card. With—”

“Candy hearts. Right.” You muttered, watching Minho nod slowly. Your anger faltered slightly, feeling a slight shame wash over you, but you weren’t willing to give up just yet. “That still doesn’t explain why you dump out all the gifts you get every year.”

He sighed. “Look. Why would I keep love letters from people I don’t like? That’s just...narcissistic. And I don’t...like chocolate, either,” he added as an afterthought, and you couldn’t help exhaling a short laugh at his ridiculously blunt sentence. Another silence fell between the two of you, the angry tension in the air replaced with an almost childish awkwardness.

“I really did like the poem,” Minho spoke tentatively after what felt like an eternity, and you buried your head in your hands.

“Shut up, Lee Minho, oh my g—”

“And I wouldn’t have thrown it out.” The soft edge to his voice made you stop, peeking out of your fingers to look at him questioningly.

“Why not?” You asked, swallowing hard. “You said keeping letters from someone you don’t like would be narcissistic.”

He was barely a foot away, and the sheer proximity of his face from yours made your stomach flop—with irritation or butterflies, you weren’t sure you wanted to find out. Nonetheless, a tiny voice at the back of your head told you that you were heading towards the latter.

“You know, for someone who reads so many books, you sure are dense,” Minho murmured, shaking his head.

“Wh—”

“I throw out all my Valentines every year because I never see your name on them, alright?” His expression was as careless as ever—that cool, calm facade he wore like a suit of armour—but you didn’t miss the slight tremor in his voice, the flicker of apprehension in his eyes. Lee Minho, you realized with a jolt, was nervous. “I...only ever wanted to receive one from you.”

Your eyes widened, hands lowering from your face in shock. The book tumbled from under your arm to the ground. “But—Hana always told me about how much you hated me.”

“Hmm.” He dropped down to pick it up before fixing his piercing eyes on yours. “Funny. She’s been telling me the same about you. How you’re a two-faced, back-stabbing...such-and-such,” he smiled at the indignant look on your face before his face grew serious. “You’ve always let people walk all over you, and you never retaliate. It’s both admirable and frustrating to watch.”

“I’m not good at confrontation,” you mumbled, still shifting your weight from one leg to the other nervously. “Every time I think I’ve finally got the guts to try and say something back, I...I get all terrified that the words’ll jumble up and I-I’ll start to cry like an idiot again—”

“You’re not an idiot,” he interrupted sternly, “You’re probably more clever—and genuine—than everyone in our grade combined. Your thesis was brilliant.”

You snorted incredulously. “Then why did you keep attacking it every class?”

“It was the only time I could get you to talk to me.”

“Weirdo,” you muttered, but you couldn’t find it in you to make the word sound insulting anymore. Minho chuckled, hand grazing yours as he handed the book back to you. You didn’t move your hand away, and neither did he.

“It is weird. I must be out of my mind. Whenever you look at me, it’s like the whole world stops, and suddenly every cheesy line of poetry I’ve ever read just seems to make sense.”

Your heart was pounding so hard you were more than certain Minho could hear it. The way he was looking at you was nearly overwhelming, stomach fluttering with a feeling so strange and foreign it terrified you. Never in your wildest dreams had you thought that you would be here, in this delicate, unreal moment, and you felt all your insecurities threatening to swallow you up again. Out of everyone in the school, he likes you? A voice snickered at the back of your mind. Don’t kid yourself.

Shrinking away, you mumbled, “Y-you—don’t have to say stuff like that, you know. I mean, i-if you feel bad because of the letter and everything, you don’t have to pretend you lik—”

There was a flash of an exasperated smile on Minho’s lips. Before you could finish, his hand reached to pull your chin towards him again, and suddenly his mouth was pressed flush to yours. You froze, lips parting in surprise, but the kiss was light—barely even a brush of soft skin, and bringing with it the faint scent of vanilla and old books. Minho pulled away almost as quickly as he’d pulled you in, stammering, “I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

That seemed to send what was left of your hesitation crumbling into dust. You grabbed the collar of his dress shirt to pull him back in, and the library fell silent again.

Minho kissed the way he talked—soft but firm, and always leaving you struggling to catch your breath. Each touch had the growing intensity of something long overdue, starting out careful—as though you were treading over the newly shattered, four-year-old misunderstandings of one another—before your hands instinctively tangled in his hair and Minho pulled you in impossibly closer. You could feel his heartbeat pressed against yours, the crumpled poem and Neruda’s sonnets long forgotten on the carpeted ground.

The click of the library door opening sent the two of you flying apart, Minho hitting his head on the shelf with a comical thud. The kiss left you dazed and out of breath, and Minho’s face was flushed as both of you whipped around to see a livid Hana at the front of the library. Mouth opening and closing in silent fury, she shot you a death glare before storming out the door, leaving both you and Minho blinking after her.

Several moments passed, the whiplash of the unexpected interruption having sent both of your heads reeling. Then, the two of you broke into stunned laughter, slowly sliding down to the carpet as you doubled over in giggles.

When you finally stopped laughing at the ridiculousness of it all, Minho’s gaze was fixed fondly on your face. You poked his cheek. “You’re blushing, asshole.”

He didn’t respond, eyes falling to your lips again, and you felt your own face flush. “W-what?”

Minho grinned. “And you have drool on your chin again.”

“Hey, Minho! Minho, you won’t believe this!”

That enthusiastic voice belonged to none other than Han Jisung—voice of Levanter High’s morning announcements, and notorious school gossip. He hurtled down the bustling hall towards you and Minho, hunching over with his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

“Shit, ‘sung—did you kill somebody?”

The dark-haired boy shook his head rapidly. “Did you see the school newspaper?”

Your mouth went dry, Hana’s lingering threats still ringing clear in your ears. Jisung continued excitedly, “Two people submitted anonymous love poems over the weekend—at the same time! Can you believe it? I’m supposed to cover it on the announcements in a bit!”

Two? You peered at Minho, who hadn’t looked at you, and glimpsed a knowing glint in his eyes. “W-who submitted them?”

“Well, Lee Hana was handing out copies of the first one to everyone first thing this morning. But when I showed her the other one, she refused to tell me who the first belonged to.” He pouted.

Minho looked like he was trying hard not to laugh. “Do you have a copy of the paper, ‘sung?”

The dark-haired boy grinned. “Yeah, ‘course! You guys can have mine. See ya!”

As Jisung disappeared into the crowd of students, you turned back to Minho. He had been in the middle of putting a new lock on your locker, and was now setting the combination on his own. “They’re matching,” he’d pointed out when you’d gone into town together to buy them, and you’d groaned.

“Gro-oss.” The old, PDA-hating you would have probably thrown them away on the spot, but now the sight made you smile like a dork. If you can’t beat em, join ‘em.

You looked down to read the papers Jisung had deposited into your hands. Sure enough, on the left column, you spotted a photocopy of your own love letter. But on the right, there was a completely new one—and you had a sneaking suspicion you knew who the anonymous writer was.

“You know, Minho,” you deadpanned, “I don’t think either of us are cut out to be poets.”

“I stayed up all night writing that love letter, you know!” Minho exclaimed indignantly, and you just shook your head laughing. “But you’re right. I could feel Neruda turning in his grave.”

“You’re going to be the end of me, Lee Minho.”

His face broke into a mischievous grin at that, pinning you playfully to the lockers and stealing another kiss as you yelped in surprise.

“Can it be a happy ending?”

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wooahaes · 2 years

Text

lonely hearts club [pt.2]

pairing: non-idol!wonwoo x chubby!fem!reader

word count: 3.0k~

warnings: [see masterlist for an overview] specific-ish clothing mention for reader (dress with sunflowers on it), passing food mention.

daisy’s notes: wonwoo pining kinda hard. somebody help this man. also sorry for doing what i literally hate writers doing when they write lit majors and defaulting to classic lit/p&p for the passing book mention in this chapter. i’m legit an english major and there’s so many other books i could have grabbed.

summary: With graduation fast approaching, Wonwoo only meant to vent about his feelings to an anonymous Twitter account known for giving people a space to vent and an anonymous way to express themselves. What happens when the person he has feelings for is the same person behind the account... and the same person who thinks he’s in love with their best friend?

< prev || masterlist || next >

Wonwoo had covered Mingyu’s shift because of a surprise exam that he needed to prepare for tomorrow morning. It’d be fine--Wonwoo could always use the money--but Mondays were typically slow. Mingyu could have brought his textbooks and studied if he truly wanted, since this one had been a written exam rather than a practical one (preparing dishes was always fun for Wonwoo, to be honest--the food always tasted good even if Mingyu messed something up), but Wonwoo understood. He needed the space to buckle down and focus, and the store wasn’t the ideal place for some people to do that. He’d brought in his own books since he’d yet to finish the reading for one of his literature classes, but people were different and Wonwoo had only been reading while no one was in the shop. He had other things he needed to do (sweeping, organizing things, adjusting displays), sure, but at the moment it was reading time. His thick stack of bright blue sticky notes sat next to him, pen in hand as he idly drummed his fingers against the counter while reading. If he had something he needed to note, he’d jot it down and press the sticky into the pages before he’d move on. That was how Wonwoo spent most of his days working in the shop: reading when he could get away with it and doing work as it needed to be done. Whenever someone came in, he’d tuck it away and greet them kindly before checking in on them if they were taking a while and needed the assistance.

The door chimed, and in walked you, and suddenly Wonwoo was glad that Mingyu asked him to cover for him over someone like Seungcheol or Vernon.

He greeted you politely enough, ignoring the way his heart had picked up slightly. You greeted him in turn, and then walked off to explore the little shop. While it was mainly a record store with boxes filled to the brim with records both old and new, that wasn’t all it had. There were posters lined up against the far wall, a wall of t-shirts that had pretty much all their sizes kept in the back for floor space issues, some figurines, and a small display by the counter of CDs made by local artists. He’d seen a few things by Jihoon (under his stage name, but pretty much everyone in Jihoon’s friend circle knew about that and his Soundcloud) there, alongside something from Vernon once or twice. The whole deal was that any money made off of selling them went almost entirely to the artist with the exception of a tiny fee that was purely there as a thanks for housing their work (his boss had been a musician in his own youth and decided to support local artists as much as he could).

You’d taken interest in the t-shirts, though, and the fact you were really standing right there made Wonwoo’s fingers itch to grab his phone and text Mingyu. He didn’t know that you were into records, but you hadn’t stopped to actually look at any of them past an idle flipping through and looking at cover art. Not the serious interest in any of them, except for maybe the way you’d raise your brows at seeing something you recognized. There was no shame in that at all--not everyone was into collecting or playing records, and the shop did have its other things. But... You were wearing the cute black sunflower dress again. It brushed your mid-thigh and you always looked so damn radiant when you wore it, Wonwoo swore he couldn’t think straight.

Fuck, he really should just talk to you, right?

While you were preoccupied with looking through the shirts, Wonwoo pulled out his phone. He’d help you the moment you spoke up, but he needed to tell someone, and that someone was Mingyu.

wonwoo: she’s here.

mingyu: she?

mingyu: wait.

The sound of your voice carrying across the room made him click his phone off immediately and head out from behind the counter to you. He shoved his phone into his pocket after turning it onto silent, knowing that Mingyu would likely be blowing it up with further texts considering the initial cryptic one. Wonwoo could explain later: work (and, technically right then, you) took priority.

“Do you have any of these,” you pointed up at a Queen t-shirt, “or is this just for display?”

“They’re in the back,” Wonwoo said, hoping his tone sounded even and cool and not a dead giveaway that he was fluttering inside. “Do you want me to get one?”

You nodded, rattling off your size with an ounce of hesitation, and Wonwoo promised to be back in a moment. It was easy enough to find the shit itself--thank fuck the store stayed stocked with unisex sizes that went up higher than what most stores would probably keep. Even if it was sometimes for smaller people wanting a big shirt for fashion or for sleep, it was comforting to know that certain people could shop there. He checked his phone, saw where Mingyu had mentioned you by name, and shot back a quick text that yes, you were there, and he was talking to you, now shush and let him go back to helping you.

When he found you again, you were looking at a David Bowie poster with some intrigue. He watched you glance over at the price and then cringe slightly since the t-shirt itself would cost at least 30,000 won, if not more. He could see you debate it a little further. Even if you did decide to get it... maybe Wonwoo could give you a little discount. Just this once.

“Do you want this one, too?” He asked as he approached, shirt in hand.

You looked up with a hum, before rocking on your heels slightly. “It’s a little...” You paused, and then nodded. “Actually, yeah. I think I’m gonna treat myself,” you giggled.

He was still going to give you the damn discount because, fuck, you were even cuter outside of class. How was this fair?

He helped ring you up soon enough, hands fumbling with the keys as he had to input one of the prices manually. He’d give you his employee discount in a minute once his heart stopped racing. Even with the counter separating the two of you, he swore that you put some sort of spell on him.

“It’s Wonwoo, right?”

His heart damn near stopped at hearing you say his name. This didn’t feel real. Was he dying? Was this how crushes were supposed to make you feel? He’d read about love plenty of times, but he thought at least some of it was hammed up for writing. Instead, he spent the past few years slowly falling for you and now he was a mess when you were around. How was that fair?

He looked up, hoping that he wasn’t blushing or anything as he glanced down at the flimsy nametag attached to the breast pocket of his jacket. Then he nodded. “You’re in my literature classes.”

You introduced yourself by name, as if he wouldn’t already know it considering he’d known you for years at this point. “But,” you said with a smile, “my friends just call me Sunny.”

Maybe you did it because you weren’t meeting as classmates that time, but as two people existing in a little bubble together. Or maybe you’d thought he’d forgotten your name because he almost never used it since your conversations were always on-on-one, so he never really had to grab your attention. He never tried otherwise, his own tongue-tied feelings getting the better of him whenever he even considered talking to you outside of class.

“Like... sunflowers?” He asked, and then kicked himself internally for that. Did he sound stupid? He felt silly again, even after what that Twitter account told him...

You just giggled, no harsh judgment evident on your face. “Yeah! That was my friend’s idea,” you said, toying with the skirt of your dress, rocking on your heels again. “We were online friends for a while, and when we met up, I told him I was wearing the sweater with a sunflower on it. He called out “hey, Sunny!” and I’ve just been Sunny ever since.”

He smiled. Cute. It fit you.

“So you’re a literature major too, right?” You leaned against the counter. “I mean, we’ve had a lot of classes together, so I just assumed...”

You did remember him. He nodded nonetheless, acting as casual as a guy with a hardcore crush on you could. “With a creative writing minor.”

“Oooh, fun!” You beamed. “I’m glad we have classes together.” Another heartbeat skipped. “You’re one of the few people I know who has really good takes. Otherwise there’s people like that one freshman who kept trying to say that Lizzie Bennett was a stuck-up bitch who didn’t deserve anything?”

