#I want to be clear she wouldn't need to like the teacher to want to get their approval

[adaines-furious-feast]

Kipperlilly is the kind of person that thrives off the approval of teachers, and having a teacher that is not present must have really, really sucked.

[circe69]

“𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭“ - 𝐫.𝐬 𝐱 𝐩𝐥𝐮𝐬!𝐟𝐞𝐦 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 🕯️

୧⋆｡🕯. -ʚɞ who is it? - ryomen sukuna x plus!fem reader

୧⋆｡🕯. -ʚɞ what is it? - academic rivals, true enemies to dirty lovers, smut, unprotected p in v, reader gets called "princess", sukuna's tatted, mentions of fatphobia, reader is insecure, but sukuna's down bad, needs those thick thighs, "fuck it" moment, he's a jealous lover.

୧⋆｡🕯. -ʚɞ wc & an? - 3.2k, hi guys!!!! valentines special a little late? sry. enjoy.

"The class project will be graded on length, presentation, grammar-"

You tune out your teacher. This was the last period of the day. You were almost free. A smutty book, an iced coffee, and a quiet environment was waiting for you at home. Almost-

"And how well you work with your partner."

A quiet chatter broke out amongst the students around you. This was one of the biggest projects of the year, and from everything you'd heard from previous graduates, it was done independently.

"Yes, yes, I know. This is a new development," your teacher answered, "For this project, I will assign you to a partner. This partner," she emphasized, "is extremely important. You will spend hours upon hours with this person to complete the project. Are we clear?"

The class agrees in unison. As the teacher started rambling off names of who all would be paired up, you watched as multiple students either silently cheered or grimaced at their chosen partner.

"Last but not least, Y/N, you will be with,"

You crossed your fingers and squeezed your eyes shut.

"Ryomen. Sukuna."

Oh fuck no.

What the fu-

"Absolutely the fuck not," a loud, dark voice boomed from the back of the class.

And there he was. The bane of your existence, Ryomen Sukuna, standing up in retaliation. That pink fucking hair in all it's glory, dark tattoos marking almost every inch of skin, and that stupid letterman jacket he's always wearing.

"No way in hell I'll be with her," he exclaimed, his friends around him laughing. You turned around to look him in the eyes, and just as you figured, they were empty.

Sukuna was an all-star athlete. A basketball champion, the top of his class, a total knock-out. Everyone either wanted him or wanted to be him. He was technically perfect. Tall. Muscular. Fast. Smart.

Handsome.

Sure, you had a few wet dreams about him, every girl did. But you were you, shorter, quieter, chubbier, and couldn't play sports to save your life. He didn't give a fuck about you, but it's not like you even cared. You had something that he didn't.

Social fucking ettiequte.

The teacher took off her glasses and set them on her desk, "Partners are final, and so is this grade. No retakes, remakes or extra credit. Class on Monday begins the work period."

The bell rang, and everyone scurried out of class.

"It's not going to be that bad," your friend Cassie said across from the lunch table you were sitting at, "Yeah he's a complete dickhead, but you've dealt with worse! Remember Megumi from the first grade?"

All the girls around you groaned, "Bitch, he bit my fucking arm!" You laughed while Cassie shrugged.

"Look, all I know is that there's a nasty rumor going around that Sukuna only wants to be seen with thinner girls. Toned and skinny. And I mean," you paused to motion your hand down your body, "have you seen me? It's going to be a nightmare."

Another one of your friends, Nyla, speaks up, "First of all, you are not fat. You are curvy, got all the right stuff in the right places. Second of all, none of this even truly matters because you would've gotten an A if you'd been by yourself, you're definitely gonna ace it even with a little extra help."

You take a deep breath. Maybe it was going to be okay. I mean, it wouldn't be a walk in the park, but maybe Sukuna's misunderstood. Maybe nobody's given him a chance. He might even help you with this project, give you some great insight.

Misunderstood, my ass, you thought as you sat down reluctantly next to Sukuna. You slung your bag over the back of you chair and pulled out a pink notebook before flipping it open to a blank page. You expected him to say something, but silence filled the air between you as a clock ticked in the background.

You cleared your throat, "Alright, obviously there's no need for introductions since you've made it clear you are not fond of me," your words and peppery tone forced Sukuna to look up from the video game he was playing on his laptop. "And assuming this is a relatively safe space, I don't like you either. Never have. Quite frankly, you're a piece of shit."

Sukuna's eyes widened at your words before nervously chuckling and looking away. He leans close to you, and a strong scent of dark cologne wafts to you, "Do you really think I fucking care? Care about this class, care about you, care about any of this?" He whispered.

You smile sinisterly and whisper back, "It is literally so obvious that you don't care. Please, stop wasting your breath."

He rubs a hand down his face, laughing at just how fucking insane it is, the way you talk to him. All of the sudden, Sukuna raises a hand.

"Yes Ryomen?" Your teacher says.

He clears his throat, "Yeah, I was wondering if me and Y/N could actually go use one of the study rooms? We're getting a little distracted in here."

She sighed, "Yes, that's fine. Go ahead."

Sukuna jumped up, not even looking behind him to see if you were following. As the two of you exited the hallway, you tried to keep up with his long strides.

"Look, I don't know what your plan is, but it's probably a waste of time and this project isn't going to ace itse-"

Sukuna stopped and spun around, causing you to run right into his chest. You took a step back and leaned up to look him in his eyes. He pointed at the open conference room and whispered, "We are going to go inside that room, lock the door, and speak like civilized people. We're gonna work on the project, feel good about it, and leave early, because I have a party to go to tonight," your huff of annoyed laughter interrupted him, "That sound like a plan?"

You laughed as you walked into the room and turned on the lights, "Sure, Dad. Whatever."

Sukuna threw his books onto the table, "Damn it, you are so fucking annoying."

"What happened to civilized?" You rebutted, rounding the table while taking slow steps toward him.

"Oh, that went out the window the second I heard your name come outta our teacher's mouth, bitch."

The room went silent, Sukuna's breath hitched, your eyes saw red.

"The fuck did you just say?" You asked, taking a step closer to him.

He didn't know what to expect, what to say, he knew he just fucked up. But there was no going back now, and in his head, fucking up even more was his only option. Sukuna straightened his back and crossed his arms across his chest. Your toes were touching his, bodies too close, breath intertwining, but he leaned closer anyways, "I called you a bitch."

You shoved him. Hard. Against the wall behind him. A picture frame shook before falling on the floor. Sukuna made no reaction.

For some reason, tears started welling behind your eyes. Why was he so mean? Why did he have so many comebacks lined up? Why were you entertaining it? Why do you wish he was touching you back, even if it meant he'd hurt you?

You shoved again, this time a grunt escaped you. But his arms stayed in place, never reaching out. His body barely even moved from your force. What was happening? Why was the silent tension between you thick enough to cut into pieces? Your hands against his rough chest burned his skin through his clothes, and every singe screamed, "You shouldn't have said that."

As you shoved for a third time, and as a small cry came from your mouth in frustration, Sukuna's eyes changed. Even though you couldn't see it, every part of his body tensed and relaxed at the sight of your body failing itself. He could see you breaking down, and everyone around him would've told him to wind you up more. To enjoy it.

Before he could say anything else, you looked him in the eyes, "Fuck you," you spat, and grabbed your books before heading out of the conference room.

"Come to the party with us," Cassie said to you in the mirror as you watched her curl her hair. "It'll be fun! We'll get drinks, and dance, and you don't even have to stay for a long time. Say the word and I'll take you home."

It did sound appealing. The idea of a buzz, something to take your mind off of everything, loud music, wearing something cute, maybe talking to a guy.

Fuck it.

"Okay, fine. I'll go."

Cassie gasped, "Are you serious? Really?"

You nodded, and she squealed in delight, "Oh my gosh, I'll call Nyla. She's gonna freak. out." You laughed as she dialed in a few numbers in her phone. As Cassie held the phone up to her ear, you could hear the tone ringing, and Cassie whispered over her shoulder, "Go get dressed already!"

You forgot why you never used to go to parties, until you got to this one. Everything was so overstimulating, from the lights, to the smells, even your thighs sticking to every chair you sat on made it worse.

But you looked good. You knew it, and it had been a long time since you let yourself acknowledge it. A black mini dress that hugged all your curves, and lacy little thigh-highs. You were a goddess, a vision.

And every one seemed to agree. Especially Sukuna's friends.

"Damn, did you see the ass on her?" A white-haired basketball player nudged Sukuna's arm while talking to the rest of the team. As he turned around to see who he was talked about, he almost spit out his drink.

Fuck.

There you were.

Dancing underneath a blue beam of light, with your arms around your friends neck, your sweet hips swaying to the music. It was almost as if he could hear your raspy voice from where he stood, smell your vanilla perfume and sweet-like-cherries hair.

That dress was sinful. It was too tight, too short, too much for Sukuna to even handle, and suddenly, he could feel his blood turn hot at the thought that every single guy in this room is thinking the same thing.

Unfortunately, he was the last person you'd wanna hear it from.

He had always had a thing for you. Your kind words and quiet tone (to everyone but him) along with your overall angel-like appearance, the equation was sickeningly sweet. For years and years, he lifted up silent prayers to God that you'd be in his class the next semester. And they were always answered, only for him to never ever speak to you. So when the teacher said that you were going to be partners, he couldn't believe his ears. He had one chance, and he fucked it up, all because he didn't want to admit it, not even to himself, that the love he had for one girl was only met with hatred.

But as he made his way over to you, he ignored the blaring sirens in his head, all the thoughts that kept him up at night, all he heard was you.

Sukuna was right behind you, inches away. But he didn't want to touch you, not yet. He waited until you turned around and watched your eyes widen at the sight of him.

In this light, he was majestic, and you hated him for it.

The white tee shirt and dark-wash jeans were adding no help to your case, and a pair of black aviators rested upon his head. Every muscle, ridge, even the veins in his forearms, you wanted it all. And maybe it was the drinks, or maybe you were just so done denying it. You had always denied it.

