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miekasa · 3 years

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mie….could we please get college au eren headcanons👉🏽👈🏽

Of course. I’m always thinking about his big head anyway <33 might as well put it good use.

One thing he learned in college is how to make his hyperfocus/fixation episodes work for him; that’s why he schedules all his classes as close together as possible. He’d rather have class back to back for 5 hours, than have it spread out with hours in between lectures, because that increases his changes of cutting.

You can always tell when he’s in class and/or what class he’s in by how much he responds to your messages. If he doesn’t text back at all, he’s in a class that hard or one he enjoys, or both. But if he’s sending you iMessage games, then you know he’s in his elective that he couldn’t care else about (and is probably cheating in someway somehow lmfao).

He usually puts his phone on dnd when he’s in a class that’s important, but you’re in his favorite contacts, so your messages always ring through. What if it’s an emergency and you need him for something? Advanced Roots of Human Biology can wait.

Some days there are one or two our breaks between his lectures, that’s just how the scheduling works out. When that happens, he usually sneaks into one of your lectures, or goes to your place to take a nap. Your roommates have become accustomed to him, honestly they’ve been considering giving him a key.

Once, he didn’t realize that your lecture was basically a seminar, with you, the prof and maybe six other students. He still stayed lmao, and the prof was so amazed by his dedication, that she didn’t even mind. Occasionally, you’ll catch the two of them talking after lecture. It’s pretty cute the way she’s adopted him into the class even tho he’s not on the roster.

You... have to show him where the library is lmfao. He genuinely has not stepped foot in one until you bring him to one. He likes it tho lmao once he gets used to it.

Speaking of which, do not give him standard directions to find your classes on campus because all you’ll get is, “Babe, I’m gonna keep it real with you, I’ve never heard of the ‘West Quad’ a day in my life. What building are you near.”

He usually comes to see you in the library after all his lectures are done for the day. Sometimes he does homework, sometimes he’s just fucking around on his computer, sometimes he’s just bothering you. When you have to leave to go to class, he stays behind to watch your stuff so you don’t have to pack everything up and come back.

Very protective when it comes to keeping your seat for you. No, you cannot take that chair to your table you good for nothing freshman; it’s reserved for you.

He’ll drag you out of the library if you’ve been cooped up all day, tho. Eren will use his height and his strength against you to get you up. Placates you with kisses when he sees your angry expression, and promises to buy you food.

He takes your backpack for you when you’re walking together,m. His backpack is frustratingly light all the time, even during midterms. You swear all he’s got in there is a pencil and some flashcards.

If you have night classes, he sticks around to walk you home after, especially in the winter when it gets dark faster. If he’s not already on campus, he’ll walk/drive back to meet you; he just doesn’t like you going home alone. Even if your friend/roommate is in the class with you, Eren will walk or drive the both of you home for his own sanity.

He plays sports, so he usually has practice most evenings, but he’ll find a way to make time. If practice was particularly brutal, he’ll probably crash at your place.

He loves it when you come to meet him after practice. His whole face lights up and he waves obnoxiously, before he gathers up his stuff and all but sprints towards you. You get a cold water bottle to the face, or a bit of water splashed on you usually, which he takes immense amusement in.

He knows it’s not possible for you to make it to all of his games, and usually it doesn’t bother him much; you’ve got your own life, and work to worry about. All he asks is that you wear his jersey, or any item of his sports apparel/merch on game day (he’s partial to hoodies).

By the time junior year rolls around, he’s not all that interested in attending parties that aren’t hosted by your friends; so, unless it’s at Connie, Jean, or Reiner and Bertholdt’s place, Eren will usually decline. Even team parties, he’s not crazy about unless it’s to celebrate a championship or something. He’d much rather celebrate with you.

He does get excited about hosting parties though, and he and Jean become pretty damn good co-hosts. They don’t throw ragers, and that’s probably why Eren likes it so much. It’s usually your friend group and a couple plus ones, some good music, games, weed, and take-out.

He’ll buy you coffee whenever you ask for it. The first time, he just orders something plain, not really knowing the difference between anything; but give it two or three tries, and he’ll get it perfect. He becomes so good that he can order you something new/different and you’ll love it.

That’s kind of the start of his own coffee addiction, and more often than not, when he buys you a cup, he’s on his second or third of the day himself. The flavor has really grown on him, okay.

He much prefers your apartment, but on occasion, he’ll ask you to come to his. You’ve been studying for so long, a change of environment should do you good, he claims. He’s a fucking liar tho because that’s all Eren Talk for “I do genuinely want you to come over, but my plans are to coerce you out of doing your assignments and doing me instead.”

Lmfao he adds you on Apple Watch Rings just so you can see him close his rings every day and laugh at you. Even if yours get closed by virtue of walking around campus or working out or whatever, his numbers are stupidly high because he fucking has practice at least 4 days of the week.

Of course when you’re running on a soccer field for 2 hours every day, you close your Move Ring five times, Eren. Leave the rest of us alone.

He buys you guys matching accessories for your keychains. It’s something pretty cute, and slightly random, but it reminded him of you. It also serves as a reminder to himself to take his fucking keys with him when he leaves his house.

He sleeps like a fucking rock, so do not let him fall asleep in the library. Waking him up is a mission, and he’s never happy to be woken up. He looks kinda cute tho.

He schedules dates for you and his friends. Usually by accident, but hear me out. Sometimes he’ll make plans with Armin, then forget that he has class or a test or something; so his solution is to text you, “hey, i forgot min and i were supposed to go some aquarium tomorrow but i have a midterm so here’s the pdf of my ticket, go with him for me, thanks babe love u” then, boop, you and Armin have an aquarium date Friday evening.

The same thing happens with Mikasa, though, she usually catches the scheduling conflict before Eren does, and invites you out herself. You and Mikasa hang out quite a bit anyway, so it comes to the point where she tells you when she’s gonna hang out with Eren, so you can make yourself free for when he inevitably remember he has a game that day.

Mikasa is most amazed that you’ve put up with Eren this long lmao. You’ve certainly lessened her Eren & Armin babysitting hours, and for that she’s eternally grateful. Also, she’s just happy to have another close friend. She loves Eren and Armin, but they’re not the most social beings, and she was literally their only friend besides the other for all their childhood PLEASE she’s so happy you’re around.

It’s Mikasa, however, who babysits you and Eren whenever you both get too drunk. Says you guys are two peas in a pod (affectionate<2)

If you tell Eren something important that happened, like an internship you got, or a good grade in a class, or something, he usually relays that information to his mom pls. He texts her every day, and if she doesn’t ask for an update on you first, he gives her one.

Carla calls you sometimes, too. At least once every few weeks, just to check on you herself. She really likes you for Eren, and is grateful someone is willing to put up with her hotheaded son.

Eren’s always using your fucking chapstick. Always. You know he has his own, so why he needs to use yours is beyond you. Finds time to make some dumbass comment about how it’s an “indirect kiss” every time he uses it too. Like bro, we’re dating, and have had many direct kisses why are you like this.

He posts on Instagram every few weeks or so, but you’re on his story every few days. Usually, it’s just a video of you minding your business and doing your work while Eren slowly zooms in before making some loud noise to surprise you, all so he can get your reaction on video and laugh at it. He’s annoying.

He’s a bit of a copycat when it comes to the products you use. He’ll buy the same brand of pens as you (for that matter, all of his school supplies mirror yours because what does he know about the difference between A4 and A5 notebooks?), put a little hand sanitizer on his backpack like yours (and a lotion, too, for good measure), he even copies your Starbucks order until he finds one he likes for himself. It’s one of his love languages <3

If you’re wondering where your eyelash curler went, Eren stole it to try it on himself, hurt himself, vowed to never use it again, went back because he wanted to “do it right and not give up,” liked the results when he didn’t pinch his eyelid, and now it’s his.

That being said, stop trying to put your Fenty lipgloss on him, it’s never going to happen. Eye makeup, maybe, only if you sit in his lap and he can have his hands on your ass while you do it.

What he does love is letting you do his skincare. He will set aside dedicated skincare nights, he adores it. Easily one of his favorite things ever.

You have his wallet. Not because he’s your sugar daddy or anything (although, if you want something, he’d definitely let you use his card to get it; and even if you bought something without asking, he wouldn’t think twice about it), but because he put it in your bag once and never took it out.

When you tried to give it back, he just shook his head and told you to keep it, “I have my ID in my phone case anyway, and you’re less likely to lose it. Plus I put all my cards on Apple Pay, so I’m good.”

When you do make it to a game of his, he’s all over you when it’s over. Not in a cocky athlete boyfriend kind of way; in a very sleepy boyfriend kind of way. He’s usually got ice on at least one part of his body, and he’s got half his body weight on you as you walk to the car.

By the time you guys get back to your place, he’s practically sleep walking. The only thing on his mind is taking a hot shower to soothe his muscles, and heading to bed. The aftermath of game days aren’t all that bad though, because even if you didn’t show, you’re always there to kiss him when he’s home and massage his shoulders, and cuddle him to sleep; and that’s his favorite part.

#anonymous #hes so fucking cute hes my fucking BOYFRIENDDDDDDDDD #eren x reader #aot x reader #eren jaeger x reader #aot imagines #eren fluff #eren smut

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qissu · 2 years

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Todo x Chubby Male Reader “College Camboy” AU

⚠️ Tags: Nsfw, Smut with plot, Spanking, vibrators, Verse Todo

Word count: 3k

Don’t let the horny consume you :)

You're in your 2nd year and third semester of college, and as the third child in a family of six, you've had to put in a lot of effort to obtain what you want; no more hand-me-downs, worn apparel, and so on.

Realizing that your dream college was out of range, you resorted to alternative options, such as being a camboy.

During your freshman year of college, you gained 490k subscribers on CCB ( Chubby cam boys ).

Throughout freshman year, you promised your followers that if you reached 300k subscribers, you would go live with a random subscriber and have sex on live.

While you were at your 11 a.m. lecture, notifications from the CCB app began to flood in, indicating that the winner for the upcoming live had been declared.

"You must be pretty well-known."

You nod in agreement to your classmates response as you quickly move your phone towards your chest.

"The midterm final will be next week, so make sure you and your partner are completing their responsibilities." As everyone left, your professor began to erase the board.

You felt a strong grip on your shoulder as you were walking towards the study area in the next building.

"I'm sorry for being late; I will not disappoint you when it comes to the midterm." Todo gained your attention as he stood there, staring at you and waiting for you to respond.

"You apologized the day before and the day before that!" With your notebook, you slap him across the face.

"In the mornings, I'm usually busier."

"So why sign up for an 11 a.m. class when an afternoon one is available?" He doesn't say anything, but he continues to trail behind you as you approach the next building.

Todo was the only person who came up to you and started a conversation with you during your freshman year, and the first line out of his mouth was him asking you out. He would ask every semester, and you would say no. He never let it get to him and always respected your wishes.

You were distracted by your phone after you arrived at the study area, trying to find the subscriber who had won; they didn't have a social media presence, but you had communicated with them in chat.

"I'm curious as to what they're like." Not knowing you spoke out loud Todo responds.

"Who?"

"Uh...someone I'm supposed to meet," You say. In response, you give an awkward smile.

He kept silent as you continued to stare at your phone.

When your phone's alarm went off, you grabbed your belongings and headed to your next class. "Todo, I'll see you Monday!" You rush away without waiting for a response.

When your classes were finished for the day, you headed home to prepare for tonight's event, which included setting up your cameras and getting dressed in the attire that the subscriber had sent ahead of time.

"What exactly is this? Is it simply a shirt?" It seemed strange, but you didn't seem to mind. They had the choice to have you wear anything and yet they sent a plain shirt.

When you put the shirt on, you notice how loosely it fits, and your imagination slips to what the subscriber looks like.

As the time strikes 8 p.m., you take a seat and begin the livestream.

"Hey guys, it's me, camboy/n. Ever since I had a small following, I promised you guys this livestream, and here we are."

You stood there watching as the chat room flooded with questions and comments. "In response to your concerns about my safety, I hired two bodyguards just in case. This person will not know where I live because they will be escorted by those bodyguards."

You felt a surge of nervousness sweep over you as you read chat, closing your eyes and attempting to control your breathing.

"We're here." As they knock on the front door, a bodyguard shouted out.

You swiftly rise and walk out of the room to the front door, where you eventually open the door. As the men stepped in, you noticed the subscriber and how he had a pillow casing over his head.

“Did he come willingly? I said to have him where a blindfold, not make it look like your kidnapping him.”

Before they glance at you, they gaze at each other. "He specifically requested that he be brought in in this manner."

When you looked over at him, you noticed that his head was slanted downward.

Is he sure he wants to be here? As they escorted him into your room, you thought to yourself, he seemed out of place.

The two men went out to stand guard by the door once he was seated. You stood in the center of the room in front of him, removing the pillow casing.

“Todo?!” You raise his chin to make sure you're not hallucinating.

"What are you doing here?! "How did you find out about it?" As you asked, you were panicking.

"I knew you'd freak out if I told you I'm the subscriber," he admits. You moved toward the camera as he spoke, preparing to stop the stream, but he pulls you back, and once your body is close enough, he guides you onto his lap.

"I won't tell anyone; I can keep a secret. I've been following and subscribed since freshman year."

His expression softens as you look at him. "After this, we can be friends again; I just did not want someone else to win the challenge." His hand slid up and under your shirt, up your thighs.

"I promise I'll make you feel good; we can do whatever you want as long as you don't remove your shirt."

You forgot you were wearing a long shirt. "What made you want me to put this on?"

While under the shirt, he spoke as his thumb played with your tip. "Knowing you're getting fucked while wearing my clothes makes me horny."

His hands were rough, but delicate, caressing the tip before lightly squeezing it. "I want us to take our time because I know this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity."

He drew your face closer to him with his other hand, kissing your lips before sucking on your bottom lip; you didn't know where to put your hands, so you grasped his clothes, moaning out as your dick hardened in his hands.

“Don’t tell me you cum easily, hold it in for me...pretty please?”

Todo has a tough exterior, but on the inside was merely someone who wanted to shower all of his love on the person he cared about. Seeing him in a new light rapidly transformed your perception of him.

You felt like you were using him deep down, but you didn't want this moment to end. "I was enraged every time I watched your livestreams; I wanted to be with you all the time, making you feel safe while I fucked you, watching my dick get pushed out your ass from all my cum as you pleaded for more."

His lips traveled from yours to your ear, his bare teeth tugging at the skin. "But, right now, with you, this moment is much more special." Before sucking on your ear, his lips twisted into a grin.

Chat began to blow up as you focused on each other.

When you realized you were repressing your orgasm, Todo took his hands away from your dick. He gets to his feet while still holding you by the waist. You had a list of things you wanted to do first, but you were easily sidetracked and aroused.

You couldn't take your gaze away from his body as he removed his shirt and pants. "It makes me happy that you enjoy what you see; I'm not sure how I'd feel if you didn't." He stroked the back of his head shyly.

You shove him down onto the bed, he instantly sits up as you go on your knees, wanting to reclaim control. "Don't be afraid to moan; it'll arouse me even more.”

You firmly press your lips against his dick with one hand. Keeping your attention on todo while licking from the bottom up and applying kisses along the way.

Veins on his chest and near his dick began to expand. "I wouldn't expect anything less because it's so big."

Todo whimpered out as he tried to match your eyes but ended up staring at the ceiling.

Your mouth devoured his dick, twisting your tongue on his tip and pressing your hands against it.

You felt his body quiver, you hollow your cheeks and tightened your mouth around his dick.

"Aaah fuck, I can't take it any longer." Todo gripped the back of your head, thrusting further down your throat, giving in to the ecstasy. As his balls slapped against your chin, his hips began to move on their own.

His body lifted up after a few more seconds, you could feel his dick stutter in your mouth as cum slowly spilled out.

He possessed a warrior's body, but he couldn't stop himself from quickly orgasming.

"You big baby, I know you're capable of more." You muttered out with a mouthful of dick and cum.

You firmly grasped his balls with your hand, providing pressure while sliding your lips from tip to balls as his dick rested against your forehead, you tenderly sucked and nibbled on his balls.

As he attempted and failed to hold back, Todo was overcome with pleasure. As cum oozes out and runs down from the tip, followed by low grunts.

"You must have been holding back, good boy," you said. When Todo looked down, he was embarrassed to see cum covering one of your eyes and running down your forehead.

“I’m sorry.”

In reaction to his response, you shake your head from side to side. "Don't worry about it; it felt good, right?"

You rose from your knees and walked over to the far corner of the room, returning with a spatula. Todo looked at you, puzzled.

"You did say I could do whatever I wanted to you...don't worry...it's clean." As you smack the spatula against your palm, you smirk at him.

As you get closer to him, you tell him to turn around. "After this, I promise I'll let you have your way with me." He agreed with a shake of his head. You could tell he was nervous because his ass began to stiffen.

“Are you going to be a good boy? Or do you prefer to be naughty?”

His body lifted up in response to you spanking him on his left ass check. "It hurts, but it feels amazing." He murmured under his breath, his face buried against the pillow.

"Does it really turn you on? You fucking masochist." Even though his ass was bruised, you continued to spank him until you noticed cum trickling from his dick.

"Oh todo...you're such a pain pervert, do you have a weak dick that you can't keep it in?"

"When I'm talking to you, answer!" You resumed spanking him, enjoying the tightening of his ass muscles and the stifled moans.

Only stopping when his ass is thoroughly bruised, you put lube on the end of it.

"Let me know if you're uncomfortable with what I'm going to do."

The bedsheets began to tremble under his tight grip as you pressed the end of the spatula into his ass. He began to grind on the spatula as his ass opened up more and more. "Aaah...don't stop."

You were taken aback by how relaxed he was about it and how much enjoyment he was having.

You began to play with his dick as you pushed the end deeper and continued.

Noticing that the spatula couldn’t go any further You remove it.

You watch as his ass pulsates for more while in the air.

You started to doubt whether you could satisfy him considering your dick isn't as big as his, and while you were concentrating on that, he pulled you onto the bed, pushing you back as he hovered over you.

His dick on the verge of slapping you across the face. He grabbed your dick without mentioning anything and hovered his ass over it before slamming down.

Both of you jolt forward. "You can't be so reckless!" You're going to break it!"

"I couldn't help it; you were taking long."

He lifted his body up, using your shoulders for support as he slammed down on it.

More than yours, his body yearned for a good fuck. Because of how fast he was going, it slipped out a few times.

You pulled him into your arms as sweat shimmered down his chest. Showing chat your dick exiting and entering by pulling his ass cheeks apart.

His body was desperate for your cum.

"It's fine to take your time; It's not going anywhere."

Todo soon learned how much more pleasure there is when you let it build up after following your advice. It was 10 times better for todo as you both orgasmed.

"Wait, don't move till it's all inside of me." You paused for a few seconds, letting his insides pulsated around you.

When you get up, he arches his back and pushes it all out. You pull a camera closer as he does.

"Right now, this is heaven."

You insert your finger into his ass, fingering your cum out. Todo greedily grinded against your finger, so you added another.

"Even after all of that, Todo, you're still a greedy slut." Before putting the camera back, you grin at it.

“Even so you still were a naughty boy, and naughty boys get punished.”

You return with chains after walking out of frame from the camera. "What is that for?" He asked.

"You'll see." You chuckle as you guide him to the chair and bind his hands and legs.

"Chat, this is what happens when you don't listen."

You move out of the way, revealing Todo's physique for all to view in the livestream. You were holding a fleshlight in one hand and a vibrator in the other when he looked at you.

"If you cum this time, I'm not going to give you what you really want." You turn towards chat, lifting the shirt and bending over. “You’ll be a good boy and complete your punishment right?”

He shook his head quickly up and down. Turning towards him, you place the vibrator under his balls and tape it in place. His body jolted up as you turned it on.

He watched as you poured oil into the fleshlight, massaging the inside of it before hovering it over his dick, his dick hardening once again.

He was adamant about suppressing his urge to orgasm.

Only stroking the tip with it, he lifted the chair slightly with his toes, his stomach contracting every few seconds.

"Too much for you?" "Are you going to cry?"

You noticed his hands moving, as if he was trying to stop you from trying to make him cum.

“Y/n!” He shouted your name till his voice became uncontrollable whimpers, pleading with you.

"If you can last another 60 seconds, I'll stop." As you pressed the fleshlight all the way down his dick, your hand movement became faster.

"I- I can't take it!" He snapped the chains as his hips jolted up, and you instantly placed your mouth over his dick. It didn't occur to you that he would cum as much. As you swallowed floods of cum you started to choke seconds later.

Todo leaned against the chair, his head down, releasing the last of his moans.

"You're trying to make me become tired so I can't perform during anal...and my coach calls me a monster," he says.

He stood up after a minute, seizing you by the shoulders.

"You're only hurting yourself y/n, my dick will continue to harden. It'll be you pleading with me to stop cumming."

Todo pushed you down onto the bed by pressing his chest against yours. Without realizing it, you're spreading your legs open by force.

You were nervous because he appeared to be a different person. "Don't be worried; I'll look after you." On the inside of your thighs, Todo planted kisses.

He drew you closer and smacked his dick against your stomach before grasping the tip and pressing it in your ass. He made slow strokes with only the tip.

Even though the tip was just in, his dick was thick enough for you but not for him.

He pushed his dick deeper inside, barely a little, with one hand entangled with yours and the other around your throat.

“It's best if I loosen you up now because it's so warm and tight."

Chat watched as his ass muscles tightened with each deep stroke, sweat dripping from his body onto you. It was just you and him at the moment, and you craved more.

You grab his ass and sink your nails in deeper, feeling his balls slap against you with every stroke.

“W- why are you staring at me like that?”

“Is it too soon to say I’m in love with you?”

You suddenly tensed your insides in response to his remark. Todo watched as your eyes began to drift backwards and your mouth began to hang wide.

He wasn't having sex with you merely to have sex with you; it seemed more intimate as he watched you enjoy yourself.

With each deep stroke, he began to speed up, slamming the bed frame against the wall.

As you approached your orgasm, Cum began to coat his dick. As you let it all out, it felt as if your mind expanded. You tighten your grasp on his ass.

Todo didn't stop there; he raised your legs, bringing them closer together, watching his own dick enter and exit with each stroke.

"I love you, I love you," he whispers. He muttered something, but you weren't paying attention while having another orgasm.

You push his dick out, allowing streams of cum to pour down your ass and onto the sheets.

"This won't do; I'm not even close to being done."

Todo lifts your legs near your ear, swallowing his cum.

You won't be able to feel the friction generated by his dick if you have too much cum inside. This was something he did every time and never failed to do.

He had you begging him to stop, but he had stamina and wanted payback for what you had done before. Chat watched as you were mercilessly fucked and pleaded, the stream never stopped, even when you both orgasmed and fell asleep.

As chat continued to go off, your and his body was drenched in sweat; throughout the night, you surpassed 300k subscribers, gaining 200k overnight.

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tae-cup · 3 years

Text

Gouache on Calculators by Kim Taehyung | Calcu-LATER (1)

Pairing: Art Major!Kim Taehyung x Math Major!Reader, Jimin x reader-ish

Summary: Math never fails you. The numbers might not always make sense, but you know there must be a solution. Everything fits together like a perfect puzzle, like your tidy life and solitary living…until Kim Taehyung spills paint all over your notebook. He, quite literally, trips into your life.

Genre: College AU, Fluff, Angst, Angst with happy ending, Light Topics, humor

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Uh, it’s not this dark i swear, slight Internalized homophobia, Drinking, Cheating, uh uh uh it’s going to be a ride.

Word Count: 2.7k Words

A/N: Ah! I’m so excited to present this absolute mess of a story! Let me know your thoughts and if you’d like to be added to the taglist! Also also also, this chapter is short, but I promise the next one is a little over twice this length!

Other:

Series List

Masterlist

Previous (teaser) | Next

Mr. Erich was a slow talker. You could almost understand why Jimin was falling asleep next to you. Almost. Jimin wasn’t someone you really considered a close friend, but then again, you didn’t have many close friends.

The teacher continued droning on about number theory. You placed your head down on the desk, but your hand continued writing your notes. Staying up late last night wasn’t the best idea, but you needed to write an essay on Anaxagoras, a greek philosopher.

You hated philosophy. But you loved your mother and your mother had urged you to take a class that didn’t only involve numbers.

Jimin was snoring peacefully and you glanced over at him. It wasn’t exactly your issue so you looked away and went back to following the lesson. A few minutes later, he jerked awake and groaned audibly.

A few people in the seats around looked at him quizzically. You shrunk lower in your seat. You didn’t want to attend class, too many people and it made your heart race, but you needed to pass this class and so you, sadly, must attend.

Many knew Jimin as the son and heir to BigHit, the large business conglomerate that had wealth that made even the 1% drool, but to you he was just that guy who fell asleep in Calculus and cheated off your notes. Objectively, this was annoying. Subjectively…

You felt him staring out of the corner of your eye. He was looking pointedly at your notes. Subjectively, you didn’t care enough. If he didn’t pay attention in class, that was his problem and you didn’t feel one way or another. At the bottom of your notes, you wrote, Pay attention.