Wonwoo rolled his eyes. He remembered that guy perfectly. He’d dropped the major pretty early, if he recalled.

“See!” You said. “It was so weird! Jiyoung shut him down pretty hard.” You huffed, “I mean... Literature is open to interpretation, but the guy refused to listen to anyone else. He just kept being misogynistic about it and acting like Darcy didn’t have his flaws.”

Wonwoo just kept smiling and nodding along. He liked the sound of your voice, to be honest, Besides, he needed to punch in the number for the poster manually after slipping up the first time. “She’s smart,” he said after a moment. “Jiyoung, I mean. Aren’t you two friends?”

“Mmhm! And roommates,” you drummed your fingers against the wooden countertop, looking over at the small display of local artists’ CDs. “Y’know... I really like having people to discuss books with,” you said. “Do you have something I can write on?”

Wonwoo looked up, realization hitting him about what was happening. He nodded, reaching for the thankfully blank stack of sticky notes before sliding it and a pen across to you.

“I think we should hang out sometime,” you said, jotting down your number and your nickname. He watched you draw a little flower next to it, “Maybe we can talk about books?”

He nearly missed the button again to confirm applying his discount to it. “Hm?”

You looked up, realizing how forward you were being. “I mean, unless you don’t want to--”

“No!” He said quickly, immediately realizing how he came off. He didn’t want you to think he didn’t like talking to you when he was merely shocked you’d taken that first step. He calmed down, panic quelling. “I’d like that,” he said. You slid the sticky note back to him, and he laid the stack on top of his book.

When he finished ringing you up, he noticed the cute look of surprise when the price was less than you expected. But you handed over your card, letting him run it as he was bagging up your shirt.

“Text me sometime,” you said as you took the paper bag from him, fingers brushing against his for a second. “Okay?”

He nodded. “I will. Thank you.”

And then he watched you leave, the framed poster in your arms and t-shirt in the bag dangling from your fingers. He watched you disappear down the street, and suddenly Wonwoo felt like he could breathe again without worrying how you’d interpret it. Seeing you in class already felt hard enough sometimes, especially when he actually had something he wanted to say--but you coming into his work? And acting just as lovely as you did in class? His heart was still racing, coming down from that high of seeing you in that pretty dress again and hearing your sweet voice...

Mingyu had texted him again. Wonwoo said he got your number--that you specifically gave it to him--and that maybe things weren’t so one-sided after all. He wasn’t about to get his hopes up, but...

.. Still. That had to mean something, right?

Wonwoo texted you that night. You’d been busy hanging up the poster in your room with Jiyoung’s help. Admittedly, you hadn’t listened to everything by Bowie yet, but you’d have to do it. Just in case Wonwoo asked. You liked the poster, though, and it fit in with the rest of your belongings, so it was a worthy impulse buy. When you checked the receipt later, you noticed a discount that... you didn’t think you could apply for? It was unlabeled, sure, but you’d never shopped there before--so unlike Wonwoo knew that and was giving you some sort of first timer’s discount, you weren’t sure what it was. Truthfully, you weren’t going to question it: it cut down a small amount of the price and you were able to stop and treat yourself with your favorite drink on your way home without feeling guilty over the extra spending, so it was all good.

The moment your phone went off, you practically lunged for it. It’d been an unknown number, but the text accompanying it quite literally mentioned being Wonwoo from class--and, for good measure to prove it’s him, he mentioned hoping that you liked both the poster and the t-shirt. You felt pretty secure in knowing that it was indeed Wonwoo.

“You seem excited,” Jiyoung said as she straightened the poster a little further. You glanced back at her, watching her take a little step back and purse her lips before going to adjust it again. “Who’s that?”

“Just a friend,” you hummed.

Jiyoung just smiled when she looked back at you. “Are you replacing us?”

“It’s not like that,” you waved her off. “He’s literally just a friend.”

She quirked a brow, “He?”

You rolled your eyes. People didn’t like you like that and she should know it. “You remember Wonwoo?”

“I know of him,” she smiled, heading over to sit on your desk chair. “The guy from class, right? When did you two start talking?”

“It’s a recent thing,” you said. “I happened to go to the record store he works at.” You’d mentioned the store earlier in the group chat, and you could see Jiyoung’s eyes light up in recognition--mostly because she’d been the one who teased you about how your personality seemed to boil down to books and pining half the time.

“He’s cute,” she said. “He seems smart, too. Like... he doesn’t talk that much, right?” When you hum in affirmation, she continued on, “but when he does, it’s usually really well thought out. Like he was saving his words to blow us all away.”

You nodded along. Maybe you’ll introduce them once you get a better feel for him, but if she’d already noticed that... there was hope for your plan, wasn’t there?

Jiyoung hopped back up, “I’m gonna go to the library first thing to print something for class, so I’m gonna head to sleep. Don’t stay up too late texting Wonwoo,” she teased.

You rolled your eyes and called out goodnight to her as she was leaving, and then immediately texted Junghoon to see if he was busy. When he wasn’t, you went straight for the call.

“I think this is going to work out.”

He let out a long sight. “Sunny.”

“No, really, I do!” You said. “I got his number, I was texting him, and I think Jiyoung is kinda interested in him...” You took a deep breath. “I’m not going to do anything right now, but he really seems like he’s Jiyoung’s type. He just needs some time to warm up a bit--”

“Sunny,” Junghoon repeats, and you can already hear annoyance laced into his voice. “I don’t know if you should meddle.”

“I just want them to be happy,” you admitted after a hurt moment of thinking to yourself. “I just... I get so many people in my DMs pining and being sad and this time I can actually do something about it. Do you remember the guy who wrote songs for his best friend?”

Junghoon said nothing. He did, because that one had been your breaking point. Every love song the guy wrote, he thought of them and it hurt to know that his best friend liked someone else.

“He even said he didn’t know if he could ever move on from these feelings because of how deeply rooted they were,” you looked off toward your window, frowning to yourself. “I don’t check on anyone for my own health, but... He was so upset about it.”

“I’m sure he’s okay now.”

“But you don’t know that,” your fingers curled into your first, nails biting into your skin. “I don’t know what happens to anyone I speak to through “lonely hearts.” This time I can.”

Junghoon took a deep breath. You could tell that he’d been thinking about this since yesterday, especially with his earlier doubts. “What if Jiyoung doesn’t actually want to date right now?”

“Then... I’ll have a new friend?”

“Is it really fair to him if you’re starting this because you have other motives?”

You didn’t know what to say to that. All you could do was just stand there, opening and closing your mouth as you grappled for the words to express how you felt. Was it fair? Maybe not. Wonwoo was nice, though. Wonwoo was smart and had good class discussions and all you needed was one good thing to make up for all the people you couldn’t actually help past a safe place to speak and an anonymous tweet to get their feelings out. Wonwoo deserved a happy ending just as much as every other person who came to you, and this was a way you could guarantee that. But maybe Junghoon had a point... If you were getting close to Wonwoo just because you wanted to push him to confess his feelings to Jiyoung, then maybe you didn’t have pure intentions in befriending him.

“Maybe it’s stupid,” you said after a moment.

“Sunny...” Junghoon sighed again. “I just don’t want you to get hurt if this doesn’t work out the way you think it will.”

“Why would I get hurt?”

A long pause, long enough you glanced at your screen to make sure the call wasn’t dropped. “Just... be careful,” Junghoon finally said. “I love you. Goodnight.”

And then he hung up, leaving you to stew in your thoughts further.

taglist: [ask to be added!] @yoongischeeksluv @rebelspy @mystiicturtle @hwashiningstar

#wooahaes.fic #seventeen imagine #seventeen x reader #seventeen x you #svt x reader #svt imagine #svt x you #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo x y/n #jeon wonwoo x reader #jeon wonwoo x you #wooahaes.lhc

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mimzy-writing-online · 3 years

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My Most Recent Chaotic Academia Nonsense

It's finals week, and instead of studying, I'm writing a tumblr post about the nonsense of my college education. Here we go:

I had a 7-8 page paper due that was worth 40% of my grade, and five days before it was due I scrapped what I had and started brand new with a completely different poem. (grade pending)

One of my classes has 5 essays for the semester but the lowest one gets dropped. The TA said I didn't have to take the last essay seriously if I was satisfied with my previous grades. So I submitted a "Spotify Wrapped, but make it Literature" of all the things I've read, written, and done related to school. Plus pictures of my cats.

The professor did not like this and asked that anyone who committed such nonsense submit a real essay.

Two days later at the lovely hour of 12 AM, the ghost of Emily Dickenson possessed my spirit and I punched out an essay doing a close reading of "613" and it was two pages, four paragraphs of feral feminist anger and it was so cathartic. I got an A.

(I titled the essay with a song lyric)

I wildly disagree with a different professor about what Dickenson is doing with her dashes. He argues that they induce moments of pause. I firmly insist they speed up the rate of the poem, demanding drama and emotion.

Essay 4 was supposed to be my throw-away essay actually. I was facing severe burnout and could not make myself focus enough to even pick a topic. So I told myself it just had to be something and it could suck, so long as there was something to submit. I had four hours left. Highest graded essay of the semester. wtf

I participated in a scavenger hunt at my school's library. Participated is a generous term. I followed my group while they did the clue-solving thing and I admired the library's architecture and felt tiny while wandering through the stacks and it was wonderful but also exhausting.

I wrote a 20 line speech for Ophelia that basically implies she was in on Hamlet's plot, deceiving Claudius and her father into believing Hamlet had gone mad with love so they would be distracted while Hamlet pondered his uncle's guilt and what to do. The speech was set after Hamlet murdered her father and was exploring her grief and guilt. I had soooo so much fun writing it and then I got to do a close reading of my speech and explain what little wording decisions meant.

I regularly send my best friend the most batshit quotes of what I'm reading and videos of me ranting about dead men.

After the semester he came to visit and we went to a local used bookstore. I got a book of Emily Dickenson poems and a book on T.S. Eliot, as if I hadn't gotten enough of them the two weeks prior.

Several months ago I went to the same bookstore and checked their poetry section for Calamus by Walt Whitman--but I forgot how to spell Whitman *insert upside-down smiley face* and kept searching for "Wittman" and getting frustrated. I didn't realize my mistake until I was walking home.

I went to an art museum with another blind friend and I described the art to him. I had some fun explanations of different works, especially the Picasso and Pollock paintings.

I forgot to check the weather while leaving to get to my final and did not bring an umbrella, so I walked 1.5 miles home in the rain at 10pm.

For that final, I had to identify and analyze texts I'd read this semester, and despite how much I deeply hate Alexander Pope, I spent a long time analyzing a sample of his writing.

I found out today that I have to read Pamela and Shamela for the third time next semester. Kill me.

You'd be surprised how many times you have to reread a work as an English major, or like read a different sample of the same work or author. And most of the time I find a new potential take or argument, some new idea or whatever. But it'd be really nice if I didn't have reread some of my least-faves.

But I finally got to read Alice in Wonderland! For all the references my character Anna makes to it, it's a surprise I hadn't read it sooner (reading it as a kid doesn't count anymore because I don't remember it).

None of my essays required an MLA works cited page??? What the fuck? Like, what?? How do you know I'm not making some of this shit up? Like, I write articles on the internet for funsies, I know how easy it is to just make something up and convince people to believe you. I don't do that, but I know I'm capable of it. Like, hiiiii big fancy university, what do you mean you don't care if I cite my sources??

I brewed sooo much tea at home. The Starbucks in my area don't make my favorite drink as well as the ones back home, and everywhere else does sweet tea and bubble tea and that's great but it's not for me.

I spent all that spare cash on cat toys, no joke.

And yes, my rough guestimate of how much tea I brewed was included in my "Spotify Wrapped, but make it Literature" thing.

#university #chaotic academia #dark academia #the semester is officially over #I saved this to my drafts to finish after finals #now I'm back home for a few days seeing family #and I miss my cats #oh and I got the grade back for that term paper I wrote in five days-#93 percent baby!#thank fuck because I did very poorly on the final for that class and the paper saved my grade

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eartht137 · 3 years

Text

FOR THE BETTER

Hello and greetings to anyone that gets to read this. It is my first story. I wanted to try and see how this was received before continuing so please feel free to let me know how you like it. Please be easy on me it is my first one I am new to this, but I hope you like it. Its a bit slow right now but I swear the chapters will get going as we go along on this ride together. Okay *curvies* love ya! Enjoy!

Dark Clark Kent x (Black)!Plus Size Reader

SUMMARY: (I suck at them but here goes) After working miserable unfulfilling jobs, you decide to go back to school to pursue your dream in writing. You get the very handsome, very smart Mr. Kent as your English/Literature Professor. You've always stayed to yourself preferring to have your alone time and focus on your writing. Mr. Kent comes in to shake that way of thinking up and its all with your best interest at heart (well his best interest at heart){Cheesy, am I right?}

"For the weekend's assignment. Something very simple, almost high school level. Don't complicate it." Mr. Kent said dragging his feet to tell you all what the stupid assignment was.

"Get to the point." You thought out loud as you rested your head in your hand. He glared at you for moment before continuing. You felt your face flush, because-'no way he heard me' you thought.

"I want you all to write me a paper on...one thing you like about yourself and why." He rushed out. "I want you all to be as genuine as possible, if you're going to be journalists you have to capture your audience. If you can sell yourself, then you can sell a story. If you're a snooze fest......I honestly don't know what to tell you" He chuckled

Everyone groaned because why???

"Due next Monday on the dot. NO EXCEPTIONS!" He belted. "If you don't have your paper on Monday, you will stand up and give a 5 minute speech on said topic."

'What kind of teenage topic is this?' You thought.

"Don't give me lip guys, you signed up for this. I didn't make you do anything." He said pointing at all of you. "No complaining. Monday! Class dismissed." He announced causing everyone to scatter. You were just about out the door when he stopped you.

"Y/n, can you stay back for bit?"

"Yeah sure." You immediately got nervous. You weren't used to being singled out, you always managed to stay below the radar. You'd figured out ways to stay out of sight out of mind after always being criticized by your family, so getting asked to stay back wasn't a normal thing. You braced yourself for the "you can do better speech" and hoped it wouldn't take too long. You watched as the room emptied and he gathered his stuff.

"Come on, lets step into my office." He said leading the way with his hands full. "Have a seat." he said motioning to the chair in front of his desk. you sat feeling butterflies in the pit of your stomach. Literally everyone would've given anything to be where you were. Mr. Kent was almost mythical. You didn't know a day where you didn't think 'DAMN that man know he fine!' And you knew he knew it.

"Bet you think I'm gonna talk about your grades." he chuckled. "While I do require your improvement,"

'Require?' you thought hoping your face didn't covey your attitude.

"I wanted to talk about something else."

