#once to read the syllabus and find the reading

[dragonpyre]

Psych au where everything’s the same but Shawn and Gus are early early twenties and Gus is in college but Shawn keeps dragging him out of lectures and internships to solve crimes.

[jubileebloom]

As much as I appreciate the people defending Ford in the wake of TBOB's release, and discussing the importance of avoiding victim-blaming and being aware of a person's environment, there's something specific that rubs me the wrong way about some of the things I've read.

The thing about abuse is that takes agency away from its victims. This is actually something that broadly applies to different forms of trauma, as I've just been going over in one of my classes on Adolescent Development. My professor for that class specializes in trauma-informing and training, so she has an entire unit on trauma as part of the syllabus, and one of the things she emphasized was that giving people agency and control over their own choices is critical to helping them recover from a traumatic event.

When it comes to Bill's possession of Ford, the lack of control is even more literal. Ford literally has his body puppeted by a demon, and his mind altered as well. Others have taken agency from him to a lesser extent—Stan limiting his choices in education, Fiddleford potentially using the memory gun on him, as another analysis post I can't find did a really good job of breaking down—but it's not as all-encompassing as Bill's abuse, and Stan and Fidds both make better choices later in the series. Bill refuses to.

But I'm getting off topic. My point is, Ford's loss of agency is one of the most crucial pieces of his character arc. It's why he lashes out so strongly when he returns home, against his will, to find that his identity has been stolen. It probably factors into his need to be the "hero", to be the one to defeat Bill. And even though he ultimately isn't that "hero", and he does let the Mystery Shack continue to operate, he does ultimately get more of a choice in the matter. He chooses to go along with the plan. He chooses to go with Stan on their long-overdue adventure.

But there's something else he does too. He apologizes.

Why is that so important? Because in regaining his sense of agency, he also undertakes the accountability that goes with it. He isn't solely to blame for everything that happened to him, or even necessarily every choice he made, but he did make bad choices.

And that's the thing that bothers me about some Ford analyses and defenses. Some people go too far and say that Ford isn't to blame for anything that he's done. Not only is that untrue, but it is once again stripping him of his agency. He is an adult capable of making his own decisions, and ergo capable of making bad decisions. And we need to accept that, without infantilizing him or blaming everyone else around him.

One of the things that compels me so much about Gravity Falls is that is generally does strike this balance pretty well, of personal agency vs. external circumstances. (There's also an excellent analysis post out there somewhere about Dipper and Mabel's agency, how the show doesn't force them to fix the problems of their predecessors or burden them exclusively with saving the world, but does still let them have agency and power in the fight and in Stan's recovery.) There are so, so many things that happen to the main cast that are mostly outside of their control, and also bad decisions that a lot of them have made that cannot be excused, at least not fully, by their circumstances.

And the beautiful thing about that agency is that these characters are also able to use it to become better people, to regain control over their lives, to take back power after it was taken from them. But you have to let them, and that includes letting them be people who messed up, owned up, and worked to make it better.

In fact, I think the reason that Ford is so quick to own up to his mistakes when it comes to Bill is because that's one of the ways he's taking back his power. He's incredibly stubborn when it comes to holding other grudges, but with Bill, he readily admits to Stan and Dipper separately that he's made some "terrible mistakes", to use his words. And he isn't to blame for falling for Bill's manipulation—Bill was the one actively manipulating—but no, he should not have summoned him to begin with. That doesn't make him deserving of anything Bill did to him, but by admitting to the mistakes he did make and working on a way to defeat Bill, it's letting him take back some amount of control in the whole situation. He can't make Bill change his ways, but he can own up to and correct the things he did wrong.

He does overcorrect a bit; I do think he blames himself too much for "falling for Bill's flattery." But generally, I like how he also doesn't try to blame Bill for every single thing that went wrong with the whole portal deal, like he (initially) did with some other situations, especially everything with Stan.

Anway. Let Ford make mistakes. Let him be wrong sometimes. Let him have his agency.

[creatingblackcharacters]

Hello!

If you're new here, you probably know me as the lady (or person, that's fine too) running all these goddamn polls. But ACTUALLY, I run a blog that discusses Blackness in media, specifically in character design!

Not necessarily "how to draw/write Black people"- you can follow and support a great many Black creators far better than I for that- but more of "how does your current perception and knowledge (or lack thereof) affect the way you create and perceive Black characters, and how to INTENTIONALLY guide that process".

A lot of nonblack creators and viewers don't understand (and sometimes even like) Black people or Blackness, to put it frank. And despite what you might think, that often manifests in what you create and how you respond to Black characters.

But, like I said before: it's okay to admit that you don't know what you don't know! As long as you take the time to do better once you do find out. I always say at the end of my lessons, "it's the thought that counts, but the action that delivers". For those of you ready to act, to do something to be a better creator (or at least a more understanding viewer) why not check my Syllabus on the pinned post out 👍🏾

P.S. no I don't do sensitivity readings!

[melshifting]

❝ ACADEMIC WEAPON ❞ ― ULTIMATE SCRIPTING PACK ⋆.˚ᝰ.ᐟ

❝ Of course, you got a perfect mark. Again. ❞

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱    Your ability to predict exam questions is almost scary. It’s not magic—you just pay attention to patterns, professors’ favorite topics, and how they phrase things.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱    Your memory works like a web—once you learn something, it connects to every related topic you’ve ever encountered.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱    Your handwriting is ridiculously fast yet still legible. You can take comprehensive notes in record time, capturing all the crucial information while barely looking down at the page.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱    You always find the most efficient way to complete assignments. If there’s a shortcut, a loophole, or a way to recycle previous work while staying original, you’ll find it.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱    You can glance at a page and mentally highlight the key information without actually using a highlighter—your brain just zones in on the critical bits.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱    You can speed-read without losing comprehension. It’s not just skimming—you can absorb information at twice the usual pace while still retaining all the key points.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱    You write/complete papers in record time without sacrificing quality—your brain automatically organizes ideas into a structured argument as you type.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱    You have an uncanny ability to break down complicated topics into simple, digestible explanations—so much so that when you teach a concept to someone else, they walk away thinking you’re a genius.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱    You don’t just memorize info—you internalize it. While others are cramming last-minute, you’re casually recalling facts like you lived them. Exams don’t scare you because the knowledge is already there.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱    Somehow, you can recall the most random yet relevant details when you need them. A footnote you saw two weeks ago? Your brain pulls it up like a perfectly timed search engine.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱    You never lose important documents—whether it’s notes, assignments, or an old syllabus. People come to you when they need to find something.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱    You have a sixth sense for deadlines. Even if something isn’t officially due for weeks, you just know when you need to start so you’re never scrambling last minute. Your future self always thanks you.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱    You can speed-watch lectures at 1.75x speed and still process every word. It’s not just passive listening—you absorb and retain the information, cutting your study time in half.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱    Your brain treats multiple-choice questions like a detective case—even if you (somehow) don’t know the answer, you can eliminate wrong ones with surgical precision, using logic, and wording cues.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱    Your time perception is elite. You can look at an assignment and instinctively know whether it will take 20 minutes or three hours. No guessing, no miscalculations.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱    You can absorb information simply by listening. You don’t need to obsessively take notes or rewatch lectures—your ability to retain knowledge through casual exposure is incredible.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱    You have a ridiculously good memory for anything academic. Even if you forget where you left your phone, you can recall a specific definition from a textbook you glanced at three weeks ago.

[panerasbox]

—CINNAMON SIN; 3 Days To Go

Pairing: Melissa Schemmenti x fem!Reader.

Genre: adult Student/Professor AU, Slow Burn, Age Gap, Power Dynamics, light smut

Word count: 1,804.

summary: You didn’t mean to fall for your political science professor. But Melissa Schemmenti—with her sharp tongue, red nails, and no-bullshit attitude—makes it hard not to.

30 DAYS OF MELISSA SCHEMMENTI MASTERLIST

You weren’t trying to get a crush on your professor.

Honestly, you weren’t.

You signed up for her class because it was the only political science elective left that didn’t meet at 8:00 AM. That was it. You hadn’t expected to find her interesting, much less attractive. And you definitely hadn’t expected her to be… Melissa Schemmenti.

Sharp voice, sharper eyes. Red nails, red pen, pressed slacks, and a presence that made everyone sit up straighter without her even asking. Her syllabus warned of no late work, no phones, and “no bullshit,” which you thought was a joke until you saw her deduct a full ten points when some sophomore tried to sneak a Snap during lecture.

You should’ve been terrified. And okay, maybe you were a little. But then she started talking about political theory in that Philly accent, voice just rough enough to curl around your ribs, and it was over.

You were screwed.

Not academically—your grades were fine. But mentally? Emotionally?

Screwed.

It wasn’t even the power thing that got you. You didn’t want to be the girl with the hot-for-teacher fantasy. But Melissa was different. She spoke like someone who’d lived it, seen it, survived it. Her lectures never felt like lectures. More like—well. Arguments. Stories. Like she wanted to teach you something real, not just feed you facts for the final.

You’d started going to office hours three weeks in, just for clarification on a reading. The first time you went, you’d nervously tried to organize your notes.

“Don’t worry,” she’d said, looking up from her desk. “You’re not in trouble. Not unless you’re about to tell me you didn’t read the damn article.”

You hadn’t, fully. But you blurted out the thesis anyway, and Melissa gave you a dry look before sliding a chair out for you.

From then on, it became a habit.

You’d show up with questions. Sometimes real ones, sometimes made-up. And she’d entertain them, eyebrow quirked, mouth tugging in a smile she rarely gave in class. She never crossed any lines. Never got too friendly. But something about the way she said your name… low and careful, like it was a secret she didn’t want to share… made you hope.

God help you, it made you hope.

You tried to be subtle about it. Really, you did.

You didn’t flirt. You didn’t linger. You didn’t add her on anything, and you never once said anything that could be twisted the wrong way. You told yourself it was a crush, not a problem. Temporary. Harmless.

But then the semester ended.

Grades were posted. Class was over. No more office hours, no more lectures.

And you felt… weirdly hollow.

It was ridiculous. You weren’t owed anything. You weren’t even sure she liked you like that. She was your professor, and you were her student—were. You hadn’t talked to her since finals week, and yet you kept checking your email like maybe she’d reach out.

She didn’t. Of course she didn’t.

You were just about ready to let it go when fate, in the form of caffeine withdrawal, shoved you into her again.

You walked into the off-campus coffee shop on a rainy Thursday, head down, hoodie up, only to freeze in the middle of the doorway.

There she was. At a corner table, sipping something from a to-go cup, book cracked open in one hand, glasses low on her nose.

You almost turned around. Almost ducked out, right back into the storm.

But then she looked up.

And smiled.

“Hey, look who’s alive,” she said, waving you over.

Your legs moved before your brain caught up. “Hey, Professor Schemmenti.”

“Melissa,” she corrected gently. “Class is over. You’re not my student anymore.”

You blinked. “Right. Of course. Hi… Melissa.”

It felt weird to say. Like getting away with something.

She nodded toward the counter. “Go grab your coffee. You can sit if you want. I’m just killin time.”

Your stomach flipped. Sit if you want. Not a command. Not a test. An invitation.

So you sat.

And for the next forty minutes, you talked about everything but class.

You made her laugh. You’re sure you did. You’d never heard it in class—not like this.

And when you finally stood to go, half-reluctant, she surprised you again.

“You know,” she said, standing too, “if you ever want help with that thesis, I still got an office.”

You hesitated. “You mean… I could come by?”

“I mean, I’ve got free time between lectures on Tuesdays and Thursdays. And you’re an adult. I can talk to whoever I damn well please.”

That smile again. Half-smirk, half-something else.

You smiled back. “Okay. I’ll stop by.”

It started again, after that.

Sometimes it was coffee. Sometimes her office. Once, you went for a walk around campus, both of you needing fresh air.

She never made a move. Never even hinted.

But her eyes lingered longer now. Her compliments were quieter. When she laughed, she didn’t look away.

And one day, after a long conversation about the ethics of local politics, she said, “You know, you really got a mind for this. Sharp as hell.”

“Thanks,” you said, flushed.

She looked down at your hands. “You ever think about going into public policy?”

You laughed softly. “I think about a lot of things.”

“Yeah?” she asked, voice low. “What else you thinkin about?”

Your breath caught.

“Melissa,” you said carefully, “is this… something?”

She was quiet for a second. “Would it scare you if it was?”

You shook your head.

“Would it screw up your future if it was?”

You hesitated—only briefly—then shook your head again. “I’m not your student anymore. You said so yourself.”

Melissa exhaled, like she’d been holding her breath for weeks. “Then yeah. I guess it is something.”

And then, finally, she kissed you.

It wasn’t frantic. It wasn’t rushed. Just warm, steady, and careful, like she’d wanted to take her time getting there. Her hands were soft on your waist, her mouth sure and gentle and entirely unfair.

When she pulled back, you felt drunk on something that wasn’t caffeine or nerves.

“I’m still a hardass,” she said quietly. “I still don’t take any bullshit. That’s not gonna change.”

You grinned. “Good. I’d be disappointed if it did.”

She chuckled. “You’re a smartass.”

“Also not gonna change.”

“Guess we’ll figure it out.”

Her office is technically closed. The door says as much, in the little laminated sign she flips to OFFICE HOURS OVER — GO AWAY UNLESS YOU’RE BLEEDING.

But she’s still here. And so are you.

The lights are dim — just the desk lamp and the dusky glow of early evening through the blinds. You can hear the hum of the heating unit and the way the campus outside is finally starting to quiet. No more students passing by. No more eyes.

Just her. And you.

Melissa’s leaned back against her desk, arms crossed, watching you like she’s waiting for you to make the next move.

You don’t. You’re too focused on the fact that her blouse is undone at the top, just enough to see the curve of her collarbone, and her heels are off — a subtle but potent reminder that she’s comfortable around you now. That maybe she’s not your professor anymore, but you still get that same thrill in your chest whenever she looks at you like that.

“You’re staring,” she says, low.

You smile. “Can you blame me?”

She pushes off the desk and walks toward you with slow, deliberate steps, like a cat that already knows it’s won.

“Could say the same about you, sweetheart,” she murmurs. “You’ve been looking at me like I’m a final exam you wanna ace.”

“Maybe I do.”

She stops right in front of you, just close enough that you feel the warmth of her body. She smells like expensive perfume and coffee and something faintly spicy, like cinnamon and sin.

“You really wanna start something in my office?” she asks, raising a brow. “Because if you do… you better be ready to finish it.”

Your heart kicks up in your chest. “I’m ready.”

That’s all it takes.

She kisses you again like she’s been waiting for it — like she’s earned it. Her hand comes up to your jaw, tilting your face just right as her lips slot against yours, slow and deep. There’s no rush, no frantic movement, just heat.

Her other hand finds your waist, tugging you closer until your hips press into hers. You can feel the strength in her body, like she’s still in charge even though you’re the one who walked in.

You don’t mind. In fact, you kind of like it.

Melissa pulls back just enough to whisper against your mouth, “Been thinkin’ about this since midterms. You, sitting across from me with those wide eyes… acting all innocent.”

Your cheeks burn. “I was innocent.”

“Oh, hon,” she says, low and dark, “you still are. But you’re in good hands.”

She kisses you again — harder this time. And then she walks you backward, slow and steady, until the backs of your thighs hit her desk. She lifts you onto it like it’s nothing, like she’s done it before. Maybe she has — but you’re willing to bet not like this.

Her hands slide under your shirt, palms warm on your skin. She lifts the fabric slowly, like unwrapping a present, watching your face the whole time.

“You can tell me to stop,” she says, even as her fingers drift higher. “I’ll stop. Say the word.”

You shake your head. “Don’t stop.”

Her mouth finds your neck, kissing a line up to your ear as her fingers unbutton your top. “Good girl.”

You gasp at the praise. She smiles against your skin.

She takes her time. Touches you like she’s memorizing something, like she doesn’t want to miss a single inch. You moan when she presses kisses to your chest, and again when her hands slide between your thighs, coaxing you open without ever pushing too fast.

Melissa looks up at you, her voice a rasp, “You wanna be loud, baby, or quiet?”

“I—quiet,” you breathe. “Just in case.”

“Shame,” she says with a smirk, fingers brushing where you’re warmest, “I bet I’d like it when you’re loud.”

And then she proves it — slowly, thoroughly, until you’re shaking and clinging to her, your body arching off her desk, muffled whimpers falling against her shoulder.

When it’s over, she presses a kiss to your temple, smoothing your hair back like she’s not the one who just ruined you in the span of ten minutes.

You don’t speak for a while.

Then finally, you say, dazed, “You do this with all your former students?”

