#i would have made a drawing but when i tried it turned out looking wack

[plagger]

Kelsier: It's pride month, Vin. You know what that means Vin: Huh Vin: What Vin: Do you want me to do like Vin: Gay allomancy Vin: What

[neteyamslovrr]

hellewww! This may sound like a challenge/ weird request(?) but I would like a fic of Ao'nung X Sully!reader based on your creative imagination, fluff or angst or whatsoever, do what you want!! I would lovee to read it💙

Punchable

summary: you go after ao'nung when your brothers are fighting with his friends after kiri. turns out you don't back down and ao'nung feels guilty for hurting you

0.9k words <3

──── ⑅*❀*⑅ ────

“Leave us alone!” A desperate shout racking from Kiri’s chest as she watched Lo’ak retaliate against the four boys ganging up against him.

Soon Neteyam had warded them off, using his big brother privilege to save the day once again. Whispers of freak rung through the air as you and your siblings tried to walk away from Ao’nung and his friends.

“Lo’ak no-” pleading with him to stay away from the menacing smiles Ao’nung gave the skinny boy approaching him.

“I got this…”

He did not have it. Quite frankly, he was being utterly destroyed, dragged across the itchy sand and wacked with the muscley tails.

“Come on Neteyam… we need to help him.”

“That’s a stupid idea. You guys are getting in so much trouble” Kiri chimed in before Neteyam shook his head before jumping onto a short haired boy. You followed suit taking place upon Ao’nung’s back.

“Get off my brother!” You screamed in his ear as he pulled Lo’ak’s tail. He moved his back harshly, he was shocked that you were even on him to begin with.

“Get off me you freak!” He tried to pry your nimble fingers of his shoulders, but you dug them into his skin scratching his pectorals, drawing light volumes of crimson. “Ow!” He bit your hand making you yelp falling down back onto the sand. The impact winding you slightly made you cough before kicking the back of Ao’nung’s knees making him fall to ground.

“Guys this is stupid!” Kiri groaned watching the quite pathetic display of a fight occur in front of her.

“Stop kicking me!” Ao’nung grumbled as his knees crashed into the sand. You tried to crawl away to get up to catch a little breath. “No you don’t” He said with evil lacing his tone.

Wrapping both hands around your ankle he dragged you back as you screamed. “That hurts you Skxwang! Get off me your weird hands off me!” You shrieked kicking back into him knocking him down again, as you topple onto of him your heads bashing together.

“You have the weird hands dumbass!” He retorted as you hissed in his face showing off your sharp fangs that you were sure you would rip into him at any moment if he continued to piss you off.

Ao’nung hissed back as he throwed you off his lap leaving you to faceplant in the sand, a hidden shell leaving a large cut right next to the corner of your mouth. Ao’nung laughed at your stature, standing over a small figure laying in the sand.

“Aw little forest girl sad in the sand.” His voice was mocking as he tilted his head waiting for you to talk back to him.

You refused to be defeated by him not Ao’nung, so you turned to be face up your face covered in blood the sand sticking to your face. Ao’nung’s face dropped at the sight of you a pang of guilt in his heart. “Oh, fuck Y/N-”

He was cut off by a kick straight in between his legs making the breath in his lungs escape harshly. You hissed in his face as you got up from the sand. “Don’t mess with my family again or I’ll be making sure you never have a family.”

You looked the worst out of your siblings after the fight. A couple bruises and scratches were laid onto Neteyam and Lo’ak but your face was stained red, multiple stitches in your cheek and dark blue bruises littered the limbs of your body.

You had been told to stay in the marui by your father, disappointed in your actions but getting angrier at your brothers for letting you getting so battered up.

Eclipse was close to occurring as the light filtering in slowly faded. You heard heavy footsteps outside the fabric flap that acted as a door. “Y/N?” Ao’nung’s voice travelled to your ears making them perk up.

“What.”

He winced at your tone before using opening the curtain like door. “I’m here to apologise.”

“Apologise to Kiri, she was the one you harassed.”

“Yeah, but I’m the one that made you bleed.”

“Don’t feel flattered it was a shell.” You spat at him turning away from him.

“Y/N, I am sorry. But to be fair you hit me back pretty hard.”

“I know I did, my hands are sore.”

Ao’nung walked in front of you to look at your face. The panging of guilt grew stronger seeing the results of his actions in the form of injuries on your gentle face.

“I’m not going to forgive you, because you didn’t do any of this. You’re a small weak annoying stupid swimmer boy.” You poked his bruise making him swat your hand away.

“Fine, but you have to let me feel bad.” Ao’nung smiled at you.

“I hope you feel terrible.” You joked poking his bruise again. Ao’nung held your hand to stop you and looked into your glossy eyes. You must’ve cried from the pain he thought.

“I do Y/N. I really do.” Sincerity wasn’t something you expected to come out of his mouth so when it did you were baffled. Baffled enough to finally meet his longing eye contact.

“Well…good.” Your voice was small, Ao’nung’s change in nature making you feel slightly intimidated.

“Is there anything that will make you feel better?”

“I’d like to punch you again.” Ao’nung shook his head smirking. He held onto both of your hands that were littered in tiny cuts to match his.

“No more punching from now on. Promise?”

“That’s hard, you’re really punchable.” He flicked your forehead making you hiss. “Fuck okay, no more punches. You’re so annoying.”

“Well, I’ll be extra annoying just for you.”

“Fuck off.”

──── ⑅*❀*⑅ ────

authors note: this request was so cute ! thankyou! this ones kinda short but I loved the dialogue in this one

[gh0st-t0wn3]

Lmk ss edits + headcanons, Part 6 (Azure Lion, Peng, Yellowtusk)

(I originally made my own design of Azure and Yellowtusk but wasn't quite happy with how they turned out so I scrapped them, the designs for those two I used in these edits were made by @/erraday_ on twt, with a few minor changes, but Peng's design is my own :) )

- He/Him

- Pansexual

- Snores so loud, it's insane, Yellowtusk once thought there was an earthquake

- Feels bad whenever he's steps on a ladybug, butterfly etc

- Gives everyone and everything giant bear hugs because he thinks if Yellowtusk can take it, so can everyone else (They cannot)

- Mei once gave him catnip as a joke and he went fucking feral, he's not allowed near catnip anymore

- His hair/fur is actually very soft and curly

- Thought he saw an old friend while out in public and hugged them, it was a stranger

- Wakes up Yellowtusk in the middle of the night to ask stupid questions

- The Brotherhood asked to hear his roar but he got really nervous last second and it ended up being really meek, they never let him forget it

- Coughed up a hairball once and Peng refuses to let him live it down

- Has eaten cat food before and would do it again

- Cannot do the splits and is too scared to try

- Gets really confused by modern slang, MK and Mei abuse the hell out of it because it's funny

- Whenever he's rough housing with people he accidentally hits a bit too hard

- Whenever he walks past anyone playing a game that involves a ball (football, basketball, netball, etc) he somehow always ends up getting hit in the head with it

- If he wasn't sealed away and got a chance to babysit Redson as a kid he wouldn't know what the fuck to do and would be really awkward cause he doesn't know how to interact with children, he'd be able to bond with Redson better when he becomes a teenager though

- No one gossips with him because he always ends up unintentionally outing someone about something

- Ate moldy food once by accident and freaked out, he was absolutely disgusted

- Hates horror movies but loves slashers

- Drinks mouthwash

- Smells like catnip (trust me guys)

- Love language is words of affirmation

- Has horrible bed head, his mane gets tangled really easily and he tosses around a lot at night so his mane takes hours to brush out

- Absolutely refuses to wear shoes, they hurt his feet (paws?)

- The type of person to cry over a movie about a dog getting lost and then finding its owner at the end

- Can somehow eat an entire goddamn buffet and not gain a single pound

- His face always scrunches up when he smiles

- Lost his balance on a hill and fell down like a tumbleweed once, Peng still brings it up

- They/He (Canon, Peng uses They/Them in the show but is exclusively referred to w/ He/Him in the sets)

- Nonbinary (Canon)

- Starts squaking when he laughs too much

- If you throw a blanket over their head he'll immediately fall asleep

- "look behind you but don't make it obvious" Looks behind him in the most exaggerated, obvious way known to mankind

- Stole food from Wukong's private stash for several months when the Brotherhood was all still together, Wukong still doesn't know

- Wukong gave them cooked chicken once as a joke but he actually liked it

- Constantly argues with Wukong about Macaque not being able to hold his own, yes it got physical

- Their wings have a bunch of scars from the amount of weapons and shit they block with them. Has to consistently clean their wings in order to keep them from getting too damaged, yes this includes softening and preening his feathers

- If they weren't sealed away and got a chance to babysit Redson as a kid they would tape him to the wall like that one meme and call it a day

- Bit off a person's finger once just to see if they could

- Doesn't shop, just steals

- "I hate you so fucking much" as he's handing the person a gift

-  Tried to draw on Wukong's face once but got wacked with his tail

- Absolutely HATES beetroot, will actually gag if he smells it

- Kicks over kids sand castles at the beach

- Can't stand small buzzing sounds

- "I'm not that competitive" is that competitive

- Claims you can trust them with anything but will snitch the second they know it will benefit them

- Probably threatened to eat someone's baby once

- Goes to playgrounds to trip kids

- Smells like Lavender, it just feels right

- Love language is words of affirmation and acts of service

- Has tried sleeping upside down like a bat multiple times

- Hardcore wine aunt vibes

- Had a bunch of ducklings accidently imprinted to him and they followed Peng for hours

- You'd have to pin this bird down to get them to eat collyflower

- Jokingly pushed Azure off a cliff once then remembered they're the only member of the Camel Ridge Trio that can fly

- They have full on concerts at like 3 am, has woken up Azure on multiple occasions

- He/Him

- AroAce

- Is the calmest one in the Brotherhood

- He uses Peng's head as an armrest sometimes

- He and DBK were actually quite close, he knew and accepted that DBK was in love with a celestial but was very surprised to see they ended up having a child

- Very poor eyesight but doesn't like wearing his glasses because Peng made a joke about them once saying he looked like a grandma

- Uses ":3" and ":D"

- Loves soap opera's

- Hates seafood

- Peng once tricked him into eating fish nuggets once and he still hasn't fully forgiven them

- If he wasn't sealed away and got a chance to babysit Redson as a kid he would definitely be the most responsible one, and probably Redson's favourite uncle

- Eats a snack then forgets he ate it and will bet frustrated when he can't find it

- The therapist of the Camel Ridge Trio, and probably of the whole Brotherhood in the past as well

- Was the only one who felt bad about imprisoning the Demon Bull Family since he and DBK were very close

- He also reprimanded Peng for when they pinned and scratched Redson with their claws after they left the Demon Bull Palace (he's the protective uncle, trust me guys)

- Hates getting hiccups, he despises the feeling and it gives him heartburn

- Wakes up at ungodly hours just to raid the fridge

- Heard a story about a bug crawling in someone's ear while they slept and has worn earplugs to bed ever since

- Loves apples

- Smells like Lilies

- Love language is gift giving

- Is really big on safety, would be the type of person to make sure everyone is wearing their seat belts before the car is even turned on

- Actually really good at cooking

- Makes the best chocolate chip pancakes ever

- Is the kind of person who assumes everyone tells eachother everything and accidently exposes someone because he thought everyone else knew about it already

- Always hears things wrong but doesn't wanna ask anyone to repeat themselves

- Has the most elegant ass handwriting you will ever see, somehow

- The peacemaker of the Brotherhood,  they all would've disbanded way sooner if it wasn't for him

- Uses his trunk as a snorkle when swimming or sleeping underwater (elephants actually do this irl, I just thought it was cute)

[greenleopard49]

FOP: A New Wish Season 2 Episode Ideas

I believe that at the end of the season finale of FOP: A New Wish that Dev Dimmadome still has his memories. This is due to him having his sunglasses on when Jorgen tried to erase his memories. If there is a season 2, then Dev's character arc will be for him to make amends with Hazel and Peri for all the bad things he did while trying to impress his dad. However,Dev will not be able to reveal to anyone that he still has his memories or he'll risk losing his memories for good if Jorgen finds out.

In the meantime, he pretends to not have his memories of fairies, magic or even being friends with Hazel. This does lead to situations where he gets on Hazel's nerves which he secretly hates.

Idea One: Wishing Overload

One day, Dev notices that the world is out of wack due to too many wishes being made in one day. Turns out, Hazel has been taking requests for wishes from her friends and now those wishes are conflicting with each other. Hazel tries to unwish the wishes but Cosmo and Wanda are too exhausted and they don't have enough magic to unwish the wishes. Over hearing this, Dev sees this as an opportunity to do some good for a change and try to secretly corral some of the wishes away from the town while Cosmo and Wanda are recovering. When everything returns to normal, Dev decides it would be best to help Hazel in secret if anything magic related goes wrong.

Idea Two: Where's My Super Suit

In a later episode, the class goes on a field trip to the Galax Institute to tour the facility. While there, Hazel notices her dad going into a door labeled "Top Secret: High Clearance Only". Curious as to what her dad is working on, Hazel sneaks through the door as well. While Hazel is gone Winn and Jasmine agree to cover for her while she is away from the tour. Catching this, Dev decides to sneak into the Top Secret area through the air vents as to not draw attention to himself. Turns out the Top Secret area is a Research and Development facility dedicated to creating power suits that helps combat magical threats. Hazel's dad was called to present the prototype power suit he helped to develop.

Hazel has conflicting feelings on what's going on. On the one hand she is very worried about the safety of Cosmo, Wanda and any fairies unlucky enough to be caught by someone wearing this power suit. However, on the other hand she knows that her dad worked hard to develop that suit. If the project were to be shutdown, then her dad would lose his job and her family would have to move again. She reasoned, if the prototype suit were to somehow go missing, then maybe it will buy the fairies some time to look over the suit and find ways to counter the technology and then she can return the prototype before her dad suffers any consequences.

Hazel then makes a wish to send the prototype power suit to Fairy World to have it studied. Cosmo and Wanda eagerly try to make that wish however, when they raise their wands nothing happens. Turns out there is something in the Top Secret area that is able to block their magic. So the only other option is to physically steal the prototype power suit 'heist movie style'. Hazel excitedly goes over a full heist scenario involving her friends and Anthony to steal the power suit.

However, her synopsis of her heist plan is interupted by the sound of alarms going off in the facility. Turns out the prototype power suit had just been stolen. Startled by the noise Hazel, Cosmo and Wanda rush out the Top Secret area before the facility goes into complete lockdown and rejoins her class before the tour ended.While Hazel is happy to be able to rejoin her class safe and sound, she is worried about who stole the prototype power suit and what their intentions with the power suit are. The episode ends with Dev in the prototype power suit, successfully able to steal it because he was in the air vents over the room with the power suit inside.

Now with the power suit, Dev can help Hazel with weird wishes and to combat against anti-fairies without showing himself and losing his memories to Jorgen. Sadly, Dev doesn't know that Hazel's dad's job is at risk if the power suit goes missing for too long.

I think this would be a good way to go about the rest of the season. Hazel spends some episodes trying to find out who stole the prototype power suit and needs to deliver it to Fairy World so it can be studied. Hazel's dad needs to find the prototype power suit so that he can keep his job. Finally, Dev wants to keep the prototype power suit so that it stays out of the hands of the Galax Institute and to use it to help Hazel when wishes go wrong without getting caught by Jorgen.

Power Suit Design

As for what the power suit looks like; I wanted it to be a callback to a couple of suit designs from Butch Hartman's previous works, such as:

Danny Fenton's ghost catching suit before he becomes Danny Phantom, the suit Timmy wore when he fought against Denzel Crocker during the special Abra-Catastrophe and Timmy's Cleft the Boychin Wonder suit.

Now I just need a theme to tie these suits together. After doing some research, it seems that crows have a strong connection to fairies. According to @the-fae-folk "crows/ravens are messengers, transformed humans, disguised faerie folk, or secret keepers.If someone in the world has a secret, then within the hour, a crow or raven somewhere will know it. They are excellent friends, and terrifying enemies. They are very intelligent birds, even when not connected to the unseen world."

There are many types of crows, but I landed on the "Hooded Crow". I chose this crow because it matches the color scheme of Danny Fenton's suit and I can translate the hooded aspect of the crow's look into the design of the power suit.

For additional details that I would like to add since the theme of the power suit is going to be a hooded crow would be the mask and and the style of the suit. I chose the following references:

The mask of a plague doctor and the costume design from an old anime that I remembered called G-Force.

All this together lead to this design. I'm still learning how to draw so I am using Heroforge to show my vision of what the prototype power suit would look like.

I really liked how the design turned out. If you would like to look over the design and improve on it, then here is the link to the design.

Please let me know what episode ideas for season 2 you would like to see.

[wesperbrekkered]

"Do I have a crush?" "You have whatever is after a crush." For Wesper Please

Maybe Inej or Nina says this to Jesper or to Wylan? Even Kaz possibly.

This is a lil snippet from Counting Down The Years, a wesper oneshot that is estimated to be finish between 10k and 15k words. Thank you sm for the ask!

_________________________________________

Jesper didn’t speak much on the journey home, choosing to look out the window of Matthias’ battered old truck instead. Matthias didn’t push, he just put on his Fjerdan folk songs on a low, manageable volume and hummed along to them.