He wrote that down too without a second thought.

You were busy. You were always busy. In fact, you had an extremely important Algebra assignment to do and you knew you could get it done as long as no one bothered you-

“Oh my god.”

A man with blonde hair and a light blue beret stood in front of you. In his hands was a tray of spilled over paints; paints that were now on you. You tilted your head.

“Can you move?” You spoke up after a while.

“I’m so sorry!” He seemed unfrozen and hurried after you as you brushed by.

“Uh, can you go away?”

“I know you’re probably really mad! Do you want money or something? I can buy you new clothes or-wait that sounds weird.”

“Clothes?” You glanced down and then realized the state of your wardrobe.

You were splattered with red, green, and yellow paint. You then glanced at your notebooks, also, helpfully, coated in a thin layer of paint. More importantly, your beautiful TI-84 calculator was ruined.

You opened your mouth, furiously holding up your calculator, but the man continued rambling on. Annoying. But somewhat entertaining, you supposed.

“You got paint on my-”

“Let me take you out! Somewhere nice? I’ll buy you a coffee!” He tore off some notebook paper and scribbled some numbers down. You paused. What was he doing?

“Besides, it’s not paint, it’s Gouache.” He announced proudly, shoving the paper into your already full arms.

“But that- you still got-”

“Taehyung!” Jimin called from behind you. You turned and the man winced. “Oh, Taehyungie has never been too neat, sorry about him. Anyway, we gotta go, Tae. Yoongi just called and Jungkook set fire to the carpet again.”

“He really needs to change his major to something a little less dangerous.”

“What is this, the third time?”

“I don’t know, but we need to go, Tae-”

“What’s his major?” You questioned.

“Philosophy.” They both said in unison.

“Anyway gotta go!” Taehyung grabbed Jimin’s hand and started speed walking away.

“You got paint on my calcu-”

“Later!” Jimin shouted over his shoulder, his eyes lingered on you for a moment.

Did you have something on your face? You swiped at your cheek and he grinned, turning back around and following Taehyung.

Once they were out of sight, you juggled your notebooks around until you could successfully pick up the paper. 278-367-5433 ;). You scoffed at the numbers, something you did often, and crumpled it up.

“Art majors. What a waste of trees” You muttered and trudged back to your dorm.

“I’m so stuck on this problem, Y/N, you’ve gotta help me.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re my friend?”

“I’m not your friend, Jimin.” You moved the phone to your other shoulder and continued working.

“But-”

“Bye.”

You hung up and groaned, massaging your temple. Your room could be seen as lonely. Plain white paint sat on dull gray walls. There wasn’t a speck of trash or clothing littered on the floor. You lived an orderly life. Tidy. Your eyes strayed to your hamper.

Your clothes from earlier were spilling out of the top. A splash of color on a black and white canvas. You scrunched your nose and looked away in disgust. You had never understood the point of art. What did anyone ever see in it? It was meaningless. You looked back to your notes.

These numbers meant something. They meant the height of a ladder leaning against a building, the measurements of a bridge, and where Mary Jane would end up in 400 minutes if she’s going five miles an hour on a circular road. It was pretty deep.

You looked at your watch. Then you moved your attention to the window. Your dorm overlooked the sprawling center of campus. The place was a concrete playground, but with the extensive arts program, it was always covered in colorful murals and art pieces.

You didn’t have a roommate and you liked it that way. You had always preferred to be alone. Others called you anti-social, but, to put it another way, if there was an apocalypse and it was just you and another person alive in the entire world, you would probably leave them for dead. Life was simpler alone.

Besides, you wouldn’t have to deal with people chastising you about not picking up on “social cues” or whatever the hell those were. How were you supposed to know that when someone leans in real close, they want to kiss you? It seemed quite arbitrary in your mind.

Your phone was buzzing again.

“What do you want?”

“Please Y/N! This. Is. Really. Hard.”

“Jimin, figure it out. How are you going to pass midterms if you can’t understand algebra?”

“Ouch.”

“I mean that in the most sincere way.” You relented.

“You’re so mean, Y/N.”

Your eyebrows rose. That certainly wasn’t the first time you’d heard those words.

“I’m honest. You could go ask the teacher or something.”

“He told me to ask you.”

“That doesn’t sound right.”

You heard him let out a dry laugh on the other side and rustling of sheets.

“You’re really good at math, Y/N.”

“I hate number theory.” You objected.

“But that doesn’t mean you’re not good at it!”

“Shut up. I’m going to hang up now.”

“Wait no-”

Beep.

People were annoying. That’s what you had decided. You weren’t trying to stick out like a sore thumb, but getting in the flow of other people and understanding all the shit they wanted you to understand was hard.

You put your pencil back down onto the page and continued writing. You reached for your calculator, groaning when you realized the paint had covered the display.

“Great. Just great.”

You set the calculator aside, feeling a little sentimental. After all, you’d had that thing since seventh grade. Your phone buzzed again. Jimin jesus chr-

“Yes?” You picked up.

“What is this So ka toe ah everyone is telling me about.”

“How did you pass trig without sohcahtoa?”

“Tell me!”

“Ask Taehyung.”

“Taehyung is an art major and hasn’t had to be proficient in math since the fifth grade!”

“Sin, cosine, tan. Bye.”

Beep.

You massaged the crease between your eyebrows and your attention got caught by the darkened campus. The gross fluorescent campus lights lit up the concrete. Freshmen were running wild, happy with their newfound freedom, and seniors were leaving for clubs or parties. The lights in the dorm buildings across campus began turning on one by one.

You searched your pockets for the crumpled paper. When you didn’t find any, you made your way to your hamper and dug around the pockets of your paint smothered clothing.

“Aha.” You unfolded the paper and dialed the number. You didn’t feel like talking, but Jimin was driving you up the wall.

“Taehyung, right?” You said as he picked up.

“Yeah? Changed your mind?”

“No. I’m going to make this short and sweet, tell Jimin to stop calling me for math help. Thanks.” You hung up and went back to your work.

So, technically, you were done with work, but being done with work meant that you were free and if you were free, that meant you had no excuse not to go out. And you needed an excuse to avoid people. You opened up your textbook and frowned at the various graphs and equations. You had already done all of them for fun this summer.

“Hey, Y/N, a bunch of us in the dorm are going out, wanna come?” The hall monitor knocked on your door.

“Aren’t you supposed to be doing your job?” You looked back with a confused expression.

“Charming as ever I see.” She chuckled.

“Come on, Jasmine, Y/N never wants to go out anyway.” Another girl shouted.

“I know! I just wanted to be nice!” Jasmine shouted out, as if you weren’t right there.

“What would be nice is if you left.” You said, your voice monotone and matter of fact.

“Alright then. If you need anything, just text or call.”

“You won’t pick up anyway.” You whispered under your breath, but Jasmine was already gone.

“You forgot that this has to be positive, Jimin.” You leaned over him like an overbearing mother.

“But that doesn’t make sense!”

“You’re dividing two negatives. They cancel out.” You explained, a frown twisting onto your face.

There was a long silence as you watched him scribble down the new numbers. The library was relatively quiet. The giggles of a group in the corner would pierce the peaceful ambience every now and then, but the librarian would always shush them and they’d die down.

Jimin cleared his throat, pulling your attention back to this study session. You moved across the table and sat at your seat again. You just sat and stared at him. He was intriguing. He made silly mistakes that he should honestly understand for being a junior in college. His eyes flicked up to you three times and back to his paper.

“Well, this is awkward.” He said after a while.

“Is it?” You shrugged and continued staring him in the eye. He shifted awkwardly and looked away.

“Why are you staring at me?” He whispered.

“Oh, do you want me to stop?”

His mouth opened and closed then he looked back at his paper, his ears turning red.

“Are you coming on to me?” He murmured.

“What? No, why would I do that?” You said, disgusted, and returned to your work.

To be clear, you weren’t disgusted with him, but you were disgusted at the idea that you would come onto him. After all, you were just here for math and Jimin was just here because he needed help studying, obviously. He looked like you had just slapped him. You honestly didn’t see an issue.

“You know, my parents are pretty traditional and they want me to bring a girl home this holiday season. You’re the only girl I’m really close friends with.” He began. You felt his eyes on you and you looked up.

“Uh, alright? That sounds like a problem. Who are you going to take then?”

“You’re really dense, aren’t you?”

“I’m not dense.” You defended. “You need to expand your friend group.”

“I was wondering if you could come along?”

“What?” Your furrowed your eyebrows. “Absolutely not.”

“It wouldn’t be anything romantic, just-”

A man with mint green hair and a slim build walked past and Jimin’s eyes followed him. You followed his line of sight.

“....We can just go as friends, you know?”

You nodded solemnly. “Just friends, Jimin.”

“You’ll go?”

“Only if you promise me it’s just friends because I really don’t want to have to deal with romance.” You huffed, picking up your pencil and jotting down numbers. “You already have my number, just send me the details.”

“Thank you!”

The librarian shot him a glare and he lowered his voice.

“You’re a real lifesaver.” He whispered.

“I know.” You narrowed your eyes and then began to pack up your things. “I’ve got a lot of stuff to do. Bye.”

“What, but we just-”

“Yeah I know, but I’m sort of sick of talking to people and I helped you with your work so I’ve got to go work on Philosophy.”

“Philosophy? I didn’t take you as a philosophy person.”

“Me neither.”

Aha! You knew you recognized Taehyung from somewhere. You ran your finger over the screen. The list of student names in your philosophy class was displayed.

“Kim Taehyung. [email protected].” You murmured

“Whatcha doing?” Jasmine leaned against your doorway.

“Just...research.” You explained lamely.

“I see.” The hall monitor came inside and sat on your bed. “You never go out, Y/N. I’m worried about you.”

“Okay, and?” You glanced at her as she sat cross legged on the bed. Great. She’s wrinkling the sheets.

“Well, as a friend-”

“We’re not friends.”

“-and hall monitor, I command that you go out this weekend. Do something with your college life. I think you might regret not doing anything fun later on.” She prodded softly.

“This is fun.” You gestured to the scattered math homework pages across the desk.

“Right… well, just keep it in mind.” She stood and moved to your door.

“Jasmine?”

“Yeah?” She paused, turning to look at you. You read over your philosophy work and then your essay.

“You ever think that there are so many people in your life, but no one is really a part of it?”

“You’ve got to stop with the philosophy, Y/N. It feels weird coming from you.” She laughed.

You didn’t find anything funny in that. She looked awkwardly from you to the door, expecting you to chuckle along, but you remained silent, blinking at her. She shivered and left without another word.

The second she was gone, you stood abruptly and smoothed out the bed sheets, but as you did that, more wrinkles appeared on the other side. You felt the anxiety pouring out of you and you rushed to smooth down the other side, but more and more wrinkles kept appearing like disgusting bugs that wouldn’t die. You let out a frustrated sigh and tore all the sheets off your bed.

You took the ruler off your desk and measured out the width and height, then calculated how much extra cloth is needed on both sides for it to be perfectly centered. Then you marked it off and remade the bed. You felt yourself calming as order was restored.

You thought back to Jasmine’s words. Go out? Absolutely not. Then you looked at the crumpled paper on your desk.

“Fine, Jasmine.” You pursed your lips and dialed the number once more.

“Y-ello?” Taehyung’s voice rumbled through the speaker.

“I want a coffee, but I’d prefer to go somewhere quiet.”

“Straight to the point I see.”

“Polite niceties take up too much time. When are you available?” “Whenever you are, love.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Alright. Uh…” There was a long pause and you heard rustling in the background. “Sorry just grabbing a piece of paper.”

“Why are you apologizing? There’s nothing to apologize for.” You said quickly, eager to get this conversation over with.

“I’m free this Saturday?”

“Works for me.” You said. You didn’t need to check your calendar to know you had nothing to do.

“Great see you then.” He said stiffly.

“Yup.”

“Uh...bye?”

“Alright.”

Beep.

Now it was time to overthink the arrangement until Saturday.

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#heartsforbts #bangtanarmynet #kwritersworldnet #castlebangtan #bangtanuniversity #bts x reader #bts #taehyung x reader #jimin x reader #jimin x yoongi #yoonmin #fluff #angst #calcu-later #v #teen #college au

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notapaladin · 4 years

Text

when i kissed the teacher

“back on my obsblood bullshit” i say, as though i ever actually left. ANYWAY. Teomitl is your averagy student, taking an Overview of the Aztec Empire course for much-needed credits. Unfortunately, Professor Acatl is distractingly hot. He’s probably out of Teomitl’s reach, but when has that ever stopped him? (Never. It’s never stopped him.)

There’s porn in this! As always, it can also be read on AO3.

Jaguar Bro: I’m dead

Jaguar Bro: this is how I die

Jaguar Bro: Local Man, 18, Found Dead On University Campus

Holder of the One Braincell: what is it now

Snacts (snake facts): have line of sight, can confirm he’s dying

Snacts (snake facts): ooh, a double facepalm!

**Jaguar Bro has sent aHHHHHHHHHHHHH.png**

Jaguar Bro: Gaze upon the agent of my demise. Overview of the Aztec Empire professor.

Snacts (snake facts): damn

Snacts (snake facts): is it too late to sign up for that course??

Holder of the One Braincell: .

Holder of the One Braincell: nope

Holder of the One Braincell: nope nope nope nOPE

Holder of the One Braincell: THAT IS MY BROTHER

Snacts (snake facts): congrats mihm your brother can get it

Holder of the One Braincell: asdfghgFFGHGFGHJK

& &

Teomitl was definitely going to die. Right here, right now, in the middle of his Overview of the Aztec Empire lecture. They would find his corpse later and Mihmatini would laugh at him. At least it was a crowded lecture hall; between that and the air conditioner having been stuck at subzero for the past hour, he could be assured that nobody was actually in the mood to notice the state he was in. He shut his eyes as though it would help.

Nope. He could still hear him. Virgin Mary, Mother of God.

Professor Acatl’s voice caressed his ears, making him shiver no matter how deeply he tried to burrow into his hoodie. “...believed to have arrived in the Valley of Mexico in roughly 1250 AD…” History wasn’t his strong point, but with a voice like that—warm, resonant, clearly and utterly in love with the subject matter—he didn’t care. He could listen to Acatl read the phone book and be happy, never mind something the man was actually passionate about. And when it came to Nahuatl, where the professor’s voice took on the steady assurance of a man speaking his mother tongue...

The white girl on his left poked his arm. Heedless of his glare—he’d been occupied, damn it—she hissed, “You got a pencil?”

He blinked at her. Who uses a notebook and pencils? In this decade? Really? It took a minute of blind rummaging in his laptop bag to produce a pen, and that was after pulling out and discarding two spare flash drives and a folding knife. She flashed him a tired smile and a grateful thumbs’-up; if Acatl hadn’t been at the front of the room, he’d have offered more than a nod in response. She was cute, if not exactly his usual type.

Acatl was gesturing at the next slide in his powerpoint presentation, and he made himself actually pay attention this time. He definitely wasn’t going to impress him by visibly zoning out in the middle of class. Not for the first time, he was glad he’d picked a seat three rows back and to the left; if he’d been in the front row, there would have been trouble. He took notes on autopilot, eyes on Acatl instead of his laptop screen. He could fix typos later, when he wasn’t watching Acatl move. The man was gorgeous, all long limbs and shining eyes. Sure, the entirely monochrome suit was a little old-fashioned—he even wore a tie most days, though the knot was invariably crooked in a way that made Teomitl ache to fix it for him—but the ponytail wasn’t. He’d spent a lot of time fantasizing about running his fingers through all that wavy hair.

As well as...other things. Peeling that suit jacket off, yanking that collar aside to bite his pretty throat, being pressed back against the desk and hearing that voice turn heavy as Acatl breathed, “I’m sure there’s something we can do about those grades…” (Never mind that, a month into the semester, he was comfortably staring down at least an A. He could pretend differently if it got Acatl to spread him out on top of the nearest flat surface.) Acatl had shown up one hot day minus the jacket, sleeves rolled up past his elbows, and he swore he’d nearly passed out. He hadn’t taken any notes that day.

Even the memory made him swallow against a pulse of heat in his gut. No. Bad. No boners in class. Not again, at any rate.

The worst part, he decided, was that he could have handled it if Mihmatini’s older brother was just hot. He was used to hot. Sure, he’d still spend a lot of time daydreaming about all the things he wanted to do with (and to) him, but it would have been bearable if Acatl had just been a handsome face and slender, elegant body, instead of also being...kind. Patient. Seemingly unflappable, or at least Teomitl had never seen him do more than glower classroom disruptions into submission. He’d only ever heard him be less than professional when Mihmatini was in the room, where they displayed a teasing sort of fondness that struck Teomitl to the core even though it wasn’t even directed at him. I want it to be. I want to make him smile like that. I want to make him laugh. I want to…

An orange flash in the corner of his laptop screen drew his attention to his DMs.

Snacts (snake facts): looking a little dreamy there :)

Jaguar Bro: fUCK OFF, NEZAHUAL

Snacts (snake facts): is that the way you talk to your best friend??

Jaguar Bro: I don’t see mihm here

Snacts (snake facts): TT_TT

He huffed at his screen, knowing that Nezahual was lounging in his customary back-of-the-room seat and smirking at him from on high. Knowing you since we were five will not stop me punching you in the dick. Don’t push it.

“...And so they settled here, right where we’re sitting.” Acatl paused. “Well, not right where we’re sitting. Back then, this area was still underwater. Which brings us to the next point of today’s lecture—geography. Yes, you do have to know this.” His gaze swept the room, grave, but there was a light in it that made Teomitl feel a little faint. He clearly loved his class.

Dear god, help me survive this semester. With superhuman effort, he turned his focus back to Google Docs. Maybe, if he applied himself, this crush would fade by midterms.

& &

Midterms passed in a blur. His feelings, meanwhile, did not. He was pretty sure he’d done alright on his tests and essays—at least, as sure as he could be given how much studying he hadn’t done. His focus had kept wandering back to the assigned reading for Acatl’s class, remembering that voice patiently going over the same points. His notes had been...less helpful, in comparison.

God, he hoped he hadn’t embarrassed himself during the test. Acatl had smiled when he’d handed his paper in, so maybe. Maybe there was a chance. He just knew he couldn’t sit and do nothing.

I’ll just have to go and see.

He timed his arrival carefully. This close to the end of Acatl’s office hours, nobody would interrupt him. Not that Acatl was much sought-after anyway; he knew the way to the man’s office, but it was a long trek through winding corridors and water-stained wallpaper before he reached a door that had been left ajar, plain except for a simple nameplate. From inside, he could hear the familiar sound of halfhearted typing.

Steeling himself, he stepped inside. There was Professor Acatl, alone. Next to the sight of him—hair pulled back in a messy tail, sleeves rolled up, tie loose, wearing reading glasses which was just unfair—the surroundings faded. He was only dimly aware of the rest of the room, all dark paneling and overcrowded bookshelves. Acatl had made a vaguely attentive noise when he’d entered, but he wasn’t looking at him. He had to say something.

“Ah...Professor?”

Something more intelligent than that.

Acatl looked up from his laptop; the action made his glasses slip down his nose, which was entirely too endearing to be allowed. “Teomitl?” Oh no. He was smiling, that reassuring little quirk of his lips he had for his better students. “I’m surprised to see you here. Nervous about your grades?”

He had to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth to respond. “Uh. Y...yes.” And other things. There were condoms burning a hole in his back pocket.

“Well.” Acatl settled himself more comfortably in his chair, studying his face. “I can tell you right now, your midterm went very well. And you’re a business major, aren’t you? Ever considered switching?”

For you? All the time. Constantly. Trust me, you could have me any way you want—oh, you mean majors. Same answer. Moreso once he’d realized the way his fellow business majors tended to treat non-business classes as free credits, as things they didn’t have to work at. After knowing how much Acatl loved his subject matter and wanted to share that enthusiasm, seeing it slighted infuriated him. But the fact that Acatl had been paying attention... “Mm-hmm. How did you know?”

Was that a faint tinge of red along his cheekbones as his gaze slid away? Dear God, it was. “Mihmatini...mentioned it.”

He loved Mihmatini. He was going to buy her something designer, just for this. “Oh. I...I do love history—especially your class! If it weren’t for my brothers…”

Acatl’s gaze turned serious as he met Teomitl’s eyes. For a moment, he seemed to be about to reach for him, but then visibly thought better of it. His voice took on a faint edge. “...You don’t need to let them define your life.”

He remembered half-overheard conversations and thirdhand gossip—rumors that Acatl’s parents had wanted much better for him than an overworked university posting. Mihmatini had been much more forthright. “Our parents nagged him to join the army like Neutemoc until their dying days. But he loves his job, so…” He’d nodded at the time, unable to imagine loving anything that much. But now he was in Acatl’s office, surrounded by books and stone knives, being looked at like something precious, and he thought he was starting to understand. “No.” He felt himself smile. “But I do need to prove that at least one of us is better at running the company than our father was.”

Acatl was smiling back, not looking away even as he closed his laptop and stood up. They were roughly the same height; Teomitl had a moment to register the warmth in his brown eyes before a hand was laid on his shoulder and he promptly forgot how to think. “I have no doubt you will. I think you could do anything you put your mind to, Teomitl.”

His hand was warm on Teomitl’s skin. There were faint calluses there, unusual for a history professor. He wanted to feel them everywhere. “...Professor.” It came out half-strangled. Kiss me. God, kiss me.

Acatl flinched minutely, withdrawing his hand. Seemingly heedless of Teomitl’s internal turmoil, he hastily turned his attention to sweeping his computer and a handful of scattered papers into a messenger bag that looked like it had seen better centuries. “I should—get going. Yes.” And then he was moving, angling to slide past him, and Teomitl knew he was going to lose his chance.

He reached out, caught hold of his tie, and drew him in. One kiss. Just one, and either he’d be rejected or not but at least he’d know where he stood. At least he could have this. Acatl froze at the first touch, and he had a brief impression of wide, stunned eyes before his own slid shut and their lips met.

Soft. His lips were soft, and warm, and unmoving against his. For a split second he despaired—he’d misjudged, Acatl would be horrified, any minute he’d be shoved away—and then Acatl made a soft sound and tilted his head, and those lips were turning pliant as a shaky, disbelieving hand came to rest at the small of his back. Oh. Oh, this was how it felt when Acatl kissed you. His glasses were in the way and a loose strand of hair was tickling Teomitl’s nose, but that didn’t matter. It was perfect. Emboldened, he dropped his hands to Acatl’s waist and tugged him in, rewarded almost immediately by the eager press of Acatl’s body against his and an unmistakably hungry noise.

I could die happy. He knew he was embarrassingly hard and there was no way Acatl couldn’t notice, but he didn’t care as long as the man didn’t stop. When he coaxed Acatl’s mouth open and was duly backed against the desk, feeling the wood dig into his spine, he couldn’t stop the moan that pulled itself out of his throat. Yes, more of that, please.

Acatl wrenched himself away, so suddenly that Teomitl was left gasping. He watched as Acatl raised a trembling hand to his reddened lips, gaze falling to the floor. His other hand had a white-knuckled grip on his bag, but that was shaking too. His glasses had left red marks on the bridge of his nose. “I—you—“

He should probably apologize. He couldn’t bring himself to form the words. What came out instead, far more snappish than he’d intended, was “I’d do it again.”

Acatl sucked in a harsh breath. He still wasn’t looking at him—but he wasn’t running, either, or telling him to leave. His voice sounded raw as he sagged in the doorway. “We really, really shouldn’t. My job…”

It wasn’t a no. He could work with that. Slowly, carefully, he reached to touch his hand. “I won’t let anyone find out.”

For a second he thought it would work—and then Acatl pulled away, face a carefully blank mask that displayed nothing of whatever he was feeling behind it. “I—I can’t. I’m sorry. You’re my student, Teomitl.”

He had to swallow around the sudden lump in his throat, feeling a traitorous prickle start up behind his eyes. You knew this was coming, idiot. You knew he’d be the good, principled man he is and turn you down. You shouldn’t even have come here. “...Alright, then.” He was very proud of himself for keeping his voice steady.

As he turned to go, Acatl caught his gaze and held it. His voice still shook, and there was definitely a blush tinging his face, but his tone was firm. “Come back. After the end of the semester.”

My god. He had to make himself remember how to breathe, never mind form words. He wants me. He wants me. Or at least...he’s willing to talk about wanting me. “...I will.”

It was a few weeks. He could wait a few weeks.

& &

He could not, in fact, wait a few weeks. It was, oddly enough, easiest to handle in Acatl’s class, where at least he could see the man—could drink his fill, even though they couldn’t touch, and know Acatl wouldn’t forget him. Sometimes Acatl met his eyes and turned away, and he knew he was remembering the kiss. It sent fire through his veins every time. Yes. Look at me. Love me. And when he crossed and uncrossed his legs in the front row, Acatl’s eyes flicked to the movement. Maybe it was mean of him to tease, but he wanted—and Acatl had been the one who’d told him to wait. Look at what you could have, Professor. All this for you.