"O-kay?"

"I've notice, you're very um...to yourself, is everything-"

'Oh there it is.'

"Mr. Kent, please don't analyze me. I am a whole different breed of human. I don't do people."

"I'm sorry?" he asked tilting his head.

"I just value my alone time. You can't have that with people."

"You can still have space with other people in your life." he said shaking his head at you.

"I didn't say space, I said alone time, and that's not the same. That's still with people. Like, no." you said crossing you arms.

He stared at your for a second, the he began to laugh, and rub his eyes. "You really are something."

"Mm-hmm its true."

"I'm just saying its healthy to get out and socialize every once and awhile, not all the time, I mean-don't you get lonely sometimes?

"No, not really. I mean don't give me wrong I'm human. I get the urge to hang out, then I do, then I remember why I didn't want to do it in the first place." you said realizing you were almost ranting. He eyed you as if he didn't believe you.

"I tell you what, I know you say you're fine, but for my sanity, can we be friends? You know just someone to check on you, make sure you're okay? If-if you hate it by the end of the week then I'll let it go."

"Mr. Kent, no offense, but why do you care? I mean, you have your own life, I'm sure you got a nice family you should be there for, so like....I'm gonna need a it all to make sense."

"Its mean, don't get me wrong I enjoy solitude too, and its not because I don't like people," he chuckled, "but I know what its like to sometimes need someone I could just talk to when I really needed it most and not having it. I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy. Its funny because it would always lead me home."

"Well that's the difference between you and me, there is no going back." you sighed. You contemplated it 'It couldn't hurt could it?' "Okay."

"Okay?"

"We can be friends." you resigned.

"Great!" he said clapping his hands together.

"Only til the end of the week." You said standing stretching. "So we good? Can I go?"

"Actually, what are you doing tonight? I mean, my ma is cooking dinner and-"

"Okay anything food related, I'm down." You cut him off.

"Good, well I'll pick you up at 6?"

"Yeah sure." You said trying to get away.

"Uh, Y/n?"

"Yes?" You asked sweetly.

"I'm going to need your address." He said knowing you knew he needed it.

You gave you your information and booked it out of there. You immediately went home and took a nap. The whole ordeal was a bit draining for you.

It was your phones constant vibrating that woke you out of a deep sleep. You let it ring a few more times before picking it up.

"What?" You groaned into the phone.

"Y/n are ready? I'm like 15 minutes away." Mr. Kent asked.

"Ready for what?"

"Food?"

"Food? Food! Oh shit!" You said jumping up remembering dinner plans. "I'll be ready when you get here." You said quickly hanging up and rushing to get ready. By the time you felt you looked decent enough, he called and told he was there. When you walked out to meet him, you saw his girlfriend was with him and you put on a small smile. 'Of course he has a girlfriend, why wouldn't he. Still a bummer though, oh well.' you thought to yourself as you walked toward them.

"Y/n this is Lois, Lois this is Y/n. Lois is one of the top editors at the Daily Planet." He bragged, and you immediately got nervous. You'd read her work and you'd give to be as good, even better at writing.

"It really is nice to meet you, Clark speaks very highly of you and your writing." she said smiling.

"Really? I mean writing is my passion, I'm aspiring to get at least in the door. I'm not an editor or professor, but I think I'm okay." You said realizing you were babbling on because of your anxiety.

"Be confident in your work. It shows when you really mean what you're writing about. It also shows when you're doubting yourself." She said smiling at you. You immediately liked her and hoped to get to know her for advice sometime. You all got in and they fell into easy chatter along the way. Every now and again they'd touch on a topic you'd find interesting or be excited about, and you'd really get into it, smiling and being expressive. You'd catch Clark staring at you, a bit shocked at how much you had to say after months of being so quiet, and you'd retreat like a turtle back into your shell. You tried to not enjoy being around them, but every now and again, you liked talking to people on your level. Every now and again, you'd get lost in the breeze of the night air. You'd look out and get lost looking at the stars and the moon out of the open window of the moving car. You get so lost you forgot the other two people in the car and you'd miss the glances Clark took at you through the rearview mirror. When you all arrived at his moms farm you practically gawked at all the land around. You driven by open field and corn fields, you'd never actually gotten to see it up close.

As you all got out, his mom stepped out and waved at you.

"Well, looks like we got extra family tonight." she said smiling. You immediately felt a bit awkward. "Oh dear don't be shy, any friend of Clark is family." She said pulling you into a big hug.

"Thank you for having me Mrs. Kent." You said smiling.

"No go on now you just call me Martha." she said smiling and leading you inside. "You two come along, you know the routine." She said waving Lois and Clark inside. Dinner was great, you even found yourself laughing out loud. It exhilarated you and scared you to have such a good time around other people. You almost, ALMOST, didn't want the night to end, but you missed your bed. As if reading your mind, Clark announced it was time to leave.

"Looks like someone is ready for bed." He chuckled.

"Yep, I miss my solitude." You said stretching. Clark shook his head at you.

"What?" You asked innocently.

You said your final farewells and got in the car heading home. The ride home was peaceful, there was a calm silence between you three and you smiled watching the love exchanges between the two. You could see how much he loved her and you could understand why, Lois was beautiful woman. Your mind jumped from reasons you weren't in a relationship, to the assignment Clark had given you for the weekend. One thing you like about yourself? That topic was always hard for you and you couldn't even begin to find the words to start. Over the years you'd tried hard to accept yourself, love yourself, and be who you were unapologetically, but the moment you got to the threshold of truly giving yourself a chance, all of the criticism, judgment, and years of being invalidated filled you with fear and dread and you'd go back to your shell and do what you did best. Stay in your own bubble. Tears stung your eyes as you tried to stomp down the voices of doubt and resentment, 'It's okay, I'm good, I do what I have to and I'm happy with it. I'm at peace.' you thought to yourself over and over.

"You okay?" Clarks deep voice full of concerned pulled you from your thoughts and you shook you head to bring yourself back to reality.

"Yeah, just trying to stay awake." you said avoiding his gaze. The ride continued in silence and you couldn't help but drift off. One moment you were letting the ride soothe you to sleep and the next you heard a voice cooing you to sleep.

"Shh shh shh it's okay" Clark whispered. You couldn't help but cover your eyes. You were in Clark's arms as he carried you to the apartment.

"Woah," you said trying to get out of his arms. He gently placed you on your feet like a flower.

"Hey, its okay, calm down." He said gently rubbing your arms.

"S-sorry, I've just never-"

"Had anyone carry you before." He said finishing your sentence. You shifted feeling a bit awkward.

"Well, thanks for dinner. Thanks Lois!" You waved at her before going to your door. "Goodnight." you said one last time as you got inside. During the weekend you were extremely restless and was finding it hard to concentrate long enough to work on your assignment. Even when you sat waiting for words to form in your mind you eventually got busy doing something different. The night before class, you had an idea pop in your head, and you decided to go for it. You just hoped it would all make sense, it was the only think your mind focused on.

#dark clark kent #x black reader #plus size reader #smut fic

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amazingphanisnotonfire-imagines · 3 years

Text

Maeve//i don't belong, and my beloved, neither do you

Request: Could you please do something else with Maeve? Perhaps something where reader works with Maeve on an English project and she's surprised that they have so much in common. She realizes she has feelings for her somehow after that? Sorry that's sort of rubbish, have a swell day/night.

hey! what’s up everybody! i hope everyone is well, and i hope you like this!! title is from ‘the lakes’ by taylor swift!

- English projects are never fun

- I mean, who finds constant stress and a deadline that’s always far too close fun?

- Nobody

- That’s who

- Well apart from Mrs Jones

- Your year 9 English teacher who made every minute of her classes a living hell

- And who mysteriously went missing half way through the year after having a screaming match with a fellow English teacher

- When she was supposed to be teaching you Romeo & Juliet.

- One day she was accusing Miss Newman of being a terrible teacher and purposefully bumping up students grades so she looked better

- And the next day both her and Miss Newman were gone

- And you only got a replacement teacher when you moved into year 10

- Right now though

- Its seems Miss Sands is going through some stuff

- Because not only did she give you an assignment on Friday with a deadline of Monday

- She also chose your partners instead of letting you choose your own

- Which is why you’re stood outside of Maeve’s in the pouring rain

- On a frankly miserable Saturday morning

- It seems the weather knew exactly what sort of weekend you were facing

- And decided to make it even worse.

- By the third knock

- You’re about to give up

- The curtains are still drawn

- And you’ve seen more movement in a graveyard

- Plus

- You kind of already assumed you would be doing the project alone

- Maeve Wiley was known for being very...

- ...independant

- And group projects are no different

- You actually think she may be more independent during group projects

- So as soon as Miss Sands paired you together

- You knew

- You were 99% sure that

- You’d do your thing

- She’d do hers

- And then five minutes before the presentation

- You would figure out a way to connect the two.

- Anywayyyy

- While daydreaming about a time when you won’t have any assignments

- And making awkward, accidental eye contact with Maeve’s neighbours

- The door in front of you opens

- Simultaneously giving you a fright and almost knocking you out

- She yawns and scratches the top of her head

- ‘what are you doing here?’

- She sounds both tired and annoyed and you blink at her a few times before answering

- ‘er - i - the project. for english.’

- It takes her a few seconds to process what you’ve said

- But when she does

- She looks even more miserable than she did five seconds ago

- And you brace yourself for a long weekend

- She sighs and rolls her eyes

- Before slowly opening the door properly and letting you in

- You feel slightly nervous as you walk in

- But you really have no idea why

- It’s not like she’s a complete stranger

- But then again

- She’s not exactly a friend

- ‘don’t worry, i’ve hidden the drugs. i don’t really like to share anyway.’

- ‘what?’ you ask confused and she rolls her eyes again

- She huffs and crosses her arms before nodding to the slightly messy living room

- ‘i get it. we’re a bunch of benefit fraud chavs that do nothing but drink and smoke all day.’

- ‘that’s not what i was thinkin-’

- ‘sure it wasn’t.’ she rolls her eyes and you stare down at the floor. ‘i need to get changed so make yourself at home I suppose.’

- She walks into what you assume is her bedroom and slams the door behind her

- Leaving you to stand awkwardly in the middle of the living room

- It’s small and slightly cramped

- And most people would say that all the stuff makes it look busy

- But to you

- It’s wonderful

- It’s filled with stories and memories

- Some self explanatory

- Some slightly more bizarre

- Like the wonky blue and yellow clay swan living on the coffee table

- You really want to know the story behind it

- But decide it might be a little early in your partnership to start asking about her attachment to a half swan, half moth looking ornament

- So instead you pick up a pile of books on the dining table and move them onto the floor

- You can hear Maeve opening and closing drawers while humming a familiar tune

- And you feel yourself relax slightly as you place your laptop and books where the books were previously sat

- Even if it does feel like you’re using all of your braincells to try and figure out where you’ve heard it before

- ‘wow, do you actually trust me around that?’

- ‘what?’ you stop humming and look up at her

- She looks between you and the laptop, staring at you expectantly

- ‘oh no. i mean of course i do.’ you blush and she shakes her head before sitting opposite you

- ‘so what do we know about women in fiction?’

- ‘historically they are written as either a femme fatalle type or some sort of innocent angelic being.’

- ‘they still are’

- ‘true’ you agree and flick through your textbook

- ‘why don’t we write about that then?’

- ‘what? how we’re still depressingly far back in the equality movement, despite being told otherwise?’

- She stares at you for a few seconds

- A mixture of shock and surprise

- Before nodding

- And smiling

- An actual genuine smile

- You didn’t even know she could do that

- Well you did

- Of course you did

- But you just haven’t seen it a lot

- Usually when you see Maeve

- She’s either mad, grumpy or very, very, very angry

- But her smiling

- Puts a smile on your face

- And this was definitely not where you thought this was going

- ‘yeah...that’

- ‘okay.’ you shrug. ‘you can do classic literature because i know you prefer them and i’ll cover modern works.’

- ‘how do you know i prefer classics?’

- ‘the pile of books’ you nod towards the floor and she follows your gaze, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. ‘they’re all ripped and folded. you either love them or really, really hate them’

- ‘okay’ she eyes you suspiciously as you focus on your laptop

- And you can feel your cheeks heat up under her gaze

- However as quickly as they were there

- They disappear

- And the two of you fall into a surprisingly comfortable silence.

- After about half an hour

- Maeve stops what she’s doing to stretch

- ‘is it okay if i play some music?’

- ‘sure, it’s your place. do what you want...as long as its not awful’

- ‘and what constitutes as awful?’ she asks, a smirk playing on her lips

- ‘well’

- And with that one question

- Your entire day disappears in front of you

- Laptops and books are closed and long forgotten

- And instead you talk about music and movies

- Books and plays

- Characters that you love and hate

- And the fact that her favourite character is the one you hate the most

- She makes you lunch while you debate between movies and books and which adaptations are good

- And which ones should never have been made

- And you clean up and apologise profusely after a stray cushion (possibly thrown by you) ends up knocking the pan over

- Surprisingly

- She finds it quite funny

- And you let out a relieved sigh

- Soon the sun goes down on another day

- And you’ve barely written two paragraphs done between you

- ‘do you want to stay?’ she asks while your putting your jacket on

- If she’d asked you that this morning

- You would have thought she had lost it

- But now it feels almost inevitable

- And you feel genuinely lucky to be asked

- Not many people get to know Maeve

- The real her

- And that last person she told all of this to broke her heart

- Very publicly

- And she told herself she would never let herself be that vulnerable with someone ever again

- But this just feels right

- For some reason you feel right

- She feels safe with you

- And part of her hates herself for it

- But then again

- She hates herself for not getting to know you sooner

- She feels far too attached to you

- And it’s barely been twelve hours

- You of course agree to stay

- Shocking yourself and her

- And while she sorts to sofa out

- You excuse yourself to the bathroom

- Under the pretences of telling your parents where you are

- It takes two seconds to text them

- And the other 28 to ask yourself

- What the fuck are you doing?

- Why are you agreeing to this?

- Why do you feel like this?

- What are you feeling?

- Who knows?

- Not you

- Great

- Now you’ve been in the bathroom for a suspicious amount of time

- Just get it together, Y/n

- It’s just a study sleepover

- Maeve gives you a questioning look as you leave

- ‘you know how mums are. always worrying about where you are and what you’re doing’

- ‘i wouldn’t actually’ she shrugs and your eyes widen

- ‘oh shit, sorry. i’m so sorry. god, i’m an idiot.’

- ‘it’s fine’ she forces a laugh and you wince. ‘i got you an extra duvet and little women is ready to watch so i can show you that the book is better’

- ‘that’s not what i said and you know it’

- ‘i’m sorry. i can’t hear you over the sound of me being 100% right and you being 100% wrong.’