He liked Wylan.

The realisation floored him, and he wasn’t entirely sure why.

It felt natural, because Wylan was always drawing Jesper in, always capturing his attention in the way that nothing, nothing ever could. It felt like the only sane way somebody would feel about him, because how could you not take a look at the magical creature that was Wylan Van Eck and want to give him fucking everything.

Wylan had always just been his best friend, but he supposed he never thought of an excuse to kiss his other friends every year.

He both thanked and rejected Matthias’ offer to stay with him, telling him to go back and enjoy himself and that ‘I can look after myself just fine, thank you very much.’ He shot Jesper a look at those words, but he finally left after giving Jesper a cartoon of leftover food that he’d smuggled with him.

Jesper could have cried.

He didn’t cry. Instead he placed the carton onto his nightstand and sat down on his bed heavily. His shirt was still wet, but he made no move to take it off.

Instead—

“Jesper?”

The voice over the phone was crackly and tired, and Jesper realised he probably should have remembered that timezones exist.

“Hey Da,” he whispered, feeling every string that was holding him together start to fray and snap.

“Jes?” there was more rustling, his father’s voice sounding more worried then sleep riddled now, “you alright?”

“I’m uh—” he hesitated, sucking in a breath, “I’m fine. I think.”

“Jes—”

“—Please.” His eyes burned like someone was poking them with red hot needles, his hand trembling where it clutched his phone to his ear, “please. I just—I just want to talk to you. I miss you.”

He could tell his father didn’t believe him, but Jesper didn’t feel ready to admit just yet what he’d saw, what he’d realised. He’d have to tell Nina tomorrow, he’d accepted that, but for right fucking now he wanted to forget.

Because if he didn’t forget he’d only end up crying, and Jesper felt too old to be crying over a boy.

He didn’t tell his Da about Wylan. He didn’t tell him that he’d only just realised that he liked his best friend. He didn’t tell him that he was struggling, that his course made him feel like he was drowning already, only three months in. He didn’t tell him that he already regretted ever coming here.

Instead, he lay back, shirt still wet, Matthias’ food sat unopened on the nightstand, eyes closed as he listened to his father talk about his week and what it was like being back on the farm and his Ma’s cherry tree.

“Jesper?” his father said suddenly, disrupting him from his sad thoughts.

“Yeah?” Jesper managed, forcing his voice not to crack.

“I love you, you know that right?”

Jesper inhaled suddenly, squeezing his eyes shut as tears seeped down his cheeks. “Yeah,” he tried, he tried, “Yeah I know. I love you too Da.”

When Kaz came back in the early hours of the morning, he wacked Jesper in the shin with the bottom of his cane, telling him to get dressed and eat something or ‘I swear to fucking Ghezen Jesper—’

Neither of them addressed his tear streaked face, or the way his voice was raspy and eyes red rimmed. He just ate his hutspot and let Kaz steal a few mouthfuls.

Later that night—morning—just as the clock turned to 5am, Jesper’s phone buzzed and he pulled it out on instinct, stomach turning to lead when he saw who it was from.

Wyvil

You OK? Nina said you had to leave early.

Jesper sucked in a breath. He could ignore. It was fucking 5am, Wylan wasn’t going to blame him for being asleep.

Jessie

im fine

someone spilled their drink on me and i nearly got sick

Jesper could never ignore Wylan, not really.

Wyvil

Well shit.

Want me to come over tomorrow with some stroopwafels?

And if any one word was likely to make Jesper cry, stroopwafel was the word.

Jessie

nah dw

i think nina has already claimed the nurse keeping position

Wyvil

Well if you need anything else, let me know!

Jesper promptly shoved his face into his pillow and he and Kaz both pretended he wasn’t crying.

You Wylan, I just need you.

“Alright. Spill.”

Jesper sighed.

The next morning—well, lunchtime—saw Nina sat in Jesper and Kaz’s shared dorm room, two steaming bowls of ramen balancing on his bed and Kaz grumbling about how he didn’t get any ramen.

‘If you want ramen you can get your own, Brekker,’ Nina had said, before turning her sharp, expectant gaze on Jesper.

“I may have... seen something,” he muttered, grabbing his bowl and cursing when it burnt his hands.

“I guessed that,” Nina huffed, “what did you see? Did you see what I think you saw?”

Jesper narrowed his eyes, “what do you think I saw?” He wasn’t appreciating this interrogation, thank you very much Nina.

Before he had a chance to answer, Kaz cut in, sounding bored, “he saw Wylan making out with that drummer.”

“How the fuck do you know that?” Jesper cried, nearly dropping his bowl of ramen at the exact same time Nina exclaimed, “I fucking knew they were making eyes at each other!”

Kaz blinked at both of them, flicking through his business book because only Kaz fucking Brekker would be studying on New Years Day.

Jesper groaned, abandoning his bowl in favour of burying his face in his hands. “Do I have a crush?” he whined, almost pitifully except he was moping too much to really care. Maybe he was a moper.

“You have whatever is after a crush,” Kaz said flatly, not even looking up.

“Alright Brekker, shut up or I’m kicking you out,” Nina snapped, turning back to Jesper. “Do you think you have a crush?”

Peeking at her from between his fingers, Jesper shrugged, “I mean, maybe? I think so. I don’t know. Ninaa.”

Nina huffed lightly, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips, “congrats Jes, you’re officially the last to know. Now eat your ramen.”

“Yes mom,” Jesper grumbled, but he felt eternally grateful for her anyway.

His phone buzzed from where it sat on the nightstand. Nina turned it off before he could even check who sent it.

Perhaps it was for the best.

[jumpscaregoose]

my art summary 2023!

these are the pieces that stood out to me the most from each month of 2023! long ramblings about each of them under the cut

january

hororen! this might have been a prompt for the hororen bingo event but I legit forget and the original post was not helpful

february

this was art for an lmk fic by writing god @/pittdpeaches (not gonna be annoying with a tag). it has the most notes of any piece I've ever posted and that's unfortunate because I Do Not Like It That Much.

march

this was the only thing I posted in march. it exists

april

hororen but as that soukoku art everyone loves. this piece is hilarious to me because it showed up in google image search results while I was trying to get someone into bsd and they then tried to find it themselves when I wouldn't show them by googling my full actual name. that was fun

may

I really like how the colours turned out on this one. which is good because I submitted it as one of my art finals 👍

june

and here we see the start of my pressure opacity lineart thing. with my boy lyserg. the line through his hair was probably just a guideline I left in by mistake but I like how it kinda looks like a halo. because the xlaws are just like that

july

magical girl anna! those beads were so annoying oh my god. it's a good thing I never decided to draw anything with detailed repeating links again :) ever :) who would ever subject themselves to that :)

august

this was again the only thing I drew that month, but this time I actually like it! tamajeanne is really underrated they should get more love (still hasn't written that fic)

september

and here my drama and pressure opacity begins in earnest. this is one of my favourite pieces out of everything I made this year it's great. this was also the start of my detailed hair obsession

october

*something shifts in the fabric of the universe* so this is when I got into paralive. if you weren't aware. there's a companion piece to this one but I liked it a lot less so here we are

november

I made a lot of art I liked this month but I chose this one because. it was my favourite. the Other cozmez reflection piece I did got a lot more unhinged tags but I thought the anatomy was wack so it didn't get the spot. this one was fun though I did it in one sitting in the middle of the night

december

this year really saved the best for last because I am. absolutely obsessed with this piece. it's my phone lockscreen right now. and everyone else really liked it too which makes me very very happy

overall trends I noticed in my art from this year:

SHOUJO SPARKLES but mostly in the first half

sketchy pressure opacity lineart (my favourite thing now)

bright colours fuck yeah

glowy circle particles (have been replacing the sparkles lately)

more finished compositions than last year

[dadr0ckmusic]

stranger things headcanons because i said so part 2 (the kids)

max mayfield

only eats green skittles

billy has told her multiple times that she needs to improve her taste in men

tried to get will to be treasurer of the mike wheeler hate club she founded. he said no

"are you ready to fucking rage?" "max we're only going to the dollar store."

she definitely takes those 6-hour, sweaty, bed-lined naps like everyday

makes those jokes like "why'd you turn the lamp on? to look at men? cause you're gay?" to mike

avid girl in red listener. "i thought you'd swing the other way since..." "WHAT THE FUCK BILLY"

"my bisexual bf and i in our straight passing relationship"

doesn't know how to spell courious,,,,, couiours,,,,, the thing george the monkey is

has zero school spirit. i don't blame her i would hate that school too

this girl LOVES hot wings and will murder everyone if they don't order wings when they get pizza

she got drugged REALLY BAD one year on halloween in cali. like girl was in third grade watching the wallpaper melt while being lectured for staying out late

would totally beat your ass if you went thrifting and found something cooler than her

she would totally get into metal/glam rock for approval from eddie and billy. eddie def took her to metallica's fort wayne concert in '86

i know this gal has a wagon full of ice and water balloons and she skates around hawkins and fucking hurls these water balloons at people she knows

dustin henderson

likes mint chocolate chip ice cream

he tried to learn a cool bike trick when he was in 4th grade and ended up breaking his arm and the bike. he never tried it again

his collection of hats is so dear to him you have no clue

takes care of a fake plant and doesn't know it. steve made robin and eddie vow to not tell him. dustin named it kevin

if he likes you enough absolutely NOTHING will get him to change his opinion on you. you killed a man? that's sick as hell. you beat steve's ass at some point? he needed sense knocked into him. you're cool as hell no matter what.

is a literal SLUT for gummi worms

call him 'casanova' or 'hot shot' and he'll be your best friend. his self-esteem would go through the roof

confuses people with facts and logic

total animal lover. he tried to be vegetarian once and gave up after like three days but its the thought that counts

him and eddie have an elaborate handshake (kind of like his and steve's in s3) and its so out of wack sometimes but always ends perfectly

he has a little photo album he hides in his closet and lucas found it one time and STILL gives him shit for it and blackmails him. "remember what i found in your closet dustin? it'd be a shame if someone were to know about it..." "okay FINE here's $20"

he cries wayyy more often than he wants to admit

he would have a crush on any steve-aged girl that ends up in the group. and when he met suzie he told the steve-aged girl that he was sorry he was off the market

he has so much gaydar its actually baffling.

will byers

he's just.... the sweetest kid on the planet

if you're apart of the lgbtq+ community, he'd be so understanding because he's gay (obvi) and he loves you! so much!

i know this mf would've made eddie postpone hellfire to go to lucas's game and watch him make the winning shot

he gets the most bitches in the party despite being gay. i do not make the rules.

he would be on the track team in high school

brings a camera with him EVERYWHERE and documents everything and makes a photo book for each person in the group

always always always worrying about your well-being especially after any upside down madness

him and max are BEST BUDS and it terrifies the party.

he would spend HOURS on a drawing for you and the meaning will make you cry. "it took a little while... but it's worth it because you mean a lot to me :)" tears ensue. "WILL BYERS YOU MEAN THE UNIVERSE TO ME"

talks to eddie for hours upon hours about lord of the rings/the hobbit. HOURS

always rides shotgun. he totally has the widest taste in music and it actually shocks people sometimes

THE. BEST. HUGGER. let me tell you. if you've been through it and he hugs you? the goddamn waterworks. no doubt about it.

makes mixtapes for everyone in the party. mixes in some prog rock for taste to 'widen their musical knowledge'

he's ticklish. but if you tickle him he's beating you to a pulp

sometimes he's SUCH a little shit and gets away with it so often

lucas sinclair

will made him a friendship bracelet and he hasn't removed it in three years.

he has really weird dreams. like when the party all stay at someone's house they always wake him up early and ask him what he dreamed about.

he likes apple juice and is very ashamed of it

if they ever go to a waterpark, lucas is FORCING mike to get on the biggest slides with him just to see him freak out

can't look at a waffle without thinking of el

threatened to sell mike to the commies once and mike didn't speak to him for a week

when max was in lucas's arms after vecna attacked her he remembered the "do you accept the risk" conversation and he broke.

one time during d&d he missed an attack against a dragon and punched the table so hard he fractured his wrist

when he shot billy in the face with the slingshot he was actually so proud of himself that he looked to see if anyone was watching and then he remembered the situation they were in

would listen the SHIT out of frank ocean.

is the opposite of "no homo" this fucker says "full homo bro" and leans in to kiss dustin lmfaooo

just so confused 24/7

him and will are absolute menaces. like they'll be getting yelled at by steve and they make eye contact with each other and fucking lose it

eleven

lesbian el ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

she loooves watching will do anything art-related

just so curious (i know how to spell curious i was joking earlier) about everything! wants to know everything about everything and will spend hours reading library books about a subject

had will braid her hair when it was long

has girls nights with max, nancy, and robin

learned about the concept of death later than normal and she sometimes says "i'm gonna miss you when you die" to someone in the party and it freaks them out

the party taught her how to ride a bike and now she BEGS them to go on bike rides even when its snowing

collects LOADS of funky socks cause she's a funky little lesbian

love love loves writing letters!! when she lived in lenora she sent soooo many letters to everyone, even steve

after the first time max painted her nails, it became her favorite color over time

keeps candy in her pockets ALL THE TIME just in case someone needs cheering up

remembers specific times and dates like when she got to california, when she met robin officially, and when joyce told her to trust her and that she's safe

gets everyone out of trouble at school because all the teachers love her

loves perfume so much. she's always asking max which ones she likes best so she can try them

mike wheeler

him and nancy fought over who got to name holly

i just KNOW this mf uses axe body spray like deodorant and its probably the reason el breaks up with him (besides the fact he's totally in love with will)

prefers coke over pepsi

eddie always compares mike to a spider and calls him skinny and gross and lanky and it sometimes makes mike sad but eddie truly doesn't mean it

scared of ladybugs

fucker hates pickles

he cried when xxxtentacion died when he really never listened to him before he died. mike even made him his lockscreen he was that devoted to being a fake fan

an asshole towards anyone he isn't friends with. even if someone in the party really likes this person he is NOT giving in

this little fucker needs his mommy to cut the crust off his sandwiches cause he's a BABY. he needs his mommy to tuck him into bed cause he's a BABY.

i know this dude's middle name is anthony or some shit

i know s2 mike would beat the FUCK out of s4 mike

his favorite animals are frogs and lizards cause he reminds me of a lizard

[stylistiquements]

Day 1 : Soap Bubbles.

𐐪𐑂 Pairing : Sapnap x fem!reader {Playlist}

𐐪𐑂 Summary : You're being introduce to the internet in a peculiar way, it's up to you to decide what you're going to do with it.

𐐪𐑂 Word count : 1.4k | W: written part underneath

𐐪𐑂 Warning : very few swears

Masterlist | Previous | Next

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・　　 .・゜゜・　　・゜゜・

The coffee that sinks inside your stomach brings out a grimace and a click of your tongue where the taste stains; too bitter, too acidic but you’ll drink it anyway and to the last drop; there is something about the idea of spending time with three best friends that is so made of spring and honey that you wish to miss none of it.

“Someone is lurking,” George contemplates out loud, and the call goes silent for a second as if to look for the intruder. And it would so easy to flinch, to hit the back pedal, because you almost feel like one being exposed front stage like that. But today- today is not that day.

It's not that you don't want to join the discussion, it's that it takes a second to warm up, to absorb the energy and become one with it.

And sometimes, all it takes is Sapnap to exclaim, “Panini head, my beloved!” for your smile synchronizes with his chuckles. Somehow, once noticed by the right person, life flows back naturally.

George and Dream greets you in trailing unison, like two kids forced to greet their unwelcomed aunt on a sunday afternoon.

“H-hey troublemakers,” you finally say. Your voice is still quiet, not reluctant, but rather uncertain. It doesn't bother anyone.

“I’m beating Dream’s ass at chess and he’s bitter,” Sap explains, and you silently nod, as if they were able to see you.

A long silence follows along, rythmed by clicks of mouses and keyboards and it falls in your ears like high droplets. It's comfortable. It's intimate, shared with friends only.

"We haven't heard from you in a while," Dream says. "I mean ... before the clout fiasco."

You wouldn't exactly call it a fiasco, even though you don't really like the idea of being perceived a little too closely from the eyes of twitter.com, but you do agree anyway, "I've been caught up on college essays lately."

"That sucks," George probably adds.

“Good thing you’re here, then,” Dream notes, simple as a breath. “This is a worry-free zone.”

It hovers for a second, carried by George’s approval hum.

You squint suspiciously, detective mode, at the profile pictures that light on and off before your eyes, “Thanks, dream.”

He scoffs a “sure” and you’re not sure why you sense a bit of irony stuck on the back of his teeth. You're so tempted to call him out, but you don't. Instead, you write a mental note of this odd moment.

“It’s because I told him about your three brothers and now he’s scared they’re gonna find him and kick his ass,” Sap explains as if he just read your mind.

Sometimes, there’s this thing in the air, though you’re miles away. Something like a connection. There’s this thing when you don’t need to talk for Sap to understand. Sharing one brain cell, you dismiss ironically. Probably coincidences and predictability, but it always sounds a little special, a little like something you’d wish to be out of this world, like morning dew and fairy circles. And it makes you feel safe, at home, just like snuggling up in the sheets during a stormy night. Your smile washes up the sleeve of your hoodie, covered palm carefully hiding your chuckles.

