#listen usually red is just subjected to my essays

[smallsies]

mike walters and matt woe.begone are the best childhood friends to lovers dynamic ever. listen;

they're maybe fourteen years old, halfway through a summer spent between one another's houses, starting fires in the pit behind matt's house and chasing mike's dog down the street whenever it got out of the yard.

they're fourteen years old and best friends and then mike kisses matt behind the old train depot on the edge of town and it means something neither can quite place.

years of hands clasped underneath blankets when they watch horror movies in the fall and lingering touches and smiles when they pass a mug of hot chocolate in the wintertime and bumping shoulders when they wander through the state park hiking trails the next spring.

it's something and it's nameless, maybe, but it's all they have.

it's enough to get then into trouble, even.

they're seventeen and scared of the world and matt gets cornered in the baseball locker room, bitter words and no way to escape and he leaves with more than a few bruises and blood running from his nose.

middle-of-nowhere towns have never promised anything good so they get out as soon as they can, living in a rundown apartment in the city and working their way through college.

sometimes, in the evenings, mike convinces matt to get out his guitar and play through some half-remembered song they remember from growing up and from early-morning drives in mike's pickup, endless stretches of highway between their hometown and the city.

eventually they drift apart in the way most people do and matt still remembers mike's number even though he never calls it, and mike thinks of matt every time he finds his way back to their college town and then he is left to mourn someone that never really died, left with the heavy weight of the blood on his hands, a reminder of the things he would do to keep matt safe.

[hxjikonn]

Hello! Congrats on 143 followers! You deserve it!

Could I request Malleus, Kalim, Vil, Ace, and Jamil with an s/o telling them they're the best thing to have ever blessed her eyes?

A/N: ’M GONNA CRY I LOVE THIS SM 😭♥︎ I have a 3-4 characters limit though so I had to take out Vil and Jamil as I didn’t have time 😔 maybe I’ll add a pt.2 in the future with the two in it! I hope you like it!

Got me Lovestruck

☆Staring☆: Ace Trappola, Malleus Draconia, and Kalim Al Asim

Synopsis: Their reaction to Fem!Reader suddenly saying they’re ‘the best things to ever bless her eyes’

Warnings: Tooth rooting fluff, I don’t proofread my shit so prolly grammatical errors, missing words, etc. I’m sorry💀💀💀

Ace Trappola

You two were doing your usual trouble causing habits, only to be caught by one of the teachers and get sent to detention. “I cant believe we have to write a 500 word essay about why we shouldn’t balance stuff on top of sleeping people’s heads….” Ace groaned quite heavily slamming his head down his desk.

“Like, it’s not OUR fault they fell asleep where we are! That should be an unspoken rule! ‘never fall asleep around Ace or Y/n’ right???” He turned to look at you with a frown as his head still laid there, you giggle at your boyfriend’s frustration and reached over to play with his hair in attempt to calm him down from his tantrum.

After awhile he stopped ranting and just doodle on the paper near where his face rested on his desk, pouting but enjoying the feeling of your hands running through his hair. You found yourself chuckling at the boy’s expression, you always found it endearing how he made you laugh at any given situation…it was one of the reasons why you fell for him…

“Ace you’re one of the best things to ever bless my eyes y’know that?” You blurted out, a soft smile plastered on your face as you looked at him. Needless to say he stopped whatever nonsense he was doing and looked right back at you. Eyes widened and shocked from the sudden confession you’ve made.

Cue Microsoft shut down sound

Wouldn’t know how to react, like his heart is pounding and wants to kiss you right then and there but also a nervous wreck

All his ‘rizz’ that he’d usually brag about would be flushed down the drain, and he has now downgraded into a flustered speechless boy.

When you notice he was acting like a deer caught in headlights, you leaned in and pecked his forehead to bring him back to reality.

He wanted to melt, that’s what he felt like. He pulled you closer to him by the waist and just buried himself in your embrace.

You’d tease him but let him do that until his brain starts running again and is able to produce words.

Once he’s up and running again he’d gather enough courage to leave soft kisses on your collarbone as he’s still too red to kiss your face.

“I fucking love you, I cant- I don’t even- Ughhhh see??? this is what you do to me?? Oh my gosh…”

Malleus Draconia

You two were out on your nightly walks again and he’s going on a tangent about gargoyles while holding on to your hand, you listened and probably know what he’s talking about already due to countless times he’s mention this subject to you whenever it sparks up in your conversations.

Still you listened to him fondly, showing interest to his likings aswell, occasionally you’d ask him questions, and he’d elaborate. You loved how enthusiastic he was when he talks about the things that he likes, the hobbies he does, or anything at all if your being honest.

The horned fae’s voice was like that song you’ll never get tired of, suddenly a question from him cuts you off your train of thought “aren’t they the greatest creatures to bless this earth my dear?” He asks you. “I beg to differ” you protested, he was shocked as you always agreed with him on this, “oh? well then please do” he offers, awaiting for your argument. He was always up for a friendly debate.

You smiled up at him, “They’re not the greatest thing to ever bless MY eyes…because that would be you, my prince” and lifted up his hands to plant a small kiss on his knuckles. “And my opinion wont be swayed so don’t even try tsunotaro” you grinned at him. Suddenly though…your lover stopped walking.

He hears church bells ringing lol

He’d passionately but gently give you a kiss, you’d have to be the one who pulls away frist because this man isn’t stopping 🥹

He was already asking DEMANDING you marry him and ‘no’ isn’t an option. Already has your whole life with him planned in his head.

You’d giggle at his sudden statement and he explains to you that he wasn’t joking. You’d assure him that you knew he wasn’t but ‘not now’

He frowns, but understands and doesn’t push you any further (for now at least) He couldn’t leave you that night, so he stayed over and slept beside you. Coddling you with affection

Would be thinking about what you said to him everyday and smiling, he’d set the whole world on fire if you wanted him to, no questions asked.

After that day he’d keep asking ‘when’ you were going to marry him. And would be stuck to you like glue.

“Malleus…this isn’t your class” “I understand sir Trein but I simply cannot leave my wife…” “WIFE?!?!” “EXCUSE ME??!” “Mal go to your class”

Kalim Al Asim

You two were just hanging out in Scarabia, he was simply laying on your chest, content as he watched vidoes on his phone. These were the days where it was peaceful, the only sounds that were heard were birds chirping and occasionally small talk from the two of you.

Kalim was busying himself with the content his phone provided, making little noises like gasps or laughs from time to time. You just watched him, as his expression changes, finding yourself laughing aswell because you thought he was cute.

He’d look up at you from his phone and ask what you found amusing but you’d tell him that it was nothing and he’d just go back to doing what he was doing. This went on for awhile until he puts down his phone and looks up at you with a pout, “What?? You’ve been laughing since earlier, is there something on my face?…” he whines, climbing up the cushion to meet your eyes and lays down beside you.

You nod, so he starts wiping his face with his hands you only respond with a laugh again, slowly you took his hands off his face and replaces them with yours, “What? What’s on my face?“ he asks, “The best thing to ever bless my eyes” you answered and gave him a kiss. You swore you saw his pupils dilate.

Would cry 💀💀💀 no seriously he’d start tearing up.

You notice this and ask what was wrong, finding it a bit funny that your boyfriend just starts crying for no reason.

He’d burry his face in your chest sobbing, hands wrapped tightly on your waist, mumbling little I love you’s

You laugh at him for this as you thought it was adorable, you peppered him with kisses to make him stop crying.

When you ask him again he’d just say that he loves you so much that’s why he started crying. And once again burry himself in your warmth.

Would rub hearts on your back and leave kisses on your neck sometimes. When you end up falling asleep first he’d watch you sleep and tell you how much you mean to him.

Would always remind you that he loves you everyday from then on. Like ALL THE TIME, you have to tell him to stop sometimes ‘cuz it comes at the most RANDOM of hours.

“Y/n….?” “Hm???” “I love you okay? Very much…” “love it’s 3 in the morning” “I know, I just wanted to tell you that, go back to sleep now, I love you” “Hm…I love you too..” “I love you more-“ “Kalim…”

[rentsturner]

If you’ve a lesson to teach me… - AT

professor!alex turner x fem!reader

Warnings: established student/teacher relationship, smut, spanking (with a riding crop), oral (male receiving), tiny bit of face fucking, bdsm undertones, unprotected piv sex, sir kink, alex has tattoos, aftercare, teensy bit of angst but lots of fluff, cuddling.

A/n: this is from a request where reader gets a bad grade and Alex ‘punishes’ her. It’s very smutty, but there’s fluff at the end I promise. Thank you as always to my bestie @martinipoliz who wrote like 25% of this fic and is always putting up with me and my moods, couldn’t do it without her. As always, if you don’t like it, don’t read it :)

Today is the day.

The day that you’ve been dreading all week and wishing it wouldn’t come, but it still has.

Last month, Alex gave your class a task which was due last week, and you had barely submitted it on time. Three minutes before the deadline, you were just so relieved that you finished the essay, but not without receiving a disapproving look from Alex as he took the paper from your hands.

To say that you’re nervous about your grade would be an understatement.

You’re fucking terrified.

It was unlike anything Alex had ever given before, and you’re not going to deny that you did struggle a bit coming to terms with some of the subject matter, so that it took you way too long to finally understand it, and even longer to come up with sentences that didn’t sound like absolute dogshit.

You had even tried asking Alex to maybe help you in some parts but then immediately backtracked when he gave you a stern stare that meant you can do this yourself, and so you accepted your fate and gave everything you could and hoped for a miracle.

And who are you kidding? That miracle did not happen.

Because the essay lands on your desk, a large red B- staring up at you, and suddenly getting swallowed by the ground doesn’t sound too bad at the moment.

For you, a B- isn't necessarily bad, but it’s not as good as you usually do. And you know for certain that Alex is not happy with it, by the way he sighs as he hands you the paper and looks down at you pointedly. He taps the ‘B-’ with one long finger.

“Not quite up to your usual standard, sweetheart.” he mutters, quiet enough just for you to hear, and your ears turn red in embarrassment.

And then he’s off, hurriedly handing out the rest of the papers and giving praise to other students, and your heart sinks. To top it all off, you hear him saying “good job, darling,” to the girl sitting at the front while you got nothing. Not even a mere good job too.

You rifle through the pages of your essay, reading Alex’s comments written in red pen. Most of them are constructive criticism, things that you can improve on quite easily, except for the note at the bottom of the page: ‘SEE ME AFTER CLASS’.

You sit through the rest of the class nervously, hands fidgeting, struggling to keep still. Alex notices your restlessness and sends you a stern look from the front of the class. Your stomach twists and clenches just thinking about what he might have planned for you, it’s making you hot and bothered just thinking about it, as well as incredibly nervous.

Alex has talked about punishment before, it’s come up a few times in the relationship that you’ve been having for the past four months. He’s rather very good at communicating and negotiating stuff with you, telling you to be open to him without feeling any shame, and you did.

You told him about the things you wanted to try out and he listened, nodded, indulged your fantasies without making you feel judged or walking on eggshells. Your confession ranged from giving him full authority over you during sex, to negotiating what kind of punishments you’d be comfortable with when you misbehaved. It seems that conversation will be coming in useful now.

Finally, Alex wraps up the class and dismisses the other students. You slowly pack up your notes and pens, waiting patiently for everyone else to filter out the class before making your way to Alex’s desk.

He’s piling up his papers, the sleeves of his white dress shirt neatly rolled up to the elbows.

When your shadow crosses over his desk, he looks up at you. His eyes are soft, but you can tell he’s disappointed.

“I know it was a hard paper, but I did expect better from you, darling.”

“I tried, Al, I promise, I just -”

“Maybe you need a reminder of how hard you should be working. You don’t get to coast in this class just because you’re fucking me. Handing it in with 3 minutes to go wasn’t acceptable either.” He raises his eyebrow at you before going back to stacking his papers.

You stay quiet, guilt and embarrassment rolling in your stomach. He’s right. You’re usually better than this, maybe you have taken your foot off the pedal the last few weeks. It wasn’t like you to hand in papers late, or struggle to write about a subject that you love. But you had been tired recently, it was getting to that time of year where everyone starts to burn out, you included.

Alex seems to notice your silence. He stops messing with his papers and places one hand on your shoulder, brushing his thumb gently along your skin.

“Look, I am a little disappointed in you, darling, and I admit that I expected better. But don’t mistake my disappointment as me being mad, because it’s different. If I was mad at you, I would’ve already bent you over this desk.” He chuckles at that, and you manage to crack a smile too, a jolt of electricity running through you from the thoughts that that comment incites.

“But, this is just me reminding you that just because I’m your boyfriend, that doesn’t make me any less of your teacher.” Alex squeezes your shoulder and you nod at him, understanding what he’s saying. Because he’s right, Alex is still your teacher, and you want to impress him with your work, not coast through his class.

Alex continues marking papers for a bit while you do some revision, taking your usual spot at the end of his desk. He notices you yawning and losing focus after a while, so he offers to order you an Uber back to his flat. You’re practically living at Alex’s place at the moment, half of your clothes and toiletries are there, and it’s a lot easier to go to and from school from his.

Alex walks you to the pick up point, one hand planted protectively on the small of your back - he’s planning to stay on campus for a little longer to finish marking, as he wants you all to himself when he gets home later.

When the Uber arrives, he grabs the door for you, ushering you into the car while he whispers, “I expect you to be naked and kneeling by the bed when I get back. If not, then you’d find yourself in more trouble than you already are.”

You shiver a little at his words, suspecting there would be some element of punishment involved tonight, but now that Alex has confirmed it, you’re incredibly excited. This is something you’ve wanted for a while, and obviously you didn’t want to do badly on your paper, but maybe something good can come out of it…

When you arrive at Alex’s flat, you manage to have a quick nap in an attempt to calm your nerves.

An hour later, you’re kneeling on the floor, ready and waiting. Your skin is coming out in goosebumps, partly from the cool air on your bare skin, partly from the anticipation of Alex arriving home. You rub your thighs together, trying to create some friction to ease the ache in your cunt. The sound of the door opening and then slamming shut startles you a little, your stomach dropping in excitement as you realise Alex is finally back. You hear him drop his bags in the hallway, then his long strides echo through the house as he makes his way up to the bedroom. The suspense is killing you now, you're practically shaking as you wait in your kneeling position for him. You just hope he’s impressed.

The door swings open and Alex enters, a smirk growing as he takes you in, naked and kneeling for him. You swear you see his pupils dilate, his hands clenched into fists at his side.

“What a sight to see, really,” he comments, leaning down fully and pressing both of his hands on his knees to meet your eyes. “If only I get to see this every day I come home. Would you mind it, darling? Would you mind if I ask you to be in this exact position every day, naked and vulnerable, waiting for your Sir like a good girl?”

You shake your head, then open your mouth to speak. “I wouldn’t, sir.”

“Good. Because it’d be such a shame if you do,” Alex flashes you a smile, leaning forward to peck your lips. “But let’s not forget why you’re currently here in that position now, yeah? Can you tell me? Tell me the reason why I’m punishing you, wanna hear you say it.”

“I –” your lips quiver, gulping down hard. “Because I got a B- on my paper, sir.”

“That’s right,” he nods, now standing up straight and fixing his posture. “And what am I gonna do to you exactly?”

“Straighten me out?”

Alex laughs softly at your reply, bringing one of his hands up to pet your hair gently. It’s a small gesture yet still manages to make your stomach erupt with butterflies. “Not the words I would use, but sure, darling – I’ll straighten you out.”

Alex quickly discards his suit jacket and rolls up his sleeves, exposing his arms. You feel yourself gush just looking at them, the veins snaking across his pale skin, marred only by the intricate tattoos extending from his wrists up into the sleeves of his shirt. You think about how the patterns curl around his shoulders, spreading into wings across his back, how you trace them so gently when he’s sleeping, admiring the beauty of him.

Alex interrupts your thoughts, opening his wardrobe and rummaging around in there for a bit. You squirm with anticipation, having no idea what your boyfriend might have planned for you, only knowing that it’s going to be intense.

Alex turns round to face you, a menacing grin plastered across his face, and your eyes are immediately drawn to the object in his hands – a long, slim riding crop, the end a double fold of stiff leather. Your eyes widen, your heart racing as you watch Alex tap the end against his hand.

“What do you think of this, baby? Think you can take it?”

You nod again, but Alex needs more this time”

“Need your words for this, love. What’s your colour?”

“G–Green, sir, so green, please.”

Alex smirks. He takes a few strides so he’s standing over you, stroking your hair gently, and you can’t help but nuzzle into his palm.

“On the bed, baby. You know what to do.”

He points the crop to the king sized bed behind you, following you as you stretch your stiff legs and make your way over. You sink slowly onto the soft mattress, knowing exactly what position Alex wants you in – ass up, face down. You stretch your arms out in front of you to support your head and try to relax your thighs, presenting your bare cunt and ass to Alex. You can hear his breathing quicken as he takes you in – he’s just as excited as you are.

“I want you to count these out for me, okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

You feel the bed dip behind you as Alex takes his position, then hear the swoop of the riding crop through the air, then a burning sensation on your left ass cheek. God it hurts, but it feels so good at the same time, sending a jolt right to your cunt as you cry out.

“One, sir.”

He lands another one on your other cheek, you whimper as the burn spreads across your skin, and manage to whisper out a ‘Two, s- -sir.”

“Colour?”

“Green, please keep going Al – Sir, more please.”

Seems like Alex doesn’t like the way you accidentally addressed him by his name, and so two more quick swats land on your cheeks in quick succession. You bite into the pillow, feeling the tears welling up as you muffle your scream. It fucking burns. You’ve always been so used to his hands spanking you but never leather.

“Forgotten how to count already, princess?”

“No – no, Sir, just –” you sniffle, swallowing down the sob threatening to spill. “Three a–and four.”

“What’s that? Let me hear you –” he pauses, you try to look back in confusion, but before you can see what he’s up to, he’s already bringing the riding crop for another lash on your ass – much harder than the last four. “– say it fucking louder!”

“Five!” You scream, burying your face into the mattress and pulling your lower torso away from the sheer pain, but Alex places his hand on your waist to pull you back closer. “F–Five, Sir, that’s – that’s five, please, it hurts –”

“Does it?” Alex mocks. “You know deep down in yourself that you deserve it, so count properly unless you want me to bring the number up.”

You can’t bring yourself up to speak since you’re already shuddering from your sobs, your skin burning in pain, just adding to the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you. It was so much, all at once.

You took 5 more strokes from Alex, forcing out the number and a thank you each time, until the 10th blow had you collapsing onto the bed, shuddering and crying.

“Alright, I think that’s enough, yeah, baby?”

Alex places one hand on the small of your back, rubbing up and down your skin in an effort to calm your shaking form.

“You did so well, baby, I’m proud of you.”

Alex’s voice is softer now, and you suspect you’ve got past the worst of the punishment. His words fill you with warmth, and you nod and hiccup into the duvet, reaching one hand back to grab at Alex’s. He intertwines your fingers, letting you find comfort in him for a few moments.

“Good girl. But we aren’t done yet. Need you to make me feel good.”

You roll over, wincing as your raw ass rubs a little on the sheets. You aren’t going to be able to sit down for a few days, that’s for sure.

Alex shuffles to the end of bed and sits back on his heels, beckoning for you to come over, a growing bulge glaring obvious in his navy pants.

You crawl over to Alex, swaying your hips seductively as you move, knowing it will just turn him on even more.

You unbuckle his belt and pull down his fly, your hands shaking a little in your eagerness to please Alex. You’re practically drooling at the thought of his thick cock in your mouth. His fingers card through your hair, gathering it into a ponytail in one hand. He pulls your head back a little from his grip on your hair, until you’re looking up at him. His eyes are dark, pupils blown from anticipation, his chest heaving up and down under his shirt. God, you wish you could just rip the white fabric off him, run your hands over his shoulders and chest, feel the solid muscle under his smooth, pale skin.

“Slow down, baby, we’ve got all night, yeah?”

You nod your head, taking a few deep breaths before tugging on Alex’s boxers. He helps you pull them down, his cock slipping out, already thick and hard, a dribble of pre-cum leaking from the swollen tip. You wrap one hand around his length, feeling his velvety skin under your fingertips. Alex’s deep groan fills the room as you drop your head to lick slowly along the underside of his cock. His grip tightens on your hair as you suckle gently on the tip, tasting the saltiness of his precum when you flick your tongue over his head. He sucks in a harsh breath, pulling on your hair.

“Don’t tease me now, darling, you’ll just make it worse for yourself.”

You smirk, giving him your best doe eyes, before ducking your head down to try and take him fully into your mouth, feeling his tip hitting the back of your throat and trying to swallow down a gag. You wrap your hand around his base, pumping what you can’t fit in your mouth. You continue looking up at Alex, his face blurring as a film of tears cloud over your eyes.

Alex groans, the deep sound going straight to your cunt and you try to rub your thighs together for a bit of friction, but Alex is quick to put a stop to that.

“Uh uh, darling, none of that. You can have your pleasure when I’m done, alright?”

You just whine around his cock, bobbing your head and taking as much of him as you can. There’s drool dripping down your chin and tears slowly spilling from your eyes. Even after numerous tries, you don’t think there will be a day in your life where you can fully take his whole nine inches down your throat without choking yourself to death – but whatever, that’s one good way to die.

“Fuck – so good baby, so good to me.” Alex pants, hand fisting your hair roughly as his hips buck against your mouth. You choke a little at the action and your own hands go to grip his thighs for support, a trail of spit dripping down your chin and onto the floor as the fat head of his cock hits the back of your throat again. “Yeah, darling, fucking choke on it – take it all, fucking take it all like the good girl you are –”

You moan at his words, feeling his cock throb in your mouth, so hot and heavy on your tongue. He’s close, you can tell, so you hollow your cheeks and suckle fervently on his length, getting Alex to his climax the only thing on your mind. Alex growls and you feel a tug on your hair as he pulls you off his cock, and you peer up at him, confused. A string of saliva still connects your lips to his cock and you can see it twitching in front of your face.

“Want to come in your cunt, darling.” Alex declares in between pants.

You nod your head eagerly. “Please, sir, want your cock, please.”

Alex nods, pushing you back until you’re lying back on the soft pillows. He grabs your wrists and puts them above your head. “These stay here, okay?”

You nod again, although you're desperate to touch Alex, you know it's better to do what he says. The cuddling can come later.

Alex drapes himself over your body, the fabric of his trousers brushing against your skin as he nudges your thighs apart, his hand dropping down to spread your folds.

“Fuck, baby, so wet for me, you just fucking love getting punished, don’t you?” One long finger flicks over your clit, spreading your slick over your hot skin. He’s right, you're soaked, a result of the spanking and having his cock in your mouth, so ready for him to have his way with you. And so is he, you can feel his hard cock pressing against your leg, still sticky from a mix of your saliva and Alex’s precum. You moan as Alex’s two fingers press roughly into your cunt, scissoring and pressing against your walls, trying to find that special spot inside you.

“You’re lucky I’m giving you some prep, baby, bad girls don’t get stretched out before they take my cock. But you’ve done well for me so far, so I’m gonna be generous.” Alex pants into your ear, his hot breath causing goosebumps to spread across your skin.

He pulls his fingers out, bringing them up to his mouth and sucking on them. Your eyes widen as his face contorts in bliss, licking all of your juices off of his digits. His eyelashes flutter as he looks down at you, his eyes are dark, lust completely overtaking any semblance of reason.

“Gonna fuck you now, darling.”

You both groan in unison as Alex nudges his cock against your clit, grabbing himself at the base to push slowly inside of you. Despite how wet you are, and the few moments Alex spent stretching you out, there’s still a sharp burn as your walls try to accommodate his girth. He’s hot and heavy, throbbing inside of you, and you swear you can feel every ridge and vein as he slowly bottoms out.

Your whole body is trembling, your eyes rolling back into your head, the feeling of Alex so deep inside you almost enough to send you over the edge right there and then. You clench your fists, trying to keep your hands in the position you left them in, fighting the urge to rip Alex’s shirt off and scratch your nails down his back.

“Look at me, baby, look at me while I’m fucking you.” Alex practically growls, grabbing your chin in his hand and turning your face to him.

“Please move, Al- Sorry, Sir, please move.” The feeling of being full is so overwhelming, you need him to move or you might just combust.

Alex just smirks. “I really don’t think you're in any position to be making demands right now, darling. Remember why you’re here, yeah?”

You just whine and nod your head submissively, trying to keep your gaze on his. He lets you suffer for a few moments before finally moving his hips. He pulls out until just his tip is left snug in your hole, then slams his hip back forwards. You scream as his cock drags along your walls, his pelvis rubbing against your clit and his balls slapping against your still raw ass. Within seconds, the fire in your belly is reignited and you can feel yourself approaching your orgasm. You feel like you've been on the edge the whole night, and now, finally, you might get your release.

Alex pounds into you, his face buried in the crook of your neck, his gasps and moans coming in time with his thrusts. You can feel the sweat dripping down his brow onto your chest, the fabric of his shirt rubbing roughly against your nipples. You’re desperate to touch him, to run your hands over his shoulder, his neck, his hair, and you can’t hold it back anymore.

“Please, sir, p–please can I touch you? Please, I need to.”

Alex lifts his head from your neck, one sweaty lock of hair falling over his forehead as he looks down at you. “Oh really? You think you’ve been good enough to touch me?”

“Y–Yes, please, I’ve been a good girl, I have.”

Alex shakes his head. “I don’t think so. Good girls don’t get bad grades, do they?”

You’re truly on the edge now, can feel your orgasm approaching like a runaway train, and you squeeze your eyes shut to try to fend it off, not wanting to come without your arms around Alex.

“You close, baby? Gonna come for me?”

You shake your head desperately. “Please, sir, need to touch you, please.”

“You wanna touch me?” Alex smirks, breathing hard as he drives his cock even deeper, loving the way your walls clench around his length everytime he hits that special spot that never fails to make you fucking shake. “If you wanna touch me, you better cum around my cock and maybe I’ll think about it.”