- ‘you may be good at english, but you suck at maths’

- The next day you wake up to the sun shining through the curtains

- And a clump of Maeve’s hair in your mouth

- You splutter and cough and wake her up quickly

- And she jumps away from you and smacks her head of the table

- The two of you ended up moving the blankets to the floor while watching Pride and Prejudice

- And neither of you bothered to move back

- Maeve yawns and scratches her head

- Exposing a small part of her stomach and you feel yourself become a little breathless

- ‘are you okay?’

- ‘ye-yeah’ you nod and she eyes you suspiciously

- ‘whatever’ she shrugs and starts making breakfast

- You watch as she pours to bowls of cereal

- Giving you the last of the milk

- And for a second you’re a little worried as to how she knew you liked it

- But then you remember that she also likes it and you had a whole discussion about the best and worst types of cereal at 2am

- And half way through breakfast

- You remember the original reason you’re here

- And both of you curse loudly

- Before rushing to finish eating

-You get half way through your project

- When Maeve asks if you want to go out for a bit

- And well

- She doesn’t need to ask you twice

- And by the time you come back

- The feeling you had last night returns

- And has settled in your stomach

- For the foreseeable future it seems

- It makes you feel both light and heavy at the same time

- And when you look at her

- You feel dizzy

- So you rush to finish the project

- So you can go home and pretend nothing has changed

- And yeah

- With the need to leave

- You get the rest of the assignment done fairly quickly

- But you end up leaving feeling more confused about Maeve as you did when you started this

- Maybe Miss Sands was right about a weekend project

- Any longer and you would have gone insane trying to figure out whatever the hell this is

- You just have to get through tomorrow and then you’ll be okay

- Everything will go back to normal

- You and Maeve can go back to being neutral to each other

- And you won’t have to deal with all of these confusing feelings that have decided to make an appearance for some reason

- Wellll

- Turns out Miss Sands was wrong

- A weekend is not enough time

- And the first few presentations are awful

- To put it nicely

- So you spend the next week in a permanent confused state

- Confused as to why you start looking for Maeve whenever you enter a room

- Confused as to why your heart skips a beat whenever you hear her laugh

- Confused as to why you never want her stop talking in class

- Even if the bell has rung and it’s lunch

- Confused to why you keep looking for excuses to go over to see her

- Despite your assignment being long done

- And even more confused as to why you feel anxious when you’re waiting for her to answer the door

- The next Monday rolls around both painfully slowly and far too quickly

- And while you wait for Ola and Danny to finish their presentation

- Your hands shake with anxiety while your grip your papers

- Maeve reaches over the table and gives them a reassuring squeeze

- But it just makes them shake more and she slowly pulls back

- Your turn can’t come quick enough

- But then it’s over far too quickly

- And you slump back down in your seat disappointed

- Despite Miss Sands’ praise

- Because it’s over

- You no longer have an excuse to hang out with her

- You never talked before

- So why do you care about after

- But there’s so much about her that you want to know

- Like the weird swan/moth hybrid

- And the ugly plate that sits on top of the bookshelf

- You want to be part of these stories

- You want to be able to point to these things and say

- ‘yeah, i know exactly why that is special to you’

- You want to be the reason to add to this random collection of stuff

- You want her to smile when she looks at them because they’ll remind her of you

- You want her to smile when she looks at you

- ‘y/n? are you okay?’ she asks making you jump

- The classroom is now empty and you didn’t even notice the bell go

- ‘ye-yeah’ you nod and grab your bag

- ‘are you sure?’ she grabs your arm forcing you turn around

- ‘whats the weird swan thing on your coffee table?’ you ask and she furrows her eyebrows at you. ‘it’s just i saw it when i first came over and i really want to know the story behind it’

- ‘oh. aimee went through a pottery phase last year and that was the only thing she made that didn’t have a hole in it.’

- ‘and the plate?’

- ‘birthday present from my neighbours’

- ‘they got you a plate?’

- ‘yeah, they don’t have any kids’

- ‘clearly’

- Silence fills the room and you stare at the peeling posters behind her head

- You can feel Maeve move closer to you and your breath hitches when she stops a few centimetres in front of you

- She grabs your hand and squeezes it again

- And your heartbeat increases

- ‘y/n?’

- ‘yeah?’

- ‘i’m really, really confused right now. like more confused that i have ever been in my life. but what i do know, is that if i watch you walk out of that door without saying anything first, then i’d regret it for the rest of my life. i’ve only ever felt like this about boys before, but now i feel this and more about you and i have no idea where it’s come from or what i need to do, but i do know i need to tell you. because otherwise, it wouldn’t be fair for either of us’ she whispers and you stare at her wide eyed

- ‘can i kiss you?’ she asks and you nod your head quickly

- Slowly she leans in

- Her eye flutter closed and you follow

- Your lips brush over hers

- Her hands wrap around you waist to pull you close

- And then your lips connect

- And you feel everything change

- She kisses you slowly

- And when you pull away you both feel breathless

- Her cheeks are bright red

- And there’s a shy smile playing on her lips as she looks at you bashfully

- And all of a sudden you feel really grateful for Miss Sands and her personal issues

- Although you really hope they are resolved now

- For your sake as well as hers

support my writing! if you want!

#sex education #sex education imagine #maeve wiley #maeve wiley imagine #maeve wiley x reader

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eppysboys · 3 years

Note

hi eppy !! do you know how the boys were like as students? as in, their behavior and academic performance? i think i have a general idea lol but i just wanted to know if there is something else you know:))

Hi darling! I apologise for the lack of links to sources and ugly formatting, tumblr is being a bit silly and not allowing me to do anything?? Sorry about that!

George:

I think as clever as we know George was, his distaste for the institute was very strong. He was disappointed that the school's music programs didn't offer enough/any guitars, which was his primary love. His focus was on music/guitars completely. I remember reading he used to just draw guitars in his notebooks at school (he was smitten!)

"George, on the other hand, hated school and all the teachers, simply hated the Institute with a passion. He refused to work ("it's impossible to judge this boy's work because he hasn't done any" says one of his reports), he hated the dress code and deliberately wore as many colourful items as he could get away with under the uniform, transforming himself into the Institute's tiniest teen rebel, and he hated a lot of the other students. Paul's actual younger brother Michael, also at the Liverpool Institute at the time, comments: 'One of his new friends was George Harrison, who at this time was a bit of a joke at school because he wore his hair so long. And the more the kids laughed and jeered, the longer George let his hair grow. I think in the end he'd have let it grow below his knees if they hadn't all got fed up and left off jeering at him.'" (x)

John:

We know young John was a little bookworm, reading beyond his years and had a keen interest in art and writing in particular. He clearly had a lot of energy and when the subject didn't interest him he created mischief. He did end up failing his O levels by a few points, his interest in school just wasn't there.

1956 report card from Quarry Bank High School for Boys in Liverpool:

In art college John was much the same, and relied on Stuart Sutcliffe tutoring him after class on all the things the teachers had just said. There were certain teachers that did encourage him and try and guide him down the right path, but I think John was just very restless, a tad insecure and simply not right for the traditional academic route, despite his intelligence.

Paul:

"Before the double whammy of his mother dying and meeting John Lennon, Paul was a good student ("I ruined Paul's life," John informed Ray Connolly once; "he could have been a teacher, you know"), and fond enough of some of his teachers to rave about one of them, Alan Durband, decades later. ("I had the greatest teacher ever of English literature, called Alan Durband, who was a leading light in the Everyman Theatre, when Willie Russell and everybody were there. He led the fund raising. He'd been taught at Cambridge by F. R. Leavis and used to talk glowingly of him. And he communicated his love of literature to us, which was very difficult because we were Liverpool sixteen-year-olds, 'What d'fuck is dat der?' He'd actually written a ten-minute morning story for the BBC, so I respected this guy. He was nice, a bit authoritarian, but they all had to be in our school because we would have gone had they not held us. We needed holding. He was a good guy. "

“I got to know Paul McCartney in my last two years at the Liverpool Institute. I had seen him around, but I didn’t know him very well. Someone dug me in the ribs and said, ‘We’re in for a couple of good years here,’ because Paul already had a reputation for being a guy who could create quite a bit of mayhem. Butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. He was able to turn it on and off. He could look as sweet as an angel just after he’d done the most incredibly disruptive things, and usually the blame went to someone else.” Iain Taylor, The Beatles: An Oral History

"McCartney was not much of a student, Taylor, a retired history teacher, recalled. In fact, he left on a trip to Hamburg before the finals. Taylor remembers McCartney as "quite a character."

"I still have very vivid memories that I'm trying to put down in this history of the school. He was very artistic, a left-hander, and he wasn't particularly good in the early part of his school days with mathematics and science. He hated organized sports and games. He was a bit of an anarchist and wouldn't participate," Taylor said.

"He seemed to excel verbally in being able to mimic the teachers, but do it quietly so the teachers didn't hear but everybody else did. He was kind of a rebel," Taylor said.

Harrison and McCartney were among the youngest boys to hang out in the smokers' corner, a spot out of sight of the teachers.

"George Harrison was beaten many times for many things. Paul McCartney was usually quite skilled at negotiating his way around things without feeling the consequences," Taylor said.

The cafeteria had an interesting reverb and McCartney spent his lunch hours drumming out Little Richard songs.

"I nearly did very well at grammar school but I started to get interested in art instead of academic subjects," Many Years From Now

So clearly Paul was a really intelligent kid with a rebellious streak who had his head turned by music and that's where he decided all his interest would go to. His parents wanted him to be a doctor/scientist, and provided him with all the support and encouragment he needed to excel. He was reading encyclodpedias and solving crosswords left and right, and many teachers and students commented on his artistic and academic abilities.

Ringo:

Ringo's schooling life was constantly interrupted by illness and hospital visits. He simply did not have the oppurtunities the others did, being the poorest and obviously so ill so often.

"Ritchie is not learn to read until he was nine years old when he was taught by a friend of his mother, the daughter of Annie Marie Maguire. Later attended Dingle Vale secondary modern; he left at the age of thirteen due to him being so behind."

He talked later about being self conscious about not knowing as much, or not speaking as well as others could. But Ringo was/is a very smart guy, and has always had a really wonderful attitude towards learning new things which I personally admire a great deal.

#asks #the beatles #i can't bold anything or link anything!!! ahh!!!#early years

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pompadourpink · 3 years

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Hi! I’m turned 18 two months ago and took my university exam. I’d like to study French Language and Literature but one of my teachers said I wouldn’t find a job if I studied it. I really don’t know what to do now. My first tongue isn’t French and I’m a foreigner, would it be an important issue if I decided to apply for a job in France or any French-speaking country?

Hello,

Just based on the amount of Tiktoks of immigrants who moved to Paris and are living their best life I see every week, I'm going to say no, the fact that you are not fluent in French will not necessarily be a problem professionally. Many people speak English and there are numerous opportunities if you're willing to search for them.

That being said, I would encourage you to think of the job you would like to do rather than what you would like to study.

I studied French language and lit, and now I teach FSL for a living as an entrepreneur - I got a research masters after being turned down for an FSL master because of an optional class I hadn't taken during my bachelors even though I already had experience in the field, and now here I am. I tried teaching the regular way and found it horrible, and the typical ways of teaching FSL weren't appealing to me, which is why I started this blog in the first place - to keep doing the thing I loved while working office jobs, and it snowballed.

I use my degrees for my job once in a blue moon when asked about language history or linguistics - nothing I couldn't have learned on my own (and I am still researching it on the side so I can be as helpful and efficient as possible). I don't use most of what I learned in five years - I'm still grateful for it because I loved the experience, but it's dormant because I don't need it.

So, essentially, unless you are a scientist or a tradesperson, there is a significant probability that whatever you study will have very little impact on the rest of your professional life.

Not many jobs require an L&L degree: journalism (competitive), teaching (thankless), writing (hard)... that's narrow AND not sexy for HR people looking for solid skills; unless you get super lucky, you'll end up working crappy jobs because you don't know how to *do* anything ergo you weight the same as a high schooler who just graduated (and doesn't know what a healthy workplace looks like so is easier to manipulate thus more likely to be hired).

So think of the job you would like to do, think of what you love, focus on something that genuinely makes you happy, would make waking up and starting a new day exciting, and work towards that - it doesn't mean everything is going to be perfect but the extra effort will be worth it. We spend roughly five years studying, and then have fourty years of working waiting for us. Each of them will feel like a hundred if you hate what you spend all day doing.

The Tiktok people I mentioned work in programming, design, social media, or study fashion, and they just happen to do it here. France isn't a career unless you're a sociologist or a politician.

TDLR: find what you love, learn how to be good at it, have a French company sponsor your visa, eat baguettes, bon appétit.

Hope this helps! x

#ask #studying #malks

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headheartbellarke · 4 years

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JEALOUS | Luke Patterson

Requested by anon: “5 times Luke gets jealous and one time he doesn’t have too. Luke x reader?”

PAIRING(s): Mercer!fem reader x Luke Patterson WARNING(s): angst, fluff WORDS: 2.3k SUMMARY: Five times Luke Patterson gets jealous and one time he doesn’t have to.

A/N: hi! sorry this took so long, lol. school sucks. :/ i promise im gonna be posting more frequently from now onwards! anyway, decided to make y/n alex’ sister, bc i’ve been wanting to try it for a while. hope u like it!! <3 also, song used is carry me by kygo ft. julia michaels.

The first time that Luke Patterson feels that scorching, smoldering rage in the pit of his stomach is when he notices Y/N Mercer stare at his bandmate, Bobby Wilson, for the entirety of their hour-long Literature class.

At first, he doesn’t understand why he feels this way: Y/N’s just as much Bobby’s friend as she is his. Well, not really – Luke likes to believe that he is the one that she is closest to in the band, other than her brother, Alex, of course. Sure, Bobby and Y/N are friends – they say ‘hi’ when they pass by each other in the hallway, she helps him out with his Physics homework when he asks, and he asks her how her day’s been – that sort of friends. They’ve never really interacted more than it was required, and Luke knows that if Bobby wasn’t a part of their band, Sunset Curve, or if Y/N wasn’t their drummer’s sister, those two wouldn’t be friends.

Anyway, he thinks that maybe it’s because they are supposed to be partners, working on their assignment together – and instead, she is choosing to abandon him and stare at one of his best mates, instead. He thinks that maybe he’s mad because she promised him that she would help him out with this assignment, which is particularly hard, and now, it feels like he’s ditching her.

Instead of thinking about why he is so bothered at the fact that Y/N is staring at Bobby, Luke chooses to elbow her instead.

“What?” She whispers, a blush covering her cheeks.

“Can you focus?” He snaps as she rolls her eyes and opens their textbook.

“You’re annoying.”

“Alex, Alex, Alex!”

“Luke, I’m sitting right beside you – you don’t need to yell.”