“Three older brothers,” George muses, and there’s no telling if it’s something meant for you to hear. “That’s kinda scary.”

“You better be scared, one of them is probably your FBI agent,” you tease mindlessly, though there's nothing scary about those three grown men.

“I’m British, Bunny,” he points out. Whether the exasperation in his tone is fake or genuine, that, you can’t tell, but you play it cool, grin carved so deep it almost hurts. Dream’s wheezes rise and fall in the background.

“Say that to his face then,” you outbid smirkingly after a second of silence, heels growing into the carpet to make your chair spin slowly left and right, so breezily.

“I’d praise you for the rest of my life if you-Oooooooh your ass is wacked. Your ass is so wacked, dude. You fucked up so bad,” Sapnap chokes out between strings of giggles.

“Oh no, my streamer is losing his game?” You theatrically pout. “My streamer Dreamwastaken, have you met him? Guess you don’t need any of my brothers to kick your ass.”

“Okay yeah- no- it’s not my fault if your- they’re distracting me, okay?” Dream defends.

Slowly, the energy lowers again and the call remembers peace as Dream admits defeat.

“I’m not playing against you anymore,” he mumbles through greeted teeth, your hoodie shelters a muffled giggle. “Let’s talk about y/n’s twitter fame instead.”

“Let’s just not-” you mutter, both because seeing Dream lose at something is a miracle that has to be witnessed once and because you’re somewhat reluctant. “Let’s just not talk about that.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I had no idea it would draw this much attention to you,” Sap admits.

“Well, you talk about her all the time it was only a matter of time before twitter finds out,” George taunts and you secretly smile, listening to the way your best friend tries to defend himself, mind flooded with the last memories you have of when you were able to see those chuckles for real.

“Yeah, Quackity already told me you guys talk behind my back,” you fakely muse. “That’s totally fine, I don’t wanna know what you guys are talking about at all.” It’s a lie, obviously, the idea creeps upon your mind with assumptions you can’t quite get a grip of nor let go.

“You and Quackity talk?’ Sapnap asks, hint of surprise, and you hum.

“Or rather, he talks to me. He keeps calling-.” Shit. The forsaken word traps itself into your mouth. It’s too silly anyway.

“Come on, just say it,” Dream pushes as if he knew too much, more than you even do, and your cheeks flush mindlessly. You don’t notice.

“Dream, quit it!” You demand.

“Quit what?”

“You talk as if you knew more than anyone did.”

“Maybe I just do,” he coos, so dream-like.

Oblivious or careless, Sapnap asks, “Is Quackity bothering you or something?”

“He-" you begin but stop to look for the right way to put it, "He triggers my flight or fight response.”

"I mean, duh," Sapnap probably rolls his eyes.

"But I like him. He's funny."

After a second of silence, George says, “Well that was unexpected.”

“Not so much, I think we’re both chaotic neutral people.”

“What is that neutral chaotic thing anyway?” Dream is confused.

Roll up your sleeve girl boss because now is your time to shine! You offer your best dream smp alignment chart to the classroom. They're speechless, but they listen carefully.

"Then you're more chaotic good than neutral. You're too sweet anyway," Sap says.

"I'd even say lawful good," George debates.

"That's because you haven't seen Bunny during her crazy cat hour."

"True," you note.

"She'll go absolutely batshit."

“What?" George burst between confusion and surprise. "We've never seen you like that."

"A lady never reveal her secrets," you retort. No one answer.

It leaves a second for your mind to enjoy peace. For your eyes to lay on c!tubbo on lawful good and think true, then on c!dream on chaotic evil and think also very true. You huff and it's like a wave; as sarcasm leaves your breath, an idea comes in.

"Sap, check your DMs," you request.

Surrounded by the evening lull, Sapnap’s laugh pops like soap bubbles, "God, you’re so stupid. Why can't you just marry me?"

“So, is it Sapnap approved?” You chuckle lightly to prevent Sapnap’s morning fresh laugh to fill your chest and leak everywhere.

“Just press ‘send tweet’ please,” he confirms with leftovers of a smile in his voice.

"George, get me out of here. They're doing it again," Dream whines.

"Doing what?" He asks, unbothered.

"Act like they're alone in the convo. Just get a room." And you don't get to stand up for yourself that you and your best friend are actually sent to another room.

"Well this one is chaotic evil confirmed," you mumble as you roll your eyes but the vibes are much peaceful, much more comfortable in here. "So ... hi."

"Hi," he chuckles in return.

Maybe that's for the best; a moment that needs to stay a little timeless, secretive and special. It hasn't happened in so long, you don't even remember the last time it did.

"I'm glad you're here. I miss you, you know?" He says, and it's hard to not feel so bittersweet about it. It's hard when longing involves a craved touch, a real smile and an eye contact. Your shoulder sinks in the chair a little harder.

"I miss you too. I'll be here soon," you promise. And soon couldn't come any sooner.

But the conversation, soft and free, will wash up any worries, as always, and you'll end up talking about everything and nothing, about streams and planned videos and college and god knows what. As long as it makes the two of you happy and smiling. Just like the old days, you'll both think and it's fair to say until the evening turns into night and night turns into fatigue.

"Are you sure you're okay about that clout?" He asks once again. "I know you don't like being exposed like that."

"Yeah, yeah don't worry too much about it. I'll try to make good use of it."

"I'm sure you will," he murmurs, but oh boy did he not know what was about to come until you two meet.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・　　 .・゜゜・　　・゜゜・

Taglist : @open-minded-chip-101 ; @itsoakaa ; @gaysludge

A/N : so first of all it has come to my attention that 129 days from now on is actually my birthday so that's a weird coincidence lol. Hi how are you guys?? welcome to the first part I hope you liked it. I'm fairly new to the mcyt community and that's the first time I write for them, so bear with me. Feedbacks are always appreciated. Until next time (ɔˆ ³(ˆ⌣ˆc)

[kurosstuff]

Fluffy Donna! Was requested hehe- also hope it was good? I literally hate this. Haha. Wtf. Also cut it short so I could get it out for you guy- got a bit stressed over this work? So.. take my attempt at soft fluff

Warning(s): angie swears again*once* cause she can and I say so. SLIGHT sexual innuendo(but its not? Someone I had read it over and said it was so-)its Angie. Other then that tooth rotting fluff

Donna Beneviento x reader: Tea time

Waking up beside the doll maker was a blessing as it was a curse. The unveiled lover curled into your side, breath slower than usual indicating she's still asleep, the arm around her moved slightly causing the women to mumble into you, clutching your shirt. In a silent yet loud way of saying "don't leave", smiling sleepily you used your other hand to brush her bangs away-Donna in turn leaned into your hand smiling, melting into your touch even while she slept.

A harsh wack from the head yanked you from the pleasant sight-looking up. Rolling your eyes jokingly at the sight. The cursed side was the rabid doll that yet again kicked your head above you, Angie laid sprawled out like a cat above you both. Mostly cured around Donna's pillow she kicked her legs yet again in her sleep. A scratchy sleep giggle escaped the doll

"Seems shes having a good dream" drawing your attention to the women in your arms, smiling up at you. Cuddling deeper into the crook of your neck. "I wish we could stay like this for the rest of the day" chuckling as you brought a hand to her messy hair- freed from her hair tie, let loose into wild knots and tangles from the tossing and turning of her sleeping- a content sigh escaped her from the head scratches you gave

"Yes. I wish that as well" you started with a hum as you pretending to think "but." Your hand froze on her head thinking aloud, her eye glanced up curiously "what would Lady Dimitrescu say? After all isn't today the date of the tea party?" At that Donna faster then usual shot up from the bed, almost falling out from the realization

-

Two minutes later you both were dressed-after the relentless teasing on your end, you decided to play it safe for now and leave your beloved alone for the moment. "You know love, this is my favorite time of the day, waking up in your.. arms" she spoke blushing from the attempted compliment. Nevermind your earlier self agreement teasing seemed.. to work in your favor sometimes

"Oh? I have to agree" you spoke placing the comforter 'perfectly' on the bed, turning to face her "mine is when the sun bleeds into the room, engulfing you in its light" slowly walking towards her you wrapped your arms around her waist slowly swaying "the light of my day"

"That I have to disagree with" Donna spoke leaning back in your arms smiling "you are the light of my day." Bringing a thing ling finger down the side of your haw tilting it to her face smiling. Grasping your jaw in her firm steady hand the cool radiating off it "my love, you bring so much happiness in my life-"

"GOD FUCKING DAMN IT- TELL ME TO GET OUT BEFORE YOU DO ALL THIS" a loud shirlly voice gagged at the sight of you guys flirting "MY GOD WHAT A NIGHTMARE" running out of the room, you both laughed at her reaction separating from one another

-

After getting ready for the day, Donna reached for your hand giving it a gentle squeeze before you both walked out hand in hand. "So what do you think she has planned?"

"Not sure.. she may try to get the rest of the cake from last night" Donna spoke-glancing over towards you with a shrug, drawing a gentle laugh from you "or she could try getting you to eat plywood again" a almost smug smile appeared on Donna's face at the comment

"Oh come on love, that was one time" you grimaced at the memory, one of the first nights living in the manor and somehow Angie convinced you that this 'cookie' she made was a gift from the lady of the house. What a fool you were-you should have guessed but- with it being so late you chalked it up for a stupid sleepy moment.

You can still imagine her cackles after you ate it- the only good thing out of it was that being the first time hearing Donna's voice. Even though it was just her saying "oh my" that voice, the calm deep voice made you happy for make fool of yourself.

Even eating plywood

You still aren't sure how you didn't break any teeth from it either-

"-/N? Hey love are you ok?" Snapping back into the present you looked beside you, Donna looked concerned like something was wrong, worry written in her face but most of all-the nervousness in her eye showed how concerned she really was, other then the indicator of her twitching hand-a way for her to show her emotions through her hands, a habit she picked up before she felt comfortable to not wear her veil "what's on your mind?"

"You" the automatic response made you both freeze, before giving your hand a squeeze she looked away with a slight blush-caught off guard with such a bold move.

-

Entering the kitchen, Angie was running about yelling- pans and water flinging everywhere with a bang. "Angie calm down we're here" you tried blaming her but, that seemed to just wild her up even more proceeding with her jumping onto the kitchen counter, knowing what she was going to do you ran over to her only to catch her in time

"Ok no sweets for you today missy" you gently scolded the Rowdy doll who grumbled in your arms, placing her down Angie ran to the table sitting holding the fork and knife(plastic, you learned your last mistake, no more starwars for her that's for sure) smiling at the childlike doll you jokingly rolled your eyes.

Placing the plate of glazed donuts onto the table Angie quickly snatched two cutting into it viciously then proceeded to mimick eatting it, siting down beside Donna who grabbed your hand gently rubbing the back of it with her thumb, "eat slower dear. We have a tea party scheduled today remember?" Donna spoke quietly in an attempt to remind the doll-who froze

"...did you guys think it was today?" Angie stated uncharacteristically calm before laughing loudly "TODAY? HAHA THE TALL GIRLY WOULD HAVE KILLED YOU BOTH IF THAT WAS THE CAS-" She laughed before choking the fork in her mouth going too deep, coughing it up it flew hitting the ground with a thump. "Ow."

"Oh Angie" you said kneeling down to the child doll, bringing the napkin to her face to dab it gently, from the look she gave-if she could she would have rolled her eyes at you. "Please eat slower or you'll choke"

"Choke?" Angie said before giggling, the same one everyone knew. Not anything good "kinda like how Donna choked on-"

"ANGIE" Donna yelled strained, face flushed. A loud cackling was heard before the quiet pitter patter of footsteps rushed off "I swear she will be the death of me" shaking her head she looked away to watch her as she ran

"She is a riot that's for sure" standing up you picked the dishes stacking them on one another, going over to the sink you gently placed them in as you started to wash them.

Coming up from behind you Donna wrapped her arms around your waist, "Let me help love" she whispered in your ear making you shiver in response. Chuckling softly she pulled away grabbing a plate, washing it beside you. Glancing to the women beside you, a smile came across your face.

The quiet nature combined with the.. rowdy if you'd call it nature of Angie it made life interesting to say the least. Glancing to your lover to the doll who helped you both seal the deal. It made it worth it, You'd never give this life up for anything.

[mandoalorian]

Agent whisky (Teacher) x New agent (student). As you’re both fighting, you both get hot and bothered and reader throws him against a wall and the rest in folds. (Fem reader)

After Class [Jack Daniels x Reader] SMUT

Word count: 2.4k

Rating: 18+

Warnings: SMUT, p in v, creampie, choking, teacher x student, exhibitionist kink, implied age difference

Masterlist

He was insufferable. He was your teacher — and oh, you hated him. You hated how he'd come into class smelling like sweet, honeyed cologne, causing all the girls to swoon at the mere sight of him. It was laughable, really. He wasn't anything special. He was attractive, sure. He had the charm of a king and the politeness of a saint. But it didn't matter because you hated him, and you wanted him to know that you hated him. So you'd talk during his lectures and you'd roll your eyes whenever he tried addressing you directly. He had this know-it-all attitude, he had these deep, chocolate brown eyes that were so easy to get lost in. The Statesman Academy shouldn't have even hired him. It was so easy to get lost in those damn eyes.

His eyes were just a few shades darker than his hair, which he kept hidden under a cringe-worthy cowboy hat. But you'd be lying to yourself if you said you hadn't dreamt of wearing it while you ride him. The dirty fantasies about Mr Daniels (though he'd have you call him 'sir') didn't become regular until a few months ago. Now it was every single class where you became hypnotised by his attractive looks.

You hated his perfectly groomed mustache and how the thought of it brushing against your cunt haunted you during his seminars. You hated the perfect curve in his nose and how you imagined it nudging against your clit as he performed the most life changing oral on you. If only he knew about the things that went on in that filthy little mind of yours.

You practically gasped out loud when Mr Daniels dropped your assignment on the desk in front of you, a circle with a big red 'F' marked on. He quirked an inquisitive eyebrow at you, before moving on to hand out the rest of the essays. No way— there was no way that your essay has been marked fairly. You might have been slacking just a little this semester (due to Mr Daniels obnoxious handsome looks), but not to the extent of getting an F in your finals!

"Well done class, we all performed exceptionally well this term. There is however one person I need to see after class, she knows who she is," Mr Daniels glanced briefly at you and you narrowed your eyes, folding your arms over your chest. "But have an excellent vacation and remember don't party too hard." He winked cheekily before dismissing the class. Once the students filed out of the room, and the bell rang, signifying the end of the day, Mr Daniels stalked back into the classroom. He said nothing, didn't even spare you a look. He padded over to his desk, sunk into his chair and began to go through paperwork.

You waited for something— anything. The silence was deafening, and you began to tap your feet against the floor impatiently. Why the hell was he holding you hostage in his stuffy classroom on the last day of term? You assumed it was due to your abysmal grade on your essay, but he hadn't even mentioned it. He was ignoring you and once again, you hated him for it.

You were staring him out with absolutely no shame, taking in all his features. You admired his broad shoulders and watched his bicep flex as he wrote comments on the work he was checking through.

He'd noticed your staring too. He always had. He tried to contain the blush that crept up on his cheeks as your eyes burned into his body, watching his every move. You could cut the sexual tension with a knife. If he was going to speak to you about your essay result, he'd need to have a drink first. After a few more minutes of silence, he excused himself and left the classroom. Each professor at the academy had their own affinity for alcohol, Mr Daniels' beverage of choice being a glass of warm whiskey. He poured it into a small tumbler, admiring the amber liquid as he dropped a few cubes of ice in, letting it clink against the glass. The mere thought of you in his classroom, waiting for you, was enough to make his cock stir. He sighed, gulping down the liquid and made his way back to the classroom. It was the first time you and Mr Daniels had some one on one alone time. He hadn't drank enough to get intoxicated, but it was enough for him to lower his inhibitions.

He walked into the classroom and locked the door behind him, before turning to face you.

"Why am I here?" you asked with an unamused frown.

"You went from being a straight A student to getting an F in your most important exam of the year," Mr Daniels huffed with a disappointed shake of his head. You didn't care— no, you couldn't let yourself care about your professor. But seeing the despondency written across his face was enough to make your heart yearn with guilt for letting him down. "What happened?" he quizzed you eventually.

You considered his question. You weren't a dishonest person, and you knew exactly what had happened. You had been so distracted by your professor's ravenous demeanor, that you'd become too overcome with sexual desire to even focus the slightest in his lectures.

"You happened." you said, regretting the words as soon as they left your lips. Your voice broke slightly— you sounded pathetic.

"Excuse me?" he asked, raising both of his eyebrows in disingenuous surprise. You wanted to wipe the smirk that you saw creeping up on his lips. Your education wasn't a joke.

"I was doing fine in Agent Tequila's class," you acknowledged. "Maybe it's your teaching." you shrugged.

"My teaching?" Mr Daniels gasped incredulously.

"Oh quit playing dumb," you said, suddenly rising to your feet. Your chair scraped against the floor as you stalked over to your teacher. "I know my worth Mr Daniels, and it's not an F."