Now that’s something that’s not very difficult to do. With a sniffle and a loud whimper, you crack open your teary eyes and look at him. He’s watching you very carefully. One of the few things you’ve noticed at the start of your relationship is that he never takes his eyes off of you when you’re cumming – whether it’s around his cock or his fingers or even his mouth, his eyes will always find their way to look at your face as you crumble down from both his generosity and cruelty.

Your vision tunnels to just Alex’s face, his dark eyes, long lashes, pale skin, the little scar under his brow, and you come. The emotions of the past few hours finally catch up with you and you shake and shudder under Alex, clenching and milking him for all he’s worth. He groans and his hips stutter as he reaches his climax as well, a warmth filling you as he empties himself deep inside of you. You sob and bury your face in Alex’s neck, which is damp from sweat. His chain presses against your cheek, cold against your burning skin.

“Fuck, baby, such a good girl, so good for me. Come here, love.”

And finally you move your stiff arms to wrap yourself around Alex, curling your legs around his waist, his softening cock still inside of you. You tug at his shirt, whining into his neck and Alex immediately knows what you want, pulling back for a moment to peel the shirt off his shoulders, flinging it to the other side of the room. His pants are also discarded within moments, until he’s left just as naked as you are. His chest is sweaty and if you aren’t so tired from getting dicked down within an inch of your life, you would’ve taken your time admiring it and maybe leaving a very funny comment that would surely make him laugh.

But unfortunately you don’t have the energy to do all that, you’re sure Alex will understand.

“Tired?” He croons, pressing his hand on your cheek, loving the way it’s burning and still a bit wet from your tears. “You wanna shower, baby? Need your answer here, don’t leave me hanging.”

“No,” you whine, pawing at his shoulder and pulling him closer, purposefully draping his whole body on top of you and putting his head in the crook of your neck. “Stay here.”

You hear him chuckling, his hot breath tickling your neck as his hands then move underneath your back and wrap you up with his body like a big weighted blanket. “You wanna stay like this? All night? You sure I'm not gonna crush you or something?”

“No, you’re warm.”

Based on your short responses and clingy attitude, Alex comes to the conclusion that you’re in one of those moods again. You often get clingy and a bit out of it after a good orgasm, but not entirely in subspace. He would’ve known the tone of your voice if you were, but right now he thinks you’re just a bit floaty, and you think you are too.

“Is there anything you want to do after, baby? Take a bath? Sleep? Order a takeout?”

You don’t know. You’re still very much intoxicated by his scent especially since he’s closer to you than he has been all day. Alex’s aftershave mixed with his sweat is practically making you mewl like a kitten, and you have to stop every urge not to rub your cheeks against him like one.

“How about just lie here for a bit, then take a bath, then order a takeout, then sleep?” You suggest, voice hoarse and raw from getting throatfucked earlier. Wonderful. “And I wanna…” You trail off, a hand snaking up to play with his hair.

“Wanna what?” Even though you don’t see Alex’s face, you can practically visualise in your head that he’s currently holding up his confused expression. Raised eyebrow and all. “You wanna go for another round or something?”

“No!” You giggle, slapping him slightly on the shoulder, which earns a quick nip on your neck and a chuckle from Alex. “Well, not that it’s a problem. But that’s not what I mean.”

“Then what?”

“Wanna apologise.” There it goes. Your voice sounds a bit teary and sad, no doubt Alex picks up on that. “I didn’t… mean to have that kind of grade, you know that. It’s just everything has been stressing me out lately and I haven’t really figured out how to fix it yet. I guess overthinking about making it all better kept me from putting all my focus on that paper. I’m sorry. I’ll do better next time, I promise.”

Alex doesn’t answer for a bit and you think that maybe he’s thinking if your excuse is good enough, but luckily that’s not the case when you feel his lips pressing soft kisses on your neck and up behind your ear. You flinch a little from being ticklish, a giggle spilling out of your mouth.

“I know you will,” Alex finally says, pulling his head back and looking at your face. “I know you’ll do better, sweetheart. You always do. And I love you for that. You know that if there’s something bothering you, you can always just ask me for help, right? I’m not a mind reader, darling, that’s why we need to communicate. I’m not always with you when we’re in school so I have no idea what problems you might be facing, but if there’s something I can do to help, then please tell me. Okay?”

He’s right. He always is.

“Okay. I understand. I love you too,” you give him a smile, now feeling a little shy under his stare as he brushes your hair out of your face. “I’ll tell you about my problems next time. Would you still help me if it was about your subject, though?”

Alex laughs cheekily at your question, leaning down to kiss your nose. “I’ll think about it. Still depends if you’d be willing to give me something in return.”

“Oh yeah?” You quirk an eyebrow, a playful grin making its way on your face. “And what’s that?”

“What do we say about roleplay –”

You push his shoulders before he can even finish his question, barking out a laugh when Alex only scoops his arms underneath your back again and pulling you closer to him.

“Absolutely not!”

[ihazyourkitty]

Why John Hargrove is full of it p.1

Multiple people have expressed interest in the detailed Blackfish rebuttal I am working on. The plan is to put it in video essay format on Youtube. This not only has the potential to reach a larger audience, but it also gives me more creative/expressive flexibility that would otherwise be difficult to get across in just written text.

This project will not be completed for quite some time, as there are a lot of things to cover. However, I did want to provide a short glimpse into some things I've uncovered thus far.

You see, I plan on not only refuting the movie itself, but also covering the consequences of Blackfish, and major figures like Naomi Rose, Ingrid Visser, etc. So as part of this project, I am listening to the eBook version of John Hargrove's Beneath the Surface for the second time. It's..... so.... much..... fun.....

*sigh* Warning, there's a long rant ahead. TL;DR John Hargrove comes off as very full of himself in this book, and it's annoying.

______

Now, on a purely emotional, literary level I guess, the book is certainly very gripping. It's difficult to put down, even when you know that much of what is alleged therein is utter bullcrap. However, I don't think this is just because the whole "little-guy turns against evil corporation" trope makes for good storytelling across the board. I think it's also because, unlike Mark Simmons' Killing Keiko, or Hazel McBride's I Still Believe, John Hargrove's Beneath the Surface has the luxury of both professional editing, and a co-author (Howard Chia-Eoan).

To be clear, I'm not saying this as dig against Hazel McBride or Mark Simmons. I bring this up merely to illustrate the stark contrast here. As far as I know, their works were self published, or at least lacking the same polish and publicity from big name publishers, or sensationalist documentaries.

However, this contrast wouldn't be so noteworthy to me were it not for these two things I'm increasingly noticing in this reread of Beneath the Surface:

It is never clearly stated which parts were written by Hargrove, and which were ghost written by Chia-Eoan... but the amount of contradictions and shoehorned information in here gives me some serious suspicions.

John Hargrove... seems incredibly full of himself!

I don't have the time to elaborate on #1 right now, so we'll just talk about #2 today. John Hargrove is almost never in the wrong. He is always painted as the hero, the true advocate for these animals. You don't hear much about the other trainers he worked with or learned from. Mostly, it's just about him. He bemoans the allegedly poor conditions SeaWorld's animals are kept in, while simultaneously boasting about all his accomplishments with them. He speaks of differing perspectives between him and some of the other trainers, but seldom elaborates on what exactly those differences were. Instead, he usually just frames it in a sanctimonious "me vs. them" way.

The closest he gets to admitting any mistakes he had to learn from is when he recounted an aggressive incident with Freya at Marineland Antibes, and even then.... the whole reason why that incident (allegedly) happened was because Hargrove overestimated his training/waterworks abilities with a whale he didn't have a relationship with. His admission of that mistake is then overshadowed by the rather self-righteous tone he frames the resolution with. All the success was about him. You don't hear anything about how he worked with the other trainers there, what they brought to the table, and certainly not the stronger, lasting relationships they had with Freya. It's not that he had to mention them by name, but he didn't even mention them at all!

To be fair, this interpretation is partly subjective on my part. Still, as someone who is personally working in animal husbandry right now (albeit not with marine mammals), the gaping holes in this narrative raises some red flags.

Here's some free advice to anyone interested in working in the zoo/aquarium industry: I have been told by multiple hiring managers that they don't want someone who "just wants to work with the animals, and not deal with people." That's not how this works. You still have to work with people in some form or another.

It doesn't matter which animals you are working with. When you're on an animal husbandry/training team, you gotta ask for/provide help, seek/give feedback, communicate with other departments, etc. Complaints, conflict and disagreements will inevitably happen, but you gotta be mature about it.

And yes, in that process... you are going to make mistakes, and you're going to have to own up to them! It's part of how you learn. You're also going to inevitably work with people who don't see things the same way.

The people who can't do this tend to not only get stuck in their own way, but are more likely to start resenting coworkers and/or management whenever disagreements happen. They'll constantly complain about how other people do things, but then can't/won't take constructive feedback themselves. It's worse when it's someone with more experience under their belt because of the massive ego. Let me be clear: this kind of mindset does not help your animals! It only creates a toxic work environment that's resistant to change!

DO. NOT. BE. THIS. PERSON!!!!

No, this does not mean you can't vent frustrations. No this does not mean that you can't take pride in your work. It means that you gotta be able to swallow your pride, and not alienate other people.

So, what does all that have to do with the contrast mentioned earlier?

Like Hargrove, McBride details her career journey, but doesn't just paint it all in glamour. She talks about her setbacks, how she grew, things she learned from other people, the internships she did, the grunt work she was willing to do, etc.

Killing Keiko has less to do with the details of Mark Simmons' career path, but he does give credit to other people where it is due, even at times towards those he fundamentally disagreed with. I can remember one part where he explicitly admitted that he made a mistake too, and tellingly, it was in an instance where he played the "I've been doing this for years" card. In the very next sentence he admitted it was the wrong thing to say in that situation, and highlighted the perspective he was missing in that moment.

These things are conspicuously absent in Beneath the Surface. I don't remember anything of the sort that stood out when I first read the book, and thus far it's certainly not there in my second time around. The first third of the book is dedicated to how he dreamed of becoming a trainer as a kid, and the path he took to get there. Most of this path, though, is painted in glamor, when the reality is.... the path to getting into animal husbandry isn't particularly glamorous. Not only do you have go to college, but you also have to settle for various unpaid internships or volunteer gigs, and then apply for multiple jobs only to get several no's before it works out (to say nothing of how underpaid zookeepers/aquarists/trainers are).

Hargrove, on the other hand, kept pestering lead marine mammal trainers at SeaWorld since he was a kid, practiced his swimming/diving abilities, and started his degree in psychology. Then, as luck would have it, an apprentice trainer position opened up at SW San Antonio, and when he got the job, he jubilantly quit college. Not much is said about what kind of volunteer work he did before that. I think he did some stuff with marine mammal rescue in Texas, but I'll have to go back and reread to be sure... in any event, I wish I'd heard more about the experience he got besides swimming and pestering the SW animal training department.

And like.... great, he got the job, but it seemed more by luck than by the sweat of his brow. Then he balked that he was put in the SeaLion Stadium, and/or that he had to spend a lot of time washing dishes and spotting before even being allowed to work directly with a whale, which like..... yeah? I don't know what you were expecting dude.

(Btw, this part isn't just me being nit-picky, Duncan Versteegh from ML Antibes corroborates Hargrove's resistance to doing grunt work like cleaning)

Whenever mentioning people at SW who didn't want to work at Shamu Stadium, Hargrove couldn't understand how anyone wouldn't want that.... because heaven forbid other people have different preferences? To be fair, from what I've heard of SW work culture in general, Shamu Stadium is kind of painted as the glamorous A-team, but DANG does Hargrove really lean into that attitude!

Later on, he detailed some of the conflicts he had with SW's entertainment department. At one point his manager explicitly told him he needed learn to get along better with other departments. And like... yeah... yeah you do!

Look, I'm not interested in doing blanket apologia for SeaWorld. I'm sure Hargrove was in the right more than once when he'd argue with people, but I'm also not convinced that the whole of the entertainment department, management, et al., were just a bunch of unfeeling jerks who didn't care about the animals.

This part actually ground my gears quite a bit. Before I became an aquarist, I was an educator, and sometimes I would overhear certain husbandry staff gossip about us in a really patronizing way whenever there were miscommunications. Not that they never had valid reasons to complain, they did, but to be treated like you're just a dumb educator/guest services person is not pleasant, and certainly not professional. I don't know how common this is at other places, but I bring this up to illustrate the importance of being able to work with other departments, especially in the face of disagreements or miscommunication.

That Beneath the Surface paints Hargrove's inability to do this as a virtue rather than as the character flaw that it is... well.... it's um... it's a choice. And it's telling.

Again, some of this interpretation is subjective on my part. Ultimately, none of us can know for sure what is in someone else's heart. Hargrove does seem to sincerely care about the animals, despite the narcissism. However, the vast majority of people who are going to be reading his book are not people who have spent much if any time working in the zoo industry, and thus may not pick up on some of these things. I'm not the only one to point these things out either.

So even if one is against keeping orcas in captivity, I think being aware of the egos behind figures like Hargrove is important. When you get to the end of his book, you would think that all his former colleagues are, at best, just timid little clogs in a corporate machine, brainwashed to do as SW says. This is just not true. These people are dedicated to their animals, and have worked very hard to get where they are at. Some have gone on to get their masters, or PhD's, provide expertise to other facilities, or take part in rescues, etc., and they did it without chasing clout.

SW Corporate should absolutely treat their employees better, but their treatment of them pales in comparison to how people like Hargrove basically erase their accomplishments altogether. In this way, he tries to have it both ways... his time at SW proves how much of an expert he is, you know, because he was a senior trainer with two decades of experience after all! Oh, but when someone else from the field speaks up to refute what he says, nope.... their accomplishments don't matter, they're just brainwashed. If that doesn't scream "massive ego", then I don't know what does.

I'm only halfway through the book on this second round, so there is a chance I'll come back to correct some things here. I do encourage people to try to read this book themselves and come to their own conclusions. You don't have to buy it either, check your local library (it's how I got a hold of this eBook).

[afraidofchange]

GET TO KNOW THE MUN.

respond to the prompts out of character!

what made you pick up the current muse(s) you have?  I love women? Basically I just love all my female canons and my female OCs are just the Lexie Extended Universe (my mind). But Rama Wolfbluff is my long-standing D&D character and I love her dearly - more so as I play as her in BG3.

is there anything you don’t like to write?   I guess just anything getting into 'dead dove don't eat' territory; it's not for me, and some subjects imo really shouldn't be roleplayed on this platform e.g. S.A. etc.

is there anything you really enjoy writing?  Romance. I eat that shit UP!!! Whether it's slow burn or something quick from chemistry. I love it.

how do you come up with headcanons?   Whatever comes to mind, or if there's a prompt on the dash. It helps if I'm playing an OC (like Rama) in a game like BG3 where I can think on what her decisions would be/what dialogue she would take.

do you write in silence or do you play music?  Music!!! 95% of the time, anyway. I usually get inspiration from one song and keep it on repeat while I do a single thread.

do you plan your replies or wing them?   I usually have a general idea of what I want to respond with / what I want to happen. But in terms of drafting out ideas like I would an essay? no, lmao.

do you enjoy shipping?    Absolutely!!! I lean mostly to f/f ships of course, but I have a few m/f pairings that I enjoy (Ashley/Owen, Miranda/Aiden, Ana/Reinhardt, Nikita/Vernon/Job, to name a few!).

what’s your alias/name?   Lexie - it's just a nickname variation of my government name, lmao.

age?  30!!!

birthday?  Feb 5!

favorite color?  Red!

favorite song?  Landslide - Fleetwood Mac, probably.

last movie you watched?  Drive Away Dolls in theaters w my gf. We're going to see Love Lies Bleeding tomorrow!!!! gay movies!!

last show you watched?  The Sopranos

last song you listened to?  Fleetwood Mac - Silver Springs - May 1997 live performance where Stevie Nicks stares straight into Lindsey Buckingham's soul.

favorite food?  Love me the classic medium rare steak and baked potato, served with asparagus type meal.

favorite season?  summer!

do you have a tumblr best friend?  I certainly have friends that I've known for a very long time (some for 11-12 years!!), so I'd say definitely a few!

tagged by :  No one, I stole it.  tagging  :  you!

[nobodyeverasked]

trip the light fantastic; park sunghoon

(5,127 words) -  large

summary ➣ The cruelty and cunning of star student and high school elite Park Sunghoon are nowhere to be seen as he falls helplessly for ‘his’ school’s new transfer, Y/N.

genre ➣ fluff

requested - 👍

.・゜-: ✧ :- .・゜-: ✧ :-   -: ✧ :-゜・. -: ✧ :-゜・．​

Sunghoon played the pride he held between his hands like strings as he strode down the halls with his friends Jake and Heeseung, looking over everything as if it were all beneath him, as if he raised these walls, the reason for their existence. That wasn’t entirely incorrect, though, as his father practically did. He was the sole reason as to why this once run-down, hollow shell of a school was still bustling with students, and was still holding the sunlight for the thirty years it has remained standing.

The legacy that these pale overhead lights have spun, Sunghoon’s a part of it in a way that nobody else in the student body is. He’s been considered borderline royalty in the hierarchy of the school, elevated to its precipice with the rest of his friends from public school. 

Ever since Sunghoon’s freshman year, leading the newest generation of students into a school that was almost ground down and torn apart, Sunghoon’s egotism has been following him if legions of students weren’t already doing so. They admired his every move, aspired to everything he did, gawked at every mere action, and interaction with him has turned from a regular occurrence to a luxury, a privilege to those Sunghoon saw worthy.

All of that worshipping, it made some students wretch with the bitterness they held. But, for Sunghoon, he couldn’t be more satisfied with it, as if it was what he earned and deserved. He doesn’t miss the days of passively trotting down the halls with people he no longer knows or thinks of, taking things as they come, everyone remembering him for his radiant smile and kind eyes. 

And he doesn’t know if he’ll ever miss those days with how well this life has been treating him. 

Things happen as Sunghoon wants, he takes things the way he likes. He knows who he wants to know, and his smile’s taken on a new light now.

“... I still can’t believe he marked my essay down for that!” Sunghoon heard Jake whine from behind him for what seemed like the thousandth time. Maybe a thousand and one… He could feel Jake’s pout behind him and the sheer weight of Heeseung’s annoyed eye-roll as they stopped and rested against where Sunghoon’s locker was. It was almost solitary, nestled into the corner of a large hallway, overlooking all the other students as if Sunghoon’s locker was sitting on a throne of chipped red paint, where he can watch his ‘subjects’.

“I mean, I guess there’s a little bit of a problem if you spell the main characters’ names wrong.” Heeseung made the mistake of playing devil’s advocate.

Sunghoon tried his best to listen, but he let his gaze wander haphazardly over Jake’s shoulder to the wall of lockers where a gaggle of his so-called ‘fans’ usually crowded. Instead of that same group, however, it was something Sunghoon couldn’t look away from, something that he didn’t want to shy away from with an eye roll or throw a half-hearted wink towards in order to shake them from his trail. It was something else, something different, and something he didn’t want to stop looking at.

“Well, they weren’t main characters to me!”

Jake looked over to Sunghoon for approval, but Sunghoon’s gaze lay elsewhere. He followed his eyes to where they lingered on the sun-stained figure of - from what Jake heard through rumours passed between classmates - the school’s newest transfer student, Y/N.

“Oh, that’s just a new transfer, nothing special…” Jake trailed off.

Sunghoon remained silent, unresponsive as Jake brushed this new transfer - Y/N - off. But he couldn’t… 

How perfectly, delicately the sunlight spilling through the windows hung from Y/N’s frame; how his casual and effortless smile seemed glow as it played on his lips in such a beautiful and entrancing way; and how Y/N’s eyes spun these awful, lifeless overhead lights into something worth seeing. It’s all Sunghoon could see, all he could think about. Jake’s words and mumblings were nothing but an inaudible tangle. This was something special.

The long, tense silence formed between the three of them as Sunghoon just couldn’t rip his gaze away from the way Y/N moved - his steps falling gracefully against the scuffed tiles of their hallway floors, the way he swung his leather backpack over his shoulder, the way their school uniform’s blazer fit him better than it ever looked on Sunghoon whenever he escaped from his classes to fix himself in the bathroom mirrors. It made this feeling bubble in Sunghoon’s stomach, one he’s never felt before. 

Admiration? Jealousy? Sunghoon hasn’t felt these things in so long. He’s so used to being ignorant to the things he thought were below him and shoving these feelings away since they carried no meaning anymore. But he just couldn't stop listing things about Y/N that made him want to fall into this gravity he felt pulling him, tugging at him so mercilessly.

He was so used to being the most powerful force within the walls of this school. He didn’t know how to handle the way Y/N was able to invalidate everything he’s become without sharing a word with him - not even a look yet.

Sunghoon’s long, vacant pause - the massive tear he left in his conversation with Jake and Heeseung - was only stretched further as he thought about all the things he was feeling. He’s never wanted anything before, and he’s never had enough time between wanting and having something to ever actually be left to feel that desire. 

In some arbitrary and obscure way, Sunghoon hated these feelings so much that he liked them.

“Sunghoon-”

“Hold that thought,” Sunghoon cut Heeseung’s words in two, easing himself through the space between his two friends. 

He couldn’t resist it, and he couldn’t take it anymore, and he just started letting himself fall. 

“I’ll meet with you guys later.” It was less of a request and more of a statement as he made his way over to where Y/N was exchanging things in his locker. Y/N’s locker was in the perfect place, right in Sunghoon’s line of sight the moment he turns out to the hallway every morning.

Y/N, with a bundle of textbooks in his arms for the rest of his first day’s classes, was just about to close his locker until a hand reached out from above him and shut it for him. He tried to flinch at the sound and at the short and sharp breath he felt from behind him, but the chest that stopped him halfway through his stumble left the efforts of his sudden shock all in vain.

A stillness washed over him when Y/N did nothing to step away from how close he was to Sunghoon. All the conversation around them faded, chatter fell to whispers, and heads turned the moment the surrounding students saw their school’s star student standing over the new transfer with a smile that almost nobody ever saw strewn across Sunghoon’s lips and shining in Y/N’s direction.

“Hey…” Sunghoon didn’t realize how hard it would be to keep his cool now that he could see the shimmers in Y/N’s eyes up close. He could feel his voice losing balance as he tried to keep it steady, low and indifferent. “So… Are you new around here?”

The hallway became completely silent as soon as Sunghoon’s question hung in the air. Y/N was going to become very popular, very quickly.

“I mean, if you were here before, I would’ve noticed you sooner.” Sunghoon continued, a little more phased than he thought as Y/N stepped away from his chest. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and felt this simmering heat begin to flourish in his cheeks. Forcing his blush to settle down was harder than he thought.

He wanted to regret walking over, thinking that this was going to be easy, that this infatuation was anything less than a craving that was longing to be fulfilled. Indistinguishable thoughts, indeterminable feelings, Sunghoon felt them rise in him so quickly. And before he could ask himself any questions, before he could take a step back and revolt against these sweet, gentle things that this random and infuriatingly beautiful new-kid was making him feel, a voice by his outstretched arm wove through the silence that felt everlasting.

“I’ll take that as a compliment…?” Y/N’s idling frown of confusion turned into an amused smile as he caught Sunghoon fidgeting on the spot - something he was never, ever caught doing. 

Shifting? Fidgeting? Sunghoon hasn’t been nervous for as long as he chose to forget. What was this man doing to him…? 

The entertained, utterly shocked and awe-stricken stares he got from other students standing around them were like glaring spotlights. He took another breath as Y/N looked like he was anticipating something, with that bright, warm, and comforting smile barely wavering in the quiet stammer Sunghoon left them standing in.

He couldn’t help but stare. The glow in Y/N’s cheeks that held the sunlight in a way he’s never cared to see before, the shimmer in his eyes he held so gracefully, the calm, unaffected ease on his shoulders as he leaned himself against the locker Sunghoon just shut for him - thinking he stood a chance...

Sunghoon let his younger self take over, the one with a heart everyone said held his weight in gold, the one that everyone said was so sweet, selfless, and the one that people weren’t afraid of… Sunghoon let him do the thinking, the talking.

“Please do…”

*

The center table of the school’s cafeteria, the sun in which everything revolves around the moment the ringing of the school bell released everyone from their pre-lunch classes. That was Sunghoon’s domain, open to the very few who he deemed worthy of sitting atop what seemed like a pedestal, but was just a circle of cheap plastic on a few metal legs. It was the same as every other unsteady, lopsided table in their cafeteria, but for some reason, the entire student body lent so much value to what seemed to be the beating heart of their school’s unsettlingly well-maintained hierarchy.

Sunghoon leaned back on his chair, a throne of blue plastic that held his weight as if it were built for him, his signature, ever-present smirk that always idled on his lips was gone today, as even when Heeseung and Jake were throwing insults and false rumours around toward their teachers, Sunghoon only had one thing on his mind. That thing held such a light that made the flicker of his devilish smile wither away into something else, something softer that made Sunghoon finally consider all the things he never paid thought to.

He wanted to curse his name under his breath, but he knew he couldn’t muster the strength to do so, as he would always leave his knees weak with every stare. Sunghoon was helpless, too, as this man, this one man who burst through the doors of ‘his’ school and seemed to turn everything on its head from where Sunghoon liked to stand - knocking him off balance, sweeping him from his pedestal. 

He never thought falling would ever hurt this hard. But he supposed that when it was with Y/N, then there would always be an exception.

Since their first conversation at Y/N’s locker that left Sunghoon with butterflies stirring in his stomach, there have only been more. A poor excuse of a move on Y/N to get his number later, and swift, awkward exchanges during the morning that left bystanders still speechless turned into nights on the end of one another’s phone line until the lavender flush of the next morning bloomed along the horizon. There was a time where Sunghoon was struggling just to keep up with Y/N’s schedule, with Sunghoon meeting him ‘by accident’ as mere victims of circumstance. Now they’re a part of each others’ after a nervous confession under the blossom trees in the school’s courtyard.