He leaned down, "What are you doing here?"

You looked him in the eyes, "I'm dancing."

The song changed and lights faded to a deep red, and while bodies swirled around you, both you and Sukuna remained steady.

"I can see that." He cleared his throat and scanned his eyes down your figure, "Can practically see your whole ass, y'know."

"What d'you care, hm?"

You could see his molars grind against each other, his adams apple bobbing from a swallow. Just then, another guy comes up behind you and swirls an arm around your waist, "Hey, wanna dance?" You look at your suitor and smile slightly, so excited to see how this is going to play out.

"She's busy," Sukuna growled, and you rolled your eyes.

"Doesn't look like she's busy to me." The man's arm slithered away from your waist and moved so his hand was resting on your hip.

Sukuna was about to kill every single person at this party.

His inked hand reached out to your wrist and tugged you into his side, "Yeah well doesn't matter what it looks like, dumbass, she's fucking busy."

The strange man's hand on your hip was exchanged for Sukunas. The touch of his hand, something you'd thought of for years, dreamt of for longer, had finally reached you. And you hated how much it felt like something you'd been searching for forever.

"Sukuna," you shrieked, "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

He turned to face you, "Me? What's wrong with me?" His hand squeezed the flesh of your skin subconsciously.

"C'mere," he dragged you to the nearest bathroom, fleeing between bodies and furniture pushed to the side. He opened the door, and gently pushed you inside, shutting it behind him.

He didn't even bother to turn on the lights. You were surrounded by darkness, with the only exception being the strobe lights coming from under the door.

Sukuna's arm was still around your frame, but now, it feels different. Like he wants it to be there.

"You," he starts as his hands travel up and down your hips, "are so fucking distracting."

You can't see his eyes, but you know what they look like. They're not empty anymore. They're yearning, tired of waiting, impatient and hungry.

Sukuna backs you up against the bathroom counter, "So you're gonna have to forgive me for acting out of line out there, and at school, and all my life," his hand reached up to cup the back of your neck, "it's the least you can do for fucking me up."

And that was all you remembered before you felt his lips on yours. As violent as he was born, as scary as you thought he was, his tongue was gentle and forgiving as it pried between your lips. You couldn't help but let out a whimper before breaking the kiss.

"Wait, but I thought you didn't like heavier girls-"

"Who the fuck told you that, sweetheart?" He said against your mouth. You shrugged in response, "Just rumors, I guess."

"You guess?" He whispered as he kissed down your neck, and back up to nibble on your earlobe, "You guess wrong. Very fucking wrong." Sukuna bit the soft spot on your neck and his hands traveled down to knead the fat of your ass, "These hips were made for me, baby. Made for my hands, made for my mouth and teeth. Mine. All mine, Y'hear me?"

You nodded as you wrapped your hands around his neck and pulled him into you, enveloping his lips with yours. This time, his kiss is harsh and jealous. His tongue licked against yours in fervor, the sound of teeth occasionally clashing only made you pull on his hair more.

"Fuck, I'm sorry for shoving you that one time." You whispered into his mouth before kissing him again. Sukuna dragged the two of you to the floor. "That shit turns me on, precious," he said as he pulled your dress over your head. He growled at the sight of your full tits bouncing free from the fabric. All that was left on your skin was a skimpy thongs and thigh highs.

"Mm, fuck you and these fucking thighs. Look at what you do to me." He said as he shed himself from the shirt and pants, "Making me go insane."

Sukuna lowered himself over you, spreading your thighs apart with his own. The cold air hitting your pussy was a reminder of just how wet you were, soaking the fabric of your panties. A groan tore itself from your throat as he bent down to lick one of your nipples.

"Yes, oh- mmph," you moaned as his teeth grazed the bud, "Need you, please, needed you for so long."

"I know baby, I know,"

That's all it took for Sukuna to free his cock from his boxers. And from the looks of it, you were absolutely fucked.

It was huge, bigger than any dick you'd ever taken in the past, with a patch of pink hair around the base of him. His lips reached down to take yours in a deep kiss as he guided himself to your entrance.

"Fuck," you whispered as you felt the tip of him notch inside you, "It's b-big, Sukuna."

He slides in another inch while thumbing at your swollen clit, "Damn, you're gonna call me that while you're taking my b-big cock?" He mocked, but then reached down to kiss one cheek, than the other, "You can do it, princess - f-fuck - Get there with me."

Once he was fully seated inside of you, you could feel the tip of him just kiss your cervix every time he thrusted. "Fuck, fuck Ryo', feels good." You moaned while fisting his hair, "I like that, baby, say it again."

"Ryooo', you groaned, you felt your climax approaching faster then you expected. A fire was lit underneath your belly and every word that poured from Sukuna's mouth was a douse of gasoline.

"Mmph, these tits - fuck - that pussy, everything about you. You feel so fucking good."

An overwhelming urge to come came over you, as well as a strange feeling, something you'd never felt before, and with every hit his dick gave your cervix, the feeling only grew stronger.

"F-feels weird, Ryo', it's too much, feels like m' gonna- oh fuck."

Sukuna could feel it too, the way your walls rippled against his length every second that passed, your breath was speeding up, your voice was giving out. "Fuck, so pretty, let it out baby, milk my cock. You wanna do that? Spray me baby, I don't give a fuck."

At his words, the cord finally released and snapped. You were coming, and hard, while gushing on his dick. "Fuckkkk, so- so good."

"Where do you want it, princess?" He asked as his thrusts turned frantic and untimed. "Inside. Please. On the pill."

His balls tightened as he came, "M'cummin, cumming so hard," Sukuna warned as he released his load inside of you.

"Fucking hell, I should've done this sooner," Sukuna said into the crook of your neck. The sound of panting and shallow breathing flooded around you.

"Well, if you weren't such an dick maybe you could've."

He playfully smacked your ass in response, and you laughed at the notion.

"What a funny story to tell our kids, huh?"

"Kids? Ryo, we have to at least finish this fucking project first."

"Shit, I completely forgot about that if we're being honest."

"Yeah, I figured."

"Rude."

"Well, if you help me out, I guess I could have a kid or two of yours."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

[halfmoonaria]

her words, not mine

pairing: top!tara carpenter & sub!female reader

summary: you and tara kept things simple, no complications—until she made one.

warnings: smut (18+) fingering (r receiving), secret relationship, office sex.

author’s note: i haven’t proofread this one so..

Tara liked control.

She always had. Even as a child, she found comfort in order. It wasn't just about neatness or routine—it was about knowing.

Knowing that things were in their right place, that nothing unexpected would throw her off balance. Her toys had to be arranged a certain way. If someone moved them, she'd notice instantly. Her bookshelves had gone through endless reorganizations—not because she couldn't decide on a system, but because she needed to find the best one.

Genre made sense, but what if she wanted all her favorite books together? What if she needed to sort them by spine height so they looked even? What if, what if, what if?

She liked puzzles. Not because she enjoyed the picture at the end, but because she liked solving something that had a clear answer. She liked math for the same reason. Two plus two would always be four, no matter what. There was no uncertainty. No surprises. Just rules that made sense, that she could rely on.

She learned early that people weren't like that.

At school, group projects were a nightmare. The moment the teacher assigned one, Tara's jaw would clench, already anticipating the frustration. No one ever did what they were supposed to. No one ever cared as much as she did. So she took over. Not because she wanted to, but because if she didn't, things would fall apart.

People didn't appreciate that.

They called her bossy. Controlling. Too serious.

But what was wrong with wanting things done right? What was wrong with making sure things were finished on time instead of hoping someone else would magically pull through at the last second?

She stopped caring what people thought of her.

By the time she was a teenager, she had already accepted that if she wanted something done properly, she had to do it herself. And that suited her just fine. She didn't need anyone else. She had her plans, and she followed through on them, no matter what.

Tara never half-assed anything. If she committed to something, she owned it.

It was how she got through college at the top of her class. While other students partied, Tara studied. While others procrastinated, she finished assignments weeks in advance. Not because she was a genius, but because she refused to let herself fail. She didn't do 'good enough.' She did more.

And when it came time to enter the workforce, she carried that same mindset with her.

The first job she landed was nothing special. Just a stepping stone. She knew that the moment she walked in. But while others treated it like just another paycheck, Tara treated it like an opportunity. She learned fast, adapted even faster. She memorized company policies inside and out. She figured out what made people listen, what made them respect her.

She wasn't the boss. Not yet. But she knew she would be.

So she worked. And worked.

Late nights, early mornings, weekends sacrificed in the name of something bigger. It wasn't enough to be good at her job—she had to be the best. She studied the people above her, watched how they operated, learned from their mistakes. She climbed the ladder so quickly it made people's heads spin.

By the time she got to the top, no one could say she didn't deserve it.

Now, she was the one in charge. The one who gave orders instead of taking them.

Her office ran exactly the way she wanted it to—strict, efficient, with no room for distractions.

Or at least, that's how it was supposed to be.

But then there was you.

Tara didn't notice you at first. Not in the way she would later. You were just another name on a new hire list, another employee she expected to follow orders and do their job. You weren't the first person to work under her, and you wouldn't be the last.

But you were different.

She saw it almost immediately. While others hesitated around her, unsure whether to tiptoe or challenge her authority, you never wavered. You didn't shrink under her sharp tone or the weight of her expectations. You never sighed when she gave you extra work, never rolled your eyes when you thought she wasn't looking.

The others tried to hide their exasperation, their thinly veiled frustration whenever she demanded precision. It was in the subtle way they hesitated before saying yes, ma'am, in the tight-lipped expressions they wore when she sent them back to redo a report that wasn't up to her standards. They obeyed, but with reluctance. Even the best among them still carried that underlying sense of just let it go, it's not that serious.

But not you.

You followed every instruction to the letter, not just meeting her standards but exceeding them. If she asked for paperwork, it was on her desk before she even had to remind you. If she wanted reports sorted in a specific way, you did it without question. Not once did she have to send something back because it wasn't done right.