She smirks. “Just the ones who show up to office hours lookin’ like trouble.”

[blouisparadise]

Here are some amazing bottom Louis fics that were posted or completed during the month of April. We really hope you enjoy this list. Happy reading!

1) Aww, Is That A Baby Bump? | Explicit | 1,444 words

Louis and Harry were trying for a baby. Yes, that’s exactly why they ended up fucking in the garage before heading to the baby store. (Wait, did I mention they fucked on Harry’s motorbike?) And if Louis’ cum-filled belly got mistaken for a baby bump—well, he wasn’t about to correct anyone.

2) Consumed By Tease | Mature | 1,621 words

Just Harry and Louis happily married and fucking.

3) Storm | Explicit | 1,703 words

Louis is afraid of storms. Thank God that he has Harry who can take his mind off the weather.

4) Zayn For The Day | Mature | 2,604 words

Note: The main pairing is Louis/Zayn Malik. 

The interview where Louis says “I’ll take Zayn for the day but I don’t think I’ll be able to, handle him at night.”

5) Pretty Little Secret | Explicit | 4,806 words

'That was me,' is all Louis’ message says. So Liam quickly types out a response, 'what? did you mean to send that to me?' 'Yes,' Louis replies back with an eyeroll emoji and then, 'The pictures I showed you the other night. That was me.'

6) Mustachrry | Explicit | 5,187 words

Note: There are BH and TL mentions in this fic.

FWB AU where Harry’s mustache gets Louis going.

7) Can Never Be Too Rough (Hand on My Throat, Cross Around My Neck) | Mature | 5,202 words

Louis is a widow to a mobster just trying to take it one day at a time. Harry wants him for himself.

8) Parlez-Vous | Explicit | 6,923 words

The syllabus for "Theatre Technique 101" said "immersive character work," but Louis hadn’t expected to be halfway to a mental breakdown over the first individual assignment. Desperate to not bomb his first chance to prove himself as an actor, he decides to suck it up and ask his professor for help. He gets a lot more than he expected.

9) Words Ain’t Good Enough | Explicit | 10,697 words

Louis lifts his beer and smirks faintly. “None of you’ve ever been with a male omega, right? Well…” He leans back against the couch. “I’m willing to be your first.” Silence. Not uncomfortable, but stunned. Heavy. Like the air’s been sucked out of the room all at once and no one quite knows how to breathe just yet. Zayn blinks first, eyebrows slowly rising. “You’re serious?” Louis shrugs, casual even though his heart’s racing. “Why not? Eleanor’s already moved on—hasn’t even let my side of the bed go cold—and honestly, a good lay is exactly what I need to get over her. And what better way to forget an alpha who broke my heart than letting four new ones fuck me at the same time?” He smiles, teeth and edge.

10) Cherry Cherry Lady | Explicit | 11,600 words

Working in the sex industry, Louis and Harry didn't think they would be able to meet and even less to collaborate. As it turns out, unplanned things can bring a lot of joy into their life.

11) Room 214 | Mature | 14,207 words

Louis doesn't like guys. Not really. Harry's not in love. Probably. Room 214 was just a dorm assignment. But by the end of the year, it's the only thing either of them knows how to hold onto.

12) Behind Closed Doors | Explicit | 15,489 words

Louis Tomlinson, online celebrity, lands a gig interviewing celebrities on the Met Gala red carpet for Vogue. One of those celebrities ends up being Harry Styles who, to everyone's surprise, starts unabashedly flirting with him. The footage of their exchange goes viral, and the internet goes wild. Louis finds himself in a situation he could never anticipate.

13) Just A Little Bit | Explicit | 20,401 words

1. You’re born 2. You grow up 3. You stalk 4. You accidentally like a photo from 2017 5. You die

14) Omegalink | Explicit | 24,201 words

Omegalink. It was a very rare occurrence, the existence of two omegas so inextricably linked that they couldn't be separated. It would always be the two of them, together until the end. They'd draw their last breaths within days of each other, unable to survive without the other. Louis felt lucky, incredibly so. But they both wanted alphas.

15) Searching For You In Every Neck | Explicit | 25,167 words

When Louis is offered a chance to go to Paris for a year, Harry knows his inner Alpha can't take the distance from his omega. He still decides to try and be strong for the love of his life, letting him go do his dream job. But sometimes, maybe the best thing to do for a relationship is to be a little bit selfish...

16) My Guardian Angel | Mature | 25,745 words

Louis has never trusted doctors. They talk too much, leave too fast, and never stay when it matters. But then there’s Harry.

17) You Make Me Strong | Not Rated | 27,114 words

Louis is a grieving musician. Harry is a burnt-out ER doctor. A chaotic meet-cute becomes something softer—Friday rituals, morning coffees, and slow love built through grief, laughter, and trust. They’re messy, healing, falling in love, and learning how to hold each other.

18) But I Won't Feel Blue | Not Rated | 33,808 words

"Sam Claflin," Then the second. "Bill Skarsgard." And finally, the third. She hesitated, holding it for a moment longer, then let it go. "Harry Styles." With the final letter sent, there was no turning back now. Whatever happened next, Lilah was ready to face it.

19) Note To Self | Explicit | 42,400 words

Canon Soulmate Omega Verse that takes place July 14th-19th, 2024. Soulmates are real, but rare and are discovered when the two lace fingers. Omega Louis had spent his career (in One Direction and solo) acting as an alpha, signing a contract as soon as he presented as an omega to keep it a secret except from his immediate family and management. His bandmates did not know. When he saw Harry for the first time in many years at the Euro finals, and Harry grabs Louis' hand, lacing their fingers abruptly to help him out of the way of a drunken fan. They immediately know. Louis has a week before his next festival, and Harry is in Scotland for a wedding with his family. Not wanting to leave things unfinished (and stopping his suppressants for the first time in 13 years), Louis flies to Scotland, interrupts the family vacation, and they spend three days together talking, confessing, knotting, while Louis works through the side effects of coming off the pills.

20) When You Love Someone | Not Rated | 50,129 words

Mob AU.

21) You've Begun To Feel Like Home | Explicit | 65,564 words

When mermaid Louis accidentally gets caught in a fishing net and brought up to the surface, he finds himself stuck as a human. He doesn't know anything about this world, doesn't even know how to walk. All he knows is that he's lucky Harry was the fisherman who caught him and offered him a place to stay. As the prince of his underwater kingdom, Louis has never had a friend. His only close relationships were with his mum and his abusive father. But Harry... he's special. He's different. He's everything.

22) Every Breath You Take | Explicit | 68,241 words

There’s noise on the other side of the door. A chair, screeching against wood floors. Then footsteps, stumbling closer. Someone comes marching in, eyes trained on Liam, and pushes him aside to turn the thing off with a swift flick of a switch. Louis’ heart leaps into his throat. He grips the duvet that’s been bunched up at the foot of the bed and yanks it up around himself. Maybe it’s too much movement too fast because he goes dizzy, black dots speckling his vision. When Harry finally turns around, Louis thinks he’s about to pass out. What the fuck. What the fuck. “We couldn’t go anywhere else,” Louis thinks he hears Liam say, beneath the current of his own blood rushing through his ears. “Louis? Lou?”

23) Hit The Wall | Explicit | 70,424 words

Harry's has good intentions. He spends his days helping abused omegas at OCARE and popping pills to keep his hormones in check. Unfortunately, his focus at work means he unintentionally neglects his long-term boyfriend and omega, Louis. When something terrible happens to Louis, causing him to go feral, Harry has to protect his omega. Not only from himself, but from a government who rounds up feral individuals. The only issue is, he's out of his pills and Louis doesn't recognize him.

24) Bound By Time | Explicit | 128,868 words

Louis gritted his teeth. "I hate you." "Mm," Harry mused, dipping his head slightly as they turned. His nose brushed dangerously close to Louis' temple. "That why your heart's racing?" Louis flushed. "It's not." "Sure," Harry said, but he didn't sound convinced. Louis wanted to shove him away, wanted to sneer something back, but the problem was that he didn't. He didn't move, he didn't step out of Harry's hold. His fingers curled slightly around Harry's hand, betraying him.

25) These Telltale Tickings | Explicit | 1,424 words

Louis Tomlinson was never meant to be a viscount. His name, his title, his legacy—none of it is truly his. But the Ton does not know that. Not yet. For years, he has kept his distance, doing his duties from his family’s estate in the countryside, far from prying eyes and sharper tongues. But with his eldest sister’s debut, his return to London is inevitable. He has a goal in mind: secure a match for Lottie, ensure his family’s future, and leave before anyone can uncover the truth. Duke Harry Styles has never been one for polite society. A rake with little interest in marriage or mindless gossip, he prefers to keep others at arm’s length. But there is something about Viscount Tomlinson—his guarded words, his careful steps, the undeniable sense that he is hiding something—that Harry cannot ignore. The longer Louis stays, the closer the truth comes to the surface. And the closer Harry gets, the harder it is to remember why he was meant to leave in the first place.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

You can find other monthly roundup fic rec lists here.

[another-fantasy-world]

headcanons for your latest fic please 🥺🥺

Your wish is my command 🫡 anything for you 🫣

-> student!agathario x professor!reader hcs

-> random thoughts that are canon but may or may not appear in the series

-> minors do not interact pls

A little more about the reader and your reputation:

Students fear you. Like a lot.

They drop out of your class like flies

Your unrelenting standards make even the smartest nerds fall down to their knees and beg

Yet, unlike Pietro, you won last year's poll of "most attractive female professor"

You could care less about it but you do admit it stroked your ego

That same insignificant student poll was the reason Agatha and Rio chose your class.

Yes, that's right. It wasn't an accident, it was on purpose. They heard about you, saw what you looked like, and knew how much younger you are and yet you still manage to have the very same doctorates degree that they're aiming for? Yeah, they're going to break you.

They're not in your class for their grades, they're here for the thrill of making you stumble

Agatha loves a challenge, she wants to see you unravel, tear apart at the seams, she wants to see you melt in her hands.

Rio, on the other hand, loves driving you insane. She wants to know everything about you, she wants you completely. She already knows that you want her, the only mission she has is making you realize that.

Together, they want to see how much you can bend before completely breaking apart for them. They meet your eyes and hold it, and now you're the one squirming under their intense gaze.

Your sharp tongue, quick wit, and academic arrogance entertains them.

Let's face it, you're already their pet the moment you step foot into your own classroom.

They're definitely the first ones to arrive and the last to leave.

Everytime they leave, the room practically smells like them, which leaves your knees weak as you gather your things up.

Agatha smells like an old library at midnight: Dark amber, smoke, ancient leather, black currant, and a whisper of something herbal mixed with old books

Rio smells clean, but sharp, like something precise and disciplined. Masculine-leaning but elegant. Spicy, metallic, with a citrus bite.

If Agatha is the heat of a hidden fire, Rio is the cut of a blade kept in ice.

They drive you absolutely nuts especially while you teach

They love to call your attention when you assign classworks

"Professor, can you elaborate this part?"

You bend down to read the part she points at, only for her to brush her fingers against the shell of your ears

Agatha would bristle, getting competitive and she practically steals your attention with her honeyed voice.

"Professor, can you check if my work is correct?" She asks, knowing full well that it is.

She pulls her top down slightly and practically grins at the way your eyes flutter to her tits before stuttering out a reply

They're the only students in your whole academic career to ever ace your exam.

Your hands shiver with annoyance and exasperation, damn near looking for any mistake, any at all, yet finding nothing.

You end up enduring their accomplished smirk when they saw their graded paper.

Agatha toys with you, in a very intellectual way. Flirts through literature too.

She lingers after lectures, asking deceptively simple questions that make you second-guess your own syllabus.

Her handwriting in your margins during peer reviews is annoyingly elegant.

And she always finds the one blind spot in your logic.

She references erotic passages from obscure texts mid-class with a smirk.

Once she quoted Sappho while holding your gaze, and your voice cracked reading the next line.

She noticed. So did Rio.

Rio drives you mad with her playing the long game.

She’s quiet in class, but her essays are razor-sharp and personal in a way that feels invasive.

She sits like a statue, always watching. Yet her smirks are sharp and recognizable.

She acts like she's the natural order of things, like you will inevitably fall down on her lap and she will eat you (out) on a silver platter.

Rio tests your rules too.

She arrives late on purpose, lounging into her seat with an apology laced in irony.

She submits a paper that flirts with plagiarism just to see how far you’ll push back.

She smiles when you do. It’s a war of attrition. You're not winning.

She once submitted a paper referencing her own work, and Agatha's as well.

You asked her to re-write it.

Agatha and Rio sees you as a burnt out academic achiever that has everything she wanted but has nothing she truly needed.

They know that beneath your well-kept facade, lies a girl who can barely take care of herself.

You're like a fawn in their eyes.

They adore the way your knees shake when they do something they know will get on your nerves.

Like what @saphiccarma put in her hcs Rio nibbles on her pens and pencils a lot. It started as a hobby, but she noticed how you and Agatha practically drool over the way her lips look, she does it so much yet it never loses impact

Agatha, however, likes flexing her hands. She loves putting her fingers in her mouth as she pretends to ponder about what you lectured. She plays with her pens, twirling it around her fingers like magic.

They hog your office hours to be honest. Well, not like any other student goes to your office hours in the first place.

And they never book appointments, which infuriates you. They just appear. Leaning against your doorframe like sin and shadow. Sometimes alone, sometimes together.

You hate how your heart rate jumps at the sight of them.

You hate how they notice.

Later on in your relationship, they disregard your office hours entirely.

Rio perches on your lap like a cat, demanding your attention and taking it forcibly if you still stubbornly grade papers

Like how could you? She's right there?!

Agatha, on the other hand, waltzes into your office with coffee in hand.

She coos when you drink it like it's the one thing holding you together.

And then she makes you fall apart with her words.

"Come on sunshine, lighten up. We wouldn't want our pet to look like they lived longer than they have" She says as she drives her fingers into your shoulders, undoing every knot that settled into your bones.

There are days when they just lounge in your office, claiming the couch you placed there for naps. They often do their work there, quiet and productive.

You bathe in their presence when that happens.

It's so easy to forget that they're actually established individuals when all they do is tease the shit out of you

THEY LOVE ACCIDENTALLY BRUSHING YOUR SKIN

and then they smirk when they see the way you either flinch, or freeze up.

Later on in your relationship, especially when they finished your course, they invite you to academic gatherings where they parade you around as their little genius pet girlfriend.

NSFW

You also support their conferences and guest lectures, hanging on their every word and sometimes giving them a taste of their own medicine.

Rio calls Agatha "Witch", "Darling", and "Lover"

She calls you "Professor", "Chick", and "Darling"

Agatha calls Rio "Bitch", "Brat", and "Love"

She calls you "Pet", "Sunshine", and "Darling"

Oh my god, you dream about them so much it drives you to the brink of insanity.

Sometimes you dream about putting Rio in her place, making her mewl in your lap as you paint her ass red.

Sometimes you dream about them dragging you to your own desk in your own classroom, making you completely undone under their oh-so-heavy gaze.

Sometimes you dream about commanding them to kneel in front of your desk in the privacy of your on office while you make them wait as you checked numerous exams. The only sounds that cut through the air are the scratches of your pen, faint vibration, and soft moans.

You can't even count the number of times you woke up sweating bullets and shaking from sexual frustration.

They used to wear sinfully attractive outfits that make your eyes wander to them every so often during lectures.

Yet they don't wear outright seductive things.

Not until you gave into them.

The day after you established your relationship with them, Rio wore tight fucking faux leather pants that made you do a double take and wonder if you could slap her with a dress code warning. It didn't help that her white top was messily tucked in her pants, and a few buttons were undone.

If you looked closer, you could see marks, purple marks peeking through.

Not that Agatha was better, she wore a fucking short skirt that was barely acceptable yet it was long enough that you didn't have the grounds to dress code her.

The day after that however, they wore matching suits. Agatha with her lavender blazer and Rio with her moss green coat.

You canceled discussion that day and opted for classwork instead, not trusting yourself with talking over a long period of time with them looking like that.

They later told you that it was for a press conference.

Agatha is all about psychological unraveling.

She whispers filthy things in your ear while still using academic language

“Tell me, professor, is this the kind of ‘close reading’ you assign your students?” as she pins you to your chair.

She knows the exact tone to use to make your knees buckle; condescending, clinical, cruel.

She bites, scratches, leaves love bruises in places only you can see.

It’s not just for her, it’s a warning. A signature.

You wear scarves in meetings and avoid mirrors because you like seeing what she’s done to you, and it terrifies you.

Agatha never relinquishes control.

Not even when she’s letting you ride her thigh or letting Rio top you for a moment.

She’s watching. Guiding. Controlling the pace, the rhythm, the outcome, everything.