"Please, call me Jack." He hummed, reaching out and caressing your cheek. You subconsciously leaned into his smooth hand as his thumb rubbed gentle circles into your jaw. You hadn't even realised how close he had gotten to you as he admired your face, and the intimacy began to take effect down below.

"Oh, first name basis?" you spat sarcastically, pressing the palm of your hand against his chest, threading your fingers through the buttons of his white shirt so you could gently graze the skin of his tan chest. "How polite."

"Manners maketh man," he smirked, quoting the Statesman mantra, and you wanted to wack that dumb cowboy hat off his head. "Let me translate that for you," he pouted condescendingly, letting his hands fall to your own chest.

He squeezed your tits through your blouse, drawing a few wanton moans from you. "Wh- what makes you think I need that translated?" you asked your professor, trying to keep your cool. This is exactly what you had dreamt about for the past three months. His thumb rolled over your hardening nipples, pinching them now and again so he could watch you squirm underneath his touch.

"The F on your paper?" he shot back. Your eyes widened and you pushed him into the wall, his back slamming against the concrete as he groaned from the pressure you'd placed on him. He would be lying if he said it didn't feel good though. It was rare he'd have a lady take charge — especially not one as young and bright eyed as yourself.

"I hate you," you snarled as his fingers dipped under the hem of your short, pleated skirt. He chuckled darkly, sending a frenzy of butterflies erupting in your stomach.

"Oh sugar," he drawled, the smell of scotch lacing his breath as he pressed a soft kiss into your jaw. You couldn't contain the small whimper that escaped your lips. He smirked, knowing exactly what he could do to you— how he could make you feel. "Look at you… got me pressed against the wall. I'm your teacher." he reminded you with a small tut.

"You drive me crazy," you admitted in a fluster, your hand falling down his button up shirt and resting at his oversized belt buckle. The coolness of the metal stung your skin as you parted your legs slightly, rubbing what you could on his jean clad thigh. "When you stand up there, in front of the class, talking all that shit about, about-" you couldn't even get your words out as his fingers graced your cunt, feeling out your clit under the material of your dampening panties.

"What?" Jack murmured, his teeth grazing your jaw as he sucked softly against your skin. "What is it?" he urged you to continue, your breathing jumping as he continued to softly press his thick fingers along your aching core. You tried to answer but nothing except lewd moan came out, and you felt your cheeks heat up with embarrassment. "You joined the academy. You wanted to train as an agent. Maybe you'd prefer it if I transferred your classes to, let's say, Agent Champ? Or the sweet Ginger Ale?"

You curled your fingers around his leather belt. "N-no," you growled. "I want you," you revealed as you unclipped it and tossed it to one side. You groaned wantonly as you felt his erection press up against your thigh. It was clear that your professor wanted you too. "You know if- if Principal Champ finds out about this…" you moaned, working your fingers at Jack's zipper.

"He's not going to find out about this," Jack snapped, his harsh tone causing your eyes to snap open.

"O-okay cowboy," you bit your lip seductively, finally pulling his zipper down and freeing his hard, aching cock. You immediately wrapped your hand around him, smearing his precum down his length and started to pump at his erection, satisfied with the string of curses falling from his tongue.

"Fuck- so good," Jack praised as you worked his cock with your hands. "But I want more… I want to bury my cock in the warmth of your pussy. Would you like that baby girl?" he hummed, both his hands grabbing on your shoulders as he turned around and pushed you into the wall. You gasped as he ripped open your blouse in one swift manouver, the buttons popping and falling everywhere. His hungry lips pressed against yours as he slid his tongue into your mouth, kissing you roughly and with passion.

"Someone could just walk in." you gasped as Jack yanked your skirt down, letting it pool around your ankles.

He groaned longingly as he played with the waistband of your panties. "Lace? For school? I knew you were a dirty girl." he chuckled darkly before pulling them down. He wasted no time, pressed two fingers into your weeping cunt and rubbing between your folds. He stroked tight and precise circles into your clit, desperate to pump an orgasm out of you before he even entered. Your eyes snapped shut as you pressed your fingernails into his still clothed back. "Oh, you like that don't you?"

"Mm don't stop," you begged, rolling your hips against his fingers.

"Is this what you think about during my lectures?" Jack cooed. "Or do you imagine my cock?" He pressed his blunt tip against the inside of your thigh, pushing himself in between your legs. "So fucking wet and all for me." your professor shook his head in slight awe. You pushed the hat off his head and tangled your fingers in his dark brown hair, tugging teasingly in attempt to gain a reaction out of him.

Without warning, two of his fingers pushed inside of you and began to scissor you open. "If you want my cock I gotta make sure you're able to take it," he whispered huskily.

His fingers worked like magic and it wasn't long before your walls tightened around him and you reached your climax. "Greedy pussy." Jack sighed, removing his fingers and sucking them clean.

"Please sir, fuck me," you begged, your hands cupping his face as he lined himself up with your entrance.

"I told you, call me Jack," he growled before pushing himself deep into your quivering hole.

"Fuck Jack," you whined once he was fully seated. He was bigger than you had ever taken before, and he set a brutal pace. The classroom filled with obscene wet sounds as every single thrust became harder and sloppier as his balls slapped against your dripping cunt.

Jack kept up his pace, not halting once. "You always- you always fucking answer back," he whispered, digging one hand into your hip and bringing the other to your neck, squeezing it just enough for your eyes to widen slightly.

"Mm you always give me a reason too," you shot back and Jack's grip around you tightened as he fucked you senselessly.

"Shit, gonna cum. Gonna cum inside you and you're going to take it— understood?" he asked breathlessly. You nodded in affirmation and it only took a few more messy thrusts before he spilled his salty seed inside you.

He carefully sat you down on the edge of his desk as you came down from your own high. "Are you okay?" he asked you as he tucked himself back in his pants and adjusted his tie.

"That better have earned me an A," you muttered, biting your lip and shooting a seductive glance towards your teacher.

"Fair is fair," Jack shrugged. "You can leave when you're ready. Have a nice vacation." he smiled, back to his usual polite professor self. It made you sick— the way he could just fuck you with no remorse against the wall of his classroom and then pretend like nothing happened.

You stood up, taking your clothes from the ground and lazily sliding back into your skirt. "I don't have a fucking blouse," you mumbled, your eyes following the abundance of buttons that trailed across the floor. "You ruined it."

Mr Daniels took his suit jacket and wrapped it around your naked torso, buttoning it up gently so you were all covered up. "Do you need a lift home?" he asked.

You bit your lip, remembering your parents weren't home and smiled. "Actually, yeah please." you told him, wondering if he'd be interested in a round two.

Taglist — let me know if you wish to be added!

Permanent: @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal @castiel-barnes @honeymandos @rocketqueen @ladycumberbatchofcamelot @dybalalover10 @girl-obsessed-with-things @elena-myth @moth-guillotine @pedro-pascal-love @hayley-the-comet @pinkninja190 @maxiarapamaya @autumnleaves1991-blog

[yellowsuitcase]

Let me help you // Draco Malfoy

Request: heyy, I wanted to make a request bc I love your writting sm!!! I was wondering if u would like to do an imagine where the reader is on the Gryffindor quidditch team and after a match she is tired and Draco helps her shower or sth like that? maybe smut if you feel like? idk u are the writer and if u can could u include prompts 33 and 98? omg im sorry if this is too long honestly just do whatever feels confortable to u i just had that idea, thanks keep up the good work.

A/N: I started writing this soon after I received this request because omg the amount of smut I’ve been writing has been k i l l i n g me and I knew I could turn this into something super fluffy, so I did. It may not be my best, my wrist has been hurting a lot and my fingers do be swollen. But I hope you enjoy!

Summary: After an intense quidditch game, Y/N is really sore and Draco helps her wash up.

Warning(s): None... it’s super super fluffy :)

Word Count: 3.1k

Prompts: 33 & 98

Y/N stumbled into the quidditch changing room and sat onto the nearest bench. She was utterly exhausted from the match. Her team, Gryffindor, had versed Ravenclaw, and even though they had won, it was not an easy fight. Y/N was a beater; thus, she often threw herself in front of the bludgers to wack them with her bat. In this particular game, they had been tied with Ravenclaw at 70 - 70. 

{During the game}

Y/N was scanning the field for bludgers when she noticed Harry had spotted the snitch and was chasing after it. Her heart leaped with joy until she saw it, a bludger heading straight for him. She zoomed towards him without hesitating and raised her bat to hit it away, but then the worst happened. Y/N dropped her bat. The Ravenclaw seeker was hot on Harry’s tail, and if Y/N let the bludger hit him, she knew they’d lose the match, and it would be her fault. So, she grasped her broom and slowly placed her right foot on the wooden handle. Once it was stable, she let go of her broom entirely and lifted her left foot onto the broom. She was now riding it as if it were a surfboard. 

Her eyes narrowed in on the bludger. Just as it was moments away from crashing into Harry, Y/N leaped off her Comet 180 and landed on top of the hurling ball. She gripped the bludger tight and gritted her teeth as she was thrown around in the air. It was getting harder and harder to hold on, but then Y/N heard the cheers from the crowd; Harry had successfully caught the golden snitch. Gryffindor had won. She quickly looked around and found that the bludger was driving her towards the stands. Faced with only two options, Y/N held her breath and let go of the bludger. Screams and gasps erupted from the crowd as she fell. But no spell saved her, and she hit the ground with a thud. Her legs seemed to have taken the brunt of the fall, and her back was definitely affected, but luckily, the bludger had lowered her close to the earth, and when she fell, she only dropped about eight or nine feet. Still, her team promptly rushed over to her with worry in their eyes.

And now she was sitting on an old wooden bench, trying to gather the strength to lift her arms and begin pulling off her boots. Her teammates were already long gone since Madam Hooch had held Y/N back after the game to assess her. By the time the silver-haired woman had determined she was alright, her friends had already headed to the showers. Y/N sighed softly, slowly bent over, and began untying her boots. All while doing her best to ignore the pain. The knot was loose when she heard loud footsteps drawing near. Y/N quickly snatched her wand from her locker, just to be safe, and turned towards the tent entrance. A few moments later, Draco, her boyfriend, came bursting inside. He was terribly out of breath and stopped to put his hands on his knees and regain steady breathing. As his chest heaved, he picked his head up to scan the room, spotting Y/N instantly. A look of relief washed over his face when he saw her, and he straightened his back. “Thank Merlin, you’re still here,” he mumbled while taking long strides towards her. 

“I’m fine, Draco, seriously. You didn’t have to run all the way back here,” she scolded her boyfriend gently, trying to convince him and herself that she was perfectly fine. But the Slytherin paid her no mind. Instead, he kissed her head, knelt down in front of her, and began untying her quidditch shoes. “I can do it myself!” she insisted. Draco raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? Alright then, do it,” he retorted while rising from the floor. Y/N gulped. She hadn’t expected Draco to believe her. But, she wasn’t one to admit weakness so easily. She took a deep breath and once again bent herself over and took her thick laces into her hands. Pain spread through her back, but Y/N was determined to prove Draco wrong. She started to untie and watched as the opening of her boot grew wider. Soon enough, she finished and tilted her head upwards to smirk at Draco. But he didn’t seem bothered. 

“Go on then, take it off,” he prompted. Y/N stifled her frown and redirected her attention to her boot. She first tried to lift her leg up to place her calve atop her opposite knee, but once she engaged her thigh muscles, pain washed over her, and she quickly relaxed her leg. 

Next, she attempted to straighten out her leg and push the boot off, rather than pull. She gritted her teeth and slowly raised her foot off the floor, holding it in midair for about two seconds before her leg began to shake, and she dropped it back down. Draco huffed angrily and knelt once again. “Must you push your limits every single game, Y/N? You can’t even hold your foot an inch off the ground!” he reprimanded as he slid off her boot. “Oh, piss off, if I hadn’t made that jump, we would’ve lost the game, and you know it,” she snapped. Despite his obvious anger, Draco delicately slid Y/N’s other shoe off her foot and started unbuckling her knee pads. 

“Y/N, you got extremely lucky. If you had missed your jump, you probably would’ve died,” Draco reminded her with a scowl on his face. “You got lucky, Y/N. You probably would’ve died, Y/N,” the Gryffindor repeated in a mocking tone. Draco threw her knee pad to the floor and rose to his feet. “You’d better fix that attitude,” he spat while glaring at his girlfriend. “Don’t you understand? I almost had to watch you fall to your death. If you had simply lost your footing or couldn’t get a grip on the bludger, I would’ve had to watch you die.”

Suddenly, Y/N truly realized the risk she had taken. Draco was right; she could’ve really hurt herself when she decided to take that leap. She looked up at Draco and saw he was still quite angry. But behind the fury, Y/N could see the hurt in his eyes. A sigh escaped her, and she rubbed her hands down her face. “I’m sorry, Dray, you’re right. But I had to do something, if I didn’t then, we would've lost, and it would’ve been my fault. And what if Harry had gotten hurt? You know how people are; they’d be so angry with me for failing to protect precious Potter. I’ve already fucked up in the past, and I couldn’t—”

“Shh, shh. It’s alright darling, I know,” Draco hushed her as he sat beside Y/N and took her into his arms. “Look, I’m sorry for getting mad at you. You did something brave out on that pitch, and all I’ve done is berate you when I should’ve been congratulating you. But you’ve got to understand that you scared me, Y/N. You put your life in danger just to win a game.” Y/N turned to look at Draco, her eyebrows raised. “Technically, I always put myself in danger. It is quidditch, you know,” she said pointedly. Draco rolled his eyes and kissed her head. “You know what I mean,” he muttered. Silence fell over them for a few minutes as they leaned against one another. 

“Come on, love. Let’s get you to the showers,” Draco said while rising to his feet. Y/N took his outstretched hand and winced as he pulled up. She gathered her belongings and walked with Draco around the corner to the bathroom. Y/N walked through the door, not expecting her boyfriend to follow her inside. “What’re you doing?” she asked accusingly. “Following you to the showers,” he answered plainly. Y/N paused. “But why?” she questioned since his reply hadn’t given her any new information. “So I can help you,” he told her. Y/N scoffed and shook her head at him. “I don’t need help showering, Draco,” she stubbornly stated. 

“I think you do,” he replied.

“I do not.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Y/N…”

“I don’t need help,” she hissed.

Draco sighed. “Just let me help you, darling. Please?” he pleaded with her. Y/N glared at him. “No,” she spat. “Don’t you have homework to do? I thought you mentioned having that Transfiguration essay to write,” she said as she gripped the edge of her jersey. “You’re more important,” Draco told her firmly. Y/N blushed and began to pull her shirt off, but she stopped once it reached her head. Her sore back screamed in pain; she couldn’t raise her arms any further. Instead, she resorted to wiggling and flailing about, hoping it would somehow slide her shirt off. Her arms began to ache, and she was about to give up, but luckily, an external force named Draco gently pulled it off. 

Her boyfriend chuckled at her with a smug look on his face. “Now may I help you?” he asked, eyebrow cocked. Y/N grumbled to herself but placed her hands on Draco’s shoulders. He pressed a quick kiss to her head and stuck his thumbs through her belt loops. Slowly, he pulled her pants down and knelt on the floor to help her step out of them. Then, he did the same for her underwear. Y/N was able to get her bra off by herself since it didn’t require raising her arms. And once she did, she realized she was stark naked. A blush heated her cheeks, and she quickly covered herself, feeling self-conscious.

Draco laughed and shook his head at her. “Darling, I’ve seen you naked before. Why so shy?” he asked. Y/N nibbled on her lip and hesitantly lowered her hands. “It’s just... different like this,” she said quietly as she tried to push away her embarrassment. Y/N wasn’t naked to have sex with Draco; she was naked, so he could help bathe her. And somehow, that was more intimate than sex. 

Y/N and turned towards the stall, ready to walk into it, but then she second-guessed herself. She glanced at the shower then back to Draco, not sure if she should wait for him. It seemed as though her lover had sensed her hesitation. “Start the water; I’m right behind you,” he assured her. So Y/N turned the knob and quickly stepped out of the way to avoid getting blasted with cold water. Her eyes returned to Draco as she waited for the shower to heat up. She looked him up and down as he yanked off his shirt and hung it up on top of hers. His now exposed pale chest and torso looked tempting, but Y/N kept her hands at her sides. She stuck her hand out to check the water temperature. It was warm enough, so she stepped under it, letting her eyes flutter shut.

Draco soon finished undressing and moved into the stall, pulling the curtain closed behind them. Y/N was wetting her hair when she felt a sharp pinch on her stomach. “Hey!” she yelped, opening her eyes to see Draco smirking at her. He quickly pressed a kiss to her forehead and rubbed where he pinched. “I saw you staring. You’re not very sneaky, are you, love?” he teased. Y/N swatted his shoulder and turned around to face the water spouting from the showerhead. On instinct, she reached up to rustle her hair but was soon halted by the return of searing pain in her back. Draco noticed this and gently put his hands on her shoulders, rubbing softly. “Just relax darling, I’ll do everything for you,” he said sweetly. Y/N huffed, still holding onto her pride. But then Draco’s hands landed on her head and began massaging shampoo into her hair, and an involuntary sigh of pleasure escaped her. She couldn’t remember the last time someone washed her hair for her; it felt incredible.