You did everything her way. Everything she wanted.

And you never complained.

At first, she told herself that was all it was—just appreciation for competence. Respect for someone who took their job as seriously as she did. But then she started to watch you.

She noticed things she had no business noticing.

The way your fingers tapped lightly against your desk when you were deep in concentration. The way you chewed on the end of your pen absentmindedly during meetings. The way you bit your lip when you read over a document, eyes narrowing just slightly as if you were committing every word to memory.

It was ridiculous. Inappropriate. Unprofessional.

And yet, sometimes—only sometimes—she would catch herself looking lower.

It wasn't intentional. At least, that's what she told herself. But her gaze would flicker downward, lingering for a second too long. It didn't matter that you never dressed revealingly. You could be wearing the most modest blouse imaginable, and still, her eyes would betray her. The way the fabric hugged you just enough, the way it shifted when you moved—it was infuriating how easily her mind wandered.

She scolded herself for it. She was better than this. Smarter than this.

You worked for her.

And yet, no matter how many times she told herself it was nothing, that it didn't mean anything, the thought was always there. Looking isn't doing anything wrong. Thinking isn't acting.

As long as she never did anything about it, there wasn't a problem.

Right?

...Right?

Tara told herself it would pass.

That it was just a phase—an overactive mind, too many late nights, nothing more.

But the longer it went on, the worse it got.

Because you made it hard.

She had control over everything. Everything. Her schedule. Her business. The way people spoke to her, the way they listened when she gave orders. Control was what she did. It was what she was.

And yet, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't control this.

Couldn't control the way her eyes lingered on you when you weren't looking. The way she caught herself anticipating your presence, your voice, the way you carried yourself so effortlessly through the office. Couldn't control the way her mind drifted at night, replaying insignificant moments as if they meant something.

But you—you were controlled.

You followed the rules. You knew how to navigate her world, how to move within the strict lines she had drawn. You did everything right. Everything she wanted.

And it infuriated her.

Because no matter how much power she held over you in that office—no matter how much control she had over everything else—she couldn't control what you were doing to her.

She tried to push it down. Buried it beneath long hours and stricter expectations, forced herself to focus on anything but the way her breath caught when you got too close.

It didn't work.

Because eventually, there was that night.

It was late. The office was empty, save for the low hum of the air conditioning and the faint glow of computer screens still in sleep mode. She hadn't planned to stay so late, but neither had you.

And she hadn't planned on letting her control slip.

But it did.

And once it happened the first time—once that line was crossed—there was no going back.

The headache had settled in hours ago, a dull ache at the base of Tara's skull that no amount of pinching at the bridge of her nose had managed to fix. The office had been silent by then—just the faint buzz of a light she had kept meaning to replace, the occasional creak of the building settling.

She should have gone home.

But the end of the day had always felt like a void, like the moment she stepped outside, she would have nothing but time—time to think, time to dwell, time to let her mind wander places it shouldn’t.

So she had stayed.

A few reports had still needed reviewing, a contract had been waiting for her signature—excuses, really, but enough to justify the extra hours. She had skimmed through the papers in front of her, rubbing at her forehead as she had tried to focus.

Then, a soft knock against the doorframe.

Tara had looked up sharply, her thoughts scattering like glass.

And there you had been.

You had smiled, the same polite, professional smile she had seen a hundred times before. The kind of smile you had always given her when you had stepped into her office with a file in hand or a question on your lips.

But that night, it had felt different.

Or maybe that had just been her.

Because it had been after hours. Because she had been tired. Because her body had been tense and restless in ways she hadn't been proud of, and now you had been standing there, looking at her like you always did, and for the first time, she had felt like she couldn't look away.

"Ms. Carpenter..." Your voice had been soft in the quiet space, hesitant but not nervous.

You had shifted slightly, holding up a folder with one hand. "I was finishing up the reports from the vendors, but there were a few inconsistencies in the invoices. I thought you might want to go over them before I send them back."

Tara had swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.

Of course. Work. That had been why you had still been there. Why you had approached her. Why you had spoken her name so softly it had sent a shiver down her spine.

She had nodded, forcing herself to look at the folder instead of at you. "Right. Leave them on my desk."

But you hadn't moved right away.

And Tara had realized, in that small pause, that this had been the moment where it all had started to go wrong.

You had nodded at her words and stepped forward, placing the folder neatly onto her desk before turning to leave.

And Tara had watched you go.

It had been instinct, at first. A passing glance that had lasted a second too long.

The way you had walked—unhurried, confident but not cocky. The way your skirt had hugged your hips just enough to make her grip tighten around her pen. She had never let herself stare before, but she had been exhausted, her thoughts already slipping past her usual restraint, and for a brief, fleeting moment, she had let herself want.

Just as quickly, she had forced herself to look away.

Of course she hadn't said anything. Of course she had stayed silent, eyes snapping back to the papers in front of her, pen dragging across the page as if that could erase the fact that, for one split second, she had almost wished you had stayed.

But the knowledge that you were still somewhere in the building—that it was just the two of you, alone in the dimly lit office—was enough to make her pulse thrum a little too fast.

She had tried to push it down. To ignore the sudden heat simmering beneath her skin, the restless energy that made it impossible to focus on the words she was supposed to be reading.

But her hands had felt unsteady.

Her grip on the pen had been too tight, her skin too warm, her breathing a little too uneven. She had even flexed her fingers, pressing her palms flat against the desk as if she could ground herself, but nothing had helped.

And it had been infuriating.

Because this wasn't what control felt like.

Control was certainty. Control was discipline. Control was her thing.

This? This had been something else entirely.

Tara had exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down her face before glancing at the clock. It was late. Too late.

She had decided then—before her thoughts could spiral any further—that it was best to go home. If she was feeling this off, this hot and restless, she was probably coming down with something. Maybe a fever. That would explain everything.

With that excuse firmly in place, she had snapped her laptop shut and started gathering the scattered papers on her desk.

And that had been the exact moment you had walked in again.

She had frozen, just for a split second, fingers still curled around a loose stack of documents, before forcing herself to relax.

The same soft smile. The same perfectly put-together demeanor. A thinner folder in your hands.

"Ma'am," you had said, voice smooth, effortless, sending something sharp and electric straight through her spine.

She had swallowed, gripping the papers a little tighter.

You had stepped closer, holding out the folder. "I finalized the edits on the quarterly report, but I wanted to double-check if you wanted me to send it to the board as is, or if you'd prefer another review first."

Tara had barely heard a word you had said.

She had tried to listen—to focus—but she had still been picking up the last of her things, still forcing herself to act normal, and that had already taken every ounce of willpower she had left.

You had glanced at her desk then, at the way she had been straightening up. Something in your expression had shifted, a flicker of hesitation before you had spoken again.

"Did you want me to close up?"

Your voice had been softer that time, more casual.

And it had been a simple question. A normal one. But for some reason, the sound of it had made something deep in Tara's stomach tighten painfully.

She had nodded, too quickly. "Yeah, that would be great."

Her voice had been neutral. Measured. Like she had barely been paying attention.

But she had been paying attention.

Too much.

Because she had still been pretending to organize the papers in front of her, still trying to do something so she wouldn't have to think about the fact that her whole body had felt wound too tight.

And then you had said it again.

"Yes, ma'am."

And that had been the last drop.

Tara had never let herself indulge. Never let herself do more than look—and even that had been rare, controlled, brief.

But suddenly, none of that had felt like enough.

Suddenly, control hadn't mattered at all.

Tara hadn't planned it.

She hadn't thought about it—not really, not in a way that acknowledged what she was actually doing.

She had just moved.

One second, she had been standing there, still gripping the edges of her desk like it could somehow ground her, still trying to will away the heat in her chest, the tightness in her stomach. And then, suddenly, her hands had been on you, her lips pressing hard against yours.

It hadn't been careful. It hadn't been slow or thoughtful or rational—it had been instant. A desperate attempt to make it all stop.

Because if she kissed you, maybe the thoughts would go away.

If she kissed you, maybe the tightness in her chest would finally ease, maybe the heat in her stomach would stop twisting itself into unbearable knots, maybe she could get her control back.

And for one agonizing second, as she had felt your breath hitch against her lips, she had been terrified that she had ruined everything.

That you would push her away. That you would look at her like she had crossed a line. That you would pull back, storm out, and cost her everything—her reputation, her position, everything she had worked for.

But then you had leaned in.

Not quickly, not in a way that screamed urgency or recklessness.

You had just looked at her—wide-eyed, surprised, the soft glow of the office lights making your lips look even more kissable than they already were.

And then you had kissed her back.

Tara had barely registered the sound of a sharp inhale, barely processed the way her pulse had thundered so hard it almost hurt, because suddenly, her back was hitting the desk, and her legs were wrapping around your waist like she needed you closer.

She had needed you closer.

Everything had been fast—desperate.

The sound of her desk chair scraping back, the crash of a stapler and loose papers hitting the floor as she grabbed at you, pulled at you, let herself want.

She had never been this desperate before.

But she had clung to you like she needed you to breathe, grinding up against your hips with reckless urgency, tilting her head to deepen the kiss, lips parting against yours as her fingers tangled in your hair.

She had felt electric.

Like her whole body was on fire, like every part of her was wired too tight, coiled up with months of restraint she hadn't even realized she had been holding.

And then your hands had slid down.

Slow. Intentional.

You had pushed up her skirt, fingers grazing along the inside of her thigh.

Tara had gasped—actually gasped—her nails digging into your shoulders, her body arching up into your touch, her mind blanking completely when your fingers pressed against her.

She had never let go like this before.

But with you, she hadn't wanted to hold back.

She remembered everything.

Every sound. Every touch. Every second she had let go.

She remembered the way her legs had trembled when your fingers pushed inside her, how she had gripped at your shoulders, nails digging in like she needed something to anchor herself, to keep herself from completely falling apart.