“Good girl. Now make her beg,”

Her voice is velvet and venom.

And you’ll do it, because there’s no edge to her dominance. It’s inevitable.

She likes restraint. Silk ropes, fluffy purple cuffs, you name it, she probably has it.

When you're the one topping Rio, Agatha will whisper filthy encouragement in your ear

“Look at her, darling. You’ve ruined her so well. Think she deserves to come?”

She wants you to take control, but only under her command.

Your dominance is another weapon she uses.

You burn under Agatha's gaze

She cups your chin and says, “Down.”

She makes you read poetry while she fingers you slow and deep until you cry.

On the contrary, Rio takes her time.

She makes you beg without ever saying a word.

Her favorite game is pushing you to the edge with just her voice and a single hand under your shirt, completely calm, like she’s reading from a syllabus.

She praises your reactions like they’re test scores.

“There it is. Good girl.”

Rio uses your own rules against you.

“No extensions, no exceptions.”

She repeats your words mockingly as she pins you down, mouth dragging down your thigh.

“Submit it on time, or take the punishment.”

The lines blur between academic dominance and something much filthier.

Rio lives to toe the line. She’ll act up just enough to provoke you or Agatha

She's a brat, through and through.

She bites her lip as she rolls her eyes, feigning disinterest when she's soaked through her silk boxers.

Yes boxers. I said what I said.

With you, she’ll challenge your authority; legs spread, head tilted, voice saccharine as she purrs, “Is that all you’ve got, professor?”

But the moment you press her into the mattress with a hand at her throat or shove her over your desk, her breath catches and her eyes go hazy.

She melts under firm control.

You love making Rio squirm, pinning her wrists, whispering, “What was that, Vidal?” as you grind down on her.

Her bratty little whines are your reward.

When Agatha’s in charge, though? Rio brats harder.

She wants Agatha’s attention like a starving feral thing, pulling her hair, biting her thigh, whispering filthy things under her breath until Agatha snaps and punishes her.

She whines when she’s denied.

They don’t wait until after hours.

She thrives on teasing you until you can't take it and ruin her.

You’ve tied her up while Agatha watched from your office chair, legs crossed, humming in approval. “Don’t be gentle,” she told you. “She likes to be handled.”

You often lock the door during “consultation time” and let them ruin you between your annotated texts.

There’s something sinful about getting fucked against a pile of ungraded essays, groaning into a stolen department-issued uniform cardigan.

the cardigan belongs wanda and they fuck you in it while you drown in their jealousy and possessiveness

When they’ve bracketed you in the dark of your locked office, your breath shallow and your buttons undone, they smell like sex and power. Amber and iron. Wine and smoke.

Like something ancient and indulgent, like you’ve stepped into a forbidden room and closed the door behind you.

You smell them, and you forget your name for a second.

They never let you finish first.

That’s the game. They take you apart with lips and fingers, edge you until you’re trembling, then stop.

They want you desperate, breathless, begging.

Only when you say please, really say it and mean it, do they give you what you want. sometimes.

There are nights where you’re sandwiched between them, overwhelmed, overstimulated, completely at their mercy.

Agatha mouths wicked things against your throat while Rio holds your wrists and counts every moan like it’s part of a lesson plan.

They like your strength. Your bite. Your fire. But what they love, is watching it flicker

Watching you gasp their names when you swore you never would.

They don’t want to just own you. They want you to choose surrender. To be theirs. To sign your own signature. And you will.

AFTERCARE

Aftercare is… unconventional, but sweet. Aftercare is layered. Aftercare with them varies.

She still looks at you like she owns every inch of your soul, but her hands get gentler, her voice a rich velvet murmur.

Agatha’s intensity doesn’t drop, it shifts. From commanding to consuming.

She's cool and collected, brushing hair away from sweaty foreheads.

She’s already got a plush towel, a glass of water, and a cooling salve waiting on the nightstand

She's also methodical, almost ritualistic. Every action is precise. She doesn’t rush, doesn’t fluster.

Everything is under control, and that soothes you more than anything.

Of course she planned this scene days ago.

She reads your body like scripture, checking your breathing, the tremble in your thighs, how your fingers twitch.

She reads your needs before you voice them.

Her hands are slow and grounding as she traces soft circles on your spine.

Her voice drops to a near whisper low, rich, and reverent, even as she puff out clouds of smoke

Agatha lights a cigarette and reads from a banned book in your bed.

“You did so well, darling. You’re mine. You’re safe.”

She kisses your temple like a benediction, wipes you clean with a warm cloth, and curls around you protectively, like she’s shielding you from the world.

If she submits, Rio melts post-scene.

She’ll hold you until you fall asleep, whispering affirmations in a cadence that feels half-spell, half-prayer.

“That’s it, darling. Come back to me.”

She relearns your body, Her hands never stop moving; your shoulders, your thighs, your spine.

“Breathe, little one. I’ve got you. I always have.”

“You’re mine. You belong to me. And I take care of what’s mine.”

“You need anything, you tell me. Doesn’t matter how small.”

With Rio, Agatha’s aftercare is layered with emotion. There’s history in her touches. A kind of quiet awe.

She kisses Rio’s fingers, one by one and holds her face.

“You were so good for me, cariño. So brave.”

Sometimes Rio tries to act tough after, still playful, still cocky,but Agatha sees right through it.

“Don’t hide from me, Rio. Not now.”

And Rio melts every time.

She’s boneless, flushed, eyes soft, completely undone. Her bratty act drops, and she gets clingy as hell.

She drapes herself over you like a cat, arms wrapped around your waist

“You wrecked me… hope you’re proud of yourself.”

You are.

There are times when she’s all whimpers and praises afterward, burrowing under the sheets with a dazed grin

“God, I love it when you’re mean to me.”

If she was dominant, she’ll joke about it while sneaking kisses to your shoulders.

she’ll straddle your waist after, teasingly tracing the red lines you left on her thighs.

You’ll feel the soft burn of power still lingering, and she’ll keep it light, but there’s real reverence in the way she kisses you after.

Rio sometimes makes you tea and asks questions like, “What did you learn today, professor?” as she strokes your thigh.

She’ll lift your chin and kiss you slow, almost reverently.

“Breathe, baby. You did so well for me.”

She’ll wrap you in one of her softest shirts; worn, warm, smelling like cedar, vetiver, and skin.

She guides you to straddle her lap, holding you close, grounding you against her heartbeat.

“You’re not leaving this bed until I’m sure every inch of you feels mine again.”

Takes great pride in rebuilding you after sex.

“I don’t care how wrecked you are. You're still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever ruined.”

She loves when you hold her, even if she played a dominant role

Stroke her hair and whisper sweet things because it makes her feel safe enough to show the soft, needy core she hides behind her sass.

For Agatha, even if she's still domme-aligned, Rio knows when she’s in that hazy, raw state after a scene.

She’ll take Agatha’s chin in her hand, kiss the corner of her mouth

“Let me hold you, witch.”

Agatha might resist, might grumblebut she always ends up lying between Rio’s legs, her head on Rio’s chest

Rio’s fingers stroking through her hair while you spoon her from behind.

Rio will hum, low and soothing, her voice like a lullaby only Agatha and you get to hear.

“Look at you two. Gorgeous messes. All mine.”

“You both let go for me. You trusted me. That means everything.”

She traces the bruises and bite marks she left behind like she’s admiring artwork, her artwork. All hers.

Every kiss is grounding. Every whisper is ownership. But not just of your bodies, of the bond between the three of you.

But then there are times where Agatha needs the aftercare

She doesn’t ask. Not verbally. Not directly.

But you feel it; the stiffness in her body after, the way her breathing falters, how her voice is just a touch hoarser.

Her façade might still be intact, but she clutches your wrist just a little tighter when you try to pull away.

That’s your signal.

You guide her to lie down, and she protests but her body sags the moment her head hits the pillow.

You’re gentle. Commanding. You stroke her hair and say:

“No. You gave us everything. Now let us give you something back.”

Rio joins in, slipping behind Agatha to spoon her from behind, whispering softly against her ear:

“You were perfect. You don’t always have to hold us up, you know.”

Agatha doesn’t cry, but her eyes glisten. And when you kiss the inside of her wrist or her temple, she leans into it with quiet desperation.

She likes being cradled. She’ll never say it out loud, but the feeling of you and Rio holding her between your bodies makes her feel safe in a way she rarely allows herself to experience.

Soft fabrics. Candlelight. Low murmured voices. It’s like she needs the world to shrink down to only you two, just for a while.

She won’t talk much unless you prompt her.

But if you ask: “What do you need right now?”

She might just whisper, “Don’t leave.”

You pepper kisses along her spine.

You massage the ache from her shoulders, whispering:

“Let me take care of you. You don’t have to be anything right now.”

She’ll melt, slowly. Her hands will go slack. Her breaths deeper.

She may never openly ask for that kind of aftercare but now you know. And so does Rio. And it changes the way you read her silences.

did i use this post as a cheat sheet for the rest of this series? yes

Sometimes, you feel less like a teacher, more like their prize.

Yet they assure you endlessly

They double team the tenderness. Agatha spoons you from behind, hand stroking over your chest, while Rio lies facing you, pressing kisses along your collarbone.

Agatha grounds you. Rio distracts you.

One calms the ache in your bones, the other makes you laugh while still glowing with warmth.

They both check in afterward—asking what you need, whether it’s food, cuddles, a hot bath, or silence. And they deliver.

Post-threesome? The three of you end up tangled in satin sheets, naked and half-asleep, limbs tangled.

Agatha’s on one side, Rio on the other, both pressing into you like you’re the anchor that keeps them steady.

Agatha runs her fingers through your hair while Rio softly sings under her breath in Sokovian, not even realizing she’s doing it.

you tease her later that she learned it from wanda which made agatha punish the both of you for your sheer audacity

No one moves until someone absolutely has to. And even then, it’s with kisses, grumbles, and a promise to pick up where you left off.

[degenerateworm]

Video games with Wesker!

I am a video game haver and player baby, so you bet my wormy ass I'm going to make some headcanons about playing games with my favourite man!

---

Wesker knows you like to play video games. Of course he does, when often you talk with him about your favourites; the lore, your favourite characters, your favourite mechanics, your gripes and least favourite things...

It's not that Albert has never been interested in them. He's just never had the time. Ever since you started dating him you've realised how much he neglects his own recreational time, so you aren't surprised that he wouldn't know much about something solely made for that purpose.

So you decided to introduce him to it. And, because he loves you, he lets you.

---

At first, he fails to see the point in it, because he's Albert fucking Wesker™, and he has things to do. But like always, you remind him that recreational time is important for one's health, making him huff and nod begrudgingly.

After a while, he starts to stare intensely at the screen as you play, pointing out things that you might have missed, and helping you with things you may not be the best at.

Albert Backseat Gamer Wesker.

And when you give him the controller, he has a small smile on his face, quickly getting used to the controls as you snuggle in beside him on the couch.

Although he does grumble a bit about having to take off his gloves to better play. And you know that this man, a master spy and infiltrator, would know how to work a keyboard and mouse.

---

The first game I see Albert really enjoy playing, is ironically, Project Zomboid. He likes the difficulty and realism of it, plus you bet my wormy ass he loves grinding out tedious tasks and zoning out, like body disposal and loot organising.

I feel like he would like crafting/survival games the most, but mainly realistic ones; so I don't think you'd find him playing Terraria or Minecraft anytime soon. Things like The Long Dark as well, awful situations are his favourites.

Wesker likes to take the lead in these games, assigning roles to each of you and making strategies for better survival.

When Albert likes a game though, he studies it like a syllabus. You know he would have memorised all of the exploits and timings for things.

---

Sometimes he ventures out into other games, but only if they are very in depth and thought out. You will almost never see him playing a fantasy, especially an RPG, because who else would he be other than himself? He doesn't have a very big imagination in these things.

So it's crazy when he tells you he's downloaded Baldur's Gate 3, and he wants you to play it with him.

Probably goes with the default appearance of races, although he finds out how to min max his character FAST. He'll find it hard to get into the roleplay aspect of it, so he will often ask you to talk to the npcs.

Doesn't bother with the Romance options, but he surprisingly doesn't mind when you go for them. Just be ready for his teasing, no matter who you choose.

---

If you want to play multiplayer online with him though, he will be a bit cautious. You'll have to explain to him that he can talk through text chat, and not have his voice on file.

He can even use a VPN if he wants! After that, Wesker will once again relent. After all, you've introduced him to a lot of nice things so far.

I don't actually know what kind of online games Wesker would like. I'm thinking simple team FPS ones would be the ones he gravitates to first; things like Overwatch and Apex Legends so that he can play with you.

He likes to turn off the voice volume for most of it, as the characters annoy him.

Usually stays in a discord call with you, but sometimes he orders his team around in text chat.

Or chats shit to someone if they're bad. You just KNOW he would make up the best roasts.

---

He doesn't see the appeal of single player games, other than to tell a story. If he wanted that, Wesker would just read a book.

But... Horror games. He won't tell you this, but some games of this genre give him ideas.

Maybe Wesker could bring this up in his lab later on...

---

THIS WAS ENTIRELY SELF INDULGENT PLEASE AND THANK YOU :D

[randomdwellerr]

A/N: i think I’ve fallen victim to the A03 writers curse as I dropped my beautiful computer down the stairs early this week. Anyways I hope yall enjoy a nice slow burn because I was 3500 words in like “I STILL HAVEN’T ADDED THE SMUT.” I think I did dumbification justice here but lmk ofc. Anyways this will be on A03 soon enough.

Office hours

Warnings: Dumbification, DubCon, Power Imbalances, cruel Zhongli lowkey, Spanking, Degradation. Lmk if I missed anything ❤️

Make sure to study chapters 9-10, 13, and 14 in your Geography Book and come prepared to discuss your findings next class.

Yeah right, if only the reading was comprehensible! The paragraphs about climatology jumbled together before flying off the pages, toward different corners of your room.

You’d studied so hard that when you squinted your eyes, it didn’t provide you with a clearer look, but instead blurred further. Only when you blink rapidly would the fog temporarily dissipate from view. At this point, you were one eye rub away from convincing yourself that this was a visual impairment, not a school related mental breakdown.

And that wasn’t the worst of it, your hands had begun to cramp from gripping your highlighter or pen while you frantically tried to write to retain some of the knowledge. That’s when you knew things were going downhill.

And to the surprise of no one, that didn’t work.

What was once a well organized notebook was now filled with scribbles or yellow streaks— and occasionally tears— as you continued to hunch over your desk.

You were— are a good student. B average, nice scholarship, advanced placement, everything had been going nicely but a stupid geography had been your downfall.

You didn’t intend on doing anything related to the subject when you took the class, and you surely weren’t now that you had a taste of the stress, but you had signed up for the class with a bit of peer pressure from your friends.

It was easy they said, we’d see each other more they claimed. If you could go back in time, you would warn yourself that only the latter was true, and only for a while anyway.

The first day of class in the crowded auditorium, you’d secured a plush seat with your group of friends. You’d figure the class would be easy enough, you’d taken a handle full of history classes through high school and now college.It didn’t hurt that Professor Zhongli was easy on the eyes—and the ears. His deep, rumbling voice paired with sharp hazel eyes was enough to distract you. And then there was that long ponytail, somehow managing to look both professional and a little magical when it caught the light. Oh, and an empty ring finger.

Honestly, if the whole teaching thing didn’t work out for him, envisioning Zhongli as a model wasn’t hard.

Everything started out fine. The first quiz had been easy enough, based on the contents of the syllabus Mr Zhongli passed out on the first day of classes.

After that, the harder stuff started. Climatology, Geomorphology, Hydrology, every single horrific

topic, that you couldn’t comprehend. The first couple class days, you would joke around with your friends, listen to music, anything else but study in the designated time. Your teacher however, never said anything, never called on you to answer a question, read aloud, nothing. If you doubted before he knew your name, you were sure he didn’t know it now.

When the second test came around, you knew you’d made a grave mistake, not only by not taking the class seriously but actually signing up for the class in the first place. A fat F, circled in red ink, rested at the top of your paper. When your friends sports low to mid A’s and B’s, you knew something had to give. And apparently the solution was simpler than you’d thought, as written in neat handwriting below the F was a note.

Perhaps you should try sitting up front, away from potential distractions.

Maybe instead of blindly signing up for the class you should have looked his name up on ratemyprofessor, even now you wanted to leave a scathing review on his surprisingly perfect record.

The paper was promptly balled up and thrown into a small corner of your room, probably next to your syllabus.

How utterly ridiculous. If he could notice you getting distracted during his lecture, he could also realize that you had stopped talking to your friends in class a long time ago.