After Draco shampooed her hair, he switched places with Y/N. His back was now facing the water. He rinsed her hair until all the soap was down the drain. “You doing okay, love?” he asked, checking in on his girlfriend. Y/N nodded, too relaxed to speak. He switched places with her again and gathered some conditioner in his hands. “Y/N,” he called. She hummed in reply. “I think you should see Madam Pomfrey,” he told her quietly. A soft whine fell from Y/B's lips. “I know you’re only sore, but she probably has something to ease the pain.”

Y/N adamantly shook her head. “I’m fine, Draco. I don’t need to see her,” she argued. Her boyfriend sighed as he worked the product into her hair. “You’re probably right,” he muttered sadly. Y/N instantly filled with regret upon hearing the defeated tone in his voice. She really didn’t want to make a stop at the Hospital Wing, but she knew it would put Draco at ease. Reluctantly, she sighed and said, “We can stop by before bed.” A soft kiss was then planted on her back. “Thank you, darling.”

As Y/N waited for the conditioner to seep in, she turned around to face Draco, making sure her hair wasn’t under the stream. She kissed him sweetly and pulled him into a gentle hug. The Slytherin wrapped his arms around her and slowly began rubbing her tender back. Y/N groaned and let her head fall onto his chest. “My poor girl,” Draco muttered. “How bad does it hurt, love?” he asked. Y/N closed her eyes and pressed herself closer to him. “When I lift my arms, it feels as though it’s been lit on fire,” she confessed. Draco hissed and dug his thumbs into her back, trying to give her a deeper massage. “Same for your legs then?” Y/N nodded. “I think I really strained them when I took that jump.” Her boyfriend sighed and gently pushed her back under the water. 

Y/N once again instinctively reached for her head and felt pain wash over her. She felt tears of frustration well up in her eyes, and she let out a soft cry. “I know, darling, I know,” Draco consoled. “It’s been a long day, let’s rinse your hair, wash you up, and we can go. Alright?” he asked. Y/N nodded as her tears began to fall. Her lover pressed yet another kiss to her temple and grabbed a nearby rag, squirting soap onto it. He squeezed out the excess water and gingerly pressed it against her skin, where he began rubbing. He first cleaned her arms, then began scrubbing her chest. When he reached her breasts, he very carefully dragged the cloth over them, making sure they got enough soap. 

Y/N wiped her tears as Draco continued to clean her body. She looked down at him as he rubbed her legs. Suddenly, she noticed the fact she hadn’t shaved and was covered in hair. She was immensely uncomfortable with her boyfriend seeing this, so she attempted to pull her leg away from him. Draco promptly looked up at her. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” he questioned, a worried expression on his face. Y/N shook her head but said nothing. “Then why’d you pull away?” She averted her eyes and breathed in deeply before saying, “I didn’t shave.”

Draco’s eyebrows furrowed together, and he looked back at her legs. “Y/N, do you actually think I care that you’ve got hair on your legs? That’s perfectly normal, darling,” he told her as he pushed himself up from the floor. His eyes found hers, and Y/N felt her stomach churn. “I would never shame you or love you less simply because you have body hair. I don’t care if other people, or even you, think it's unbecoming. It’s a part of you, and I love all of you. Understand?” he asked, his tone firm. Y/N nodded, and Draco kissed her nose, making her giggle. “Good. Now, let’s get you all rinsed off, and we can head out of here, yeah?” 

Y/N stepped fully underneath the water and let all the soap on her body wash away. Draco reached for her shoulders and turned her around so he could squeeze out her hair. He did this a few times before deeming it free of conditioner. Y/N then turned off the water and soon found herself wrapped in a big fluffy towel. “Oh!” she yelped in surprise as Draco twirled her around to face him. He smirked and began to rub her arms up and down in an attempt to get her body warm. 

“Stay there,” he instructed her. “I’m going to find some extra towels,” he said. Y/N nodded and watched as her lover ran butt naked to the other side of the bathroom. She giggled and giggled until he returned to their stall and hastily threw a smaller towel onto her head. “Shut up,” he muttered. Y/N stifled her laughs as she pulled the towel off her face. Draco shook his head at her and tied his own towel around his waist. “Give me that,” he said, gesturing to the cloth in her hands. Y/N handed it to him. He placed it on her head and aggressively rubbed it against her. “What’re you doing?” she yelled from underneath the towel. “Drying your hair,” he replied. “That’s not how you do it, you git,” Y/N laughed. 

“Well, this is how my mum used to do it when I was little,” Draco argued as his girlfriend continued to giggle. Soon, however, he removed the towel to find a messy-haired Y/N. “Cutie,” he whispered. “No, you,” Y/N retorted. Draco narrowed his eyes. “No, you’re definitely the cutie here.”

“I beg to differ, I am not.”

“Are too.”

“Are not.”

“Are too.”

“Draco!” Y/N whined. Her lover chuckled and quickly pulled her into his arms, squeezing her tight. “You’re the cutest, sweetest, most adorable person ever. Alright?” Draco asked. Y/N sighed and nodded her head. “Fine, I’m the cutest,” she agreed. Draco smirked and planted a kiss on her lips. “That you are my love. That you are.” A momentary silence fell over the pair as they held each other close. But then Y/N lifted her head and gazed into Draco’s grey eyes. He stared right back with unwavering adoration. “Thank you for helping me; I’m sorry for giving you a hard time,” she apologized. Her boyfriend smiled softly. “That’s alright. I’ll always give you help, even if you don’t think you need it,” he replied. Y/N nestled her head against his still wet chest and sighed happily. “I love you,” she whispered. Draco hummed and began swaying her left and right. “I love you too.”

Taglist: @beiahadid @pastelpuffbar @cutie1365 @dracoxmgg @lumlfy @sambucky8 @emilianamason @raplinethereal @dixiethemorab24 @xoxohollands @prongsandprancer @ch0kemedracomalfoy

[lossie92]

#1 a road taken

Hi Wisia! 💕

Uuu, this is a fun one! It's kind of time travel/reincarnation AU where Sakura winds up in a body of Tobirama's twin sister (sounds wack, I know, but it's so fun to write omg). Needless to say, shenanigans ensue.

As the story is gen for the most part, I have a lovely Senju sibling moment to share 😊

WIP list for sharing

(Snippet under the cut)

-

"Ryo for your thoughts?" Tobirama's voice was a soft murmur, barely audible at all. She had always assumed that a man such as the Second Hokage would have a booming, commanding voice, one that demanded immediate attention, but that was apparently not the case. Instead Senju Tobirama was always just this side of too quiet to hear and oddly hesitant, as if he had to think through everything he said.

To be fair, it was hardly surprising. The Tobirama sitting next to her was still just a boy, after all. Barely seventeen, but sometimes so incredibly serious and so painfully unsure of himself it broke Sakura's heart.

Gods, but, if for nothing else, she hated their father for what he had done to her little brother - to all her brothers, really.

"Nothing to worry about, otouto," she responded, keeping her voice level so as not to draw attention to them. They weren't exactly supposed to talk during clan meetings. "Just something stuck in my head."

Ever perceptive, Tobirama didn't buy her white lie. His eyes narrowed as he glared at her. "I don't believe you."

"That's your problem, isn't it?" Sakura smirked and barely managed to suppress a snort when her twin glared at her even harder. "And quit scowling. Your face will get stuck like that."

"I will still look better than you, hag," was the immediate response. This time Sakura had to feign a cough to cover up the surprised burst of laughter. Luckily the rest of their clansmen seemed none the wiser to their antics and simply ignored her.

"Aren't you the sweetest little brother," she mused after a beat of silence and reached out to pinch Tobirama on one adorably chubby cheek, which was something she knew he absolutely hated. "So nice and respectful too…"

He batted her hand away. "Stop that!" He whispered-shouted.

"But you're so cute, Tobi." This time she ruffled his hair, making it stick out even more than it usually did. "I can hardly stop myself, can I?"

"I hate you," Tobirama informed her, his entire face pink from embarrassment, as he tried and failed to smooth his hair into a semblance of order. "I hope you know that."

Sakura grinned. "Nuh-uh. You love me. You just forget about it sometimes."

"Can you two cut it out?" Hashirama's stern voice, coming from behind them, made both of them jump slightly in their seats.

When Sakura turned to look at him, she immediately noticed that the reproach didn't match with the amused smile he was sporting.

"Do we have to? Really?" She asked.

Hashirama's face did that funny thing when he was clearly trying to look stern while smiling. He always ended up looking constipated instead.

[animemangasoul]

You Are Wanted Obi-Wan Kenobi

Summery: Summery: Qui-Gon lives and Mace gets a new Padawan.

[In which Qui-Gon repudiates Obi-Wan and Mace isn't about to let the kid leave the order without a fight.]

Chapter: 7/10?

"Talk we must."

 

Qui-Gon sighed. "I only wish to see Obi-Wan, Master. Nothing more."

 

Tilting his head, Master Yoda's grim face transformed into a familiar expression of disappointment. An expression that Qui-Gon had unfortunately been seeing far too much off these past couple of weeks and it made him instantly tense up. "See him you cannot."

 

Clenching his hands around the mug his Grandmaster had handed to him as soon as they'd sat down to have this dreadful conversation, Qui-Gon bit his tongue not blurt out something he was sure to regret. Instead he took a deep breath, pulled his feet under him and let his eyes wander around Master Yoda's apartment; gaze lingering on a kyber crystal emitting a soft glow to illuminate the swamp like waters covering half the apartment.

 

"Why not?" he finally managed to force out. "He---"

 

"Your Padawan he no longer is." The words are said with a level of gentleness that pierces through Qui-Gon's heart and the Jedi Master found himself having to blink back the sudden prickle behind his eyes.

 

"I know that," he whispered; fingernails digging into the chipped paint of the red mug. "I know."

Putting his own mug down, Master Yoda gave him a penetrating stare. "Know in your mind you do." Tapping a crooked finger against his chest, his gaze softened. "Much to accept, your heart still does."

 

Qui-Gon hated when he did that. When he was all understanding and wise and acted as if all of Qui-Gon's problems were solvable if only he looked at it like his Grandmaster wanted him to.

 

He gritted his teeth. "Don't," he said. "Don't act like you---- This isn't something I can just--" biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, he closed his eyes for the briefest of seconds. "It's Obi-Wan."

 

"That it is."

 

"I only did what I had to," he said, refusing to acknowledge Yoda's judgment. Putting the cooling drink back on the table, Qui-Gon ignored his ever so slightly shaking hands. "I didn't want to give him up. I…. He's my-- was my Padawan and I know he needed me when I did what I did. But I had to and…. I know he still needs me, I just…. It was the right thing to do, you must see that." Fingers dinging into his legs, Qui-Gon swallowed thickly. "You have to see that."

 

"Speaking of rights and wrongs you are. Know for certain you do, what is right or wrong?"

 

"What are you implying, Master?" His voice took a sudden cooling turn.

 

Master Yoda's gaze hardened as well. "Only a Jedi you are. One of many. Allow yourself to assume too much you do."

 

"I'm not assuming anything," Qui-Gon snapped, temporarily forgetting who exactly he was speaking to. "The prophecy is real. Why am I the only one who sees that?!"

 

Picking up his gimer stick, Master Yoda slowly rose to his feet, jumping down from the chair. "If believe so much in the prophecy you do. Why then wish you do, to keep young Obi-Wan with you?"

 

"I don't….." Qui-Gon faltered. His words suddenly refusing to come out. They wouldn't come out. No matter how hard he tried; mouth opening and closing, his tongue felt too heavy, too large. The words wouldn't come out.

 

He couldn't say what he wanted to say.

 

The prophecy was real. He knew that much. Knew it as if the very fact was engraved into his bones. Knew it as surely as he knew the force. And yet…..

 

Why then wish you do, to keep young Obi-Wan with you?

 

Did believing in the prophecy somehow forbid him from caring about his former Padawan? Did doing the right thing forbid him from looking out for his boy anymore? How was that fair?

 

Qui-Gon glared at the old Jedi.

 

But when Master Yoda remained silent, all too willing to wait him out, Qui-Gon found himself struggling not to just turn tail and run. Perhaps push this conversation his Grandmaster had insisted on to another day? Anakin was still waiting for him after all. It's not like he didn't have other more important things to worry about currently. He didn't have to explain himself to----

 

But Master Yoda had always been there for him, hadn't he?

 

'Just like Obi-Wan,' his mind whispered, and he was quick to shove the thought away as soon as it came upon him.

 

Clenching his fists till they dug into skin, Qui-Gon took a deep breath. "What's so wrong about wanting him with me?" He blurted out, breaking the silence and almost surprising himself with the ferocity behind the words. "Why is wanting my Padawan of ten years to stay by my side….. so wrong? You and Mace….. I did the right thing. That doesn't mean--" a stutter, a hitching of the breath. "That doesn’t mean I wanted to give Obi-Wan up. That doesn't mean I want to give him up. How can that be wrong?"

 

"Often assume you do that painful consequences your choices will not result in. Wrong you are. Consequences always follow the hardest choices they do.  Selfish it is, to believe entitled you are to keep young Obi-Wan by your side."

 

"I didn't say that," Qui-Gon shook his head, anger building up before he unclenched his fists and closed his eyes, releasing his destructive emotions into the force. "I never said I wanted to force him to stay with me."

 

Rounding the small floor level table, Master Yoda gave him a resounding wack to the knee. Qui-Gon hissed in pain. "Words do not hide actions. Know that well you do, Jinn. Neve asked young Obi-Wan once what he wished for, have you?"

 

It took a second. A second of looking into those wise old eyes for it to sink in. And when the words finally washed over him it was as if someone had caved his chest in with the full strength of the force.

 

He couldn't….. He couldn't…..

 

Never asked young Obi-Wan once what he wished for, have you?

 

But he had---- He hadn't…..Obi-Wan's best interest, he'd only been looking out for his best interest, right?

 

Right?

 

'If you were,' the traitorous voice in his head whispered. 'You would have listened to him when he asked you to leave. You would have asked for his opinion on your pl----'

 

Had he even asked Obi-Wan what he thought about Anakin?

 

'No.' he shook his head. No. They were all wrong. Of course he hadn't consulted Obi-Wan about the plan. Vokara hadn't let him see him. And Obi-Wan wanting him to leave came from an understandable sense of distress in the moment. A distress that Qui-Gon had been there to fix and make right if he'd only been given the opportunity to do so.

 

If there was one thing he knew about Obi-Wan it was that his boy needed him. He'd always needed him, just like he needed him back. He was practically the closest thing Qui-Gon had to a son, so they were all wrong. His Obi-Wan had right to be upset, but Qui-Gon was here to make it better. To fix the rift between them. Just like he'd always done. Just like they've always managed to do.

 

Their relationship was built on foundations forged through hardship. That's why they were one of the greatest Master, Padawan duo out there. Because nothing had ever come easy to them. Because despite the odds, they still managed to overcome it all. From Bandomeer to Melida/Daan, all the way to Naboo.

 

Everything they'd been through, it couldn't end like this, could it?

 

Suddenly a clawed hand came to rest atop of his own. A gentle squeeze alerting him to the green troll standing in front of him. The wise old eyes now holding nothing but sadness as they looked up at him. "Grow you must," his Grandmaster said. "Learn you must. Luxury to cling to the past you no longer have."

 

Qui-Gon stared at the older Jedi; Master Yoda stared back, and Qui-Gon's found his stubbornness eventually crumbling in the face of such intensity. "I don't want to lose him," he whispered, eyes fastened on his feet.

 

And wasn't that the truest sentiment.

 

Master Yoda sighed deeply, patting his hand twice before letting go and stepping back almost as if he, Qui-Gon had managed to disappoint him once again, and that hurt. That hurt. "Not about you, this is."

 

"I never said it was."

 

Slamming his stick twice on the ground, Yoda shook his head. "Wished for you to put this together yourself I did. But impossible you are, so, tell you this I will." Taking a step closer, the old Master almost grew in size when he said his next words. "Made a mistake I did. Obi-Wan Kenobi your Padawan should have never been. Mistake that was. Wrong I was."

 

"What?"

 

It felt like being slapped.

 

"Mistake I have made."

 

"I….you… you can't---"

 

Sure Master Yoda had shared similar sentiment with him before. In the horrid weeks of Obi-Wan's coma, Master Yoda had told him this exact thing almost word for word, but Qui-Gon had assumed it had come from a place of guilt just like his own. But for his Grandmaster to look him in the eyes and sound so certain now. So sure. "It wasn't a mistake," he hissed, wanting it to come out as angry but only managing a broken whisper. Not able to say anything else as his lips wobbled and his throat clogged up.

 

Master Yoda sighed. "Protect you both a long time ago I should have." His Grandmaster's sadness could practically be tasted through the force. "Too broken you were when insisted I did, for young Obi-Wan to become your Padawan. Wrong that was. Needed help you did." Lowering his head, he sighed again. "Help I should have insisted for you to get. Your excuses I should have ignored. Sorry for that, I am."

 

Qui-Gon bared his teeth. Eyes stinging, fists clenched and heart hurting so so much.

 

How dare he.

 

How dare any of them.