Sunghoon was used to having people around, lagging behind him or being used as nothing but an asset to his success. But not the kind of company that Y/N gave him or the company that he wanted from Y/N. Y/N was something else, something strong and reliable that Sunghoon never thought he wanted or needed, something he thought he could live without. Y/N was the one person who was able to ignite the dying stars in his hands as he’d tie their fingers together on their walks to their last period class together. The rumours and hearsay that made Sunghoon so paranoid didn’t stir so much as a flicker of light in Y/N’s beautifully shimmering eyes, he was careless yet considerate, reckless and gentle, dependable yet a complete mess in the absolute best way.

Everything Y/N was and wasn’t, everything he could do and couldn’t, and all the things Sunghoon would tease him about as he’d catch Y/N by the waist from behind when he’d least expect it and press him against the cages of the baseball diamonds near their school. Sunghoon wanted it all. And with the number of sunsets they’ve split with their laughter, and how their kisses have lit up the clusters of wildflowers near the center that Sunghoon always took Y/N down in on their Saturdays by the school that passed by in the most blissful slow-motion, Sunghoon will probably never get enough of him.

“You really need to let this go.” Heeseung’s exasperated sigh tugged Sunghoon out of his trance, Sunghoon finally looking up from the table to see Heeseung rolling his eyes at Jake for what didn’t look like the first time.

“I can’t when he’s wrong.”

Bored of the conversation already, knowing that there was no end in sight, Sunghoon turned over his phone to check the time, how long Heeseung and Jake have worn into his lunch period, and suddenly his stomach twisted. He promised Y/N he’d meet up with him to help out with their physics assignment halfway through lunch, and he’s almost fifteen minutes late now.

“Shit.” Sunghoon muttered to himself as he shot out of his chair. Jake’s whining was cut in two, and Heeseung arched an eyebrow, already knowing that glint in Sunghoon’s eye. One filled with such an ambition that only Y/N could fill him with. “I’m late to help Y/N with our physics. I’ll see you guys later” Looking out the large doors of the cafeteria, he bid his friends goodbye before throwing himself out the exit, picking up to a brisk and earnest jog that got the heads of the surrounding students turning faster than normal. Jake stopped him, though, tugging on his sidebag with a pout.

“You don’t help me with my physics stuff!” Sunghoon could feel his shoulders deflating as he remembered the ritual that he and Jake made not too long ago, about how they’d stick together through the hell that was their separate physics class. They’d keep each other on track every once in a while when one or both of them would derail, spiral, and question all their life choices. However, Sunghoon and Jake had this conversation not too long ago, about how Y/N needed to catch up because he was practically a semester behind. As well, he wants to spend time with Y/N, his boyfriend, as a lot of the time they share within these walls are silent looks of affirmation across their science classroom at the end of the day before they’d part ways for Y/N to head straight to night school to gain a few more credits. 

Jake understood that Sunghoon needed to divide his time like this, that Y/N mattered to him in a way so special…

Didn’t mean that he’d have to like it, though. At least until Sunghoon drags Y/N to one of their nighttime parades by the plaza and he ends up liking Y/N more than he’ll ever admit.

“Well, do you give me dank ass kisses?” Sunghoon lifted an eyebrow, thinking for a second that what he said was actually worth taking seriously. The deadpanned looks carving themselves onto his friends’ features instantly told him otherwise.

“You did not just say ‘dank’ unironically… Hoon, who the fuck have you become?” Jake grabbed at Sunghoon’s shoulders, completely dumbfounded.

“That man’s rotting your brain…” Heeseung said, still trying to brush off the burn of the words that just left Sunghoon’s mouth. ‘Dank’...? Heeseung cringed just thinking about it…

“Well then…” Sunghoon considered that possibility, that the sugar Y/N had in every inch of his skin, that he held in his teeth as he shone one of his beautiful smiles. As if he were just waiting for Sunghoon to take it between their lips and stifle their senses. With a hum that only bordered on acknowledgment, his chest swelling with pride as he just thought about sweeping Y/N in an embrace that’d burn away a few more of his barely functioning brain cells. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna rot my brain a little bit more with my boyfriend.”

Jake’s hands fell from Sunghoon’s shoulders and earned a relieved sigh as he was finally set free to fly into Y/N’s  gravity. He can feel it pulling at him once again, even through the walls that separated them. Sunghoon bound back towards the door, where Y/N’s probably leaning against his locker, counting away seconds they probably would have wasted anyway.

Heeseung felt a fond smile overtake him as Sunghoon disappeared around the corner, but it soon melted away when Jake jutted his lip out in a disappointed pout and slumped back in his chair, practically deflating. He’s never known of anyone who could burn through Sunghoon’s frigid heart, part Sunghoon’s rapids so easily, so seamlessly with no less than walking into his stare on that first day of the new semester. Y/N must really be something...

Turning back to Jake, Heeseung sat beside him, patting his back with the most comfort he didn’t necessarily try the hardest to muster. 

“I’ll help you with your physics, Jake.”

“It’s not the same…”

*

Sunghoon burst out from the cafeteria doors, a frantic shiver starting to settle in as he did his best to survey the hallways - hallways he’s claimed dominion of for so long losing their familiarity. He let out a breath, though, half in relief and the other with this looming dread as he saw the unmistakable silhouette of his boyfriend leaning against his locker, the sunlight carved him out so beautifully in its dapples of golden, and with the way Y/N held its glow in his cheeks as he shifted against his locker’s door, it made Sunghoon shed his guilt for just a second to relieve the very moments he fell in love all over again.

“You’re late.” Y/N’s voice ripped Sunghoon from his panicked state. It was delicate, yet stern, in jest, yet serious. It made Sunghoon hold onto his relieved sigh by its tail end, not quite ready to make a decision with it just yet. A frigid frown soon melting with the warmth of a bright smile, Y/N couldn’t stay upset for long, as Sunghoon feigned a look of innocence and shuffled over and stretched a hand out to Y/N’s shut locker door. 

Sunghoon hung himself over Y/N, taking him in closer by the waist and reminiscing on when they first met. He thought about how he and his ego had a chance against Y/N as he did the same thing. Reaching out and shutting his door with a  pompous smile as he stood over Y/N just like this, completely convinced that Y/N was just going to be yet another accolade to achieve, an asset to his success.

“Well, they say that time is relative, don’t they?” Sunghoon chuckled as Y/N rose on his toes to meet Sunghoon’s kiss and buried a disapproving hum from Y/N under their tongues. Kneading his hand into Y/N’s waist as he pulled back, rolling his eyes, all Sunghoon could do was just stare for a second, take everything in. He always watches the shooting stars in Y/N’s eyes for just long enough that he forgets whatever witty statement or sarcastic comeback he wants to say next. 

Winning an argument with Y/N, all this is now is a distant fantasy. Fights for the remote control at Sunghoon’s place or wrestling his phone from Y/N’s hands whenever Y/N catches him looking over their embarrassing photos, though, that’s a different story.

Those times keep Sunghoon’s ego from falling too far from grace.

“Leave the quantum mechanics to me, babe.” Y/N gave into Sunghoon’s touch with a sigh and shifted around with his textbooks, but flinched as he felt Sunghoon sweep them away before he could see him do it.

“Allow me, my prince,” Sunghoon said as he clutched Y/N’s textbooks, shoving them into his backpack. If Y/N was going to be a new addition to this school’s royal family, then Sunghoon needed to start treating Y/N like the ‘prince’ he was. He tried not to shiver at Y/N’s mentioning of ‘quantum mechanics’, thinking that once upon a time he naively thought he was going to just learn about high-tech cars.

Ah, to be young and dumb… Now I’m just older and dumb… Sunghoon would always think to himself, regretting all his life decisions before he’d head into his physics class first thing in the morning.

“I’d say I’d leave the quantum mechanics to you, but I’m afraid we both got ourselves into that mess.”

“Yeah, that’s why I asked for your help, stupid.” Y/N nudged Sunghoon in the shoulder, the chuckle Sunghoon buried into Y/N’s neck between kisses delicate and gentle, yet it stung with this warmth like the lighting of a spark.

They heaved themselves off Sunghoon’s locker, Sunghoon’s arm still draped around Y/N’s waist, and Y/N tucked into Sunghoon’s side - pieces falling perfectly into place. The sunlight was their raving audience as its amber glow fell at their feet, singing in shimmers along their skin as Y/N’s breaths were harder and harder to take in the closer Sunghoon drew him into his side. Even Sunghoon’s cologne felt as if shone in the sunlight, its glimmer swallowing Y/N’s senses like the waves of the nearby beach they’d always drown their woes in at the start of their weekends.

The scent of Sunghoon’s orange blossom cologne is ingrained in Y/N’s head so deeply, as it stains every single one of their sunsets and late nights out. The way it always lingered on Sunghoon’s collarbones - the place Y/N liked to plant his kisses the most - Y/N would find himself unravelling within the refrained, yet unfiltered sweetness that hung around Sunghoon’s neck like diamonds. To have Y/N in his hands, submerged in the cologne he knows Y/N’s weak for, it’s all Sunghoon ever wants sometimes.

“If I’m stupid too, then I’m not gonna be any help…” Sunghoon lifted an eyebrow, a sly smirk blooming on his face as Y/N scoffed and elbowed his side.

“Just help me…” Sunghoon knew that looking down at his boyfriend would mean it was all over, but he did anyway. 

There it was, Y/N’s pout on full display. An irritated glimmer in his eye that was more ‘cute’ than anything else, a blush flourishing across his cheeks that caught the sunlight, and cheeks puffed out just enough for Sunghoon to want to just stop them right there and take him in. 

‘Please~” Y/N’s whine left Sunghoon so weak to the point that he didn’t know if it was the only thing he wanted to listen to, or if he wanted to stop it while he still had the strength to; take it between their teeth for a second.

Sunghoon’s decision was interrupted, though, as there was a frantic blur ahead of them, followed by the thudding of what sounded like textbooks on the floor. Looking down, Y/N and Sunghoon saw someone in the aftershock of their stumble, on the ground as they scrambled for the stray pages of paper that stuck out from their textbooks. With a gasp, Y/N rushed over to help them, scooping up a pair of bent glasses by their loafers first before anything further could happen to them.

“I’m so sorry…” The student croaked out, trying to hide their face in their hands and grasp at the rest of their pages at the same time. But Y/N caught their shoulder, soothing them, calming them down with a reassuring chuckle as Y/N himself pulled in a couple more pages. “Thanks, Y/N.” Their voice grew meek and shrunk under the sunlight.

“Of course.” Y/N handed the student back their glasses, shooting a pointed glare back to where Sunghoon stood, his hands with nothing to hold on to without Y/N’s waist right there. He rolled his eyes with an exasperated sigh when Y/N gestured to a few pages of the student’s homework he ‘just couldn’t reach’. Sunghoon, with a groan he couldn’t care to hide from the student whose bright red flush probably drowned out his voice, crouched down and helped them with their books.

The student scurried away, leaving with one last ‘thank you’ to fall at Y/N and Sunghoon’s feet before they ran around the corner and left the settled sunlight on the ground right where it was.

“Oh, how I’ve fallen…”

“I’m so proud of you, Hoonie!” Y/N threw himself back into Sunghoon’s side with a hug around his shoulders. Sunghoon couldn’t even accept it reluctantly, though, bending to Y/N’s will the moment Y/N caressed the back of his neck. “You’re finally becoming a man of the people, a functioning member of society.”

“Please don’t. I feel so dirty.” Sunghoon winced at what he just did, bending himself down, scuffing his shoes just to pick up study notes for a student who’s probably going to fail whatever midterm they had anyways. He felt sullied by what he’d used to call their mediocrity, but Y/N swept him off his feet and whatever pedestal he sat himself on a long time ago. ‘This is so patronizing…” He let his smile break free when they started down the hallway again, Y/N hanging from his pinkie.

“Well, I need to get a little bit more in before you mansplain physics to me.” Y/N nudged Sunghoon with his shoulder, Sunghoon spinning Y/N around so he could have Y/N under his arm again.

“Fair, fair…” Sunghoon considered what Y/N said for a moment, until- “Wait. We’re actually going over your physics?”

“Uh… Yeah…” Y/N looked up to Sunghoon, perplexed. The absolute shamelessness that left Sunghoon’s indifference on his face, Y/N just widened his eyes, a confusion so potent Sunghoon could taste it if he leaned in for another kiss, contorting his features.

“I thought we were just gonna talk about doing it and just make out instead.”

Y/N stopped in his tracks, Sunghoon’s smirk leaking through just enough for him to see and scoff at. Sunghoon tried to reach out for Y/N’s shoulders, but with nothing but a disapproving nod, he made Sunghoon stumbled and drew back, breathless with his blooming chuckles.

“You drive a hard bargain with how smooth you are.” Deeming Sunghoon’s touch worthy of winding around his shoulders, Y/N took his rightful place back to his side and led them back down the hallway and toward the school doors with a tug on Sunghoon’s slender fingers. Fingers that always waited to tangle between his, fingers that always lingered on his skin for just long enough for their fires to start even under the coldest of nights tucked away under Sunghoon’s bed sheets. 

They were the precipices from which Y/N hung, dangling by the loose threads of the hoodies he swipes from Sunghoon’s closet on the days where their schedules don’t overlap. If he didn’t have Sunghoon’s arms around his waist, tugging him by the belt loop into the center of the hallway and onto their next classes, then at least he’d have remnants of the orange blossom and sandalwood that’d seep into the folds of Sunghoon’s sweaters to remind him of the little dates they always held in the plaza across from their school on days just like that. Where they’d have nothing but each other’s memory to sustain them until Sunghoon could take Y/N in again and curse himself for threatening to let Y/N slip his mind for even a moment.

“Who needs to be smooth when you’ve got a face like this.” Sunghoon gestured to himself and how the golden glow of the light caught him just right, a bright smile on his face when Y/N pulled back to survey if he was actually serious.

“A face that looks pretty punchable right about now.” 

Y/N said that, sure, but what he saw said something far different than the words he spun. Sunghoon looked so beautiful, a shimmer in his eye so radiant that Y/N could finally see why students have no choice but to avert their eyes. His smile held such a wonderful glow, too, one that Y/N’s seen such countless times, but with every moment Sunghoon has it plastered on his face, it feels exactly the same as the first day they met. It hasn’t lost its shine, not even a single spark was missing as it shone down on Y/N. 

It was as if Y/N could see everything that unfolded before them and Sunghoon’s hastily made confession in the courtyard. The petals of the blossom trees caught in their hair, Sunghoon’s uniform blazer wound around Y/N’s shoulders the moment the horizon began to darken, the food Sunghoon oh-so-chivalrously bought for them on the picnic table just beside them, the colours of the sunset suspended in the space between them that got smaller and smaller. It all had Y/N muster nothing but a fond smile. 

He knew that he had Sunghoon wrapped and wound around his hands, but he never realizes that Sunghoon has him craving just as much until it’s too late. Until Sunghoon fastens his hands onto Y/N’s waist, until he gets just close enough that Y/N can’t see anything else but the stars in his eyes.

Just like now.

“I’d like to see you try…” Sunghoon leaned in, fearless, and let his words simmer and scratch against the surface of Y/N’s lips. He chuckled when Y/N couldn’t help but close their distance, pulling him into a kiss and having Sunghoon’s laughter hit the back of his throat. “Oh, you’re down bad…”

“Don’t even. You’re one to talk.”

“Fine, fine.” Sunghoon pulled back and pressed a peck to Y/N’s forehead, knowing that he had no room to speak on account of being whipped. 

Taking Y/N’s hand once more, they made their way to the doors, pushing them open. 

“Let’s go do our ‘physics’ then...”

[luveline]

in the morning, afternoon and night [Fred Weasley x Reader]

tags: reader-insert, hurt/comfort, self esteem issues, low self esteem, reader has acne, sad reader, insecure reader

pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

word count: 1.8k

You glared at your reflection.

You'd think with such amazing magical medicine available, some witch or wizard would've invented a cure for acne, or at least a spell that covered it up.

You'd struggled with it since your third year. The muggle doctor you'd seen with your mother had suggested it was hormonal, and would calm down as you got older.

That was years ago.

It shouldn't have been a big deal. It wasn't, really. It wasn't usually very painful, though it was itchy as a stinging nettle and twice as unsightly. A large part of you knew it wasn't your fault, that acne was something that simply affected people at different times in their lives. You'd tried topicals and changing your diet, you'd tried losing weight and exercising and dermaplaning and everything they suggested in your mams fashion magazines.

Nothing worked.

Tears welled in your eyes and you sniffed them back, blinking rapidly.

It might've been silly, but it honestly made you want to hide away. You'd skipped dinner without really thinking, finding your way into the girls bathroom you inhabited now. You straightened your tie and robes, dusting down the sides. You leaned forward again, dabbing under your eyes with your sleeve.

The last thing you wanted was for anyone to know you'd been crying, because then someone might ask why. You didn't want to talk about it, ever.

If Fred saw you like this...

You and Fred Weasley had been almost dating for a few weeks now. Almost, because you hadn't talked about the whole boyfriend/girlfriend thing yet.

It had been years of thinking he was the fittest boy in Gryffindor (besides George) and months of meeting his gaze in the corridors and catching his eye over dinner. Gradually it had become something more; he started carrying your books between classes and opening doors, touching your arms and your hair and your face.

You cringed at the memory. He had been so caring, moving to wipe an eyelash from the skin under your eye. You'd violently flinched from his hand, afraid he might feel the bumpy texture of your skin, feel the acne beneath your makeup. He'd been apologetic and a little confused, filling you with guilt. You hadn't been able to find a way to tell him it wasn't him, it was you. Of course you wanted him to touch you, the thought of him cradling your face had been the subject of many dizzy daydreams, but you just couldn't tell him this one thing.

It was your deepest insecurity.

The stress had only made it worse. Redness was easy to cover with muggle make up and even some wizarding tricks you'd learned over the years, but there wasn't a way to smooth your skin, and the acne was textured.

It was depressing. You didn't want to use that word, it felt ungrateful to compare your skin issues to something so severe, but it made you miserable.

You but down on your quivering lip, pushing away from the mirror unhappily and opening the bathroom door, a frown on your face.

"Y/N!" a familiar voice said.

You jumped, startled but unsurprised. Fred had a talent of always knowing where you were. You'd find it creepy if he wasn't so endearing.

"Fred," you said, plastering a smile over your frown. "I was just coming to find you."

"What a coincidence, ma chérie, I was doing the same."

"Well," you began, easily sidling into his space, "you found me."

"Yes, I did," Fred hummed, wrapping his arms behind your neck, grinning.

He took a long look at your face, his forehead creased. "What's wrong?"

"Nothings wrong, Fred."

He moved his hands to your shoulders, looking down into your face searchingly. "Have you been crying?" he asked.

You shook your head, lying without thinking. "Something in my eye,"

"Both of them?"

You stepped backwards. He let go of your shoulders accordingly.

"Y/N?"

"It's really nothing," you said through a forced laugh.

He frowned at you for a few seconds more and his face cleared. "Alright," he said slowly, rolling the words in his mouth, "if you say so, doll."

You opened like a blooming flower at the pet name, your whole face softening. You smiled, hoping he understood that the smile meant, oh I just so adore you, Fred Weasley.

He threaded his fingers through yours, dragging you down the corridor beside him and waxing poetic about their newest lot of Peruvian darkness powder as you went.

-

It got so bad you couldn't go to class.

Okay, so you definitely could've gone to class, but the thought of leaving your curtained bed was enough to make you sick with anxiety, so worried that everyone would see you - see your face.

NEWTs were coming fast and hard. Everyone who wanted to be anyone was working hard studying their asses of, on top of Professor Umbridge's million new rules you had to abide by, including her newest life-ruining rule: Boys and girl are not to be within 5 inches of each other.

What a joke. You struggled through classes, wrote essays so long your hand burned at night and now you weren't allowed to sit next to your almost boyfriend at lunch? It was miserable. It was making you miserable, and now you may as well have sharpied on your forehead how equipped your body was to deal with it.

Fucking badly.

You groaned to yourself, rolling on your side to face the wall. You were at your wits end. It felt endlessly unfair that the thing that was stressing you out most was getting worse from stress.

Your stomach growled hungrily.

You threw your arm over your eyes in defeat, eyes finally filling with tears. You felt so hopeless. There was nothing to be done except keep up your routine until the flare up was over, or until your mothers next 'miracle cure' popped into existence.

The tears felt too hot against your sore skin. You couldn't help but sob quietly to yourself in self-pity.

A knock sounded at the door. You gasped, wiping the tears away in panic.

"Y/N?" It was Alicia. "Are you alright? Can I come in?"

"Yes," you managed. "Yes, of course. It's your room too, after all."

The door clicked open. Alicia appeared, tanned skin completely clear and glowing, though each perfect feature was marred with empathy. "Fred's been begging every girl in the common room to come fetch you, but I told him to leave you be."

"Thank you," you said.

You cleared your throat. Alicia moved her weight from foot to foot, twisting her hands.

"I- Y/N. I won't pretend to know how it feels, but I promise you, Fred won't care. He's beside himself worrying that you're bedridden and dying or-" she laughed to herself, "or that you're still mad at him for the itching powder. What I mean is... he's a good guy, and you're upset. Maybe you should tell him what's wrong. He won't care."

You sniffed. "I know," you admitted, feeling the weight of her shifting the bed. "I know he's a great guy. I just wouldn't blame him if he, if he didn't like me anymore. If he found it ugly. I would understand it, and I think that makes it worse," you choked on your words, heat building behind your eyes.

"Oh, Y/N," Alicia said, placing a tentative but comforting hand on your shoulder.

You lay in quiet, listening to your own ragged breathing.

"I'll go talk to him," Alicia said.

"No! I mean, no. Thank you, but no. I... I'll speak to him myself."

Alicia nodded, rubbing your arm kindly.

The sound of the door clicking shut behind her finally spurred you into sitting up. You dressed in a hurry, chucking a wool jumper over last nights pyjamas.

He wouldn't care, would he? You cringed. Yes, he definitely would. Whatever was between you would stop. He'd have the grace to let you down slowly, drawing away his affections. He was a polite guy, he'd probably even say the whole spiel of "it's not you, it's me". But he would, eventually.

Well, you figured. Let it be quick. Like ripping off a bandaid.

You tread lightly down the steps, hoping to see him before he saw you.

Of course, when the slightest groan on the bottom step sounded, his lovely face whipped to meet yours. He smiled in relief, but it was mixed with something else. Disgust, your brain supplied nastily. He was disgusted. He rose to his feet, smiling smiling smiling. But something in his eyes was different, now.

"Y/N," he said.

"Hi," you said.

"Hi yourself, beautiful. Where've you been all day?"

"I'm... sick. Bad cold," you settled on.

He raised an eyebrow. "You sound okay," he said, not unkindly.

"I..." you looked down at your hands.

A siren was sounding in your head. You didn't think Fred had seen you without make up for the last 3 years. Fight or flight was leaning heavily towards flight.

"Well, are you hungry?"

You shook your head.

"Are you sure? You haven't eaten all day. You need something in your system if you're gonna fight this cold."

"I'm not actually sick, Fred," you admitted under your breath.

"I know."

You looked up. He was still smiling kindly. It was infuriating.

"Look," you said finally, rushed and all at once, "if you don't want to- if you're grossed out. Then it's fine, I'll understand if you don't want to see me anymore."

Fred was stricken.

"I know it's - ugly."

"Ugly? Nothing about you is ugly."

"Fred, my face-"

"No, listen to me, Y/N. It's not ugly. It's not gross. You're not any of those things, are you kidding?" he said, grabbing your hands. "You're beautiful. All the time, in the morning, afternoon and night. You're beautiful in charms and transfiguration and care of magical creatures. You were beautiful yesterday and you're beautiful today and you'll be even more so tomorrow." He stopped suddenly, looking down at your joined hands. His cheeks had turned bright red.

"Smooth, Freddie," came George's voice, from the sofa behind them.

"Shove OFF," exclaimed Fred, growing more red by the second. Heat filled your own cheeks.

"It's skin, Y/N. That's all it is."

"Okay," you said tightly, trying not to cry.

Fred breathed out, his hair shifting in response. His corded arms pulled you tight to his chest. You breathed him in. He smelled sweet and rough, like burning caramel.

He thought you were beautiful.

You smiled into his shirt.

<3<3<3

tag list: @msmimimerton

if you’d like to be added to a tag list, please ask ! for in general or for specific characters, i don’t mind

[ahtsumu]

long shots ; miya osamu

pairing: miya osamu x f!reader

synopsis: miya osamu is the teacher’s assistant for food chemistry i. you can’t stop thinking about him.

tag(s): college!au, slow burn, TA!miya osamu, grad student!reader, fluff, reader is a go-getter!! ; warning(s): profanity, suggestive themes, talk of insecurities and imposter syndrome ; wc: 5.6k

a/n: happy birthday to @starrysamu​! i love u. pls excuse any errors. i’ll weed them out later! btw this fic is not a sugar daddy au LOL

HIS NAME IS Miya Osamu and he always looks like he has it all figured out. Comes in every class with his black hair perfectly tousled, the sleeves of his dark button-up rolled to his elbows, a cup of coffee in one hand and the strap of that black messenger bag in another.

“He drives a BMW, did ya know?” Isla says in your ear one morning. Your only friend in Food Chemistry I gives you a pointed look before sitting back in her chair in the lecture hall with a smirk on her face. “Saw it this morning. Bet he’s loaded.” The two of you watch the subject in question walk across the classroom and settle in his seat at the table in the corner.

“Shut up,” you whisper with wide eyes. A grin–– far from innocent–– makes its way onto your face. “Imagine being Miya Osamu’s sugar baby.”

“He’s not old enough to be a sugar daddy.” Isla looks at her nails disinterestedly. “And that’s too many AUs in one. He’s already the TA, for god’s sake. This isn’t some shitty Wattpad novel.”

A light giggle slips out of your lips. “I can see the title already. My Sugar Daddy is the TA?!”