But that wasn’t the real problem anyways, and you knew it. His class was too hard. It was deadline after deadline after deadline, whether it be of assigned reading, essays, peer review, and God forbid you attempted the extra credit.

There was bonus work to boost your grade so

of course you didn’t expect the work to be easy but hard was a true gross understatement.

The directions were simple enough, do this, this, this, a little more of that, and this again. As expected of a college course, but how could you manage to do all of that if you couldn’t finish— let alone understand the work you were actually required to do.

Soon enough though, you tossed your pride aside and moved to the front of the class. And true to his advice, you had been able to comprehend more, not a lot more, but something was better than nothing.

And it seemed he noticed too, his eyes began to actually find yours in class and his smile seemed genuine too. A polite, encouraging grin that never ceased to make your efforts seem worth it.

The next test, however, reminded you of your standing in the class. A cursive D+ sat like a black hole on the front of your quiz packet. Progress like that was truly no progress at all.

If you hadn’t already wasted water crying during the test itself, you would have broken down when he returned the paper to you. Face down.

With the actual exam coming up, you knew you needed to see Mr Zhongli in person. Under no circumstances could you fail this class, even if it didn’t help you further your career you still couldn’t flunk it. Lest you want to lose your scholarship.

The bag crossed over your chest, felt extra heavy as you trekked to Zhongli’s office. Maybe it was the computer, or the spiral notebook, but most likely it was the 319 page Geography book buried somewhere inside it. The physical copy was paid for by your scholarship but the online copy was not and being the broke College student you were, it definitely was not affordable.

Your knuckles brushed against the oak door, below the golden name plate that read Dr Morax. The name seriously fit him, it sounded just as professional as he was.

After a firm come in you found yourself inside his medium sized office.

He gave you time to take in your surroundings, multiple diplomas of varying degrees and schools hung on the cream walls. The wooden desk that separated you two was an organized mess, numerous stacks of papers, some graded, some not. Other nicks nacks were neatly placed on the desk, the school mascot bobblehead, newton's cradle, a small wooden globe, the things usually expected to see on a teacher's desk. This room was definitely bigger than most professors work spaces than you had seen.

“Please take a seat,” Mr Zhongli motioned to one of the plush seats in front of his desk. His own position was relaxed as he leaned back in the chair, hands folded neatly on his lap, one of his long legs sat draped over another. His slim ponytail was draped over his white button down, so long that it almost reached down to the black slacks he wore.

“Nice of you to finally stop by.”

Now that felt underhanded. Your eyes snapped up to him ready to say something back, but the words died in your throat at his look. HIs gaze was half lidded while he sported a lopsided smile that bordered on a smirk.

“Finally?” You sank into the seat, dropping your satchel onto the hardwood floor beside you with a sigh.

“Oh yes, your grade in my class is far from satisfactory.” Zhongli’s grin became tight while he spoke. The once playful glint in his eyes was taken over by a serious demeanor. Professor Zhongli.

You shifted forward, crossing your own legs to mimic his attitude.

“Yes sir, I’m sure you figured that’s why I’m here,” your voice sounded a lot more pathetic than you expected it to. It reminded you of the one time in high school when you begged your PE teacher to let you skip the FitnessGram Pacer test.

Let’s just say the second worst grade you’ve ever gotten was gym.

“I do,” Zhongli drawled, he now placed his arms on the desk, one hand remaining still while another gripped a pencil, “but truly, I’m not sure there’s much I can do for you.”

That was not what you had wanted nor expected to hear and your face reflected that. The whole wide-eyed mouth open shabang.

Zhongli released a breathy laugh at your expression, "there's nothing I can do for you but I believe you could help yourself.”

The anger you felt at his first dig was now bubbling back up, with more force. How many times could someone slyly insult you in one sitting?

¨And how could I do that sir?” Zhongli matched your attitude, pushing himself fully under the desk. His expression remained pleasant though, a nice albeit thin smile stretched across his face.

¨You could start by actually paying attention in class.”

Really? Like you hadn't just moved your seat to sit in the front of the class, mind you, BY YOURSELF. And all he had to offer is that your focus was still waning, it was though, only because you had the sexiest teacher ever though. Not from lack of effort on your part, so it’s not like it was truly your fault to start with.

Zhongli patiently waited for you to begin a retort before cutting you off with a demeaning wave of his hand, ¨Yes, yes, you moved. Like you should have from the start, you don't get a high five for doing what is expected of you. What I’d like to know is why you still struggle in my class, it’s definitely not from lack of opportunity.”

¨I assign plenty of extra credit, so I’m assuming it's not that.” Zhongli’s eyes flickered down, no not to your hidden bust, but to an open planner on his desk, before they met yours again. ¨Perhaps you should consider dropping my class.”

That finally made you bristle, visibly too, your eyes widened again as you recoiled. His words might as well have physically struck you. Being a good student meant that most teachers never had to criticize you, let alone act so sharp. His Zhongli’s blunt statements hurt in a way only a prideful student like you could feel.

You needed to act unbothered and hopefully, get under his skin too. Fixing your face into something a bit more stoic you started again.

“Doesn’t it reflect badly on a Professor if they have failing students?” You found your nails to be more interesting than meeting Zhongli’s intense gaze, his eyes seemed alight from the fierce way he stared at you.

What you didn’t expect was a throaty laugh from him, that pulled you from your nail inspection.

“Students, yes. One singular student, not so much.”

Negotiations had definitely fallen through.

Outwitting people was something you were good at. One thing that hurts more than having your ego bruised is having it body slammed when you find out you're not as good at something as you believed yourself to be.

Reading your reaction Zhongli chuckled again, “oh dear, not the answer you wanted was it?”

Your eyes couldn’t lift from the floor now, but even that served as a constant reminder of the stage you were hoping to walk on. Before any of this happened.

Zhongli’s voice pierced the silence, “Well, I have some time to help you study now, is that fine with you?”

Really there was only one choice, but you contemplated both regardless. You needed his help to bring up your grade and hopefully pass the upcoming exam but also, you didn’t want him to belittle you any further.

Maybe you could study on your own. In high school you reviewed for biology tests using the Amoeba Sisters. Did they even have anything like that for geography though?

When you found the courage to meet Zhongli’s eyes again, now lounging in his chair with his hands braced behind his head. Your ears tinted pink when you saw his lips, still in a smirk but not as wide.

Maybe you could deal with his taunting for an hour or two. For your grade of course! Not because he was gorgeous or anything. Although it helped.

“Fine,” decided to lighten the mood a bit you added, “hopefully you’re better at this than in class.”

Zhongli let out a breathy laugh while he leaned further back in his chair to glance at the clock. “Perhaps, though you may find my teaching methods unconventional.”

“Oh?” You dug into your satchel to find your textbook, “how so?”

Zhongli crossed his arms in front of himself before releasing a thoughtful groan, one that had your pupils blow open a fraction wider. “How about I quiz you, and for each question you get wrong..”

His gaze flickered from the sky of contemplation to you, “I could use a more… tactical approach. Like consequence and reward.”

As his smirk seemed to stretch, the air in the office became heavier. You blinked, believing you were imagining his suggestive voice.

“Consequence?” It’s not like your grade could get much lower so what could he do to harm you?

The pause that followed was thick with unspoken meaning, you didn’t dare move either. You were frozen in the plush chair, pinned by Zhongli’s half lidded stare.

“For each wrong answer, I could bend you over my knee and spank you.”

You blinked, then blinked again. Did he really just say that so calmly? Like he asked you to make a batch of flashcards. Heat rose to your already rosey cheeks, and you quickly looked away, feeling your heartbeat just a bit faster.

“You can’t be serious!”

“What’s wrong with that? It’s a straightforward form of discipline, it may even work on you.” The way he said the word you sent a chill down your spine. The word felt heavier, like he was implying that even someone of your caliber could understand.

You swallowed, hard. But you didn’t stand up from the chair, nor did you threaten to report him. Instead you stayed seated and actually considered his suggestion.

“What if I get the answers right?”

You seemed to be endless entertainment to Zhongli as he laughed again before retorting, “as unlikely as that maybe, we can come up with a suitable reward if that happened.”

Your pulse pounded in your ears as you completely ignored the ruder side of this comment.

Zhongli leaned in slightly as he gestured to the study materials laid out on his desk, “shall we begin? Or are you not going to be attentive enough again?”

He was challenging you, skillfully he goaded you

into playing his game, to participate in something where you both knew you were likely to lose. Maybe it was the lack of sleep that caused you to act so desperate. If you told on him now, you could probably drop the class without it being on your record, but a deeper desire helped guide your answer.

“I can focus,” you said, a little sharper than you had intended, “what’s the first question?”

Zhongli reached for the discarded textbook on his desk, flipping to a random page towards the middle. His smirk deepened as he read over the line.

“This is something we went over in class rather recently. Describe the process of orographic precipitation.”

Before you could catch yourself, your face fell. Your mind had blanked on you. And given the cruel grin Zhongli bore, he knew you wouldn’t know the answer.

Even though you vaguely remembered the name written on the board in class, the words didn’t arrange themselves in your head for you to create a clear answer with.

“I don’t remember,” you quickly added before Zhongli could speak, “this isn’t fair, you knew I wouldn’t know this.”

“I just opened the book, I didn’t choose the page at all.” His smug tone was nothing to match the satisfacted grin proudly stretched across his face.

“I also just mentioned we went over this in class so maybe it’s not any fault of mine anyway.”

No use in arguing with him especially because you did somewhat recall him going over it.

“Next question.”

For five whole minutes, Zhongli asked you question after question. Each of which you got pitifully wrong. As time went on you itched for Zhongli to end this sadistic game, which he was no doubt dragging out. Maybe to humiliate you, or maybe to tally up each incorrect answer and actually hit you for each of them.

Your face began to blush at the possibility of him actually spanking you. He probably only said it to get under your skin and hopefully get better results. If that was the case, you’d be very disappointed but also relieved, you didn’t want to get hit that much.

“—paying attention.”

“Latitude!” You exclaimed before shrinking in on yourself. You knew for a fact that the answer to whatever question he asked that ended in paying attention was definitely not latitude and nor would an answer be so simple with him.

Suddenly Zhongli stood up, dropping the textbook closed back onto his desk. His expression was somewhat pleased but also very annoyed. Once he reached your side of the desk, he grasped your wrist, pulling you to your feet. And with a gentle yet steady hold, he guided you to his side where he once again sat down, only to look up at you expectantly.

Zhongli’s black trousers made it hard to see any depth in his pants, but from the visible bulge you could make an educated guess on how he was feeling.

“Must I spell everything out for you? Lower your pants and bend knees over my legs.”

Face falling again, you tried to ask why that was necessary before Zhongli cut in with a sigh.

“How will I know it truly hurts if I’m not hitting your skin?”

That was almost a logical explanation if it wasn’t so sadistic. Your face must have been bright red with embarrassment as you unbuttoned your slacks. His honey eyes tracked your every move, as you lowered the fabric down your legs, then stepped out of them all together.

Feeling a bit relieved at your choice of black underwear, and not your hot pink ones, you slowly draped yourself across Zhongli’s lap.

Only a few seconds ago, you were speculating on if Zhongli was actually hard or not but now you could tell he was as his erection poked your waist.

You could feel his heat from his palm warming your plush flesh as he rubbed small circles on your ass above your underwear.

Then came the first hit. A sharp pain stretched across both mounds of soft tissue, the ache rippled down your legs and to your toes. Rebelliously, you bit your lip to hide any noises of discomfort or the subtle pleasure.

“Oh? After being shown just how pathetic you are, you refuse to even take your punishment correctly?”

The hand Zhongli had used to hold you flush against his lap, slipped to your face and squeezed your nose shut. In shock, you opened your mouth to protest but before you could, a much harder slap landed against your ass. A loud cry of pain— definitely not pleasure, tumbled from your lips.

Heavy tears traveled down your face and wet Zhongli’s pants.

“Two hits and you’re already crying?” He softly kneaded the skin before slapping it again, “no matter, I assumed if you weren’t good at school you’d be good at this.”

“But I am good at school! It’s just your stupid class—.”

A slap rang out in the room as Zhongli delivered the harshest slap yet. This time he didn’t rub the skin, instead he lifted you off his lap and placed you on the cold hardwood floor of his office. The coolness soothed your burning bottom.

“You may surprise me yet with some skill.”

You took only a second to wipe your tears before you heard the sound of Zhongli removing his belt. Instinctively, self preservation won because you scrambled back, hitting your head on the edge of Zhongli’s desk in the process. But shockingly enough, he didn’t wrap it around his hand to hit you harder.

Instead he placed it on the desk as he worked on undoing his slacks button and zipper. Once he finished that, Zhongli reached into his pants to pull out his penis.

Truth be told, you weren’t a prude, you’d had sexual encounters before, none that went past giving or receiving oral sex but still. Zhongli’s dick was pretty too though, a thick underside vein ran from the scrotum to his tip. The head itself was flushed, apparently the blush he lacked on his face his cock made up for.

Still, the size itself was impressive, you couldn’t tell how long it was but at least your fist and a half.

From the angle you sat on the floor at, you couldn’t tell if he had any hair but you doubted a man as well kept as Zhongli would be anyways.

Suddenly his hands shot out and grabbed you under your arms, turning you around and placing him on his lap. In this position his thighs rested between yours.

“I had considered making you suck me off when you eventually did come to see me about your grade but to think you were such an… abysmal student, we’ll just do this for now.”

Zhongli lifted your ass before sliding your panties to the side and thumbing your clit.

“You couldn’t even take your punishment honorably, not that I expected you too anyways..”

Zhongli droned on as he rubbed same circles on your pearl. Though you hadn’t heard a single word he said, not that you had the capacity to do so anyhow, his fingers skillfully manipulated you to putty in the man’s hands. His middle finger slipped to your entrance as he began to lethargically massage your g-spot.

You had heard of that area but, you nor your previous partners had been able to stimulate it the same way Zhongli was now.

Reached a new height as he introduced another finger, further pressing into the velvety zone.

Maybe it was because you hadn’t been touched in so long that you came so quickly but it happened regardless. Your orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave as Zhongli allowed you to ride it out. The pleasure was kin to a hot shower (that you would definitely be taking once this was over with) after a long day. One of those showers that you sit in the tub and let the water trickle down from your hair to your toes.

Once the pleasure was over though, it was done completely. Zhongli removed his hands before pushing you down into the desk, half of your face buried into a stack of ungraded papers. His hand pressed down between your shoulder blades effectively pinning you to the wood.

You heard the chair roll behind you as Zhongli stood up, his penis slipping in between your folds.

“Now that you’ve had your pleasure, I will be taking mine.”

Without further warning, Zhongli began to pierce you, inch by inch he sunk deeper in your quim. He wasn’t rough, nor was he forceful as he pressed on. His hand still remained placed on your back but his other trailed down your side before grabbing your hip and pulling you back onto him. So now not only was he entering you, he was pulling you back to meet him halfway.

Your lower body ached at the intrusion, as low moans of pain and contentment left you. It felt weird to be filled up like this but also so natural. Now you hated not going further than oral sex with anyone else.

When Zhongli was completely inside you, he stopped moving to sigh, “truly made for this. If all were to fail, you could always sell yourself. I’m sure you’d make a nice sum of mora.”

Words of protest were turned into lewd moans as Zhongli began to grind into you, not not thrusting but slowly rolling his hips. Remembering your setting you bit your lip again, in hopes of not drawing unwanted attention.

“Don’t,” Zhongli began to pick up the pace, no longer rocking but instead coming all the way out before pounding back into you, hitting that special sponge inside you. “Everyone has already left for the day.”

Your gasp was turned into a high pitched moan as Zhongli rammed into you particularly hard. Him knowing that no one was there let you know just how in control of the situation Zhongli was, with that came a shocking revelation. He probably planned this all along.

You weren’t given anymore time to think about that possibility as Zhongli slightly lifted your chest from the desk. Now that one of his hands no longer had to hold you down, it wrapped around to toy with your nipple.

The harsh pulling on the soft nub brought out more yells from you as he didn’t relent of his intent to bully his way into your womb.

“Look at you,” Zhongli cooed, “drooling on yourself.”

Although his words were embarrassing, they didn’t register in your mind as you tried to bounce in tandem with his thrusts. At least you attempted to before his grip on your hip tightened in warning.

That hand also slipped to the front and sloppily rubbed your clit, leaving you to support your rocking weight on unsteady arms. The sound of his hips meeting your sore ass sent resounding sharp claps into different corners of the room.

It felt like hours upon hours of Zhongli’s grunting in your ear, the sudden sharp pain shooting up your spine from your butt, him pinching your sensitive nipple.