“There’s something that you should know.” Luke whispers, conspiratorially. Alex, who’s sitting beside him on the couch in the garage where they rehearse, leans forward, intrigued. “What?”

He points at Y/N, who’s sitting in front of Reggie in the opposite side of the room, strumming a guitar – Reggie’s teaching her how to play. Unlike her twin brother, she’s not naturally gifted in music, which is pretty evident from her occasional frustrated huffs, and the obviously off-key tune. Rather, science is her talent, and has always been. The top spot in their class has been permanently occupied by her ever since their first exam as freshmen.

“She!” Luke whispers. Alex furrows his brows. “Yes, I know that she has no musical talent whatsoever –”

“No, no, no. I mean, yes, she doesn’t have that – but you wanna know what she does?”

“I have a feeling that you’re gonna tell me even if I don’t wanna know.” Alex mutters.

“She has a crush on Bobby!” Luke scrunches his face, a disgusted look taking over.

The drummer raises his brows and bursts out laughing. “Really, dude?”

“No, no, no, I’m not lying, okay! I’ve seen her stare at him!”

He raises his brows. “So? She stares at a lot of people.”

“It wasn’t that way, okay? Last week, in class, she was ignoring me and staring at him. Plus, yesterday, when you were god knows where, she and Bobby were having a conversation. An actual conversation! I’ve never seen them talk that much. They were nerding out over Star Wars!”

“Dude, are you…” Alex pauses, looking around, “… jealous?” A smile spreads over his features.

Luke’s eyes widen, and he looks horrified. “What? Me? Jealous? Huh? Me? How?”

Inside, he is panicking. He hadn’t considered this possibility. Is he jealous? No, that can’t be. Y/N – he’s known her forever, and he is supposed to think of her as his sister. He does think so. He’s sure. He can’t – he doesn’t like her. She’s just… Y/N. Sure, he’s always thought that she’s beautiful. And smart. And so, so kind. He’s always admired her. OK, he might have had a little crush on her. But, in a totally harmless, admiring way! (In the way everyone seems to like Winona Ryder these days. Nothing more than that. Absolutely.)

She’s just Y/N.

Y/N, who’s always there for him after he has a bad day. Y/N, who’s the first person he hugs after playing an intense show. Y/N, who’s the only person who can understand his silence. Y/N, who makes sure that he knows that she appreciates him. Y/N, who he knows like the back of his hand.

Before Luke can panic any further, Bobby enters the garage, and Luke notices her attention immediately shift toward him. They exchange a smile, and Luke feels that rage, yet again.

He falls back on the couch, locking eyes with Alex, who is silently watching with a soft smile on his face.

“I’m not jealous.” He says weakly, and Alex nods – but he knows that it doesn’t convince either of them. His friend lays a hand on his shoulder, whispering, “It’s okay.”

By the time the next month rolls around, Luke is positive that he’s jealous: so, he’s resorted to not thinking about it, her or even interacting with her – which is hard considering that she’s always around.

Now, he feels like shit. For their junior year, they are supposed to do a report on a Victorian era novel of their choice, with a partner. He and Y/N were supposed to partners – they had decided months ago and have also done previous assignments together. But now, since he hasn’t even dared to look at her in a month, she’s now doing the report with Bobby, of all people.

As he watches Bobby and Y/N sit next to each other with their arms brushing, he feels that rage again, and curses himself. Could he not have behaved like a normal person? He knows that she is confused as to why he’s suddenly ignoring and avoiding her – she has even asked her brother about it. But Luke had threatened Alex that he would tell everyone about his crush on Reggie if he even said a single syllable.

(Although Luke knows that he would never.)

He sighs, dramatically, and searches for someone else to pair up with, ignoring the way his heart clenches at the realization that he may be losing her.

“Luke?”

He looks up and feels a rush in his veins.

“Are you… mad at me?” Y/N asks tentatively, standing at the door to his bedroom. Her eyes keep flitting between his face and around his bedroom, and he hates the fact that there seems to be an ocean between them.

“Uh…” He scratches the back of his neck, not knowing what to respond. She looks down at her feet, biting her lip and Luke feels a tug on his heartstrings at that. It’s been so, so long and he has so, so much to tell her, but he doesn’t know how to bridge the gap that he created.

He builds up his courage and says, “Yeah. I was kinda mad at you.”

Her eyebrows furrow, and panic flows into her e/c eyes. “What – what’d I do?”

Luke inhales sharply and wonders what he’s gonna say. It’s not like he can say that he was jealous of the fact that she liked Bobby, nor could he say that in the past month he has realized the fact that he may have a tiny, little crush on her and had to avoid her at all costs because she will never like him back and it’s too embarrassing?

He clears his throat. “Uh. It’s because you promised that you would do the English project with me but you’re doing it with Bobby.”

“But I’m only doing it with him because you won’t even look at me! Why won’t you?”

“I… You also ignored me for Bobby the other day?”

She throws her hands up. “What other day?”

“When we were working on the Shakespeare thingy!”

“I was not – now you’re making –”

“Forget it. Just go home, Y/N.”

A look of hurt flashes over her eyes, but she quickly clenches her jaw, and stands straighter, masking her emotions. “Asshole.”

She walks out his door, slamming the door shut behind her.

For the rest of the day, Luke lies on his bed and stares at his ceiling, and when Reggie comes over, he tells him that he’s ruined everything. Reggie lies beside him and asks softly, “You okay?”

“I think I like Y/N.” He whispers.

“We know.”

His lips part and he says in disbelief, “Alex told you?!”

Reggie shrugs. “He didn’t need to. Everyone can see the way that you look at her.”

Luke sighs, too tired to argue.

“Hey. It’s just a date, alright? It’s not like they’re getting married.”

Luke props himself on his elbow. “What?”

“Y’know, Y/N’s really picky –”

“What date?”

Reggie’s eyes widen. “Y-You didn’t know?”

Luke raises his brows, urging his friend to continue. He purses his lips and says, “Y/N and Bobby are on a date right now.”

Instantly, Luke feels as if his world has drained of every colour. Reggie looks uncomfortable, and whispers, “I thought you knew.”

“I, uh, I didn’t. Obviously.” He whispers, falling back on the bed again. His heart physically hurts, and he can feel tears prick at the back of his eyes. Mostly, he feels anger – at himself, and regret.

As jealousy claws its way to the surface, Luke mutters, “I hate Bobby.”

Luke sits cross legged on the floor of the garage, with a Spanish guitar perched on his lap. His hands dance over the strings, trying to find the perfect melody for the song he just wrote.

Writing songs has always been his way of dealing with his emotions, especially when they got too intense. Right now, the situation with Y/N is exactly that.

His eyes dance over the notebook in front of him, and he closes his eyes, trying to forget everything that’s happened in the past couple of days.

“Cause I don't know how we How we got so far, you and me Almost like there's oceans between us, us So I need to know Could you carry me? Back into your heart again Could you carry me? Right into your distant hands Could you carry me? Right back to where we started from Could you carry me?”

“That’s beautiful.”

Luke’s head turns sharply to the side, and of course, it’s her. He clenches his jaws, and says, “What are you doing here?” He hates the fact that she looks so pretty, wearing a beautiful red sundress.

She bites her lower lip, and says, “We should talk, Luke.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

She giggles. “You’ve always been the jealous type.”

He raises his brows, opening his mouth to deny whatever she was about to say next, but she raises a hand to stop him. “Alex and Reg told me. They said that they’re tired of seeing you mope every day.”

“I –”

“Hold on. So, for the past month, you’ve been mad at me because you thought I like Bobby?”

Luke lowers his head, choosing to stare at his open palm instead.

“You ignored one of your best friends for more than a month because you were jealous, and you were too much of an idiot to tell her the truth?”

“Well, you don’t gotta be so mean about it.”

She laughs. “Luke. Bobby and I – we’re just friends, okay? I was staring at him because I really liked his hair. And you have to admit it – it’s nice. I actually asked him for his shampoo, too. But, well, you and him both thought that I liked him. That’s why he asked me out to the movies last day. But... uh, well, it didn’t work out.”

His heart races at the last sentence. “Why?”

“Because I like you, Luke. I always have. I thought I could like Bobby, I really did – but all I could think about last night was you.” She shrugs, and Luke feels like he’s falling. He thinks that the universe is playing a prank on him, but when he sees her crimson tinged face, the vulnerability in her eyes and her fiddling with her hands, he allows himself to feel the slightest amount of hope.

She looks down, continuing, “I, uh, I always thought that you only saw me as your best friend’s little sister. I didn’t ever think that, you know, that there could be something more. So, I kept it to myself and only Alex knew. But, last night, Reg came over and they were screaming for a while, about you and me, so I went to find out what happened, and they told me that you, uh, liked me too.”

Reggie. He must have told Alex that Luke was ugly crying on his shoulder.

“Please say something, Luke.”

He releases the breath he didn’t know he was holding. “I – I feel like you’re pranking me.”

She grins. “No. No, definitely not.”

“Y/N, god, you have no idea how difficult this past month has been for me. I mean, I never realized that I liked you that much until I saw you with him, you know? I always thought that I had a tiny, little crush on you but I never… and I thought that Alex would kill me if I did anything, but he’s been oddly… nice about all this.”

“He’s just tired of hearing me talk about you.”

“Probably. But yeah. I think you’re brilliant, Mercer. And I really, really, really like you.”

She jumps a little, and whispers, “I really, really, really like you too.”

“Do you maybe wanna go to the movies with me?” His wide grin matches hers.

“Only if we watch part two of Father of The Bride.”

“Deal.”

+1.

Luke watches Bobby smile at Y/N, looking at her as if she’s put the moon in the sky. Although, this time, he doesn’t feel the rage. He doesn’t need to, really, with Y/N’s hand wrapped in his, and the ghost of her lips still lingering on his.

requests open! as always, feedback is highly appreciated <33

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seatonorth · 3 years

Text

The legendary coming out stories in the house of finwe.

"his presence calls the whole world into question"

it's an AU I've been playing with for a while, then I decided to post it bc why not (also bc I'm stressed from school), I've posted some shit b4, You are more than welcome to shout anything about queer elves stuff to me!

also some A/N

This story is under modern setting, so there will be no kinslaying nor burning ships, some really intense sibling rivalry, however, is inevitable. The children of finwe (unfortunately) do consider each other siblings. Feanor and Fingolfin somehow manage to keep a civil relationship, friendly even in good days .

This story will focus on self-discovery and coming out of different queer characters. I planned for fluffy but angst will feature as well.

The author is non-binary and aroace, I use they/them pronounce. Some plots are based on rl but this does not represent the whole community.

English is not my first language, I'm sorry for any possible mistakes, please feel free to tell me!

I use sindarin names, as in the silm book. their quenya forms may be used for different nicknames.

I'm obligated to TW this. this AU contain different kinds of homophobic, questionable parenting and large amounts of mental health issues. please don't read if that's trigger you. Also please awear that this is not Finwe-fans friendly but the author don't personally hate him, it's just for the plot.

Feanor and Nerdanel are both bisexual. although Feanor is more attracted to female. He has had both boyfriends and girlfriends at school. Findis and larwen knew first, he came out to his brothers later(high school?). Nerdanel doesn't have a preference. Finwe never accepted that and still avoided this topic, especially after feanor decided to enter a hetero marriage. He calls it a "phase". Feanor, being desperate for his father's love and acknowledgement, are still hurt by finwe's denial. Fingolfin and Finarfin are straight. But feanor's siblings have been supportive for his sexuality.

Non-binary fingon (he/they). They usually don't mind being identified as male in public situation for avoiding problems, but they do prefer gender neutral words. Fingon has come out to close friends and family so they would use them/they pronounce around them. In the story fingon will be mostly addressed as they/them. They do enjoy different external gender expressions, including dress, make-up etc. they're in uni, major in literature. He is also asexual, but panromantic.

Fingolfin didn't take it well at first and had a little argument with fingon. But it was mostly out of miscommunication and misunderstandings (also bc fingon had a panic attack), he was a good parent and once they talked it out he had been nothing but supportive.

Pansexual maglor. currently in relationship with daeron. He is studying in a music college and doing part time jobs. he has long hair in this AU. Also he is giving elrond and elros violin classes, some point in the future he will adopt them after elwing and earendil's shipwreck. Mae helps a lot.

Aroace maedhros.he enjoys masturbation but doesn't experience sexual attraction, and plans not to have sexual intercourse with others. Aro as fuck also, he used to have pretty great QPR but now he is occupied w/ school and work stuff, and he is satisfied with friends and family bonds for now. He is in law school, studying to be a D.A. M & M lives together. Feanor tries to financially support them, but both of them work their ass out so Feanor only pays their tuitions. He haven't officially come out only because he doesn't consider this to be a big deal. He basically just tell his parents he doesn't want any romantic relationship, and his parents are like "yeah we really don't care about those things as long as you are happy". They have seven sons, give them a break.

M & M refuse to use their trust fund, but they agree to use these money for e & e.

maglor cries when he finally gets the official adoption papers. He cries again when elrond decides to adopt estel.(in a more distant future)

maglor made a PPT when he came out to feanor. Feanor was impressed. Seriously, why his children thought he was homophobic is beyond him, for him and Nerdanel both being bisexual.

Feanor is a famous mechanician and designer. Fingolfin works in political area, law related. Finarfin works on family business because his siblings refuse to do so.

Feanor and Fingolfin quarreled about inheritance of family business, and feanor just left home to study in engineering and mechanism (for his PhD) and basically cut all communications with his family. And Fingolfin discovered his interest of law and politics in law school.(he majored financial in uni). Finarfin managed to keeped in touch with both of them and finally get them reconciled in feanor's wedding. Turned out they couldn't care the inheritance any less, only their father's love. However, children of finwe had a happy and relatively healthy relationship(considered bad parenting) in their childhood. Feanor found out his father hit his siblings and went furious, after that he decided to be the responsible one. They do care each other deeply. What Finwe did to feanor can be considered as emotional manipulation.

feanor is more open with queer thing than fingolfin. Finarfin is the most easy going parent among them all. But finwe's attitude towards feanor's sexuality hurt all his children.

finwe is a bad parent in this AU. He mildly abused/manipulated his children and denied doing so, which caused a lot of issues. Indis is average and distant. They are pretty kind to their grandchildren tho. Finwe has favoritism, and his children swear not to be this kind of father to their children. His sons refuse to let them help raising their children.

At Fingolfin's wedding, Feanor, Fingolfin and Finarfin made a promise to each other, that whatever conflicts happen between them will not affect the relationship between their children. They do not object their children interact with others too.(Mae and fingolfin has a pretty close relationship, feanor do asked for his advice when mae decided to go to law school.)

they disagree in a lot of things and do fight constantly even now. But Children is something they both agree on and support each other. They are both great fathers.

feanor is 3 years older than findis, findis is 2 years older than fingolfin. Age gap between fingolfin, irime and finarfin is 1 year.

finrod is pansexual, he get a pride pin from mags.