She remembered how wet she had been, how embarrassing it should have been, how it only made you move faster, made your touch rougher, made her hips chase the pressure.

She remembered the way she had moaned—loud, desperate, shameless. How she hadn't even thought about keeping it down, about the fact that anyone could have still been in the building, about anything except the way your fingers curled just right inside her.

She remembered your mouth.

How it had found the skin of her neck, her jaw, the shell of her ear. How you had sucked at her pulse, kissed down her throat, whispered things against her skin that made her throb.

She remembered the burn of her desk against her back, the way her blouse had ridden up as she squirmed against the wood, the way her thighs had ached from being spread so wide around your hips.

She remembered how her own voice had sounded—breathless, high-pitched, needy.

She had never sounded like that before.

She had never let herself sound like that before.

But she had wanted it. She had needed it.

And when she came—legs shaking, mouth open in a silent cry, forehead pressing into your shoulder—she had realized something that terrified her.

For the first time in her life, she had lost control.

And it had felt so fucking good.

After, there had been silence.

No awkwardness, no words, no need to fill the space with anything but the sound of hurried breaths and rustling clothes. Tara had smoothed down her skirt, fixed the buttons on her blouse with slightly unsteady hands, and watched as you did the same. Neither of you spoke about what had just happened.

And maybe that was for the best.

When you left the office, you didn't look at her any differently. You didn't linger in the doorway, didn't hesitate, didn't ask what it meant. You just said Goodnight, Ms. Carpenter—like you always did—and walked away.

Tara didn't say anything back. She had just sat there, perched on the edge of her desk, feeling HOT all over, feeling something that wasn't quite regret but wasn't satisfaction either.

That night, she couldn't sleep.

She had tried. She had needed to, but every time she closed her eyes, all she could see was the way your lips had parted against hers, the way your body had pressed against her own, the way you had taken without hesitation, without letting her control a single moment of it.

And that was what stuck with her the most.

She had never let that happen before. She had never let anyone else dictate HER. Not at work, not in life, and definitely not in bed.

But she had.

And the worst part—the best part—was that she had liked it.

She wanted it again. She knew that much.

But if it happened again, it had to be her way. Her rules. Her control.

Because this wasn't who she was. She wasn't reckless, she wasn't impulsive, and she wasn't someone who let her own employee bend her over a desk without thinking.

If she was going to do this again, it would be different. It had to be.

And it happened again.

It shouldn't have. Tara had told herself that. She had laid in bed the night after that first time, forcing herself to believe it had been a mistake—one she wouldn't repeat, one she couldn’t repeat.

But then, not even a full day later, she had found herself alone with you again. And just like before, she hadn't thought. She hadn't stopped herself.

It kept happening after that.

At first, there had still been some semblance of restraint. A tension she tried to hold onto, an unspoken boundary she convinced herself still existed. But then it became a routine.

She didn't call you into her office for work anymore.

There were no excuses, no flimsy justifications—just a glance, just a moment, just a shift in the air between you that made it clear what you were both there for.

It happened almost every day.

And if a day was missed? It was made up for the next.

Tara hadn't expected it to get that far. She had thought maybe it would be like some passing phase, some moment of insanity that would fade with time.

But it hadn't.

And what made it worse—what made it better—was that it didn't just happen after hours anymore.

It happened during the day. During work.

Behind a locked office door, when the sun was still high and the sounds of the office still filled the space beyond the walls, you would take everything she gave you. Let her be the one in charge. Let her have the control.

And maybe that was why she let herself keep going. Because even though this was the one thing she shouldn’t be doing, at least in this, she still had control.

Most of the time.

Because there were still moments—rare ones, fleeting ones—where you took it back. Where you reminded her of that first time, of what it had felt like to be completely at someone else's mercy. And when that happened, she told herself she hated it.

But that was a lie.

It always started the same way.

A glance. A shift in the air. A moment where the tension between you sharpened, like a wire pulled too tight, waiting to snap. And then it did.

Tara would push you up against the door, lips crashing into yours before the lock had even clicked into place. She was always desperate in those first moments, always acting like she had spent the entire day trying not to think about this—about you.

Her hands would be on you immediately, slipping under your blazer, shoving it from your shoulders. Your blouse was next. She had learned how to work the buttons quickly, how to get you bare in seconds. She never wasted time.

Her mouth would trail down your neck, your collarbone, as she backed you toward the desk. She had done it enough times to know the perfect angle to sit you on the edge, to stand between your legs, to push your skirt up just enough to let her fingers tease along the inside of your thigh.

She liked teasing at first, watching you shift against the desk, watching your body react before she even really touched you. But she never made you wait long.

Because she couldn't.

Because the second she slipped her fingers inside, she always realized just how wet you already were. For her. From nothing but the anticipation. And that drove her insane.

Tara knew exactly what you liked by now. She knew the pace, the rhythm, the angle that made your body tighten, that made your fingers grip the edge of the desk like you'd fall apart otherwise. She knew when to slow down, when to speed up, when to press her thumb against your clit just right. She knew how to get you to say her name exactly the way she liked it.

But it was never enough.

Not for her.

Because by the time she felt you clenching around her fingers, by the time she felt you coming undone, her own body was aching for more.

And you always gave it to her.

She barely had time to catch her breath before you were tugging her blazer off, pulling at the buttons of her blouse, pushing it off her shoulders. Your hands always moved differently than hers—slower, more deliberate, making her feel seen in a way that made her shiver.

When you pushed her onto the desk, when you kissed your way down her stomach, she never stopped you.

She couldn't.

Because by then, she was gone. The moment your mouth was on her, the second she felt your tongue against her, she lost everything else—her control, her thoughts, her pride.

All that was left was this.

Your mouth, your tongue, your fingers pressing into her hips, holding her there as she gasped and writhed and tried so fucking hard to keep quiet even though she never fully could.

And it was in those moments—when you were on your knees between her legs, when she was unraveling, moaning, shuddering—that she knew the truth.

She could tell herself whatever she wanted. That she had the control. That this was just another thing she handled the way she handled everything else.

But it was a lie.

Because the truth was, when you had her like this—when you had her completely—you could do whatever you wanted to her.

And she'd let you.

Only until she decided she was done letting.

Because no matter how good it felt to give in to you, to let herself forget, to let herself be taken—Tara never forgot for too long who was really in charge.

Like now when she had you right where she wanted you.

You were on her desk, legs spread around her hips, your back arched slightly from the cool surface beneath you. The usual casualties of your encounters—a few scattered papers, a pen rolling off the edge, the ever-present risk of knocking over her coffee—were long forgotten. The only thing that mattered was the way Tara was inside you, her fingers buried deep, her palm pressing against your clit with every slow, deliberate thrust.

She watched you, dark eyes fixed on the way your body moved against her hand, on the way you clenched around her fingers with every roll of your hips. It wasn't enough for her to just have you like this. She needed to see what she was doing to you. To feel it in the way your breath hitched, in the way your fingers dug into the edge of the desk like you needed something—anything—to hold onto.

You were grinding down against her hand, chasing the friction she was only half-giving you, and that alone made her smirk. It was always like this. Always you getting so desperate for more, even when she was the one giving it to you.

Her free hand skimmed up your thigh, fingers pressing into the soft flesh before sliding higher. She tugged at your blouse, pushing it further up your stomach, exposing more of you to her. Not that she needed to—she had already seen you like this more times than she could count—but she liked it. Liked having you spread out for her, flushed and desperate and completely at her mercy.

Her pace didn't change, even though she knew you wanted her to move faster, to push you over the edge. But that wasn't how this worked.

Not with her.

It had started the way it always did. With Tara deciding she wanted you and making sure she got you.

She had been restless the night before, shifting beneath her sheets, unable to sleep because every time she closed her eyes, all she could see was you. The way you looked when you dropped to your knees for her. The way your lips parted when she pushed her fingers deep inside you. The way you whimpered her name when you were close—breathless, desperate, completely hers.

By the time morning came, she knew she wouldn't be able to make it through the day without doing something about it.

So she did.

She had barely been in the office an hour before she made sure you'd end up exactly where she wanted you. She didn't call you herself—she never did. That would've been too obvious. Instead, she had one of her employees, someone whose name she barely remembered, find you and let you know that she needed to see you in her office.

It was routine. Expected. If Tara Carpenter called someone to her office, it was for a reason, and when she was finished, they'd leave.

No one ever suspected that when you went in, you didn't come back out right away.

That by the time you did, your blouse was just a little more wrinkled, your legs just a little shakier, your lipstick just a little smudged.

Now, Tara had you exactly where she wanted you.

You were gasping beneath her, moaning into her mouth, your forehead pressed to hers as her fingers fucked you, deep and slow, the way she knew drove you crazy. Your breaths mingled—hot, shaky, desperate. She could feel the tension in your body, the way your thighs clenched around her, the way you needed her to move faster, to give you more.

And fuck, she loved this.

Loved the way you looked right now—eyes hazy, lips parted, skin flushed. Loved the way you sounded—soft moans mixing with shaky breaths, filling the space between you.

Loved knowing she had done this to you. That she could have you like this whenever she wanted.

Your hand fumbled for her tie, fingers curling around the silky fabric she had chosen that morning—the one she only wore on certain days, for reasons only she knew.

It was loose around her neck, slightly loosened from the heat between you, but not enough to ruin the sharp, put-together look that drove you crazy. You wrapped the material around your fingers and tugged, not hard enough to choke her, just enough to make her feel it—to pull her closer, to make her fingers push deeper inside you, dragging a desperate whimper from your lips.

Tara exhaled through her nose, slow and heavy, her lips parting just slightly as your mouths hovered against each other. Your breath tangled together, hot and uneven, your gasps mixing in the small space between you.

You felt burning—all over, inside and out. Every brush of her fingers, every shift of her wrist, every slow, torturous drag of her touch sent another wave of pleasure coursing through you, tightening in your stomach, making your thighs tremble around her hips.

Your lips barely moved against hers when you whispered, "I love when you wear a tie."