Now his movements were a bit choppy as, you assumed, Zhongli was close to reaching his orgasm. As opposed to traveling faster, his cock was going deeper, looking to bury its head in your cushiony womb. Merely seconds before him, you came. A second mind numbing euphoria, almost as rich as the last one covered you like a heated blanket. Your eyes squeezed closed as you were captured in bliss.

Just as sudden as it had started, it ended, as Zhongli emptied himself inside you. After a few seconds of his warm seed spurting inside you. The room was still hot with both of your gasps as Zhongli’s musky cologne permeated your senses from behind you.

Following your shared daze, he pulled out of you, allowing his semen to also drip onto the floor. You collapsed face first onto your geography textbook. Behind you, Zhongli’s leather seat creaked as he fell onto the chair. The sound of a draw opening made you aware enough to open your eye a little bit.

Zhongli's fingers came into view as he held a small tablet, “It’s a plan b.”

Opening your mouth to allow him to place the pill on your tongue you shut your eye again. You wanted the moment to never end, the nerve damaging pleasure you experienced tonight was truly life changing, but your momentary reprieve was ruined by the sound of Zhongli redoing his pants. In the midst of cleaning himself up, he rubbed up and down your back gently.

“You’re earned an A for the quarter by the way.”

~

Quick end note. Do you think Zhongli have a plan b implies that he’s done this before or that he prepared for you really well?

[e-on-edge]

Waterworks 1986

(This chapter is split into 3 posts, you can find them all linked in my master list, they are also linked within the story here as you go.)

18+ MDNI

Tags: sex, drugs, rock n roll - u kno.

Summer was a blissful blur. Once school ended, the three of you returned home and retreated behind closed doors, lost in each other and the bedsheets. Caleb, who was supposed to start his job, chose to take the summer off. He wanted to spend more time with you and Zayne in your little paradise before all of you went your separate ways.

You recall the dread that knotted your stomach when you received your syllabus for the first semester. The start of school signaled the end of your holiday and the arrival of change - change you didn't want. You wanted to remain hidden in your childhood bedroom, with both your crushes by your side, teasing your teenage posters on the ceiling. You wanted Caleb in the kitchen, cooking breakfast in Zayne's briefs, while Zayne read the newspaper in your robe. You craved lazy afternoons sunbathing in the backyard, late-night snack runs, and the sex...

The two men practically had to drag you back to campus on your first day, and you protested and complained the entire time. Despite their assurances that nothing would change, you knew better. You could feel it in your gut. It was like the scent of blood on the wind, too close for comfort.

September was lonely, but the three of you spoke on the phone every day during dinner. By October, these conversations became less frequent. You could feel the physical distance turning into an emotional one, growing each day. No matter how hard you tried to hold onto them, they seemed to be slipping further and further away, immersing themselves in their respective lives and societal roles. Meanwhile, you were still buried in textbooks and sleeping in a room with your school-assigned roommate (no more apartment now that Caleb's in Skyhaven). It was awful. So, when Halloween arrived and Tara invited you to another campus party, you decided you needed a good time, even if your favorite people couldn't be there with you.

"Ooh, loving the ghost look," Tara sang, striding through your door wearing a leopard print catsuit. She leaned on the doorframe, twirling her tail. "What do you think of mine?"

"Bitchin'," you replied, flipping the synthetic white hairs of the wig over your shoulder as you spun in your ghostly gown. "Do I look dead hot?"

"The foxiest," Tara grinned. "Ugh, hurry up though, because Brian said he was only stopping by and he's gotta see me in this outfit before he splits." She grabbed your hand and tugged you toward the door.

“Yeah alright,” You follow her into the hall, shoved to the side as a gaggle of hollering students run past in costume.

It's not a long walk to the frat house, and you can hear the music and joyful screams from blocks away. Tara runs ahead of you when she spots the boy she likes hailing a taxi, while you make your way inside. You navigate past unsteady students into the dimly lit foyer of the fraternity. You're not foolish enough to drink from the cup that mysteriously appears in your hand, but you do make your way to the kitchen to pour your own. The beer is cheap and bitter, stinging your throat, but you manage to swallow it. After a couple of glasses, the taste hardly matters, and you start gulping them down like juice.

"Are you racing someone, pipsqueak?" says a familiar voice, resonating in your ears like the most tender, beautiful music, even amidst the thumping bass and electric guitar.

You turn to see Zayne and Caleb squeezed together by the wall. Zayne is wearing a lab coat and a stethoscope, clearly irritated by every drunken person who brushes against him. Caleb is barely wearing anything, just some belts and a hat. You gaze at them over the rim of your solo cup, frozen, unsure if they're real or just a figment of your imagination.

"Christ, how much have you had to drink?" Zayne inquires, his voice steady and composed as he steps closer to you. He gently plucks the cup from your hands, his touch light but firm. As he examines the drink, still mostly full, he adds, "You know, you shouldn't consume too much of this stuff." His fingers brush against yours in the act, and you're jolted out of your trance.

"Zayne! You're really here!" You exclaim, wrapping your arms around his neck and practically climbing onto his shoulders. He makes a noise of surprise but sets the cup down to return your embrace.

"Yes, darling," Zayne murmurs softly into your wig. "We're here."

"Hey, am I chopped liver or what?" Caleb interjects with a playful grin, joining the embrace and effortlessly lifting both of you off the ground in a tight, affectionate hug. When he gently sets you both down, you enthusiastically launch onto him. "Wow, you really missed us, huh?" he adds, his tone light and teasing.

"Well, yeah," you admit, releasing him and squinting before playfully throwing a light punch at his bicep. "It's been a week!"

"Ouch!" He feigns pain, rubbing his arm with an exaggerated wince.

"A week since you've called me!" You attempt to do the same to Zayne, but he swiftly steps to the side, gracefully catching your fist in mid-air.

"We've been quite busy," he explains.

"Yeah," you slur, grabbing the cup and downing the rest of the cheap booze with a grimace. "I got that." You take a moment to observe them quietly, fixing yourself another drink. Your gaze lingers on Caleb, and you raise an eyebrow, a smirk playing on your lips. "So, what exactly are you supposed to be?"

Zayne chuckled.

"I'm a cop," Caleb answered, pretending to be confused. "See the hat?"

"Yes," you chuckled, "I see the hat, but not much else. That's not the one from when we were little, is it? The one that was always too big for you?"

"I grew into it nicely, don't you think?" Caleb grinned, doing a little spin on his heels. "You like a man in uniform?"

Rolling your eyes, you playfully shoved him as he wrapped you up in his arms and kissed your face. "Why am I even asking? I know you do."

"Caleb!" you giggled as he tickled you with little kisses.

"Oh good! You guys came!" Tara's voice broke through the atmosphere, and Caleb released you. She had a boy with her, lipstick smeared across his face.

"Tara, you did this?" You gaze at her with misty eyes, the alcohol stirring up your emotions.

Tara's voice is laced with conviction as she responds, "I told them if they made you sit by the phone one more night, you'd shrivel and die."

Zayne chimes in, his tone laced with a hint of disapproval as he shoots a glance at a young woman who nearly spills her drink on his shoes. "Yes, she painted quite the concerning picture."

Caleb steps in, a smile on his face as he takes the cup from your hands to drink it himself. "Plus, how could we resist surprising you for the weekend?"

"Hey," you say, frowning. Then your eyes light up as Caleb's words register. "Wait, the whole weekend?" you ask, your excitement growing.

Tara smiles, looking at Brian, who's slumped against her. "Brian's taking me to his family's cabin," she says, though it's clear he's in no state to take anyone anywhere.

Brian mumbles something incoherent, and Tara laughs, holding him upright.

"Are you sure about that?" You raise an eyebrow, skeptical.

Tara glances at you, a hint of amusement in her eyes. "He had an accident before we got here. I think he's got a concussion. That's why I'm taking him home." She turns back to Brian, her voice softening. "I'll take care of you, okay?" Brian responds by drooling on her shoulder.

You look at the pair, unconvinced, but it's clear Tara's got her hands full, so you leave her to it. You shrug, turning back to Caleb and Zayne.

"That means you guys can stay with me."

Both men laughed.

“That's very kind love,” Zayne mused, looking with some concern after Tara and Brian as they headed for the door.

"I'm a working man now, remember?" Caleb says, pulling you close. "Why share a tiny bedroom when we can spend three days in a luxury hotel suite?" He glances over at Zayne, who's watching the exchange with interest. "Plus, Zayne needs access to the pool for his swims."

“It’s a great source of cardio.”

You feel a flutter in your chest as Caleb's words resonate. A luxury hotel suite sounds like a far cry from your usual cramped quarters. You look up at Caleb, a smile spreading across your face.

"That sounds amazing!” You squealed, bouncing between them with exaggerated excitement before reaching for another cup.

Zayne grabbed your skirt and pulled you back from the counter. “I think you've had enough for now.”

“Hey!” you swat at him, “don't make me mad at you again.”

"Come on, Pip," Caleb says, stepping between you and the drinks. "Let's get some fresh air." He smiles down at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I'm behind on your little gifts, and I brought a few to make up for that." As he speaks, he winks over your head at Zayne, who raises an eyebrow.

"Really?" you say, trying to sound nonchalant, only your mouth twitches betraying your excitement.

"Let's go," Caleb says, his hands settling low on your hips as he guides you through the crowd. He gives you a gentle push, and you feel a thrill run through you as he steers you forward. As you navigate through the packed room, Caleb's hands remain firmly in place. You feel like a toy car being expertly maneuvered, with Caleb as the confident driver.

Zayne trails behind, his eyes scanning the room as he dodges and weaves to avoid collisions. He moves with a quiet competence, sidestepping spilled drinks and rowdy partygoers with ease. Caleb, on the other hand, seems to breeze past every potential disaster without even noticing, his focus fixed on you.

The three of you found your way outside, where the night air was cool and crisp, and the dark scenery was littered with the subtle glow of jack-o-lanterns and fallen leaves. Caleb pulled a small crumpled bag from deep within his pants pocket and handed you one of the expertly rolled joints. He lit it for you with a match, the brief flame casting a warm glow on his face. As you took a puff, he watched you. Your demeanor softened with each successive inhale, any stress in your body easing as the pot took hold.

Caleb's gaze never wavered, his expression a quiet mixture of concern and affection as he monitored your response. Zayne stood off to the side, a silent observer to the scene unfolding before him.

"I'm going to check on that young man, if he's still here," Zayne said suddenly, his knuckles white with tension. "I don't think he should be traveling right now."

You frowned, confused. "Tara said they were leaving."

Zayne's expression remained concerned. "She'd have to walk back to the dorms for her car, wouldn't she? I can catch her."

With a gentle kiss on your forehead, Zayne said, "I'll be back soon." He turned to Caleb, giving his hand a squeeze and a brief kiss. Caleb nodded, watching him go.

Once Zayne was out of sight, Caleb reached into his back pocket and swapped the little baggy for a small metal tin. He opened it with a click, and the lid sprang ajar, revealing a handful of cigarettes inside.

"You're smoking?" you ask, curiosity getting the better of you as the sweet scent of tobacco wafts through the air.

Caleb puts a cigarette between his lips, a hint of defensiveness in his voice. "No," he says, before lighting the end and inhaling.

You raise an eyebrow, skeptical.

"The DAA is stressful, okay?" Caleb explains, exhaling a plume of smoke. "I started joining some of the other pilots on their smoke breaks. It's a now-and-then thing, not a habit." He pauses, a worried look crossing his face. "Don't tell Zayne, he hates it."

"Of course he does, he knows what it'll do to you." You glance over your shoulder, where Zayne disappeared into the night, before turning back to Caleb with your hand outstretched. "Give me one."

Caleb grins, slipping one between your fingers. You lean in, the two of you touching the tips of your cigarettes together over a lit match. As the flames dance, you meet lips through the smoke.

"Mm," Caleb murmurs, pressing you against the porch railing as he savors your kiss. "I missed you, pipsqueak."

You gently stroke his jaw. "Me too. Can't we just go now? We can pick up Zayne, Tara, and their head-case friend and continue the party at the hotel."

Caleb rolls his eyes playfully, "No can do, Pip. I didn't dress up just to stay at home."

You squint towards the darkening sky as the rain starts to fall, moving instinctually for cover when Caleb stops you. He grabs your wrist and pulls you into the rain with him, tossing his cigarette butt into the wet grass.

"Hey!" you protest, but he just laughs and tugs you down the steps. "Cal-EB!" you exclaim as he lifts you up by your legs, spinning you around in a circle. You scream and laugh, feeling the rain soak through your clothes.

When he finally sets you down, he leans in, letting the rainwater fall from his hair onto your cheeks. His wet lashes flutter as he looks at you with a goofy, infatuated grin.

"I always wanted to do this," he whispers, coming in to kiss you.

The rain makes your lips wet and tastes sweet as you lose yourselves in the moment. His hands slide down to your waist, hips, and then your ass, grabbing and squeezing possessively. You can feel his desire growing, and you silently wish this kiss would never end.

"Guys! Come quick!" Tara's voice pierced through the rain, though it sounded distant and faint.

You and Caleb turn to see her figure on the porch, frantically waving to get your attention.

"What's wrong?" you call back, already starting to hurry towards her with Caleb by your side.

"They're fighting!" Tara yells back, her voice laced with worry.

Caleb shoots you a concerned look, his expression tense.

"Did she say fighting?" he asks, his voice low and serious. You exchange a worried glance with him, and then the two of you take off in a sprint, following Tara through the nearly empty frat house and out to the front lawn.

"Zayne!" you shout, horrified by the scene unfolding before you, but Caleb's firm grip on your arm prevents you from intervening. Brian lies on the grass, his nose bleeding profusely as he rolls around, helpless. Zayne stands over him, his glasses missing, lip cut, and cheek bruised. The two attackers, clad in matching fraternity sweaters, are taking unfair advantage, ganging up on your boyfriend. Despite being outnumbered, Zayne appears to have been holding his own. Brian, on the other hand, is clearly no help.

Caleb springs into action, leaping over the steps to Zayne's side. With a swift, brutal punch, he sends one of the frat boys crashing to the ground.

"You're done," Caleb snarls, his voice low and menacing, as he positions himself between the attackers and Zayne. His eyes seem to bore into the frat boys, daring them to make another move. "You're going to back up, and you're going to walk away. Now." The air seems to vibrate with Caleb's authority but the young men still step forward in defiance.

You whip around to look at Tara. "What the hell happened?"

Tara blubbered, sniffling and wiping her tears on her sleeve. "We were just talking by the gate, and B-Brian f-fell into one of those idiots. He muttered something stupid, and they freaked out! They pushed him and started pounding on him, and then Zayne came in and tried to talk some sense into them, but they started whaling on him too!"

You glance back at Caleb and Zayne, both of them now brawling with the frat jerks in a chaotic mess of skin and clothing. You try to think. What was it you learned to stop dog fights again? Water. A hose. You needed a hose. You scan the side of the building, searching the brick and bushes for a spout. Then you spot it in the moonlight. While the guys are distracted, you sprint past, leaping over Brian's nearly lifeless body to reach the water feature. You wrestle with the rusted spout, but finally manage to loosen it, turning the nozzle until the hose begins to squirm and slither around your feet. You grab the end, pulling the steady stream up from the ground and pressing your thumb firmly into the jet of water. The spray shoots out with increased force, blasting the fight and drenching all parties, shocking them into a momentary hesitation.

“Pip!” Caleb shouted, soaked and spitting, “Turn it off!”

You race back to the nozzle and crank it shut, holding the hose at your hip, ready for another go if the fighting starts up again.

“Yo!” One of the boys yelled, “Get that bitch the fuck outta here!”

Zayne knocked the kid to the ground with a final punch, wringing his knuckles afterward as the blood pooled between them.

“Shut up.” he sighed heavily, picking his glasses up out of the grass and wiping them with his wet shirt.

You ran, skipping over Brian again without a care. They both caught you in an embrace, but winced as you barreled into them.

“Are you guys okay?”

“We will be,” Caleb said. The men exchanged a look over your head, a gesture you hated. “Fun is over I'd say. Let’s go.”

“That boy needs a hospital,” Zayne straightened himself up before rushing to Brian’s side, “Caleb bring the car around. We’ll drop him off on the way.”

“Tara!” You summon your friend down from her hideaway on the porch and watch her shuffle through the dispersing crowd.

Caleb vanished for a brief moment as you and Tara attentively watched Zayne assess Brian's vital signs. You found it hard to suppress a grin when he took off his stethoscope and placed it on the boy's chest. So cute and professional.