It was easy to be confident in front of Acatl. In his other classes, he burned. Paying attention had never been harder; while his body was physically present, his mind kept flashing back to Acatl’s hands, Acatl’s mouth. It was bad enough that his friends noticed, and Mihmatini—who, as far as he knew, did not exist socially during class times—messaged him in the middle of one of their shared lectures.

Holder of the One Braincell: teo. are you like

Holder of the One Braincell: ok??????

Jaguar Bro: fine, why?

Holder of the One Braincell: bc you keep spacing out? you never do that

He stared at his screen. Sorry, I can’t read poetry without hearing your brother’s voice would not go over well, but he’d never been good at lying.

Snacts (snake facts): I think he’s in love

Jaguar Bro: no???? i’m just tired

Jaguar Bro: too many essays

Holder of the One Braincell: ok ok, take care of urself!

He’d never been more grateful for Nezahual. Despite the man’s stated insistence that he never lied, after one too many creative omissions of facts Mihmatini had adopted the position that everything he said was probably bullshit. As long as Teomitl didn’t give him the reaction he was looking for, Mihm would never suspect him. Maybe one day I’ll tell her. But not now.

The semester oozed onwards until finally—finally—it ended. Teomitl picked his outfit for his last day of Overview of the Aztec Empire with more care than he’d ever done in his life. He rarely wore skinny jeans, but it was the clearest please-peel-these-off-me indicator he could give. Judging by the minute widening of Acatl’s eyes when he sauntered in to hand in his final essay, it worked.

And then he had to wait. Once again, he timed his arrival for the end of office hours, knowing that Acatl would keep to them. Knowing—dear God, knowing that Acatl was waiting for him. By the time he pushed open Acatl’s door, he was wound so tightly he felt like he was going to vibrate out of his skin.

“...I’m here.”

Acatl had risen from his seat at his approach. “...So you are.” He swallowed visibly before slowly, deliberately, taking his glasses off. “Lock the door behind you?”

He locked the door. For a long moment, they just stared at each other. There was an inkstain on Acatl’s cheek, and golden flecks in his brown eyes.

He really wasn’t sure which of them moved first, but then they were colliding and he didn’t care anymore. It was deliciously easy to press Acatl back into his chair and straddle his hips, feeling him arch under him as they kissed. When he slid a hand up into his hair, Acatl made a frankly incredible sound that went straight to his cock, pulling a growl from his own throat.

“Later,” Acatl gasped when Teomitl left his mouth to devote attention to his neck, “we really should talk about—this.” Given that his hands had wound up on Teomitl’s ass and squeezed encouragingly when he kissed a spot just under his jaw, it would probably be much later.

Teomitl made a noncommittal noise. Acatl’s throat deserved much more focus than anything involving words, and when he fumbled the first few buttons of his shirt the man trembled under him. It was intoxicating. He slipped his fingers inside and the heat of Acatl’s skin almost scorched him. He wanted to taste.

He ground down against the bulge in Acatl’s slacks, and the chair creaked alarmingly. They both froze.

Acatl almost laughed. It sounded strained. “Ah. We should...move.”

Pulling away was the hardest thing he’d ever done, but then he was settling himself on the edge of the desk and feeling Acatl’s gaze sweep slowly up his legs. He couldn’t help but smirk through the heat in his own face; Acatl looked downright debauched. Flushed, half hard, shirt partially undone—it made something hot and possessive coil in his gut. “See something you like?”

“Jesus Christ, yes.” Acatl shoved himself up out of his chair; Teomitl expected more kisses, but then his mouth found his throat instead and he made a breathy, desperate noise at the first scrape of teeth. He hoped it left a mark; for a moment all he could do was dig his nails into Acatl’s shoulderblades and shudder. Unlike him, Acatl clearly had no problems talking, though his voice was rough as he breathed, “Swear to God, from the moment I saw you—“

Teomitl hiked a leg up around his hips; in a minute he knew he’d be begging for Acatl to tear his clothes off, but right now he just wanted to be closer. “You could have had me. We could have been—ah—“ Acatl was mouthing a bruise into the base of his throat, sending shockwaves through his veins “—doing this all semester—“

Acatl’s hands slid up under his shirt, making him arch with a gasp as his fingers found suddenly-sensitive nipples. “We could not have.” It was a growl. “But now…”

“Please.” Even to his own ears, his voice sounded raw. He was so aroused it actually hurt.

Acatl drew back a bit, but he was only going for his pants; when Teomitl wriggled half out of them, baring skin, he made a noise like he’d been punched and kissed him so roughly it was almost a bite. His hands were already at his hips when he breathed, “I—how do you want—?”

He didn’t need to think about what he wanted. He’d spent too long fantasizing about it. “Bend me over.” It came out shaky. “Bend me over on this desk and fuck me until I scream.”

Acatl paused. Teomitl saw the exact moment his words sunk in, because he went red. “...Oh, god.” He dropped his head to Teomitl’s shoulder, taking a slow breath. “I’ve never—“

What. Has anyone ever seen you?! But saying that wouldn’t get them anywhere, so he ferreted out condoms and lube from his pockets. He’d never been more grateful for planning. “Do you want to?”

Thumbs pressed into his hipbones hard enough to bruise, and he bit back a cry. This was going to be incredible. Acatl’s words came out ragged. “Yes.”

And then he was being rolled over, and had barely enough coordination to kick his shoes off and consign his jeans to the floor. Acatl’s hands skimmed slowly over his thighs, and he shivered. Oh, Christ. But then they paused, and he propped himself up on one elbow and twisted around for a look at Acatl’s face. The hunger in his eyes was exciting, but his hesitation was not. “I won’t break.”

“Hmm.” One hand left his skin and came back cold and slick, trailing lightly over his entrance; when a finger slid in, he almost collapsed back onto the desk. “Good?”

He bit back a whine. Barely. Not because it felt like anything much yet, but because it was Acatl carefully working him open—and then another finger joined the first, and he savored the stretch. “Oh, fuck yes—ahh…” He’d managed to angle his fingers in exactly the right way to send sparks up his spine, still slow and deliberate and hot. “Professor, please.”

Acatl snarled, rough and wordless, and gritted out, “Don’t call me that here.” His fingers curled, and Teomitl keened. “Say my name.”

“Acatl,” he gasped, breathless—those amazing, maddening fingers wouldn’t stop. And then, “Acatl, I swear to God if you don’t fuck me—“

He tore the packet open with his teeth, promptly dropped the foil, nearly dropped the condom too, and swore viciously. Teomitl, viscerally aware of his current position, managed not to laugh. But then the condom was in place and his fingers were gone—oh, he was empty—and Acatl’s cock was replacing it in a slow, smooth thrust that had his eyes rolling back in his head as he sank back to the desk. Fuck. Fuck. I am not going to survive this.

Acatl’s voice was raw by the time he spoke, hilted as deep as he could go. Teomitl trembled; he’d never felt this full before. “Christ, you’re like a vice—“ He sounded like he needed a minute, but he was still rocking his hips, little tiny thrusts that made Teomitl gasp and clench down around him because it wasn’t nearly enough. He needed more. He needed everything.

He swallowed, throat gone dry. There wasn’t enough room for him to get much leverage pinned against the desk; he knew that whatever Acatl wanted to give him, he’d have to take. “Move. Move.” He knew he sounded desperate, and didn’t care. So he shifted his weight, grinding roughly against the desk; when Acatl groaned and sank back only to thrust in again, he knew he’d done it right. “Harder.”

“Fuck, Teomitl.” Acatl set a hand on the desk, bracing himself, and Teomitl had a moment to think oh, thank god before Acatl was giving him exactly what he’d asked for—more of that, and harder, slow deep thrusts that sent rolling waves through him and straight to his cock. He made an incoherent noise and muffled it with his forearm; the walls were thin around here, and he was pretty sure he’d feel bad if Acatl lost his job over this. Eventually.

I’d get you a better job. No, I’d keep you at home, my kept man, eating caviar and reading all the books you want and fucking me just like— A particularly hard thrust jarred a cry from him, and he panted out “I—“ before even figuring out what he was going to say, but then Acatl just kept up the pace and he cut himself off with a broken moan. “God—that, just like that, faster.”

“Like this?” Acatl’s voice was a savage thing, all raw edges and need, and the hand that came to rest at his hip grabbed almost hard enough to hurt. And then he was doing just what Teomitl asked for, and Teomitl felt the edge loom. “Is this what you like?”

Closer. Closer. But it wasn’t enough—fucking hell, it wouldn’t be enough just to get fucked, rubbing himself desperately against the desk. He needed Acatl’s hands. “Touch me. Please—“ He was begging. He knew it. He didn’t care, because it got Acatl’s hand to leave his hip and wrap around his cock, pumping him until the skittering sparks up his spine overflowed and turned his world white. He felt himself squeeze around Acatl’s hard flesh, heard an answering gasp at his ragged, muffled cry.

And then he was oversensitive and shaking, but Acatl kept going. Teomitl shuddered, toes curling, and braced himself against the desk; finally, after a small eternity, Acatl spent himself with a groan. Hot breath washed over the back of Teomitl’s neck, but he didn’t mind in the least.

His brain still felt fuzzy. It took a few seconds of silently working his jaw to find the capacity for speech. “That...was…” The best fucking thing ever. Absolutely indescribable. I should tie you to my bed and never let you leave. His thighs were sore as hell and would undoubtedly bruise, but honestly? It was worth it.

Acatl’s voice was soft, but the hand that stroked his spine gently was even softer. He sounded tender, and it tugged hard on Teomitl’s heartstrings. “...You are incredible.”

He said nothing. Words seemed to have fled. It wasn’t until Acatl pulled out, making them both shudder, that he managed, “I still want more.” Not just here. Not just—a fling, your dirty secret.

“Teomitl!” It was almost a laugh, and Acatl shook his head ruefully. “I do need to recover, you know. Things happen once you leave your twenties behind you.”

“Not like that!” He flexed his thighs experimentally. God, he’d be feeling this for weeks. But there were things he needed to say, and this wasn’t a conversation he could have in his current state. He needed pants, for one thing. But even after he cleaned himself up and got mostly dressed, he still wasn’t sure how to say it. You’re kind and intelligent and devastatingly handsome and I want to see more of you. He swallowed, finding it impossible to look directly at him. “I—let me take you out to dinner?”

Acatl was blushing again, but his smile was radiant. “I’d like that.”

& &

Holder of the One Braincell: would you happen to know anything abt why my bro is walking around w/love bites

Holder of the One Braincell: grinning @ his phone like an idiot

Holder of the One Braincell: his NEW phone, btw, bc SOMEHOW he was induced to replace the cracked one from 2009 w/the latest model iphone?

Holder of the One Braincell: WOULD YOU HAPPEN TO KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT THAT TEOMITL

Snacts (snake facts): I can’t help but notice that dear teo has changed his facebook status :)

Snacts (snake facts): and my, what’s this on your instagram account? whatever were you doing at the beach with mihm’s favorite brother??

Holder of the One Braincell: T E O M I T L

**Jaguar Bro has left the chat**

#obsidian and blood #teomitl #acatl #teocatl #mihmatini #nezahual #not work safe #paladin writes stuff

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kim-seungmine · 5 years

Text

likewise

title: likewise (part of i am you small project) characters: reader x kim seungmin of stray kids genres: fluff with sprinkles of angst, aspiring actor!seungmin, college au word count: 3301 words warnings: language synopsis: you hate your job as a part-time librarian, until you meet a certain puppy-like boy with smoldering eyes--which is a weird combination, but you like him anyways a/n: watch Day6’s Shoot Me MV for references. Also, I suck at giving titles I’m sorry!

You believed that fate affected 40% of your life. No more, no less. The other 60% would be decisions, but sadly you had a knack for making yourself suffer. Your decisions ranged from bad decisions to don’t-even-talk-about-it decisions: taking morning classes so you had time for part-time work (bad decision), choosing the wrong apartment building to live in (very bad decision), and working as a part-time librarian (don’t-even-talk-about-it decision) in your campus.

Choosing the wrong apartment should have been the worst decision you had ever made, but now anything would be better than stacking thick, dusty books back to the top of the shelf. First of all, you weren’t on the tall side. Secondly, the old stool you were using was about to collapse. Thirdly, you had accidentally dropped three books and the three people studying on the table across you kept giving you death glares.

“We still need one more point, guys. What should it be?” A guy with a sharp jawline and raspy voice asked. You hopped off your stool, deciding to arrange the books in the bottom shelf first until these guys went home. The Sharp Jawline (very gorgeous, if you might add), stopped to look at his friends, waiting for their feedback.

One of his friends, the one who reminded you of a puppy, rolled his eyes. “It’s very simple, Changbin. The topic is whether money is everything, and our stance is no. Why do people do all the ‘useless’ shit like drawing, dancing—”

“What the fuck!”

“Fuck, sorry Felix. Didn’t mean to make it sound that way.”

The guy named Felix was furious now. His hands were curled into fists and if he had laser eyes, he would’ve made a huge hole on Puppy Guy’s face. This is interesting, you noted. You never liked eavesdropping, it was plain creepy and rude, but this was clearly more fun than your job.

“So you were saying?” Sharp Jawline interjected. Felix was no longer furious, he just looked hurt. Puppy Guy let out an (almost) apologetic sigh before rephrasing his statement, “Some of us choose to do things that we love instead of other things that have more definite future. There are a lot of living proofs of that, so I think that will be a strong point.”

A smile slowly crept onto Felix’s face. He nodded excitedly, jotting it down on his notebook. “Can I take this one? I’m sure I’ll nail it. I’m the living proof, after all.”

“Felix, you’re a Finance major.”

“Hey I’m transferring next semester!”

“Alright, but don’t use yourself as an example. Don’t choose celebrities either,” Puppy Guy said. “Changbin can take the second point and I’ll take the first one. Now we just need—”

He didn’t get to finish what he wanted to say since you dropped the fourth book for the night. All three of them gave you another death glare, but this time Puppy Guy got up from his seat and walked towards you.

“Do you need help?” he asked. In a normal situation, you would count this as a meet-cute, but Puppy Guy’s glare turned out to be scarier than Felix’s. You didn’t know how he still managed to look so adorable—so puppy like—although he was basically trying to stop himself from murdering you.

“Sorry,” you muttered. “I just started working here and I’m still not used to holding big books… it’s okay. I’ll just go to the other sections first.”

Puppy Guy stole a glance at his friends before looking at the book you were holding, Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables. “Does anyone even read that book anymore,” he said; his tone told you that it wasn’t exactly a question. “Why bother taking it out when you have zero intention to read it.”

He took the book from you, darting his eyes to the other books scattered on the floor. “I’ll help you,” he sighed. You nodded, sliding the stool towards him. Puppy Guy stepped onto the wobbly stool, extending his hand out to you.

“Seungmin-ah, what are you doing?” Sharp Jawline whispered-yelled, a playful smile plastered on his face. Felix (you would’ve nicknamed him Cute Bunny Teeth if they didn’t reveal his name sooner) propped his face on his palm, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

Puppy Guy—Seungmin!—ignored his friends, fully concentrating on putting the books back to the top shelf. You couldn’t help but stare at him; he really looked like an adorable puppy, but his eyes looked fiery, like he was angry at the world. “Wow this is the worst job ever,” he grumbled, losing his balance as he put down the last book.

“Please ask them to give you a new stool. This is dangerous,” he said, dusting off his denim jacket (which looked amazing on him).

“I read Les Miserables,” you blurted out as he was about to walk away.

Seungmin raised his eyebrows, thinking for a few seconds before finally nodding his head. “Yeah, I did too,” he answered, and then something magical happened.

He smiled.

The rest of the week passed just like that. It was nearly midterm period, so you were drowning in assignments and part-time jobs. You never met Seungmin, Changbin, and Felix in the library again, although you were sure you saw Felix dancing at the university festival two days ago. There were a lot of attractive boys in the library (surprisingly), but none of them caught your attention like Seungmin and his soft smile.

You closed your laptop as your professor left the classroom. “Y/N, you’re still helping me to film Day6’s new music video today right?” Bang Chan, your senior who possessed the deepest dimples ever, tapped your desk.

Shit.

You completely forgot about it. Both of you were in the same Advanced Cinematography class, and your professor recommended him to one of the most popular video production companies in Korea. He was asked to choose one more person, so he chose you.

This project would boost your resume although you probably wouldn’t do much. “Oh yeah, of course! How could I forget?” You faked a smile, packing up your things in a rush. Chan glanced at his watch, his face turned pale in an instant.

“Oh shoot, we have to leave now, Y/N. I promised the director that we’d arrive earlier. Is that okay?” he asked, helping you to put your laptop into your bag. “Do you know that the male lead also studies here? He’s from the International Studies department.”

You only nodded nonchalantly as Chan dialled a number. “Yo Seungmin! Where are you?”

Seungmin? How many Seungmins were there in your campus? Was it your Seungmin?

Chan quickened his pace, waving his hand at a brown-haired guy when as you two were nearing the front entrance. You tried not to scream when you realized that it really was your Seungmin standing there, waving back to Chan.

“Y/N, this is our actor, Kim Seungmin.”

When your eyes met his, you felt somehow… relieved. He was looking at you with those smoldering eyes of his, and you were supposed to feel intimidated, but you weren’t. If anything, you felt almost giddy. “Hi, I’m Y/N. Thanks for helping me the other day.”

Seungmin shrugged. “I only did it because you were noisy as hell,” he said. Chan clapped in excitement, squeezing himself between both of you to wrap his arms around your shoulders. “Wait, you guys already know each other? That’s great!” He turned to you, “You should’ve seen Seungmin auditioned! He was born to act.”

Seungmin punched Chan’s shoulder, avoiding your gaze. “I just got lucky,” he mumbled.

“Have you been acting for a long time?” you asked, your heart did a flip when Seungmin chuckled. You wondered how he could possibly act, seeing that he didn’t even smile often. But small moments like this convinced you that Seungmin had another side you didn’t know about.

“This will be my first.”

You would be seeing Seungmin act for the first time. Somehow, you liked the sound of that.

You were examining the storyboard with Chan operating the camera beside you. The director was looking at the screen, nodding as Seungmin pointed his fingers at the camera and started shooting imaginary bullets. You heard the staff behind you gasped in awe, so you decided to steal a glance at the screen.

And you were transfixed.

Seungmin was sitting there, opposite the female lead, staring into the camera with teary eyes and a sorrowful gaze that you would never forget because how could someone look as angry and vulnerable like that? When the corner of his lips curled into a sad smile, you checked your storyboard, and saw nothing like that in it.

Seungmin was in his element, and he was beautiful.

Chan turned to the director, who said nothing as Seungmin continued staring into the camera. “And cut!” he shouted at last. “Good job, Seungmin. That improvisation was amazing.”

The whole room clapped, bowing to each other as the director announced that the shoot was done. Seungmin blinked, letting his tears roll down his cheeks before harshly wiping his eyes with his hand. You waited until he finished greeting everyone before running to him.

“You did very well! Everyone was so mesmerized, to say the least.” You patted his shoulder lightly, feeling a bit self-conscious when he didn’t reply. “Thank you,” Seungmin finally said, walking past you to high five an excited Chan.

“Damn it! You just outdid yourself, bro!” Chan exclaimed. The two boys continued chatting as you panicked for the second time that day. “Chan! I gotta leave now, my shift at the library starts soon!” you informed, already sprinting to the door when Seungmin said something you couldn’t make out.

You were ready to come up with twenty cliché excuses about why you were late, but the first thing the head librarian told you when you arrived at the library was that you got a new stool. “There are some new books at the back, make sure to put all of them to the shelves,” she said. You nodded, internally sighing as you realized that it wasn’t just “some” new books, but “a lot” of new books.

Deciding to start with fiction books first, you pushed the book cart to the fiction section. This was the exact aisle where you met Seungmin, and you couldn’t help but admit that you had a crush on him. You had fallen in love quite a lot; there were enough boys for you to make your own version of “To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before”. The difference was, none of them turned out to be Peter Kavinsky.

“You got a new stool. Nice”

You grinned the moment you noticed that voice. Seungmin leaned on the shelf, taking a book from the cart. He flipped through the pages, his brows furrowed as his eyes caught some interesting words. “I’m borrowing this one,” he declared, slipping it into his bag. “I wanted to ask you to return the book I borrowed, but you bolted out the studio so fast.”

“I’m not your maid,” you pouted. Seungmin lowered his head to examine your face. “Why are you pouting like that?”

Great. Please continue being so obvious, Y/N.

“Nothing,” you mumbled. “So you’re an International Studies major? Do you want to be a diplomat or something?”

Seungmin let out a heavy sigh that made you worried. A glint of anger returned to his eyes. “Not really. I just want to leave,” he answered, his stern gaze erased whatever reassuring words you wanted to say.

“Why do you want to leave?”

“It’s easier to deal with strangers than those you know well.”

“Like who?”

He paused, keeping his gaze on the floor as you continued putting books on the shelf. He stopped you when you were about to start arranging the top shelf. “Parents?” he sheepishly said while stepping on the new stool.

“Well, mine got divorced,” you commented, trying to sound as nonchalant as you could.

“Lucky you.”

Seungmin sneezed, and you quickly put your hand on his back so he wouldn’t fall down. “How is that lucky?” you asked when he turned his head to look at you. Seungmin left your question hanging in the air for a while, arranging the books quietly per your instruction.

“It’s better for them to separate than staying under one roof but constantly trying to destroy each other,” he continued, hopping off the stool to sit on the floor beside you.

“At first I thought it would be better this way. But all the words they say to each other, to me—they burn.”

You nodded, now knowing why Seungmin was the way he was. “Wanna know something funny?” you offered as an attempt to lighten up the mood. However, before you said anything further, the boy beside you started sobbing.

“Seungmin-ah,” you called out. His body only shook harder as he cried his heart out. You rubbed his back in a calming rhythm, shutting down curious, judgmental whispers from other students with a single look. Seungmin looked up at last, his swollen eyes meeting your concerned ones. “You have pretty eyes,” he complimented.

You cleared your throat, not breaking eye contact even though you felt like dying out of happiness. “Likewise,” you replied, causing him to let out an airy laugh. “It’s true. Although you look like a sad puppy now.”

“I guess I am,” he admitted. “Is it okay if I cry again? I haven’t done that in ages.”

You smiled at him, wiping the tears along his jawline instinctively. Seungmin took it as a yes, burying his head in his knees as he started sobbing again.

So you stayed, watching his wall crumble. Listening to the words that broke his heart. Feeling yourself fall even harder for this beautiful, broken boy.

Day6’s new music video for Shoot Me had been released, and Kim Seungmin was now the hottest guy at campus. You had watched it for at least a thousand times, yet you still teared up everytime you did. After breaking down in front of you two weeks ago, Seungmin hadn’t contacted you at all. You didn’t expect him to, especially since you two weren’t even friends to begin with.

But still, you were disappointed.

“I think that’s them.”

You were on your way to the cafeteria, and you felt that someone was following you. “Really? I couldn’t really see them when we were in the library.”

“Can I help you?”

Changbin and Felix stopped on their tracks when you turned around. “H-hi,” Changbin stuttered as Felix flashed you his brightest smile. “We didn’t mean to stalk you, I swear!”

“It’s just—”

Felix rubbed his nape, trying to think of a good reason, but in the end he just slapped Changbin’s biceps. “This is your fault!” he yelled. “We’re just curious.”

“About?”

“About why I asked Chan for your number.”

Seungmin was standing behind you, mouthing a string of curse words to Changbin and Felix who were just grinning at him. “How dare you guys call yourselves my friends!” he protested.

“You didn’t even tell us about you getting into acting!” Changbin countered.

“We found out from YouTube!” Felix added. “You called dancing a useless shit but look at you, actor Kim. How dare you!”

Seungmin raised his hand in defeat as you scooted away. This is how secondhand embarrassment really feels!

“Since you’re here, I don’t need to text you anymore,” he said to you. “Let’s ditch these dumbasses and get some coffee? Or whatever you want, it doesn’t matter.”

You nodded, trying to suppress your giggle as Changbin and Felix yelled, “KIM SEUNGMIN, FIGHTING!!!!”

Your eyes snapped open when you heard your bell ring. You groaned, kicking your blanket away before making your way to the door.

“Seungmin,” you yawned, eyes widening as you realized that your boyfriend was standing at your door at 2A.M, and you looked like absolute shit. He smiled, the same soft smile you saw when you two first met. Seungmin lifted a camera you didn’t know he was holding, snapping a few photos of you with your bed hair.

“What are you doing?” you whined, snatching his camera from him. He laughed before entering your flat. “Your neighbors aren’t being noisy anymore?”