Tara let out a slow, shuddering breath, like she was feeling your words as much as she was hearing them.

And fuck, she was.

Because the second you said it, she felt it—low in her stomach, pulsing between her legs, sinking into her chest like an intoxicating warmth that she never quite knew how to handle. Your voice, the way you said it, the way you looked at her as you did—it sent a fresh spark of heat through her veins, made her fingers curl inside you on instinct.

You gasped at the sensation, a choked sound escaping your lips as your thighs tensed around her waist.

Tara smirked, just a little, her confidence spiking at the reaction she pulled from you. "Oh yeah?"

Her voice was lower now, thick with satisfaction, teasing but dark—like she already knew the answer. Like she just wanted to hear you say it, wanted to watch the way your face twisted with pleasure when you admitted it.

Your stomach tightened, and you pressed down against her hand, chasing the pressure, the friction, the pleasure.

Her fingers curled deeper.

Your breath caught.

"Yes, ma'am."

Tara sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth, her entire body reacting.

Her fingers stilled inside you for half a second, but only because she felt it—really felt it. Like the words sent a jolt of electricity through her veins, like they cracked something open inside her.

Her stomach clenched. Her thighs pressed together involuntarily. A deep, primal kind of satisfaction settled low in her gut, making her pulse throb in the worst, most intoxicating way.

You saw it happen. You felt it happen. The way her muscles tensed, the way her throat bobbed with a quiet swallow, the way her eyes darkened—heat flickering in them like a barely restrained fire.

And then she exhaled, slow and heavy, before letting out a quiet, dangerous laugh.

Her smirk returned—wider, more dangerous, dripping with the kind of power she knew she had over you.

Her fingers moved again.

And this time, she was ruthless.

Tara's eyes roamed over you, taking in every detail—every messy, undone, wrecked part of you.

Your hair, which had started the day in a neat ponytail, was loose and disheveled now, strands falling around your face and sticking slightly to your skin from the heat between you. It framed your features perfectly, making you look even more ruined, even more gone under her touch.

Your shirt—crisp and professional when you arrived—was a mess. The top buttons had been carelessly undone, either by you in desperation or by her when she pulled at the fabric to get her mouth on your neck earlier. The soft lace of your bra peeked through the open collar, teasing her, taunting her. And fuck, if she wasn't already losing her mind, that definitely would have done it.

She dragged her eyes back up to your face, breathing heavily, watching the way your lips parted, the way your lashes fluttered, the way your forehead pressed against hers like you needed the contact to stay grounded.

And fuck, she wanted to ruin you even more.

Her fingers moved again, curling deeper, pressing harder—just to see the way your body jerked in response, just to hear the way your breath hitched in your throat.

But then—

A sharp knock at the door.

The handle rattled.

You both froze.

A voice—muffled through the wood but clear enough to snap you both back to reality.

"Ms. Carpenter?"

Your stomach dropped.

Tara's body tensed between your legs, her fingers still buried deep inside you. Your breath hitched in your throat, your entire body humming with the worst kind of anticipation—stuck somewhere between panic and overwhelming need.

Tara didn't move. Didn't pull away. Didn't stop.

She turned her head slightly toward the door, her expression unreadable, her breathing slow and controlled. And then—very deliberately—her fingers curled again.

You gasped.

Tara smirked, her fingers still moving inside you, slow but deliberate, as she turned her head slightly toward the door. Of course she knew who it was. She always knew.

"Yes, Derek?" she called, her voice perfectly even, professional—like she wasn't currently fucking you on her desk.

And then—

She pressed deeper, her fingers curling inside you, her palm pressing firmly against you as she quickened her pace. The sharp, overwhelming pleasure sent a jolt through your body, making your legs tighten around her waist, your breath stuttering.

The moan slipped out before you could stop it—loud, desperate.

Tara reacted instantly.

Her hand clamped over your mouth, the warmth of her palm pressing firmly against your lips, muffling the sound. Her grip was just tight enough to be controlling, just enough to make it clear—you had to stay quiet. Her dark eyes locked onto yours, a silent command flashing in them. Behave.

On the other side of the door, Derek kept talking, oblivious.

"I just sent over the reports you requested, Ms. Carpenter. I wanted to go over the projections for next quarter—"

Tara's fingers dragged inside you, slow and deep, pressing against the spot that made you tremble. Your whole body clenched around her, your hands gripping at her arms, nails digging into the fabric of her blazer. Your muffled whimper barely escaped against her hand.

She leaned in, her breath hot against your ear. Her voice was impossibly soft, teasing.

"Be quiet."

Your thighs twitched against her hips, your entire body working against you, betraying how desperate you were for more.

Derek continued, still unaware. "There were a few discrepancies I thought you should look at before we move forward with—"

Tara's fingers curled, pressing deeper, her wrist flexing as she fucked into you with slow, devastating precision.

Your entire body shook. Your head tipped back slightly, your lashes fluttering, your breath coming out in sharp, stifled gasps against her palm.

Tara's smirk deepened, her lips ghosting over the corner of your mouth. She felt every little movement, every twitch, every uncontrollable reaction you had to her.

"And?" she prompted smoothly, as if she weren't currently ruining you.

Derek hesitated on the other side of the door, then cleared his throat. "Uh—actually, may I come in and show you?"

Tara exhaled a soft, knowing laugh, like she found the idea ridiculous. Because it was.

She didn't stop. She didn't slow down. If anything, she only pushed harder, deeper—testing you, taunting you.

"I'm currently speaking with Ms. L/N," she said, her voice steady, unshaken, the perfect contrast to how wrecked you were against her.

She knew what she was doing to you. She knew how close you were. And she knew you couldn't do a thing about it.

Her fingers curled again, sharper this time, hitting just right, and your entire body shuddered. Your nails dug into her arms, your hips jerking forward, desperate for more.

Tara pressed her forehead to yours, her eyes locked on yours, watching you come undone in her hands.

Her smirk widened.

"I'll be ready in just a second."

Her voice was steady—controlled, composed—but you could feel the way her breath hitched against your lips, the way her fingers pushed just a little deeper, chasing something she wasn't even sure of.

And then, just as you hit that peak, just as your body clenched around her fingers, she pulled them out.

Not slow. Not gentle. A calculated retreat, leaving you trembling, gasping, still teetering on the edge.

She brought her fingers to her lips, holding your gaze as she sucked them clean, and something about the way she did it—just a little slower than usual, just a little less smug—made your stomach twist.

Then it was gone.

She smirked as she straightened your skirt, smoothing it down over your thighs like she hadn't just had her fingers buried inside you. Like you weren't still sitting there, trying to catch your breath.

"Fix your shirt," she murmured, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

It was normal. The same teasing aftercare she always gave.

And yet.

There was something in the way she stepped back too quickly. The way she turned away before you could see her face. The way she ran a hand through her hair like she was trying to shake something off.

It wasn't obvious.

But it was enough.

And later, when everything changed, you'd realize that maybe it had started here.

___

Tara had been acting weird.

At first, it wasn't anything obvious. Nothing anyone else would notice. But you did.

Because she hadn't called you into her office.

Not once.

Days passed. The longest you'd ever gone without her pulling you aside, without the press of her lips against your skin, without her hands gripping your waist, pulling you close, taking what she wanted. The silence stretched between you, thick and unspoken, but you felt it every time you glanced toward her office door and saw it closed. Locked away. Off-limits.

Still, everything else seemed normal. Or at least, it should have.

Tara walked the halls like she always did, head held high, voice sharp and sure when she spoke. In meetings, she still nodded at your input, still approved your reports with the same efficient flick of her pen. But the moments in between—where her gaze should have lingered, where her fingers should have trailed along your wrist as she passed by—were gone.

It didn't make sense.

You saw her in the break room, standing by the coffee machine like usual, but she didn't acknowledge you beyond a brief glance. Not a smirk. Not a word.

In the hall, you brushed past her, felt the heat of her presence right there, but she didn't stop you. Didn't pull you aside. Didn't so much as glance over her shoulder.

And yet, sometimes, when she thought you weren't looking—you swore she was watching.

But it wasn't the same.

Because before, when her gaze had lingered, it was heavy with intent. With want. Now, when your eyes met, something unreadable flickered across her face before she quickly looked away.

Something wasn't right.

Something had changed.

And it wasn't like you could just ask her.

That wasn't how it worked.

You didn't get to knock on her office door and ask if you could come in. Didn't get to slip her a note or send an email saying, Why don't you fuck me on your desk anymore?

That wasn't your place.

That wasn't the deal.

Tara called the shots—literally. She decided when, where, if. And for weeks, that had been fine. More than fine. She wanted, she took, and you let her, because it worked. Because she always wanted. Because there was never a reason to question it.

Until now.

Now, the days dragged on in silence, and you didn't understand.

How do you go from every day—every single day—to nothing?

At first, you told yourself she was busy. Of course she was. She was the boss. She had a company to run, responsibilities, meetings, deadlines. She couldn't always make time for you. That was reasonable. That made sense.

But then—shouldn't she have at least acknowledged it?

Even if she couldn't pull you into her office, couldn't press you against the door, couldn't have you falling apart beneath her hands—shouldn't there have been something? A glance, a smirk, a comment under her breath when no one else was around?

Anything?

But there was nothing.

Just silence.

And it didn't make sense.

Tara had stopped calling you in.

That much had been obvious from the start.

That was the first thing you noticed—the first thing that made no sense.

It happened so suddenly that, at first, you didn't even realize it. Maybe it was because you were busy with your own work, caught up in the never-ending tasks that came with the job. Or maybe, deep down, you just hadn't wanted to notice.

But the absence of it became impossible to ignore.

Days passed. Then a full week. Then another.

And still, nothing.

No glance in your direction when you walked by her office. No subtle nod, no small, barely-there smirk that told you to close the door behind you. No teasing remarks under her breath as you followed her inside. No whispered orders. No lingering looks.

You had told yourself it was fine.