#legendary coming out story in the house of finwe #feanor #fingolfin #feanor is a good parent #fingolfin is a good parent #house of finwe #russangon #maedhros #maglor #elrond #fingon #finrod #finarfin #queer elves bc I said so #the silmarillion #silmarillion #Tolkien

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darthkruge · 4 years

Note

hey could you do a jess mariano x reader where the reader has dyslexia but loves to read. someone at school makes a comment about her being dumb and she gets insecure but jess is super reassuring to the reader about how intelligent she is. also they can either be already dating or have mutual crushes. whatever you think fits better. <3

Jess Mariano x Dyslexic!Reader ~ All of You

Summary: Someone at school insults the dyslexic reader and their boyfriend, Jess, provides reassurance.

Warnings: Bullying, language, insecurities, I think that’s it?

Words: 2.1k

A/N: Hey!! I’m so, so sorry this took me so long to get to! I hope you don’t mind, I didn’t mean to keep you in the ask box void. I really enjoyed writing this, so thank you for requesting! I decided to make them already be dating because that’s where my brain went hehe. I hope you like it :)

You walked to school hand-in-hand with your boyfriend, as always. Even though it took him about 15-20 minutes out of the way, Jess never missed walking with you. He hated the thought of you starting your day by yourself and never wanted you to feel forgotten about or lonely. Thus, the tradition began and it has stayed the way you start your day, everyday, for the last few months that you’ve been dating.

Jess pulled you behind the science building, pressing his lips to yours. Your hands instinctively wove into his hair and his arms wound around your waist, pulling your bodies together. He smiled into the kiss before pulling away from your lips and gently moving his kisses down the side of your neck. You hummed in content before moving to meet his face again, once again pressing your lips to his.

These stolen moments were what you lived for. You’d never felt too confident in yourself, at least as far as relationships went, and you weren’t used to this kind of affection. Even so, you loved every moment of it. Everything with Jess felt so natural. No matter what, you came first to him and he never failed to show it.

You both pulled away and he softly kissed your forehead.

“See you after second period?”

“Of course”

“Okay, love. Text me if you need me. Or if you’re bored. Or if you miss me”

“Oh, yes! That Jess Mariano charm. I’m not sure how I’ll endure two classes without it!”

“I’m sure it’ll prove quite e difficult,” Jess said, laughing. The bell rang and he gave you one last smile before you parted.

You walked into your English class with a smile on your face, giddy after the experience with him. He made you feel alive. It was the kind of feeling you didn’t know you needed, but once you felt it you couldn’t imagine losing it.

You sat down in your seat, waiting for the teacher to start class.

“Okay, everyone. Today we’re just going to be doing some silent reading for the first half of class and then I’ll put you in small groups to work on a new project”

Fuck. Group projects were the fucking worst. Unless you got one of your friends, people were normally assholes and impossible to work with.

Even though you were upset with the new development, you were excited to have time to read. You pulled out your copy of The Great Gatsby that Jess had lent you and picked up where you last left off. Because you read so much and generally did well or at least half-decent in school, people never assumed you had dyslexia. Lots of people had this false narrative that if you have dyslexia, you must hate reading. It was something you were used to, the stupid comments and assumptions. You tried to not let it get to you but you sometimes felt frustrated. You’d run into loads of ignorant people in your life and while you weren’t ashamed to have dyslexia, you hated having to explain it to every new teacher, every new friend in your life. You never knew how’d they’d react.

Even so, reading was one of your greatest joys in life. Losing yourself in the work, in the story, it was enthralling. You loved to find characters that you connected with. Their emotions were palpable and made you feel validated and less alone. Reading was one of the main things that brought you and Jess together. He knew you had dyslexia and, thankfully, never treated you like you were any less. You were afraid he would break up with you once you told him, but, of course, he didn’t. You were still you, and that’s all he cared about.

He loved trading books with you and hearing your thoughts on them. In doing so, he felt the two of you were brought closer together. Discussing literature was an almost intimate experience in your relationship. Learning which characters and themes resonated with a person was truly illuminating about their personality and mind. Right now, as you read Gatsby, Jess was reading Pride and Prejudice. You loved Jane Austen, as did Jess, and you completely enjoyed discussing her work.

After a few moments lost in thought, your teacher’s voice pulled you back to the present. “Alright! Okay so for the group project you will be analyzing the short story “The Lottery” by Shirley Jackson. Please read it together today and discuss what you think the most pertinent theme is. I’ve already assigned the groups and I’ll display them on the board right now.”

Your teacher stepped back and turned on the projector so you could see the groups. Scanning for your name, you internally groaned when you saw who you were with. Sarah, Justin, and Alex. They were all close and their friend group didn’t exactly have the best reputation. You grabbed your bag, walked over to them, and sat down.

“So, y’all just wanna read it? Then just talk about it, I guess. We’re looking for themes, right?” Sarah asked.

Everyone nodded, opening up the copies of the short story placed on your desks. You jumped in and immediately felt yourself pulled into the writing. After a few minutes, your eyes glued to the story, you heard the rest of your group closing their packets.

“Alright, everyone done?” Justin asked.

“Yeah, you?” Alex said

Sarah nodded in agreement.

You, on the other hand, felt your cheeks flush. You were only about 70% through the story. “Sorry, I just need a bit more time, is that okay?”

“Ugh, fine, whatever. Just hurry up,” Sarah groaned.

Your face burning, you went back to the reading. It wasn’t like you weren’t trying, you were! They just wouldn’t understand it. You couldn’t count the amount of times people had told you to just “focus more”. It made your blood boil, honestly. It was so dismissive and you couldn't believe people still thought that way. You always focused and it wasn’t your fault, and, yet, morons like these three persisted. After a few more minutes, you heard Alex again.

“Come on! You can’t possibly still be reading?”

“I’m sorry, just-” You sighed, running your hands through your hair. “Please, just a few more minutes?”

“God, you’re so fucking stupid. No wonder no one wants to work with you. All you do is hold people up, you’re a goddamn idiot” Alex said.

Your eyes burned and unshed tears started to push their way up but you fought them down. You wouldn’t let yourself cry in front of them. They didn’t deserve to see how they’d affected you.

Finally, the bell went off and you were able to leave. Your group glared at you and you realized you hadn’t discussed the themes.

“It’s, um, the story’s about the juxtaposition of peace and violence. Even though the people are in a calm, controlled setting, they resort to violence every year. It’s an outdated tradition they keep up and, thus, it highlights the difference between their actions and how they want to be perceived.” You said quickly, voice wavering.

Your group scoffed before walking off. That didn’t bother you too much. You knew your analysis was accurate and probably far better than anything they could have come up with, even if they’d spent the last 15 minutes of class discussing it. Despite this, you still felt deflated. The shit they’d said, the way they’d treated you? You couldn’t deny it, it got to you.

You walked over to your locker and put your stuff away. After that, you decided you were just going to go home. You could call the school later and say you were feeling sick or something. Honestly, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You were just so drained, you needed to get away from this place and the people in it.

However, you didn’t want Jess to worry. You sent him a quick text saying you weren’t feeling well and put on your headphones before walking out of the school.

What you didn’t expect was Jess to come flying out of nowhere, appearing by your side as if you’d summoned him.

“Jess! What are you doing? Don’t you have class!”

He shrugged. “You weren’t feeling well. Did you honestly expect I’d leave you by yourself? And, seriously, Y/N, you know I hate this place. You’re the only thing that makes it bearable so if you wouldn’t be here, why should I?”

You nodded and kept walking forward. Jess looked at you quizzically, trying to decode your dejected state. He kept quiet, knowing not to push you to talk. He trusted you’d come to him when you were ready. Therefore, he simply followed you until you made it off campus, where you turned into a random alley and suddenly stopped walking.

Jess caught himself, almost running right into you. You suddenly turned around, dropped your bag, and bolted right into his chest. He was caught off guard but instinctively brought his arms around you, trying to comfort you. He noticed you were crying, your broken sobs getting muffled in his shirt. He soothingly rubbed his arms up and down your back, desperately trying to give you solace. After you finally quieted down, Jess gently and slowly pulled you back.

His hands gripped your shoulders as he studied your face, your sad gaze meeting his. “What happened?”

“Stupid English, that’s all”

“Come on, Y/N, don’t shut me out. What happened?” He said, his tone kind.

“I-” You trailed off, trying to keep your composure. “Some kids just said some shit. I was just reading slower than them and they said some shit. It’s not a big deal, I just- it got to me, okay?”

“Who?” Jess said, firmly this time.

“Jess-”

“Who, Y/N?”

“Alex, Justin, and Sarah.”

Jess groaned, rubbing the heels of his hands over his eyes. “Fuck them, Y/N. They’re fucking ridiculous and they don’t know anything about you”

“I know, I know. That’s why I’m so goddamn frustrated! Because, like, it did get to me. Jess- Jess, they’re right. I felt like an idiot today, I felt stupid. And I hate feeling that way!” Hot tears smarmed in your eyes, the frustration and anger bringing them out.

Jess’s gaze softened. As livid as he felt toward the three of them, he knew that’s not what you needed right now.

“Hey, hey, hey. Love, take a breath. I’ve got you, okay?”

You nodded, your breathing shaky from the stress of the day.

“I’m sorry that happened today. Listen to me, Y/N. You’re so smart. You’re smarter than I am, hell, you’re smarter than anyone at that school! They’ve got nothing on you!”

You looked at him and smiled at his words but shook your head. “You don’t need to do that, Jess”

“Yes, I do. We promised we’d be honest in our relationship, right? Well, that’s all I’m doing. Seriously, Y/N, who else at that school could debate the themes in literature with me like you? Who could discuss the importance of accurate representation in books with me? Who could talk to me about just how influential YA books are and why they should be taken seriously-?”

“They are and they should!” You cut in.

Jess laughs, nodding in agreement. “Exactly!! You’re amazing, Y/N. And I swear those fuckheads are gonna get what’s coming to them”

“Jess-” You warn.

“Okay, okay!” He laughed, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “They just- they messed with you and made you upset and I fucking hate that”

“I hated it too. I hate doubting myself because of my dyslexia. I feel so shit about myself when I get in that headspace and I start spiraling and it gets out of control so fast.”

“I know. It’s not your fault when those spirals happen. And I know you know this, but I’m just gonna remind you: you’re not any less because you’re dyslexic. It doesn’t make you stupid or anything. It’s a part of you and I love you, all of you”

Your heart swelled at his words. Everyone thought Jess wasn’t good expressing his emotions but you knew the truth. He was quite eloquent when he wanted to be, he just sometimes had trouble with vulnerability. You didn’t blame him for it, with his past it made perfect sense. But when you needed that reassurement, that compassion, you could always count on him for it.

He moved to place a kiss on your forehead before slinging his arm around your shoulder. “Let’s go home, okay?”

“Okay” You smiled up at him and kissed him once more before tucking your head into his shoulder. He pulled you closer and you grabbed his free hand with yours as you continued to walk through the Stars Hollow streets together.

#jess mariano x reader #jess mariano #jess mariano x you #jess mariano fanfic #jess mariano fic #jess mariano imagine #jess mariano imagines #jess mariano x gn!reader #jess mariano x gender neutral reader #jess mariano x dyslexic reader #jess mariano x dyslexic!reader #gilmore girls x reader

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saanphoenix · 4 years

Text

“Why do so many old-school FFVII fans think that Cloud took Zack’s memories?”

Alright, so first things first. We gotta start from the beginning. We gotta start with Jenova.

Jenova is the name given to the alien entity known as the Calamity. “Heaven’s dark harbinger.” This being, assumed to be female because of the body she was in at the Crater, was basically godlike in her natural abilities. Historically, she was able to shapeshift. She was telepathic. She had a nigh indomitable will. And she used her abilities to infect the race of human(oid)s that happened upon her crash site--the Cetra.

Now, Ifalna, within the English translation of the OG, states that Jenova turned the Cetra into monsters, nearly wiping them all out, and that the wee few that remained basically had to be sacrificed to seal Jenova away before she could do anymore damage to all life on the planet. The notes Sephiroth finds within the Shinra Mansion seem to corroborate this version of events, as he tells Zack that the Cetra chose to fight the Calamity while the other humans “hid”, thus being spared Jenova’s shenanigans, allowing them to become the dominant race on the planet, but ultimately being cowards unworthy to be the shepherds of any star, to quote Emet-Selch from FFXIV. Stay with me now.

We also know that the notes Sephiroth reads within the Shinra Mansion do not, in any way, call Jenova the Calamity. They still refer to her as a Cetra. Meaning that those notes are outdated, before the discovery of a living Cetra, a Cetra who is 2000 years removed from her own people’s history. Right? So.

(’Ah, but what about Genesis point-blank telling Sephiroth the truth? He knew what was up!’ Yes, because Hollander and Hojo found out from Gast’s recordings, and Ifalna herself, what Jenova actually was, and then Hollander told Genesis, who then said some stupid ass shit to trigger Sephiroth into looking into the wrong information, and now Nibelheim is not Nibelheim anymore and Cloud is missing one more family member than he was when he joined Shinra. Also, fuck Genesis. Anyway.)

HOJO, yeah? Hojo, in two separate novels written by Nojima himself, states to Aerith and Tseng separately that Jenova 1) will inevitably infect all life on the planet with her “cells” because of the very nature of the Lifestream and 2) turned the Cetra against each other via subtle manipulation and illusions of their loved ones, dead or alive, conceived from their own memories. She didn’t show up looking like the Eldritch horror with the eyeball nipple, she showed up looking like a run-of-the-mill Cetra. And she would further disguise herself as people a Cetra knew in order to gain their trust. And then, after she had gained that trust, she would say shit like, “Hey. Your friend over there hates you,” or, “Hey. Your friend over there wants to kill you.” And thus the Cetra, at the very least morally but probably also physically, became monsters and tore themselves apart.

You ever wonder why everything the Cetra had was booby-trapped and hidden behind riddles and self-sacrificial bullshit like their Temple? My guess is because Jenova made it so they couldn’t trust anyone, even themselves.

“Why did I read all that? What does that have to do with Cloud voring Zack’s memories?”

Because we gotta understand the mechanics of this bitch first so that we know what to look out for.

Now, we have an alien in stasis--presumed dead but definitely not--and a buncha scientists who really want a coveted spot sucking President Shinra’s dick as head of the Science Dept. who all think that taking the genetic material of a Cetra and splicing it into a modern-day human’s DNA will give them a Geiger counter to the Promised Land. Which they want to use as fuel because only some of them really understand what mako is and the others are just fucking stupid. Anyway, my guess is that they archeology their way to Jenova’s still-kinda-alive corpse and do some DNA testing and go, “Ah! We’ve found a Cetra. It has to be one! She’s by the crater, after all, and that’s where some of them were nuked by a Meteor! :) We’re geniuses!” And Jenova, in the Lifestream, went, “GOTCHA, BITCH!”