“Ah yes, I forgot to tell you. They moved out last week. Now I can sleep peacefully.” You paused, glaring at Seungmin who was making himself comfortable on your couch. “Or so I thought.”

He pulled you down so you were sitting on his lap. “I want to see you,” he said, circling his arm around your waist. You sighed as you felt yourself blushing. “How could you say something so romantic with a straight face like that?” you protested.

“It’s a fact. How is that romantic?”

You cupped his face, caressing the apple of his cheeks while staring into his eyes. “What?” he asked.

“I want to see you,” you said, mimicking his straight face. Now it was Seungmin’s turn to blush, and you giggled. “See? That’s how I feel everytime you say things like that!”

Seungmin pointed at himself. “Things like that?”

You rested your hands on his shoulders, recalling all the times Seungmin caught you off guard with his sweet gestures. “You called me ten times just to make sure I could sleep after watching Lights Out. You always drop by whenever I say I feel lonely. You bought me a tablet for my birthday present although you wanted a new camera… and this. Randomly appearing at 2A.M because you want to see me.”

Seungmin reached for your hands, intertwining your fingers together. “I do all of those things not because I’m trying to be romantic, but because I love you.”

You groaned in frustration, he had once again succeeded in making you feel giddy without meaning to. “I know,” you mumbled. “I don’t deserve you.”

He shook his head, pressing soft kisses on your fingertips. “You didn’t judge me for crying in front of you last year. You’re never mad at me although I’ve failed so many auditions. And you’re willing to see me no matter how late it is.”

“But you snagged a main role this time,” you argued. “And it’s for a webdrama!”

You suddenly remembered the time you wanted to tell him something when you two were in the library. “Wanna know something funny?”

Seungmin’s eyes lit up; they were a lot brighter now, especially after he told his parents how he really felt. The day after you two started dating, Felix almost cried when he saw his stoic best friend walked into the class with a lopsided grin on his face.

“I believe fate only affects 40% of my life. The rest are decisions. The thing is, I’ve made gazillions of bad decisions that I can’t trust myself.” You paused, glancing down to see Seungmin waiting for you to continue. “Working at the library was my don’t-even-talk-about-it decision, you know. But then I met you.”

“You’re the one being romantic now,” your boyfriend pointed out.

You ignored him, dramatically announcing, “I made one great decision.”

He snickered, pulling you closer so that he could rest his forehead against yours. “Let me guess, that’s me?”

You rewarded him with a peck on his nose. “Likewise,” he said, closing the distance between you, kissing you slowly and long. You curled your hands around his neck, smiling as he nibbled your bottom lip. You stopped him. “I love you, Kim Seungmin,” you whispered against his lips.

He didn’t respond, only pressing his lips on yours harder. Seungmin pulled away after a while, leaving your lips swollen and your cheeks flushed. “Hmmm,” he hummed, tracing the outline of your lips. “Tell me something I don’t know, baby.”

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sage-stormcaller · 6 years

Text

Another College Tips for a College Witch post

Brought to you by one of your many local college witches!

Note: Some of these are just college tips in general and have nothing to do with witchcraft.

Stock up on exam materials at the beginning of the semester. Ask your professors in the first week whether you’ll need to buy your own scantrons or writing books and then buy a semester’s worth as soon as possible. Not only will it save you time on the days leading up to your exams, but it will protect you from the risk of the university running out just when you need to buy them. (Yes, that really happens. I once completely skipped a midterm because every university store was out of writing books and my anxiety was too bad to ask for one in the classroom. Don’t be me.)

Learn more about your mascot! Chances are your school has some sort of animal or historical figure as a mascot, which you might be able to use in your craft if you feel a connection to it! If you don’t like your mascot, you might also be able to incorporate your school colors into correspondences for your study-related spellwork. (I was fortunate enough that my school’s matron was the goddess I was already worshipping, but others aren’t so lucky)

Do not rely on spellwork instead of studying. This is a mistake that I’m still making. You can do all the magic in the world to bring academic success your way, but you can’t give it a conduit without actually studying a little. Even if it means just staring at the page that has your information on it, you need to put in work that isn’t dependent on the energies of the universe.

Discreet materials are available to you. It’s fine if you want to have an aesthetic going on, but if you’re more about practicality than atmosphere, then you’re in the perfect spot to get creative with your tools. A grimoire can look the same as any other notebook or binder you have. Red solo cups can be used as offering bowls. School supplies can be enchanted, like pencils that lead you to the right answer or lab goggles that grant you mental clarity. A few moments of meditation in a common area probably won’t be looked at twice, and no one questions you if you bring extra food or supplies around campus. You can practice your craft in plain sight without ever looking out of place.

Invest in note cards. This one is pretty much just stolen from another post. Even if you don’t use note cards to study, you can write down spells on them, or draw sigils to carry in your pocket, or burn them easily. Plus, the more you use them for your craft, the more likely you are to use them to study, and what’s the harm of one more study tool?

Incorporate your study into your spellwork. This one might be a little trickier, since it depends on what you’re studying, but chances are there’s some way you can use what you’re learning to add a new twist to spells. Draw sigils on a graph using formulas from stats or algebra. Translate spells you already know into whatever language you’re learning. Use stretches or focusing tools to ground yourself. Add music composition to give your spell an extra personal touch. Make it relevant to what you love!

Extended nihilism and hopelessness may seem commonplace, but it’s not healthy. If you can afford to, seeing a therapist even once may help tremendously, no matter who you are. Don’t play along with passive nihilist culture; you are in control of your own future. Ask for help.

I’m probably going to add more as I think of them but that’s all I have for now. I’m pretty sure everything else has been covered by other posts.

#college witch #dorm witch #witchblr #college witchcraft #college hacks #college tips #dorm witchcraft

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theliberaltony · 5 years

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via Politics – FiveThirtyEight

Graphics by Rachael Dottle

I grew up at the top of a hill on the east bank of a river that burned.1 That determined so much.

My maternal grandparents bought the house where I grew up in 1949. They were the rare Catholics in Shaker Heights, Ohio, a suburb of Cleveland, and they lived at the edge of the city, a few blocks away from a Jesuit college and parish. They were entering their 40s, and that they could buy in tony Shaker carried a certain cachet. The city probably wasn’t quite as excited to have them. My paternal grandfather, who was a real estate agent and lived a town over, was sometimes told by sellers in Shaker that they didn’t want their homes shown to any Catholics (like him) or Jews. The city had few black residents then. After one black couple did move to Shaker in the mid-1950s, their newly built home was firebombed in the middle of the night. That determined so much, too.

Parma, a city on the other side of the Cuyahoga River — which bisects Cleveland both geographically and transcendentally — was on the precipice of a wild population sprout in ’49. The city’s neat rows of modest houses still speak to the enthusiasm of its post-war suburban sprawl. In the course of two decades, Parma’s population grew from 30,000 to more than 100,000. It was the butt of Cleveland jokes, though. In a blue-collar part of the country, Parma was almost too blue collar — its flamingos-on-the-lawn, pierogies-in-the-kitchen reputation was so infamously parodied by a local 1960s TV personality that the mayor of Parma called the comedy “a dangerous slur to the community.”

For Cleveland suburbs, Shaker and Parma have little in common other than that, until recently, Democratic presidential candidates could count on their votes. But in 2016, Parma voted for Donald Trump, and Shaker didn’t. To Clevelanders, this split followed a certain logic. Shaker and Parma have long been of different tribes, though the same political party.

The two cities, one racially mixed, the other homogenous, have become my reference point for a cultural fissure in the Democratic Party that gaped open with the election of Trump. White Americans have split politically along class lines, and their alienation from each other following 2016 seems utter and complete. But the split that’s happening isn’t just between residents of rural and urban places. It’s also apparent in some suburbs, among people whose lives aren’t, at least on the surface, all that different from one another’s.

Much of my life since 2016 has been subsumed by politics talk — on podcasts, at parties, in conversations I scribble down in my notebook. Those discussions are often about how Americans find their tribe. Whom you date or befriend might hinge on politics. What city you move to might also, as well as what news you read and what books you take as gospel — whether you take the gospels as gospel matters politically, it turns out.

So, I decided to go home to look at the tribalism of where I’m from. Perhaps familiar ground might lead me down some road of insight. By dumb luck, we’re all born some place, to some kind of people. The choices made for and by us along the way, and the histories we absorb, are what shape our politics. They did in 2016, and they will again in 2020.

On the left, the Ridgewood Inn in Parma’s Polish Village. On the right, Shaker Heights High School’s bleachers.

MADDIE MCGARVEY FOR FIVETHIRTYEIGHT

We don’t spend much time thinking about the suburbs. That’s sort of the point — they’re purposely and pleasantly boring, a cul-de-sac monolith of culture. But the suburbs also form the worldviews of 175 million Americans. Whom you live next to, where your parents went to school, what store opens down the street — all these small things shape the politics of Americans before they even know what politics are.

In the past few years, the suburbs have also shown themselves to be the heart of the shifting politics of the nation. According to exit polls, Hillary Clinton lost the suburbs to Donald Trump in 2016, continuing a slump for Democrats — Obama lost the suburban vote in 2012 after nabbing it in 2008. But in the 2018 midterm elections, Democrats took back the House on the strength of their showing in suburban districts.

Lots of theories for the changing political proclivities of suburban Americans have been floated, and white Americans are front and center. (White people are the majority in 90 percent of America’s suburban counties.) Class has something to do with it. Over the past few years, college-educated white people have been increasingly more apt to vote for Democrats, while those without a college education skew Republican.

But what do we mean when we talk about “class” and politics? While Trump’s campaign consistently served messages of blue-collar empowerment, the people who voted for him were often quite well-off. According to an analysis of American National Election Studies data, 1 in 5 Trump voters without a college degree had a household income over $100,000.

Our concept of class is far too vaguely defined, and our political discussions of it too two-dimensional. Class means more than how much money you make or whether you went to college. It encompasses your understanding of racial identity — your own and that of others — and your perceptions of history, whether you look favorably or unfavorably on the country’s evolution. When we say “working-class white,” what we actually mean is a set of people whose understandings of politics is rooted in a specific set of values: those of racially homogenous communities who came up in America through middle-class jobs, often unionized ones.

If Democrats lose these voters in 2020 — both white blue-collar workers and their blue-collar-identifying descendants — it might portend a dramatically different party over the next few decades, or even century. When I went back to Ohio, I gleaned that how white people vote has quite a bit to do with their pasts — the formation of political identity comes from experiences, oftentimes inherited ones.

Parma and Shaker Heights lie on opposite sides of Cleveland’s metropolitan area and on opposite sides of a cultural divide. That cultural divide became a political one in 2016.

MADDIE MCGARVEY FOR FIVETHIRTYEIGHT

Politics are an iteration of ongoing history. So to understand Shaker’s and Parma’s present moment, I went back to the beginning.

Shaker Heights — current population, 28,000 — is named for the Shakers, the celibate Christian sect that settled in what they called “The Valley of God’s Pleasure.” The Shakers rather predictably lost their mojo around the turn of the 20th century because young people kept leaving, rumspringa-style. By 1905, the 1,366 acres of land they had worked found its way into the hands of real estate developers, the Van Sweringen brothers, who bought it for a cool million.

Shaker was to have neighborhood schools, lakes, canoeing, and no undesirables that would bring down home values. Deed restrictions stipulated architectural style, and only four were acceptable: Tudor, Colonial, French provincial and English cottage. (Historian Virginia Dawson has researched the city’s exclusionary real estate tactics extensively, cataloging the stringent regulations of Shaker’s early years.)

It was a rarified, exclusive atmosphere. An early advert talked about “friendly neighbors of our own kind … the peace and beauty and hominess of Shaker Village can never be invaded.”

Early advertisements for housing developments in what would become Parma.

CLEVELAND PLAIN DEALER

The crucial Van Sweringen innovation, though, was a railway line that took Shaker residents directly from their suburban homes to downtown Cleveland. “Open rolling country and deep woods lie beyond, yet the Public Square is but 30 minutes away by Shaker Electric Express,” an ad from 1926 read. Shaker was cosseted suburban life done to perfection yet still had access to the cosmopolitanism of Cleveland.

Perhaps that’s why early news and advertisements for the development that would become Parma conjured up visions of Shaker Heights. (Parma was incorporated as a city in 1931 and before that was known as Parma Township.) “In many ways, it will rival the Heights district,” a 1921 newspaper item said of Ridgewood, the brainchild of developer (and Shaker Heights Country Club member) H.A. Stahl. There were artificial lakes, and “many acres are set out in wonderful orchards,” an ad trumpeted. “Children … will grow strong and healthy out in Ridgewood. Three hundred and twenty-five feet above Lake Erie, where the air is pure and fragrant with the perfume of flowers.”

But the West Side development seemed ultimately more intent on attracting a humbler demographic. Stahl’s company promised that “the man of modest income can buy a homesite at the price of an ordinary lot in a manufacturing district and live amid beautiful surroundings.” And indeed, the real Parma boom came after World War II, driven by migration from the Eastern European Tremont neighborhood of Cleveland. As Andy Fedynsky, director emeritus of the Ukrainian Museum-Archives in Cleveland tells it, Tremont’s big Ukrainian Catholic church had purchased a cemetery plot out in the suburb. “People started gravitating to Parma because every time they buried a loved one, they went there,” Fedynsky said. The churches and people kept coming in droves thanks to the 10-minute drive on the highway from Cleveland to Parma.

Parma’s identity has remained remarkably cohesive — 88 percent of its residents are white, and it’s still a community centered around churches and the Eastern European experience. Most of the city’s immigrants are European — 71 percent, according to recent U.S. Census Bureau estimates. Evidence of the city’s ethnic pride is still easy to see — on a recent visit, I spotted the Polish eagle on the side of one building and signs for “Old World Christmas” on street lights.

Shaker, meanwhile, has seen drastic change.

Homes in Shaker Heights.

MADDIE MCGARVEY FOR FIVETHIRTYEIGHT

Shaker was built for segregation, at the very least the socioeconomic kind. South Woodland, a lovely, tree-lined boulevard, cuts across the belly of the city, dividing it into north and south. The northern reaches are where the real wealth dwelled and still does — it’s where the Van Sweringens built themselves a Tudor fortress. There, larger lots for mansions were built, close to the Shaker Lakes. To the south of South Woodland, there are smaller lots, meant for modest dwellings, including two-family homes.

Neighborhoods on both sides of South Woodland evoked a certain suburban idyll, but the city was far from immune to the racial violence that typified 20th-century America.

The Baileys were a black family that bought a home in Shaker in 1925. Their garage was soon set on fire, and the windows broken. At the time, the Van Sweringens were adding provisions to deeds that stipulated homes couldn’t be sold to people they didn’t approve of. That was mostly code for black and Jewish buyers. The Baileys soon moved back to Cleveland.

Thirty-one years later, in Ludlow, a neighborhood that straddles Cleveland and Shaker, there was another act of racial violence, this one sparking a much different reaction. On Jan. 3, 1956, a bomb destroyed the garage and part of the dining room of John and Dorothy Pegg’s newly built home in Ludlow. The Peggs were black. In the wake of the bombing, a kind of proto-wokeness in the city was born. For decades to come, a part of Shaker’s identity would be its pride in diversity efforts.

Shaker’s Ludlow Community Association formed after the bombing of a black family’s home. The group tried to deter white flight by giving loans to white buyers while also trying to attract black residents to the Ludlow neighborhood that bordered Cleveland.

CLEVELAND HISTORICAL SOCIETY / SHAKER HEIGHTS LIBRARY

After the bombing, Ludlow residents formed the Ludlow Community Association, a group with aims to integrate the neighborhood purposefully. White real estate agents had stopped listing Ludlow homes by the time the community association formed because the neighborhood was integrating, and homeowners feared that a further increase in black residents would decrease property values. Its strategy was to prevent white flight by setting up a mortgage company, offering help to potential white buyers, while still welcoming black residents with open arms. It was a difficult proposition for the time.

Dawson, who lives in Shaker, lauded the careful strategy of the group. “The genius of the way Shaker Heights integrated was that they were trying to attract white liberals who would move in and become cheerleaders for integration,” she told me. To do that, the community association put white residents front and center, she said, even while black residents “were really the leaders.” Today, Ludlow remains an integrated neighborhood.

But elsewhere in Shaker, similar strategies worked with varying degrees of success on the integration front. The Moreland neighborhood had a less proactive neighborhood association, according to Dawson, and its white residents left. Today, it is nearly entirely black.

American suburban life seems to regress to a mean of segregation. A 2011 analysis using Census Bureau data found that a “typical white” American lives in a neighborhood that’s 75 percent white.

Shaker has spent 60 years trying to fight that. And in the process, the city cultivated what might be called, in the parlance of 2019, a woke white demographic. The identity of the city, which once rested on being wealthy and WASP-y, turned unmistakably liberal.

This sort of wokeness has become a trope in today’s Democratic Party, empowering to some, alienating to others. But there’s evidence that white Democrats’ views on race have shifted quite a bit over the past few years. In 2009, according to the Pew Research Center, 50 percent of white Democrats agreed with the idea that the country needs to make changes to give black Americans equal rights to white Americans. By 2017, 80 percent of white Democrats agreed with that position. This shift has come alongside gains for Democrats among white college-educated voters, which seems notable given the change in racial attitudes. Shaker has a lot of that well-educated demographic — 65 percent of the population has a college degree or higher.

Share of the population with a bachelor’s degree or higher, based on the 2013-17 American Community Survey five-year estimate

Bachelor’s Degree or higher Shaker Heights 64.7%

–

Parma 20.7%

–

Source: U.S. Census Bureau

Since I moved away, I haven’t spent much time in the parts of Shaker outside my family orbit — Van Sweringen geography still at work. But on a February afternoon, with time to kill, I took a drive around Moreland and found myself in front of Chelton Park, where I’d played summer-league softball as a kid. Moreland and Ludlow look a decent amount like Parma. Most of the homes around Chelton are doubles. In Ludlow, there’s a mix of the traditional Shaker colonials and Tudors, along with G.I.-era ranch-style homes. As I drove around the area, the street signs switched back and forth from the blue of Cleveland to the white-and-black lettering of Shaker.

Some called the traffic barricades separating Shaker Heights from Cleveland “the Berlin Wall for black people.” Portions of the barricades still stand.

MADDIE MCGARVEY FOR FIVETHIRTYEIGHT

Down the block from Chelton is Scottsdale Boulevard, the boundary between Shaker and Cleveland. During the 1970s, Shaker set up traffic barriers along Scottsdale in an effort, the city said, to control vehicle flow. To many, though, their purpose seemed clear: “the Berlin Wall for black people.” A couple of barriers are still there.

Most Shaker residents probably don’t like the “build the wall” chant that Trump has popularized, but they built one of their own here, years ago, a reminder that the city’s integration was done on its own particular set of terms; it wasn’t necessarily meant for everyone.

Parma was at the very least honest about its discriminatory practices.

“I do not want Negroes in the City of Parma,” City Council President Kenneth Kuczma said in 1971, garnering Parma all the wrong kinds of attention.

He made the statement at a public meeting on whether a proposed new development should have low-income housing. People were worried that Parmatown Woods would attract, as Mayor John Petruska put it at the meeting, the “entire east side of Cleveland,” a thinly veiled reference to black people. The comments were picked up on local and national TV, and the federal government soon got involved. In 1973, the Justice Department sued Parma, accusing it of engaging “in a pattern and practice of racial discrimination in housing in violation of the Fair Housing Act.”

Parma’s Polish Village.

MADDIE MCGARVEY FOR FIVETHIRTYEIGHT

In 1970, Parma, a city of 100,000 people, had only 41 black residents, 0.04 percent of its population. The city was eventually found to have systematically discriminated and was mandated by the court to establish its own public housing committee and to advertise the community as welcoming to minority homeowners; unusually, city officials were required to take a course on housing discrimination. (Historian Dennis Keating, emeritus professor of urban studies and law at Cleveland State University, detailed the events surrounding the lawsuit and its fallout in his 1994 book, “The Suburban Racial Dilemma,” which focuses on Cleveland’s suburbs.)

Today, with a population of around 80,000, Parma is 3 percent black.

“There are places I won’t go here because I know I wouldn’t be welcome,” Karyn Dukes, who is black and lives in Parma, told me recently. “There’s a bar at the end of my corner” — I’d seen the Irish bar with cinder-block half-windows when I’d driven up her street — “I’ve never been there.”

Dukes told me that she thinks twice about going into stores with Polish flags or ethnic emblems on them. “You’re scared to because of the rejection of how people will act or treat you when you’re in there,” she said. “I feel like I have to put on this air. I feel like I can’t act like myself — ‘Hi, how are you!’” She put on an exaggerated perky voice.

Polish sweets at Rudy’s Strudel & Bakery in Parma.

CLARE MALONE

A couple of days earlier, I’d gone into one of those businesses to buy Polish jelly doughnuts. The place smelled like pure sugar, advertised polka dancing lessons and had a picture of Joe Biden on the wall. The woman behind the counter was lovely and insisted on giving me free doughnuts when she found out I was visiting from New York. It felt like a Cleveland hug of kindness, the kind of out-of-nowhere warmth I miss on the East Coast. Would Dukes have felt comfortable walking in, I wondered.

Dukes lives in the upstairs of a two-family home with her son, a sweet and gangly preteen. One of the reasons she moved to Parma nearly five years ago was for the schools, the better housing and the chance to be near her mother, who lives in a town not far away. “I think the area that I live in is a prime location,” she said. “There’s a Sam’s Club, a Walmart. There’s a park, bike trails, all that stuff.” Suburban-ideal kind of stuff.

The 2016 election made things hard for Dukes in Parma. She said that Trump yard signs made her feel like people were signaling that they didn’t believe in having people like her there. “I feel like people have had deep feelings about a lot of the issues that he raises, but they didn’t really say anything about it [before] because Cuyahoga County is predominantly a Democratic county.”

Parma has been shaped by the ebbs and flows of American manufacturing and by generations of close-knit communities of Eastern European descent.

MADDIE MCGARVEY FOR FIVETHIRTYEIGHT

In their book on the 2016 election, “Identity Crisis,” political scientists John Sides, Michael Tesler and Lynn Vavreck talk about something not far off from the phenomenon that Dukes describes: “Once Obama was in office, whites with less formal education became better able to connect racial issues to partisan politics.” The Democratic Party, it was becoming clear, was a party for liberal racial policies. That realization coincided with the party’s loss of white people without a college education. In 2008, roughly half of non-college-educated white people identified as Democrats and half as Republican. By 2015, the share that favored the GOP had grown to 57 percent, while the share that favored the Democrats had dropped to 33 percent.

Dukes told me that she is “an empathizer.” I asked what she thought it was that made some people in Parma hostile to people like her. (The politicians I talked to in the area — all white — said racism isn’t a problem anymore in Parma.) “I think because a lot of them were probably immigrants, from immigrant households themselves,” she said. “They probably feel they worked hard to build a community here so how come people of other races can just come in here and benefit from anything they’ve built.”

Dukes said she’s mostly worried about how the environment in Parma will affect her son. “I’m scared to let my son go down the street and play with other kids because I don’t know if their parents are OK with my son being black,” she said. “And that’s the most frightening part.”

“My son loves everyone,” she said. “I don’t want him to see color, but I also have to put the warning out to him.”

Parma Mayor Tim DeGeeter is a Democrat. So is most of the City Council, the city’s state representative and its Cuyahoga County Council member. “Right to Work Is A Lie” is emblazoned on a billboard above the highway near Parma. (Parma has a General Motors plant, and its United Auto Workers chapter is active.) Online, you can watch a 2008 video of a young Barack Obama working the rope line for an adoring crowd at one of Parma City School District’s high schools; a 2012 clip shows Bill Clinton and Bruce Springsteen rallying a Parma crowd in support of Obama.

Hillary Clinton footage?

“Their campaign didn’t focus on places like Parma,” DeGeeter told me, sitting next to Mickey Vittardi, the head of the city’s Democratic Party. The three of us were discussing which, if any, national Democrats could win the city back after 2016. Parma Democrats, DeGeeter said, were Reagan Democrats: “You know who plays best here — Joe Biden.”

Parma’s Democratic identity is a union identity. Its political history is a union town’s political history. That’s in part because the ebbs and flows of American manufacturing figure heavily into Parma’s well-being as a city. DeGeeter said that when GM announced the closure of a plant in Lordstown, Ohio, “we for sure got on the phone and talked to them.” What would happen if the GM plant in Parma closed, I asked. “I wouldn’t want to think about it,” the mayor said.

The Clinton campaign did send Biden to Parma in 2016, and he returned on a midterm swing through the area in 2018. The former vice president likes to commune with the blue-collar union demographic by talking about Scranton, Pennsylvania, where he was born. Despite a national party that’s heavily flirting with left progressivism, Vittardi said that he was hopeful the Democratic presidential primary would winnow the field to a more moderate candidate. “My friends that I grew up with are strong Democrats, but they’re tired of our party sliding so far to the left,” he said.