Tara was the boss. She had responsibilities. She wasn't exactly available every second of the day, and it wasn't like the two of you had some set schedule—this was never something you had planned in advance. It had always been unpredictable, sporadic. Sometimes you'd see her multiple times in a week. Sometimes you'd go days without so much as a touch.

That was normal.

That was how it worked.

But this...this was different.

Because it wasn't just that she didn't have the time.

It was like she had chosen not to.

And then, there were the other things.

The moments that should have been insignificant, the ones you would have ignored completely if they hadn't felt so off.

Like the way she suddenly couldn't look at you.

You noticed it one afternoon, passing by her office at the exact time she would normally call you in. It was almost muscle memory at this point—the way your body tensed slightly, the way your pace slowed just enough to see if she would give you a look, if she would signal for you to step inside.

But she didn't.

Instead, she kept her eyes locked onto her computer screen, her fingers tapping against the desk in an anxious rhythm.

And it wasn't just that she didn't see you.

It was that she wouldn’t.

She had seen you from the corner of her eye—there was no way she hadn't. But instead of even acknowledging you, her shoulders went stiff, her expression blank, like she was forcing herself to focus on anything else.

You almost stopped walking.

Almost said something.

But what the fuck were you supposed to say?

And then, a few days later, you tested it.

You had found a reason—something small, something professional, something completely work-related. It wasn't an excuse, not really. You had needed the information. She had to answer.

So, you had gone up to her desk, waited for her to glance up at you, and asked.

And she had answered.

But only in the shortest way possible, her voice clipped, her tone completely detached, like she had no interest in having the conversation at all. She gave you just enough to satisfy your question, nothing more, then immediately turned back to her computer as if you weren't even there.

There was nothing playful in it. No teasing, no lingering glances, no flicker of amusement in her eyes. Just a sharp, calculated disinterest.

And then there was the break room.

Late at night. The office almost empty.

You had been standing by the coffee machine, half-expecting—no, half-hoping—for her to say something when she walked in.

A tease. A smirk.

Something.

But she didn't.

She didn't even acknowledge you.

She walked past you like you weren't even there, went straight for the cabinet, grabbed a mug, poured herself coffee, and left.

No glance in your direction. No hesitation. No reaction.

And you had just stood there, fingers wrapped too tightly around your cup, heart pounding in a way you didn't understand.

You had thought, for a while, that the worst part was the silence. How quickly she had slipped out of your reach—like all those nights, all those moments, had meant nothing at all. Like she had just...moved on, and you were the only one still stuck in place.

At first, you had tried to reason with it. Maybe this was just how things were now. Maybe it had always been inevitable. You weren't entitled to her attention, after all. You weren't owed anything.

But knowing that didn't make it any easier.

And lately, it had started to feel heavier—the quiet, the distance. Like you were walking on a fault line, waiting for it to crack beneath your feet.

But it never did.

Not yesterday. Not today.

Today had passed like all the others. You had come in, sat at your desk, gone through emails and reports, answered questions, filled out forms—played your part, just like always. But it wasn't just another day, not to you. It had been a week now. A full week of nothing.

No call into her office. No lingering glances. No accidental touches.

You had still looked for it, though. Every time you heard footsteps, every time your phone buzzed, every time you passed by her door, you felt that flicker of something—hope, desperation, whatever it was—only for it to be ripped away just as fast.

And it wasn't just about the sex. It wasn't about the heat of her hands or the way she used to look at you like she needed you. It was the absence of it all. The absence of her.

The office had started to empty now, the low murmur of voices fading as people packed their things and headed home. Someone laughed a few desks over, lighthearted, easy. The scent of coffee had gone stale in the air. Phones still rang in the background, but fewer now. The usual hum of the place—the life of it—was winding down.

But you were still here. Still waiting.

And she still hadn't called for you.

Until she did.

It was just as you were reaching for your phone, pretending to check something that didn't matter, that you heard the soft click of a door closing down the hall. You barely had time to register it before footsteps approached—heels tapping against the tile with a steady, unhurried rhythm.

You glanced up just as the sound reached your desk, and there she was—Sophie, from marketing.

She was around your age, maybe a little older, with sharp, dark eyes and a practiced kind of friendliness that never felt too forced. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail, her makeup was still intact despite the long day, and she carried herself with the kind of effortless confidence that made her good at her job.

She had just come from her office.

You knew it before she even said anything—before she stopped beside your desk, before she tucked her phone into the pocket of her blazer, before she shot you a look that was neither warm nor cold, just neutral. Indifferent.

Then, with no warning, no weight behind it, she said, "Ms. Carpenter wants to see you."

No glance in your direction. No hesitation. No reaction.

Your grip tightened around your pen.

For a second—just a second—it felt like the air had been sucked out of the room.

Your heartbeat, slow and dull all day, suddenly jumped in your chest, rattling against your ribs like it had been waiting for something. Waiting for this.

It was automatic, the way you straightened up. The way your breath caught. The way you felt yourself reacting before you could stop it.

Because finally.

Finally.

She wanted you.

It should have been obvious what this was. It should have been clear that this wasn't an invitation, that it wasn't some whispered promise of relief. But you had gone days without hearing her say your name, without feeling the weight of her attention, without even knowing where you stood.

And now, she was calling you in.

You weren't expecting an apology. You shouldn't have expected it to begin with.

But this—this was something.

You swallowed hard, nodding stiffly as you grabbed your notebook—an instinct, an excuse, something to hold—and stood. Sophie was already gone, her heels clicking away, already moving on with her day.

But you were stuck there for a moment, standing beside your desk, fingers pressing into the cover of your notebook, heart pounding so hard it almost made you dizzy.

This was it.

You had been waiting.

And now, she wanted you again.

You moved without thinking.

The path was familiar—down the hall, past the break room, past the framed awards and corporate slogans lining the walls. It was the same walk you had made so many times before, the same quiet stretch of polished floors and low conversation, the same flicker of overhead lights casting everything in that soft, sterile glow.

It felt like routine. Like muscle memory. Like something ingrained in you, something you had done over and over until it no longer required thought.

But today—today, something about it felt different.

Maybe it was the way your pulse hadn't settled, the way each step felt just a little too careful, like you were trying not to let yourself get ahead of anything. Or maybe it was the fact that, for once, you had no real idea what was waiting for you when you got there.

Not that it stopped you.

You reached the door too quickly, or maybe not quickly enough.

It was closed.

Of course, it was.

You hesitated only for a second—just long enough to take a slow breath, to steady the way your fingers twitched at your side—before lifting your hand and knocking, light but deliberate.

The response came almost immediately.

"Come in."

Her voice.

It sent something through you, something automatic and unshakable, something that made your stomach tighten in a way you shouldn’t have let it.

You exhaled, turned the handle, and stepped inside.

The door clicked shut behind you, and the first thing you noticed was that she wasn't standing.

She wasn't waiting for you. She wasn't already crossing the room, wasn't reaching for you, wasn't closing the space between you before you could even get your bearings.

She was sitting.

She was perched at her desk, one leg crossed over the other, pen in hand as she finished writing something in the notebook before her. There was a chair in front of her desk, positioned deliberately—waiting for you.

That was new.

Your gaze dragged over her, slow, searching—like you were trying to find something familiar, something that would make this feel normal again.

Her blazer was still on, though it looked slightly looser, like she had been tugging at the collar absentmindedly. Her hair was the same, dark and perfect, framing her face in a way that made her unreadable.

And then, finally, she looked up.

Her eyes met yours, and for a second, she just held your gaze, expression unreadable. Then, she offered a polite nod, her voice measured.

"Welcome."

Her tone sent something uneasy down your spine.

You barely had time to process it before she added, smoothly, "Ms. L/N, would you mind closing the door for a second?"

For a moment, you just stood there.

Closing the door wasn't unusual. It was something that had happened plenty of times before.

But not like this.

Not like this, where your fingers curled around the handle, where you turned and pushed it shut yourself. Normally, it wouldn't be you closing it at all. Normally, the weight of it against your back would come from her, from the way she would back you up against it, from the way she would kiss you like she needed to.

This—this didn't feel like that.

Nothing about this felt right.

You turned back to face her, but you could already tell.

There was something in the way she was sitting, something that made your stomach tighten. She wasn't relaxed. She wasn't leaning back in that easy way she sometimes did, wasn't watching you like she already knew what she wanted from you.

Instead, she looked... uneasy.

Her hand twitched slightly before she brought it up to adjust the sleeve of her blazer, fingers brushing over the fabric like the motion would somehow steady her. Her lips pressed together, and then, finally, she lifted a hand—gesturing to the chair in front of her.

"Would you please sit down?"

Polite. Too polite.

The words landed in your stomach like a stone.

You hesitated, but only for a second—then, with a quick nod, you muttered, Yes, ma'am, before lowering yourself onto the chair.

She was watching you.

Or, at least, she had been.

As soon as you met her gaze, she looked away—eyes dropping down to the desk, hands shifting against the surface like she wasn't quite sure what to do with them.

Something about it sent a sharp, uneasy feeling through you.

Tara Carpenter didn't fidget. She didn't look away.

And yet, here she was—sitting in front of you, fingers pressed against her desk, avoiding your eyes like she couldn’t meet them.

Something was wrong.

You sat there, watching her, trying to piece together what this was.

It couldn't be anything serious.

At least, that's what you told yourself.

Maybe it was just a minor issue with some paperwork you had sent in—something from last week, or maybe even three days ago. Maybe there had been an error somewhere, some formatting issue, something that had made its way up to her desk. It wouldn't be the first time. She might just be calling you in to correct it, to give you that sharp little look, to let you know in that dry, amused way of hers that she expected better.

Or maybe—maybe it was about this.

About you. About her.

Maybe she was going to say it had to stop.

Maybe she was going to tell you that she couldn't do this anymore, that she had been thinking about it for a while now and it was too risky, too complicated. Maybe she was going to sit there, all composed and professional, and tell you that this thing—this thing that had felt so effortless, so natural, so right—had to end.