Caleb swung around the corner in his Oldsmobile, the brakes screeching as he abruptly halted by the curb closest to you. You assisted Zayne in lifting Brian off the ground and leading him to the car. You placed his head on Tara's lap and climbed in afterward to support his legs. Zayne took the passenger seat.

“Drive.” he said urgently.

-

You tried to convince your boyfriends to stop at the hospital with Tara and Brian, but they insisted they were fine, and decided to take you straight to the hotel. The drive was a lengthy one, and after watching countless lights roll past the window, your eyelids grew heavy, and your vision began to spin. You lay down for just a moment, wanting the world to be still. Next thing you knew, Zayne was gently lifting you out of the backseat, cradling you in his arms. Feeling drowsy, you clung feebly to his neck as he followed Caleb into the hotel lobby. You remember the lights being far too bright, the smell of cigarette smoke and chlorine permeating the air, stinging your nostrils until you were safely behind the doors of the elevator. The rest of the way was a blur of bouncing colors and light, then darkness.

You rubbed the sleep from your eyes, blinking slowly as the fog started to clear from your brain. Caleb was the only one in the room with you, his bare back turned toward you as he surfed the channels on the hotel tv.

“Where’s Zayne?” you ask, sobering up.

Caleb turned, smiling. “Well good evening,” he turned the TV off and came over to kiss you, “he went for a swim.”

You look up at Caleb, blood still dried to his face from the fight. You reach for it.

“How long was I out?”

“Only a couple hours,” Caleb grabbed your hand, “you know better than that, nuh-uh.”

"You need a band-aid," you said, your voice still groggy as you shifted to move from the bed.

"Hey now, you aren't the doctor, remember?" Caleb teased, his tone light.

"You just said the doctor is out. Why didn't he treat you before he left?" you pressed, your concern growing.

"He needed some time, that's all. The fight shook him a bit," Caleb explained, his tone turning somber. "I'm fine, Pip, but I am worried about him."

You furrowed your brow, worry etching lines into your forehead. "What's going on?"

"He gets so withdrawn when something's bothering him, and you know he won't talk to me about it," Caleb confessed, his gaze shifting down to his fingers as they rhythmically tapped on the edge of the bed. "Could you try to find out what's got him so twisted? He'll talk to you."

“He's at the pool?” You ask, gazing up at the clock on the wall. It was almost 10pm, rather late for a swim.

Caleb nodded in response.

“Okay fine, I'll go find him, but you have to wash that cut, please. Don't dirty these nice sheets with your blood.”

“Yes nurse pipsqueak, right away,” Caleb smirked, giving a mock salute.

You take a minute or two to shake off the remnants of your drunken slumber, refreshing yourself with a splash of cold water in the bathroom before venturing out into the hotel.

The hallway is dim and warm, with large sconces adorning the beige walls. Accents of brown and gold streak the wallpaper, guiding you toward the end of the corridor where the golden elevator awaits. It takes you a moment to orient yourself, gazing at the buttons glowing hazily in multiple dizzying rows. You finally find the one for the lobby and press it. Once you reach the main floor, you have to ask two members of staff for directions to the pool, and you still manage to get lost on the way... twice. The hotel is so vast, and everything looks identical, making it feel like a bewildering nightmare. Finally, though, you catch the warm scent of chlorine and humidity and follow your nose to the pool entrance.

It's a grander wing than you expected, with a ceiling that seems miles above you, offering a glimpse of the night sky through the glass. Large columns line the sides of the pool, creating a serene alcove that surrounds it, filled with lounge chairs and tables. Above, on the upper levels, patio doors lead out from the suites on the upper two floors, allowing guests to gaze out onto the pool area at their leisure. You can't help but wonder if your room is one of them.

It isn't hard to find Zayne; he's the only one doing laps the full length of the pool, his strokes smooth and effortless. You follow his trajectory and wait at the end for him to come up for air, your eyes fixed on the spot where he'll break the surface.

Zayne’s dark hair emerged, and you crouched by the edge of the pool to get his attention before he dipped back below to complete another lap.

“Excuse me, doctor?”

He wiped the water from his eyes, blinking at you. “What are you doing down here? You should be resting.”

“Me? That shiner suggests otherwise, good sir.” You laugh, pointing to the darkening bruise under his eye. Zayne looks away, avoiding your comment.

“I have a few more laps to do.”

“No, you’re done.” You state pointedly.

He looks at you with a tight brow. “Excuse me?”

“You’re done. Come on, up and out.” You stand over him, waiting. “I’ll jump in there fully clothed to drag you if I have to, and you know I’m not exaggerating.”

Zayne sighed, looking at you with a hint of resignation before he hoisted himself out of the pool. His athletic build glistened with droplets of water, and his hair clung to his face. As he walked past you, his physique was on full display, muscles still taut from his workout. You tried to avert your gaze, but your eyes couldn't help but linger on the curve of his swimwear and the contours of his ass as you followed him to his belongings. Just as you were getting a good look, he wrapped a towel around his waist, blocking your view

“Did Caleb send you down here?” Zayne asked, drying his hair. “Did you know he’s been smoking?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in subject. “He said it’s just an occasional thing. I don’t think he’ll become a chain smoker or anything.”

Zayne’s mossy eyes scrutinized you, making you feel like you were under a microscope. “You’re both quitting. Now.” He said, his tone firm.

You rolled your eyes. “Fine, but you’re coming back upstairs to put ice on that.” You reached out to touch his black eye, but Zayne winced away. “Zayne, what’s going on? Caleb’s worried about you,” you pressed, trying to get him to open up.

Zayne huffed, his shoulders sagging in frustration. “You both have no reason to be concerned.” He moved your hand away from his face, his touch sparking electricity through your body.

“Are you upset they got a hit in? Caleb got hit too. They were big guys.”

Zayne looked insulted, his eyes flashing with defensiveness. “No, it’s not about tonight.”

You sensed a deeper issue at play and pounced on it. “So something is going on?”

Zayne sighed, dropping into a patio chair. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

You stood your ground, refusing to back down. “Well, tough tits. I won’t leave you alone until you do.”

Zayne rubbed his face, then looked at you quietly before speaking again. “I’m considering quitting my residency.”

His words fell like a weight crashing onto the table, shaking your foundations to the core.

"What?" You could hardly believe those words came out of his mouth. "What do you mean? Why? Why would you do that?" Your voice was laced with incredulity.

Zayne's gaze drifted off, his chin resting in his hand as his eyes glazed over, lost in thought or memory. "I'm not achieving anything working under arrogant doctors who don't care about their patients," he said, his voice laced with frustration. "The other residents are still learning the basics. I don't belong there, not among my peers or mentors. Every day, I'm stuck going from one patient to another, watching their providers make mistakes that I'm powerless to correct without jeopardizing my career. And through it all, I miss you and Caleb." His eyes refocused, his gaze piercing. "I hate that he's in Skyhaven and you're at University and I'm in the city. It makes no sense. Why aren't we all together?" The longing in his voice was palpable, a deep ache that resonated within you.

That was the most you'd ever heard from him in a single go, and you were stunned into silence, your heart shattering for the man you loved. You rose from your chair and moved over to his, settling into his lap and pressing a kiss to his lips that was so long and deep, you hoped it would wash away all his worries. He wrapped a damp arm around your waist, the cold seeping into your white dress as he held you close. The chill was a small price to pay for the warmth of his touch, and you melted into him, trying to convey all your love and support through that single, lingering kiss.

“I don’t want to go back,” Zayne said softly, curling into your chest.

You pulled his head into the warmth of your breasts, stroking and kissing his hair as you tried to comfort him. You sighed, taking a moment to gather your thoughts before responding.

“I won’t tell you to go back, if you want to quit then there’s no stopping you - but” you pulled his face up to meet his eyes, “you are going to be an amazing doctor, and...I need you to be a great doctor, remember?” You took his hand from your thigh and moved it over your heart, letting him feel your stunted heartbeat.

Zayne’s gaze softened, and he pulled you tighter into his embrace, his hand pressing firm on your chest. “I could never forget,” he whispered, pressing a light kiss to the exposed part of your breast. “Alright, I won’t quit, but something needs to change,” Zayne said, his voice filled with determination. “I need more of you two in my life, but with residency, I hardly have time to sleep.”

You nodded, understanding the toll it was taking on him. “Come back upstairs, we’ll figure it out, I promise,” you said, trying to reassure him.

He kissed you once more before standing, setting you down on your feet. He gathered his things, and you walked with him back to your hotel room, his hand lingering on the small of your back. As you walked, he made sure to stay close behind you, shielding the soaked and see-through parts of your dress from strangers’ views.

By the time you got back to the suite, your dress had dried, and Caleb was in the shower. Zayne gave you a quick peck before going off to join him, leaving you to wonder what the future held for the three of you.

You decide, while you wait, to take a small nap.

-

Zayne stepped into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him as the heavy steam settled around him, seeping into his aching body.

"Hello?" Caleb's cautious voice called out, still tinged with amusement.

"It's me," Zayne replied, slipping out of his swimsuit. "Do you mind if I join you?"

The shower curtain flung open in response, revealing Caleb's smile over the foam of his toothbrush, his face wet and waiting. Zayne smirked, stepping in behind him, and shut the curtain on his end. Caleb spat and rinsed his mouth, setting the toothbrush aside. They switched places, Caleb moving outside the warm stream of water as Zayne took his turn under the showerhead. As the hot water cascaded down his face, Caleb asked,

“How was your swim?”

"Good,” Zayne replied, sighing in relief as the tension in his muscles continued to dissipate. “Though, shorter than I would have liked."

Caleb's hands slid over Zayne's chest, soaping it with slow, deliberate strokes. "I shouldn't have sicced the Pip on you. I'm sorry."

Zayne's eyes met Caleb's, a hint of a smile on his lips. "You were right to. She straightened me out."

The water continued to pour down around them as Caleb's hands moved with increased purpose, scrubbing Zayne's skin with a vigor that bordered on rough. "Are you going to tell me what's been going on?" he asked, his voice low and husky.

Zayne's eyes dropped, and for a moment, he let Caleb's hands do the talking. It was a rare moment of surrender, one that spoke to the depth of his emotions. "I just miss you both," he admitted softly, the water hitting his lips and sending tiny rivulets down his chin.

Caleb's response was immediate. He spun Zayne around, pulling his face from the water to kiss him sweetly. "Mmph," Zayne murmured, his lips parting to allow Caleb's tongue to sweep inside.

The two men slid up against each other, their limbs tangling as they sought to reconnect. Caleb's lips left Zayne's, only to find new targets in the curve of his ear and the slope of his neck.

"I hate this long distance just as much as you do," he whispered, his breath sending shivers down Zayne's spine.

Zayne's response was a low hum, a sound that vibrated through his entire body. He pulled Caleb's face back up to his own, his eyes burning with a desire that went far beyond physical need. "Just be with me now," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the pounding steam.

Caleb's answer was a kiss that left Zayne breathless, one hand sliding up his back while the other sank lower, grabbing a handful of his ass with a possessiveness that left no doubt about his intentions.

(Click to read Waterworks 2)

"Room service!" a voice called out, jolting you awake. You sat up with a start, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. The sound of the door opening sent a surge of anxiety through you. As you rushed to intercept the visitor, you could hear muffled moans coming from the bathroom. You forced a polite smile onto your face and cracked the door open just enough to peer through.

"I'll just take that here, thanks," you say, reaching for the cart.

The staff woman resists, her expression cheerful. "Oh no, ma'am, I'll set it up for you. It's a complimentary service." But her tone falters as the sounds of Zayne and Caleb's activities grow louder, their rhythmic grunts and thumps unmistakable. The woman's brows furrow, and she tries to peer through the narrow opening, her eyes filled with concern. "Is everything alright, ma'am?"

You feel your face heat up as you struggle to come up with an excuse, but your mind is a blank. Desperate to end the awkward encounter, you grab the cart and yank it inside, forcing a bright smile onto your face. "We don't want any further service. Thank you!" You practically slam the door shut, the sound echoing through the room as you lean against it, your heart racing.

You knock on the bathroom door to signal to the boys that the coast is clear, then wheel the cart the rest of the way into the room. Multiple trays sit atop it, each covered with a silver lid to retain the heat. Your stomach growls in anticipation as you begin to lift the lids one by one, revealing a spread of delicious meals that make your mouth water.

Caleb strolled out of the bathroom, unapologetically naked, and scrubbed his head with a towel. "Oh good, food's here," he said, his eyes fixed on the cart. "I hope you guys don't mind, I ordered some room service. I'm starving." He didn't seem to notice, or care, that the staff woman had almost caught them in the act just moments before.

Zayne ambled over to the cart, his eyes scanning the spread before landing on a carrot, which he picked up with a look of distaste. "How much was this?" he asked, his brow furrowed.

Caleb, already settled on the king-size bed with a plate of fries, grinned mischievously. "Don't worry about it."

Zayne's expression turned penitent, but he grabbed a salad from the table anyway.

You plopped down beside Caleb, snagging a few of his fries. "So," you said grinning, "relaxing shower?"

Caleb chuckled and tossed a french fry at your face, sending the two of you into a fit of giggles. As your laughter died down, you turned to Zayne, who was studiously picking carrots from his greens, his eyes fixed on his plate. "Zayne?" you asked, trying to catch his eye.

He looked up, his expression still serious. "This looks expensive," he muttered.

Caleb's grin faltered, and he sat up straighter, his interest piqued. "Why are you so worried about money all of a sudden?" he asked, his tone tinged with curiosity.

Zayne's eyes narrowed, his voice laced with skepticism. "The DAA can't be paying you this much, Caleb. It doesn't add up." He gestured to the TV, a sleek Sony Trinitron model with a large 27-inch screen. "That's the biggest, most expensive TV I've ever seen. It must have cost a fortune."

You frowned, sensing the genuine concern beneath Zayne's words, though you suspected his intensity was still tied to his lingering anxieties. You reached out and gently pulled him down onto the bed beside you, stroking his arm until he met your gaze. As he looked into your eyes, his shoulders relaxed, and his tension eased. "I want to get a house," he admitted finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

"We have a house," Caleb chimed in, his mouth full of food.

Zayne shook his head. "You have your Gran's house, but nobody lives there." He turned to you, his eyes serious. "I want a house, for us."

You hesitated, trying to reason with him. "I still have two years left of college, Zayne. It doesn't make sense to get a house right now. Who knows where we'll be in two years?" Your voice trailed off as a pang of sadness gripped you, the uncertainty of your future together hanging in the air. But Zayne's expression remained resolute.

"I do," he said, his voice firm. "We’ll be in our house, the three of us. Somewhere in Skyhaven, I think."

Caleb reached out and placed a comforting hand on Zayne's knee, but an uneasy silence lingered between you all. You cleared your throat, scooting back against the headboard as you tried to process the emotions swirling inside you.

You spoke up, your voice laced with a hint of coldness, but beneath it, vulnerability. "I've been having a hard time adjusting as well..." You paused, the words feeling heavy on your tongue. "Tara wasn't entirely exaggerating before."

Caleb and Zayne turned toward you, their faces etched with concern.

You continued, your voice barely above a whisper. "I stopped eating for a while, stopped going to classes...my heart just hurt so much, all the time, without you." The admission felt like a weight had been lifted, but also exposed a deep pain.

Zayne immediately snuggled closer, wrapping you in his arms and planting a firm kiss on your head. His warmth and touch were a balm to your frazzled emotions, and you felt a sense of comfort wash over you.

"Darling," Zayne cooed, his voice brimming with affection.

Caleb rested his chin on your thigh, his hand rubbing gentle circles on your skin. "There has to be a better way."

You whispered a desperate thought, one that had been lingering in the back of your mind. "I could drop out..." But before you could even finish the sentence, both men responded with a firm "No."

Their rejection was swift and unanimous. Instead, they offered a compromise.

"We'll get better about calling," Zayne promised.

"And visiting," Caleb added, his fingers gently pulling the wig from your head.

You jumped slightly, having forgotten you were still wearing it. As the wig came off, you felt a sense of relief, like you could finally be completely yourself. The three of you snuggled together, wrapping your arms around each other in a tight, fond embrace. You wished this moment could last forever, that you could stay suspended in this warm, loving bubble.

"Promise?" you asked, seeking reassurance.

Caleb smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Two years is nothing in the grand scheme of things. We can do it."

He pulled you into a soft, gentle kiss, then handed you off to Zayne, who kissed you with equal tenderness.

As you closed your eyes, basking in the warmth between them, you couldn't shake the ominous knot in your gut. It was a feeling that lingered, a sense of foreboding that threatened to disrupt the tranquility of this moment. But for now, you pushed it aside, savoring the love that surrounded you.