 

This wasn't just Master Yoda bringing the judgment down on him. Every single member of that council was judging him. Acting as if Obi-Wan and him hadn't been the best team this side of the galaxy had ever seen. Sure they'd had their issues, their problems, but they'd worked hard to overcome them. Obi-Wan had pulled him back from the darkness and he'd done the same for his boy so for his Grandmaster to pretend as if it was all a mistake. That Qui-Gon should have never….. That Obi-Wan hadn't been……

 

Yoda forced his hand in his darkest moment and now he was throwing it back in his face.

 

Ten years….. Ten years.

 

"You're punishing me for Anakin, aren't you?" Nails digging into the table, Qui-Gon felt his grip on the living force around him falter like it hadn't done since the days of Xanatos betrayal; Master Yoda must notice for his frown only deepened, agitating Qui-Gon even further. "I took on Anakin against your advice and now you're punishing me by taking Obi-Wan away from me!"

 

When the gimer stick came down on his knee this time, it sent a flair of agony through his muscles more painful than usual. Clearly Master Yoda was angry with him too. Qui-Gon bit his bottom lip in indignation. "Not about you this is," Master Yoda barked, raising a clawed finger when he tried to speak up again.

 

"Acting like an insolent child you are! About time it is you stopped hurting the people around you." Jumping on top of the table, Master Yoda lifted his chin with the gimer stick, glare so pointed Qui-Gon couldn't find the strength to look away. "Defensive you have always gotten when things not your way they went." Putting the stick down, the green troll sighed. "Need you, Obi-Wan does not."

 

"He does." The words are out faster than Qui-Gon could think them through. But they hold so much truth, so much conviction Qui-Gon didn't regret saying them.

 

It was true after all. It had to be. Because….. It couldn't end like this, right? After everything.

 

Just because he had taken on a mission far larger than himself and the entire Jedi order combined, it couldn't mean it would cost him Obi-Wan, right? Not when his boy still had so much growing left to do. Not when they hadn't even talked. Not a proper talk.

 

Not when he hadn't helped the kid pull that horrifying moment in Naboo apart and hugged away all the guilt and pain sure to be lingering in his heart. Not when he hadn't scolded him properly for endangering himself, all the while telling him how proud of him he was. Not when they hadn't gone to The Room of a Thousand Fountains and meditated together since their return. Not when…..not when he hadn't had the chance to explain himself…..

 

Not……

 

"He does need me," he insisted, leaning far enough to bridge the gap between him and the wise Jedi. "He does. I…. He does need me, Master. He does."

 

Shaking his head slowly, Master Yoda closed his eyes and Qui-Gon felt tears brimming at the corners of his own.

 

"Need him you do," his Grandmaster said, softly, gently. "Need you he does not, not any longer. Safe he is, Qui-Gon Jinn. Time to let him go, it is."

 

Stunned Qui-Gon stared at his Grandmaster for what felt like forever. Just staring. Just…..

 

[Need him you do]

 

 

[Need him you do]

 

'But he doesn't need me. Maybe he never has.'

 

It's not like Obi-Wan was even his Padawan anymore and yet…..

 

And yet….. And it's almost as if it hits him all at once. What he'd been trying so desperately to ignore. What he'd been fighting so hard to not notice.

 

Of course he knew Obi-Wan was no longer his Padawan but he'd believed deep down they still had a chance to make something else. That even if his kid was no longer his Padawan by name, he would be in spirit. That their time together, all those years forged through tears and blood and grief and loneliness still meant something. That once again they would withstand another blow. Another crack in the trust between them.

 

But in the end, you could only bend something so far before it broke.

 

And his bond with his Padawan had broken.

 

Obi-Wan could only have so many chances of forgiveness in his heart.

 

Forgiveness….. He had taken it for granted, hadn't he?

 

Gritting his teeth Qui-Gon looked down.

 

Choosing Anakin was still the right thing to do. He knew that. He still believed that. He had to. But maybe doing that….maybe making that choice meant he didn't get to drag Obi-Wan with him this time. Maybe, despite making the right choice, this time the consequences would be moving forward without Obi-Wan by his side. Maybe it meant letting him go.

 

It was so simple, wasn't it?

 

Qui-Gon faltered. "What if I don't know how to…..how to let him go?"

 

"Learn you must."

 

Turning around to take a sip from his now probably lukewarm cup of tea, Master Yoda gave him an imploring look. "Easy it will not be. But nothing important ever is."

 

"But I…. I just need one opportunity---" Qui-Gon said, hating how pleading he sounded, how desperate. As if he was asking for permission to want. To need. "One chance to fix this. I just need him to know I would never choose Anakin over him if I had any other choice. I…. I just need him to know that." He couldn't read anything on Yoda's face and that made it worse.

 

A moment of silence fell between them. Master Yoda content in sipping away from his mug while Qui-Gon sat across from him, pain, grief and longing clawing at his heart. But finally his Grandmaster spoke and when he did, Qui-Gon suddenly wished he'd never said anything at all.

 

"About your needs, this is not Qui-Gon. Prioritize Obi-Wan Kenobi's well being you must, even if hurt you, it will." The scolding behind the words were cutting. "Taught you that I have, many many years ago. Forgotten have you? The importance of selfless love?"

 

Qui-Gon's shoulders tensed then slumped in one single breath. "No," he said, breath coming out in a soft gasp. "No Master,…..of course… not. Of course not."

 

He doesn't quite know when he started crying, when his tears started flowing but when it dawned on him, he couldn't quite seem to make himself stop no matter how hard he tried. So instead he wept. Fingers coming up to dig into his skull and covering his eyes; his shoulders shaking. "Force, what have I done?"

 

He didn't hear Master Yoda getting off the table, but when familiar green fingers curled around one of his hands and brought it down, he gazed wetly at his Grandmaster whose understanding old eyes made him want to cry even harder.

 

Force what a mess he had made of things.

 

Had Xanatos truly damaged him so? Or had he always been this broken?

 

Squeezing his hand twice, Master Yoda's force signature wrapped around him in a hug. "Painful it is---" he said softly, voice rough yet gentle. "to recognize darkness within yourself. But never too late it is to pull yourself back from it before it's too late."

 

"I don't know what to---" Qui-Gon swallowed thickly. "I….don't know…. What do I do Master?"

 

Yoda squeezed his hand again and for a second Qui-Gon felt himself being thrown back in time, to a period where he was still so young, innocent. Running to his Grandmaster for every little problem that scared him. Looking for guidance.

 

He was looking for guidance once more.

 

"Help, you need," Master Yoda answered, breaking him out of his momentary trip down memory lane. "Much fear you hold in your heart Grandpadawan mine. And know you do that fear leads to the darkside. Yet you have, to heal from Xanatos betrayal. Time it is, to start."

 

Qui-Gon laughed wetly, trying his best not to flinch at the name and coming up short. "Mace said something similar."

 

"Wise man, Mace Windu is."

 

Taking a deep breath, Qui-Gon shoved away any resentment that came along with hearing the compliment and gave it to the force.

 

Mace was a wise man, a good man and he would be…. He would be good for Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon knew that much. And now it was time to start making his peace with it.

 

So centering himself the best way he could, Qui-Gon let the living force flow through him and spoke up once more. "Logically," he said, staring at the ground, shame coloring his cheeks. "I know all this. Or at least I think…. No, I know…but emotionally--" patting his heart, he gave Master Yoda a weak, brittle smile. "Emotionally it feels like I'm still sliding Master. I can't see a future for me without Obi-Wan in it."

 

Unexpectedly, that seemed to humour the green troll quite a bit, for he cackled a little laugh. "Here and now, Qui-Gon Jinn," he said, an impish grin stretched across his face. "The future forever changing it is. Stay in the present you must. Or is that not what you used to advice young Obi-Wan Kenobi?"

 

Qui-Gon's lips twitched. Having his words thrown back at him, truly, he'd fallen far, hadn't he? "Thank you Master," he said. Knowing that truly, he meant it.

 

"Thank me, you should not," Master Yoda huffed. "For recommend you to see a mind healer I will---"

 

"Still---"

 

Yoda raised a hand, silencing him. "Finished, I am not." Resting both hands on his stick, Master Yoda frowned. "Serious this is. Help, you must get. If avoid it like last time you do, bench you I will."

 

"What?!"

 

"Wish to bench you I do not. But if force my hand you do, under house arrest indefinitely, place you, I will."

 

Qui-Gon once again opened his mouth to protest, the indignity of it all making his hackles rise, but once again a silent clawed hand made him bite his tongue.

 

"Seen light in young Anakin's future only you have. Important that is. But more important than seeking help it is not."

 

"Of course it is! Anakin can----"

 

"No!" Yoda snapped, slamming his gimer stick on the table and silencing Qui-Gon in shock. "Let me speak you will! Talk far too much you do, with little value to add."

 

It felt like being scolded as a child again. Picked apart like he was some young, dumb, reckless kid who didn't have years of mastery under his belt.

 

Master Yoda always managed to make him feel small.

 

"Admitting our mistakes, the Jedi way is. Growing to learn, the Jedi way is. Nine-hundred years old I am, mistakes I still make. Mistakes to answer for I still have.

 

Qui-Gon bit his lip and nodded.

 

He was being scolded, like a child. His fingers tightened around his robes.

 

"Seek help you will. Learn you will. Or train young Skywalker you may not."

 

Qui-Gon flushed. A mixture of anger and resignation coursing through his veins but ultimately he nodded again. Yoda knew him all too well. And dangling Anakin's future in front of him was a sure fire way to make him cooperate.

 

Quickly standing up, hand brushing against his cheeks to wipe away the remaining tear tracks yet to dry, Qui-Gon bowed deeply and hastily made his way to the door. "Thank you Grandmaster," he muttered, refusing to meet the wise old Jedi's eyes. "You have given me much to think about."

 

Yoda snorted. "Yet again running away you are. Your nature it is, but let you I will. This time."

Qui-Gon gritted his teeth but then he took a deep breath, letting it all go. Master Yoda was only trying to help him, even if he didn't fully accept it now, he knew he would someday. So-- "Thank you again Grandmaster," he said, bowing. "May the force be with you, Master."

It's when Master Yoda didn't say it back that he paused; fingers lingering on the door panel, eyebrows crushing up in confusion. He looked backwards, opening his mouth to say something but found himself stopping short.

His Grandmaster looked more grim than Qui-Gon had seen him in a very long time.

"Put this on you now I wish not---" Master Yoda suddenly said, voice sounding regretful as if he'd been debating with himself this entire time whether he would tell him this or not. "But sooner or later find out you will." Appearing to be steeling himself, Master Yoda sighed softly. "On his way back Feemor is. Accomplished his mission he has. Safe he is."

Qui-Gon froze.

"What?"

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

"I feel fine. Can I please just leave this place now?"

Mace snorted, pulling at the half-done braid and giving Obi-Wan a warning look to stop moving. "No," he said. "Unless Master Che signs you out, you're stuck here."

"But---"

Shaking his head, Mace fumbled for another bead inside the box and gently slid it into place. "No buts kid. This is about your health and while I know you don't like the Halls---" Obi-Wan grimaced in agreement, making Mace bite back a grin. "It's for your own good. So you will stay unless Vokara says otherwise. Now stay still so I can braid your hair properly."

Obi-Wan did stay still this time. Despite all his fidgeting, the kid was remarkably compliant. Fiddling with the box in his lap, fingers brushing against the colorful Padawan markers gifted to him, but he didn't move his head too much after the warning and Mace is grateful.

Still, the kid had been feeling down ever since…. Mace scowled internally.

After Jinn, after everything.

To watch the bright young man in front of him slide back into the shell of a person he'd been when Mace had initially broken the news to him all those weeks ago…..

Mace hadn't known this grown up Obi-Wan for very long, but he'd known him as a little kid. A scared little kid who'd felt alone and sad and unable to connect with his fellow crechmates to the point of going all quiet and still, just like he'd done ever since Jinn repudiated him. Just like he was starting to do again every time he got lost in thoughts. Thoughts Mace was quite sure revolved around Jinn.

He sighed softly. "Do you wish to talk about it?" He asked, trying to keep his voice as casual and calming as possible. "About what happened with Master Jinn?"

Fingers digging deeper into the groves of the wooden box, Obi-Wan shook his head once. "No."

Mace nodded.

"That's understandable," he said. "But---" he continued, tying Depa's yellow band half way down the braid, twisting it this way and that to get it to hang on tightly. "If this keeps bothering you, you'll have to talk to someone about it. It doesn't have to be me," he added when Obi-Wan opened his mouth to cut in. "But someone. I don't want you to stew in this. It's not good for you."

When Obi-Wan didn't say anything in response, Mace tugged at his hair gently. "Deal?"

It took a second, but then his new Padawan nodded; even as his lips tilted downward into a frown. "Deal."

"Thank you," Mace said earnestly, and that got him a small smile which Mace was all too happy to return. "Now," he said. "Your Padawan announcement will be held in two days time, so there is no need to rush to get better. I've already filled the proper paperwork so all that's left is the actual announcement but for all intent and purpose, you are my Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Something seemed to let up on the kid's features then and it tugged at his heart. It looked like he'd be telling Obi-Wan this fact; that he was his Padawan and nothing would change that, for a very long time to come until it finally sunk in.

His pain must have shown on his face, because all of a sudden Obi-Wan was nudging his shoulder lightly with his hand.

"Where did you learn how to braid anyways?" he asked. "I mean---" running his fingers through his hair, he smirked. "You know."

Mace blinked, then blinked again…… did the kid just---

But the cheeky little grin was there and Obi-Wan's eyes were dancing with mirth and Mace scowled; flicking his Padawan's forehead.

"Ouch," Obi-Wan winced, but the cheeky grin was still all too present.

"You think I never had any hair before?" Mace grouched, tugging at the unfinished braid. "I'll have you know that throughout my apprenticeship I used to have a full head of hair."

Obi-Wan nodded solemnly. "Then you just lost it all," he snapped his fingers. "Just like that? Must have been some apprenticeship."

"You little brat," Mace huffed, but now Obi-Wan was full on laughing and the Master of the Order couldn't help the grin that took over his face.

It was good to see the kid light up like this again. Even if these moments were few and far between now. 'Still,' he thought watching as Obi-Wan tried and failed to school his features back into a neutral expression. 'It's good to see the little kid I saved from Stewjon all those years ago is still in there somewhere.'

You're only lost until you're found after all. And Mace had found him.

He will always find him.

The End

Chapter: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Geralt and the Minotaur p2

Pairing: Geraskier?????

Warnings: violence, talk of human sacrifice, talk of cannibalism, this is ancient Greece baby, they buck-wild, sad goodbyes? 

AN: anthropologists have found evidence that the people of Crete ate their dead. fucking wack right?? also they were the major power in the area at the time and defs considered downright ruthless (think Nilfguard) 

part 1 here!

__________

Plans were made, if you could call them plans; Geralt was going in blind. No one who’d ever entered the labyrinth below the palace of Crete had ever returned, save for the architect, and even he almost died in the maze. All they could prepare for was getting him home. He had one day after they were released into the tunnels to make it out alive and to the port. 

As the day grew closer he found sleep harder to come by. Anyone he spoke to was positive, encouraging, some of the senior military officers even offered advice, but he saw the pity in their eyes. Eskel and Lambert trained him hard, telling him they’d rather him die of heat exhaustion in the arena than by the hands of the minotaur. He heard people's whispers from around corners and his father's advisors worry over who would inherit the crown when he didn't come back. It seemed everyone thought he was as good as dead. 

He spent most of the night before they were to leave wandering the cliffs overlooking the sea. He’d never tried to speak to his Olympian father, sure he made sacrifices and said his thanks, but he had yet to seek answers from him. He stopped to stare out at the waves, the sound of them rushing over the rocks below coming to him as a comfort. Now wasn’t the time, he decided, better not to test his Posiden’s favor before something so important. 

He arrived back at the palace just after dawn to a great flurry and bustle of activity. Someone pulled him into a dressing chamber and helped him work out best how to hide a knife in his robes. In the end, they opted for a shorter chiton, only tied at his off hand shoulder to give him as much freedom with his weapon as possible. The blade was tucked between the layers of fabric and the belt around his waist where he could easily grab it but, hopefully, no one would see it. He’d have to be careful sitting down, but it gave him comfort knowing it was secured beneath his navel. The piece was hemmed above his knee, easier to run in, and made of common, sturdy grey fabric. The hope was he wouldn't be recognized, though there was nothing to be done about his hair and eyes. 

Vessimir said nothing all morning, he followed his son from room to room as he asked Lambert last-minute questions and had a final, quivering voiced pep talk with Eskel. It felt as though Apollo was meandering across the sky, drawing out the agony of their wait. 

When the sun was finally directly overhead, there was a chorus of screams as mothers spotted black sails on the horizon.

Geralt had felt nothing all morning until seeing those sails. Now his palms were sweating, his heart pumping as if he’d sprinted the amphitheater stairs, and he felt if he looked his father directly in the eye he might fall into a fit of tears. 

Finally, the time had come, the ship was roughly a mile out, and he would have to join the others soon. 

Vessimir gripped his shoulder, “Geralt,” the boy, for that is certainly what he felt like, looked up at him with a trembling bottom lip, “I am proud of you. It may scare me, but you are a fair and noble leader; not a mere ruling body.”