Your throat felt tight.

But even that didn't explain the way she looked.

Tara Carpenter wasn't a nervous person.

You had seen her in meetings, handling high-stakes deals with nothing but a smirk and a raised brow. You had seen her walking the floor, speaking in that firm, confident tone that made people straighten up when she passed.

And beyond that—beyond the person she was in the office, beyond the way she commanded attention in a room—there was you.

You had seen her in ways no one else had.

You had seen her with her head thrown back, her lips parted, her hands fisting, You had seen her hair messy, tangled from fingers pulling through it. You had seen the smooth glide of her bra slipping from her shoulders, the slow reveal of bare skin beneath dim office lights.

You had seen her unravel.

So why, why, was she looking like this?

Like she was trying to hold herself together.

Like she was the vulnerable one.

Tara inhaled sharply.

She started to speak, then stopped—lips pressing together like the words weren't quite right.

Then, after another second, she tried again.

"It has been brought to my attention—"

But she cut herself off, exhaling through her nose, shaking her head slightly.

That wasn't it.

She tried again.

"I wanted to discuss—"

Another pause.

Her fingers tapped against the desk. She let out a short breath, dropped her gaze for a moment, then lifted it again.

You just sat there, waiting.

Feeling the weight of it, the heaviness in your chest growing stronger with every second she spent not saying it.

Tara let out a slow, unsteady breath.

You weren't sure you had ever seen her like this before.

She had always been so sure of herself—whether it was in the office or when she was pressing you against the door, her mouth on yours, her hands sliding beneath your clothes. There was never hesitation, never DOUBT. And yet now, sitting across from you at her desk, she looked...unsteady. Like she was losing her grip on something she had been trying so hard to hold onto.

She tried again.

She parted her lips, inhaled like she was about to speak, but no words came out.

Another pause. Another exhale, shakier this time.

You just sat there, silent, watching her.

Afraid to say anything. Afraid to move.

And then, finally, she spoke.

Her voice was measured, like she was trying too hard to keep it even.

"There have been—" She stopped, her jaw tightening. Then, after a beat, she continued, forcing the words out this time. "There have been concerns regarding—"

Another pause.

Her fingers twitched against the desk.

You could tell she was frustrated—frustrated with herself, frustrated with whatever this was, frustrated with how impossible it was for her to just say it.

And then she did.

Sort of.

She started talking—not stopping herself this time, not cutting herself off—but none of it made sense.

"I have to consider the overall professionalism of this workplace," she said, her hands fidgeting slightly, like she didn't know what to do with them. "And it has come to my attention that... certain dynamics could be viewed as compromising to that environment. As a leader, I have to ensure that all professional relationships remain, well, professional, and given the circumstances, it has been deemed necessary to take appropriate action in order to maintain the integrity of this organization and uphold the standards expected within a corporate setting."

The words kept coming, all strung together, tangled and stiff and unnatural.

Like she had put together a bunch of professional-sounding phrases and hoped they would add up to something real.

But they didn't.

Because none of it explained why she was looking at you like that.

Like she was barely keeping it together.

Like this wasn't just business to her.

But Tara kept going.

She kept talking, even as her voice wavered slightly, even as her fingers twitched against the surface of her desk, even as her eyes darted around the room, landing anywhere but on you.

"I've had to take into account the... potential risks of certain workplace interactions and the possible implications of, um... interpersonal relationships that could—" She cut herself off, her jaw tightening, like she was annoyed with herself. Then, a quick inhale, a forced recalibration, and she tried again. "There are expectations that need to be upheld, and I can't allow—" Another pause. Another shift in posture. "It's important to set clear boundaries in order to ensure that the workplace remains an environment of—"

She was stringing together words that, on their own, might've sounded reasonable.

But put together like this?

Like a desperate attempt to say something that justified this?

It was ridiculous.

Your brow furrowed slightly as you just stared at her, struggling to follow along, struggling to even comprehend what the hell she was getting at.

And she wouldn't look at you.

Her fingers tapped against the desk. Her posture was tense, rigid. Her eyes flicked toward the papers in front of her, then the window, then the floor—anywhere but at you.

And then, finally, she finished it.

Her voice was quiet but firm, like she had to force herself to say it.

"...Which is why I've decided that I'm going to let you go."

You blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Your brain stalled, like you had misheard her, like maybe she had just said it wrong, like maybe if she tried again it would make sense.

But she didn't.

She just sat there.

And all you could do was stare.

The second the words left her mouth, you saw it happen.

Something in her cracked.

Her expression wavered, that firm, professional look she had been trying so hard to maintain slipping away the moment she heard herself say it out loud. And for a second—just a second—her face was bare. No control, no composure. Just guilt.

It was in the way her fingers twitched against the desk, the way her throat bobbed as she swallowed, the way she tried to get that same firm expression back, but it was already too late.

It was already slipping.

And she knew it.

You didn't react right away.

The words hit you like a slow-moving train—impacting in pieces, each one slamming into you harder than the last.

Your breath came out unsteady, like your body didn't quite know what to do with this.

She had just—

No.

She didn't just say that.

She didn’t.

"What?"

The word spat from your mouth before you could stop it, sharp and incredulous, like your body rejected the very sound of it.

Tara flinched just slightly—so slight you might've missed it if you weren't looking so closely. But you were.

And you saw how her eyes immediately dropped to her hands, suddenly fascinated with her own fingers, as if you weren't sitting right in front of her, burning holes into her skull.

She didn't respond.

She didn't say a single word.

Your pulse slammed against your ribs, a roaring sound filling your ears as you sat there, waiting. Waiting for her to say something, anything, to fix whatever the fuck this was supposed to be.

But she didn't.

And the silence only made your anger grow, burning through your veins, pressing hot against your chest.

Your chair scraped back just slightly as you leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "Are you fucking kidding me right now?"

Still nothing.

She wouldn't even look at you.

She just kept staring down at her hands like she wanted to disappear into the desk, like she already regretted everything she had just said, everything she had done.

Your breath came out sharp, clipped. "So that's it?"

No reaction.

Nothing but the sound of the office clock ticking in the distance.

The bitterness came creeping up your throat before you could stop it, before you could even try to swallow it down.

"You called me in here just to sit there and ramble a bunch of shit that doesn't even make fucking sense—"

Your voice faltered, not because you doubted what you were saying, but because you didn’t doubt it.

You had been sitting here for minutes, minutes, trying to decipher whatever the hell she had been saying, and yet, none of it—not a single fucking thing—had led to this.

This wasn't a warning. This wasn't an adjustment.

This was you're fired.

This was get out.

And you didn't even get the decency of a real explanation.

Your voice came back stronger, rougher, laced with disbelief.

"—just to fucking fire me?"

You let the words hang there, hoping—daring—her to look at you again, to at least own what she was doing.

But she didn't.

She just sat there, barely moving, barely breathing, guilt written all over her face.

Her head hung low, her hands stiff on the desk, her shoulders tight with something that almost resembled shame.

She didn't have to look at you to know what she'd see. She heard the anger in your voice, felt it in the way the air shifted between you, thick with disbelief.

And for a second, she looked like she might say something—her lips parted slightly, like she was searching for the words, but then she hesitated.

Her mouth closed.

She figured it wouldn't do any good.

Your voice came next, clipped and sharp. "On what basis?"

Tara flinched at the formality, the sheer professionalism of your tone despite everything.

Unprofessionally enough, she still didn't answer.

She looked up at you briefly, just a fleeting glance—but regretted it immediately when she saw the way you were looking at her.

Like you knew.

Like you weren't fucking stupid.

Your voice cut through the silence.

"I didn't fuck you well enough, is that it?"

Tara's whole body went rigid.

Her breath caught in her throat, fingers twitching slightly against the desk, but she didn't move, didn't react, just sat there, stiff.

"Not hard enough?"

Her eyes flicked to the door as if she were checking—praying—that nobody was standing just outside.

But you weren't done.

"You chose somebody else to do my work instead?"

The meaning was clear.

Your tone was clear.

And Tara panicked.

Not outwardly, not obviously, but you saw the way her lips parted like she wanted to object, to say something, only for nothing to come out.

The way her hands clenched just slightly in her lap.

The way her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard, barely, almost shaking her head—but it was so light, so small, it wasn't even convincing.

Then why was it?

Why was she doing this?

Your patience snapped.

"Then what is it, Tara?"

Her name came out like venom, spat from your lips like an insult, like it wasn’t supposed to be spoken by you at all.

And she felt it.

She felt the way it burned coming from you.

She felt the way it stripped away every ounce of authority she had left.

And for the first time since she started this—since she said those words—Tara felt small.

Tara still didn't answer.

Instead, she took a slow breath, trying to steady herself, before straightening her posture like it would somehow make her seem more in control. But the way she held herself was stiff, unnatural—like she had to FORCE herself to sit upright, to look like she was handling this professionally when she so clearly wasn't.

Then, without meeting your eyes, she started shifting through the papers on her desk, her fingers slightly unsteady as they flipped through each one. It was like she was buying herself time, like if she just focused on the paperwork, she could pretend this wasn't happening.

"I understand this might come as a shock," she said finally, her voice careful, like she had to pick each word as she went. "And I know it's short notice. But I want you to know that I appreciate everything you've done for this company."

Your stomach twisted.

The way she was talking, like she was trying to soften the blow without actually explaining anything, only made you feel worse.

Tara didn't acknowledge the fact that she was skipping over the real issue. She kept her eyes down, finally finding the paper she had been searching for and sliding it across the desk toward you.

Then, after the briefest hesitation, she reached for a pen and set it carefully on top.

"I just need your signature on this."

Her voice was quiet, hesitant.

It was the first time she had said something direct in the entire conversation, but even then, it wasn't an answer. It wasn't an explanation.

It was just a demand.

It was real.

This was real.

You were being fired.

And she wasn't even going to tell you why.