(Click to read Waterworks 3)

[mammalsofaction]

Domestic

Inspired by this old comic by @askhumanperrytheplatypus

Rating: T

Relationship: Heinz Doofenshmirtz/Perry the Platypus

Add tags: Human Perry, pre-slash, domestic squabbles, misunderstandings, teasing, Doof 101 AU

A/N: Just a little thing to help me regain some lost confidence these past couple of months

"Heinz," Clara Wells calls out from the other end of the office. She's got a huffy tone that implies she had done so more than once. "Heinz." She calls again, and he finally raises a lazy hand in acknowledgement.

"Just five more minutes, Clare."

"Your husband's outside." She counters, tilting her head to further emphasize her point. "And he's been waiting for ten."

"He wouldn't've had to if he'd bothered to read my message I sent 5 hours ago," Heinz volleys defensively, if a bit distractedly. "Or pick up the phone when I tried to call him after lunch. I'll tell him I'm almost done. Say, did we mix up the answers in the scheme for number four...? Or have these freaking papers finally done me in?"

"Let me take a look at that." He hears Dylan O'Malley quip, before he feels the man's towering presence hovering over his shoulder, peering down onto the half graded quiz papers Heinz had sprawled over his entire desk, and even a little into Bess' territory on his left side. She'd gone home hours ago, though, having finished with today's marking yesterday on account of that dinner date with her sister across town, so it's not an urgent concern.

"Oh yeah, no." Dylan adds nonsensically, pointing between the bullet points of the aforementioned question. "It's technically correct, but Clara and I technically stole these questions from the finals 3 years ago and the workings are a bit outdated with the syllabus Lang wants us to use now. It's a bit trickier cus they'd need to use trigonometry on Points S in relative to Y-,"

"You don't need to tell me that, this is foundational physics-,"

"Yeah, well, the kids aren't Physicians, so most of them seem to have gotten confused. I told my kids to table it for now until the department meeting on Monday."

Heinz stops tapping his pen, looking up to the man incredulously. "Are you telling me that I've just wasted 30 minutes of my time quizzing out a tabled question?"

Dylan's answer was promptly drowned by an extremely loud and pointed car honk, and Heinz hears a startled yelp from the pantry. He finally looks up to see Perry, naturally, parked on the lot that was technically Principal Lang's, front facing the tall windows of the office.

Heinz spreads his arms wide, meeting the man's eyes on the other side of the window pane.

Perry retorts by pointedly tapping on the face of his wristwatch, then his car.

Heinz gives him the middle finger.

Perry points at him menacingly, and gestures him to walk, with two fingers on the plane of his wrist. He taps his wristwatch again, before raising his hand, palm straight out. 5 minutes.

"Oh for Gott's sake." Heinz mutters, rapidly getting up and cleaning after himself, just as he hears Adelaide Brimming on the other side of the room go; "Oh, you guys are so cute."

Heinz snorts, shoving all of the papers into the segmented file he's going to have to bring home. "Yeah, well. When I get there I'm about to be adorable."

"It's domestic." Dylan chuckles, stepping aside so he might not interfere with the Doofenshmirtz Maelstrom as he attempts to find his loafers he'd kicked out of sight, allegedly beneath his own desk. "I didn't realize you were married, Heinz?"

The Advanced Sciences teacher frowns, straightening up. "You aren't? Well," he shrugs. "You were probably better off. I'm not anymore though."

"Oh?"

"Yes? Are you sure I haven't told you this before? You've met Vanessa."

"Oh, you meant your first wife? No, I knew that. I meant-I hadn't realized you'd remarried."

Heinz freezes, his hand on the doorknob leading out the office. "What?"

Dylan frowns. "What, what?"

"Stop being nonsensical. I haven't re-married."

Clara snorts into her coffee.

"I haven't. Why is everyone looking at me?"

"You called him your husband." Dylan points out, gesturing to the impatient be-suited man standing outside.

"Perry the- Perry? No. What? No, he's-we're-I can't-you guys are-he's-!" Heinz sputters. "He's practically my parole officer!"

Dylan and Clara exchange weighted looks, the latter with a permanent smirk etched upon her face.

"You want him to be your husband though." She says casually.

He doesn't have to stand for this. "I don't have to stand for this." Heinz says, cheeks burning all the way up to his ears. High school was high school, apparently, no matter where you were on the side of staff doors. He slams the door behind him to punctuate his indignantion, though he could've sworn he still heard Clara laugh on the other side. He's still going to have to see her tomorrow.

Despite his visible impatience not twenty minutes ago, Perry's face visibly softens as he sees Heinz rounding out to the parking lot, where his teal colored OWCA standard Sedan purra idly as they wait. And Heinz hates it, hates that he's able to tell, and how it makes his heart summersault from beneath his breastbone to his stomach with an almost childish shame.

Perry, as he was naught to do, opens the passenger side door for him, as he does to make fun of him, whenever Heinz was in a churlish mood. He's even doing a stupid little teasing bow, like an unnecessarily attractive carriage master. Or a prince.

It's mocking. But his coworkers won't know that.

Heinz grabs ahold of the door, and slams it back closed.

Perry raises a questioning eyebrow. Heinz can barely notice the awkward silence between them, frozen as he was imagining his coworkers giggling over his shame like a pair of bullies.

After a second or two, he opens it back up and climbs inside.

He sees Perry hesitate right outside his door, and when he rounds over to climb into his customary driver's seat, Heinz cuts him off right off the bud.

"Not one word, Perry the Platypus." Heinz mutters. "Not one. Word."

[jamsandsuch]

advice for first year uni students from a uni senior

the roommate(s) will always be more important than the room

+ for roommates, SET. CLEANING. EXPECTATIONS. EARLY. don't wait until you're uncomfortable with how much mess is in the kitchen for you to start thinking if you should bring it up or not. set standards and make them clear.

put your key on a lanyard and hang it from your doorknob when you’re at home so you don’t forget it on the way out

if your dorm has a shared laundry room, set your timer for when your laundry finishes ~5 mins early to give you time to walk from your room to the laundry - especially during weekends/evenings/finals people wont have the patience to wait for you - even if your load just finished

If you have noodle arms like me, buy yourself one of those collapsible grocery carts you drag behind you like a luggage - best purchase i've ever made

Or if you're lazy, order online - but order on a free day because even if you schedule a time they're always gonna come stupid early and you dont want any frozen items to get spoiled or have your groceries stolen

DONT BUY ANY TEXTBOOKS/MATERIALS UNTIL THE FIRST WEEK/CLASSES ARE OVER. sometimes you’ll have early access to the booklist or syllabus and go ahead and start buying textbooks, but increasingly often you’ll buy the materials and show up to class just to find your prof has uploaded scanned copies of everything. *save your money*, wait!

BEFORE SCHOOL STARTS - look at your class schedule and walk around campus to find each classroom. you will probably get lost on day 1 and so will many other students so this will save you a lot of walking around bumping into other lost first years

trust me after a few weeks you won’t be waking up for that 8am class. i know you did it 5 days a week in high school, but there’s a reason uni students are allergic to morning classes. know your natural energy/attention levels and take advantage of the freedom to build your schedule around your energy fluctuations

compress/stack your class schedule as much as possible. if you absolutely do need breaks, make them at least 1.5-2 hours long or you probably wont get anything productive done and minimize these long breaks as much as you can so you can just get your day over with sooner

work smarter, not harder - when school starts note each course’s assessment type by quizzes/finals/essays. if i ever have a course thats just essays, i only do lecture notes + write my own annotations about readings rather than taking notes on them which saves time i can dedicate to textbook notetaking for courses with frequent quizzes + finals

if your school has benefits/discounts/insurance - know what it is and USE IT.

most clubs wont be like high school where there are regular meetings you attend. unless youre in the exec team the membership fee you pay/when you sign up for membership it’s just for access to their events when they happen. if you want to be involved in a club in a way thats as involved as high school, look at their social media pages for hiring.

+ as someone who has had to hire before - if you’re nervous, literally just do it. i was in an exec position for our student union services and once only had like 3 applicants to pick from

if you want to be noticed by a professor, sit in the front row. and always answer/ask questions - it doesn’t matter if you said anything of substance or not, they will remember that you contributed

that and also always make the point to say hello and goodbye! eventually (in my experience) if you come early enough and are just waiting for class to start, a conversation will happen - make these regular enough and you could have an important connection!

disclaimer: of course, not all of this might be something that resonates with you/possible for your course or school, so in the words of my cousin - take what resonates

+ anyone else is free to add on!!

[usafphantom2]

#TomcatTails

#TomcatTuesday

“Well whattya know? A DMZ!!”

The following story occurred during my time in the VF-154 Black Knights. We were based on Atsugi, Japan and part of Carrier Air Wing FIVE onboard the USS Kitty Hawk (CV 63). The Kitty Hawk was the last conventional aircraft carrier (non-nuclear) and was actually quite good at what she did, despite her age (almost 40 in 1999).

I was headed to the Black Knights as a Department Head (Lieutenant Commander) and on the way I went to Forward Air Controller (Airborne) or FAC(A) school. This qualification was relatively new for the Tomcat and we needed at least 3 qualified crews per squadron. My RIO “Skippy” and I got the nod to go to the school on the way to Japan, which consisted of some school in the deserts of Marine Corps Station Twenty-Nine Palms for the ground portion, and then working with the Oceana Weapons School on a good portion of the flying syllabus. We eventually got our final graduation hop after we got to Japan, but that hop deserves its own #TomcatTail, so I’ll leave it there.

What the FAC(A) does is provide Close Air Support (CAS) to troops on the ground, working with a ground FAC to target the hostiles. In a nutshell, the FAC(A) will have some “assets”, generally sections of Tomcats or Hornets arranged in a “stack” separated by a thousand feet holding some distance away from the hot area (10 or 15 miles or so). As the ground dudes generate a target (building, vehicle, people, etc.) they’ll describe where it is and talk the FAC(A) overhead to get his eyes on it. Once the FAC(A)’s got it, he calls in his assets in singles or sections and they’ll follow the route the FAC(A) gives them to arrive in the target area, where the FAC(A) will then start talking the assets eyes onto the target.

He's also maneuvering to get in a position behind the asset and will eventually follow that asset as he rolls in on the target and if the asset appears to be aligned on the correct target, the FAC(A) will say “cleared hot” and the asset is then cleared to engage.

Now that’s the “low tech version” where the FAC(A) is doing max work to get the bombs on the bad guys. Later on, we were also able to lase targets with our LANTIRN pod, or the ground dudes could lase with their mules, so we could drop more accurate PGMs. You still had to follow the guy to make sure he was properly aimed before release. While I didn't have the honor of participating, after OEF/OIF started Tomcats made their bread and butter in the FAC(A) mission due to long on station time and lot’s of “spotting ordnance” (500lb bombs). All in all, it was one of my favorite missions and was always a real hoot……..especially at night with goggles on!

For the purposes of this story, our CAS training was going to be off the Kitty Hawk and to conduct some “Korean Contingent” training for when a hundred thousand screaming NORKs started breaking south. It was also a little show of force because….we can. The scenario is that we’re going to be working a “notional target area” about 30 miles south of the DMZ and me and Skippy would have 2 sections of Hornets and Tomcats (4 jets total) to “work the battle problem”. It was by no means a large exercise, just some fairly simple CAS training to keep those skills honed. Basic holding points and patterns, simulated 500lb bombs, fairly simple 9 Line Briefs.

A 9 Line is the basic information the FAC(A) delivers to the assets and contains Initial Point, Heading to Target, Distance to Target, Target Elevation, Target Description, Target Location (lat/long, grid, or description), Type of Mark (rocket, white phosphorous), Friendly Location, and Egress direction. When you read it over the radio, it might sound like “Alpha…..010°…..15 nm….500…….blue roofed building…..large intersection…..talk-on…..500 meters north….190°.”

We brief up (FAC does the brief), man up and bang off the boat and eventually find ourselves holding 35nm south of the Korean DMZ. Neat! What could possibly go wrong! After me and Skippy take a quick tour of the target area 5 miles to our north (nothing special….just a small town with some hills to the west, a few big roads, etc.), we come back and start preparing some 9 lines. The “stack” is established 10 miles south of us with the jets as a stack of four singles starting at 18,000 feet on up. The key training here is for us to practice our craft (9 lines, talk-ons, maneuvering) and for the strikers to work some basic CAS skills (taking 9 lines, navigating, visually acquiring the talked-on target, rolling in parameters, etc.). Just another day in Naval Aviation!

It looks about like this:

______________________ DMZ

Ӧ Target

Me and Λ

Skippy

The Stack Λ Λ Λ Λ

Hornet guys are going first because….well, they’re Hornets and they’re almost out of gas already (kidding….mostly). Skippy and I devise a good 9 line and we call the first guy in from the bottom of the stack. We pick him up 6 mile from the target area and we roll in trail at a half mile. As we talk him on, he has a little trouble finding “the house with the blue roof”. As anyone that’s flown over Korea knows, damn near EVERY building has a blue roof! And no, they’re not all IHOPs. We eventually get him lined up and he rolls in; we follow just behind, check his alignment on the correct blue-roofed building and give the “SIMULATE CLEARED HOT”. A quick sim delivery and he’s pulling off and left to 190° and we pitch off right to go back to our station.

We cycle the next Hornet through on a similar pattern, then work the two Tomcats so now everyone has one run. Those runs are pretty uneventful but good training in a dynamic environment, and by this time we’ve learned to NOT use “the blue roofed building” as a target. Hey, what can I say? We’re trainable. Our plan was to bang out two more with the Hornets, kiss them off to head back to the boat, and wrap; up with the Tomcats.

Now it’s time for the fourth run. We take one more trip over the target area to select some new targets and then position ourselves south of the target area to read the 9 line. Once complete, the first Hornet calls “pushing” and Skippy gets them on radar (RIO is REALLY busy with FAC(A) and so is the Pilot). First thing he notices is that he’s not quite heading in the direction of the target, off by maybe 10° to the east, heading maybe 020°. Hmm. The Hornet is trundling along and keeping that direction, making no corrections to the west (left) to put the target area on their nose.

After a few minutes, Skippy calls out for them to “check left, 30” to get him to steer toward our target. No response, no course change. He says it again and the Hornet comes up with a “all good” or something. By this time they’re abeam the target, heading north-ish, and are 30 miles south of the DMZ. Oh shit. He's had some kind of NAV failure. Skippy gets more strident with a call like “target is your left nine o’clock, come left hard”. By this time I’ve positioned us about 2 miles in trail and we’re watching him trundle unaware toward the DMZ.

This is gonna be bad. Real bad. The story of a couple US helos getting fired on for flying over the DMZ years back comes to mind and I’m thinking “Hey, we’re about to get famous.” By this time, he's 15 miles south of the DMZ and the hairs on the back of my neck are standing up. One more strident “come left hard” call with no response and then Skippy shouts to “BREAK SOUTH, BREAK SOUTH, DMZ TEN MILES NORTH!!!”. At that point, I think the pilot snaps out of it and actually looks out the window (he was probably navigating heads down on a bad system) and we can see his jet break hard right and flow south like a scalded dog. We do the same, but not before checking out the DMZ in all its back-side-of-the-moon splendor.

There are areas where it’s not quite as obvious, but when you look at it from 20,000 feet the actual line of the DMZ is easily discernable in the landscape. Kind of like the US border in the southwest. You can see it. Which is funny because guess how my friend “Baja” got his callsign after an errant low-level flight near the US/Mexico border?

We flowed south and decided that, discretion being the better part of valor, we should probably CNX the rest of the mission that day and maybe we can sneak back and no one noticed. After getting back aboard the boat, the debrief was interesting because the lead Hornet pilot was in fact fiddle-f**king with his NAV system and when he looked out the window (the canopy is clear for a reason, kids), he thought “HolyShitTheDMZ!!!!” and broke hard. All in all, no harm now foul. We all survived the day but did have to let our CAG know what happened. He was very cool about the whole thing, especially since his “phone didn’t ring. I’m sure the Hornet dudes got max grief in the squadron (“Magellan”, etc.).

The only better end to that story I could think of is if the ship was serving Korean BBQ for dinner, but they weren’t. Sliders again. Not great, but not bad. We can live on Sliders.🍔

@RSE_VB via X

[heavenlyakin]

cafe latte

cw: college au, phd student suguru, masters student reader, selfship coded. 1.6k words. unedited.

will most likely have following parts.

“Cafe latte, two shots of espresso. Please,” the man orders his drink before you’re able to look up and smile to greet him. 

“For here or to go?” You finally look up after pressing the order in, waiting for the last detail. 

“Here, please.” He smiles at you, his eyes unmistakingly purple. You pause, lingering on his face a moment longer. “Do you do free refills?” 