Now, if anyone had been listening in on your conversation, they would’ve assumed many things about you. The first being that you’re both gold-diggers. This is untrue–– at least, in your case. Isla, you’re not so sure about, given how your friendship only goes back about one month. But she tags you in memes on Instagram so maybe it’s as real as real gets. Their second assumption would be that you have a big fat crush on your TA. That one’s complicated, mostly because it’s true, but only kinda. It all started in the second week of school when Isla caught you staring at Osamu and slipped you a post-it note with both your initials encircled in a heart. And, because you’re shameless with a good sense of humour, you made a show of kissing it while she was looking. And thus began your meaningless but incredibly entertaining, satirical, co-written fantasy about Miya Osamu.

It also didn’t help that on the first essay you got back, Isla’s paper had been marked up with “are you sure?”s and “this is a jump”s, while yours had “excellent reasoning” and “insightful analysis”. You’d even gotten a little comment at the bottom: y/n, fantastic work. you should speak up in class more often. –– OM

But Miya Osamu doesn’t play favourites because the next week you’d gotten another essay back, this time with another comment at the bottom: y/n, not your best work. you could’ve done better by connecting your first paragraph with the second using grant’s reading. conclusion lacked punch, too. all the best. –– OM

Every time you’d read the words scrawled in blue ink, you’d felt a pair of eyes on you. But you chalk it up to Osamu being a careful grader. A good TA. Someone who cares about his students.

Isla calls bullshit on that. You’re not really sure how to feel about her stance.

The classroom door opens and shuts again. You don’t have to look at your phone to know that it’s nine on the dot. Instead, you and Isla straighten your backs, pull out your notebooks, and focus. Your no-nonsense professor says “good morning” in her usual perky manner before jumping right into her keynote presentation.

“Did you all find the reading okay?” Professor Lee asks an hour into the lecture.

A chorus of “yes”s fill the air. You bite your lip, wondering if revealing that you didn’t understand shit will out you as the class idiot. Or maybe your silence is telling enough–– maybe the people in the seats beside you have noticed the grimace on your face and are having thoughts like ‘gee whiz, am I glad I’m not dumb like her’. Heat rushes to your cheeks. Sometimes you really wonder if you’re smart enough to be here. Occurrences like these do nothing to dispel your insecurities.

You vaguely hear her ask something like, “Any thoughts about the reading?” It’s not that you’re actually dumb. It’s just that this class is ridiculously hard for an introductory course, even for a graduate programme. From the start of the semester til now, fifteen people have dropped the class. There’s just twenty of you left. Guess a ridiculously hot TA can’t save a course’s drop-rate.

Before you can make your mind up on what to say, your professor moves on from her question.

As you look off to the side of the room for a break from your thoughts, you find a pair of blue-grey eyes pointed in your direction.

Everything about you, from the expression on your face to the way your muscles tense, makes you look like a deer caught in headlights–– even though he was the one caught staring in the first place. So maybe your shamelessness works on a scale.

Miya Osamu lifts one corner of his mouth.

And as if the exchange hadn’t happened at all, he looks back down at his laptop and continues typing.

The rest of the lecture goes through one ear and out the other.

“Everyone, I believe Osamu has something he wants to say,” Professor Lee says as everyone begins packing their bags.

The raven-haired TA slides out of his seat and sits on top of his desk. “Yeah.” Osamu clears his throat and crosses his arms over his chest. You notice how the muscles in his arms bulge from the movement.

“Whipped,” Isla mutters, grinning mischievously.

“Him for me,” you whisper back, though your eyes do travel back to his face where they should’ve been all along. Osamu catches your gaze and holds it. And then he looks away again.

“Now, I know you’re all Nobel prizewinners in the making,” he begins, garnering a round of snickers and giggles from your classmates. Most people say that cliques dissolve in college. That there’s no such thing as popularity amongst graduate students. That much, you agree with. But no one ever said anything about popular teacher’s assistants. Especially smart, attractive, witty teacher’s assistants like Miya Osamu. “But in case you didn’t understand the reading or would like to develop a deeper understanding of it, don’t hesitate to email me. I’ll try to host a review session all of us can attend.”

Professor Lee smiles appreciatively at Osamu, adding, “That’s a wonderful idea, Osamu. Guys, please take this opportunity if you struggled with the reading. I know eighty pages is a lot, but our next three classes are structured around the concepts in the reading and the mid-term next week will almost exclusively be about it, too.”

Well, shit.

To: m.osamu@hqu.edu

Hi Osamu,

I was wondering if I could get some help with the reading from last class. To be frank, I couldn’t make it past page 15 and I’m lost like a snot-faced five-year-old in a shopping mall on Black Friday. Sorry. Thanks in advance!

Regretfully,

Y/N

MS Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

From: m.osamu@hqu.edu

no problem. is 5 pm tomorrow at jack’s okay? we start on the concepts from the reading next class so i want to get you up to speed asap. let me know. thanks.

OM

PhD Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

It’s five minutes to five when you pull into the parking lot of Jack’s Diner. The shiny, retrofuturistic eatery is a university favourite but the empty parking lot tells you it’s completely deserted right now (and rightfully so–– who eats dinner before six?). The black BMW parked a few spots from your car, however, says that you’re not alone.

Osamu’s figure comes into view as you reach for the handle to the front door of Jack’s. The twenty-six-year-old sits by himself at one of the bright red tables in the back, typing away on his dark grey laptop.

His head lifts up at the sound of the opening door. Osamu calls out your name and waves you over.

“Hi,” you greet with a smile, sitting down across from him.

“Hey.”

You look around before leaning forward on the table. “Is anyone else coming?”

“No.” Osamu sits back in his seat. “I thought about hosting one big group, but then I realised that it’d probably be stressful for the staff here.” He nods his head in the direction of the kitchen. “And I had a hunch that everyone would have different questions. Forcing everyone to review concepts they already know is a waste of time.”

At first, you nod. That makes sense. But then you furrow your brows. “So how long have you been here?”

Osamu blinks. He hadn’t expected you to ask about him. “Hmm? Oh.” He taps his phone to check the time. “Just a while.”

Quirking a brow, you ask, “And how long is ‘a while’ to you?”

“Seven hours,” he admits, chuckling lightly when he sees your jaw drop. “A lot of people had questions. They just don’t act like they do. Anyway, time flies. Really, it does.” Quickly, he clears his throat and sits forward. “So, about your email.” He grins. “Not sure if you meant it to be funny, but it was.”

“I’m glad my distress was entertaining for you. Do you TA just to watch grad students suffer?”

“Perks of the job,” Osamu says. His grin widens when you giggle. He’s never heard you laugh before and he realises at that moment that it’s really nice. And then that same grin falters. Gracefully, of course, and imperceptibly to you. But not to him. Is it okay for him to be… thinking things like that? About a student? But you’re not really his student since he’s just the TA. Right? Osamu ignores the weird feeling that comes over him and clasps his hands together at the edge of his laptop. “Back to your email. Can ya tell me what you’re confused about?”

Three hours and two Impossible Burgers later, you suddenly understand everything about food molecules so well that you wonder why you’d even been confused in the first place. But besides that, you’ve also picked up things about Osamu. As a person and not an idea. Not that you’d been actively searching for fun facts about your TA. But they’d stuck to your brain like gum at the bottom of a desk. He likes to slip sarcastic quips into a conversation every now and then. Eats burgers upside down (“The right way,” as he’d said, smirking). Is friendlier than he looks.

“You’re really good at explaining things,” you comment as Osamu shuts his laptop closed.

“Well, I kinda have to be,” he says. And maybe it’s the mental fatigue catching up on him or the fact that he’s real fond of the reason why he can break big concepts down into morsels but suddenly, the rest of his thoughts spill out his mouth like wine. “I have a twin brother with potato salad for brains.”

“Oh?”

And before he can stop himself, he tells you about Miya Atsumu, the pro-athlete you’ve definitely heard of but never gave too much thought. And then you hold onto the fact that they were both on the volleyball team and you ask of which school, so then he tells you about Inarizaki, the high school he attended, and then his decision not to go pro to go to college, and then––

“Sorry,” he laughs, cheeks turning pink. “You probably didn’t need to hear all that.”

“No, it’s fine,” you say–– and you mean it. “Your life is interesting.”

Osamu leans back in his chair. “Well, I’m sure yours is, too.” He holds your gaze like it’s the key to your presence. It’s an invitation. The kind that comes from people who don’t really know if they want you around but also don’t want you gone.

You take it.

Osamu shouldn’t–– he really shouldn’t–– but he wonders about the things you didn’t tell him the entire drive home.

Isla laughs when you tell her about what happened at Jack’s. You lay in bed with your phone next to you on speaker, your face turned on your pillow so that you’re staring out the window at the city below.

“He wants you,” she sings.

“Or he was just being nice.”

“Methinks not!” Isla giggles. “He’s intrigued, girl! You’re like that cute little new mystery in his life and he just wants to get to know you.”

“I think he was just being polite.”

“Or he’s crushing on you!”

“In your dreams.”

“You mean yours? Boo, you’re no fun today. Usually, you go along with the jokes.” Isla’s tone is playful on the surface but full of implications.

A few silent seconds pass. Yeah, you think, agreeing. I do.

“Girl,” Isla drags out the word in a high pitch, saying it like a scientist says ‘eureka’. “You’re not playing along anymore because it’s real now. You're actually catching feelings!”

“Am not!” you laugh.

“The Y/N I knew would’ve said ‘nah, bitch, he’s catching feelings’ and I think that says all there is to say.”

“Okay, I think he’s cute but it’s not a crush,” you concede, grinning. “And he’s the TA, Isles. It’d never happen.”

“Not while he’s still a TA in a class you take.”

“Isla.”

“Ask him out once this semester ends! Unless you’re chicken.”

���I’m not asking him out.”

“Knew you were––”

“Have you seen me? He’s asking me out.”

Miya Osamu walks through the door at eight-fifty as usual that next morning, dressed in his usual button-up, holding his usual cup of coffee. But this time, as the rest of his tall frame passes through the doorway, Osamu’s eyes subtly scan the faces in the lecture hall, lingering for just a while over yours. The corners of your lips turn up. You hope he saw that.

“Bitch!” Isla whisper-screams. The students sitting around you turn around at the noise and grin at each other when they realise it’s just Isla being… well, Isla. She shoos them away jokingly.

“What?” you whisper back.

“Care to explain why our TA was literally eye-fucking you?”

“That was hardly eye-fucking,” you retort. “Maybe like an eye-handshake.”

“Yeah, a naked eye-handshake where his thang is handshaking your––”

He does it again the next class.

And the next.

And then he doesn’t. Miya Osamu walks through the door to Food Chemistry I at eight-fifty in the morning in a navy blue button-up with a cup of coffee in his hand and looks through the rows of seats in the lecture hall for your face, only to find it missing.

He debates pressing the matter.

To: m.osamu@hqu.edu

hey osamu,

i wasn’t in class today because i’ve been sick with the flu (no big deal, just feel like i’m dying). a classmate sent me pictures of the slides from today so i think i should be fine, but is it okay if i email you with any questions? thank you very much!

miserably,

Y/N

MS Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

From: m.osamu@hqu.edu

y/n,

of course. sorry to hear that you’re sick. let me know if i can do anything to help you. the midterm is next week. get well soon.

OM

PhD Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

“You writing that the midterm is next week did not offer me any peace of mind, by the way,” you say, spinning around in your chair as Miya Osamu enters your pod in the library.

He offers you a wry grin. “Hello to ya, too.”

“Was that an accent?” You thought you’d heard one at Jack’s, but you couldn’t be sure because it’d been so spotty.

Osamu slips into the seat beside yours and pulls out the laptop in his messenger bag. You catch a whiff of his cologne–– something spicy and woody, but clean. It suits him. “Nice catch. Yeah, I speak a regional dialect. Took me a while to smooth it over but it still resurfaces every now and then.”

“Why?”

“It just didn’t seem fitting for a PhD candidate, I guess,” Osamu explains, opening the slides from the class you missed. A day after your initial exchange, you’d emailed him again (with a much clearer mind) and asked if he could go over the slides with you in person.

i literally feel like i’ve been given the homework from russian lit, you’d written. except the russian has been translated to hieroglyphs and my task is to choreograph an interpretive dance based on the hieroglyphs.

Osamu had snickered when he saw your email. that doesn’t even make sense. must be the fever talking, he’d been tempted to write. But that strange feeling had come over him again, the one that’d screamed at him to keep it professional, goddamnit, so he’d played it safe instead and sent is eight pm at the main library okay? He hates that you’re getting a watered-down version of his personality. Osamu swears he’s a lot more interesting when he’s not, well, a TA.

“I think it’s fine,” you say, smiling. “I like it. It’s you.” And suddenly, you’re wondering if it’s okay to be complimenting your TA. If it’s okay to say that you like things about him, or if that crosses some grey, unclear line. Is it weird to treat your TAs like they’re your friends? It’s not like TAs are real teachers. Right?

A grin–– wide and genuine and almost excited–– grows on Osamu’s face. He rubs the back of his neck as his eyes flit over to the laptop screen. “Thanks. Really.”

You nod. But you feel like there’s more that he might want to say, so you wait.

“I got a lot of shit for it when I came here for my master’s, y’know. Not to my face, of course, but people would refer to me as ‘the guy with the accent’. A professor once said it made me seem crass. Said it’d hold me back in my career.”

“So you changed.”

“Adapted,” Osamu corrects. “It’s hard to admit but conforming is sometimes all you can do when you don’t have the power to change the system. Can’t really make everyone suddenly respect a dialect.”

“And after you’re finished with your PhD, you’ll go back to speaking in that dialect?”

Osamu looks out the window and smiles, probably imagining the plans he’s already made about the future. “Yeah.”

“What if you have to speak the standard language at your job? Like, your boss is all, ‘hey man, if you don’t speak––”’

“I’ll be the boss.”

“Oh?”

And with a little more prodding, Miya Osamu tells you about the restaurant chain he plans on opening after graduation, the slides about food additives left completely untouched.

The librarian knocks on your pod a few minutes before eleven to tell you they’re closing.

“Shit,” Osamu murmurs, running his hands through his hair. You’re still laughing about something he’d said before the librarian interrupted him–– one of his stories from high school–– and he thinks that you’ve completely forgotten that the reason you came to the library was to catch up on the material you were already behind on. And now you’re behind on that. But you look so carefree right now and, actually, you’re very pretty and you’ve got such a good heart and it’s a lot for him to process but he knows he just wants to see you happy a while longer. So Osamu just slumps back in his chair and laughs along with you.

He says your name as his chuckles grow softer. “It’s pretty late. How’re you getting home?”

“I’ve a bike,” you reply. It’s good for the environment and is a pretty solid form of exercise if you do say so yourself. Sometimes you just don’t feel like driving. 

Osamu presses his lips in a thin line. Would it be too much to offer you a ride? “I can drive you home. It’s really not safe for you to be alone outside, especially near midnight. You can get your bike tomorrow. Or I’ll get it for you.”

He drives fast. Not the unsafe fast that speed demons drive at, but the kind of fast where you know he’s got some edge to his character. You bring it up to him–– especially since it’s nighttime, for god’s sake, he could hit something–– and all he does is remind you how there are lamps as bright as the sun lining the entire road to your dorm. And the fact that you live in the least accessible dorm on campus.

“A twenty-minute drive?” he’d exclaimed when he saw the GPS monitor.

“A bunch of roads are closed for construction. It’s a ten-minute bike-ride because I can cut through campus.” And suddenly feeling a little burdensome, you’d added, “Sorry. I can still bike––”

“No.” He’d held his hand out in front of you, gesturing for you to stay in the passenger’s seat. “It’s not a bother at all.” Because it wasn’t. Osamu was… happy. Not that he’d admit that.

“So this BMW,” you start in a teasing tone.

Osamu smirks. “A gift.”

“Can I guess from who?”

“Sure.”

“Atsumu.”

His brows rise. “Colour me impressed.” He hadn’t expected you to remember anything he’d said about Atsumu. Or maybe he had but told himself otherwise to lower his hopes.

“I’m smart like that.”

He snorts. “Not if you keep distracting me and using your review time to…” hang out with me, get to know me, tell me things about you… “…goof off.”

You grimace. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

Osamu makes a turn down a familiar street. It dawns upon you that you're ten minutes away from your dorm and suddenly you wish he’d just make the wrong turn at the next intersection so that you could talk to him some more. It can even be about the health benefits of fish or the molecular makeup of kale–– you don’t mind. You just want to be around him longer.

“I think you’re really smart,” Osamu says quietly. “I think you’re not processing the readings because you’re distracted, or just not fully applying yourself. Obviously, last class’s slides are a different thing, since you were absent. But you really are smart. I’ve seen your papers.”

You bite your lip to hide your grin, feeling heat rush to your cheeks. “Thank you.” You look out the window, too jacked on dopamine to think straight. “I think I still need you, though.”

And that innocuous little sentence floats right out your mouth into the air, settling between you like a little wedge before either of you even realise it. Neither of you says anything. You marinate in the awkwardness before stuttering out a clarification. “To, um, to explain things. Y’know, since you’re, uh, so good at… explaining things.”

Osamu clears his throat and chuckles stiffly. There’s a slightly pink tinge to his cheeks. “Thanks,” he says, looking straight ahead. He can’t even look at you. Fuck. It’s so awkward. “I’ll try to keep… explaining things.” Fuck. What does that even mean?

A few uncomfortable minutes pass in silence. The night can’t end like this, you think. It can’t when everything else had gone so well. You still have to see him for a few more months. “Did you know,” you start, catching Osamu’s attention, “that Jack’s Diner has a location in Italy?”

“Oh?” he asks, making the final turn to the street where your dorm is. He actually hadn’t.

“Yeah. I asked the owner about the chain a while back. Have you ever been to Italy?”

Osamu shakes his head. “I’ve been to Paris, though. To see a friend. He’s a chocolatier.”

Now, if Osamu had been your friend, you would’ve said something like well, let’s go to Italy together, except he’s not. He’s your TA and you’ve been reminded that enough tonight. So instead, you say, “When you open that restaurant of yours in Italy, let me know.”

“That’s gonna take a while,” he laughs. He appreciates how you said ‘when’, though. And he tucks that little bit of confidence you have in him somewhere deep in his mind so that it doesn’t get lost.

“Isn’t that just seven hours?” you shrug, grinning. Osamu’s BMW pulls up outside your dorm and parks as he marvels at what you just said. You’re amazing. You unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to face your driver.

“Thank you for driving me,” you say, offering him a smile.

“Yeah,” he replies.

You stretch out your hand. With a puzzled look on his face, Osamu grabs it and shakes it. Firmly. You can’t help but notice how nice his hands are. Calloused for sure, but they feel nice.

“Goodnight, Osamu.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

He watches you jog into the building before driving away. And it’s like you’ve possessed his car or something because the smell of your shampoo and perfume is everywhere and it’s too much but it’s also not enough at the same time and he can feel your palm against his as he spins the steering wheel to make a turn and for the first time in his life he doesn’t turn on the radio to fill the silence in his car. Osamu replays everything you said in his head.

But he especially thinks about that part where you said you need him.

Weeks melt into months. You turn in essays after essays for Food Chemistry I, each coming back with detailed commentary in an all-too-familiar blue scrawl. All your other classes go well–– extremely well, actually. You might just end the semester with a 4.0 if Food Chem doesn’t fuck you over. Isla still tags you in memes on Instagram. You still tell her about everything that happens with Osamu.

Speaking of.

“That’s the wrong equation,” he says behind your ear as he settles in the seat beside you. The sound of his low voice so close to your ear sends a small shiver down your spine. “You gotta switch the hydrogens.” Osamu knocks on your skull lightly. “What’s goin’ on up in there? Ya got somethin’ on your mind?”

You laugh and elbow him in the side. “Shut up, ‘Samu.” He’d told you during one of his office hours that he’d gone by that nickname because he had a teammate with a foreign name in high school. It sounded so cool, he’d said, grinning.

I think Osamu sounds pretty cool already, you’d teased.

And he’d replied, Let’s trade. I like yours, you like mine, why not share?

You teeter on the line between friends and less-than-friends and, oddly enough, more-than-friends. Sometimes you still play it safe. Sometimes he pauses between texts and real-time conversations, no doubt to scrap an instinctive reply for something more “professional”. Sometimes you say things that make him look at you with the ghost of a smile at the corners of his lips. Sometimes he calls Atsumu to scream about you.

“S’not a no,” Osamu points out. He’s dressed in a black sweater and grey trousers today. You’re suddenly reminded of how the weather’s been getting colder when someone opens the door to the university café and lets in a gust of chilly autumn air.

“Okay,” you admit, setting down the pencil. “I just… don’t really feel prepared for this next test.”

Osamu frowns and looks down at your worksheet. “Your process is correct, though.”

“Right, but… I don’t know. I’ve just not been feeling great about myself lately,” you laugh, looking down at your feet. “Food Chem’s the toughest class I’ve ever taken. And remember how I completely embarrassed myself in that class discussion last week? It’s not really making me feel like I belong here.”

“Imposter syndrome,” Osamu remarks.

“Correct-o.”

He says your name softly and puts a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Maybe you’re not the smartest, but you’re definitely smart. And you belong here. I’ve seen your papers. They’re just as great as anyone else’s and I don’t hand out compliments for nothin’. You’re gonna do some great things but ya can’t improve if you ever give up.” Osamu searches your eyes for a sign of your understanding.

There’re a lot of things you want to say but you don’t know how to put them into words. “Can I hug you?” you finally ask.

Osamu doesn’t even think about it. “Of course.”

He feels you smile against his chest and wonders if you can feel his heart beat faster.

Isla camps out in your dorm as finals come around the corner.

“I don’t understand shit!” she wails, throwing her notebook into the air.

“Isles, it’s okay,” you laugh, slipping out of your chair and walking over to her nest in the corner. “You gotta chill, dude.”

“Not fair! I didn’t have a hunk holding my hand through this course all semester,” she retorts, humour glittering in her dark eyes. “I had the Organic Chemistry Tutor and his accent’s cute enough but, girl, you had Miya Fucking Osamu!”

“You’re literally the worst.” You giggle and sit down beside her. “Tell me what you’re confused about. I’ll try to explain it to you.” The way Osamu does.

You text him that you’d channelled his brains later that night.

His reply comes seconds later. all you, einstein.

From: osamu

good luck on the exam

you’re going to kill it

To: osamu

would u like to divulge any… information about it? 😏 😏 😏

From: osamu

bye

To: osamu

i was kidding :(

From: osamu

fine. tip #1: write your name

To: osamu

not very helpful. 0/10

From: osamu

keep running your mouth and 0/10 is what your score’s going to be

i’m kidding

you got this, y/n

“Holy fuck,” Isla groans as you cross the street to head to lunch at Jack’s. “If you don’t see me next semester it’s because I’ve gotten my grade back and decided to drop out.”

“What would you do?” you ask, amused.

“Maybe move to New Zealand. Raise some sheep. Marry a hot, blond shepherd and fuck off to a cliffside cottage.”

“Solid plan.”

“What about you?” she asks.

“What about me?”

“Remember that conversation we had at the start of the year? About your man?” The two of you reach another red light for pedestrians.

“We’re friends. He’s not my man,” you laugh. Though it pains you to. Something about being Miya Osamu’s friend doesn’t really sit right with you, but you don’t know how to not be his friend. You don’t know how to move out of the corner you’ve backed yourself into.

“But you wish he were! And now you can finally hit him with that ‘Hey, Osamu, I’ve been madly in love with you since the start of the semester, wanna fuck like rabbits and then open that store in Italy?’ and he’ll be all––”

A throat clears behind you. With wide eyes, the two of you turn around.

Holy fuck.

Miya Osamu stands behind you with his hands in his pockets and an enormous smirk on his face.

“He’ll be all what?” he asks, eyes fixed on you.

Isla murmurs an excuse and starts walking on her own to Jack’s.

“Um.” You swallow nervously and shrink in your coat. “You heard all of that, right?”

“Yep.” Osamu grins. He grins. He’s grinning. He’s smiling like he’s won the fucking lottery and you honestly don’t know what to do with that information.

“So, like,” you look down at the sidewalk and kick at a pebble, “what are your thoughts about that?” God, you could die. “‘Cause I know you’re a TA and it’d probably look pretty bad and I don’t want anything bad to happen to you because I like you and it’s cool if we just…”

Osamu interrupts you with a laugh. “My thoughts,” he says, “are that I want to kiss you.” His fingers lift your chin up. “What are your thoughts about that?”

Well, shit. “I think that’s pretty cool, yeah,” you breathe, eyelids fluttering shut as his face comes closer to yours.

He tastes like mint. And his lips move softly, slowly against yours like he’s savouring the moment. And then you feel his hands snake around your waist to pull you closer–– closer because you both are tired of forcing the distance between bodies that want to be near each other, closer because he’s thought about kissing you just like this for so long, closer because you remember the last time he’d touched you was three days ago and it was just a brush of his fingers against your arm and that feeling of wanting more haunted you for the entire night. But holy shit, Miya Osamu is kissing you. He’s kissing you.

And then he pulls away. His dark eyes flit over yours. “I,” he breathes, “I need your course load next semester.”

“What?” you ask, disbelief written all over your features, chest rising and falling as you try to steady your breathing. You just kissed, for God's sake, and he's––

“I need to know which courses not to apply to TA for,” he grins, cupping your face in his hands. “Can’t be teachin’ in a class with my girlfriend as a student.”

“So we’re official?” you ask, beaming.

“If you want,” Osamu replies with a smirk.

You grab the front of his coat and tug him down for another kiss. “Hell yeah, I want to be official.”

[akookminsupporter]

Hi! One of your readers here.

I know a lot of other anons like me shared what they experienced when they first became an ARMY and fell down the rabbit hole called JIKOOK (and probably isn't new to you and will ignore this but I'll still share anyway).