In recent years, Parma has tried to court new residents with its affordable housing and cohesive sense of identity.

MADDIE MCGARVEY FOR FIVETHIRTYEIGHT

While Parma’s Democratic identity comes from union politics, its cultural identity is probably best described as “white ethnic.” Because of that, it’s a place that’s well aware of Cleveland’s traditional ethnic geography. “So you’re Irish, what are you doing on the east side?” one person asked me a few minutes into a casual conversation, after he’d found out my last name and that I’d grown up across the river.

DeGeeter told me that the city’s Polish Village, paczki-laden Fat Tuesday celebrations and Ukrainian parades and festivals were real selling points for Parma. Young people, he told me, were eager to move to a community with cheap housing and a cohesive sense of identity.

“People work hard, play hard, want their kids to do better than they did, want their kids to go to college at the Kent States, the Bowling Greens, and be able to afford to go on vacation to Myrtle Beach and Hilton Head,” he said. And they want their politicians to confine themselves to kitchen table issues.

A couple of nights later, I was due in Parma for the city’s local Democratic Party meeting. My usual route west from Shaker takes me by Lake Erie, which I don’t just love for the blue haze it gets in summer or how the spray freezes into icicles in the winter. It’s a useful beauty — you could drink all 127 trillion gallons of fresh water if you needed to. But the route to Parma skirts inland, passing over the industrial heart of Cleveland, where belching towers of smoke sometimes take on the same pearlescent glow of clouds at sunset and shoot ribbons of flame into the night sky. It’s eerily, hellaciously captivating, a reminder, just like the lake, of what made the region. Someone recently said to me, “Who wants to read about Ohio? It’s not even beautiful.” This is just to say, of course it is. Some people just don’t know how to look. And if there is one thing I learned growing up in Ohio and then leaving it, it’s that people dismiss the place. They think it’s the past.

Bill Clinton visited Parma Pierogies Restaurant during his 1992 presidential campaign.

Joe Sohm / Visions of America / UIG via Getty Images

The party meeting was in a VFW hall tucked into a residential neighborhood. I arrived halfway through, and one official had already left for the Cavs game. The small crowd — all white — sipped beer and chatted. Jeff Crossman, who represents Parma in the Ohio House, nursed a beer and told me about a call that he’d gotten a couple of days after his November 2018 victory: “It was [Sen.] Sherrod Brown, and he had called to congratulate me. And we were talking about the [2020] general, and I told him how concerned I was that the national party narrative was hurting us in places like Ohio.” Candidates like Bernie Sanders, Crossman told me, ran the risk of “overpromising and underdelivering.” Ohioans probably weren’t going to go for “Medicare-for-all,” he said. “I don’t know that you can promise free tuition and free health care — it’s not free, first of all,” he said. “There’s a cost somewhere along the line. And I think people in Ohio are smart enough to know that. We’re very pragmatic.”

The break over, Ryan Puente, the soft-spoken, baby-faced executive director of the Cuyahoga County Democrats, got up to brief the crowd on November’s election. The performance of Ohio Democrats has been disappointing over the past couple of cycles, and Puente seemed well aware that his job was to boost morale by putting a spin on the numbers. “Is Ohio a red state?” he asked. “The short answer is ‘no.’”

A lot of that optimism about the competitiveness of the state centered on Brown’s performance. Puente was at particular pains to emphasize the importance of blue-collar suburbs like Parma that might be moving away from the Democratic Party. In Cuyahoga County, he noted, Brown outperformed Democratic gubernatorial nominee Richard Cordray, who lost his race to Republican Mike DeWine, by around 26,000 votes. Puente said that one way to keep Ohio competitive would be to bring all the people who had voted Democratic in the Senate election and Republican in the gubernatorial election back into the fold.

He wrapped up. Were there any questions?

A man wanted to know what to do about Republicans who kept tearing down yard signs by the UAW.

On the left, a flag supporting President Trump flies in Parma. On the right, a sticker in Shaker Heights protests the killing of Tamir Rice, a 12-year-old who was fatally shot by a Cleveland police officer in 2014.

MADDIE MCGARVEY FOR FIVETHIRTYEIGHT

Given FiveThirtyEight’s predilections, I suppose the most pressing question at hand is whether the Democrats can re-unite the political interests of Parma and Shaker in 2020. Can they knit two different tribes back into a single cloth? Will the primary produce the moderate of Parma’s dreams who also appeals to the sensibilities of Shaker’s liberals? That’s what people like to talk your ear off about.

In some ways, though, this near-term political dilemma is far from the only interesting one — what comes after 2020 matters just as much. The realignment of white America’s politics along class lines is likely to continue to define our partisanship.

How that will play out in the culture is an unknown. White Shakerites live in a racially mixed city, a relative rarity in American life. But there is an alliance forming in the Democratic Party between minorities — who are estimated to become the majority in the U.S. by 2045 — and another group of college-educated white people, those who say they share a race-conscious worldview but who don’t live in the same cities as minorities or send their children to the same schools. What that portends for our politics after the upheaval of the Trump era isn’t entirely clear.

Already, that alliance can be tense, particularly on issues where politics are personal. In Shaker, for instance, the schools are ostensibly integrated, but some people feel black students have limited academic opportunities compared with white students.

“There are three Shakers,” Kevin Lowery, the current co-president of the Ludlow Community Association, told me recently. Lowery is black and the father of two children in Shaker’s public schools. He thinks the city isn’t doing enough to grapple with its inherent disparities. “You have your upper-class, elitist Shaker, you have your middle-class Shaker — and those groups have taken ownership of the city,” he said. “Then you have the third group of students that are lower middle class.” Many of those students are black, and in Lowery’s view, they’re treated differently by the city schools. The white parents “have their students placed in upper-level classes whether they can do the work or not,” he said. “But the African American parents and students are steered away.”

Shaker Heights has a diverse school system, but some people have questioned whether white and black students have the same educational opportunities.

MADDIE MCGARVEY FOR FIVETHIRTYEIGHT

When I was in Shaker’s public schools, we all had to attend programming done by the Student Group on Race Relations to talk openly about our inherent biases, although our cafeteria, like so many others, was racially segregated. I was one of two white girls on the middle-school basketball team, but when I got to high school, I switched to the swim team, which was mostly white. Well-intentioned institutional forces were everywhere, pushing us to integrate, but as humans tend to do, a lot of us settled into what seemed like the most familiar territory.

And Shaker seems less preoccupied these days with proactively implementing pro-integration housing policies. The last loan-giving housing integration group in the city, The Fund for the Future of Shaker Heights, dissolved in 2012, handing over its funds to the Shaker Heights Development Corp. It was the end of a grand social experiment in housing integration. Mayor David Weiss told me that the transition to a focus on business development by no means marks an end to Shaker’s efforts to maintain a racially balanced city. “Inclusion is part of our identity and what we bring, part of who we are and part of what makes us different than other communities,” he said. (Full disclosure: My brother is a member of the Shaker Heights City Council.)

I still wonder if Shaker is special, though, or whether one day it too will regress to the American mean of segregation.

And then what? What does it mean to be politically allied with people you don’t live with? Perhaps Parma gives a glimpse of what happens when that distance becomes too much for a political alliance to bear.

Democrats have started attracting more white, college-educated Americans. Will that always be the case? A few months ago, I was writing a story about California, a state that’s so robustly Democratic that its politics are beginning to divide along class lines, as manifested in debates over housing and gentrification. Justin Garosi, who works in the Legislative Analyst’s Office there, told me that a lot of political conflicts in the state “aren’t so much left versus right as pro-development versus anti-development.”

What else could divide Americans in a future class-based political paradigm?

I’m not entirely sure, but it makes me wonder what it will mean, 10 or 20 years down the line, to have grown up at the top of a hill on the east bank of a river that burned.

#IFTTT #Politics – FiveThirtyEight #politics #538 #Clare Malone

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heartlessfujoshi · 6 years

Text

Title: ‘A Man of Faith’ Chapter 10: ‘Cut to the Chase’ Fandom: FFXV Pairing: Promnis (Prompto Argentum x Ignis Scientia) Rating: Explicit (Super NSFW) Word Count: ~5810

Summary: Father Scientia shows up at Prompto’s dorm room, and the two get reacquainted with one another.

A/N: Happy Hump Day! Here’s the next chapter for my priest kink fic. ^_^ Please enjoy!

Ch 1 . Ch 2 . Ch 3 . Ch 4 . Ch 5 . Ch 6. Ch 7 . Ch 8 . Ch. 9

Whatever had possessed him to make the suggestion for Father Scientia to come to his dorm room again didn’t stick around, Prompto staring blankly at one of his textbooks, nervousness beginning to make its way into his brain. His digital clock says that it’s seven past eleven, the words in front of him going in and out of focus as he tries to retain the information. But he’s been looking at the same paragraph for the past fifteen minutes, wondering how long he’s going to have to wait for his lover to show up.

Picking up his pen, he sees he’s put quite a few bitemarks into the cap, chewing on it as he thinks about what he needs to commit to memory. He looks at his notes, a highlighter uncapped as he’d been highlighting passages, then transferring high level items to his notebook. But since around 10:30, his mind keeps drifting to what had happened back in the sacristy. Dropping his pen, he leans back in his chair with a groan, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes as he attempts to get his brain back on track.

The sound of the door slowly beginning to open throws that right out the window, his chair dropping back down to the floor with a loud thud, the priest poking his head in through a small crack in the door. There’s a smile on his face, the rest of his head obscured by the hood on his sweatshirt. A different St. Lucis sweatshirt covers his torso, his glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. “Hey.” Prompto’s heartbeat jumps, as Father Scientia walks into his room and closes the door behind him. “Am I interrupting your studying?”

“Nope.” He laughs, and jumps up off the chair, and makes his way over to where his lover stands. He takes in his appearance, impressed by the jeans that are on his body. “Did you wear those because of my question to you earlier?”

There is no visible white collar poking up, making Prompto wonder what he’s got on underneath. Not that he can say anything, because he’s wearing his white tank top undershirt with a pair of jack-o-lantern pajamas. “It might have influenced me to wear them out. Wearing a grey sweatshirt with slacks might have been a dead giveaway that I may not be where I’m supposed to be.”

“Aww.” Prompto walks up to him, and gives a little tug on his sweatshirt. Father Scientia takes it off, revealing he’s wearing a plain black shirt underneath, more articles of clothing that shouldn’t surprise him but they do. Normal. “Well, I’m glad you’re here now. And not in an hour, because I haven’t been able to concentrate for the past half hour.”

“Oh?” His lover puts both of his hands at his waist, pulling him to be closer to his body. “And why is that, love?”

He puts his arms around Ignis’ neck, and stares up at him, swaying his hips from side to side. “Take a guess.”

“You’ve memorized every single thing you need to remember for your upcoming midterms already, a vast wealth of knowledge now in your brain.”

Ignis dips his head down, Prompto tilting it to the side as he feels his warm breath tickle the side of his neck. “H-Hah, no. I’ve got too many different types of classes to memorize that much material. I wish I could, though. It would probably save a lot of stressaahh…” His eyelids flutter closed, as teeth tug on his skin at the base of his neck.

“You’ve been counting down the minutes until I get here.” Lips caress the tip of his ear, his hands curling into fists on Ignis’ shirt. “Wondering when I’ll be coming through the door, so I can sweep you off your feet, and have my way with you for the duration of the night.”

At the comment, he takes a chance and jumps up, his legs wrapping around Ignis’ waist, his lover catching him before he slips down. “Wow…” He stares up at him, at a loss for words as he sees the pleased smirk on Ignis’ face.

“Did you think I would let you fall?” He shifts himself in Ignis’ arms, as his lover begins to walk. “Where should I take you? The loveseat?” They both turn their heads to look over at the small couch, Prompto’s legs tightening their grip around Ignis’ torso. “Or, should we cut to the chase, and go to the bed?”

Having already decided what he wants, he hums a little. “Mm...I dunno…” The arms supporting him giving him a little lift, Ignis purposefully pushing their arousals against one another. He groans, and knocks his head against his shoulder. “B-Bed, please…”

“I was hoping you were going to say that.”

As he’s lowered to the bed, he pulls Ignis down with him, shifting over so that they can share the bed. His mouth finds his, tongues coming together with needy touches, both men moaning as they finally re-establish their connection. The taste of coffee clings to both of their tongues - Prompto wondering if Ignis had some so that he would stay awake late, like he’d done. It’s a distinct flavor, one he can’t seem to get enough of as he licks every inch of Ignis’ mouth, his lover giving him total control over their kiss.

The lust that had been prevalent in his body when he’d been at church makes its return known as his hand slides down Ignis’ chest, stopping when it comes into contact with the belt on his waist. “I didn’t want you to come here tonight…” He pulls on the leather of the belt, and gets it unbuckled, giving him access to the button on Ignis’ jeans. “I told you, I have midterms to study for…”

“You’re the one that asked me to come here tonight.” His fingers pull down on the zipper, expecting to find the tip of his lover’s cock to be poking out through the hole in his boxers, but instead feels the firm mound of tight underwear. “Should I go back to the rectory?”

“Don’t you dare.” Prompto groans, pushing his palm against the bulge trapped by Ignis’ underwear. “I got enough studying today. This is my reward.” He uses a little more pressure, biting his lip when he hears Ignis moan. “I didn’t know you switched between different types of underwear…”

“When I knew you were going to be a mass, I knew I had to go to the extreme.” Ignis moans a little more, as he starts to pull on the elastic band of his underwear. “Wearing these hides the physical evidence of how I feel when I’m around you.”

Finally getting his lover’s cock out into the open, he makes a fist around it, and releases a little groan. It feels really good to be touching him again, the dull ache in the lower half of his body starting to increase as he thinks about what they can and can’t do right now. “Did you have that problem before, Iggy…?”

“Yes.” Hands slip under his own shirt, cool fingers touching his sides. Prompto leans forward a little, the itch to laugh dissipating as Ignis’ hands rest flat on his skin. “I always wear these for the weekend masses.”

“But not for the ones during the week?” Prompto gives his lover’s cock a little more loving, then lets go of it in order to get the man undressed. “Why is that?”

One leg is revealed to him, now sitting between Ignis’ thighs. “Don’t take this wrong way, because I want you to know I find you attractive all the time. But the outfits you choose to wear for Saturday and Sunday masses are different, and are very arousing for me.”

“Is that so?” He gets the other leg free, Ignis’ lower half of his body now without any clothes on. Well, except the black socks, but he’s quick to remove those, dropping all items at the foot of his bed. “So, did you like what I wore tonight? It took me a little while to figure out what I wanted to wear.”

“Was my comment to you after mass not enough for you?” Glancing up, he sees Ignis pulling his shirt off, now completely nude on his bed. Green eyes look up and down. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”

Smiling, he moves up the bed, and places one knee between his lover’s thighs, pushing his thigh to be against his stiffness. “Why don’t you help me get undressed?” He kisses him on the lips, then pulls back a little before returning them back to his lover’s lips, parting them so that their tongues can touch a little more.

“But your pajamas are adorable.” Ignis teases him, strong hands coming to rest on his hips, guiding him to lay on his back. “I take it you’re a fan of Halloween?”

“It’s so close to my birthday.” Lifting his arms up, the tank top is pulled up over his head. His lover’s lips touch his chest, as Ignis uses his fingers to untie the drawstring of his pants. “I love all things fall.” Lifting up his hips, his underwear and pants are pulled off of his body. He groans when he feels something wet touch his entrance, shifting a little on the bed. “Nngh...I-Iggy…”

“Does it hurt at all…?” The concern he hears in his voice makes Prompto's stomach roll a little, the touches to that part of his body delicate and gentle.

He shakes his head, hearing more lube being poured. “It’s a little sore, but I’m sure that it won’t matter if you keep touching me the way you are.” His eyes close, knees spreading apart, the comfort of his own bed helping to keep him level. “When I got home this morning…”

“What did you do?” A gentle push has one finger entering his body, Prompto releasing a low moan. “Did I lose you, love…?”

Eyebrows furrowed, he shakes his head, taking a deep breath as the finger inside of him rolls around. “N-No, Iggy. I’m here.” He tries to open his eyes, but the touch of a second finger keeps them closed, as the pleasure begins to build. “I touched myself there for the first time in the shower.” He moans low, cock standing up at full attention as the two fingers inside of him work their magic on spreading him open.

“Did you think of me as you were doing that?” Ignis touches his hip, encouraging him to roll over onto his side.

He nods his head, going the extra step and winds up laying on his chest. He hears Ignis inhale, Prompto situating his knees on the bed to prop up his ass more. The fingers inside of him slip out, one hand keeping his cheeks spread apart. “Of course I did…” Prompto wants to ask him to put his fingers back into him, missing the feeling of being full, but is too afraid to ask.

Something soft and wet touches his entrance, making him release a lustful moan into his pillow. “Just relax into my touch, Prompto…” Ignis swipes his tongue against his entrance a second time, the fingers that had been inside of him now wrapped firmly around his cock, pulling on it as Ignis moves his tongue against him more. “Does this feel nice…?”

“S-So nice…” His cheek stays pressed against the pillow, deep rich moans spilling from his throat as Ignis’ tongue keeps touching his puckering hole. “Hhhngh…” The hand on his cock slides down to his sac, cupping him gently before going back to his hardness.

The wet muscle pushes into him, causing him to fist the fitted sheet on his bed, a pitched moan erupting out of him, as Ignis’ thumb chooses that exact moment to touch the sensitive head of his cock. “That’s it, love….You want this…”

“I do…” Prompto’s moans become sobs, as the hand on his cock starts to work him more. He wants to tell him it’s dirty, but he took a shower a half hour before his arrival wanting to be clean for him. But he never dreamed that he would be feeling Ignis’ tongue on this part of his body, but now that it’s there, he can’t help but push back into the touch, as it feels so good.

His knees begin to spread, the hand keeping his cheeks spread apart holding onto his ass, Ignis’ tongue pushing past the tight ring to be inside of his body. The hand stroking his cock begins to be more aggressive, squeezing and twisting its way back up to the tip, Prompto torn between pushing more into the hand, or pushing back against the tongue that keeps defiling him in the best way possible. He hears himself moaning loud into the pillow, writhing on the bed as the desire to feel more of Ignis’ tongue wins out over the fist on his cock. Ignis pulls back, and begins to lick down his perineum, the tip of his tongue touching the bottom of his sac, then slides back up to lick more at his entrance. Each little teasing lick makes Prompto whine and moan, his lover purposefully keeping him guessing as to what his tongue will do next. It’s entrancing, his hips moving in a rolling motion, Ignis’ tongue inside of him mimicking what his cock had done to him the night before. When a finger enters his body alongside the wet muscle inside of him, he screams one final time, and begins to come. Moan after moan is muffled by his pillow, Ignis’ tongue and finger making him come undone completely.

The pressure around his hole disappears, a wet kiss touching his other ass cheek, the hand on his softening cock staying in its place. “How do you feel?” Ignis’ voice is a bit ragged, the timbre thick with want.

“Good….so good, Ignis…” The hand on his cock starts to bring him back to an aroused state, the stickiness of both his cum and the lube helping.

“Here…” His lover brings the hand that’s on his cock up to his lips, Prompto’s tongue darting out to wipe away the milky white fluid he sees clinging to Ignis’ fingers. “Lick it all up, love….You taste divine…”

He groans, pulling one finger into his mouth, unfurling both hands to lay them flat on the bed as he lifts himself up to be on both his hands and knees. He feels something wet and hard push against his entrance, sucking more vigorously on the two fingers now inside of his mouth. All of his leftover cum is gone, and now he’s sucking on Ignis’ fingers to have something to do as the man behind him rubs the tip of his cock against his pliant hole.

“Do you want more now, Prompto…?” The question buzzes in his ears, his head moving up and down with his answer as he tries to push back to get the tip to ‘accidentally’ go into his body. “Have you been wanting to feel it again all day?”

“Yes…” He moans, dropping his head down as he gets the initial burst of pain from the intrusion. Even with lube coating his cock, it’s still a strange sensation, his body screaming at him to get it out. But he remembers how it felt last night, and how the pain had lingered for only a bit, and then it became the most wonderful feeling in the world. “D-Did you….” He groans, knees spreading more as he keeps his head lowered, his cock dripping onto his bed with the subtle movements of his hips. “Did you think about it too…?”

“It’s all I thought about it.” Two firm hands touch his hips, Ignis’ cock sinking further into his body. In this position, the fullness is increased by ten, his inner walls stretching as Ignis’ cock becomes full sheathed inside of him. “You were on my mind all day.”

Prompto lifts his head, and turns to look over his shoulder at his lover. Ignis no longer has his glasses on, his eyes closed in concentration as he keeps from moving further into Prompto’s body. It’s this look on his face that Prompto realizes he’s in far deeper than he could have imagined. He gives a little push back, and sees his lover’s green eyes meet his, the two sharing a smile before Prompto turns his head back towards his pillow, moaning low as Ignis begins to move his hips in a slow rhythm.

His bed creaks, the sound of the springs going up and down not bothering him at all as he contributes to the noise with his own licentious moans. The hands on his hips grab onto him tighter, and with no warning, he’s elevated to be on his knees, his back now sliding against Ignis’ chest as his lover’s cock starts to penetrate him deep, knocking against his prostate every few thrusts.

“Nngh…” Tilting his head back to rest on Ignis’ shoulder, he moans as the man starts to kiss along the side of his neck. It turns into a choked off cry as teeth sink down into his skin, his ass pushing down to feel more of his lover’s thickness inside of him. “Iggy…” His hand goes up to rest on the back of Ignis’ neck, the bite sending volts of pleasure throughout his entire body. He reaches down, and starts to touch himself, moving it in time with Ignis’ thrusts.

“Oops…” Ignis’ voice rattles in his ear, a breathless chuckle following. “I may...have marked….you…”

He groans, stroking himself more as he feels his neck throb from the aftermath of Ignis’ bite. “Good…” He turns his head to meet his eyes, then feels Ignis’ lips on his own, opening his mouth wide to feel their tongues come together in a passionate kiss. “Mark me all over…”

“If you insist….”

Ignis moves to the other side of Prompto’s neck, and bites down at the base of his throat, Prompto practically caterwauling from need as he becomes overstimulated. One rough thrust backwards, and he feels the warmth of his cum start to hit his hand, a second orgasm racing through his body, Ignis’ cock grinding into him as he loses total control.

His head flings back, knocking against Ignis’ shoulder, as he feels him pound harder into his body. “Come on, love….Let me hear you keep moaning for me…” He replies with lustful moans, still consumed by how good his orgasm had just felt. “One more for me…”

“I-Ignis…” He moans his lover’s full name, delirious from his euphoria, shuddering hard as he hears his lover release a deep moan near his ear. The rush of hot cum plugging him up makes Prompto moan again, totally satisfied by what the two of them had just engaged in together.

It takes a few minutes to come back down to Earth, Prompto still lost in a slight haze from their round of sex. When he comes to, he’s laying on the bed, the sound of water running letting him know that Ignis is in his bathroom. He expects to feel something wet on his ass, but he doesn’t. The dull ache has returned, but this time it’s more comfortable than it had been earlier in the day, and when he feels the bed dip down, he turns over to fold himself into his lover’s arms.

“How’re you doing?” Ignis asks, fingers brushing lightly through Prompto’s hair. “I didn’t hurt you at all, did I?”

He shakes his head, smiling as he keeps resting his cheek on Ignis’ chest. “Not at all. That was...whew. That was pretty amazing, Iggy.” He laughs, turning his head to look up at him. The smile he sees there makes his stomach flip flop, and only makes the smile on his face grow. “Is it always going to be like that?”

“Maybe.” He grins, and turns his head back to rest against his lover’s chest. “I’m afraid this might be the only night we’ll be able to do this until after midterms are over.”

Prompto sighs softly. “I know. It’s probably better that way. I need to concentrate on my studies. You need to...concentrate on your tests? God? I don’t know.”

“Yes to all of those.” The laugh that his lover releases makes Prompto kiss his chest, happy to hear such a nice sound. “But, it doesn’t mean I won’t be thinking about you. Or about this.”

“Or about my dick.”

“That too.”

Now it’s his turn to laugh, snuggling a bit more comfortably against his side, happy that the two of them fit nicely together on his bed. “Can I ask you a question, Iggy?”

“You can.”

With his eyes closed, he listens to his lover’s heartbeat for a bit before speaking. “Did you wear your casual clothes over here on purpose?”

“In a sense, yes. But not for the reason you may think.” A kiss touches his forehead, the fingers on his hip sliding up and down. “You may think ill of me if I tell you why I did it.”

“I could never think such a thing.” Prompto lifts himself up, blond bangs falling onto his face as he stares into Ignis’ eyes. “How could I think something like that, when we know what we’re doing is something that’s a punishable act in the eyes of the Church?”

A hand cups his face, Ignis’ thumb stroking his cheek. “You know that that isn’t true. I wish I could help you see that. Do you think that what we’re doing is that deplorable?”