Geralt nodded, biting his cheek to keep his tears at bay as he whispered, “Thank you.”

Vessimir pulled him into his arms, wrapping him in a bone-crushing hug, “I love you.”

Geralt tucked his head into his father's shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut as tears cascaded over his cheeks. He had only just found his father, and now he’d thrown this away on some stupid impulse? 

A guard cleared his throat, a signal that time was running short.

Geralt couldn’t be the one to let go, not even if he’d wanted to. Vessimir had to gently push him away, holding him at arms distance.

“When you come back, raise white sails. I need to know you’ve survived as soon as I see your vessel.”

Geralt nodded, taking the yards upon yards of folded white canvas from an attendant, “I love you, father.”

Vessimir’s lips formed a thin line behind his beard and he nodded, “Go be a hero.”

He followed the plain-clothed guard to the docks where families were gathered saying goodbyes full of false hope. One look at the terrified prince had mothers clutching their children tight and begging the gods for mercy. Guilt weighed heaviest on his chest when fathers reassured their daughters that the slayer of Procrustes and the wild boar would protect them. He wondered if they were lying, or if they really believed he could save their children.

They were corralled onto the boat in a flurry of shouts and soldiers in unfamiliar armor and colors. Geralt tucked the sails inside a coil of rope that came up to his waist in the chaos. Before the fourteen youths were even pushed into the lowered portion of the deck, the soldiers shoved off from the dock, dodging rocks and trying to tune out the wails.

Geralt was herded next to a boy maybe one year his junior as the rowers began to heave at the oars. He stumbled into the brunet when the vessel surged forward.

“Sorry, I’ve never been to sea like this before,” he muttered, reaching out to steady himself against the mast in the center of their makeshift prison.

The boy looked up at him with a grin, blue eyes matching the sea behind him, “Well now’s a good time for firsts, yeah?”

Geralt raised an eyebrow, “Nothing like certain death to inspire optimism.”

A small snicker reached over the rush of the wind as the boy shook his head, “I’m Jaskier.”

“Geralt.”

A soldier slammed his spear on the deck, “Oi! No talking!”

“Fuck off, you dirty cannibal.” Jaskier snapped back at him, turning to face the man twice his size. The man glowered at him but the boy stood his ground, crossing his arms over his chest and continuing despite his best interest, “Is the whole island full of bull-fuckers like your queen? Or is beastiality only reserved for the royals?”

Geralt gripped the neck of the boy’s tunic and yanked him back just in time to avoid the blunt end of a spear swinging at his head. He pulled Jaskier around to stand behind him, turning to grab the spear just as it was thrust at his chest. There was a moment of eye contact between Geralt and the soldier before he twisted his wrist and snapped the handle in half. The soldier let out a yell and swung with his fists at Geralt’s head. He sidestepped and gripped the soldier's wrist, using his momentum to pull him down the step, and gripping his backplate with his other hand. He slammed the soldier into the mast as hard as he could, making the rigging rattle with the force. When the soldier tried to struggle Geralt twisted his wrist behind his back.

He leaned in close and growled in the man’s ear, “We have no choice but to go,” Geralt paused to crank the man’s arm even farther up between his shoulder blades, “but touch a hair on their heads and I will swiftly remove yours.”

“You would try.” The man gasped, clearly trying to sound more confident than he was.

Geralt rolled his eyes and grunted as he wheeled around and threw the man back up to his fellow countrymen. He landed on his shoulder at their feet, a sickening crack filling the tense silence. The strangled gasp the man let out made Geralt want to wince, but he kept his face set in stone. 

“Don’t touch them.” his voice was strong and sure despite feeling like he might faint. 

The captain stepped forward, holding a hand up to his men, “You stay put, and they’ll keep their distance.”

Geralt nodded, waiting till the Cretian turned away before looking for Jaskier, “Are you alright?”

He nodded, stepping up close to Geralt and gripping his hips, standing on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. The terror that had weighed him down all day was temporarily forgotten as Geralt shivered under his touch.

“Your knife came loose.” Jaskier whispered against his cheek, subtly twisting the prince’s belt, “Don’t want them spying it.” 

Geralt swallowed hard, fighting the urge to follow Jaskier when he pulled away, “Thank you.”

“Please. I should be thanking you.” Jaskier cocked his head to the side, squinting as he examined Geralt’s face, “Are you always so pale?”

Geralt released the breath he was holding, letting himself smile as he shook his head.

Everyone was settling into groups around them, some sitting and chatting quietly, their bodies tense as they leaned in close, others holding hands and staring out over the sea. Jaskier slid down the mast, patting the deck beside him as if Geralt hadn’t already decided he wouldn’t leave the boy alone until they were safely back on Athenian shores. 

Jaskier rested with his shoulder against Geralt’s, practically ordering his body to relax. 

Leaning into him, Geralt trembled, no longer able to keep his nerves contained as the adrenaline seeped out of his body, “Do they really eat people in Crete? No one will tell me.” 

“All I know are rumors- Are you alright?” Jaskier asked, fixing Geral with a worried look as he rested a hand on his knee.

“Fine.” Geralt lied, feeling his whole body shake with the effort of keeping him upright and his eyes open. It didn’t help that this boy was magnetic and distracting, drawing him closer with his gentle touch and fearless nature. Geralt wondered if their dire circumstances were what made him react this way or if he would have been just as allured by the reckless boy had they met back home.  

“It’s nearing dusk, when was the last time you slept?” Jaskier examined the deep blue bags under his eyes as Geralt stubbornly avoided his gaze. Eskel had told him to be wary of everything, especially anyone who wasn’t just as terrified as him, but everything in Geralt was telling him to trust Jaskier. 

He shrugged, honestly unable to say when he actually slept last. The night before had been spent in denial and before that he wasn’t sure if any of the time he spent with his eyes closed could really have counted as sleep. 

Jaskier shifted, wrapping an arm around his waist and guiding him to lay his head on his lap, “You need to rest.”

Geralt made a feeble effort to fight him, born out of pride more than actual desire, “I need to stay alert. I can’t defend us if I’m asleep.”

“Sshhhhh,” Jaskier ran a hand through Geralt’s hair, making his scalp tingle under his touch, “You can’t defend anyone too exhausted to stand,” he whispered. Geralt gave in, making it clear he was doing so reluctantly, even if he was unable to keep his eyes from closing as he rested against Jaskier’s thigh. The blue-eyed boy hummed a soft tune, something Geralt’s mother used to sing him to sleep with, and every stroke through his hair sent a wave of calm through his body. The sensation lulled him closer to sleep despite the angry crashing of waves against the hull and violent shifting of the boat beneath them. 

“Wake me.. If…”

“I’ll wake you if you’re needed.” Jaskier assured him, resting a hand on his sternum, “Sleep, hero.”

With the promise, Geralt relinquished his already weak grasp on consciousness and fell into a deep sleep.

__________

part 3 here!

if you wanna be tagged just let me know! 🥰

@hailhailsatan 

[bold-writing]

The One With Silver Scars || 6 || Submission and Reward

Warnings: Swearing, mensions of abuse, swearing, violent thoughts.

Words: 3100+

Previous || Next

~6~

Claire refused to so much as look at Adelais.

 Of course, this bothered the other blonde not a bit. She was taking the time of reprieve to lessen her headache that occasionally still throbbed behind her eyes. Marcia had returned from the washroom, clean and appearing slightly more relaxed now that she wasn’t thinking about being covered in urine. Her presence distracted Claire away from Adelais, at least.

Casey disappeared into the washroom next; but she did not shower. They could hear the tap running in the sink and the brunette had re-emerged only short minutes later, face slightly pinkened from washing it. All of her oversized clothes remained bundled around her, a shield against the rest of the world.

 Hoping to distract herself, Adelais started to wander around the room again, fingers gently tracing along imperfections in the walls as she paced. She examined the door pointlessly, knowing there was no chance of breaking it down or hoping it remained unlocked. A peek through the tiny gap showed her nothing new and let her move on without thought.

 The lights inside the small room had been mostly turned off, leaving only the softer lights on the far wall on while the longer, brighter lights along the side walls were dark. Outside of the room, however, was just as bright as before.

 Her dried hair fell into her face when she bent, prompting her to stand up and brush it back from her face and pull it over her shoulder again. A wet spot was left behind from the water leeching out of her hair and into the fabric. The natural wave had returned to it after washing away the crimps and curls of her braid. The discomfort in her scalp from the pins had also eased. If the man had not removed them, they would probably have remained pricking uncomfortably at her skull.

 Keeping her back to the other girls, she lifted a hand to her mouth and covered her lips as she remembered. He had been so gentle as he removed each pin, each section of braid, until her hair had fallen free around her shoulders. Then the woman had stroked her hair like one would a cat, soothing her into assumed sleep.

 Adelais closed her eyes.

 She was sure that if the gentle strokes had been continuous, she would have drifted off to sleep.

 It was a dangerous addiction. To know a comforting, gentle touch for the first time. As far back as she could remember, her parents had handled her roughly. Even when she had been good, had done no wrong, the hands that guided her had been a solid as a shackle and bruised her soft, malnourished skin. The awkward but soothing hug from the monochrome man, the gentle sway as they danced, the soft caress of calloused hands along her hair and cheek—she craved it.

 Did that make her a terrible person?

 She desperately wanted the touch of her captor—captors?—while the thought of her parents made her skin burn with discomfort.

 Little freak.

 Marcia’s words returned her focus inside the room. “He was having a full-on conversation with himself.” Adelais had already explained the best reason for that, but Clair’s superiority complex extended to her knowledge as well. She wanted to be the one with all the answers, and therefore refused to accept Adelais’s. “What was that line about ‘the food it waiting’?”

 Glancing over her shoulder, Adelais frowned. When had that been said?

 “What?” she asked, drawing the gazes of the three to her. “When did he say that?”

 Claire pinched her lips into a thin line, refusing to speak. Marcia did so instead. “When we were listening at the door, before…she came in. He said, “The food is waiting”. What could that mean?”

 “Does everyone get how wacked this is?” Claire demanded suddenly, glancing between Adelais and Casey—as though anything had changed. “We need to get out of here, now-”

 The overhead lights clicked on, stopping Claire’s words with a choked gasp as she and Marcia ducked together again. Casey only looked up, toward Adelais and the door, and remained in her usual, curled up position. Only this time she was against the far wall, closer to Claire and Marcia so they could talk between themselves without speaking too loudly.

 Adelais only took a step to the side, freeing the space directly in front of the door. The back of her heel bumped the leg of the cot she and Casey usually sat on, halting her from moving any further. The door unlocked and swung open, revealing the monochrome man. He spared a glance at the three farthest from him, then over to where Adelais stood blocking the bathroom entrance.

 Overall, he looked the same as the last time she had encountered him. Except for the grey pail he carried with him, with spray bottles and cloths inside.

 Cleaning supplies.

 Thinking back to when Casey had emerged from the washroom, Adelais had used the excuse of needing to pee again when she stepped into the small room and quickly cleaned up after the other two girls. She did not want to dirty one of the face cloths they had been provided, so she bunched up a small bit of toilet paper and wiped around the sink to collect the spilled water. Not wanting to risk the wad of toilet paper blocking the toilet, she tossed it into the small bin directly next to it. Then she straightened Marcia’s towel and Casey’s face cloth.

 She had cleaned everything as best she could.

 Do better!

 Understanding his intent, she moved her leg around the end of the cot to open the way to the bathroom. Other than the shift of her legs, the rest of her body barely moved or swayed. His gunmetal eyes tracked her until she stopped, having only taken two simple steps to her left. When he knew she was not making a move to run, he left the door wide open to approach the bathroom she had opened up to him.

 He passed close enough to her that she could feel the warmth of his body heat.

 Stopping in the door, he took in the bathroom.

 Was it obvious that someone had attempted to clean it? She was sure no bits of the toilet paper had been left on the sink, and there was not much she could do for the water in the shower. The effort she had put into this room would not have been enough for her mother; she would already be carrying new bruises if that were all she did while under her parents’ roof.

 The man glanced over his shoulder, but he looked down near her hands rather than up at Adelais’s face. “Who cleaned?” he asked. So, he had noticed.

 “I tried,” she admitted calmly, quietly, while keeping her focus on the wall directly across from her. She repressed the bone-deep urge to flinch at her own words.

 Did I tell you to try? No! When I tell you to do something, do it properly!

 Her attention tracked him in her peripheral vision without actually looking at him. Turning at her declaration, he stared at her face for a moment before refocusing on the other three. “Please, keep your area neat. An unclean bathroom is unacceptable.” He lifted the bucket and pulled one of the bottles out. “To make it simple, I’ve colour-coded these; blue is for the floor, and the pink bottle for the ceramic surfaces.”

 He appeared to want to say more but stopped himself, releasing a long sigh as he glanced toward the main door for a moment. Finally, he lifted the bucket up in front of himself. He cast his gaze down to the floor, standing stiff on the opposite side of the bathroom doorway as Adelais. She heard no movement from the others, so her hand automatically reached out for the handle of the bucket.

 Too long, too slow.

 The frightening reflexes the man had used to snatch Marcia returned when his free hand snapped out to shackle Adelais’s thin wrist in his hold. She could not supress the jump of surprise and fright, nearly biting her tongue when her body went from placidly waiting to strung up like a bowstring. A gasp sounded from behind her, but from which of the girls she was not sure.

 Initially, she kept her eyes down in the hopes that remaining still and timid would soothe the man’s anger. Yet he made no other move; not to hurt her nor release her. So, she raised her gaze from where it had been locked on the bucket to meet the hard stare being used to pin her in place. There was no way to understand what was going through his mind; he looked stern and tense by his expression, but the longer Adelais looked at him the softer his grip on her wrist became—for which she was thankful, since he had grabbed her directly over a still-tender bruise.

 When he finally released her completely, she dropped her hand back down to her side. Do not take the bucket—she could understand the message.

 Still holding the bucket out, he motioned with his free hand toward the other girls in a ‘come hither’ gesture. Finally, movement sounded behind Adelais as Casey rushed past her first, taking the proffered bucket. Claire and Marcia came next, more hesitant, then rushed quickly into the bathroom so as not to linger in his reach for too long.

 Adelais remained where she stood.

 He moved into the space of the door, blocking in the three that were now crouching on the floor around the sink. The oldest of them was left staring at the wall again, his focus turned from her completely. Was it trust that prompted him to give her such an open opportunity, or was he confident that she could not escape past the numerous locked doors?

 What did it mean for her that she didn’t even glance toward the door in consideration?

 “Patricia has reminded me that I was sent to get you for a reason,” he explained calmly, though she could hear the reluctance in his voice. Adelais could not begin to understand the nuances of his mind, but it was clear that he had been scolded by the woman. She was the one who claimed she could talk to him, that he listens to her. Patricia.

 It only solidified Adelais’s belief that this was someone with D.I.D.

 “You are sacred food, and I promise not to bother you again.”

 Fighting against a frown, she continued to stare at the wall with unfocused green eyes. Food? Sacred food?

 Even as he walked past her, Adelais kept her eyes forward. She tracked him in her peripheral without actually moving her gaze, noticing immediately when he seemed to shudder and halt just in front of the door. The only sound in the room was the ring of metal as he pulled a cluster of keys out of his pocket. Instead of just closing to door and sealing them in again, he glanced over to Adelais. The stiff look remained, but there was less reluctance than before as he looked at her.

 “You, come with me.”

 The same prickle-shiver from earlier danced across her skin.

 Obeying the order, the blonde turned her back on the other three and slowly followed his path. He kept to the side so she could exit through the door ahead of him, stopping in the same place as last time while he closed and locked the door behind them. She wanted to look around again, but kept her eyes focused down at the floor instead. She still was not sure whether she was in trouble or not. A reason for his displeasure was elusive, but there had to be a cause for grabbing her wrist.

 She could feel the body heat he let off when he came to stand behind her, the soft exhale of his breath shifting her freshly dried hair at the back of her skull. Remaining still was a bit more of a chore this time around, now that she knew what it felt like when he touched her.

 Surprisingly gentle fingers moved her hair aside to reveal the wet material beneath, dropping the waving strands of dark blonde over her right shoulder. “Your sweater’s wet.” His voice was rough, deep, and seemed to rattle her down to her core when he spoke so close behind her. Then he moved away. “You should take if off, you’ll get cold.”

 All of the blood in her body went cold.

 “If I take this off, can I have my scarf back?” she requested, knowing that speaking in outright refusal might upset him. “I’ll be cold without my sweater.”

 He said nothing for the longest time. If the exit had not been in front of her, she may have assumed that he’d snuck out of the room. Then her scarf appeared in her view, finally pulling her attention from the floor. It took more effort than she expected to stop her hand from shaking as she reached out to reclaim her scarf. The fabric was soft and familiar, easing her tension just a bit. Holding the material to her chest, she glanced to where he remained standing to her right.

 Neither moved for a long moment, a steady pause held between blue and green as they watched one another carefully.

 It was Adelais who dropped her gaze first. She stepped to the left just one pace, putting some distance between them before she draped her scarf over one arm and slipped her fingers beneath the hem of her sweater. With careful and conscious motions, she pulled only her sweater up and left the undershirt in place. Her hair remained draped over her right shoulder, blocking her neck from the man’s view, when she pulled her sweater over her shoulder and immediately draped the scarf around her neck and shoulders.