I first became an ARMY during the first year of the pandemic because my aunt and cousin always pull up RUN BTS and BTS MV marathon every single night starting from 11 pm up to 5 am during school break (in short, my first experience as a baby ARMY was to loose sleep over them 😂😂😂).

Like any SOME ARMYs, at first I don't know what the hype is all about. I first start hearing about BTS when I was in sixth grade and just ignore it since I'm not a big fan of k-pop, like at all. However, that doesn't mean I don't get to see the posters my classmates bring in class to share and compare their own merch with their friends so they can fangirl about it together.

It's safe to say that the first one that caught my eye whenever the bring their posters was RM because of his red hair back then and his eyes. Gosh, do I love those dragon eyes 😍😍😍. The next one was JM because for some reason, my eyes always look for him right after I find RM EVERY. SINGLE. TIME.

Moving forward, years later and COVID strikes, my aunt and cousin are certified ARMYs and basically know everything about them invited me to stay with them during the long duration of school break (longest school break in history if you'll ask me) and I agreed and stayed there for about a month before I went home. And let me tell you this, that stay freaking CHANGED me 😂😂😂.

Before that stay, my aunt and cousin would often hype up on BTS whenever they visit home and sometimes even share links on the family group chat, eventually turning my sister into one and blasted BTS songs on the speaker for days.

One time, my dad was watching one of the carpool episode on James Corden featuring BTS. And me, ever the curious soul, watched alongside him w/ my sister. The first one who caught my eye again as usual was RM and my, I found him really attractive even more when he starts speaking in english (sue me, for some unknown reason, I always find myself attracted to people who can speak english since most of my peers in school often turn me into a translator whenever they need help in their essay on our english subject). Then the studio came up and this blond (who I later realized was JM. Damn, puberty did him good, sanaol 😂) stood up and went to the stage to teach some dance moves to the other dancers in the room. What caught my eye was this other guy who was standing there and looking at him w/ a weird, fond look in his eyes. Since I'm not that interested back then in the group, I dismissed it as him being a supportive friend. But I did get hyped up when I saw V looking at JM too w/ a smile when he stopped dancing too since I've been told by my cousin (who is a huge KTH simp) that they're soulmates (VMIN!!!).

Then the vacation w/ my aunt happened.

As you know, like any other ARMY, it was also hard to familiarise their faces from one another at the start. The only ones that I know was RM (coz he's my bias), JM (my ultimate Bias wrecker), KTH (since I watched Hwarang first before I even knew who he was), and MYG (my sister's bias).

The next one was KSJ since my aunt literally have pictures of him around their home and will never forget to say the he's her bias (5/7).

Moving on, we started the marathon that left us waking up in noon every single day and I got hooked and started watching compilations of the 7's interactions myself in YouTube whenever my cousing is busy and started listening on their music in spotify.

And I fell in love w/ them, hard.

At first when I'm slowly starting to differentiate them from one another, I then got to know JHS and he's my happy pill. He's just so bright and I love his voice and his album, a lot (he's now my mom's bias when me and my sister successfully converted her into an ARMY, lmao 😂.

And I think you already know who I get to know the last.

Yes, JK.

That man.

Anyway, since I don't pay him that much attention before, I don't know who he is no matter how many times I watch their content coz my eyes are stuck on RM and VMIN 😂. All I know is that he's the maknae and his hyungs treasured him the most. other than that, what I know about him is that he's a REALLY fast runner and is good at basically everything.

When I went home, I watched more of their contents but this time, my eyes are always on JM and V. There's just something about this two duo that is so warm and I love watching their interactions the most. Short to say, I became a vminnie who loves their friendship very much (yes, I'm a platonic VMIN shipper. This duo just happens to be my favorite pair out of all other pairs in their group).

But do you know what's weird? Its the fact that THIS one guy seems to hover around wherever JM is.

Remember, I'm not that familiar with their names and faces that much yet, especially the last two members that I got to know (JHS and JJK), the ones who always stood out for me was RM, JM and V but this guy always caught my eyes cause he's always there besides JM. Take note, I also notice him during the studio scene in the carpool episode but just ignored it and dismissed it as friendship goals.

Since I'm a vminnie, I watch compilations of their videos but weirdly enough, THIS guy always shows up. Wherever these two are, the guy was there, LITERALLY. Not kidding.

But of course, I ignored it and dismissed it, thinking that he's really just that close with his young hyungs, especially JM.

So I continued my VMIN compilation marathon when I come across my second favorite duo, YOONMIN 😁😁😁.

I don't know, there's just something about the interaction of these two cuties that turns me into a puddle of goo whenever I watched them. Then MINIMONI comes next coz they're so smart and seems to balance one another, they have a lot of similarities and they make me weak (my bias and bias wrecker everyone 😂). Ever since then, I realized that maybe, JM was just that compatible with the whole group cause there's something about him that I can't pinpoint for some reason. I love his interactions with them the most cause he's so caring and he seems to understand everything. In short, he's the kind of friend that I want.

So the next thing that I did was watch compilations of how he takes care of them and how they take care of them and by that, I got to know the members even more, one by one.

My other favourite was him with HOBI coz together, they're a beautiful ray of sunshine. Then comes in w/ his JIN hyung, WWH himself and I just love these two together whenever they banter.

Then comes in a wrecking ball called JIKOOK...

These two... I have no words.

For some big UNKNOWN reason, I feel like I'm watching something I shouldn't, ESPECIALLY WHEN THESE TWO ARE ALONE IN A FRAME WITHOUT THE OTHERS.

And it's funny coz I always see THE GUY on the background whenever I watch the other duo pairs w/ JM, he's just everywhere.

So, as normal, I just dismissed it.

I keep on dismissing it cause I don't believe in romantic shipping but then... My hand slipped.

Where did it slipped you ask? It slipped on this masterpiece called GCF in Tokyo and the rest is history.

I later learned that THE GUY is JK.

Funny, the very last member I got to know.

Don't even get me started on the other GCFs, I think it has been explained more than enough by the other watchers about how they feel when they first watched it.

Since then, I started watching compilations of these two and I fell deep down the rabbit hole. I started watching compilations of their interactions in concerts and live events and let me tell you, I am JUNGSHOOK.

Thank the heavens for the different camera angles otherwise I will stay unsure about the things happening on the stage (RoseBowl, hello).

Then the Vlives, omygosh, these two are killing me. I basically feel like third wheeling whenever these two are left alone.

Don't even get me started to the time I started paying attention to the reactions of the other members around them whenever the two interact.

It's crazy.

There was actually one time that I lost hope on those two. Why?

My brain.

I started thinking about their possibility of being together and dismissed it (again and again) because of some factors like SK being a conservative country, Military, their contract w/ the company and their role as Idols to keep their fans hooked as much as possible and the other fact that they have private lives and maybe already have someone waiting for them and would be a disrespect to assume things just because of what we see on the contents the company release.

I started learning more about the Korean culture when it comes to skinship and then later learned the word fanservice. It left me dissapointed but later accepted that maybe, they're just friends and I'm reading it wrong all along so I stopped seeing them as anything above platonic, basically dismissing ALL the grand gestures such as the GCFs and the long hours of flight from Paris to SK.

But do you know what's funny? Few days later, the Map of the Soul 7 DVD dropped, and YOU know what's in that DVD.

So yeah, it's safe to say that I had a war with my head that time, bringing up arguments but later failing to answer it.

Those two, I SWEAR!

You know the other funny thing? The freaking tattoo on JK's hand. A FREAKING PERMANENT TATTOO. It sometimes keeps me up at night thinking about it but until JK himself confirm what it means, I'll just continue to fight with my head logically as much as possible and try to keep my head free off the tinhat 💩.

Then BTS in the SOOP 2 dropped.

Do you know what my head said?

"If we compare the trailer to the official episodes, a lot of things happened there that we don't know about."

😑😑😑

Sometimes it's really hard to argue with yourself.

Then the TMIs, it KILLED ME.

JM's b-day? Say no more! I'm still stuck on it.

The proper translations? Rip me.

JM saying he hates fanservice? 😬😬😬

Spending most of their free time w/ each other? I no longer want to think about it.

Their relationship w/ one another's family? The Logical side of my brain screams that all of the 7's parents are like that w/ the other members but WHO KNOWS THE DIFFERENCE?!

If there's anything both me and my head agreed on is that we don't know anything. We may be right, we may be wrong. It all may be an act, or it may be real. But what I know is that I'll just continue to support them whatever may be the truth because that is the only thing that REAL fans do, unlike the others who push on their toxic narratives and put hate on the other members.

Others push baby ARMYs like me because they say we don't know how the dynamic of BTS first started and believes the narrative (u know who) pushes on?

Honey, it was never about who comes first and who comes last, about who has the more right to give opinions just coz ur older than the others it automatically makes u right, it's about using your head and knowing your limitations as a fan.

I'm barely in my twenties yet I already know this, and there are those who are younger and older than me who think the same.

Thank goodness for bloggers like u.

Keep on being a real ARMY!

Love from the pearl of the orient sea 😘😘😘.

💜CJ

Hi CJ, wow this was LOOOOOOONG! AHAHHAHHA

Thank you for choosing my blog to share your experience of how you became an ARMY and in the end a jikooker. I think many of us will be able to see our own experiences reflected in yours.

[ackerfics]

slow dance with you — mikasa ackerman

— goth!mikasa ackerman x soft!female reader (modern au)

— warnings: slight mention of alcohol, pure rotten fluff

— summary:  after gaining some courage from the drinks she had in the party and from the advice she got from her friends, mikasa is ready to become your girlfriend.

— word count: 3.9k

— author’s notes: i would like to thank the anon who gave me some ideas for goth!mikasa, you are so amazing !! thank you for the small headcanons. and since we’re on the topic of writing abt goth!mikasa, i couldn’t help but pair her up with a classic soft girl who likes to wear pink at every time of the day. this dynamic is based on marceline and princess bubblegum so i hope you enjoy !!

p.s. the reader will have dyed hair here, if this is not your cup of tea, just let this fly by your dash.

listen to this while reading.

“She dyed her hair pink,” came a dazed yet mesmerized tone.

“You’re staring at her again.”

Mikasa jumped on her seat at Eren’s nonchalant observation. She whipped her head to her best friend, his attention directed on his laptop, hands flying across the keyboard as he typed out the next few words in his essay. Noticing the incredulous look the black-haired girl was shooting him, Eren rose an eyebrow before rolling his eyes. Mikasa huffed, crossing her eyes with a subtle hue of red on her cheeks, complimenting her dark lipstick. “I am not staring,” she mumbled. “Shut up, Eren.” She looked away from her subject of interest but continued shooting small glances.

Eren sighed, running his hand through his hair. He was always one of the witnesses of his best friend slash sister being meek around her crush. At first, he was teasing her because not going to lie, Mikasa’s crush is a pretty person but as their years in college made them juniors, Eren will be the reckless idiot that he is (courtesy of Armin) and set Mikasa up. But he liked to live his life out first — Mikasa will probably curse him with that spellbook she bought from the antique bookshop they encountered in their little exploration back when they were first-years. “Mikasa, why don’t you take the chance and confess to her? It’s not going to be the end of the world.”

“If she rejects me? What then?”

“Then that’s the next problem that you will have to face.” The brown-haired boy turned back to his essay. He stared at his laptop screen blankly before spewing out curses. “Now, I forgot what to write next! Damn it.” He picked up his iced coffee and drank from the metal straw as his life depended on it.

Mikasa rolled her eyes at her best friend’s first statement. “Gee, thanks for the advice. It was very much appreciated.”

“Glad to be of help.”

There was a thud on their table that made the two look up from their respective activities. Eren had a scowl on his face because for the nth time this day, he was interrupted from finishing his essay (for fuck’s sake, he doesn’t want to fail Ackerman’s class). Mikasa blinked from scrolling through her crush’s Twitter account (the last post she wrote was about how Levi Ackerman, Mikasa’s relative and everyone’s Anthropology professor) and fixed her attention on their blonde friend, Armin. He looked too bright after a round of morning classes, something that Eren doesn’t comprehend. The blue-eyed young man has always been the rational and genius third of their little group. There wasn’t a time where Armin’s advice got a situation to erupt in flames. It was either the situation became an inferno instead (Eren) or nobody had the guts to do it (Mikasa).

“Hey, guys!” Armin greeted, arranging his side of the table, meticulously placing each component of his lunch in front of him. “How were your morning classes?”

“Shit,” Eren spat out.

“Of course, it is.”

“They were alright,” Mikasa shrugged.

“Figured.” Armin glanced at his friend’s sides of the table, nodding at Mikasa’s balanced lunch while blankly staring at Eren’s laptop. The device should’ve been a good tray of lunch. “I thought you were eating lunch, Eren? That’s what you said in your text.”

“Can’t,” the brown-haired boy huffed. He gestured at his iced coffee without taking his eyes off the laptop. “I guess, this counts as my lunch.”

“When’s that essay due?”

“In about,” Eren looked at the time on his laptop, “three hours. Ackerman is my first period later. That fucking terror professor has no mercy when it comes to this. Can he just piss off for once? Mikasa, do you even tell him to get laid? Because I think that would solve his attitude. I swear to God, he’s getting more pissed every damn day.”

“Wow, I guess getting my short, grumpy, middle-aged uncle to start his sex life will be a nice conversation starter,” Mikasa drawled, half-lidded, bored eyes reading every tweet her crush has posted for the entire week. Mikasa couldn’t help but smile at one post about a new movie her crush just watched, saying that it was now a new favorite. She was tempted to give a heart on every single post but that would it weird because they never followed each other despite the small interactions they shared in between classes. With a sigh, she looked up, only to be met with Eren’s unamused stare. Raising an eyebrow, she asked, “What? Do you think that would work, Eren? Levi is probably a virgin his whole life and will continue his record until he’s all shriveled up.” Eren blanched at the image. “Just finish your homework and stop complaining.”

“I’m trying!”

“You’re not trying hard enough, that’s for sure. If you just started that essay the day he assigned it to your class, you would have finished it way before the deadline.”

Eren pointed at Mikasa with narrowed eyes. “Don’t even go there, Mikasa. I have a life aside from being a sleep-deprived college student.”

“I mean, she’s got a point, Eren.” Armin immediately rose his hands in defense when Eren shifted his glare from the black-haired young woman to him. “You always tend to procrastinate in the most impeccable timing that we sometimes have to remind you of your backlogs. And now, here you are, doing things last minute when you could’ve prevented the rush by doing it immediately.”

“Thanks for slapping the reality to my face, you two,” Eren dryly replied, going back to his essay for the final time. “And by the way, Armin, give Mikasa some solid advice that she will finally follow because she’s making googly eyes at Miss Pretty two tables from us a couple of minutes before you arrived. You know, the love of her life?”

Armin roamed his eyes in the lunch hall and sure enough, there was Mikasa’s goddess sitting with her group of friends. There was that brown-haired girl that was dubbed as the Potato Girl for eating mashed potatoes during Ackerman’s class (the professor told the class his rules of no eating or going out of the room while he’s discussing the moment the girl took a spoonful of her snack). A young man with a buzz cut snorting at what the brown-haired girl said. Armin remembered sharing a class with him. He never got the chance to introduce himself because the young man was sleeping throughout the lecture. There was usually a fourth person in the little group but it seems like he was running late or already in his class. That person was Eren’s sworn frenemy, the reason for that relationship was unknown to this day.

The three people at the table all stood up, the brown-haired girl and the taller young man leading the way. Armin instantly had an idea.

“Hey, [Name]!”

Mikasa nearly had whiplash from turning her head to Armin. “Armin?!” she hissed under her breath, face becoming hotter when you looked at their table, a bright smile lighting up your face. You called your friends, telling them to go on ahead without you, to which they nodded before walking towards the trio’s table. Her brain wasn’t processing the moment you lifted a hand to wave at whoever you were smiling at. Mikasa wished it was her. “Fuck,” she whispered, registering how cute you look. You donned a salmon pink plaid sundress and a white cardigan, matching with the bubblegum pink locks you let down. Her heart was hammering a thousand miles per second and there was no hope of stopping it.

“Hi, Armin,” you replied, stopping a few feet from Mikasa, who looked away from you to fix her wide-eyed stare on her empty plate.

“I was just going to ask if you already have a partner in our Molecular Biology lab?” The blue-eyed young man then turned to Mikasa and Eren. “I’m in the same class as her this year.”

“As if calling her here wasn’t that obvious,” Eren murmured, still typing out his essay.

“I don’t need your dry remarks right now, Eren, don’t want to ruin the atmosphere. So, [Name], you have a partner?”

You shook your head. “I think not. It would be great if we could be partners though. I need a break from the people I’ve been partnered with throughout college.”

He gave you a sympathetic smile. It was true, though. Most of the grouping during your first years of college were all set up by the teachers so the students really had no say on the matter at hand. Even Armin was exposed to a variety of students, most of them being too slacking to participate or too overbearing with their suggestions that they have no plans of doing. He nodded with a smile, “I’ll be sending an email to Professor Zoe about this and we’re done.” He glanced behind you, noticing that your two friends weren’t there anymore. “I’m sorry for holding you up. I’m pretty sure you have a class after lunch. See you around?”

You waved him off. “It’s fine, I told them to go ahead since Sasha has a class scheduled right after lunch and Connie had to nap in his dorm. And I don’t have any class the whole afternoon, except for an online session so yeah, see you around, Armin.” You acknowledge Eren with a nod, to which he responded with a cool expression (as if his mind wasn’t a mess from the cramming), and gave a soft smile to Mikasa, “Bye, Mikasa.” And you were off to your dorm, leaving behind two amused men and an awestruck Mikasa.

The black-haired young woman was hyperventilating the moment you disappeared from the lunch hall, hands clenched on top of her black shorts. She regretted wearing a thin, long-sleeved striped sweater under her black shirt because it was so fucking hot after that encounter. Her entire body was vibrating with too many emotions all at once, short-circuiting until she became a heap of flustered mess in front of her best friends. “Oh, my God,” she muttered like a prayer. She definitely needed one after seeing you all pretty in pink. It was too much for her soul because you two are a perfect match this time. Her grommet belt and choker were not helping because she couldn’t fucking breathe.

“Mikasa, breathe,” Armin reminded beside her. “Yeah, that’s it.”

Once she regained her composure, Mikasa realized she probably looked like a gaping fish. “Oh, my God! I’m so sure that this time, she thinks I’m weird. My name is the only one she mentioned aside from Armin which is saying something because she’s classmates with him. But why did she say goodbye to me? Oh, my God, she’s giving me so many butterflies right now.”

“Your gay is showing,” Eren pointed out calmly.

“Eren, not the time,” Armin murmured, hovering his hands over Mikasa’s back.

“Just wanted to alleviate the tense atmosphere. No need to get so worked up.”

“But, Mikasa, your feelings for her are showing.”

Eren clapped his hands, pointing a finger at Armin. “That, my friend, is a genius observation.”

Ignoring the green-eyed man, Armin continued, “I think it’s time you confess to her. Three years is a pretty long time pining for a person. In the end, her knowing your feelings will be inevitable. That is if you have no plans in letting her know.”

“Of course, I want her to know,” Mikasa murmured, fiddling with the sleeves of her striped long-sleeves.

“I heard that there’s a party this Saturday in Reiner’s frat,” Eren told them, meeting both of his friends’ eyes over the top of his laptop screen. “We’re in the same football team with Jean. The horseface is a friend of your girl,” he nodded at Mikasa, who erupted in a sputter of her crush not being her girl, “okay, not your girl — yet. As I was saying, [Name] is good friends with Jean and if Jean is there, Miss Pretty in Pink will be, too. That’s your chance to ask her out, Mikasa.” He met the blinking gray eyes of his best friend. “The question is, are you up for that?”

-

“You were staring at her so hard at lunch again.”

You looked up from your book to acknowledge Sasha entering your dorm room after a whole afternoon of packed lectures. The brown-haired young woman was so tired that she immediately plopped on top of her bed on the other side of the room. At first, you didn’t register what she said because you were preoccupied with your book. You chose to indulge the night in a good book because it has been a long time since you’ve done that. With furrowed eyebrows, you asked, “Can you repeat what you said, Sasha?”

Sasha tilted her head to look at you with one eye uncovered by her duvet. Her hair fluttered after puffing out a breath of disbelief. “Oh, don’t pretend that you have no idea, Miss Pretty in Pink.”

“That’s because I didn’t catch what you said,” you replied, gesturing at your novel. “And what’s with that Miss Pretty in Pink nickname? Did some of the students around campus started that?”

“Sort of,” Sasha hummed. She sat up from her bed and took out her phone from her backpack lying on the floor. You watched the whole time she stretched her arm without changing her position on her bed. With her phone in hand, she opened her Twitter account. “Actually, a friend of mine tweeted it, wait, I’m just going to scroll through my Likes tab to find her tweet. Oh, here it is.” Sasha showed you her screen, patiently waiting for you to take the device from her hand to get a closer look. Her hopeful smile turned into a small pout when you made no moves in doing so. “Take my phone and see for yourself.”

You sighed, following her pleas. “It’s probably just someone from the volleyball team. You know how some of them never stopped following me around campus. Can’t they take the hint that they’re not my type?”

“This person is much better than those himbo simps following you around. She’s an amazing person behind that shy exterior of hers.”

You only hummed, blankly staring at your roommate’s phone before your eyes widened in realization. Your eyes skimmed over and over again at the handle, mkackerman, beside the display picture of a short-haired girl in pigtails. It was the girl that managed to capture your attention during your first year at Eldia University. The girl with an air of mystique that the stars are jealous of. You always admired her from afar, appreciating her style each day. But your admiration was getting replaced with something more at the five words she tweeted. 

You’re so pretty in pink.

Roses bloomed in your cheeks, complimenting your pink hair the longer you gawked at her short post. 

“What?” you breathed out after a full minute of silence.

“Mm-hmm,” Sasha hummed with a smug smile. “And who dyed her hair pink impulsively last weekend?” She intentionally looked at you with sharp eyes, her smile turning into a smirk full of mischief. In actuality, Sasha knew of Mikasa’s crush on you since they were acquainted with each other. It was an embarrassing first meeting between the two, with Sasha latching on a random person’s arm in the station and it turned out to be Mikasa. The two became great friends after that, well, after Mikasa lowered her guard down, leaving her pocket knife safely tucked underneath her checkered skirt. It was Sasha who managed to make Mikasa confess of her undying love for you, the former squealing her heart out in the library. (They were kicked out after that.) 

“I don’t know,” you denied. “There could be a couple of people in the campus who thought that spontaneously dyeing their hair pink is an awesome idea.” You threw your hands in the air, giving back Sasha her phone right after.

“Trust me. Mikasa doesn’t have any interest in any other girl other than a special someone I know.”

You chose to ignore her, turning back on the discarded book on top of your covers. The words flew around your mind, aggravating you until you placed the novel on your lap. A defeated sigh came out of your lips. “Okay, let’s go out for some dinner.” You stretched, switching your pajama bottoms for a pair of loose jeans, and leaving your button-down pajama top on. The people in public will never know your top is a part of a pajama set. As you ducked down to roll the bottom of your jeans, you hear Sasha’s bed shuffling. Sitting up, you regarded her with an inquisitive raise of an eyebrow. “Spill it.”

“Oh, alright. Jean told me to bring you to a party.”

You stood up, patting your lap of imaginary dust, placing your things and book inside your tote bag. “Tell him no. I have a written exam coming up and I don’t want to fail one of my majors. He can manage without one person in our friendship group.”

Sasha huffed, mimicking your actions. “This will be the last time!”

“You said that the previous party you pulled me to.” You narrowed your eyes at her. “I couldn’t get up for a whole day because of that party. Don’t forget your wallet.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Sasha threw her wallet in her small bag, throwing the strap over her shoulder. “I promise that this will be the last time, I’ll even call Connie for the witness of my pact!” She placed a heartfelt palm over her chest, lifting her chin a little in the air. “I solemnly swear I am … keeping my promise.”

“You hesitated.”

The brown-haired girl giggled sheepishly, scratching the back of her neck. “It’s kind of hard not to continue the quote from Harry Potter. You can’t blame me for that!”

“I’ll think about it, okay?”

“You better because Mikasa will be there.”

You blinked at her statement. “What does this have to do with her?”

Your roommate looped her arm with yours, pulling you in the direction of the elevators. “Because,” it sounded like she was talking to a child, “you were staring at her earlier during lunch period. I understand that because Mikasa looks so good every second of the day but there was something different about the way you’re staring at her.” She tapped her finger on her chin. “Let me see, there’s some pizzaz there.”

“The pizzaz you’re talking about is me admiring her make-up — nothing more.”

“Whatever you say,” came Sasha’s sing-song voice. “I will be the first one who will say ‘I told you so’ to your face when you two start dating.”

-

The night of the party was not as bizarre as you thought.

Sure, there were people having shots in the living room but there weren’t any extreme scenarios lying around unlike some of the parties Connie and Jean went to. It was mostly catching up with old friends or making connections with strangers by ranting about the education system of your university. All in all, it was a fun night, yet here you are, holding your cup of beer with two hands as you craned your neck to get a glimpse of Sasha. Your roommate disappeared as you turned to get a shot, leaving a confused you behind. To think you specifically asked Sasha to be by your side throughout the night. You cursed in your head, you being reliant on the presence of others surfacing. Your stress made you tip your head back, downing your drink in a go.

Without anything to do, you leaned back on the wall. Mind hazy, eyes glassy, you searched the living room for a spunky brown-haired girl that you were supposed to be buddies with. Instead of Sasha, you met gazes with a girl with stars for her eyes. She was equally mesmerized as she was staring straight at you. Everything became silent as your heartbeat resonated with hers. She was beautiful in her all-black outfit — a leather pencil skirt over fishnet stockings, cropped tank top, and combat boots. The two of you are contrasting with one another; her lipstick so dark whilst yours shone a pretty coral, her hair framing her face in a midnight pixie cut whilst yours were in pink waves cascading down, her entire appearance blending in the background whilst you were a beacon with your coordinating soft outfit. 

God damn it, Sasha was right.