“No…” He shakes his head, turning a little to press a kiss against the side of his lover’s hand. “And yes. I don’t know. I know that I’m happier now than I have been, and I know that this feels right, but you…”

“I’m making my own choices. You are not influencing them in any sort of fashion.” His lover’s green eyes lock onto his. “I chose not to wear them this evening because it’s a little easier for me to accept these feelings for you if I come to you as a man first, and not as a priest.”

Prompto thinks about it for a moment, and nods his head. “I understand, Iggy. If it makes it easier for you, then I won’t bring it up again. You know how I feel about your clerical clothes.”

“And I know what your subconscious thinks of them.” His lover teases him, rubbing his thumb over his bottom lip. “We’re both dealing with this in different ways right now. Does it bother you that I wore ‘normal’ clothes over here? Do you prefer I wear my collar? My black clerical shirt?”

He shakes his head. “No. To be honest, I also feel that it’s easier to accept if I think about you as Ignis first, and not as Father Scientia.” He kisses the pad of Ignis’ thumb, before moving to rest his head back against his shoulder. “That doesn’t mean I always want that though.”

“I know. Nor do I.”

They both fall silent, but it’s not an awkward silence. His eyelids begin to feel heavy, the energy his two orgasms took from him is making it difficult to stay awake. He begins to play with the pendant that rests against Ignis’ sternum, draping his leg over Ignis’ as he yawns softly. “Did you set an alarm on your phone, Iggy?” He asks, still moving the pendant back and forth on the thin chain.

“I did. I plan on leaving here around half past five.” Ignis shifts their bodies, Prompto feeling more comfortable with the minor shift. “You may get some rest if you wish.”

“Will you sleep?”

“I think I might.”

He yawns, and rubs his cheek against his chest, pulling his hand away from the pendant. “Okay, Iggy. You’ll say goodbye to me before you leave, won’t you?” He knows it’s a little selfish to ask, but not getting to have another kiss from his lover before they have to part for the day is something he doesn’t want to happen.

“I will.” A hand returns to his cheek, stroking it gently. “Get some sleep, love.”

Prompto tries to form words, but his brain begins to shut down more, resulting in a quiet “Mm…” as his answer. He feels the weight of Ignis’ hand touch his hair, the movement pushing him further into the realm of sleep. He thinks about it some more, but then sleep comes fast, taking him away from his pleasant reality.

***

He wakes up a few hours later, facing the wall. He doesn’t know when he moved during his sleep, but Ignis’ arms are still around him, leading him to believe that the two of them resettled together sometime during their slumber. He feels something hard pushing between his asscheeks, cheeks becoming warm as he realizes it’s Ignis’ cock.

The arms holding him tighten their grip around him, Prompto successfully the small spoon. “Are you awake?” Soft whispers touch his ear, the desire he hears in Ignis’ voice helping to wake him up a bit faster.

Prompto nods his head, rolling his hips back to rub himself against his lover’s cock. “D-Did I do this in my sleep, Iggy?” He tries to control himself, but the more he feels Ignis’ thickness rubbing between his asscheeks, the more he wants to feel it back inside of him. “Have you been trying to see if I was awake for a bit?”

“No. And I think we both sort of did it?” Ignis keeps one arm pressed against his chest, the other dropping to be on Prompto’s hip. “Do you want it again…? One more time before I have to go?”

“Nngh….” He moans, nodding his head as he feels something wet drip onto his ass. “I don’t want you to go…”

“I know, I don’t want to either, but I have to.” More lube is poured onto his crack, and then is pushed inside of him with the tip of Ignis’ cock. “God, I want to stay here all day, and stay buried inside of you…”

Moaning, he pushes his hips back, feeling more of Ignis’ cock penetrate him. “M-Make me beg…” Arching his chest, he drops himself down onto Ignis’ cock, shuddering as it sinks a little deeper into him. “Make me lose my mind…”

“If I’m not buried in you, then my mouth is on your cock.” Ignis growls into his ear, Prompto moaning louder as his words affect him. “Don’t you like how it feels in your mouth?”

“Nnngh...yes, Iggy…” He opens his mouth, as he feels Ignis put two fingers into his mouth. He sucks on them, making lewd noises as he pushes his hips down to meet each roll of Ignis’ hips. The fingers are pulled from his mouth, the saliva clinging to them now spreading on his own cock, as Ignis makes a fist around him. “Your cock is so thick….it feels so nice on my tongue…”

“Hhgnh….Say it again, love…” Ignis puts his fingers back into his mouth, Prompto getting them wetter than before. The bed shifts more with the urgency of Ignis’ hips now rocking faster, sliding his cock in and out of Prompto’s ass. “Let me hear you say that again…”

“My mouth….” He moans, his own saliva now coating his own cock, his hand landing on top of Ignis’ as he starts to jerk himself off with it. “My mouth is so full of your cock, you’re dripping your juices onto my tongue, then pulling it out of my mouth to slap my face with it.”

His lover moans low near his ear, Prompto’s hand moving a little faster. “Is that what you want me to do? Slap your face with it? Would you let me paint your lips with the tip of my cock…?”

Prompto’s eyes roll into the back of his head, as he feels the taunt happening. “God, please...I want you to feed it to me, make me choke on it. Make my….nnngh….make me swallow it all, it tastes so good...”

“God, Prompto.”

He turns his head and finds Ignis’ mouth, kissing him as he grinds himself down onto his lover’s cock, guiding his hand to jerk him off faster. He pulls his hand away from Ignis’, and rests it on top of his forearm, whining as the tip of Ignis’ cock keeps nudging against his prostate. It’s not enough to push him over the edge, but it’s enough to keep him teetering there, making him lose his sense of self as he becomes consumed by the raw lust that he feels for the man turning him into a mess at o’dark thirty in the morning.

Pulling his hips forward, he forces Ignis’ cock out of him, and pushes on his shoulder to make him lay flat on the bed. He straddles his hips, and reaches behind him to find Ignis’ cock, lining it up to his entrance, and feels the tip push into his body. It feels good to be on top of Ignis like this, his knees sinking down into his mattress as he grabs onto the headboard. His chest arches, the thickness of Ignis’ cock pierces him deeper with each slow roll of his hips, his hands clutching tighter to the headboard.

“You look...beautiful….” Ignis keeps one hand on his hip, the other going back to be around his leaking cock. “Riding me like this….It’s perfect…”

“Y-You’re perfect…” Prompto groans, his ass becoming flush with his lover’s balls, then slides back up his cock, only to drop himself back down. “Everything...perfect….Iggy…” He stops using complete sentences, and reverts to only using broken words, pleasure beginning to spread throughout his body.

“Yes, love….Everything is perfect…” A thumb teases the tip of his cock, making him whine lower, almost grunting like an animal as he gets closer to another orgasm. “You do this to me, Prompto….You make me crazy…”

“Good….” He rolls his hips faster, bouncing himself up and down on his lover’s cock.

His fingers dig into the cheap wood of his headboard, hoping that his next door neighbor is not home, or if he is that he’s a heavy sleeper. It starts to knock against the wall, but not to the point where it would be embarrassing. Every thrust is met with another, chasing the orgasm that’s just out of reach. Ignis moves his hand up to the tip of his cock, and with the added pressure around the tip, it’s the final push that he needs to fly. Shoulders dropping, he begins to moan, Ignis’ cock striking him in that spot to help prolong his orgasm, white bleeding behind his closed eyelids as he comes hard.

He’s flipped onto his back, Ignis’ cock driving deep into him, his lover now kneeling between his legs on the bed. “W-Watch me, love…..Watch me come…”

Prompto stares up at him, watching the way Ignis’ expression changes as his hips stutter, one final slam pushing his cock all the way into his body. Prompto moans, the fullness returning to his body, making him feel complete. Ignis drops down onto his chest, Prompto putting his arms around him as they both struggle to breathe, their orgasms taking a lot of out them.

“Wow…” Prompto whispers into his hair, keeping his arms around him.

“Mm...yeah…” His lover returns, both staying still. Prompto grunts when his lover pulls out of him, then sighs softly as a tissue is placed against his entrance. “Don’t want to make too much of a mess.” Ignis kisses his chest, then starts to clean him up.

“You don’t have to do that.” He blushes, afraid of having to deal with it on his own. “I can do it.”

“I’m the one that’s made the mess, it’s my responsibility to make sure it’s clean.” Ignis places a kiss on his lips. “No arguing.”

“Okay, no arguing.” He giggles, then groans as his body protests at being awake right now. He yawns, stretching a little with the yawn. “Can we cuddle a little more before you have to go?”

“That was my intention.” Ignis wipes himself off, then returns to spooning him from behind. “Having you in my arms two nights in a row has been nice.”

Prompto nods his head, yawning a little more. “It’s been very nice. It’s going to be real lonely tomorrow night. Or tonight, yeah?” He giggles, patting the arm that’s around his waist. The alarm begins to go off, a wave of sadness manifesting in his body. “No...You have to go already?”

“I didn’t realize what time it was.” The sadness he feels can be heard in Ignis’ voice. “I’m not ready to go yet.”

“I’m not ready for it either.” He turns over to press his face against Ignis’ chest, the alarm going silent. “Did you snooze it?”

“I did not.” Ignis sighs. “I should go. But, you’ve got more Tylenol to take, and more studying to be done before mass this evening.”

His ass doesn’t really feel sore at the moment, but he gets what his lover is saying. One more hug, and then Ignis is off the bed, getting dressed. “Yeah. Got lots of studying.”

“But, we’ll see each other tonight. If only for a few minutes.” Ignis cups his cheek, sitting on the edge of the bed fully dressed. “We knew this was going to be difficult.”

“I know.” Prompto pouts, but then turns it into a smile. “Go. I don’t want Father Bradham to be awake when you get back to the rectory.”

“Thank you, love.” Ignis dips down, and presses another soft kiss to his lips, this time taking his time. “Get some more sleep. Don’t push yourself too much today.”

“I won’t.” He watches Ignis head to his door. “Bye, Iggy. Thanks for coming over tonight.”

The hood gets put up, Ignis adjusting his glasses with a warm smile on his face. “It was my pleasure, Prompto. Good night.” He gives a small wave, then leaves his dorm room, Prompto now alone.

Stretching out, he grabs a few tissues to wipe himself off again, then readjusts himself underneath the blanket. Ignis’ smell is heavily prevalent right now on his bedding, and with each deep inhale, it takes him back closer to slumber. As he drips to sleep, he thinks of how difficult it’s going to be for him today, knowing that he’s going to be thinking about what the two of them did together instead of studying. But he’s going to try his hardest, because he has no intention of failing this week.

***

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#my writing #promnis #fanfic #amof au

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possibilistfanfiction · 6 years

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we were wild & fluorescent (come home to my heart)

[they jus keep fallin in love (lexa’s pov)]

the second date you go on you take her to a very highly rated retrospective. it’s your favorite museum, and you pay for the tickets and you walk through, tell her little facts you know and she grins and takes your hand once you pass a series of paintings about vaginas that make you blush, despite every single effort not to.

clarke makes you stop in the middle of four huge paintings, one for each season, and her grip on your hand tightens. she’s an artist, you know, or she told you this reluctantly, lightly.

she doesn’t say anything, just takes a step closer to the painting you think is about winter. it’s warm outside, sweltering and muggy in the city, your skin sticky even just from the walk from your apartment to the bodega on the corner, but she sucks in a breath and you take in her bright, sunny hair, the blue dress she’s wearing, the color of her eyes and the horizon line on a clear day. she doesn’t look like winter, not at all, and the painting is dripping with deep purples, a mourning, a loss. there are words scribbled to one side, about sleep and a poet and a dream about a monster. or maybe you’re reading it wrong, because there are stubborn spots of yellow on the canvas as well, and it’s pale but alive, like the palm of your hand, clammy and nervous and joyful; sometimes they sting.

clarke clears her throat and turns to you and wipes her eyes quickly with a little laugh.

‘it’s one of my favorites,’ she says, and you almost don’t know what to do, or say, and you maybe forget to breathe because she’s so honest, and you’ve never been brave like that.

you kiss her, right in the middle of the four seasons, just once, softly but you hope she knows that you mean it. you kiss her and she kisses you back and you feel your heart taking root in your body.

she sighs and kisses your cheek and starts off toward the next set of paintings. you spare one glance back, and read, just barely, warm in ray of winter sun.

she stays over at your apartment after you get very, very drunk drinking tequila and eating tacos at the bar nearby, and when you got home she pressed you up against your door and you shoved your leg between hers with a gratifying, and loud, moan, until anya cleared her throat from the couch, nursing a bottle of merlot and a bowl of popcorn.

you’d rolled your eyes and clarke had blushed and you’d tugged her to your room, laid you down on your bed and you’d kissed her until you started to feel dizzy, which was embarrassing but you’d pushed her back, gently and regrettably. she kissed your forehead and pulls your shirt back down, snuggles in beside you with her head on your chest, little puffs of heady, tequila-warm breath against your neck.

when you wake up you’re hungover, groaning, and she’s not next to you but the bed is warm and her shoes are still flung in the corner so you’re not worried.

you walk out into the kitchen and she’s swallowing some medicine, which you think is advil, so you walk up behind her and put your arms around her waist, sleepy and soft.

she startles, a little, and you don’t know if you’ve done something wrong, because all you’d wanted was advil of your own, honestly, but you back up immediately and she turns to you and looks a little helpless and a lot stubborn and you realize, then, the force of her. people don’t stay, people have never stayed, and you lived out of a garbage bag for your childhood; you never had enough food and one time when you were thirteen you had asked the foster father you were staying with if you could get a new notebook and he was drunk and shoved you so hard into your bed that the frame broke against your shoulder.

clarke looks at you and her expression makes you think something terrible is going to happen, that she’s going to leave and it’s only been a little while but you think it would hurt you, and deeply.

‘i take anti-depressants,’ she says, and the relief you feel almost brings tears to your eyes before you remember that this is something she very reluctantly shared with you.

you take her hand and squeeze and kiss the crook of her neck before you pull her into a hug.

‘okay,’ you say.

she sighs, just once, and nods against your shoulder.

you know you love her when you’re on the Q train, going from some dumb, packed market in midtown she’d wanted to go to back to her apartment by prospect park, and she had gasped and turned around when you were going over the bridge.

she’d told you all about the light, the resolution, the city skyline, as the train had kept going and she’d tried to take pictures of it all, this perfect moment, on her phone.

she’d smiled at you, and you’d felt dazed, and she’d taken your hand.

‘i’m glad i saw that with you,’ she says, as you’re climbing up the steps at her stop.

you nod, lace your fingers even tighter; you can’t imagine letting her go. it’s getting colder and she hunches up on the walk home and you don’t know how to say it; you’ve never been good at saying things, but you shrug out of your jacket and put it on her shoulders.

‘lexa,’ she says, ‘no, that’s okay.’

you shrug.

she sighs and puts it on fully, kisses your cheek and takes your hand again.

you’re at your friends’ housewarming party, wine and cheese themed, and clarke is away for the weekend with her friends, celebrating the end of exams. you get very, very drunk on rosé like you’re a sophomore in undergrad again, because you feel achy and school is about to start and you’re young, really, and your students expect you to have so many things figured out, and you don’t.

you sit on the counter and eat a startling amount of smoked havarti and laugh, though, as your friends try to sing hamilton, and someone offers you more wine so you take that too.

clarke texts you that she’s arrived safely at her parents’ cottage and sends a picture of octavia already holding up a fish and raven scowling behind, and you laugh. you almost type i love you but you’re far too drunk and so you hit backspace for probably a minute and then send hearts instead.

you’re about to put your phone away when it lights up again.

costia: how are you?

your breath catches a little, like it always does, because you had been in love with costia for years, and she’s beautiful and her smile can light up rooms. you’re older and you’re not the same people you were back then, back when you climbed out of your dorm window and and climbed into hers because you’d lost your student ID at a party and you just needed to be near her, because your shoulder hurt and you couldn’t stop having nightmares.

you climb the stairs to your friends’ roof, and the air is cool and fresh, fluttering after a summer downpour. you call her instead of texting, because the screen is blurry and you miss her voice, and she seems surprised when she answers but happy anyway.

‘i met someone,’ you find yourself saying.

‘that’s good, lex,’ costia says, and your fingers ache. ‘are you drunk?’

‘very,’ you tell her, and she laughs. ‘she wants me to meet her parents at her graduation.’

‘you’re scared.’

you debate hanging up.

‘lexa.’

‘yeah, whatever.’ you take another gulp of wine.

you know costia smiles when she says, ‘they’re going to love you.’

you clench your jaw and apologize when you hang up because it starts to rain again.

she traces your tattoos one night in bed, as she often does, propped on one elbow and curious.

she doesn’t ask about them, and you don’t offer, but she murmurs something about how beautiful they are and that’s enough.

you kiss her with tears in your eyes, because some cover scars and some are a kind of scar themselves. you taste salt.

you try to teach her to skateboard, one fall day, and she laughs so hard so many times she can’t even make it twenty feet without the board shooting out from underneath her.

‘clarke,’ you say, ‘you need to focus.’

‘i am the most uncoordinated person i know,’ she tells you. ‘it’s not going to work, babe.’

you sigh and dramatically and in slow motion show her how easy it is, and her eyes glaze over a little bit.

‘were you looking at my butt?’ you ask, incredulous.

she grins.

you’re knee deep in grading midterm essays on the crucible when clarke bursts into your apartment, still in her scrubs, a fleece jacket from the hospital on over them, and when she takes it off and flings it to the floor, you see she’s covered in blood.

you’re stuck, you don’t know what to do, because you know about the boy she loved who died, and she knows about your parents, and you know how you get into fights and she chain smokes—but you don’t think any of this is her blood; she is hurting and you don’t know how to take it away.

you walk over to her and gently take her hand, ask her what’s wrong. she shakes her head and you sit her down on your couch, go into the bathroom and start running a bath. when you walk out she hasn’t moved, so you go and pour some bourbon into a mug and walk back to her, put it in her hand. when she smells it she nods minutely and it would be cute if she wasn’t so sad, and you take her hand and lead her to the bathroom, check the water before looking into her eyes and when she nods you lift her top off.

she’s not injured, anywhere, no cuts or bruises, and it has always astounded you, how few scars she has. she lets you take off her pants, her plain underwear, her bra, and she gets into the tub without a word. there’s blood on her neck and her arms and you sit on the edge of the tub and wet a washcloth, lather soap, your most relaxing, that you still buy at the market because it’s where you met her, it’s where you started to fall in love.

when you gently, as gently as you possibly can, start to wipe off her collarbones she starts to cry, quiet, heaving sobs.

a child died, in her hands, his blood everywhere. she tells you this, and you feel the ache acutely, because you love your students and because your girlfriend is hurting and because you were a hurt child, once.

her sobs eventually turn into sniffles and eventually she sighs, meeting your eyes finally, and hers are clearer, more resolved.

you tug on her earlobe with a crooked smile and she rolls her eyes and she dries off and puts on some of your pajamas while you heat up pizza for her, make her a salad even though she hates them.

she dutifully eats it, though, while you read her the worst lines from the essays you’re grading, and she laughs. she makes you hot toddies and you eventually put your papers aside, and she takes off your glasses and kisses you.

it’s a thank you, and it’s a lot of love, and you think of stones pressing someone to death, and you think of how to take them away.

you’re busy yelling at your long jumpers about their form during warmups when you see a flash of blonde hair and when you look over, clarke is sitting in the stands next to some of your coworkers—and friends—she’d met at a few happy hours.

it’s a shitty JV track meet and it’s probably going to rain, but she gives you a dorky thumbs up and your students are far too old to be making kissing noises but they do it anyway.

you make them run an extra lap and clarke laughs and she kisses you in the parking lot later, against the hood of her car like you’re teenagers, tugs on your track jacket and traces her tongue against your teeth, not stopping even when it finally rains.

you groan and swat at the offending hand, trying to take away the duvet you’d dragged to the couch after you’d woken up with a terrible fever and thrown up twice, texting your principal that there was no way you could go today.

‘clarke,’ you whine, and you curse the sunny, huge windows and the bright walls in the apartment you’d moved into together because when you crack an eye open the light stings and gives you an immediate headache. ‘let me suffer in peace.’

it’s dramatic and someone laughs, but it’s not clarke, and you sigh when you pull the duvet down a little from your face and see abby.

‘oh,’ you say, and reach around for your glasses that you’d flung somewhere on your coffee table.

abby hands them to you with a little smile and puts the back of her hand against your forehead, and she’s so gentle and motherly you immediately feel like you’re going to cry.

‘clarke sent me,’ she says. ‘she got held up in surgery but she said you had a fever.’

abby hands you two pills and tells you that they’re fever reducers and will help you sleep, and she’ll stick around until clarke gets home, just in case you need anything. you take them and she hands you toast and gingerale that you slowly work your way through, drowsy by the end, and she settles on the far end of the couch and flicks on the tv. you fall asleep but wake up sometime later for a moment, and you can’t wait to tell clarke her mom watched hours of mtv.

you pick a fight, because you’re exhausted from AP exam prep and clarke has been working insane hours and you’re frustrated. you miss her and you’re too stubborn to tell her that and she’s too stubborn to figure it out, so she yells at you about not taking the recycling out and you tell at her about leaving a candle burning in the bathroom yesterday and she huffs into your bedroom and when you try to follow, still seething about the potential fire hazard, she slams the door.

you put on shoes and slam the front door on your way out, and you only realize until you’re down the block, picking up wine from the store around the corner.

you sulk back home, take the long way but you’re in shorts and it’s getting cold with the wind at night so you don’t stay out, and you roll your eyes at yourself and hit your buzzer.

‘hello?’ clarke’s voice is tinny and irritated but you’re beyond relieved she answered after a few rings.

‘hey,’ you say.

she hangs up and you roll your eyes and hit the buzzer for a full two minutes and forty-eight seconds before she finally answers.

‘what, lexa?’

‘i forgot my keys.’

she doesn’t buzz you up.

‘and it’s cold.’

still, nothing.

‘i bought chardonnay.’

there’s a pause but then, ‘the new organic one?’

‘yeah.’

she sighs, long and hard, and you want to continue to be angry and annoyed but you’re so fond of her and it makes you smile. she buzzes you up and opens the door and you hand her the bottle.

she rolls her eyes and puts it on the front table and kisses you hard. you work her shirt off and she reaches inside the elastic of your shorts and fucks you on the couch, fully clothed and residually mad, but afterward you take off your clothes and cuddle on the couch and drink the chardonnay she likes but you think is too oaky—but she’s happy, so you have it too.

‘i missed you,’ you say, and she kisses your shoulder.

‘missed you too.’

you’re at the park and there’s a pet adoption fair and she glares at you from behind her sunglasses but you just shrug innocently.

you walk away from it with a tiny, stalky grey pitbull with bright blue eyes, and clarke makes a big fuss about making sure he doesn’t eat her shoes or pee on her rugs, but you walk home to him curled up on her lap while she dozes on the couch, clearly exhausted after a night shift, and you kiss the crown of her head and he licks her cheek and she smiles.

on your birthday, which you genuinely cannot stand, she doesn’t say a word but tugs you into a clumsy, soft hug and rocks back and forth in your kitchen, until you’re swaying together, dancing to a song floating from the old record player jake had given you for christmas.

our love is a star, it plays, and you want to fold your body into hers, learn all of the crevices you can’t quite touch, know her until you don’t remember anything else.

it’s cold outside, again, freezing and white and gloomy, for four days before it the storm finally breaks. it’s early, early morning, when clarke trudges in with a big, heavy sigh, and it’s a weekend so there’s no need for you to be up but you love her, so you get out of bed and sit in the bathroom yawning while she takes a hot shower and mumbles about her day, the surgery she performed, how good she’s getting at her sutures.

you feed her pieces of fruit because she acts too tired to eat them on her own, which makes you laugh, and her hair is still damp but you let her lay down in your lap while you sit on the couch, run your fingers through the tangled waves.

it’s dawn, in your apartment, and it’s freezing outside, you know, but clarke breathes deeply against your leg, tender and safe, and you understand, now, maybe: the winter, the sun, the warmth.

#possibilist #possibilistfanfiction #clexa #clexa fanfiction #idk theyre just doin their thing #perfect places au #message me if u have more stuff u wanna see theyre just lil scenes

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svt-husbands · 6 years

Text

I’ll Bury You

Member: Woozi

Genre: Angst, Yandere!AU I think???

Word Count: 2306

POSSIBLE TRIGGER WARNING? STALKING, HINTING TO MURDER, OBSESSION, ETC. IF UNCOMFORTABLE, PLEASE DON’T READ. THX.

(A/N: I didn’t really answer your request, and I’m sorry; I just saw “deep emotional shit” and “angst” and was like “okay.” Apologies, my dear!)

Jihoon was one of those. One of the quiet ones. He preferred to stay in his own world rather than come out and face the darkness. He knew where his solace was, where his sanctuary was. He would rather be alone and at peace, than face his reality.