 Once certain she was as covered as could be, she glanced at the man through her peripheral—trying to peek throughout her own hair at the same time. He remained exactly the same, waiting as she pulled the sleeves of her sweater off of her arms and diligently righted the inside-out appearance. Only once everything was as it should be—as though she was preparing to hang it in her closet—did she turn to the man and offer it.

 He was still looking at her scarf-covered shoulders but took the fabric from her all the same.

 The undershirt she had donned that morning—or was it yesterday?—was thinner than she would prefer but even then it hadn’t been her choice. Her small waist was even more prominent than it had been when he held her and danced with her. The only assurance she had was that the shirt was not see-though.

 Finally, he stepped away from her and carefully draped the sweater over the chair that was situated in front of the computer.

 It was there that he lingered, as though taking a moment to organize his thoughts.

 Adelais fought the urge to fuss with her scarf, wanting to be certain that it was covering her throat. Instead, she let her eyes scan over him from her place out of his view. The clothes he wore were the same, she could even see the outline of the colourful cloth he carried in his pocket. The strain of muscle against cloth was obvious and she was reminded of his chest pressed to hers as they had swayed together in their awkward dance.

 Was he deprived of contact, same as she had been? Did he crave a touch that wouldn’t hurt him; instead, one that offered protection behind the simple contact?

 When he looked to her, she was too slow to avert her eyes to a neutral place. His gaze caught hers and held. She could almost swear the stern lines of his face softened just a fraction.

 Abandoning the chair and her draped sweater, he returned to stand in front of her. She held his gaze as he moved, leaving her tipping her head back once he was standing directly in front of her. With slow movements, he carefully slipped his fingers beneath her hair and pulled it free from where her scarf had trapped it against her throat. Thankfully, the scarf remained in place. The familiar sensation of his roughened fingers glided across her jawbone, just barely ghosting the base of her hairline before he lifted the strands free.

 Whether to recall her previous words or because he spotted an unknown reaction from Adelais, he asked, “Are you cold?” On the contrary, she assumed she was on fire.

 Her skin was uncomfortably warm beneath her clothes, but she knew it was not from the temperature of the basement they were in.

 “No, thank you.”

 Nodding sharply, he let his hands linger at her shoulders for a moment more before she felt the slight pull of his fingers. Her body was prompted forward with the simple nudge. Drawn in against his chest again, her heart rate picked up. Was this anticipation? It was so different from the fear she carried with her when she knew something was coming, knew that her mother as on a warpath that day. Yet, both made her heart race, both had her skin prickling with the eventual touch.

 He had not ordered her to close her eyes this time, so she held his gaze until he had moved past her view to rest his chin on her shoulder. The warm breaths of air were not as easily felt through her scarf, but she knew they were there.

 Hold me.

 His arms went around her gradually. Hands starting at her shoulders, they slid down her back and tightened until her arms were pinned at her sides and the hot press of his palms seemed to span the length of her spine.

 This time, she could not repress her shiver. He tightened his hold on her in response, pulling her in closer until she could feel the press of muscular thighs against her thinner ones, the toes of his shoes tapping the outsides of her small boots.

 Compelled by a foreign desire, Adelais let her head tip forward.

 Stand up straight, what have I told you about slouching?

 Her cheek came to rest on the carefully pressed material covering his shoulder. Arms remained at her sides, but she allowed herself to relax enough that she was fully leaning into him. The shift of his head was felt from where she was resting on him, then the cool tip of his nose skimmed her ear as he inhaled the scent of her hair.

 “Adelais.”

Previous || Next

[hermannsthumb]

"newt isn’t sleazy and is also too busy wrestling with the ethics of hitting on his hot TA if the guy is 5 months older than him to even notice" pleeeease write this

Anonymous asked: "When I Kissed the Teacher" AU ft professor newt and his hot 5-month-older TA hermann

and coincidentally, this older one

Anonymous asked: i just rewatched mamma mia 2 and was wondering if i could request a "when i kissed the teacher" newmann fic?? love your writing!!!!!!

Ask And Ye Shall Receive. sorry ive been MIA 😔 concept from this post I made earlier this month. idk what class newt teaches that hermann would be qualified to TA for but just like, decide for yourselves

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

Newt’s never been a list-making kind of guy, or--for that matter--even really a planning ahead kind of guy, but certain circumstances have thrown his life more out of wack than usual lately, and he kind of needs the stability the like of things like lists offer. Desperate times and everything. Or, at the very least, Newt is desperate. 

So Newt plans, and plots, and deliberates, and he even agonizes a little, but most of all, he makes a list.

On one half of the page, he writes pros. On the other, he writes cons. On top, he writes--what else?--Hermann.

The problem started in late August. Newt knew for months he was going to be assigned a teaching assistant come that semester--it was him, after all, who’d suggested it to the dean in the first place--but the Hermann Gottlieb of extensive, impressive, overachieving CV and overly-former cover letter was a far cry from Hermann Gottlieb in the flesh. Newt expected a dork, frankly. Someone too socially awkward to feel brave enough to thank someone for holding a door open for him. He expected a PhD student so eager to please he’d cater to Newt’s every whim, whether it was grading horrendous freshman lab reports or fetching him a sandwich from the commissary between class sections. 

They met for the first time at the campus coffee shop. Hermann was dressed in an oversized pair of slacks, a threadbare green sweatervest, and honest-to-God saddle shoes; the buttons of his Oxford were done up all the way, from the collar to the cuffs, and an ornate cane was settled against his thigh. His haircut was tragic. “Dr. Geiszler,” he said, all clipped and English, and held his hand out to Newt. “Hermann Gottlieb. It is a great pleasure to meet you. I’m an admirer of your work.”

"Sup,” Newt said, and tried to bump their fists together.

Newt knew he was in deep shit then. It wasn’t just because Hermann was gorgeous (which he was, in a sort of weird, frumpy, ripped-outta-1945 way), or that the scowl he proceeded to level Newt with made his soul wither and his heart race a little bit too fast, but both of those things in conjunction with a big one: Newt was, and is, so fucking love-starved. It’s an unfortunate byproduct of being made a professor when he was as young as he was and completing a PhD before he completed puberty. His early twenties should’ve been spent dyeing his hair terrible colors and adding to his already impressive tattoo collection and having questionable hookups with other young twentysomethings; unfortunately, the only young twentysomethings Newt ever seems to come across are his students, and he has a very strict code of ethics. Not to mention it wasn’t like he was getting any action before that as a weird, gangly teenager with peers several years his senior. He was bound to latch onto the first genius hottie who crossed his path who wasn’t trying to flirt their way into bumping that B- to a B+. And better yet, Hermann is five whole months his senior!

The shit only got deeper when the semester started. No, Hermann was not the sort to fetch Newt sandwiches, or coffee, or Aspirin from his office, nor was he the sort to handle the dreaded lab reports (at least not unless Newt handled them with him), and he definitely wasn’t eager to please. Newt, anyway. If anything the opposite was true: he seemed to actively derive enjoyment from undermining Newt at every turn.

“Wrong,” he’d mutter during class if Newt screwed something up in a lecture, or “No, Geiszler, you’re doing it wrong again,” or “How in the blazes did you get three bloody PhDs when you can’t even do simple addition?” and snatch Newt’s dry erase marker away to scrawl his own answers on the whiteboard. It was less like having a TA and more like having...well, a bitchy, annoying co-teacher. Or, God help Newt, a colleague. And boy, did he wave those five months over Newt’s head like a fucking flag. Newt was immature; inexperienced; clearly not as serious about his studies--his completed studies--as Hermann. Meanwhile Newt’s class (bright young twenty somethings, taller than Newt, cooler than Newt, with more friends than Newt) would giggle and snicker, and Hermann would look smug.

It drove Newt fucking batty.

It also made him, like, super turned on.

The two can co-exist. Apparently. Hermann Gottlieb is already helping Newt discover new and existing concepts; what a fucking excellent TA he is. Someone give that man a raise.

So Newt draws up a list, and he writes Pros, and he writes Cons, and he writes Hermann. The pros are regrettably easy to come up with, because Hermann is Hermann, and (bitchiness and undermining of Newt aside) it’s unfair how many he has. Hot. Stupid sexy accent. Stupidly smart. This is crossed out and replaced with so smart he makes me feel stupid (in a good way), because it seems like an important distinction. Glasses on chain. Mysterious. (In a tall, dark, and handsome way. Sort of. Average height--which is tall to Newt, pale, and handsome. He still scowls more than he talks, which makes him feel mysterious. In a Bronte sort of way. Newt can picture Hermann drawing a billowing cloak around his shoulders and stalking some desolate moor in the moonlight, though in this case maybe’s more of a puffy parka than a cloak.) In tiniest font of all is makes me laugh, because Hermann does, goddamn it, with his snide asides and cutting remarks and sarcasm, often not even directed at Newt when it’s just the two of them alone in Newt’s office at night.

The placement of “is my TA” on the chart is acting as a particular annoyance to Newt, entirely on account of the fact that he can think of several pros and cons for that as well, and he’s not sure whether to nestle it between dark eyelashes and once called me a moron in front of my class and I got a hard-on or beneath sweaters smell like sweat and mothballs, has annoying tic of clearing throat when lost in thought, and the dick wins 86% of our arguments. Sexy forbidden fling. Abuse of power. Is older than me so it's not as weird as it could be? I’m his boss. The school’s paying Hermann though, not Newt, and it’s not like he’s going to scurry off to the dean and demand Hermann’s funding slashed if Hermann turns him down (which he’d most likely do). But it still feels like a breach of ethics.

On the other hand, Hermann is exactly the sort of guy he’d try to pick up at a bar if he still did things like that. (Tenure, rather than giving Newt breathing space to kick back and relax a little, has only increased his obsession with his work, and now when he gets a Friday night free to himself he mostly switches crap on the TV and falls asleep with his cat on the couch.) It’s about the experience, the impossible task of seducing someone who--by all accounts--is too straight-laced and tight-buttoned to indulge in something that debase. They were always the best in bed. Tension, Newt knows, has to snap at some point.

He’d like to wrap Hermann’s personal piano wire around his thumb and bang away at the keys until it snaps, too. Ethics, Newt thinks (folding up the list and stuffing it out of sight), his ass.

Newt sacrifices a Friday night with his cat and Unsolved Mysteries in favor of working on a solution to his Hermann Problem. Swamped with work, he tells Hermann over the phone, it fucking sucks, dude, I could really use your help in my office, and Hermann grumbles, and snaps that Newt should learn to be better prepared for his own damn classes, but declares he’ll be on campus in half an hour and that Newt will be ordering him takeaway for dinner as an apology.

The door swings open at half past five. Hermann is bundled in that heavy parka and scarf (which, even for a Boston November, still looks a little too warm), and his hair is damp. “Is it raining?” Newt says, perhaps stupidly, because there’s not a single droplet of water anywhere else on Hermann’s body.

Hermann makes a face at him and pushes the door shut with his cane. “No,” he says, tersely.

“Then why...” Newt touches his own hair.

“I was taking a bloody bath,” Hermann snaps. “I don’t work on Fridays, as you well know, Newton.”

The use of his full first name stings Newt oddly even as the notion of Hermann luxuriating in a bathtub excites him. “That’s Dr. Geiszler,” Newt snaps back, because goddamn it, he’s Hermann’s boss, he deserves respect, and then mentally adds a small, depressing tally to the Cons half of the board. Ethics, ethics. 

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, Dr. Geiszler,” Hermann says. He throws his scarf and coat viciously at the small couch in the corner of Newt’s office, then takes his usual seat across from Newt. “Well? Where are those papers it’s so crucial we grade?”

Hermann in a bathtub, Newt thinks. Hermann naked. Papers, Newt thinks. “Papers,” Newt says, and he shoves a stack at Hermann with twice as much force as he means to, causing several to flutter to the ground. “We need...to grade them,” he says. Hermann naked, in a bathtub, maybe some candles lit around him, some nice music on, daydreaming about that wretched professor he works for. Damn it. “I have a pen,” he says. “To grade.”

“What on earth are you saying?” Hermann says. “Be quiet. I can’t concentrate with your abominable prattling on.” Then he mumbles something that sounds like incessant, rips the top paper off the stack, and begins to slash at it in red ink. He doesn’t bother gathering the two from the ground.

Why did Newt invite him here, again?

Oh, right. He pushes his glasses up his nose and feigns casualness, pulling out another paper for himself to grade. “A bath,” he says. “Just to, uh, relax? Or...?”

Hermann narrows his eyes. “Or?”

Newt shrugs. “It’s Friday. Were you getting ready for a date or something?”

This time, Hermann’s mouth twists down into a frown. Almost suspicious. “Why do you care?” he says.

“I don’t,” Newt says quickly. “Just making small talk.” God, he could picture some stud of a computer science PhD candidate winning Hermann over with techno babble--or maybe one of his fellow students, ugh, maybe they made a study group together that meets Friday nights, and Hermann was getting all gussied up, goddamn handsome astrophysics grad students--

“I was relaxing,” Hermann says. “You must be aware at this point you cause me a great deal of stress, Dr. Geiszler, on a daily basis.”

“Oh,” Newt says.

He gives up on the small talk after that. Hermann’s promised takeout arrives--a small carton of pad thai--as does Newt’s--a large carton of the spiciest thing they had on the menu--and they eat in silence. They have about three-quarters of the papers to go when Hermann suddenly sits back in his seat with a groan and rubs at his eyes under his granny glasses. “Bugger,” he says. “I can’t fathom this one for the life of me. I’m too tired.”

“It’s getting kinda late,” Newt agrees. “Maybe we should--”

“It’s not that,” Hermann says. “I had a glass of wine earlier, and--oh, it doesn’t matter. Your students need to learn how to write in a way that’s actually bloody legible--it’s like chicken scratch.”

Newt hops up and leans over his shoulder, squinting down at the page. Hermann’s hair smells nice, like something floral, and his skin has a small hint of what could almost be cologne. Why is Hermann wearing cologne? “Okay, let me see it,” Newt says, struggling to keep from getting lightheaded at the close proximity to Hermann. “I’m used to that kind of shit.”

“No,” Hermann says, drawing the paper close to his chest. “I am perfectly capable of managing it on my own.”

“Dude,” Newt says, “let me look at it, seriously. Hermann--”

He manages to tug it away from him. The handwriting is pretty bad, but the math seems to be worse. “Didn’t they do the readings?” Newt mutters under his breath. “That’s not even the right equation for the diameter. I gave them a cheat sheet, man.” They’re junior year engineering students--they should know this shit.

“I know what the equation is,” Hermann snaps. “I can grade it on my own. Give it back.”

“I didn’t say you didn’t know,” Newt says, “I said this kid--”

“It’s the radius squared--”

“Hermann, dude,” Newt says, “I know you’re--”

And that’s when Hermann grabs him by his skinny tie and kisses him, hard. 

They stare at each other afterwards. Hermann’s eyes are as wide as saucers; his mouth is hanging open. Newt’s tie slips from his fingers, which then fall limp to his lap. “Holy shit,” Newt squeaks.

Hermann is gone with a swish of his parka and a loud clack of his cane. And with a stack of papers Newt still has to somehow get through. Figures.

Their next few classes together are subdued. Hermann doesn’t interject any of his biting commentary or corrections, or even offer critiques of Newt’s lack of professionalism (when in the past his skinny jeans were such an easy target), and when the period is over, he practically sprints from the classroom before he and Newt can be alone together for even a second. It’s fine by Newt. Whatever. Maybe Hermann can get over it over Thanksgiving break, and Newt can try to get over the memory of Hermann’s strong fingers tugging him down, Hermann’s floral shampoo, Hermann’s chapped, wide lips against his, the little grunt of shock Hermann made as he did it, like he couldn’t believe his own audacity...

It’s not likely.

It’s December, the last week before finals, and Newt’s in his office bundled up in a sweatshirt (because the heat never seems to fucking work in here), revising a draft of an exam, and dreading the thought of trudging home in the snow, when there’s suddenly a knock at his door. Anticipating some overeager freshman here outside of office hours, he doesn’t look up as he says “Come in.”

A familiar clearing of a throat.

Newt shoots straight up to his feet. He knocks a mug of coffee to the floor in the process. “Hermann,” he says. “Uh. Hi. What--what are you doing here?”

Hermann shuts the door behind him, then takes a careful step forward. He’s back in his big dumb coat and big long scarf. “I thought I ought to tell you myself first,” he says, primly. “I’ve submitted a request to the dean to be reassigned to another professor next semester. Our research interests are far more in line, and I don’t imagine our personalities shall clash as much.”

“Oh,” Newt says, pretending his heart isn't sinking in his chest like a hunk of lead. Was he that bad of a kisser? He feels like he deserves a second shot at it--he wasn’t ready last time, you know, he bets he’d really wow Hermann if he had a fair heads up. “Are.. are those the only reasons why?”

“No,” Hermann admits. “They’re not.”

He crosses the room, and corners Newt against his desk before Newt even realizes what’s happening. “They’re not,” he says again, then adds in a murmur (lifting one hand to brush his fingers against Newt’s hair), “Dr. Geiszler.”

Neither of them talk much, after that.