You are definitely falling in love with Mikasa Ackerman.

Mikasa who you saw reading tarot cards of her blonde friend. Mikasa who you bumped into during the opening ceremony two years ago. Mikasa who you discovered to have an affinity for electric guitars when you stumbled in one of the auditoriums, her department’s band having an audition. Mikasa who never meets your gaze because you make her nervous at how effortless you carry yourself. 

But tonight, she never looked away from you, her eyes having an adoring yet determined shine.

She stopped in front of you, mere inches separating you two. You looked up at her, her combat boots making her taller than she already is. You saw her eyes flick to your lips, your breath hitching at the thought of having her dark lipstick on any part of your body. With a careful tilt of her head, Mikasa ducked her head a little to fully meet your eyes face to face. “I saw you’re alone,” her voice is still soft-spoken as if she was afraid that she was scaring you. It might be because of the liquid and verbal courage she got from drinking and listening to her best friends because Mikasa had no plans of letting you go tonight. “I thought you needed company.”

A breath came out of your lips, your proximity making Mikasa feel it. “Uhm, if it’s you, I don’t see why not?”

A large smile brightened Mikasa’s face before it dimmed as she lowered her gaze to your lips once more. “I’ve been waiting three years for this.”

Maybe your mind was too hazy with alcohol or it could be because you accepted your feelings for the black-haired girl, so you whispered, lips brushing against hers in the most addicting way possible, “Just kiss me, Mikasa.”

Her lips softly moved against yours in a slow dance, the inches separating you disappearing as Mikasa wrapped an arm around your waist. You lift a hand to cup her jaw, tilting your head to deepen the kiss and to brush your tongue with hers. You felt her shiver, biting your lower lip to make you open up more, with your whimpers tingling her hearing. Mikasa pulled away, trailing firm kisses on the skin where your shoulder meets your neck. Seeing the black kiss mark on your skin, she smiled and placed fluttering kisses on your neck up to your cheek. Opening your eyes, the silver grays in front of you have never been so beautiful. You returned the favor of placing kiss marks. You stood on your tiptoes, feeling Mikasa’s hand steadying you, and left a coral pink mark on the corner of her mouth. 

Mikasa dipped her head, placing her lips close to your ear.

“I want to slow dance with you,” she sung to your ear. “I know all the other boys are tough and smooth and I got the blues. I want to slow dance with you.” Mikasa hid a small smile at your flustered expression. “So can I be your vampire queen, Bonnie?”

The moment you said yes, there was a shout in the crowds. “Hell yeah, your plan worked, Eren, Armin!”

You and Mikasa stared at each other with wide eyes before laughing. 

“Let’s go ditch this party.”

“Thought you’d never ask, Bonnie.”

[imonthinice]

The Criminal Psychology Majors, Jason Todd x Fem!Reader Part 3/?

Word Count: 1.5k

Author’s Note: Y/N - Your name, A/N -Any name (your best friend’s name)

Part 3! Date 2 is going to be underway with this one. Enjoy!

I had to change my pfp and my header cause they were being dickheads so just be aware if you liked looking at the batboys when clicking on my profile lmao <3

Warnings: Swearing, no beta bitch we die like Jason Todd, Dark humor.

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) (Part 11) (Part 12) (Part 13) (Part 14) (Part 15)  (Part 16) (Part 17) (Part 18) (Part 19) (Part 20)

Y/N woke up the next day feeling like she could take on the world, energized, with a new crush, and full of life, a stark shift from how she usually was. She was never normally a morning person and had a severe addiction to caffeine. I mean, the addiction was still there and she still needed coffee before she could go to her 3pm class and meet up with Jason again, but she was happy. She would put on her clothes and pack her bag before even getting coffee.

“G’morning, A/N!”

“Who are you and what did you do with my best friend?” A/N joked.

“Down girl, I’m just peppy today, it’ll probably wear down and it’s probably a once-in-a-blue-moon deal,” Y/N said as she started brewing her coffee.

“You got a date with Jason today?”

“I do!”

“That explains it,” A/N joked again.

“Says the one with a boyfriend,” she shot back.

“He’s not my boyfriend, we’re just hooking up right now, trust me, if he was, you’d know, darlin’.”

“So what did dreamboat ask last night?” A/N asked.

“Well I said ‘What do you want to know?’ and he said ‘We’ll talk about it today, maybe during notes or maybe during our lunch date, we’ll see how i’m feeling.’ so I think that’s good?”

“You kidding? You got that man wrapped around your finger, respect.”

“Shut up.”

“No thanks, I have free speech y’know.”

“Yeah you can say whatever, but I can also use my free speech rights to tell you to shove it, so, checkmate,” you sneered at her.

“That’s fair,” A/N paused and then changed the subject, “Have you heard Brutal yet?” she asked.

“You’re damn right I have, I wonder where that was for me at 17. But to be fair, I would still blast it now at my parents just to make them irk.”

“They would kill you for listening to that song instead of their Christian Rock.”

“Worth it, I’ll die swinging and singing.” Y/N mused.

“It really is Brutal out here.”

“Leave, get out, that sucked, blocked, friendship over.”

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

She walked up to her 3pm class, to be greeted by Jason at the door, with of course, her new knowledge of the tabloids and their minions, she questioned why he’d do this.

“Hey, Y/N.”

“’Afternoon, Jason.”

“I’m trying to give the tabloids a show, don’t mind me.” he mused.

“I’m not surprised, but class is in 5.”

“Then I guess we should sit down and get ready to write at lightning speeds.”

She went to sit down, followed close by Jason. She couldn’t help but notice everyone was staring, but she didn’t care. This is going to be fun, she thought, I’m glad they’re gonna get a fucking kick out of this, she finished her thought.

Class went on as usual, with her scribbling down the notes so quick her arms hurt by the end of it, and Jason just sitting around making sure she wasn’t losing her arms to the writing, and casually laughing at the Professor. Then, the Professor brought up Barry Allen. Dr. Barry Allen and what he does for the criminal psychology people. 

“Forensics go hand-in-hand with criminal psych, normally we can tell, as scholars, from the hitting of the weapon why and who might’ve done it.” The Professor said.

 She saw Jason tense up a bit, and whispered over to him;

“You know Dr. Barry Allen don’t you?”

“He’s my uncle,” he whispered back.

“Well, be sure to tell him I’ve read some of his essays when I wanted to go into forensics instead of criminal psychology.”

“Really? He has essays?”

“Many. Very good writing. 10/10.”

“You’re going to make his week if you keep talking like this.” he mused.

“Good.” you mocked.

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

“So, you’re intermixed with a renowned journalist, a legend in forensic testing and you’re the son of Bruce Wayne?” she asked Jason, she couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mouth, but there they were, all cards on the table.

“Yeah, I know this is all new to you but famous people tend to know other famous people.” he joked with her.

“Well that’s fair, I guess I kind of know Clark, I met him once at a office party with my mum.”

“He’d probably remember you.”

“Enough of your family ties, huh? You said you wanted to know more about me?”

“Yes, that, did you tell your roommate to pick up your car?” he asked her.

“I did, why was I meant to do that, by the way?” she asked him.

“Because, we, you and I, Y/N, are going to go for a joyride on my motorbike and try to get away from these,” he lowered his voice, “bitch ass cameras,” he grabbed her hand and started running towards his bike, dodging all the paparazzi who just wanted the snag shot of the two. They don’t even know my name, and they’re going off about this, she thought.

When the two met his bike, she looked over it fondly. This guy really likes his red, she thought, that’s fair, I do too.

“Nice bike.”

“Thank you, Y/N. We can ride this bad boy out to the country and try to escape the cameras, which kind of cuts into the lunch date, but hey-”

“That’s just the life someone famous has to live?” she questioned.

“You’re catching on.”

“I could have been a detective if I wanted it.”

He laughed and sat down on his bike and like instinct, she sat behind him and wrapped her hands on his chest and leant in. She didn’t know how to passenger a motorbike, but he didn’t say she did it wrong.

“You ready?”

“Jason, are you going to kill me?”

“Well if the shoe fits.” he mused.

“I’m ready.”

And off they went.

There was something about the way the bike drove through the streets of Gotham that she loved so much, she had already fallen in love with the restless city and called it home long before right now, but this was exhilarating for her. Somehow driving at 120mph was amazing, it brought out this feeling of freedom, something she hadn’t ever felt back home in Metropolis.

It’s worth it, she thought, it’s forever going to be worth it.

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

Pulling her off of his bike, the two of them laid underneath the tree on the small hill Jason pulled over by.

“Do you think we escaped the pap?” she asked him.

“Probably not.”

“Festive.”

“So, Y/N, it’s your turn to open up about your family. Besides your mum, I already know about your mum.”

“So, my twin sister goes to our rival school, the Metropolis one, I think she’s more of a people person than I’ll ever be. My parents are still together, they got married after they had my sister and I, so I’m a bastard,” she laughed, “I always like telling people I’m by definition a bastard, a lot of them get mad all like, ‘don’t call yourself that you’re a lovely girl’ and it’s just funny to me,”

He laughed, “You call yourself a bastard out of spite?”

“Am I supposed to not? I think it’s funny-”

“It’s pretty funny. I live out of spite too,” he said, almost like he was pulling out a bad memory, but she egged him on slightly,

“Spite who?” she asked.

“Spite God.”

She let out a laugh, and he seemed to let go of whatever memory he had clung onto to watch her laugh. It was clearly a distracting laugh.

“God tried to strike you and you just went ‘Nah mate, go away’? Respectable. I would do that.” she said while laughing.

“That’s exactly what happened, Y/N-” and his phone pinged, he turned it over, it was Dick.

“Mind sharing who that is?”

“I don’t mind, it’s my older brother sending me an article of us today. We really gave them a show holding hands,” he began reading, “ ‘Millionaire’s Son, Jason Todd, Caught Holding Hands with the Mystery Girl.’ “

“One day they will know my name. And it will be a massive article. Like a gender reveal.”

“Like a gender reveal?!” he said back to her, laughing so hard his smile reached ends she didn’t expect it to be able to go.

“It wasn’t that funny of a joke, Jason,” she said.

“It’s a better joke than my brothers and sister could ever come up with, Y/N, and they’ve had Galas to practice for,” he retorted.

“I’ll set it ablaze like the California gender reveal,” she continued with the joke, expecting this to be too far, but this also showed her that Jason liked dark humor, and she did too.

He burst out laughing at this, and she smiled.

“You have perfect teeth, Jason.”

“Is that what you’re focused on?” he asked.

“They are the forefront when you smile, it is hard not to.”

“Romantic,” he mocked her.

“I can be more romantic next date, if you want it,” she said, inclined towards him saying I want it. She was right.

“I want it.”

[deniigi]

Blame @petrichordiam for this.

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

Title: centerstage

Summary: An academic goes to a conference and is jazzed to see a jedi speak there. He unknowingly sits next to this jedi’s Support Squad.

The jedi Support Squad is like 85% clones, and 15% Jedi Generals.

No one mentions that the jedi speaking has never done this before and is petrified out of his blessed little mind.

*Anakin is like 19-20ish here.

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

Sion Jissard has spent the last ten years of his life in the dredges of archives, digging through documents and testing fibers found between the flimsy, papery pages of old texts—scrounging for clues to recreate the conditions of the great conference halls and small, tucked away offices in which some of the most powerful people in the galaxy once gathered to whisper and shout over the fate of whole planets.

He has a hypothesis that the conditions in those rooms affected the decisions made in them. His hypothesis is strong enough that it has endured several rounds of peer-review and escaped those vulture-like clutches mostly unscathed in published form—both in journal and, his chest swells to recall, in book formats.

His book has sold several hundred copies and been cited in a plethora of upcoming article submissions.

The last eight years of tension in his marriage has eased in light of this. The salary from the professorship obtained in light of the book certainly hasn’t hurt it either.

His two doctorates are set on the wall of his office and when he receives word that a conference on ‘Intergalactic Unionism and Peace Negotiation’ is to be held in two months time, he opens up the speakers list and raises his head to gaze upon those two solid frames.

There will be jedi speakers at the conference. Several, actually. The whole thing is to be held on Coruscant, in the small visitors’ wing of the Jedi temple itself.

Sion Jissard pinches the fabric of his suit and then lightly slaps at his cheek to make sure that he is not dreaming.

He has only recently begun studying the jedi order’s material world and the role that world plays in their intergalactic peace-making practices. Prior to this, he considered the subject too on-the-nose. Jedi studies are rampant. Everyone wants a piece of that pie—the allure of it being that the jedi themselves, scholars in their own rights, refuse to partake in examinations of their culture.

They are notoriously obstinate. Their grandmasters refuse to let outsiders into their archives. Their masters shut down any and all attempts to obtain interviews or transcripts or documents with empty expressions or gentle, pitying smiles. Their knights blink with confusion at personal and personal-adjacent questions, and the little ones, the apprentices, are shielded behind all of these people as though the elbow-padded questioners are threatening their precious little lives.

In short, the jedi are happy to listen but loathe to teach. If you are not one of their soldiers or one of their fellows, they will lie to your face and tell you that it is their religion to do so.

And yet here they are, offering up a scholar’s wetdream and even allowing a handful of their own to present on their areas of expertise.

Sion Jissard will pass up this opportunity only upon pain of death.

He applies for the conference as a participant, not a speaker, and is delighted to receive confirmation of his place within mere minutes.

He puts the date on his calendar and starts looking into transit to Coruscant for the event in two months time.

--

 Sion arrives on Coruscant, at the foot of the Jedi Temple itself, and stares up at it for so long that he begins to feel sick to the gills.

He fumbles for his confirmation at the little table set up in the interior courtyard behind a side-entrance door. He is distracted by the fact that the woman he is standing in front of is a Jedi. She is helped by two small children and holds a baby who is dead-set on unraveling the knots that decorate her thick waist band. Even the baby is dressed in double-collared cream-colored robes.

Sion has so many questions he wants to ask.

The jedi asks him for his name. She has a collection of name badges before her, but none of them are his. He gives his name and the master turns to the little girl sat at her right elbow with a brush in hand and instructs her to write it out.

The jedi child—not an apprentice, her robes are cream still, there are no additional earth-colors layered on top of it—writes Sion’s name in beautiful script on a little card and hands the card to the master, who puts it in a holder with a pin on it and places it into Sion’s hand.

She instructs him to go through the side door and enjoy some refreshments before the event begins. The baby in her lap looks up at her abruptly and bonks his sweet little head against her chin.

Sion forgets himself.

“How old?” he asks automatically, gesturing to the baby.

The master looks down into her lap.

“He is eight months and 75% lung,” she says affectionately.

“Ah. Mine was like that, too,” Sion says. “He grew out of it. He’s only 40% lung now.”

The master smiles.

Sion removes himself from her table before he embarrasses himself further.

--

 There are enough people inside the front room of the jedi’s visitor’s wing to nearly fill it to capacity. The volume, though everyone is whispering, is great enough to be heard from outside the door. The room itself is earth-colored with a high ceiling. Its walls all contain niches with rounded borders. Columns with deep-cut creases in them arch high to the skylights.

It is all beautifully geometric, stoic, and clean. And even though the walls and floor are built from materials of warm tones, the skylights overhead and the surrounding addtion of books and holorecords set into the walls lend it a cooling quality.

What should have been imposing architectural feels more like holy space. The room is one that reverberates with reminders to respect all around you.

Sion’s fingers yearn to document this, but there is a sign right by the room’s entrance that asks politely for no recordings or holographs to be taken.  

“Professor Jissard,” a familiar voice says.

Sion feels his whole body droop. He turns to see Teo Detras stood before him in his obnoxious, roaring red robes.

“I’m pleased that you too were able to secure an invitation, sir,” Teo says as though he has not attempted to place Sion on the metaphysical chopping block for each of his premises since the time they began their academic programs.

Sion opens his mouth to point out that this is also his area of study and that Teo has no monopoly on the field of Jedi architecture when a quiet passes over the room. Sion watches the heads around him lift and searches for the source of the sudden shudder of silence.

He finds it in a tall master with dark skin standing at the very front of the space. The man has tucked his hands neatly into the mouths of his sleeves.

He is Jedi Master and General Mace Windu. Sion has read and reread his essays, not caring so much for what he is talking about but how he is talking about it. His metaphors and examples should have been insight into the common experiences of those living in the Jedi temple.

Sion has found, however, that Jedi Master Mace Windu does not especially care for eloquence or metaphor. He cares only to methodically destroy the argument (if it could be called that) published by a jedi named Qui-Gon Jinn many years ago. Though Master Jinn has not published for several decades now, Master Windu’s writings remain agitated by his interpretations of the jedi’s Spiritual energy, the Force.

Just gazing upon the man now, Sion would not think him capable of agitation.

Master Windu welcomes the academics to the temple and says that he regrets not having more time to speak with each of the attendees as individuals, but there is a war on and his clone troopers require his services. He encourages people to refrain from any recordings of the temple due to its sacred nature, and he asks that attendees be mindful of the jedi Initiates (the white-robed children) who are confused and intrigued by all of the non-jedi people inhabiting their usual playroom.

He cautions everyone that if anyone slips on a toy, he warned them, and the temple is not liable for their medical bills.

This is a joke.

People are unsure of whether or not to laugh. Some laugh awkwardly far too late. Master Windu gives no sign on his face that he appreciates or disapproves of this.

Instead, he steps from his space of honor and leaves in his place a young man with feathery blonde hair and a highly expressive countenance, who drops his armload of documents on the floor obnoxiously and flings himself down to snatch up only the conference program, as if this was the most efficient way of finding it.

People know to laugh this time.

The young man begins announcing panel topics and rooms and give his strong opinions on each of them.

More people laugh. It feels less like a sin.

“And that’s all, my dears and darlings,” the young man says, “Mind your step into the conference rooms, our predecessors derived joy from an unexpected drop.”

--

 Sion has only one panel that he will kill at minimum three bodies to sit in on. It is the one on peace strategy and resource management. He is not here for the peace strategy or the resource management parts of the talk; his burning interest yearns instead in listening to how and if people talk about their space and things. He wants to write down the language they use. He wants to learn about the physicality of peace.

He thinks ‘The Physicality of Peace’ would make a very compelling title for another book.

So he slips through the arched doors of conference room 3 and finds himself in a tiered lecture theatre. There is a small balcony with rows of pew-like benches that hangs over a lower seating area. He takes a seat at the edge of the front pew and sets his datapad on his lap for note-taking. At the front of the room there is a long bench—not a quite table, but definitely a tall bench, and behind it, there is an enormous screen for displaying images and information. Someone has very kindly thought to place a jug of water and some cups at the center of the bench by a microphone.

Sion gets the impression from its awkward, dead-center placement that it is an addition that the jedi themselves usually forego.

He wonders what that means. He only wonders for about 15 seconds before a hand touches his shoulder and he jerks in alarm.

“My apologies, sir. We were just wondering if the space next to you is available?” says the smooth-faced, copper-haired man standing above him.

He is wearing white armor on top of his layered robes. The arms and legs that emerge from his long off-white tunic are dark in color, but his boots are hard and white and come up and over his kneecaps.

Sion is speechless.

This is General and Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi.

General and Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi has touched Sion’s shoulder and apologized to him.

He doesn’t have words. He can only make fish-mouthed motions and then point and nod.

General Kenobi accepts this with grace and stands up straight. He waves behind him to call his companions over to join him on the balcony’s edge.

They arrive as a pack.

Instead of coming around and staggering past Sion’s knees at the edge of the bench, General Kenobi climbs over its back and settles in. He then twists back over the row and holds his hands out; a Clone Trooper in full armor hands to him a strange bundle of woolen, brown robe. It produces legs and arms and then bright blue and white lekku once Kenobi has situated it next to him.

“Fooled ‘em,” the little Togruta that emerges from the cloth says brightly.

“Shh,” Kenobi says. “Cody, you next.”

“No, I want Rex to sit with me.”

“Ahsoka, shhh.”

“Rex.”

“Child, this is how people like me get banned from meetings; you’re not even supposed to see—”

“REX.”

“HUSH. Okay, okay. Rex. Pst. Cody, get Rex. Cody, oh for the love of—Wolffe, yes—no. Wolffe, look at me. Get Cody to get Rex.”

Sion cannot believe what he is seeing. General Kenobi appears to be sneaking half of his command into the balcony area. There are more than a few clone troopers there are at least twenty. They are somehow visibly excited despite their matching helmets. The General is able to tell them apart easily. He leans over the back of the bench again and crooks his finger at one of the troopers who leans forward. He tells them to throw something at their commander.

The Clone takes off his glove, stands, and nail a clone standing in the aisle in the head with it. The slap of contact makes this clone cease speaking in serious low tones with a clone decorated with blue edging in front of him. The first clone draws himself up perfectly straight and turns around with a fury that even Sion can feel the heat of.

His armor is painted yellow in places.

He holds the glove in his hand like a threat. The clone who threw it winces and points wordlessly to General Kenobi, then sits down in a hurry. Kenobi smiles wide and white. He has freckles on his face that do not appear on any of the images of him that appear on the news.

He’s also shorter than Sion himself, even sitting.

“Sir,” the white and yellow clone says stiffly.

“Rex,” Kenobi says through that threat of a smile. “Get over here.”

The Togruta child twists around excitedly as the clone in white and blue exits the conversation with the one in white and yellow and surveys the rows of his fellows piled into the space behind the General and the child. He has to squeeze past the line of knees and then climb over the bench to sit down next to the child, who immediately cuddles up to him.

“Hey, that’s my seat,” a new voice whispers.

Sion looks back to see General Quinlan Vos with his arms crossed over his chest, recognizable in any setting. Behind him is General Koon. General Kenobi slaps a hand to his forehead and grumbles, then shoos the blue edged clone and the child a few seats down.

The generals clamber just as awkwardly as the blue clone through the sea of knees of the troopers and then over the back of the bench.

Somehow, Sion has won the jackpot. He is now surrounded by jedi culture, literally.

“All of you, back,” Kenobi snaps down the bench when everyone is just starting to get comfortable. “Cody. Commander, come here.”

The clone trooper with the yellow edging does not want to play this game. He shifts his weight back onto his other heel as Kenobi pats the newly vacated space next to him. General Vos croons in a teasing tone something about Kenobi being especially fond of this clone.

Kenobi lurches out across the empty seat to punch him in the gut and then returns peacefully to patting the space over the sound of Vos’s moaning.

The Clone Commander has no choice. His general is giving him a directive. He gives in to the inevitable and makes his way through the knees and—much more neatly than the others—steps over the back of the bench to its seat and then into sitting. Kenobi beams at him, practically purring.

Sion needs desperately to take notes, but the subjects of said notes are right there and rudeness is intolerable in retaining his vantage point.

He fights the urge to vibrate in space as the lights begin to dim overhead and the panel chairman comes out to introduce the topic and speakers. It is only about a minute or so when a hand lands firmly on Kenobi’s right shoulder—the one by Sion’s arm. Sion jumps, but Kenobi resolutely stares directly down at the speaker.

“Obi-Wan,” Master Mace Windu’s low, low voice says right into the space between Kenobi and Sion’s ears, “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

Kenobi begins to melt but catches himself.

“You didn’t for a while,” he said.

“Get her out of here.”

“She has a right to see her Master.”

“What part of these orders are challenging for you?”

Kenobi still does not turn around to see Master Windu, but his eyebrows sink and his brow becomes more pronounced.

“No padawans,” Master Windu says. “Ahsoka. Out.”

The togruta, still bedecked in that heavy cloak, turns to stare owlishly at Master Windu while the person at the front of the room moves on to introducing the next speaker.

“But I’m not a padawan,” the child says. “I’m obnoxious. Master Kenobi said so.”

Kenobi holds his face in a hand.

“You can be both. Come,” Master Windu says, holding out a hand.

“But I’m a cloak,” Ahsoka tries instead.

Kenobi crumples further. Master Windu’s hand finds his shoulder again. Sion can feel its heat.

“If not her, then you,” he says.

“After,” Kenobi says.

“I’ll be waiting, Obi-Wan.”

Master Windu vanishes from behind them. Sion shudders. Kenobi turns to the side and hisses at Ahsoka,

“Now look what you’ve done.”

“You’re my co-conspirator,” Ahsoka hisses back. “My—my—Rex, what’s the word?”

Clone Commander Rex does not want to give her the word. Ahsoka tugs at him.

“Rex,” she insists.

“Enabler,” Commander Rex says with bitter regret coating his words.

Ahsoka beams over the laps of the other Generals at Kenobi. He glares back through a squint. He starts to say something, but General Vos tells him to shut up in a sharp tone.

Sion looks back to the front of the room and finds that a young man with dark hair has come out to the center of the front table-bench to speak.

He is a jedi. His robes, however, are dark in color. Blacks and browns with knee-high boots.

He’s very young. Very, very young.

And nervous.

Very, very nervous.

Even from the balcony seats, Sion can see his hands shaking. He is holding a stack of white paper. It is trembling like a branch on a windy day.

“Go, go, Master, go, go,” chants little Ahsoka.

Sion finds himself abruptly appalled by the realization that the child on center stage is the master of the child a few seats over from him.

General Koon gently shushes Ahsoka. Commander Rex helpfully wraps a gloved hand over the bottom half of her face to keep her distracted.

Sion looks from them to the young man and finds that he’s already knocked over the jug of water on the bench and looks about ready to sob about it. He gathers himself, though, and brings the microphone closer to him.

He is General Anakin Skywalker, Sion now understands. He is the first speaker and he’s never in his life presented a paper at a professional conference before.  

His voice shakes as he reads out the title of the article that he published (and that Sion has read) on battlefield surrender. After the second paragraph, Sion brings a hand to his lip to help him contain the emotions that come with the understanding that this boy is about to read his article, word for word, in front of a room full of academics.

He thinks now that he has been too harsh with his students.

--

 General Skywalker is not a strong public speaker. Clearly, his expertise is in action. He stammers. He loses his place in his reading and accidentally rereads three whole sentences. Only twice does he look up from his paper, and each time it is not at the audience but at Obi-Wan Kenobi, sat next to Sion, serious as a plague.