You were determined to know him, that mysterious boy who always sat in the back rows of the lectures halls or in the dark corners of the Fine Arts building. Everyone who knew of him said he was odd, he wasn’t normal. Well, you would say, no one is normal.

You would seek him out, finding him in the piano rooms or in the last row of the balcony of the small theatre. He noticed you. He knew who you were. You would approach him, try to speak to him, try to get him to open up to you. He would scowl, assuming that he was supposed to be your social justice case, and push you away. He would leave his little nook and try to find some peace without you.

You wouldn’t leave him alone. You always found him, to Jihoon’s misfortune. Sometimes, you would annoy him with questions or something that happened to you that day in lectures. Other times, you sat next to him, working on an assignment. You felt peaceful in his presence, and eventually, Jihoon found his solace in you.

He waited for you to find him every time. He wouldn’t change his usual locations as much, just to make sure you could find him. And true to your word, you found him. He fell in love with you, with your dedication to him. So much so, that he started to find you. He would find you after your lectures, with some sort of treat for you in his hands. You knew he liked you, and you found his mystery and silence alluring. You fell for him, too.

But you always forgot to ask him why he was such a recluse.

The day you found out the reason was initially one of the greatest days of your life. It was your six month anniversary with Jihoon. He wanted to take you out for a nice date. He took you to a little cafe just outside your campus. He shared a slice of cake with you, but found you sweeter than the baked goods. He took you for a stroll and chatted with you to no end. When it began getting darker and cooler, he took you to his flat and watched movies with you well into the night.

It was almost 11:30, and you were still tangled into Jihoon’s embrace, some forgotten film still playing on the screen. You got up, saying you needed to use the bathroom. You went into his bedroom and flicked on the light. You were about to approach the bathroom door, when you noticed something unusual on Jihoon’s bedside table. It was a notebook, black and plain, completely unassuming. You found it unusual because Jihoon rarely had normal notebooks. He usually took lecture notes on his laptop and owned special music notebooks. He did have normal notebooks, but those were usually the cheap ones he could buy from convenience stores. This one had a leather cover, and a button seal. You knew you should have just left it alone, but your curiosity got the best of you. You unbuttoned the seal and opened to a random page.

The header was a date from about nine months ago, just around the time you began to spend time with him. The entry was short, maybe just a few sentences. It read: She found me today. She was talking about her history professor and how that woman gave her a 86 on her essay and refused to bump her grade up after finding errors in grading. She was so angry, but so beautiful while talking. I don’t like her history professor. How dare she give my beloved a hard time?

You felt your heart swell. You didn’t know he was in love with you since the day you two met. But there it was, clear as day in Jihoon’s own handwriting. He called you his beloved, three months before you two began dating. You turned to another page, this one from eight months ago.

She found me in the basement of the Student Center. I keep trying to stay away from her, but she won’t let me go. She doesn’t know what she’s falling into. Maybe that idiot is better for her than I am. No! What am I saying? She’s perfect, she’s my everything. She will be mine, and no one will get in our way.

You were confused at this turn of events. You turned to the entry before it, and found out why.

How dare he? How dare that guy come with her to our place? It’s our place, made just for the two of us. He has no place there. He has no place in her heart either. She’s mine, all mine. I won’t let him take her. I can’t let him.

You remembered that day, eight months ago. Your friend from your Chemistry class wanted to tag along and meet Jihoon. You took him to the Fine Arts building, to the balcony Jihoon was in. You thought everything was okay; your friend was making nice conversation with Jihoon, not overstepping any boundaries. You didn’t know Jihoon felt threatened. You remembered after that day, the boy suddenly stopped speaking to you. He ended up transferring to another university, with the excuse that he wanted to be closer to his family. You were very confused.

You put two and two together and realized that Jihoon probably said something to that boy that scared him enough to transfer away. You felt in denial. Jihoon wouldn’t have done something like that, would he?

He would, and would do much worse to keep you.

I told her she shouldn’t have gone out. She said she would be fine, that it was just “a friend’s small party,” and that I don’t need to worry. What does she think I am, a fool? I knew she would get hurt. That guy, that asshole that tried to touch her. He’s going to pay. Once I know that she’s completely fine, he’s going to regret being born.

You gasped. It was a party four months ago, and you had gotten blasted. In the heat of the party, you wanted to go home and encountered a sleazy and completely drunk male trying to feel you up. You did feel surprised when Jihoon popped up and took you home. But you didn’t remember that guy or what happened to him afterwards. What did Jihoon do to him?

She talked about some guy in one of her classes that she thought was “so cute.” History, second row in front of her usual seat. Blonde, tall. Multiple piercings. Goes by JJ.

Six months ago. That boy, JJ, ended up going missing.

Her roommate is being so rude to her! That girl shouldn’t be leaving her crap everywhere for my beloved to pick up. She’s not a servant.

Seven months ago. Your roommate apologized and began avoiding you. It took you skipping class to get a hold of her and talk to her to get a reason why. She wouldn’t give you clear answers, but promised to be more thoughtful and chatty.

She skipped her English class today. She has that midterm for Russian tomorrow, but she risked getting points cut from her grade.

Wonder what’s in her head today. She doesn’t usually walk through the Founder’s Garden to get to Chemistry, so why did she today?

She’s sitting with a group of people in the Student Center. She said she couldn’t go out with me today because she needed to work on a group paper. I told her I was okay with it, but I’m not. I’d rather have her in front of me. Best next thing: sit on the fourth floor overlooking the main lobby.

She doesn’t know what she does to me. She’s my absolute everything. God, I’m so in love with her. I do everything to keep her safe, to keep her mine. Maybe it’s for the better that she doesn’t know what I do to keep her.

You dropped the book and backed up to hit a wall. You thought you knew Jihoon. You thought he was the adorable, quiet gentleman who would rather shiver than let you be cold. You thought he was the guy who would wait outside your classrooms with a coffee or smoothie drink in his hand for you. You thought he was your best friend who would proof read your papers, watch crap movies and eat terrible delivery with you, would hold you and tell you everything was going to be alright. You thought he told you all his secrets when you told yours, but apparently not.

“Are you- oh,” Jihoon shouted, walking into the room. His eyes fell on you, hugging the wall, then to the open book on the ground. He picked it up and closed it, before shoving it into a drawer. He turned to you. “Did you read it?” You held up your hands in an effort to keep him away from you. “What did you do to them?” “To who, my love?” “Them!” You shouted, pointing to the drawer. “The people! My roommate, my classmates, that drunk guy! What did you do?” “I did what I had to,” he shoved his hands in his front pockets. “To protect you.” You scoffed. “Protect me? You threatened people! Oh god, did you kill someone?” You grabbed your chest, feeling tears fall out of your eyes. The boy that loved you, that touched you, might have blood on his hands. You felt disgusted. “Kill someone? Do you think I would do something like that?” If you were in a clearer state of mind, you would have heard the sarcasm in his voice. “You wouldn’t, right? Jihoon, tell me. You wouldn’t!” Jihoon shrugged. “They deserved everything they got.” “Jihoon,” you swallowed. “What the hell did you do?” You put your hands up in a defensive stance. “Do you really want to know, (Y/N)? Do you really want to know how I threatened to skin that dick in your Chem class who tried to butt in? How I’ve sent the people who try to take you from me straight to hell?” A strange noise came out of your throat. Jihoon shook his head furiously. “You don’t understand anything, do you? I’m trying to protect you! But you don’t make it easy!” “And that means threatening people? Stalking me? Killing someone?” You shouted. “I would burn the whole damn world down if it means keeping you!” Jihoon growled. He was red in the face, panting from the shouting.

He didn’t approach you at all, but his stance and gaze made you fear for your safety. You wanted to leave. You wanted space, air. You wanted out. You pushed past Jihoon, trying to get out the door. He latched onto your arm and pulled you back. You turned, glaring at his expressionless face, and tried to pry your arm out of his grip. His grip got tighter and tighter, until you knew he would leave a bruise. “Ow! Jihoon, stop! You’re hurting me, let go!” He broke out of his trance and looked at you with tears in his eyes. His grip loosened, but he didn’t completely let go. Jihoon didn’t say anything and you weren’t sure what was going through his head. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. You had to strain to catch it. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt you, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He let go of your wrist. You were about to run out of the room, when you noticed Jihoon walk towards a wall. He stood facing the wall for a few minutes, before letting out a frustrated scream and punching a hole through it. You jumped and gripped the doorway, watching Jihoon fall to his knees while cradling his now heavily bruised hand. You noticed that it was his dominant hand. Your heart lurched as you felt pity for the boy you loved. Jihoon made a complete 180 with emotions. He went from an angry, terrifying monster, to the lonely boy you fell in love with in less than a few seconds. You swallowed, hesitant to make a run for it. He looked so small and scared, and you cursed your stars for feeling sympathy for Jihoon.

You approached him, gently taking his hand and assessing the damage. Jihoon looked at you through tears in his eyes and you could swear he was the embodiment of the heart eyes emoji in that moment. “You… you’re still here?” His voice was meek, shameful, confused. “I hurt you, you should leave. You need to go, get away from me. I’m not… I can’t protect you.” “I’m not going to leave, you’re hurt.” “I’ll hurt you.” It sounded like a promise. You shook your head, completely in denial. “You won’t hurt me, right?“ “I can’t let you be with anyone else. You have to be mine. Only mine. I can’t live without you. You bury me,” he mumbled. “I won’t leave you, I swear,” you said to him, looking into his eyes. He whipped his head up and maintained eye contact with you. His hands held your face, creeping closer to your neck. “You won’t leave me? You’ll be mine, forever?” You confirmed it with a nod. Jihoon swallowed. “You can’t lie to me. You swore to me, on your life. You’ll be mine. You can’t lie to me.” “I’m not lying-“ “You can’t lie to me and you can’t leave me, or I’ll bury you.”

-t

#seventeen #seventeen drabble #seventeen drabbles #svt drabbles #svt drabble #svt woozi #seventeen woozi #woozi angst #seventeen angst #seventeen fic #woozi #svt jihoon #seventeen scenario #seventeen scenarios #svt scenarios #svt scenario #kpop #trigger warning #possible trigger??

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rowdy-revenant · 7 years

Text

Tall Tales and Short Stories

Pairing: Gabriel x reader

Words: 1300+

Summary: You manage to befriend the strange janitor at your college.

Based on the request by: @becca-boop1310

Warnings: Bullying

A/N: My hiatus is over. Miss me?

[General masterlist]

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Nobody ever notices the people in the background. Nobody thanks the lunch lady for serving food, nobody asks the librarian how their day was, nobody ever says hello to the janitor. And that's exactly what Gabriel was counting on.

As the janitor of Crawford Hall University, the Trickster could go anywhere, listen in on anyone, and nobody would bat an eye. It was the perfect disguise, hiding in plain sight. Nobody would ever know, hell nobody would ever ask, who he was.

Except to keep up this cover, sometimes Gabriel actually had to do- ugh- work. He was an archangel, for crying out loud, and he was sweeping the floor!

Cafeteria duty always sucked the most. The mess hall looked like a hurricane had hit it once the students moved out. And dear dad, the jocks ate like there was no tomorrow and cleaned up like there was no trash can.

Today was no different. The students at the university were sitting at their tables of cliques, chattering on about midterms. Honestly, it was worse than high school.

The sounds of a tray clattering to the floor notified Gabriel that it was time to move out of the corner and do his dumb job. A student was on their hands and knees, grabbing items that had been spilled, and trying to put them back on the tray.

“Don’t worry, kid. I got it.” Gabriel assured you.

Reluctantly, you got up and out of the way. Some students were still snickering, pointing at the pasta sauce that now covered your shirt. You’d been walking when all of a sudden a foot appeared out of nowhere, sending you hurtling to the ground.

“You got two left feet, freak?” Curtis, the head jock and Crawford’s reigning asshole, guffawed.

“I don’t see why that would be a problem. I mean, you’re on the football team.” You sassed.

Curtis clenched his fists with anger, but you ignored him. Gabriel tried to hide a smile at your perfect comeback.

You smiled at the janitor once he’d cleaned up. “Thank you.” You said, quietly.

The man smiled. “Hey, just doing my job.”

Back to being wallpaper, it was, to the both of you, not that you minded. While Gabriel used it as a disguise, you used it as protection. It meant fewer people to bother you, fewer people to use you as a punchline.

Curtis turned back to his friends, immediately forgetting you existed. “You hear about the professor?”

“I heard he tried to get tail and got murdered.” One of his friends retold.

The jock snorted. “No way. He just took a nosedive from his office.”

Ah, so the news was spreading. Gabriel felt a little pride that his work hadn’t gone unnoticed. But at the same time, this might attract unwanted attention.

“You think it’s the ghost of room 669?” A girl piped up.

“Ghosts? God, you’re starting to talk like the weirdo.” Curtis scoffed, looking in your direction. “Like seriously, I’d rather slow dance with an alien than read one of their dumb stories.”

Gabriel crossed his arms. This pledge master had a reputation for being a bully. You stood up to him, which Gabriel admired, but it didn’t look like Curtis would change. He’d just made his way onto the trickster’s list of targets.

Was it dangerous? Yes. Did it only make the pair of hunters that had recently arrived more suspicious? Yes. But was making Curtis think he’d been abducted by aliens, probed, and forced to slow dance worth it? Hell. Yes.

The rumour spread around campus like the plague in medieval England. People were talking about the pledge master who’d been rambling on about aliens like a madman.

It felt like poetic justice to you. You were glad to finally have some peace. Even more, it would make a great short story.

It was time to head home. Most had already left the campus. You liked this little bit of time. Just you and your thoughts.

“Hey, hold the door!”

Well, you, your thoughts, and the janitor. You stopped the door you exited out of before it could close and pulled it back open.

The janitor, hands full of boxes, walked through. “Thanks, sugar. Guess who put off moving supplies? Now an entire wing is out of toilet paper.”

You laughed. “Here, let me help you.”

His eyes peeked over the mountain of boxes and you could see his brow furrow. “You sure? It's pretty late.”

“It's fine, I live pretty close. I don't mind helping.” You replied.

“I'd offer you a hand, but…” The janitor said, causing you to laugh again. “My name's Gabriel.”

It had been over a thousand years since he said that. Over a thousand years since he had used his real name. He could have told you anything. Loki, Griffin, Sam, Richard, all past aliases. Yet somehow, he trusted you enough to say 'Gabriel'.

“Nice to meet you, Gabriel,” You said, taking a box from the top of the pile and carrying in your arms. “I'm Y/N.”

“Y/N, yeah! I've seen you around campus. Always with a notebook. You a creative writing major?”

“Yeah. I want to be an author in the future.” You confessed. “Don't think I ever will be, though.”

“What? No way!” Gabriel exclaimed. “I bet you're an awesome writer. Tell you what, we meet up for coffee tomorrow and you read me something from your notebook.”

“What? No! My stories are-”

“Erotic?” Gabriel asked with a smirk.

You tried not to laugh. “No! I was going to say horrible. Besides, what would I get out of it?”

“A free coffee and seeing me out of uniform?” Gabriel said, wiggling his brow.

“Okay, okay. I guess I need a beta reader anyway.” You complied.

“Awesome,” Gabe said, setting the boxes in his arms on the ground and taking one from you. “It's a date.”

You smiled and walked off, Gabriel was glad you finally started to talk to him. You may not have been popular, but you didn’t care. You fought back.

A cowardly archangel had to admire that.

You jogged into the small coffee shop, the aroma of ground beans hitting you right away. Your eyes scanned the room, searching for Gabriel.

The college janitor was sitting at a table in the corner, one hand holding a tabloid, the other stirring a whipped-cream covered hot chocolate monstrosity with a teaspoon.

“Sewer gators?” You asked, the faint hint of exhaustion in your voice.

“Crazy what people will believe, huh?” Gabriel replied with a grin. “Glad you can make it, Cupcake.”

You sat down, taking off your shoulder bag and placing it on the floor. “Sorry I’m late, I slept in.” You sighed.

“Not a problem. Want me to get you something? It’s on me.” Gabriel offered.

“Oh, I can’t-”

“Relax, sugar. It’s the least I can do.”

Finally, you complied, giving Gabriel your order. As he walked off to the counter, you couldn’t help but stare a little. He looked good in casual wear, especially from behind.

“So, how long have you been working at Crawford Hall?” You asked once Gabriel sat back down.

“Six years.” He replied. “Might quit soon.”

“Oh.” Your face fell. “Why?”

Gabriel couldn’t exactly say ‘because there are hunters on my trail and I’m not in the mood to get a stake through the chest.’

“Just have better things to do, I guess.” Was the excuse. Not a lie, just not the full truth.

“I can understand that.” You sympathised. “I’ll miss you.”

Gabriel grinned, tapping his fingers gently on the table top. “Aww, you care about me. I’ll miss you too.”

You smiled, hoping your cheeks weren’t as red as they felt. You took your laptop out and placed it on the table, turning it on. “You sure you want to read my stories?” You asked.

“More than anything,” Gabriel replied.

Suddenly being a janitor didn't seem like the worst thing in the world to Gabriel.

~ Murdoch’s tag list - want to be added or removed? Send me an ask! ~

All fics: @alexanderhamlinsin @a-r-c-h-a-n-g-e-l @ashiewesker @ashtheironbat @authoressskr @baritonechick @blessedbebucky @crowleysprincess159 @cynda-kiwi @d4rzill4@eileenlikesyou-maybe @ellienovak @fayemenelmir @feelmyroarrrr @gabriels-depressed-angel @hiswickedkitty @hunters-hiraeth @kristaparadowski @lenawiinchester @like-gabriel-and-castiel @madelineannmolder @negansgrimes @oldpaperfan @sdavid09 @shrimpdrake @sumara62 @team-barry @thehowling1234 @thewhiterabbit42 @treitike@tenderlybeautifulbarbarian @tyrex15 @unsink-the-titanic

Gabriel: @elven-leaf @hiddles-and-skittles @hp-hogwartsexpress @im-gabriels-bitch @jannalionheart @elenawrit

#gabriel x reader #gabriel #janitor!gabriel #supernatural x reader #reader insert #tall tales #requested #tw: bullying

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b4kuch1n · 7 years

Text

Blossom Hills

it was going well this afternoon, but then I tripped on something and toppled over. so I guess this doesnt really work but oh well

@crescentmoonrider Im very sorry

Trigger Warning for body horror and death in general. No major character death tho.

Read on AO3 | FF.net | LJ

The first case in Spice City was a quiet one. It was a housewife - they remembered the name Kojiro but weren’t quite sure it was hers anymore - the police found in an apartment on the west side of the city. The newspapers hadn’t been able to put a single image of the body in their report, neither had the six o’clock news show, but there was of course some photos on the internet that were claimed to be from the Incident, as they had been calling it even until now.

Master Reigen could conclude after a glance at the photos in question that they were all photoshopped. Some of them poorly, some of them better, but there was always a mistake somewhere. Visual logic was a complicated thing not many humans could cover fully. Master Reigen was a man of many things, keen observation included; it took time for him to fully debunk every single one of them, but time he did have, and sooner or later all of those photos were discredited. They were still out there, of course, freaking out people surfing the internet at night alone in their room, but they hadn’t blown up the way they could have had everybody trusted the story they told.

Shigeo too could tell that they were manipulated, by the amount and types of flowers. He could see a bit of it on the portrait photo they broadcasted of her, the deceased wife and mother: it was a deep pink. Her breaths, her kind eyes, her grip on the counter she was posing next to. It was Judas flower. Just by the overwhelming scent of flowers he caught every time he came past the building, the floor was probably already covered with Judas flowers when the police got it.

A far enough time into the future, when one of them came across the morning report of that Incident (they always called it that, Incident with a capital I), they would sit down to remind themselves of it again, despite never really wanting to. It was like staring at a rabid animal as you backed away from it: they didn’t want it to sneak up on them ever again. They didn’t want to be vulnerable to it, to forget and wake up the next day to a similar report sounding from the radio on the night counter.

The woman’s name was Kojiro Shimizu.

The first case in Spice City wasn’t the first worldwide, obviously - Kojiro died two days after four people on another continent, but of the same death. Shigeo found Ritsu in his room reading an article about them months after the Incident, when the disease was most rampant. “Two highschoolers, a doctor, and a retired mechanic,” he said quietly when asked. “Except the doctor, all of them were reported missing, then were found overnight.” Printed out online articles and hand-drawn charts were scattered across his table, and he had a death grip on the red pencil they used to correct their own math homework. One of his classmates was confirmed to have caught the disease the day before.

Ritsu was smart and dedicated, but he was (almost all of them were) still a kid. They could stay up night after night trying to draw a conclusion from what seemed to be a conspiracy theory, and in the end it would go nowhere. It did go nowhere. There was no place for them among the saviors of the world.

They all felt that in their bones. Maybe that came with the power they had; the more they could do, the worse they felt about not doing. It was a faulty design they were helpless to change.

An article called the disease Kadan, and the name caught, even though it wasn’t entirely accurate.

Nobody told him to, and nobody asked it of him, but Shigeo kept count of the flowers. They stayed in a corner of his mind, came out as he wrote down was the teacher was saying on his notebook, scribbled in the margin. He remembered the victims he knew that way: name of human associated with name of flower.

By the second year in, most reports had devolved into a brief paragraph giving the deceased’s name in the same sentence as the disease’s, but the first ones during the weeks right after the Incident were much more thorough. What Shigeo thought was that the disease wasn’t much more than a foreign threat then, and its novelty could still get the newspapers some sale.

Those reports were how they knew about the way the victims died, but they couldn’t really bring the image of it into their readers’ mind. People modified photos to try to capture it: bodies on the ground, head covered in flowers like a firework spark in a glass cube, light shone weakly into their final resting place trying to make their death more intimidating. Some junkies were bolder, taking a close-up shot of someone’s head, painting thousands of cracks on their skull from which flowers bloomed. None of those photos could scare Shigeo: the visual was never what bothered him in a situation.

Someone interviewed a witness at a case’s site once, somewhere in the second year of it. “The newspapers say the truth,” the woman said in a plain, almost hollow voice. “We can never find the head. The flowers where the head should be always grow taller than the rest, as if to fill in for the lack of it.”

Coming into the later half of the second year, more and more of the city’s population could confirm that. The novelty was lost, and only then did people start wanting it back.

The TV said once, “Most infected victims were near the scene of another fatality at one point after it happened,” and immediately a silent quarantine was established by the inhabitants of the city. Parents scared their kids into submission. The streets were deserted.

Shigeo and Ritsu’s school closed for inspection after an incident nearby.

Hanazawa came by the Office in the afternoon. “Hope I’m not intruding,” he said as he walked in, “I don’t have school today and nothing in my quarter’s open anymore.”

Master Reigen just flicked his hand at him, disinterested. “‘ea. Find a seat somewhere for yourself.”

Hanazawa found his place next to Shigeo around the glass table they were sitting at. Shigeo was tapping out a rhythm he remembered from a long time ago while Ritsu was copying something from his phone to a blank page in his notebook. Hanazawa seemed to recognise the words being written down.

“Kujiwara,” he said. “I remember that name from the newspaper a week or so ago. Kadan, wasn’t it?”

Ritsu didn’t answer. Hanazawa didn’t ask more, but there was a hard look in his eyes.

They talked about school, clubs, their day, anything but the crisis going on. Shigeo told Hanazawa about the field out next to the train station. They exchanged stories about pets and weird people they’d met.

The street was quiet when they went home - Hanazawa left with them and took a different turn a little bit farther down the road. Even as they checked their itinerary carefully to avoid incident sites, their voice was blanketed in a barren calm.

They made it home. They made it to the next morning. So did Hanazawa.

It took time for Shigeo to realise that he wasn’t scared. It only came to him after he had figured out that other people were scared, and had gotten over the unfamiliarity of that idea.

Despite being called rampant, the disease never killed too many people in a night. It was an awful thought to think, but it was the truth: no more than three cases were ever discovered every week. It was a steady and silent pace; they watched as the disease grew like moss, eating up the city inches at a time, putting its mark in their life one report, one article, one piece of banter at a time. Thanks to the TV and the internet, they knew that somewhere there was a battle, but more than anything that knowledge gave them a juxtaposition.

Shigeo realised Ritsu was scared when he fell asleep at his desk one night, red pencil in hand, frantic lines crisscrossed between keywords trying to get anything at all out of the sea they were all submerged in, a few paragraphs about rumors circled with the note it can’t end like this scribbled below. He realised his parents were scared when he saw them standing at the end of the stairs after he answered their wake up call a moment later than usual. He realised Master Reigen was scared when he glanced at his screen while walking past it to see articles in all kinds of language pulled up next to a translation engine. He realised how scared the city was by the silence outside. People smiled and talked and walked, but a lot of them were trying to keep it up. Some of them failed, and the waves washed over them until they stood up again.