And through the power of dino DNA, out pops a lot of nonviable lifeforms, some monsters, and, eventually, a relatively normal kid with a flare for the dramatic who will become wholly obsessed with apples and very boring literature that he will insist on repeating every five goddamn seconds. As he was no Geiger counter to the Promised Land, out pops another relatively normal kid who will grow up to have dreams, and honor, and steal food from his neighbors because he was so damn honorable that he just could not ask for a handout.

With Hollander and Gillian’s experiments not producing anything of note other than children that need love and support, Hojo and Lucrecia decide to take a slightly different sample of Jenova’s cells and just start sticking them everywhere. They’re in Lucrecia. They’re in Lucrecia’s fetus. And...something strange starts to happen.

Lucrecia starts to feel the effects of Jenova. Lucrecia’s mind and body start to kind of deteriorate. Not the way that Genesis’ and Angeal’s do later on, but she is plagued by shit like severe depression and fatigue. She falls out on the floor multiple times. Her bodyguard is a little late on pulling the trigger of the gun aimed at her husband and, instead of doing anything productive about her husband proving he’s an amoral murderous fuckhead, she just decides to play doll with her kinda undead bodyguard, get even sicker, and then, finally, pops out a very strange looking baby. In fact, he looks a little alien.

“No, seriously, what does this have to do with anything?”

Genetics. How Jenova cells work. Whatever clump of cells they injected into Lucrecia, clearly different from those used in Project G, seemed to focus more on the mental fuckery aspect of Jenova than the physical, shapeshifting aspect of Jenova. I would also argue that one of the reasons Lucrecia was so adversely affected by the cells and Gillian was not is their mental well-being. Gillian, even when we meet her, seems very upbeat and doing pretty okay despite her husband having died from exhaustion a coupla years back. Lucrecia was depressed and very subservient even before she married Hojo. Losing her mentor--Vincent’s father--probably exacerbated that. And, later in Advent Children, that sort of mentality--hopelessness and despair--is what Sephiroth’s Geostigma feeds off of. That and thoughts of death/dying. But that is more speculation than anything.

So, Sephiroth’s cells are different from Genesis’ and Angeal’s, and they were all three bred differently, but they’re all kinda chimeras of Jenova’s. And once Genesis learns about his origins, it’s like the lightbulb goes off. This guy’s creating clones by infecting his 2nd and 3rd Class SOLDIERs with his own cells. And when he does that, their physical appearance becomes his own. As does their will. Whatever Genesis wants, the clones also want. And then he just grows a wing for shits and giggles. Once he tells his BFF Angeal the sitch, behold! He’s got monster clones--maybe because he realizes how fucked up overwriting a human being with yourself is--and wings, too. ...Why?

The power to do all of this shit was always there. It was genetically always there. They just had to be made aware of it, to have the puzzle piece put into place. When Sephiroth dies, that puzzle piece is put into place. And then he starts fuckin’ with shit. And turns into monstrous angels. And then dies again. And then comes back and finally grows himself his own wing. He did it, fellas. He’s a big boy now.

But we’re not here to talk about Sephiroth--ignore how much I talked about Sephiroth and his mommies previously--we’re here to talk about ZACK and CLOUD.

“What’s up with Zack and Cloud?”

First, what we must realize is that even though Hojo says that both Zack and Cloud are failed clones because they 1) didn’t take on any physical characteristics of Sephiroth, 2) didn’t seem controlled by Jenova (or Sephiroth) and, 3) didn’t exhibit the other signs of a Reunion impulse like the other clones in Nibelheim that does not mean that Sephiroth’s cells, Jenova’s cells, are not working on them.

As we’ve observed in other 1sts, abilities do not always manifest immediately or even noticeably. Clearly, Sephiroth’s physical appearance is a bit of a hint, but Genesis and Angeal look pretty damn normal and, if it weren’t for their mako injections, they probably wouldn’t be showing that much of an increase in physical capabilities. Theoretically. Maybe 10-year-old Angeal had biceps the size of a man’s head. I mean. Pff.

Zack’s tolerance to Jenova was strong due to his previous exposure in the SOLDIER program. Cloud’s mind broke pretty early on. Neither of these results matter to the fact that they both now have Sephiroth’s cells within them--just as Genesis’ and Angeal’s clones had theirs--and that their very wills are now going to be affected by Sephiroth’s. But they are also going to be a little bit like him in terms of power.

Zack’s hair, when ingested by a Genesis clone, a clone of a Type-G SOLDIER, transforms that clone into a monster. Zack doesn’t even have to do anything. The Jenova/Sephiroth cells within his body can just Do That, cause that change in another life form, of their own accord. I’m honestly shocked that, whenever they gave Zack these S-cells, HE didn’t turn into a monster. But that’s neither here nor there. I wanna talk about Cloud.

Cloud has mako poisoning, which the Remake describes as his spirit/soul being stuck between his body and the Lifestream. Weird. Anyway, he’s not fully aware of his surroundings at all times, and he clearly can’t control his body that much. He somehow has the ability to kinda get his feet shuffling, and I’m going to go on a limb and say he can chew whatever food Zack gives him, but most of the time, he’s a puppet with cut strings.

But he is also still recovering from a mind break caused by Jenova cells. The same cells that are just chilling in his body, like they are in Zack’s. And all the months Zack is dragging his ass across a continent, an ocean, and another continent, they and Cloud are listening to whatever the fuck Zack is saying. Cloud is also constantly in physical contact with Zack.

In The Kids Are Alright: A Turks Side Story, Kadaj has the power to not only read surface thoughts and memories just by being near someone, but he can also read deeper ones by making physical contact with someone. Because Jenova. And Sephiroth, whose cells Cloud and Zack have, in the OG demonstrates that he, too, can glean thoughts and memories from others. Because Jenova.

If this power is a genetic trait, as it is with Genesis and Angeal, then, sitting pretty underneath their skin, Zack and Cloud have this ability. Dormant. Snoozing. Kinda like the 1st Class Trio’s wings.

But Zack has a high tolerance and a high ignorance to Jenova and just what he might be capable of. Cloud’s mind is floating in and out at best. He’s not in control of himself. And when you have a situation like that, it is very, very easy to come to the conclusion that Cloud’s Jenova cells are passively absorbing the memories of Zack’s time in Nibelheim. That they are knitting these memories together with what little remain in Cloud’s head. That when Tifa comes across Cloud at the train station and calls him by name and remembers who he is that Cloud’s Jenova cells latch onto those memories in Tifa--as Sephiroth tells them they did--and they knit those memories with Zack’s and Cloud’s and the end result is the man we get at the beginning of the OG.

Because Cloud has visual memory of shit he never saw. It’s not just a visual medium telling a visual story. You wanna know how I know that for a fact? Because, in the Remake, Cloud remembers Sephiroth walking up to Jenova’s tank in the reactor from Sephiroth’s perspective. He is looking through Sephiroth’s eyes, through his memory, up at “Mother.” In that moment in the Remake, Cloud is Sephiroth. He’s not Cloud anymore.

Cloud sees Sephiroth delivering the speech of being an Ancient. Cloud wasn’t there. Cloud didn’t see that. Zack did. That is Zack’s memory.

The man writing the Remake is the same man who’s been at the head of MOST FFVII writing. He was on the OG, he wrote Advent Children, he wrote the novels, he wrote Crisis Core, he’s writing the Remake. He knows what these cells can do because he’s crafted this world-building for decades.

Cloud didn’t take all of Zack’s memories. He didn’t need to. Kadaj, in the novel, doesn’t glean everything from someone right off the bat. Because he doesn’t need to. Only when he needs to learn something else does he go digging. The same is probably true for what Cloud’s cells most likely did to be able to know what he knows. Hell! Kadaj gets punched in the novel and he ACCIDENTALLY picks up the emotions and memories of the guy who punched him. He didn’t want ‘em but he got ‘em!”

There is evidence within the OG, and even more within the Compilation, that lend weight to the theory that Cloud unintentionally read Zack’s mind when it came to the events of Nibelheim.

For years, people have wondered, “How the hell does Cloud know that if he wasn’t there?” For years, people have wondered, “How can he use the Buster Sword if he was just a little grunt that used a gun all the time?” The logical answer is, “Because of his Jenova cells. They can just do that shit.”

#long post #ffvii #ffvii spoilers #zack fair #cloud strife #jenova #sephiroth #jesus christ i wrote a novel

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valkyrieskwad · 4 years

Text

i put a spell on you (because you're mine)

ao3

hi all! here’s the contribution i made to @supercorpzine this year!! it was a blast getting to work with so many talented people. hope it brought a little light to everyone’s 2020, we can sure use it.

Kara Danvers has an awful habit of making Lena feel like she's falling apart.

It's a familiar sentiment in some ways—as a struggling nineteen-year-old witch, Lena's grown accustomed to falling apart over the simplest things about her magic, about learning spells and potions and figuring out her own identity enough to do incantations with any real meaning—but the way she falls apart about Kara feels different.

Maybe it's because they live in the same apartment, or because they finish each other's sentences and have the same taste in music and food and old English literature. Maybe it's because they spend their weekends getting lost in the aisles of antique bookstores, smiling too big as the dust collects in their hair, getting too excited about old newspaper clippings used as bookmarks stuffed between browning pages.

Maybe it's because Kara spends two hours every day meticulously looking after their house plants, chatting to them about her day with her golden-blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, and the sun bouncing off of her sharp blue eyes.

Maybe it's because Lena's in love with her, because she's absolutely hopeless for Kara, and she couldn't snap out of it even if she wanted to.

The two of them are like tree trunks planted right next to each other: separate roots and branches, but grafting together in the middle, growing taller and taller into something too intertwined to be anything other than inseparable.

"I was thinking of leaving," Kara whispers one night, completely out of the blue. It's late and they're on the couch, snuggled together underneath their quilted blanket—the first one they ever made together, decorated with different colored owls. Lena's eyes feel heavy, but she blinks them open as Kara shifts in closer and adds, "After I graduate, I mean. I feel like there's just so much of the world I still haven't seen yet, you know?"

"Mmm," Lena hums, but then it all catches up to her and she opens her mouth to say, "Oh," sucking in a deep breath and swallowing past the lump suddenly growing in her throat. "What do you feel like you haven't seen?"

"I haven't seen anything," Kara sighs, and it's like her words burn for some reason, etching hot across Lena's skin like a freshly inked tattoo.

Lena feels like she's seen everything living here. She feels so in tune with the land around her, that she hasn't really thought of being anywhere else for a while now. Southern Oregon may not be the most interesting part of the country, but it's the only place that Lena's ever found a sense of community. It's the only place she's ever felt like she can be queer and a witch and magical and accepted. It's the only place she's ever felt a part of something larger than herself without feeling like she's being completely drowned out.

It's where she met Kara. It's where she fell in love. It's where she wants to stay.

"I didn't mean it that way," Kara says a few seconds later. "I just, I hear you and Andrea talking about all the things you've seen, and I feel like I want to see those things, too. I feel like I'm missing out on the world. Just being here."

There's a too-long pause that settles over them, but Lena eventually finds her voice to say, "If you want to see the world, I think you should," and then she tries not to think about what that means for them.

There are two things Lena remembers from her very first junior-witches potions class: 1) the first time she met Andrea and the way she smiled as she told Lena about solstice festivals and candle magic, about crystals and La Virgen and her immeasurable love for Santa Muerte, and 2) how serious the professor's face looked when she said, "Under no circumstances should you ever make a love potion."

They were nine years old, and the idea of a love potion made them both giggle and roll their eyes, adding more ingredients to their boiling pot as Andrea went back to talking about bonfires and spiced cider, evergreen and mistletoe and clove-spiked apples and oranges.

If anyone had asked her back then, Lena would have said she'd never make a love potion.

"But Santa Muerte would accept you even if you did," Andrea had said.

Lena remembers that too.

She thinks about that when she does decide to make a love potion, when her head keeps spinning because Kara said she wants to leave, and Lena knows she wants to stay. She thinks about it as she adds each ingredient, whispering over and over that if she loses Kara, she'll lose herself too, like it's liturgical almost, an incantation, her way of broadcasting her strongest intention so the spell can get it right and Kara can love her, and they can stay here together, happily, forever.

She thinks about it when she decides the love potion is a bad idea, when she hides it in the back of the fridge because even if Santa Muerte will still accept her, she's not sure she'll be able to accept herself.

It's a tough decision, but it's the right one.

So, she pushes it to the back of her mind, tells herself it'll all be okay, and then she tries to sleep as best as she can.

She doesn't expect her world to end when she gets home the next day, when Kara meets her at the door and takes a deep breath, sighs, smiles, clears her throat, twiddling her fingers together as she says, "Sorry, but I might have eaten your stew in the fridge."

"Excuse me, what?" Lena asks, letting her backpack clunk to the floor, taking several deep, deep calming breaths before she asks, "My stew?"

"Yes," Kara says slowly, cheeks pinking up. "I'm sorry, I was just. Hungry. But it was delicious if that makes a difference."

Lena can't breathe. "The one in the back of the fridge?"

"Yes," Kara says again, blushing even harder, and heat floods through Lena so fast it suddenly feels like she's drowning. "The one in the glass Tupperware that was hidden behind the milk. The thing you always do with the food you don't want me to eat."

"Why'd you eat it, then?" Lena whispers.

"I don't know," Kara admits. "But if you give me the recipe, I'm sure I could make it for you again. I'm really sorry."

"It's okay," Lena tells her, heart pounding, head swirling, because Kara looks hopeful and beautiful and Lena doesn't know how to tell her how much she royally messed up, how that stew shouldn't have been in the fridge in the first place, how it's written in the preface of 86% of spellbooks to never make a love potion, let alone leave one lying around. "I was just going to throw it out, anyway," she adds with a smile.

She's pretty sure her life is over.

"I think I did something not good," Lena announces, and Andrea closes her book as she looks up at Lena, eyes glinting like she knows this is a big enough deal to warrant her undivided attention. This is, in fact, that serious. As a Scorpio sun Libra Venus, Lena absolutely hates complicated, messy situations, and this is as messy and complicated as it gets. "I need to talk to you about it."

"What kind of not good?" Andrea asks immediately.

"It’s not like, the end of the world, but it actually is the end of the world. I made a love potion that Kara ingested on accident, and I'm freaking out," Lena explains, shoulders inching their way to her ears as a blush inches its way across her cheeks. "I think I'm in trouble."