Kenobi nods sagely.

General Skywalker is General Kenobi’s apprentice. Was General Kenobi’s apprentice. However, it is clear to all who are present today that General Skywalker is still General Kenobi’s apprentice. Desperate, the poor thing is, for Kenobi’s reassurance.

His confidence in reading grows under his former (current?) master’s approving eye until he turns a page and—horror of horrors—drops the stack of paper.

Sion’s whole body tenses in sympathy and second-hand embarrassment. Skywalker flings himself down and messily collects the papers. He hurriedly reorders them, all while stuttering ‘ums’ and ‘uhs.’

Yet, when Sion chances a peek down the line of Generals next to him, he finds that not a single one has winced. No one has laughed. Even the clone troopers all around them are as silent and steady as the night itself.

It seems like they are all listening intently to their young General on center stage. The only giveaway that sympathy is being had by any is the tiny gesture Clone Commander Rex is making with his hand. He is moving it almost imperceptibly in a circle, as if to say ‘come on, come on.’

Sion looks back to young Skywalker and waits patiently as he finds his place and carries on reading again, this time faster. This time he does not look up for his master’s eye.

He wants only for the torture to end.

He gets to the end of his paper without dropping it or repeating himself and is flushed red. He does not ask for questions. He merely says quietly into the microphone, “Thank you.”

The panel chair waits a beat before walking over to Skywalker and asking the crowd for questions on his behalf. Skywalker becomes even more luminous. Sion cannot decide whether asking a question would be more or less stressful for this poor boy.

No one asks a question.

The panel chair then starts to ask for applause for Skywalker, but before he can even finish the sentence the whole balcony breaks into uproar.

General Kenobi hoots and whistles piercingly in Sion’s ear. General Vos claps and shouts what sounds like ‘You FUCKING did it, kid. You FUCKING did it. Hip-hip—”

“HUZZAH,” the Clone Troopers behind General Vos finish for him in perfect unity.

“Hip-hip—”

“HUZZAH.”

More applause and congratulations erupts after this.

General Skywalker slams his paper into his face and bursts into tears at the front of the room.

He bolts for a doorway that Sion hadn’t even noticed was right next to the bench. General Kenobi whacks at his Clone Commander’s shoulder, and Commander Cody wraps hands around his waist and hoists him up so that he’s standing on the guardrail at the edge of the balcony. He leaps from there to the lower level then goes jogging out the same doorway his former apprentice ran through.

After another moment or two, Commander Cody stands up and snaps at the whole collection of troopers in their language. Everyone shuts up and sits back down. Commander Rex gestures for Ahsoka to put up her hood and takes from General Vos a small datapad which he gives to the child—presumably for her to occupy herself with for the next hour and a half of papers. She takes it and immediately becomes absorbed in its lightly-glowing screen.

The balcony is once again on its best behavior.

Sion doesn’t bother with listening to any of the other papers. He feels no shame at all in beginning to furiously take notes on his last twenty-five minutes with the jedi.

--

 Upon leaving the conference room nearly two hours later, he finds himself swept up in the clone troopers’ swift and orderly exit from the space. They line up outside the hall in lines by regiment and they wait for their commanders and generals to arrive before marching back towards the visitors’ wing’s exit.

After two or three minutes, only two lines remain.

Clone Commander Rex and Clone Commander Cody stand perfectly at attention beside their lines of men. Clone Commander Rex has his jedi’s apprentice thrown over his shoulder; he has balanced her on one arm while she sleeps.

It’s very sweet. She obviously trusts the Clone Commander very much.

“Gentlemen.”

The clones snap to even tighter attention as General Mace Windu appears, walking briskly their way.

“You’re dismissed,” he says to them. “Commanders, you will remain. Obi-Wan and Anakin will join us shortly.”

“Sir,” both commanders say simultaneously.

There is a pause, and Sion sees that all of these people are now looking at him.

“Can we help you, sir?” General Windu asks.

Yes. And Sion will pay any amount of money to just know this one thing. This teeny, tiny detail.

“Sir?”

“Is that normal for you?” he blurts out.

The Clone Commanders stare. The general stares. The apprentice coughs lightly in her sleep.

“I regret to say that it is not only normal, but expected of these general and units,” General Windu says. “Please vacate this area.”

Right.

“Thank you,” Sion says.

He stiff-legs it back to the crowd of other academics and hunts down a liquid to soothe his parched throat.

  The new book’s title will not be ‘The Physicality of Peace.’ It will be ‘All is Fair in Love and War: The Jedi Order and Ideologies of Family, Part I.’

 --------------- Yeah, so anyways, Myth and I decided that Anakin is bad at public speaking and nothing anyone says can take this from me now, I’m invincible. (If you want this on Ao3 let me know).

[1rintooru]

Little Agreements

Pairing: teacher! Sugawara Koshi x gn! reader

Themes: fluff, enemies to lovers 

Word Count: 2k one-shot

Warnings: light swearing - that’s all!

Summary: You and Sugawara are rival teachers at a reputable elementary school. Even though you can hardly stand each other, your students have started shipping you together and it’s just awfully annoying! Little do they know, you’ve been keeping a secret from them the entire time.

a/n: teacher suga is good suga... this was so fun to write and purely self-indulgent - i can't get him outta my fat brain🥴 but enjoy anyways..!

You clicked your pen once. Twice. Three times. Perhaps to an outsider it would appear that you were annoyed – impatient even, but you knew it was nothing more than a habit, much like the restless tapping of your foot or improper care kept to personal belongings. You eyed the worn-down mathematics book that was currently being hastily shoved into a backpack, the spine barely keeping the pages glued together.

“Looks like you’re all set to go,” you proclaimed, putting down your pen and eyeing the student in front you. The boy beamed, yanking the zipper of his backpack shut and throwing it over his shoulder.

“Couldn’t have done it without ya, teach!”

You nodded and smiled appreciatively. You were flattered but you couldn’t take all the credit. The boy you were tutoring for a couple weeks now always claimed he didn’t care for school; you still remembered how he once told you that sports were ‘where it’s at’ – whatever that meant. However, the improved grades paired with the purple shadows under his eyes told you an entirely different story. He’d made his way to the door, his hand already grasping the handle before turning around, an impish grin plastered on his face.

“Even though you and Sugawara-sensei are cute together, we’re still gonna beat your butts!”

You bolted out of your seat and glowered at the young boy.

“Don’t you have other classes to tend to?”

He smirked at your chagrin.

“I’ll see ya around!” he shouted, sending you a quick a wave goodbye before finally leaving the room. You plopped back into your seat upon hearing the door close behind the student, rubbing your temple discontentedly.

Ah. Of course.

How could you forget the school speed quiz? It was an annual event that the school implemented three years ago as a means to motivate students and raise class scores. The idea was that a group of children would be chosen to represent their class and be quizzed on a variety of subjects – the questions becoming increasingly difficult as the game progressed. At the time you sneered at the idea and even complained to the school director that it would only waste funds and resources. Now you were glad that he didn’t listen to you, though he could have skipped laughing in your face. With that being said, the event was a double-edged sword. It made you incredibly happy and filled you with pride seeing students find the joy in learning again, but on the other hand it only exacerbated the teasing comments from the students. They adored seeing you two together and you never could quite wrap your head around it. After all, you and Sugawara were rivals.

Your eyes darted down to your wristwatch: fifteen minutes left until next period. Not a whole lot of time, but just enough to shotgun a coffee and have snack in the solace of the staffroom. You hurriedly tidied the mess on your desk, arranging everything to your liking for the next class before finally stepping out into the bustling commotion of the school hallway. Excited chitter-chatter and non-discreet gossip filled halls as you found yourself surrounded by young children. Each face was familiar and you could have assigned a name to every single one. Even the tall one with fluffy gray hair and gentle brown eyes with the recognizable birthmark.

Wait, no – that’s no child; that’s Sugawara.

He walked towards you with a pep in his step and a bright grin, parting the busy hallway like Moses as students stared at him slack-jawed and awestruck. He was the school celebrity, proven by the sheer number of students that called out to him as he passed – and he loved it. You tried to swerve around him, but it was surprisingly difficult to escape through a sea of grade schoolers.

Damn it, just when you were looking forward to that coffee!

“Here, like I promised.”

Sugawara’s voice rang clearly as he firmly pressed a stack of essays into your hands, the weight of the stack momentarily catching you off guard. Your eyes instinctively scanned the first page laying on top. As per usual, your students performed well in academic pursuits but that wasn’t what bothered you.

“Green glitter gel pen?” you teased, lifting an eyebrow questioningly.

His hazel eyes gleamed confidently. “Hey, we agreed that I would help grade assignments that you couldn’t catch up on – you never said I couldn’t use my colored pens!” He mirrored your teasing lilt before continuing. “Besides, from a psychological standpoint the color green is more uplifting and motivational than a harsh red.”

He wasn’t entirely wrong. You both had agreed that you would tutor his students in mathematics and sciences while he would help grade assignments to take some of the workload off your plate. But that didn’t make his claim any more convincing and it only made you roll your eyes disparagingly.

“That pseudo-science is why I’m the one tutoring your students.”

“Geez, point made Y/N!” he scratched his head embarrassedly, the other hand defensively creating a barrier between the two of you.

“Y/L/N,” you quickly corrected him.

Sugawara’s posture visibly deflated at the curtness of your words. As mature and gentle as he was, he had a tendency to have his heart on his sleeve. You felt a little guilty and even considered saying something to mince your words, but the opportunity was stolen from you as a group of young girls skipped past, snickering as they went.

“Oh my god, Y/L/N-sensei and Suga-senpai are flirting again!”

Your secure stance faltered as the unsuspecting comment hit you like a brick, nearly making you drop all your papers. Sugawara’s eyebrow quirked upwards, thoroughly amused by your loss of composure. You hoped that the heat you felt in your face couldn’t be seen from the outside as you gingerly smoothed out the folds of your sweater.

“Suga-senpai?”

Sugawara’s playful grin immediately dropped as he noticed the daggers you glared at him.

“Huh?! A-ah it’s not like I told them to call me that! It – it just kinda happened.”

Seeing him so flustered would normally have made you smile, but you weren’t going to give him any kind of reassurance. Besides, it would have only worked as ammunition for privy students stalking your conversation. So instead, you simply shook your head, an exasperated sigh just barely escaping from your pursed lips.

“Well, if you don’t mind, I have a coffee waiting for me – and you have recess duty, have you already forgotten? So, if you’ll excuse me.”

You gave him a patronizing poke on the shoulder as you moved past him, beelining towards the staffroom.

The two of you were so vastly different in your teaching methods. You took your work seriously and prided yourself in the academic success of your students – your class always scored extraordinarily well. You were stern but incredibly ambitious and dedicated to your craft. Sure, Sugawara was popular with the kids, but playing the role as best friend wasn’t going to help them pass their classes. You failed to understand why most of the schoolchildren were obsessed with you two being an intimate couple; even prior to the school speed quiz event the two of you were rivals. His laissez-faire teaching methods didn’t mesh well with your own – in fact, you resented them. That’s why it was akin to pouring salt into a fresh wound when each year your respective classes tied during the annual event.

You decided to ignore the thought. This year was going to be different.

****

Oh, how you loved being the one responsible for cleanup duty.

At least, that’s what you would say if it weren’t that you were the only one responsible for cleanup duty.

As you watched one of your students – a petite girl with long dark hair – collect a pile of dirt into a plastic dustpan, you began to wonder how Sugawara roped you into this. Again. You and him had a lot of agreements, for the sake of professionalism of course, but this was not one of them. The school day seemed to drudge on forever and you were not spared from any incessant comments, even in its final moments. Ironically, one of your pupils turned into somewhat of a teacher as they explained to you what ‘shipping’ and ‘OTP’ meant.

Why on earth would they consider you and Sugawara something like that?

You dismissed the remaining students after carefully examining the room. The floors were cleaned and the whiteboard was spotless, but the wastebasket hadn’t been emptied and the desk arrangement was crooked. It wasn’t exactly up to par with how you usually left the room, but you were no heathen and you noticed just how lethargic everyone was becoming.

You also needed to find a certain someone that deserved to be chewed out.

That certain someone was found in the school’s gymnasium, excitedly talking to the school volleyball team that was retiring for the night. The frustration you felt immediately melted once you saw how animated Sugawara became as you overheard his motivational tangent. His passion was infectious and easily fired up the young boys in yellow and blue jerseys listening to him.

Was this where Sugawara always disappeared off to?

It was a silly question, really. Seeing him zealously offer game strategies with the biggest grin on his face made the answer obvious. You cleared your throat, suddenly feeling awkward as all the children – and Sugawara – turned to face you. The boy you had tutored earlier today, now clad in a yellow jersey spoke first.

“Well teach, did ya know that Sugawara-sensei was a volleyball player in high school too? He was a setter, believe it or not!”

You could only stare dumbfounded as your eyes bounced back and forth between the braggadocious athlete and a proudly grinning Sugawara. The lack of response on your end began to unnerve the gray-haired man as the corners of his mouth began to twitch downwards and his eyes glossed over with doubt.

You shrugged, “I don’t really see it, honestly.”

The both of them gasped in unison. The young teen stared at you dumbstruck – his jaw would’ve hit the floor if it could, while Sugawara staggered backwards as if a spear had punctured him in the chest.

“She’s a tough cookie, Sugawara-sen–” the teen’s underhanded comment earned him a swift kick from his teacher.

“Well, I think it’s time to call it a night. How about we tidy up and retire for the evening?”

And just like that, Sugawara had roped you into another cleaning duty. Thankfully the volleyball team was still so fired up from his speech earlier that the tidying up went by remarkably fast. Eventually you and him stood alone in the building, after finally saying your goodbyes to the remaining kids.

He looked at you and cocked his head to the side, to which you nodded in response. Perhaps it was a simple unspoken agreement or maybe it was just a force of habit to head home together. Regardless, it was hard to imagine it any other way.

The cool autumn air greeted you the moment you stepped out of the gymnasium. Goosebumps pricked your skin as a crisp autumn breeze embraced you, sending a shiver down your spine. The sky had turned into a watercolor of fiery oranges and deep purples as evening drew closer. You glanced over to Sugawara, nestled in the layers of his scarf and his hands hidden in the pockets of his coat.

“Do you have regrets?”

Sugawara paused, brown and orange leaves twirled with the wind just short before his feet, but that wasn’t what stopped him. He was clearly perplexed by your question.

“Regrets?” He scrunched his nose as though the word itself repulsed him. He dug his hands deeper into the depths of his pockets and his features visibly softened as he pulled out a golden ring. It gleamed magnificently as the rays of the setting sun reflected off the band. Seeing him fit the ring snugly onto his finger prompted you to do the same, pulling out the velvet pouch that protected the ring within it. Sugawara smiled as he watched you slip the ring on, fondness etched into his features as he extended his hand towards you. You happily obliged and entangled your fingers in his.

“How could I ever have regrets with the life I have now?”

[aprilsrant]

Cariad | Young!Remus Lupin x Slytherin!Fem!Reader.

SUMMARY: (Y/N) absolutely hates when professors make their students work in pairs, but the outcome of this particular project may not be so bad.

WORD COUNT: 2,971, more or less.

REQUEST: can i request another half-blood slytherin reader x remus where she tries to learn welsh for him and i hope you can include smth with the lovespoon! 

This was requested by @cantstopmebitch Thank you so much for requesting something, I hope you enjoy it!

WARNINGS: a kiss? And nothing else I think.

A/N: Please remember English is not my first language, so if there are any mistakes, let me know! In this fic, I’ve used some Welsh words, which I didn’t know a single thing about so I did some research but it may be wrong, so sorry if these are not correct! 

Masterlist.

You can always reblog to help me or request something you’ll like. 

TRANSLATIONS: the title, cariad, means “love, affection, lover, darling”; the phrase fy annwyl un means “my dear one”; and the last one, fy nghariad aur  means “my golden darling”.

Advanced Arithmancy Studies, or simply Arithmancy, was not the most interesting subject Hogwarts offered as an elective course for sixth and seventh years, hence why there weren’t many people taking it, but (Y/N) seemed to be a natural — according to the professor’s opinion — and she loved being good at things without trying too much or else she would lose any interest immediately.  

Sitting down on one of the desks at the back of the classroom, she left her brown leather satchel on the cobblestone floor. (Y/N) watched as the students took their usual seats and started to chat with their partner, but all conversations were shut down by the loud voice of the professor, an old and strict woman who didn’t seem to have control of her voice’s volume as she was always screaming and someone who didn’t have any consideration with those who forgot to do her assignments. 

The minute the woman’s body was an inch inside the classroom, she began to give directions about a project expected for next week and how they would have to work in pairs, (Y/N)’s eyes rolling to the back of her head upon hearing the news. She absolutely detested working with other people for two reasons: the first one being that, if they happen to be from a different House, they would judge her for being a Slytherin; and the second, because she was always the one ending up doing it all on her own, but that was mostly her fault. She wanted to be in control all the time if it was something related to school. 

Once again, (Y/N) was observing how some of her classmates changed desks so they could work with whoever they wanted. No one took the empty seat beside her. She never minded being alone in this class (none of her close friends capable of dealing with the intensity of it or not being too interested in numbers), she was not going to start now. It was better anyways, not having a partner meant less headaches. 

But, apparently, the odds were not in her favor.

A diveleshed looking Remus Lupin crossed the entrance door with his arms full of books, parchments and quills; uniform poorly accommodated and a sad dog look on his eyes, definitely trying to avoid the professor’s rage for being late. His lips curved into a hesitant smile, that to (Y/N)’s opinion came out more as a grimace, and when she thought they all were about to hear a pathetic and improvised excuse from Perfect Remus, the old witch shook her hand into a dismissive gesture and signalised the wooden chair next to the Slytherin girl while she informed him about the task. 

Now that Lupin was beside her, shoulders almost touching, she took a closer look at him. (Y/N) had the impression he was sick because of the dark circles below his dull brown eyes, his skin a lot more paler than usual, and the small noise that left his mouth once he sat down, like his chest hurted. She had also noticed scratches and scars on his neck and cheeks, but kept quiet about them too. It wasn’t her place to ask. 

The first ten minutes passed slowly, neither of them uttering a word, and listening to the expectations the professor had for the project. Well, more like (Y/N) was the one actually listening, because Remus was busy running through his things while leaving them scattered all around their shared desk and muttering curses under his breath. She watched him with a weirded out expression on her face, eyes narrowing and eyebrows furrowing with her mouth pressed on a thin line, while he read the first lines of a parchment and then, obviously not being what he was looking for, leaving it on her side. 

“You forgot the essay, didn’t you?,” she leaned closer to him and whispered in the boy’s ear. He turned around to look at her, but it wasn’t necessary for him to confirm it, (Y/N) already knew she was right. 

Picking her satchel from the floor, she took her own assignment, grabbed one piece of empty parchment and, making sure the professor wasn’t looking in their direction, she muttered a spell under her breath. Instantly, the black paragraphs on her paper copied and travelled to the empty one. With another flick of her wand, some of the words transformed, other changed places and a few of them even disappeared. Grabbing one of Lupin’s parchment that had his calligraphy, and corroborating once more the old witch had her back turned to them, (Y/N) copied his writing style to transfer it to the parchment she had just enchanted. With a proud smile on her face, she handed it to him. 

Lupin’s face was now a little brighter, of course he still had those horrendous bags, but it was an improvement. His eyes wide and shining with interest, his face less tired and his mouth opened in surprise. 

“How did you do that?”

“One of my cousins taught me. Him and his friends had been perfectioning this spell for a long time now,” she mumbled, trying not to catch the other’s attention, while she shrugged her shoulders. 

“That was amazing,” an astonish sound accompanying his words, “thank you, by the way, for helping me.”

“Oh no, I don’t accept thank you’s.” (Y/N) sat straighter on her chair, beaming at him while she crossed one of her legs on top of the other. Before he had the chance to ask what she meant, she spoke again. ”I did you a favor, now you owe me one.”

And after that particular conversation, Remus’s and (Y/N)’s destinies were sealed in an unbreakable and everlasting bond.

That following week was spent in the safety of the Room of Requirement, the place where none of their friends would bother them if they happened to see them together, a Gryffindor and a Slytherin, working together. (Y/N) believed it was stupid at first, not going to the library because someone may or may not catch them in such a forbiden act, but it was all forgotten when the idea that she could become the next target for one of their pranks popped in her head. She had seen what they’ve done to other housemates and she never wanted to be in the receiving end of one. 

The way the Room looked was another major point in why they continued to meet there. (Y/N) had never visited but she had heard about it and how it changed according to your needs. Right now, the chamber resembled a greenhouse, more beautiful than the ones where they had Herbology with Professor Sprout. All kinds of plants covered the walls (not one was the same as the next), coloured carpets underneath old white marble statues and high columns of the same material, reminding her of all the times she’d read a book about Ancient Greece and it’s Gods. In the middle of the Room were two dark red divans, contrasting against the green on the rest of the place, surrounded by piles of books — (Y/N) had the feeling they were all about Arithmancy and Numerology — and, in the centre, a small coffee table made of wood. 

Not even after hours of working in the assignment they were able to finish it in that afternoon. Both of them were perfectionists, ending up in some small arguments about how they should approach certain topics but had also pushed them in coming up with better and more interesting ideas. No one could deny the pair worked marvelously, complementing each other.

To (Y/N)’s astonishment, Remus Lupin didn’t fit the ideal her mind had set a long time ago for Gryffindors. All the ones she’d encountered were boisterous, incredibly annoying, short-tempered and just general prats. The boy with whom she had spent a whole afternoon was utterly the opposite and (Y/N) would’ve discovered that earlier if she’d hadn’t been so prejudiced.  

The day the assignment was due to, arrived quickly than expected and with it came a sudden and small pang of sadness that startled her. 

When she sat down beside Remus, he had made sure of arriving extra early to compensate the professor for the week before, the boy perceived something was off — his superpower according to his three best friends, he was always capable of reading a person perfectly, even if they hadn’t known each other for too long — because of how she was acting, trying too hard to show an unbothered facade but not hard enough for him to not notice.

The truth was (Y/N) didn’t want this class to start since once it was over so would the partnership with Remus. She had enjoyed his calm and warm company, sometimes a little crazy, in the Room Requirement while they worked on the project. And she was one hundred percent sure she would miss the moments when they both agreed on taking a break after many hours of reading and began to talk about nothing and everything, all at once. Was she supposed to forget that he always carried one chocolate inside his bag, and that he’d started to bring one more after their first afternoon studying together? Was (Y/N) expected to ignore the fact Remus wanted to become a professor because he liked the idea of being there for young people in case they needed someone? Was this girl meant to fail to remember about how this boy had asked his mum to teach him Welsh so they, mother and son, could have one more thing in common? 

When the professor dismissed them, not without praising (Y/N)’s and Remus’s essay first, he noticed the girl next to him hadn’t even smiled at the mention of how perfect they’d worked. Now he knew for sure something was wrong with her and Remus Lupin was not the kind of person who saw his friends feeling down and did nothing about it. 

Following her across the corridor, he tried to catch her attention but she was either not listening or down right ignoring him. Finally being able to reach her, Remus grabbed her arm softly and called her name in a whisper. She turned around, head low and eyes fixated on her jet black loafers, not looking at him. 

“Are you alright? Because if something happened, you can talk to me,” Remus asked in a faint voice, almost swallowed by the noise the other students in the hallway were making, moving his hand towards her shoulder and rubbing tenderly the fabric of her grey sweater that covered her skin, “I know we hadn’t been friends for too long, but you can come to me for anything you may need.”

(Y/N) raised her head after hearing the last part.

“We are?” An incredulous look appearing on her face. “We are friends?”

“Of course we are, (Y/N),” Remus announced while letting out a snicker, as if the thought of the two of them not being friends sounded ridiculous in his mind, “I wouldn’t have shared my chocolate with you if we weren’t. And as a half blood… you are one of the few people who actually understands my movie or book references from the muggle world.”

Her mood better now that she knew Remus considered her a friend and for once since she initiated her education at Hogwarts, she was glad the Arithmancy professor had made them work in pairs.

|||

Weeks and months passed by, and with each one of them the friendship between Remus and (Y/N) grew stronger. There were still several things the Gryffindor was not ready to discuss, like him being a werewolf, his other friends becoming animagi to help him during the nights of a full moon; the creation of the Marauder’s Map and how much he wanted to kiss her whenever she began to ramble about a subject she was really passionate about. He kept quiet, and for several months he came up with excuses, not only for the scars and the nights on the Infirmary, but for the random loss of concentration every time she was too closed to him, cracking up a joke or cursing at the professors for thinking they couldn’t have five minutes without being buried in assignments and deadlines. 

His feelings, unknown to him, were not one sided. 

(Y/N) wasn’t one to go for the boys she liked, she was used to just admiring them from afar, never making the effort to start a conversation and she was fine with it. But Remus was a whole other story. She knew him, and his fears, and the books he would read over and over again, and how much of a good friend and amazing person he was. And all of that made it even harder for her to take that quick but impossible last step. Her friends had been trying to make her pursue him since the moment the Firewhisky in her system led her to overshare. They’d said he felt the same and for a moment she believed it, but long nights of overthinking convinced her that Remus was just being kind to her, his specialty.

She tried to push her feelings away, to calm her heart that couldn’t stop jumping whenever she saw him smiling, to control the sweat on her hands every time he whispered something funny in her ear; to put a stop to the flips her stomach suffered the moment he said her name; to even her breathing on the occasions he would utter random Welsh words — one of the reason why she started to learn the language four months after their friendship began —  to see her confused expression. 

One night after a long and stressful day in the midst of their seventh and last year at Hogwarts, while the last quarter moon shined down from above them and illuminated her features, Remus Lupin decided he would honor the reason he was supposed to be in Gryffindor.

Taking a small object from the pocket of his trousers and releasing a shaky breath, he took (Y/N)’s hand to catch her attention. She turned around, looking away momentarily from the moon and the stars, the things she admired the most, grinning softly at him with such alluring eyes.