Shigeo wasn’t scared. He worried some, of course, taking care to avoid incident sites and did what was recommended to them by the authorities, but he wasn’t afraid by any mean. Maybe it was the quiet that subdued his fears, or maybe it was the others’ fears that masked his in their midst. Maybe he was already familiar to the waves. He had seen a lot, maybe something from that list had taken that reaction away from him.

Hanazawa called them during lunch some days after Salt middle school was out of quarantine. There were only Shigeo, Ritsu, and some other kids from the media club in the classroom, the media kids helping one of them - Amano, Shigeo remembers from an encounter in the school’s lab before midterm - planning a love confession. Ritsu plugged his borrowed earbuds in.

“I think it’s love,” Hanazawa said, silently. Ritsu’s brows furrowed at that.

“What do you mean?”

“Kadan. You asked me about that a while ago, Younger Brother, didn’t you?”

“Not really,” Ritsu said. Hanazawa shrugged it off.

“Yeah. I knew two girls from my school who contracted Kadan last week. They both confessed to someone and was rejected right before they died. I think that’s the trigger, since if it’s airborn and doesn’t need anything to develop then we would all be dead by now.”

The thought of it was absurd - a disease triggered by love, of all thing - but Shigeo, like Ritsu and Hanazawa and Master Reigen, was already the embodiment of absurdity itself, so he listened on. “That doesn’t cover Hoshino’s case,” Ritsu argued. “He didn’t have a wife or a lover.” Hoshino died in his apartment near their neighbourhood. The man had mostly been a forgotten face because of his quiet personality, until after his death. He was buried by a relative who lived in the south.

The line went quiet for a moment while Hanazawa looked up Hoshino’s death. “But he has a dog. It died about two weeks before him, right?”

They processed that information.

“Someone in my quarter was like that too,” Hanazawa said. “I think her name was Yuuko. She posted something about her friend since childhood bringing her into a fraud deal days before her death.”

“Strong affection overthrown,” Ritsu mumbled. “Of any kind.”

“Terrible,” Hanazawa said. “But at least we have an idea of how to not die now, right?”

They doubted the idea, and even until Amano was found in the media club’s room, laying among yellow carnations with his head nowhere to be found, the doubt lingered. Shigeo guess it was because the claim couldn’t be proven fully, but maybe it was just that they couldn’t wrap their head around it. It was a faulty design, for them to be unable to take on an idea to examine it.

Some people came to the same conclusion as Hanazawa; the internet was full of discussions and heated arguments around it. None of it changed the fact that it was a variable no one could control, but the idea stayed in people’s mind.

A death by heartbreak. Plenty could be sung about that.

Hanazawa came by their house sometimes. He stayed in Shigeo’s room the whole duration of his visits, bringing some snack he had at home or bought on the way. Shigeo’s parents knew his name and face. Unnecessary pleasantries lessened.

For all of his boisterous exterior, Hanazawa’s visits were quiet. They talked, Ritsu and him about incidents and theories, Shigeo and him about everything else. Hanazawa seemed to seek their presence more than conversations, and they gave him that without too much inquisition.

Shigeo talked to him about the fear he didn’t have one day. “I can feel it too, actually,” Hanazawa said. “The fear in the air. Everyone’s afraid. You aren’t at all wrong, Kageyama-kun.”

“Are you?” Shigeo asked him. “Afraid, I mean. Are you scared?”

Hanazawa didn’t say anything for a bit, and they sat there in silence. His eventual answer was, “I’m not. Same as you, Kageyama-kun.”

Shigeo didn’t ask more. He just thought Hanazawa deemed himself out of the disease’s reach. It didn’t mean they lived happier by any mean, but it was what it was.

Kojiro Shimizu’s husband died of Kadan sometimes around then. A salt cedar tree bloomed flowers where his head should be.

Sooner or later, they found out more about the disease. Morning news shows became a whirlwind of myths and informations and proofs - they heard Hanahaki and new strain and airborne and pollen thrown around frequently - and soon all of it became white noise.

A list of possible symptoms was broadcasted on the six o’clock news one evening well into the later half of the second year, and then printed out and stuck on every surface possible in schools and bureaus. Master Reigen had it taped on his desk, probably to keep the panic to himself and not scare off clients. Shigeo had learned it by heart. Headache, breathing difficulties, sensitive and watering eyes. Headache, breathing difficulties, sensitive and watering eyes. People chanted the mantra.

According to the informations given by the news, the headache became more and more extreme the closer the victim got to the disease’s last stage. “How extreme are we even talking here?” Mom had asked. “Headaches are pretty common.”

“Probably, like, out of our imagination,” Dad said as he poured the soup into his bowl. “I mean it’s flower blooming in your head. Can’t imagine something that hurts worse than that.” They glanced at Shigeo, as if to see if he was still there, then looked away, and the conversation carried forth.

Shigeo was silent during dinner. He had some idea of out-of-imagination pain, but it wasn’t much more than an impression.

Ritsu never stopped his research, even after Hanazawa’s idea that he shared with them. He started reading up about Hanahaki - something the news mentioned - and covered his desk with notes about it. Shigeo and Hanazawa played the role of his sounding board, trading a sentence or two every once in a while as Ritsu mumbled on about diseases, Hanazawa sometimes chiming in with a question. Informations about Hanahaki was hard to come by on the internet, but they scourged up enough to deduce that it was an extremely rare and usually fatal illness. Kadan seemed to be a new strain of it, if what the news said was true.

Hanazawa stayed for the night; they sat in Shigeo’s room, Ritsu on his phone trying to find out more, Hanazawa and Shigeo taking in the silence. They had been up to too much out of place silence, to feel it again without the weight was comforting.

At two in the morning, Ritsu spoke up. “There’s a tab on a health society’s website. They list the known cases of Hanahaki in Japan. There was one in Spice City a dozen of years ago.”

“What are you gonna do with that anyway?” Hanazawa asked, quietly.

Ritsu looked down at his phone. It took him a while to answer. “I’m going to ask around for a bit. Look through the hospitals’ documents. That society only has two member hospitals in Spice City.”

Hanazawa waited equally as long to continued. “This won’t help anyone.”

Shigeo expected Ritsu to snark at that, but in the end the reply was “I know.”

Ritsu went through with his plan a month later, to find out about a Megumi Furuya who died at the age of twenty. And about what Shigeo had always known.

“You didn’t tell me,” he said to Shigeo, and it sounded like an accusation.

There wasn’t really anything to tell, mostly because he didn’t remember much: he was eight when the occasional tests stopped. He was declared healthy. The hospital hadn’t questioned it much, because he was one of the youngest one to be diagnosed with Hanahaki, and the symptoms didn’t show too clearly at that age. They had chalked it up to a misdiagnosis and let him go.

Ritsu had a better idea of that, Shigeo thought. He, like Shigeo, had a different viewing angle at the world than the common people. Human error meant a lot more to them.

Ritsu didn’t ask him more about it. The only thing he asked was whether it had hurted, and Shigeo’s honest answer was that he didn’t remember. That was how he cured himself of it.

Hanazawa invited Shigeo out for a walk on a weekday when Black Vinegar middle school was under quarantine. He seemed a bit tired, but got his energy back after a strawberry parfait.

Shigeo showed him the field next to the train station. “It’s even more beautiful than what I imagined,” Hanazawa had said, and Shigeo was glad of it.

They sat on the grass in silence. When the sky shifted to a violet-tinted orange, Hanazawa told Shigeo, “ There’s this art cafe I think you’d like, but an incident happened there last week. It’s been closed since then.”

“What was the name?” Shigeo asked.

“Higashi. It was on the news that morning.”

The name was white to his senses. Shigeo remembered it. Tulip.

Hanazawa waited a bit before continuing. “He fell asleep at a booth in the corner. He brought his wife’s framed picture with him. The flowers covered the whole booth.”

“It sounds like you were there when it happened.”

Hanazawa nodded.

There was a beat of silence between them, and then Shigeo asked, “Did it scare you?”

“No, actually,” Hanazawa laughed. “His head didn’t even explode. It just got engulfed in tulips, and then it was gone. I think the flowers absorbed all of it or something. Took only a minute.”

For the first time, Shigeo imagined the scene fully.

“It was a quiet way to go,” Hanazawa said from next to him. “But I think it’s better than some deaths I’ve known.”

The death rates slowed down for a bit when the third year came, but the silence never really left.

Ritsu’s researches trailed off slowly since he got the knowledge of Shigeo’s old condition. Shigeo was neither glad nor worried of it, but he did take notice. He had an idea of what Ritsu might be thinking of - events that happened near each others raise the idea of them being linked to each others in one way or another.

He himself didn’t know the concrete answer, if he was to be honest to himself. Maybe his power did burn the illness out. Maybe the pain did come before his control was torn away from him and not after. Maybe his lungs did burn and the flowers did come up, but just never made it out. What he knew was that the flowers were attached to a piece of the affection he had and what came with it, and some of it was burned off along with them. Like a table losing a leg, he was on the brink of toppling over for a while; but in the end it grew back.

Maybe it could work that way for Kadan too, he thought. Maybe they could burn out the pain, and if they were lucky the emptiness would fix itself.

He didn’t know how many people would take that chance.

Hanazawa started hanging out frequently at the Office. He behaved, so Master Reigen didn’t complain. He was always there when Shigeo came by, strained smile and hands balled up on his thigh.

They didn’t really have conversations anymore; it felt more and more like Hanazawa was content with just Shigeo’s presence. He sometimes tagged along when they went out for a case, but left them to their work mostly. “My power’s not worth much when I can’t concentrate,” he said with a wink when Shigeo asked him. Shigeo let it go.

On a day when Hanazawa wasn’t there, Shigeo told Master Reigen about his old condition. “I’ve heard talk of Hanahaki,” Master Reigen said thoughtfully, “but never much. This is a big deal, Mob. Maybe we can help someone out with it.”

Master Reigen’s optimism carried them on to their next cases, and sooner rather than later, someone came by because of unbearable headache. Her name was Saeki. “I got spikes at night when I sleep next to my wife,” she told them. “It’s bad enough to wake me up. I’m tired of this.”

Master Reigen looked at her carefully before asking questions. “Have you been having trouble breathing lately?”

Miss Saeki shook her head. “No, I don’t think so… You think I caught Kadan?”

“I’m not ruling it out, but even in that case I might be able to help you. The troubles with breathing come later than the headache, so we can’t confirm anything yet. Have you been doubting you wife’s fidelity?”

Miss Saeki was stunned into silence for a moment. “What? I— no— why are you asking this?”

“I don’t ask unnecessary question, Saeki-san,” Master Reigen said, tapping his finger on the desk. “So please answer truthfully.”

It took Miss Saeki a while to be able to say the words out loud. “Ye— Yes. I have.” She grimaced as the sentence left her mouth. She was sweating.

She and her wife were scheduled for another consultation the day after. With both of their agreement, Shigeo and Master Reigen did what they could. While Master Reigen performed, Shigeo put his hand on Miss Saeki’s. He gripped firmly on the flowers - geranium - and tore them out. They withered into dust.

Miss Saeki was crying when he signaled Master Reigen to stop. Her tear smelled of flower. “It’s gone,” she said when they asked if she could still feel the headache, and a smile tentatively bloomed on her lips.

They watched it wither when she looked from them to her wife.

Hanazawa was there with them that afternoon. He was quiet through the whole process.

Ritsu heard of that event from Hanazawa, in a morning when they were coincidentally at the same place and without Shigeo.

Shigeo found him in his room reading through records of Hanahaki he copied from his in-and-out visit at the hospitals. There were pollens and contagion and development scribbled in his notebook, and red lines running between them in confusion. Shigeo didn’t know what to do more than to leave Ritsu to his thoughts.

All Ritsu could figure out after that night was that the later into development the illness was, the deeper the flowers took root, but it seemed to always be around a concrete feeling. It wasn’t a satisfying deduction by any mean, but he traded it with Hanazawa anyway. They talked in silent voices through the morning.

The six o’clock news that evening bought them some informations on the process of finding a cure for Kadan. “At least they’re onto something,” Mom said, but they were wary of hope yet.

“The scientists at Kanto Health Council HQ hope to fully engineer a cure based on their already ongoing research of Hanahaki,” the news lady on the TV said. “Until there is more update on the situation, please follow the established health code strictly to avoid contracting this disease.”

They were silent after that.

Hanazawa kept his calm facade, but only barely. Shigeo could tell that the pain was tearing at it. They went to a park near the Office - that was as far as Hanazawa could make it before he needed to take a break - and sat on the grassy hill near the lake, basked in the silence.

“It can’t possibly be worth more than your life,” Shigeo said to Hanazawa. He was quiet in response.

Only when they stood up to go back did he say something. “I can’t imagine a life without it.”

“You did live that life once,” Shigeo pointed out. “And there’s a chance that whatever affection you’re feeling will come back. You’re closer to me when it comes to power, maybe it’ll work for you as it did for me.”

Hanazawa smiled. “You know I wasn’t afraid before, Kageyama-kun,” he said in an even voice. “Now I am. The me before you could never have admitted this in any circumstances, and I’m afraid of that as much as of this damn disease right now.”

Hanazawa didn’t wake up from his nap two days later at the Office. Shigeo and Ritsu came by after a call from Master Reigen.

The scent of lilac was overwhelming when they walked in. Shigeo was tense with guilt. He recounted every moment he could have just gotten it done that he could remember since they tested the cure, went through them silently in his head as they sat down on the floor next to the couch where Hanazawa lay. Suddenly all of them seemed more plausible.

“He was in love with you,” Ritsu mumbled to himself, turned the clue over and over to find a solution. “Maybe just a confession… maybe that’d be enough. Maybe just affection towards him can override…”

“It’s not gonna work, Ritsu,” Master Reigen said, closing the door. “It depends on him. He knows Mob’s answer already.”

Ritsu heard it, but he kept muttering to himself. His hands came up to cover his eyes tiredly.

If only there were a bit more time, Shigeo thought. Suddenly he was so sure of that. If only I had a bit more time.

“Affection,” Ritsu mumbled. “Lilacs. Acceptance. It’s acceptance - it’s an established balance— of— overthrown affection. Maybe if we upset the balance…”

Master Reigen put one hand on his shoulder. “Do it, Mob.”

If only, Shigeo chanted.

The sky was pink when he dove in. It took him a moment to realise that was just the lilacs.

He joined Hanazawa in an overgrown patch.

It was silent under the pink sky.

“If you burn the flowers,” Hanazawa said, “there will be nothing left.”

Shigeo didn’t want to believe him, but his voice was honest. There was no facade here.

I took him longer than it should have to say the words, but he did in the end. “It could have happened, Hanazawa-kun.”

Hanazawa laughed, tiredly, humourlessly, bitterly.

“You’re scared,” Shigeo got the words out. “I’m scared too. Finally I’m scared of this. I think it's guilt and regret I’m feeling. I don’t want this to happen.”

“Why?” Hanazawa asked, hiccupping. “I’ve already figured it’s not that bad a way to go. As long as I get to— I get to keep the affection. I would have been fine with it.”

“We wouldn’t have,” Shigeo said. “Master Reigen and Ritsu and me. If only I could have a bit more time.”

“If only,” Hanazawa echoed. “If only.”

They stayed there for a long time before he said anything more. “I’m scared to take the chance.”

The lilacs started to simmer. The sun was up, slowly.

Shigeo nodded.

“I am too. But you’ve made the choice already.”

Hanazawa was crying when Shigeo finished. It took him another three hours of sleep to wake up fully.

“You said something about the balance,” Shigeo said when Ritsu looked at him at one time in that afternoon. “Maybe that’s what it was.”

They went out for dinner after that. Master Reigen brought them to a ramen shop he discovered a while ago while on a case. It was thankfully still open amidst the rampant health crisis. They were silent through most of it, Hanazawa focusing more on his food than any ongoing conversation. It gave Shigeo an odd, barren peace.

Hanazawa still smelled of lilac months later, whenever they met. Shigeo grew used to it as they sat in silence, the morning report sounding from the radio in the living room. The streets were always a bit more deserted than it used to be when they walked it, each following their own thoughts. They didn’t avoid the incident sites anymore.

A cure was found by the end of the third year, and Hanazawa got it. Sometimes later a vaccine was developed too, and soon Kadan withered.

Kojiro Shimizu and her husband was buried next to each other. People remembered the location, as if it was a warning about the faulty design that allowed a person to die of heartbreak. They covered her tombstone with roses.

Shigeo and Hanazawa stopped there one afternoon when they went out for a walk. Hanazawa brought roses with him. “I can’t remember the pain,” Hanazawa said after having put the flowers on Kojiro’s tomb. They chased away the lingering scent of Judas flowers. “Sometimes I think it should be there, but it’s not, and I feel like it’s not right like this.”

“That was how I was cured,” Shigeo told him, and it seemed to be good enough of an answer.

They sat there for a while, under the golden twilight.

“Thank you,” Shigeo said to him when they stood up. “For being not afraid with me. And then for being afraid with me.”

Hanazawa smiled.

Together, they walked down the hill.

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anime-matchmaker-blog · 7 years

Text

Yaku’s Younger Brother

written for stella / @shimmerleaf

Valentine’s Day was an insignificant day for Kuroo for now – he was still without a girlfriend so there wasn’t anything extravagant planned for the occasion. Instead, he was stuck indoors all day studying for his upcoming midterms. Fortunately, Kai was able to brave the commute to join him, despite going to a different university. At least he wouldn’t be alone.

Halfway through the day, Kuroo’s attention began to wane. He scratched his head, glared at his textbook, and sighed. Kai, on the other side of the room, was flipping through his notebook, frowning as he reached the end. He swapped it for another one, unable to locate the answer in there either. He placed it down, noticing Kuroo was watching him. “You look like you can use a break,” Kai said.

“I do, in fact, could use a break.” Kuroo stretched his arms over his head and reached for his phone. “What are the chances that Yaku will reply if I text him?”

Kai glanced at his phone for the time. It was just after one. “Very low.”

“Why? It’s a Tuesday. He’s probably studying for his midterms too.”

“Do you know what else it is today?”

Kuroo took a moment to think about it. Valentine’s Day. “Oh.”

“That’s right.” Kai nodded and turned back to his notes. “If you want to go for a walk to the corner store then we can-“

“What makes you think he’s actually on a date though?” Kuroo interjected. “It’s the middle of the afternoon. No one goes on dates in broad daylight. They all wait for nighttime so they can bring their girlfriends to the beach at night and make some cheesy pickup line or a declaration of their love. Those things are pointless, honestly. You’re already dating. If you don’t love each other then there’s a problem.”

“He mentioned to me before he’ll be out all afternoon because his girlfriend has to work at night,” Kai told him. “He also specifically told me to keep you occupied so you won’t bother him.”

“I already texted him. He still hasn’t replied.” Kuroo stared at his phone for a few seconds. “Wait. He has my notes. He was supposed to give them back to me yesterday but he was too busy freaking out over his date to meet up with me. I’m going to raid his damn house. Join me, Kai, and we’ll find his instant noodles stash along the way.”

Kai gave him a skeptical look. “If you’re planning on breaking in, you can count me out.”

“It’s called emergency keys, Kai.” Kuroo swiped his keys from the counter and produced Yaku’s house key from the bunch. “I used to crash at his place when we studied together. Now, all he does is study his girlfriend. He better invites me to their wedding.”

There was no way Kai could convince Kuroo against this so he simply stood up and grabbed his jacket on his way out. Kuroo was already waiting for him at the doorway.

Kuroo and Yaku shared a class this semester, which was surprising, considering their majors were different. When Yaku had missed a class due to a family emergency, Kuroo lent him his notes for it. The class covered material that would definitely be on the midterm so Kuroo needed them back as soon as possible. He wasn’t going to let a date stop him from getting a good mark.

They arrived at his house within twenty minutes. Kai could vaguely hear a vacuum cleaner whirling within the house as they approached the front door. “Is he home after all? If he’s been vacuuming this entire time then it would make sense he couldn’t have heard his phone go off.”

Kuroo frowned. “Both his parents should be working and if he isn’t lying about being on a date, then no one should be home. They don’t have a housekeeper either, so…” he rang the doorbell. He blinked in surprise when the vacuum turned off and footsteps thundered throughout the house.

“Coming!” the door opened and a young, short boy appeared, eyes widening at the sight of the duo. His brown hair framed his face, expression of surprise mirroring someone they knew very well. He was wearing a plain sweater and sweatpants, the sleeves of both rolled up to his elbows and knees respectively. He looked like Yaku, just younger. “Are you looking for someone?”

“Uh, yeah. We’re…friends of Yaku,” Kuroo managed to say. “Who are you supposed to be?”

“I’m Shirota Mahiru,” Mahiru answered. “I’m, ah…to put it simply, Morisuke’s younger brother.”

“Younger brother? He doesn’t have any siblings,” Kuroo said with narrowed eyes. Although, he couldn’t deny the resemblance was there…same brown hair and eyes and expression…

“It’s a long story, even if I try to keep it simple,” Mahiru said sheepishly.

“We’ve got time. Can we come in?”

“Yes! Just watch your step – there’s a vacuum cord running through hallway.” Mahiru stepped aside to let the older boys inside.

The house appeared to be in order, but for whatever reason, Kuroo had the vague feeling that it was cleaner than usual. He could tell Kai was having the same feeling, judging by the way he was looking around. Mahiru returned from the kitchen with a tray, balancing three glasses on top. He placed them down on the table. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” Kuroo held the glass up but didn’t take a drink. Kai merely placed his hands together and waited patiently for the younger boy to start his tale.

Mahiru leaned back into the couch, taking a moment to think before speaking. “Morisuke and I are half siblings,” he explained, “but it’s simpler to call him my brother. My mother died when I was young and my father was never in the picture. My uncle started taking care of me but he wasn’t home often so my aunt said I should live with her instead.”

“And your aunt is Yaku’s mom?” Kai asked.

“Right.” Mahiru nodded. “That would make me and Morisuke…cousins? We’re not too sure but he said it’s simpler to call him his brother so we’re brothers now.”

Kuroo kept thinking back to the family emergency Yaku had mentioned earlier during the semester. This didn’t seem like an emergency, just a change of guardians. He asked, “Is that why you’re doing all of this cleaning?”

“There wasn’t anything else for me to do. Cleaning is always an option,” Mahiru replied. “You two are here for Morisuke, right? He should be back soon since his girlfriend has to work tonight. Didn’t he tell you he was going to be out today?”

“Uh, yeah…but I was planning on grabbing something and then leaving…” Kuroo watched Mahiru rise to his feet. “What is it?”

“I saw a notebook on Morisuke’s desk with your name on it,” Mahiru said. “Is that what you wanted? I’ll grab it for you.” He hurried toward the stairs, vanishing onto the second floor in an instant.

Kuroo watched him go. Kai had an amused expression on his face. “I never knew Yaku had a younger relative,” he remarked. “Does this mean they weren’t close until recently?”

“Who knows? Either way, he’s going to owe us an explanation when he returns. And lunch.”

They both jumped when the front door opened. “I’m home,” Yaku called out in a tired voice as he kicked his shoes off and dragged his feet into the living room. He straightened up when he noticed his friends glaring at him. “What are you two doing here? Wait-“

“Well, well, speak of the devil,” Kuroo intoned. “You’ve got a lot to explain, Morisuke. What’s this about a younger brother you’ve been harboring all this time?”

Yaku’s eyes widened as he held his hands up in defense. “I can explain-“

“Oh, Morisuke! Welcome back,” Mahiru appeared from behind him, Kuroo’s notebook in his hand. “Your friends are here for you. Kuroo-san just wanted to get his notebook back.”

Now that the two of them were standing side by side, the resemblance was definitely there. They could pull off being siblings and no one would question them. Kai nodded. “They do look alike.”

“Right? It’s creepy.” Kuroo stood up. “Well, it’s nice to know you have a brother and all, Yaku, but we were only here so I could grab my notebook. We’ll leave you two to…housework. Midterms are more important than cleaning, don’t you think?”

Yaku closed the door behind them with a sigh. He hadn’t expected them to come over at all. He was going to introduce them to Mahiru eventually – especially considering how often Kuroo came by to study and raid his fridge – but coming when he least expected it was a shock. He glanced at Mahiru. “They didn’t do or say anything bad, did they?”

“No,” Mahiru answered with a shake of his head. “Kai-san was nice but Kuroo-san is…”

“He has a questionable personality. It’s okay. You don’t have to interact with him if you don’t want to.” Yaku headed toward the stairs. “Sorry about this. Sorry that you have to do all the housework too.”

“I don’t mind! Housework is simple. It’s easy to pass time.”

Yaku merely nodded and climbed the stairs. He would never mind having a younger brother. He did have a feeling Mahiru was going to motivate him to finish his chores at one point or another though.

#Haikyuu!!#Servamp #Kuroo Tetsurou #Kai Nobuyuki #Yaku Morisuke #Shirota Mahiru #fanfic #this turned out longer than it was supposed to be #whoops #sara's stuff

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