“For in-house customers, yes.” You shake your head to focus on the order at hand. You feel your cheeks heating up as you try not to think about how handsome the man ordering is. 

“Great, I’ll also take a croissant if you have one.” He pulls out his wallet as you tell him the total. 

You try not to notice the generous tip he leaves in the jar in front of you as you count his change. Once you hand back the coins, he smiles at you and you grin back. He walks to sit down across the small coffee house at a small table with one seat. It happens to be the seat you always like to sit in when you come here to study. He seems to be doing the same. 

As the barista next to you steams the milk for his latte, you make the espresso shots to help out. It’s slower today, so you have time to help out even though you’re assigned to the register today. The toaster oven beeps with the croissant inside, so you carefully take it out and place it on a plate. Your coworker hands you the latte, and you take it and the croissant across the room to the handsome customer. 

“Croissant and cafe latte,” you place the plate and cup carefully on the table. “Can I get you anything else?” 

“I’m fine, thank you.” He is, for sure. 

“You’re welcome,” you smile and walk back behind the counter, trying to cool your face off. 

It’s not that you’ve not had your fair share of hot customers before, there’s plenty of fine regulars since you started working here a year ago when you started your masters program. Classes start up again tomorrow for you, but the official first day back is today. You haven’t seen many of the regulars you got used to over the summer, but they may be avoiding this shop since it’s so close to campus. Your eyes linger back to your favorite spot. 

This customer is new, you’re certain you’ve never seen him before. You’d have remembered his eyes. 

A few students come in, freshman you assume by their bright eyed looks. They order a few treats and coffee to go, keeping you busy for a while. The class change is always hectic, people coming and going. In the chaos, you forget about the man in your favorite seat in the house. It’s not until your shift is almost over that you look up and see he left at some point. You wonder if he ever got his free refill. Perhaps during your break he did.

Walking back to your apartment that evening, you find yourself wondering if you’ll ever see him again. You allow that thought to sit for a moment before shaking it from your head. You have a lot of reading to do tonight before your Modern British Literature course tomorrow.  

–

“-----,” the professor calls your name and you look up and raise your hand. 

“Here,” you reply just loud enough for her to hear. She smiles at you, and you remember her from your undergrad years. She was a TA then, but has been newly promoted to associate professor. 

“Suguru Geto?” She asks next and your eyes scan the room. You’ve never heard this name. The program you’re in is small, so you know everyone in your cohort. 

As a hand raises, you catch it out of the corner of your eye. 

“Here,” he replies and she moves onto the next student. 

A few seats away from you is the customer from yesterday. You look forward as he starts to turn, perhaps feeling your eyes on him. You take a deep breath and look down at the syllabus in front of you. It seems she’s picked a few you know and a few you don’t. 

The professor goes over the syllabus and asks you all to have the first section of the first book read by next week. Simple enough. You read it last night already, so you’ll just have to take a few notes to be up to date. You write a reminder in your planner then close it to focus on the rest of what the professor has to say about the class. 

She takes up the entire class time, which you’re glad for since you didn’t want to have to linger around before your next shift at the cafe. You make it there in a few minutes after class and clock in and change into an apron. The pink apron is taken, so you settle for the frilly white one that’s your second favorite. The owners of this cafe thrifted most of the items decorating the walls, and the large coffee mugs. The aprons were handmade by one of their grandmothers, you can’t recall which. 

As you settle into your shift, you forget about class and the readings you have to do tonight. Luckily, you’re not closing today so you have time for a panini and a drink afterwards. By the time three hours pass, it’s time to clock out. You put in your order then settle into your favorite seat in the cafe. You’re lucky it’s open, as the coffee house has filled up this afternoon with classes in full swing on campus now. 

Layla brings you the drink and sandwich, to which you thank her and go to your book. You’d annotated a few pages, but now you need to be prepared for discussion on it next week. Taking a sip from the coffee, you then look down to your bag and dig around for your pencil case. Once you’ve acquired your favorite pen, you start to take notes on your annotations. 

“May I sit across from you?” A voice draws you away from the notes and you look around. Every seat but the one across from you is taken. 

“If you don’t mind me studying, then sure,” when you look up at who asked, you’re taken back. It’s Suguru from class and yesterday’s daydream on your walk home. 

“I don’t mind. I’ll be doing the same.” He smiles and takes the empty seat across from you. Luckily the table is just big enough for him to lay out his notebook and book as well. “Thank you,” he tells you as he settles in. 

“You’re welcome. I’m —--,” you tell him, thinking a proper introduction is better than awkward silence. 

“You’re in the lit class with me, right?” He asks and you nod. “I’m Suguru.” 

“I am. I’m a second year masters student here.” You lay the book down and place the pen as a bookmark. “You’re new, right?” 

“I am. The grant I’m working on was transferred here with my mentor. I’m working on my PhD in literature. My last institution didn't teach a British literature course for graduate students, so I was happy to see they are here.” He explains a bit more about his research into children’s literature and pedagogy. 

“Wow!” You sit back and smile. “And here I am scared of my thesis next year.” 

“Have you chosen a topic?” He asks and you shake your head. 

“I have some ideas, but I don’t know how to execute them. I want to talk about the soul and the idea of clones using Kazuo Ishiguro’s Never Let Me Go and Neal Shusterman’s Unwind Dystology but I’m having trouble finding articles that articulate what I’m looking for.” You explain a bit further about what you have found and then let him think. 

“It’s an interesting idea.” He grins and places his elbows on the table, his hand on his chin. He leans forward. “I’d love to hear more about it once you get to writing.” 

“I just said I don’t know-” 

“Just start writing.” He tells you and you raise your eyebrow in amusement. 

“Is it that simple?” You laugh. 

He laughs and nods. “You can’t work with nothing, but you can work with something.” 

“What wise words!” You giggle again and finish off your coffee. “I’m going to grab another drink. Would you like anything?” 

“Cafe latte, two shots of espresso. If you don’t mind.” He hands you a few bills and you wave it off. 

“I work here, they’ll give it to me for free.” You go to get the drinks and when you return he thanks you as he takes a long sip. 

“Thank you for allowing me to sit and chat with you. Beyond my mentor, I’m afraid I haven’t made any friends in the last few days.” 

“It’s my pleasure to be your first,” you tell him and it makes his cheeks turn red. 

He grins and takes another drink. “I have a class to teach soon, so I hope you don’t mind me preparing for the remainder of our time here.” 

“I don’t mind. I should be studying actually.” 

“You should be writing,” he corrects and you roll your eyes. 

With that, you both settle into your individual work. Once in a while you sneak a glance at him and catch him looking at you as well. It becomes a game of how long you can go between glances. You’re losing, you think. 

“May I take your cup to the counter?” He asks as he stands and you nod. 

“Thank you, Suguru.” He returns and packs up his bag. “Good luck teaching.” 

“I appreciate the wish.” He smiles. “See you round.” 

“See ya,” he leaves and you watch him go, before sighing and leaning back into your seat. 

You’re in trouble.

[wanghyunjiin]

— red lights, hhj. part 1.

pairing — yandere!hyunjin x fem!reader (ft. stray kids)

genre — college au, art student hyunjin, starts fluffy, gets progressively darker, friends to lovers (if you really squint at it maybe?)

warnings— (for future chapters, this one is v tame to start off) stalking, obsession, violent thoughts/actions

note - I haven't written anything new in a while and i've honestly been a little anxious about starting this so any feedback would be great, show some love if you feel so inclined ♥️ most of all, i just hope you enjoy!

Hyunjin always dreaded the first day of a new semester.

It was a nightmare for any introvert. All new classes, not knowing any of your classmates, trying to get there early enough to find the seat you want. It was all just a pain. Especially in a major that was majority female.

He wasn’t stupid.

He could feel the eyes burning into the back of his head almost constantly on campus. The girls—and sometimes guys too—would gather in huddles, staring openly at him as he walked. All hushed whispers and giggles. They tried to hide it with their hands in front of their mouths, as they spoke of how handsome he was, but were still plenty loud enough for him to hear.

Subtle.

He’d formed some level of infamy within the art department, borderline fangirls, they wouldn’t often try to actually confess. Most of them would admire from afar—not far enough in his opinion. So, even though he preferred to keep to himself, Hyunjin would have to make nice with his classmates that were brave enough to try and make conversation with him, while dealing with the heavy glares of envy from the girls who were too scared to approach him themselves.

The pressure of being watched often turned people–mainly men–off from trying to talk to him on a casual, friendly level so he hadn’t made many friends during his time at the university. Luckily he already had a few that had stuck by his side from childhood that were still around.

Today was a good day though.

Hyunjin knew it would be a bit easier than the rest of the week because he only had one class on Thursdays and it was in the morning, so once this was out of the way he could just go home and relax. Until tomorrow.

Glancing up from his phone, Hyunjin’s eyes traced over the room numbers as he walked along the narrow hallway. 

102… 103… 104… Bingo.

105.

The door was already slightly ajar so he didn’t bother knocking before stepping into the classroom. Hyunjin always preferred to be as early as possible on the first day of class, especially on the first week of a fine art class when choosing a good seat would usually be indicative of how the rest of the semester would pan out.

Too close to the front and he would get picked to answer questions constantly, too far to the back and he would have a hard time seeing the subject for workshops. The second row was perfect, and currently empty.

Hooking his bag over the back of his chair, Hyunjin sat and pulled out his phone once more, allowing himself a small distraction from the staring classmates that felt as though they would burn holes in the side of his head before the class had even started.

The class started like any other, as expected. The professor introduced himself and outlined expectations over the semester–which Hyunjin couldn’t help but get impatient with, wasn’t that the whole point of the syllabus? Why waste a whole class just talking about everything they’ve read in prep for the class instead of just getting into it?

Professor Lim pushed off from where he was leaning on his desk and clapped his hands together, “Alright class, well it looks like that’s all we have time for today. If you have any questions about any of the projects you’ll be working on for the duration of the semester, or anything at all that comes to mind, feel free to wait behind and ask away. There’s no such thing as a stupid question!” 

Yes there was.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Hyunjin scooped up his belongings, dumping them back into his tote, and slung his bag over his shoulder. Making a beeline for the door, he was almost out of the class before someone stepped out in front of him, head tilted down to avoid eye contact, pink washed over her cheeks.

Hyunjin fought off the impatient roll of his eyes he felt coming on and sighed softly to himself, waiting to hear whatever she had to say.

“H-hyunjin, I don’t know if you remember but last semester, we had a class together… It’s not important if you don’t remember but I just wanted to say I’m really glad we’re in the same class again and I look forward to seeing the beautiful pieces you’ll make this time… I hope you have a good day…” Her voice trailed off, getting down to almost a whisper by the time she was done talking.

Well, that was actually a surprise.

He nodded slowly, now that she was looking into his eyes he did recognize her, “Hmm, Soyeon? I remember… your art style was pretty unique. Yeah, I’ll see you next week.” A small smile softened his features as he waved goodbye, leaving her frozen in place starstruck.

Walking out the door, Hyunjin chuckled to himself hearing Soyeon’s friends run up from their seats, squealing and cheering her on for getting the courage to talk to him.

The rest of the week went as it usually did, the last day of class for the week on Friday, and then the weekend was spent going back and forth from being either holed up in his studio room or, at Chan’s place.

Hyunjin’s oldest friend had started making a songwriting career for himself in high school and somehow saved enough money to buy an apartment which he now shared with two of their other friends, Minho and Changbin. Having his friend’s place close by was nice, giving all of their friends a designated hangout spot or somewhere to escape to when they needed it.

You had never really gone above and beyond in any class before.

Yes, you got your work done and yes, you got good grades—but impressing your professors had never felt like a major goal for you. So, when your life drawing professor from your last semester reached out to you and asked you to come back and model for a class this semester, you were surprised, to say the least.

You had thought about saying no, but when Professor Lim had offered to write a recommendation letter for the internship you were working toward in exchange, it was a no-brainer.

Arriving a few minutes early to the classroom, you walked in to see only a few students setting up their supplies and chatting quietly among themselves. A couple of them turned to look at you, once they heard the door creaking open.

Two girls near the middle started whispering, while glancing back and forth from you to each other.

Their eyes followed you once they realized you weren’t getting set up at an easel, watching you head over to the professor to greet him.

“Hi, Professor Lim. Where would you like me to put my stuff?” You asked, smiling warmly.

The Professor greeted you, getting up from his desk to help you get yourself set up.

So, here you were taking your shirt off, and holding a white linen sheet in front of your chest because you had rejected the idea to go full nude.

Even with the recommendation letter.

Hyunjin walked through the door about two minutes before class started, not wanting a repeat of his exit last class. He hated small talk, and couldn’t handle the staring for longer than necessary.

Settling into his seat after organizing his brushes, palette, and bag in their places, Hyunjin finally looked up, and he felt the world freeze around him.

Time stood still as he took in the sight of you.

The way your hair fell so perfectly around you; the loose waves like the ebb and flow of the ocean cascading around your frame. The soft curve of your shoulders sloped down in front of you shyly, drawing his gaze to the way your fingers gripped the linen sheet in front of your chest gently, covering you enough to preserve your modesty but still show teasing glimpses of your beautiful curves.

After a moment, the sound of his phone clattering to the ground brought him out of his trance-like state. It also brought the attention of everyone else in the room. Twenty pairs of eyes bore into him, but Hyunjin couldn’t pull his gaze away from yours.

Concern furrowed your brow, your lips parted slightly, as you watched his phone slip through his fingers to the ground. The look on your face, while it contorted your features, couldn't take away from your beauty.

The whispering of his classmates all faded into a buzzing in the background, like bees searching for pollen as he was mesmerized by the river, basking in the beauty of the sunset reflecting off its surface.

Nothing else mattered.

Just you.

[atreyucannamos]

Like okay, I was in a really terrible mood last night. I have to look on the bright side once in a while, right? And on that note, guess who heads up the Noble Arts syllabus, and who yours truly gets to study under?

It's only Lord Castor-Eyros, Second Herald of the House of Smoke - one of my favourite authors! I have read every single one of his books cover-to-cover at least twice, and it got me through some really dark periods in my life.

They say a lot of things, like "authors don't necessarily make good teachers," and "don't meet your heroes" but I feel like neither apply to him. He's just effortlessly charming, and while he never talks down to you, I feel like he always explains even the most complex concepts in language you can just immediately grasp.

I thought Noble Arts would be the easiest for me, but I was mistaken. I'm really understanding what people mean when they say Kavaliers aren't just "good pilots," they're an ideal. A Kavalier is meant to be able to dominate the field of battle in any chassis they choose, then compose a six-stanza poem about it to ensure that when the history books are written, future generations will smile upon the necessity of the battle and the nobility of the cause.

And the College does not consider the Noble Arts a "soft subject." I'm expected to be just as conversant in Low Passacaglian history and transgenic flower hybridisation as I am in field-stripping my mech's leg assembly or the correct procedure for flanking an entrenched enemy. It's a good thing that Lord Castor is such an excellent teacher, because they are not fucking around.

Stablemaster Imani Rudilis heads up the Technical Syllabus, and I gotta hand it to the College, they really do choose only the best tutors. Mx. Rudilis is clear, concise, and you can tell that this is a subject they have genuine passion for. I understood the inner workings of a mech on a theoretical level before - now I feel like I'm starting to understand them in practice.

I'm actually finding Technical the easiest right now. Everything kind of fits together, and even really diverse topics have some relationship to what we've already learned. Like the Stablemaster says, a mech is holistic - there's no such thing as a non-essential component. Designers are constantly trying to shave down tonnages, remove points of failure, streamline the fuselage; Imani is a designer themself, and you can tell they prefer functional silhouettes over ornate frippery. I respect that.

Underbaron Iphianassa... surprised me. I mean, I've heard about her - I don't think there's a single child on Khayradin who hasn't. She's been fighting in wars for almost as long as military mechs have existed. She recognised me, too. As a member of the House of Stone, I expected she'd have the same contempt for me as the rest do - but she doesn't treat me any different to any other student. She knows my Republican leanings, and probably my opinion on her title "Hero of the Ludran Fields," but that doesn't seem to matter.

That's not to say she's going easy on me - I don't think this woman has ever been easy on anyone. Classes are... brisk. We're not just expected to pick things up quickly, we're expected to master them by the end of the day. I think Tactical is gonna be the most challenging syllabus for me. Actual combat scenarios are way different to anything I was trained on before - that was just one-on-one duels in a fast, close-quarters skirmishing frame.

I have also... met some fellow students? And by "met," I mean I've accidentally gotten them dragged into my shitty personal issues. I probably shouldn't talk about them on a public journal. They don't deserve the kind of negative attention I'd bring down on them. But they're a team with me now, whether they like it or not, Passions help all four of them.