“I don’t know how to say this and what I’m doing is barely planned, and so many things could wrong but…,” Remus started, taking a large gulp of air before talking again, “I can’t help myself with you sitting there like that.”

She didn’t respond, understanding there was something bugging him and that it was crying out for someone to just let it out.

“I like you and not as a friend, I mean, yes, I do like you as a friend but I also like you as much more than that,” he confessed briskly, shortly after closing his eyes and chewing his bottom lip, “and I did this for you.”

(Y/N) took the tiny object silently, not knowing what to say, and held it up towards the sky so the moon would cast a light upon it. 

The minute she realised what it was, she confirmed that Remus’s feelings were the same as hers. With a large smile on her face, she traced her fingers delicately across the wooden figure. It had an intricate design, with two hearts in the middle and two fine lines lacing with each other, reminding her of a simple braid. On top of the heart, were three threads forming a knot.

“It’s a lovespoon, isn’t it?,” she mumbled just to be sure this was all truly happening. Remus nodded, still not knowing if she liked him too, “It’s gorgeous, Rem.” 

Locking eyes with her, he didn’t need her to say she liked him back because he already knew the answer. (Y/N)’s eyes were brimming with a few tears, holding such intense emotions and staring at him the way his mum did whenever his dad was in front of her. 

“I like you too, fy annwyl un,” she confessed back. A laugh escaped his mouth while he shook his head.

“Since when do you know Welsh, fy nghariad aur?”

“I learned it to impress someone.”

Remus leaned his body closer towards her, putting his hand over her cheek and running his thumb gracefully across it. Both of them shift their weight at the same time to be nearer each other. 

(Y/N)’s heart shaking violently in her chest, anticipating what was going to be her first kiss. 

“Remember that favor you owe me since last year?,” she reminded him. Their warm breaths mixing, lips so close and yet so far away. Remus nodded slightly as his hand descended from her cheek to caress cautiously one of her bottom lip’s corners. His other hand travelled to the back of her head, intertwining slowly with her hair, “well, I’m asking for it now.”

He smiled while their lips brushed against one another. Taking the lead, Remus finally pressed their mouths together. And it was everything and so much more than she had ever imagined. Eyes closed but still capable of seeing a mixture of red bright fireworks and shining stars.

One of her hands, the one clutching the lovespoon tightly, stayed put on his arm, while the other moved towards his neck, not knowing where else to leave it. Instantly, Remus dropped his hand from her cheeks to her waist, pulling her closer and almost sitting her on top of his lap. He moved her head slightly backwards, making (Y/N) to open his lips more and allowing him to explore her mouth with his tongue. 

None of them cared about what the rest of the school would think when they entered the Great Hall, hand in hand, a dark brown lovespoon decorating (Y/N)’s satchel.

Under the moonlight, no one else had felt more alive than them.

[lovingrosewho]

Flunked

Hii so, as some of you may guess by the summary, one of my teachers failed me in a project in which I put a lot of effort in:( I had to take my anger out writing this haha, I hope you like it, as usual, any feedback or suggestions are well received! English is not my first language, etc. Enjoy!

ONE SHOT

Pairing: Crowley x Reader

Rating: T.- Fluff

Word count: 2.1k words

Summary: Crowley finds you crying in your room because you failed a really important test

Warnings: mentions of sex, curse words, protective!Dean which of course counts as a warning

You had been taken under the Winchesters wing for a while now, they agreed to share the bunker with you as long as you didn’t drop out of school after that wendigo hunt that had left so many scars, physical and emotional. They had warned you about the dangers of being a hunter and how it would eventually kill you and the ones you loved around you if you decided to take it up as a job. They kind of saw you as the little sister they never had, to be protected at all costs...

But when it got to the King of Hell, well, that was a whole other story.

Crowley had been around you a few times, the boys did not want him anywhere near you, had it been for them they would’ve put up a 12 feet round salt circle with you in it, but of course you would’ve argued.

You didn’t see the King of Hell as a threat, you even found him charming. His witty comments mocking Sam and Dean made you laugh in silence more times than you could count, his confident stand and even the pace of his steps made your insides nervous, ticklish. When he was around, he’d salute you with a slight tilt from his head and a “Kitten”. Nickname which would make the Winchesters roll their eyes and tell him to focus with, frankly, nearly not any manners.

The first time you talked with him properly, even though the boys were around, was kind of cute. You were helping them with some research and he went to stand by you, eyeing whatever you were reading, you had to suppress a laugh at how his eyes squinted trying to read the tiny letters.

“Something funny, Pet?” he asked you, a hidden, smug smirk in his lips. Sam and Dean gave each other a look, which shifted to Crowley afterwards.

“No, no, nothing” you assured him smiling, returning your gaze to your book “I’m guessing this snooping around is due to boredom, your Majesty?”

Crowley now grinned notably whilst Dean’s head snapped back at you.

“What did you just call him?” the eldest Winchester asked quite annoyed, but you dismissed him anyways.

“How’s hell, Crowley?” you said turning to him, ignoring Dean’s question and Sam’s glance at you.

“It’s okay Squirrel, I think (Y/N) here can take care of herself just fine” he said without taking his eyes off of yours and winking “Hell’s fine, by the way. Sweet, boring hell, which I should be getting back to right now, I hope by next time I drop by you’ll actually have something to show me”.

His eyes flew to Dean’s flared face with annoyance, then Sam’s and finally they fell back at you.

“I’ll be seeing you around, Kitten” and with this he vanished.

After that, Dean had scolded you, repeated once again what Crowley was capable of and how you shouldn’t be joking around with him. You shrugged it off just like Sam did, because nor him nor his brother were able to keep Crowley at bay with you after that. He’d drop by even more than he did before, and most of the times his words were directed at you, not the boys, talking about Hell, hunts, and overall non-important stuff. The Winchesters finally gave up and had to deal with the fact that, inevitably, you and the King of Hell were close.

A few months passed since your first little chat with Crowley, Dean insisted in scoffing and rolling his eyes every time he made a flirty move on you, Sam just smiled, guessing you probably had a thing going on for him as well.

Things stayed that way until the last term of the semester started, then you were buried underneath books, essays and projects. You still talked on the phone with Crowley at least once a week, but seeing each other personally was nearly impossible, he did not want to distract you.

When he was sure you were just days far from finishing school, he appeared at the bunker with the classical “Hello boys”, scanning the library, but you were nowhere to be seen.

“Looking for something?” Dean mocked, which caused Crowley to gave him a boring look.

“Very funny, Squirrel. You know bloody well who I’m looking for and I don’t see her in this room” he answered giving them a sarcastic look.

“Now’s not a good time Crowley” Sam affirmed without looking up from his laptop.

“Whatever do you mean, Moose? I’ve been told (Y/N) is almost finished with the semester, she should have less deadlines now” he argues when Dean interrupts.

“She failed a test and she has been... moody, the whole day, I wouldn’t even touch her if I were you, hell, I wouldn’t even go near her” he suggests winking at him. Crowley grunts at his, yet again, unsuccessful attempt to keep him far away from you.

“That’s because you two morons don’t know how to talk to her, I’ll just go to her room” he says beginning to walk, causing Sam to stop paying attention to his laptop and instead getting up all of a sudden along with Dean, who’s decided to stop Crowley.

“Wow wow wow, you’re not going into (Y/N)’s room” Dean declares laying a hand on Crowley’s chest so he doesn’t make another move “You’ve never been to her room”.

Crowley removes Dean’s hand with visible disgust.

“Oh Dean, I thought we were past the whole ‘Stay the hell away from (Y/N)’ deal. Listen Squirrel, if you don’t let me see how (Y/N)’s doing, I’ll just zap myself over there, understood?” he demands, and Dean is about to say something when Sam interrupts.

“Dean... maybe he’ll be able to cheer her up” he encourages timidly.

“What? Oh so you’re on his side now?” Dean reclames and Crowley can’t help but roll his eyes, snap his fingers and there he is, inside your room, standing in front of you.

You are laying flat on the bed when the unexpected smell of sulfur, whiskey and citrus invades your nostrils and makes you smile slightly.

“Crowley” you greet him lifting from your bed, inviting him to sit at the edge of it.

“Hello, darling” he says smiling back and accepting your offer of taking a seat next to you. When he gets closer he notices your swollen, red eyes “Have you been crying, Pet?”

You avert your sight and say nothing.

“Pet?” Crowley prompts “Are you alright?”

“Yeah” you lie “It’s nothing really, just some stupid test”.

“It’s not ‘stupid’ if it’s important to you. What is it? I know you. You can’t tell me you forgot to study or something like that”.

“I didn’t! I-“ your voice cracks again and you have to clear your throat to keep speaking “Of course I didn’t forget. I studied. Hard. But my professor said that ‘my answers weren’t clear enough’ which I totally disagree and I... I just find it unfair”.

“Huh” he says listening to you ramble whilst he gets up and starts walking in circles around your room. You glance at him and see his thoughtful look “Perhaps we could arrange an appointment between your teacher and my hellhounds”.

You laugh lightly and shake your head.

“Whatever it’s... it’s fine, I suppose the boys told you” you say “Guess now I’ll just have to drop out of school and take up hunting again”.

Crowley rolls his eyes for the eleventh time this day. Even if you’re joking he doesn’t like the thought of you being in danger, much less getting hurt or even... or even killed.

“Quit being dramatic, (Y/N), it doesn’t suit you at all” he tells you arching an eyebrow “Besides, we both now I’m the dramatic one in this relationship”.

You chuckle.

“Is that so?” you ask.

“Yes” he answers walking towards you and cupping your face with his hands, wiping the last tears from your eyes. You let a sigh escape.

“How did the boys let you in anyways?” you say changing the subject. Crowley scoffs at your question.

“They didn’t. In fact, they surely must still be discussing my quite essential stay with you today” he answers, taking his hands off your cheeks and sitting beside you.

You nod in understandment, amused.

“Everything’s going to be okay, Kitten” he assures you, placing his hand in your leg, yours instantly flies to it.

“I know” you tell him, moving your other hand to his cheek and making him face you “Thank you, for being here...”

He grins softly.

“Anything for you, love” he says and you smile. Slowly, you start leaning forward towards his lips. Crowley stares at you perplexed, but does nothing to stop you, instead, he shifts to touch the nape of your neck and leans into the kiss.

The kiss is swift. It begins with slow, careful movements, eager lips brushing over yours, turning into a heated passion as Crowley requests for entrance with his tongue and you jump to his lap. He explores your mouth until you’re both out of air.

“Well that’s an interesting turn of events” he tells you arching his brows and you laugh giving him a mild smack in the chest with your elbow.

“Shut up” you say pecking his lips a few times “You know... if Sam or Dean come in they’ll kill you right?”

The boys are right outside the door waiting for you or Crowley to go out, conflicted if they should go in, or knock, given that they’re not able to listen to anything you say.

“They’ve been insanely quiet in there” Dean’s mind begins to wander in the possible escenarios where you’re involved with Crowley. In your room. And he doesn’t like any of them.

“So what Dean? Maybe they’re just catching up” Sam says, exasperated with his brother.

“No, no, no, I could hear murmurs just minutes ago, now it’s total silence”. Sam sighs.

“Do you really want to go in there? Like really?” he questions giving his brother a look.

Dean considers his options for a few seconds.

“You know what? I’m going in” he asserts and Sam laughs.

“Suit yourself, I’ll be right behind you, covering my eyes”.

“Don’t be a baby” Dean snorts, but to be honest, he’s praying he doesn’t find you having sex with the King of Hell.

They come in the room to spot you in Crowley’s lap, arms wrapped around his neck, eyes closed, his mouth grazing over yours.

“Crowley you son of a bitch!” Dean yells at him, taking long strides to get to you.

“Squirrel” Crowley says sighing, whereas you do the same, adding an eye roll “Didn’t your mommy teach you how to knock?”

Sam is just laughing in the back, glad that at least they didn’t find you naked.

Dean is about to continue yelling at you and Crowley just raises his hand, snaps his fingers and you’re on his throne in hell.

“I believe that was our cue, love” he tells you with a half smirk in his face. You outburst in laughter.

“After this Dean’s definitely making me sleep with the dog” you state. Crowley chuckles lightly “Well, if we had a dog”.

“I thought that was Castiel” he says pretending confusion, you snort and shake your head, a grin not leaving your face.

Crowley takes a lock of your hair between his fingers and starts playing with it. At the same time, he leaves a trail of wet kisses that go from your mouth to your neck.

“Those Winchesters are lucky I was too busy admiring you to shove them out the room and lock the door” he acknowledges, continuing tracing kisses along your skin.

“They’re lucky they found us with clothes on” you admit and he chuckles again.

“Now now, Pet, never took you for the naughty type” he jokes “Quite honestly, I figured this was eventually going to happen, but I always thought I’d be the one to invite you out”.

“You want to invite me out?” you tease “Never saw that coming”.

Crowley smirks, faking annoyance.

“I’m asking to date you, (Y/N), but of course you would tease me about it” he says. You giggle, he’s right “So, what’s your answer?”

“Yes” you speak without hesitation, covering his lips with yours in a long, deep kiss.

“See? If Dean Winchester decides to kick you out the bunker, which I’m highly doubtful, you get to sleep with the King of Hell, not the dog” he tells you with bedroom eyes.

You bite your lips and nod, proceeding to keep making out with the King for a long time, spending the night with him. Dean’s chide can wait.

MASTERLIST

[kaisa-ryo]

Megumi Fushiguro NSFW Alphabet

Warning: English isn't my native language!

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*

A = Aftercare (What he likes after sex)

Nothing can be better than looking at you, studying every part of your face up close. Watch how your eyelashes tremble, how your chest rises and falls, inhaling and exhaling air. So familiar, so lovable. What a beautiful and so necessary face at this moment. From time to time he wants to run his fingers over it, remember it, photograph it. I want to look at your face for a very, very long time. Then he drops those thoughts because he needs to focus on trying to sleep.

B = Body part (His favorite body part)

Lips.

God, he so enjoys watching you bite them, lick them, paint them with glitter. This is essentially a small insignificant part of the body, but so demanding for courting and kissing. Yes, kisses ... Megumi so wants to touch them and do it yourself: bite, lick, paint with glitter ... After all, they seem so soft and delicious.

C = Cum (Everything about sperm)

Into a condom. Even if it is not always convenient and completely satisfactory with an elastic band, Megumi still prefers to protect herself. In addition, it is useless to oppose this if you do not want problems in the future. But if you ever ask him to do it without a condom, he might even agree, though not right away. First, make sure that you really want it, since he was not ready to ever do this. So don't be surprised if he gets worried during the process.

D = Dirty secret

From time to time he thinks about how you will take full control over yourself. It makes him mentally convince himself what a lustful bitch you are for him. He understands how you revel in your own perfection, how this thin erotic veil allows you to devour him with your eyes, hypnotize. It almost makes you a god. But the deity should not so protrude his sexuality in front of his beloved. Therefore, if you do so, then in the morning Megumi will throw some reproach in your direction, but at the same time he himself will remain satisfied and completely satisfied.

E = Experience

There is. If in high school he was a cold-blooded bully with a good appearance, then it is possible that Megumi had favorites back then. Not to say that, under the influence of hormones, he wanted to fuck every girl, because on his mind he had only the goal of maintaining justice with vague and false concepts. Yet he tried it once. She was a girl with high status and good connections, which were beneficial for him to achieve his goal. Sex without commitment is not the best experience that can be obtained, because apart from the pleasure of the process, you do not feel attracted to your partner. But what you just do not go to achieve the goal, right? The guy did not particularly remember that incident, but a clear understanding of the foundations of the art of submission remained.

Now he doesn't want to remember school life, because both character and actions were not sugar at all. In addition, the intentions of what then and what from now are different, one should not exceed expectations. But speaking of being intimate with you, Fushiguro has acquired a real bond that makes intercourse more sensual.

F = Favorite position

A deck chair is a great option. It seems like an ordinary missionary, but both he and you have something to hold on to. And as a bonus, he sees your face, by which he can give an accurate analysis of how well you are now.

G = Goofy (Are you serious at this moment?)

Yes. Despite the main goal of getting pleasure, it is also important for him to control it. He is not afraid to death that everything will go downhill. It's just that perfect sex hasn't bothered anyone yet. In addition, it is not at all difficult for him to do as he wants. Therefore, he feels a great need for complete control over intercourse. If everything is done correctly, he feels proud of himself, which cannot but please him.

H = Hair (Is the hair ok?)

Hygiene is as important to him as every other aspect of his life, especially if it somehow, no matter how, concerns you. You never need to remind him of this, as he himself tries to take care of the intimate area as often as possible. Therefore, he is unlikely to have problems providing comfort for both of you.

I = Intimacy (Romance)

There is. These are mostly cute things that are usually not considered very important, but for you they are like a trophy. For example kisses on the forehead, crown of the head, knuckles of thin fingers, neck and shoulders. It is like a ritual dedicated to love for your beauty and uniqueness. Even if the process is not very sophisticated, you get pleasure every time. Towards the end, you realize that you have gained much more than the warmth from light, but sensitive touch.

J = Jack off (masturbation)

There is such a thing. And you don't have to be far away. If you have not done this for a long time, but for some reason he is afraid or does not want to offer you, then do not mind masturbating to one of your photos in the gallery.

K = Kink (Kinks and fetishes)

The guy is not indifferent to your body, no matter what shape it has. Feel his smell, touch, stroke, listen until all these tenderness reaches light bites, squeezes, licks ... He feels everything much more sophisticated than it seems. And nature is such that subconsciously very subtly feels desires. Even if they are not at all.

He likes it when you walk in sexy pajamas, stockings that accentuate the shape of your legs or open clothes, although he doesn't always approve of this, because he knows perfectly well that he is not the only one who likes your body.

I like to give you different jewelry because they look so perfect on you. It is not for nothing that people say: "It is not clothes that paint a person, but a person's clothes."

For Fushiguro, this is both the main aesthetics and a source of inexhaustible pleasure, which is noticeable with the naked eye.

L = Location (Favorite places to have sex)

Not a lover of variety, so the option with a bed is the most ideal for him. Moreover, the bed is large and soft, which allows you to do a lot without any discomfort. You often feel tired after sex (unless you're a sex addict), so in the case of a bed, you don't have to worry about passing out on the table or floor. Yes, with the bed, you are subject to almost all poses!

Fushiguro is also not cold to the sofa, which is not much different from the bed in terms of sex. On it he can relax while you ride it, clutching his shoulders or pants. The sofa is also a good control plane, which can be easily used if you understand that you need to get up. It's still convenient! Why do you even need a shower and a table?

M = Motivation

When you walk around the house in the open in only panties and a bra. He doesn't like it very much, but heck, he really doesn't want to admit that he is actually embarrassed and it still turns him on. And when he comes to pick you up from home to take you somewhere, and then finds you not ready, in only one underwear, he will be indignant at why you are still not dressed, then he will turn away, covering his face with his hand and making a slightly trembling exhale. At this time, you will notice how his cheeks and ears turn red and giggle softly, pulling on a T-shirt. Once you specifically asked him to fasten his bra, knowing that it will start. After all, in front of him, a close-up flaunts your completely naked back, which you can touch and stroke. It seems that another second and he will lose control of himself and go into a rage. Holding his breath, he will begin to gently stroke the delicate skin and excitedly run his fingers up and down the spine, feeling his legs trembling from the touch. You will have to bite your lips in order not to turn around, and all this time with concentration to look in the direction where your shadows are reflected in a black silhouette on the wall a few meters away.

Also no less exciting for him is your passion for something. If you diligently write an essay, essay, read interesting books, even just tap your nails on a hard surface - he will be immersed in your actions. After all, the main thing for him is not the process of action itself, but how you perform it. When Fushiguro sees you at work, he enjoys every second of what is happening.

N = No (Which won't do)

What he considers to be risk or abnormal.

Megumi is for healthy sex and will not settle for BDSM, role-playing or sadomasochistic procedures. Especially complete submission. It does not arouse and does not cause orgasm from the word at all. He believes that such an idiotic variety was invented by mentally ill people, after whom everything is repeated for the reason of "fashion", public manipulation and self-hypnosis. In addition, in order to decide on such an idea, you either need to be a crazy psychopath, or stop respecting yourself. At least Megumi thinks so and has no doubts about it.

O = Oral (Likes to receive or to give)

In this regard, Fushiguro tries to maintain balance.

Yes, he likes to hear your drawn-out muffled moans. I like how you all wriggle under it and beg you not to stop. I like the way you cum. But it is no less exciting to see how you walk with your thin fingers along the entire length of his penis, and then clasp your lips and swallow it as deeply as possible, periodically circling the head with your dexterous tongue. Therefore, he is not inclined to prioritize. He continues to give you pleasure simply because he thinks it is right, and when he himself wants to feel pleasure, you will guess it yourself by his eyes, facial expression and swaying his hips in time with your movements.

P = Pace

As a rule, Megumi tries to do it in full force. Physical strength is still a man's trump card in love, and should not be underestimated. But it needs to be properly stimulated. Energy should not be pushed to the limit. Fushiguro was used to stretching his orgasm, speeding up and then stopping for ten seconds. Then the surge of feelings becomes even stronger. Too much speed will immediately lead to overwork, and the orgasm becomes smooth and short. It's too predictable. Of course, the guy is not a fan of variety, but that does not mean that you absolutely cannot pamper yourself, right?

Q = Quickie

Average. The most common.

And what else do you need? High speed does not allow you to feel the process properly, and low speed dampens all excitement and quickly gets bored. Medium is perfect for both of you.

R = Risk (Ready to experiment)

Not ready.

You shouldn't force him to try new sensations. This will cause him discomfort or even anxiety, which will not lead to the best outcome. Once you talked to him about this, at the end he said that he didn’t like it and asked him not to bother with this topic anymore, since even the thought of it introduces him into slight stress. Not because of the experiments themselves, but the very fact of their fear. He is currently struggling with this because he wants to be completely perfect for you. However, it is unacceptable for him that it is easy for him to control the process, but it is so difficult to start experimenting in terms of sexual relations. He will definitely deal with it. Not right away, but it will cope.

S = Stamina (Stamina)

Pretty decent

Getting pleasure is enough for both of you, so you have the strength to wash in the shower, make tea, read a book and just lie around, warming your bodies with hugs. It even happens that there is enough strength to walk along the street, restoring not only physical balance, but also emotional one. Still, a walk in the fresh air with conversations on various topics does not let you forget that your love is real and is not a farce for sexual gratification.

T = Toys

It treats all their varieties badly.

Another trinket invented by the unbalanced and sexually addicted. You both have enough and an ordinary hookup without stupid "decorations".

* In fact, once the thought flew through his head about how you would react if he shoved a vibrator into your vagina as close to your clitoris as possible. And how he later, in all seriousness, assured himself that he would not offer you such a thing for anything. Recalls a magazine article about sexual fantasies among teenagers at thirteen. As a result, having mentally slapped myself in the face, I never thought about it again.

U = Unfair (Does he like to tease)

Yes!

He doesn't like to admit it, but oh my god, how your pleading and sobbing drives him crazy. At such moments, he seems to be in seventh heaven. He would like to listen to them, but then all the pleasure from the upcoming orgasm will disappear. He wants to satisfy his desire as soon as possible, but he really doesn’t want your sweet voice to stop at such seconds ... And when you finally finish, everything inside him contracts. Because now you shout his name instead of muffled moans. It feels like he is special to you. Yes, only he can make you make a mess in your body, which was just so obedient. Only with him can you finally plunge you into ecstasy.

V = Volume (How loud is it)

At first, he is silent, as if swallowed his tongue. But by the middle it already starts to grow. But if you only knew how uncontrollable he is in the end ... although, why am I crucifying here? Of course you know.

At this time, along with orgasm, he realizes how fucking he is. So inside him begins a feverish flow of internal current, and at the same time a fire flares up in his heart, turning into a high.

W = Wild card (Random headcanon)

When you first slept, the spontaneous thought came to you to look into his phone. Nothing criminal, you just wanted to make sure you were the first.

Waking up first and looking at the phone, which surprisingly had no password, you checked the list of contacts that were not embellished in some way, and in general there were not as many of them as you expected. But you, apparently, so much enjoyed digging into his personal life, feeling like a real Sherlock, that you decided to look at Google. There already began something from which you simply could not help but emit an unrestrained laugh: more than ten tabs related to sexual relations, the structure of the vagina, the consequences of the "first time", precautions for intercourse and a bunch of other things. You could hardly restrain your laughter so as not to wake up your loved one, who apparently became a real Alpha and a sex guru in just one evening.

It's been a long time since that moment, but you still haven't admitted to him that you then got into his phone.

X = X-ray (What's under the clothes)

14.5 cm during erection ± 1

Y = Yearning (How high is the sex drive)

Megumi cannot be called “lonely-touchy-with-a-broken-heart”, but “addict” is certainly not about him. This is an unexpected manifestation of desire when he himself begins to kiss your neck, in the hope of showing your initiative. Usually you make love at your request or at a noticeable hint. Fucking you in bed, he is not looking for any benefit for it and is not chasing cheap bonuses. He thinks that he is simply satisfying his sexual need, and does not go further so that you, too, do not get hung up on sex as an important part of your life.

4/10

Z = Zzz (How quickly falls asleep)

Quickly, if you are not trying to distract him with conversations (you are not always sure that you did everything right and completely satisfied him).

If you want to annoy him with requests, for example, if you are cold and you tell him about it, he will immediately cover you with a blanket. But you are more cunning and you do not need a blanket at all, but his strong arms.

— Mmm... and I wanted to warm myself in your arms...

Then Fushiguro will roll his eyes, sigh loudly and hug you from behind.

— I want you to kiss the top of my head! — you will rather smile when he reluctantly, but still will do it.

— Will you sing me a lullaby? - then the guy will understand that further you are just making fun of him.

— Maybe you still dance?

— What a good idea! Stand by that closet.

— Sleep, princess.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*