"Holy crap," Andrea mouths. "That's not good."

"Yeah, you're telling me," Lena groans, then she plops down on the couch next to Andrea and sighs, scuffing her shoe against the old wood of the apartment floor. "I don't think she even knows we're witches."

"What do you mean?" Andrea asks, leaning over so she's knocking shoulders with Lena. "I'm sure she's pieced it together by now."

"Yeah, maybe," Lena frowns. "But I'm pretty sure she thinks we're witches, but not witches. You know, the ones who make lavender salve and herbal tea and talk about tarot readings and natal charts. The ones who carry crystals around and garden and do candle magic without ever really knowing if it works."

"We are those kinds of witches," Andrea points out.

"Okay, yes, but we also do real magic, and we know it works. Crap," Lena groans, leaning forward and pressing her face into her palms. "How did this happen? I could get suspended from doing magic and lose Kara as a friend."

"Hey, it was an accident," Andrea reassures her, draping herself over Lena's back to hug around her. "I'm sure if you talk to her, you can fix this. It'll be okay, I promise. You'll be okay."

"I'll be okay," Lena repeats, and then she keeps saying it in her head until she feels like she believes it.

"A love potion?" Kara asks, and she's decidedly not upset. She's not even incredulous. Lena got so antsy she blurted everything out in the middle of making dinner, right after she dropped the colander three times and couldn't focus to save her life because she was so freaking flustered. So now Kara's standing next to a half-minced onion, slowly blinking her eyes with her arms folded across her chest, and she's... smiling. "You made a love potion?" she asks again, like this whole thing is funny and Lena's not falling apart. "Who'd you make it for?"

"I - well, I made it," Lena starts to say, then she takes a deep, sputtering breath, rolls her eyes, and huffs, "Who else would I have made it for?"

"Me?"

Lena sighs. "Yes, you. Because - well, because I want you to stay, but also because. I don't know," she finishes lamely. Then she takes in a long breath, presses her nails against her palm, and just says it, almost too quiet, but she's overwhelmed and feels dizzy. "Because I'm in love with you."

"I wasn't going to leave you behind," Kara says instantly, and Lena feels a bit relieved she just ignored the whole love thing. "I mean, I want to explore the world with you, it just - it came out wrong when I said it, and I got too nervous to fix it. But I always want to be with you. I want to go everywhere with you. You feel like home to me."

"Oh," Lena whispers. She was expecting a lot of things, but that wasn't one of them. Not those words, not phrased that way. She didn't expect Kara to just say that. "What are you saying?" she asks, just to clarify, looking down at her hands and trying her best to hide how flushed she feels.

Kara responds by taking a step forward, and then another, sucking in a nervous, shaky breath, and then she's leaning forward and kissing Lena—on the cheek at first, and then the corner of her mouth, and then she pulls away.

"I'm saying I already loved you," she says, stepping in even closer, filling Lena's space with so much comfort and love and warmth, that Lena feels a little like melting. "I'm also saying," Kara stretches out, and Lena can sense she's smiling before she looks up to see it, eyes latching on to Kara's too-pink lips, perfect and glistening even in the dim, 50-watt kitchen lighting. She's so pretty it's incomprehensible sometimes. "I didn't actually eat the stew. I sort of dropped it on the floor, but I thought it'd be better if I said—"

"Kara," Lena gushes out, like a reflex, like a breath of fresh air, like Kara's the most frustrating person she's ever met in her life. "You're kidding."

"I'm not," Kara says, smiling wider, then she fits her hands on Lena's waist, and Lena swallows, cheeks burning with both nerves and anticipation, and happiness.

Her brain is still stuck on the fact that she wasn't expecting this when Kara kisses her again, on the lips this time, but that doesn't stop her from closing her eyes, from pressing up and opening her mouth and kissing back until she's breathless.

"God, a love potion," Kara laughs, right against Lena's mouth, and then she goes back to kissing her again.

#supergirl #supercorp #kara danvers #lena luthor #supercorpzine #my writing

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smutandfluffohmy · 4 years

Text

Homework extension

From: Smutandfluffohhmy Pairing: OUAT Peter Pan Professor! X Reader Warnings: Smuttt and overstimulation A/N: I was listening to Yagami Yato’s Hawks pegging audio and 🥵🥵anyone have any pegging requests 👀? This is the long overdue professor smut that I wrote but then deleted it because I hated it so I rewrote it all ✋🏻

University had its ups and downs and your English literature professor was definitely one of the ups. His British accent definitely made everyone swoon over him however the boring way he droned on every single class certainly cancelled out his hot accent.

His shoulders were broad, and he always radiated a sort of boyish charm but God the things you would do to him if you had 20 minutes alone with him. You slightly shook your head trying to erase the thoughts and tried focusing on something else. You couldn’t pry your eyes off him so instead you decided to focus on his tie.

He always wore ties with silly things on them. Sometimes they were just random shapes of different colors, other times they were full superhero comic strips but today it was a black tie with little oragami boats on them.

The lesson dragged on and you wanted nothing more than to crawl back into your warm bed instead of sitting inside a cold classroom. Your eyes shifted from him, to his tie, to the clock and to the book proped open in front of you in a continuous cycle.

“Remember to turn in your assignments today by midnight. See you all next class” Dr.Pan said and with that everyone hurried out of the classroom without a seconds pass. Grunts and whispering filled the once quiet classroom as you huffed making your way towards your car.

This years winter was hard and unforgiving and it was especially worse for you since you were used to more warm temperatures all year round. Hugging yourself tighter you couldn’t wait to be inside your car.

The radio droned on about the weather and an uneasy feeling settled in the pit of your stomach. You were new here ,knew nobody and were all alone if anything happened. Your mind wandered and before you knew it you were pulling up on your drive way.

The house wasn’t necessarily yours but your aunt let you stay there and house sit since she was always busy on business trips and both of your appreciated this temporary agreement .You eyed the houses next to yours and decided it was better now or never to finally introduce yourself to the neighbors. Your aunt didn’t tell you anything about the neighbors only that she has also never met them before.

Parking your car inside the garage you got to work on a gift of sort that would most definitely give you asking rights for a shovel next time you needed it. You got to baking your brownie turning off the heater as the kitchen radiated so much heat you felt like you were burning.Carefully cutting out each brownie you put them on two separate plates and made your way out to the cold once again.

Walking down the drive way you skipped your way to the first neighbors house and was treated with a nice old lady who profusely thanked you for the freshly baked brownies and told you she would drop off your plate as soon as she could.

‘One down one more to go’ You thought to yourself as you made your way to the other house, cursing as snow crept inside of your boot.

Inside the house Peter sighed pouring himself a glass of wine trying to relax from a long day of lecturing.The doorbell rang throughout the house, Peter sighed setting down his cup making his way to the door. You stood there looking up at your English professor. Your English professor who was wearing sweatpants and his button up shirt, half buttoned with a loosen tie.

“Y/N? What are you doing here?” Peter asked looking at you up and down trying to figure out the answer to his own question.

“Dr.Pan! Sorry I live next door I was just trying to meet my neighbors.” You said shifting the weight of the plate between your hands.

“You’re a little late how long have you’ve been living next door?” Peter said waving you inside.You walked inside grateful for getting out of the freezing weather even for a second. Your toes were freezing as the snow slid down your boot.

“Do you want a drink?” Peter asked you holding up the bottle of wine showing you what he was having. You nodded not wanting to be rude.

“Yes please professor and since the start of the semester” You said nodding at him and continued to look around his house that was filled with different house plants.

“Please call me Peter I'm your neighbor. Well at least outside of class.” He said handing you a glass, you took it afraid of dropping it. “You can take off your jacket at least defrost a bit.” He said looking for any excuse to get you inside. Truth be told you were one of his best students and wanted any excuse to keep you there a bit longer

“Thank you Pro-. Thank you Peter.” You said correcting yourself taking off your layers of wet clothes until you were left in a tank top and wet pants and socks.You continued to look around his house

“Here you go.” Peter said handing you the cup. Smiling gratefully at him you walked towards him not noticing the things he left scattered on the floor.Falling forward you tried to regain your balance but your foot was caught on one of the various things Peter carelessly left scattered around. Waiting for the impact Peter caught you in his arms awkwardly still holding on to the cups your faces mere inches apart.

Both of you looking at the others lips and without a moment of hesitation both of you went in for the kiss. Peter placed the glasses on the counter as he picked you up carrying you off somewhere.

“The things I would do to you.” You mumbled between his pressed lips.

“Show me.” Peter said urging you on waiting to see what you were going to do. Probably a quick fuck and you’d be gone as soon as you came leaving him with the memory to jerk off later. The kiss deepened, Peter’s hands going under your shirt unhooking your bra, running a finger across your nipple. Your hands tugged his pants off of him and taking off your own pants as Peter continued to play with your nipples making you moan against his mouth.

Pushing him to sit down on the edge of the bed you dropped to your knees taking his dick in your hands slowly pumping it. Pre cum already dripping down the shaft.

Your tongue licked it up, the sensation made Peter twitch under your touch. Rubbing up and down softly sucking on his dick but not giving his enough to get off, his fingers gripping the edge of his bed. His dick was pulsing desperately wanting some friction.

“Enough with the teasing.” He said his toes curling. “I should just pick her up and fuck her senseless” Peter thought as his dick continued to twitch under your touch.But before he could do that you got to your feet.

“Get on your back” You said getting up and motioning for him to get on the bed all the way against the headboard. His dick so hard that he was sure that if you made him wait any longer he won't be able to last long.

“Come on let me cum.” He begged not wanting to move. Ignoring his pleas you pointed at the tie he still had on.

“Can I?” You asked pulling his tie from around his neck. Peter simply nodded intrigued as to what exactly you were going to do with it.Grabbing his hands and tying them to the headboard you gave it a good tug.

His hard and aching dick twitched every time you even stroked his hair. Getting ready to place yourself down on his dick Peter was already imagining how good you were going to feel around him.

“I’m so getting fired.” Peter mumbled out as he watched you lower yourself down.‘This is wrong’ He thought to himself, he wanted to get up and walk away from this but he imagined just how good you felt since you walked into class. He desperately urged himself to stop but what line was left to cross? He already kissed you, groped you, hell he was about to be balls deep inside of you

“I can stop if you want. I wouldn't want you to get in trouble.” You said leaning down to bite on his neck, sucking harshly on the delicate skin.

“No no no please.” Peter pleaded between moans cursing himself for not grabbing you and fucking you when he had the chance.

“Please what?” You said into his ear as you blew air on the already sensitive spot you were sucking on his neck, the sensation making chills go down his body making his dick jump. Bucking his hips he was desperate for any sort of friction, any sort of release.

“Please let me cum” He begged trying his best to reach out to you fighting against his tie. Grabbing Peter’s dick you positioned yourself to start sliding down his shaft. Peter letting out a mix of whimpers and moans and you started to bounce up and down his dick.

“You feel so good doctor” You said in a breathy voice as you felt his dick hit deep inside of you with every stroke.

“Fuck. Oh fuck” He cursed already feeling himself unable to hold back any longer.

“What happened to your no cursing rule?” You said making your strokes slower watching as Peter buckled his hips upward trying to meet you halfway. Sliding down slowly keeping your palms pressed against Peter’s hips preventing him from moving.

Peter didn’t last long, coming inside of you leaving him to catch his breathe. His face flushed red embarrassed for cuming so quickly but before he could form an apology you kept going making his dick twitch again.

“Fuck I can’t keep going” He mumbled out but he didn’t want this to end.

“You’re the one that begged to cum.” You said going down to continue leaving hickeys scattered around his neck. The sensation making his dick twitch again, feeling himself get hard again. Moans left his lips, moving up and down slowly giving Peter a chance to get hard again. After all of this he was still going to jack off the second you walked out the door, knowing you were next door made his imagination go crazy.

Bouncing up and down faster Peter moaned and grunted his eyes screwed shut at the feeling of you.

“Don’t cum yet.” You ordered not slowly down, watching Peter’s pained expression watching him come undone under you.

“Please I’m so sensitive I can’t keep going.” He pleaded groaning trying his best not to cum.

“I said not yet.” You said going up and down slower, your fingers going through his hair giving it a light tugged that made a moan leave his mouth.

“Pleaseee” Peter moaned trying to reach for you.

“Okay.” Was all you could say.

Your hand reached for your clit, your two fingers rubbing tight circles around your clit as you kept feeling Peter’s dick hit deep inside of you. Your nails dug into his skin your moans filling the room. Peters face flushed hot ‘I’m so getting fired for this’ he thought to himself.

Reaching your climax you twitched around his dick, letting yourself slump down on his chest. Pushing yourself up, you reached over to untie him. Pushing away your hair that was stuck to your forehead with sweat you got up putting on your clothes.

“I Uu should get going.” You said putting on your pants.

“Wait are you sure? You can sleep over if you want” The words just stumbled out of Peter’s mouth and he felt a bit guilty for wishing you would agree to stay.

You tilted your head to the side looking at him in confusion. For a moment he forgot who you were, who he was, the relationship you two had outside these four walls but when he remembered his face turned a slight shade of pink.

“Right.” He mumbled under his breath as you continued to gather up your things trying to ignore your pounding heart.

Sighing you swallowed harshly as you looked to the windows that were covered in a thick layer of snow. Dreading the short walk back to your home and just how cold it was going to be when you got back, as you reached for the door knob a ring rang through the quiet house.

‘Weather warning’ flashed on your phone.

“Hold on for a second.” Peter said as he walked over to the Tv and turned it on, a blue hue filled his face as he flicked through the channels.

‘Hope nobody was planning on going anywhere anytime soon! The roads and houses are covered in several feet of snow. Make sure to stay in doors and stay bundled up. This has been the weather with O’Warren back to you Jan.’ The weather man said, standing in front of a green screen with an oversized coat and a wide smile. You wanted the earth to eat you up, all you wanted is to go home and pretend you didn’t just sleep with your professor.

Shifting on your feet you reached for the doorknob trying your best to unlock the various locks on the door with your shaky and mitten covered hands.

“You know you’re welcomed to stay.” Peter said from behind you standing in the same place he was. Your heart pounded in your ears un sure what to do next. Scrunching up your nose you crossed your arms over your chest.

“That would be great but I have an assignment due today and my professor is a bit of a hard ass.” You said tugging at the bottom of your jacket.

Peter let out a loud laugh “Well fuck him.” he said with a goofy smile that made your heart jump.

“I did. Still don’t think I’d get an extension.” you shrugged your shoulders wanting desperately to be in a warm bed and at this point it didn’t matter whose. He let out another laugh and reached out to you urging you to stay.

#Peter Pan Fanfiction #peter pan imagine #peter pan #peterpan #peter pan smut #Peter Pan x reader #Peter Pan smut #Peter Pan ouat

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