Your fingers twitched slightly as they rested against your thigh, the weight of the realization crashing over you like a slow, suffocating tide. All you had gotten was a mess of words strung together, words that barely made sense next to each other but had been forced into sentences anyway, as if saying something—even if it was nothing—would make this feel more justified.

You let your gaze drop to the paper in front of you, your eyes skimming over the fine print, the legal jargon meant to make this look official. Termination of employment. Effective immediately. Company policy compliance. You could barely process any of it. The words blurred together, shifting in and out of focus, and you weren't sure if it was because you weren't trying HARD enough to read them or if it was because your eyes were beginning to sting.

Tara was actually doing this.

You were actually losing your job.

A dull, empty ache settled in your chest, something worse than anger. Something heavier. Because now that the initial shock was starting to wear off, now that the confusion and disbelief had settled into something more solid, you felt... sad. Not just because of what was happening but because of who was doing it.

It didn't make sense. It didn't feel real. But it was.

You could feel Tara watching you, her eyes fixed on you like she was waiting for some kind of reaction—maybe bracing herself for it. And when you finally forced yourself to look up, meeting her gaze, you could tell immediately that she felt it.

She looked guilty.

Gut-wrenchingly guilty.

For the first time since this conversation started, she didn't immediately look away. Maybe it was because she saw the water in your eyes. Maybe it was because she realized what she was actually doing. Maybe it was because, deep down, she regretted it.

Her lips parted slightly, but she didn't speak.

Her throat bobbed with a hard swallow.

And you didn't care anymore.

Clearly, she had made up her mind. Begging wasn't going to change anything.

So you clenched your jaw and spat, "Fine."

Tara's face shifted, something flickering behind her eyes—something almost soft, almost surprised. Like she had expected you to fight harder. Like she had wanted you to give her some kind of reason to stop this, to take it back.

But you didn't.

Instead, you reached for the pen, flipping it between your fingers once before pressing it to the paper, signing your name in sharp, deliberate strokes. You didn't bother reading any of it. You didn't care what it said. It didn't matter anymore.

The second you were done, you slid the paper back toward her side of the desk. Tara's eyes never left you, not for a single second, even as she reached for the document. She was gripping it too tightly, her fingers pressing into the paper like she was trying to keep them steady. She looked like she was trying not to cry.

She glanced down at your signature, lips parting like she wanted to say something else—something more. But instead, all she said was, "Thank you for your cooperation."

The words sounded hollow.

Your stomach twisted at how easily she said it.

A humorless laugh slipped past your lips, sharp with sarcasm as you leaned back in your chair, tilting your head slightly. "You're really good at this, huh?" you mused, voice laced with venom. "I'm guessing I'm not the first person to sit in this chair while you use words like compliance and company policy to make it sound like you actually know what you're doing."

Tara's expression faltered.

You could tell she knew you were lying, could tell she knew just as well as you did that she sucked at this.

But she didn't acknowledge it.

She straightened her posture, smoothing her hands over her desk before speaking again, voice carefully composed. "You'll be expected to vacate your position by the end of the day," she said, slipping right back into that stiff professionalism. "You'll have until tomorrow morning to collect any remaining personal belongings from your office space before your company access is revoked."

Her words meant to sound formal, meant to sound like she had control. But the slight shake in her voice, the way she hesitated before certain words, made it painfully obvious that she didn't.

You just stared at her.

And Tara swore she saw your eyes darken.

Then, suddenly, you stood, the legs of your chair scraping loudly against the floor as it nearly tipped over behind you.

Tara flinched slightly at the sudden movement, her fingers curling against her desk.

You met her gaze one last time, your expression unreadable.

And then, with a voice cold as steel, you spat, "Fuck you, Tara."

The words felt heavier than anything else you could have said.

And then you turned and walked out, leaving her sitting there, hands still gripping the desk, face still stuck in that tense, guilty expression—watching you go.

Tara didn't call after you.

She didn't try to stop you.

She just sat there, frozen in place, watching as you disappeared through the doorway like you had never been there to begin with.

The silence in the office was suffocating.

She let out a slow, shaky breath, fingers twitching as she reached for the document you had just signed. Your name stared back at her, bold and unforgiving, ink still fresh against the stark white paper. Her grip tightened around it, knuckles paling, and for a moment, she just stared.

You hadn't even looked at her before walking out. Hadn't hesitated. Hadn't faltered.

It was done.

And yet, as the echo of your footsteps faded down the hallway, leaving her completely, utterly alone—Tara had never felt less in control.

[fungateshortcakes]

The Best There Is (according to Laura)

I had two old man Logan x reader fics in my drafts but decided to connect them because it made more sense to me. This old man being domestic just does it for me Ughh

Pairing: oldman!Logan x fem!reader

Summary: Parenting comes with challenges Logan never thought he would have to face in his old age; like school drop offs, nosy teachers and career day disasters

Wordcount: 2.8k

Warnings/tags: english is not my first language, age-gap, established relationship, Logan 2017 ending never happened, domestic fluff, violence mentioned, Prisoners 2013 reference, it's just cute old man dad Logan please let me have this, !!!not proofread!!!

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Laura hated school. She had never gone to school before and she was fine, but after Logan and you had taken her under your wing, you put her in a school for her 'education'.

The only thing she needed to be educated in was survival. She hated sitting in a chair for hours, trying to keep still so she wouldn't get scolded. She hated the dumb questions teachers asked, their dumb faces while they got frustrated that the class didn't understand. And She hated math.

But most of all?

She hated that Logan had to pick her up every damn day. Not because of Logan himself or because she wanted to prove that she could walk home on her own, but because every time Logan stepped foot into the classroom to get her-

that one teacher wouldn’t leave him alone.

Her name was Miss Dover. She was pretty, blonde, and always smiling way too much when Logan arrived. She touched his arm, she laughed at things he didn’t mean to be funny.

And Laura?

Laura wanted to throw her backpack at her face. Or get her claws out, but Logan didn’t allow her

Logan already regretted agreeing to pick Laura up every day after the first time he had done so. Of course not because of Laura, but because of Miss Dover. Today was no different. The second he stepped onto the school grounds, surrounded by students who reminded him of the old times in the mansion, there she was.

“Mr. Howlett!” she called out to him in a too friendly manner, flipping her hair over her shoulder to show off. “Right on time, as always.” she smiled and to Logan, it looked like it hurt. He sighed. Here we go.

He only grunted in response, crossing his arms. Don’t engage. Keep it short. Get out.

Miss Dover, of course, ignored all of that. And she was in no way repelled because of Logans clear lack of interest in her. “You know” she started, biting her lip as she looked up at him, “I think it’s so sweet that you take the time to pick Laura up every day. A lot of dads just send a babysitter. I find that very admirable and...amazing”

Logan barely kept himself from rolling his eyes. “Well, she’s my kid.” he deadpanned. He was supposed to pick her up from school, so he did. It was the bare minimum, no need to make a fuss over something that was so self-evident.

Miss Dover beamed at him even after his discouraging answer. “That’s wonderful! A family man.” Logans eye twitched at that. He needed to get Laura and leave. Now.

Laura watched them from the steps of the school entrance, arms crossed over her chest, her pink glasses sitting on top of her head. She glanced at you, who stood beside her, smirking. Logan had begged you to come when he picked up Laura so he could prove to you how persistent and stubborn that one teacher was when it came to flirting with him.

“Should we save him?” you asked the girl beside you. For the record, you weren't jealous. Why would you be? You knew Logan loved you and didn't have eyes for anyone else, if anything, you were pretty amused by his misery. Laura shrugged at your question. “He deserves it.” you snorted a laugh, she had a point “Yeah, but we need him in one piece."

With a sigh, Laura slung her backpack over her shoulder, slipped down her sunglasses so they covered her eyes and marched towards Logan. Miss Dover was still going on about something, being awfully handsy while Logan was so obviously uncomfortable, when Laura reached them. She grabbed Logans sleeve, pulling at it. “Can we go now?” she asked Logan, paying no mind to her teacher. Miss Dovers eyes softened and she let out a coo “Aww. Looks like someone is eager to get home with Daddy” upon her words, Laura stared at her with an unreadable expression. Then, very clearly, very loudly, she said:

“He is married”

Miss Dover blinked. Logan groaned but was silently relieved. It wasn’t the way he thought Miss Dover would find out, but in the end he was glad. Laura pointed directly at you as you approached from the steps. “To her”

Miss Dovers smile dropped as she followed to where Laura pointed. You, meanwhile, finally stepped closer, grinning. “Hi” you greeted cheerfully with a wave, slipping your arm around Logans “I’m his wife” you confirmed with a nod. And judging by Miss Dovers expression, you knew she thought you didn't fit into the family, that you didn't even look like Lauras mom, that you looked way too young and you were overall not a good match in her opinion. You could tell she was about to gossip over this in the teachers lounge. But you couldn’t care less.

Logan exhaled in relief as he felt you settling beside him. Miss Dover turned red. Out of embarrassment or anger, you couldn't tell. Probably the latter. “Oh, I...I had no idea-" she stammered, averting eyecontact and taking a step back, her hand playing with the fabric of her skirt.

“Yeah” Laura said flatly. “Can we go now?”

Logan didn’t wait to answer her. He turned on his heel and walked away, practically dragging you and Laura with him. The three of you walked to his truck in silence. Logan ran a hand down his face as he threw Lauras backpack into the car. “Finally" he grunted as he sat down behind the steering wheel.

You laughed at him “She really doesn’t get the hint, huh?” you noted. Logan twisted the key, rubbing his temples while he drove out of the parking lot. “I swear, next time-”

“Next time” Laura interrupted from behind “you are sending her to pick me up”

Logan frowned, looking through the rear-view mirror at her “Why?”

Laura buckled her seatbelt “Because then she will know you are taken for real. She probably thinks this was a joke or something"

You laughed at that, leaning against Logan. “She’s right, you know. That woman looked like she wasn’t believing her ears when I said I was your wife. You said she was being persistent, I don’t think she will take this seriously” you chuckled, giving his rugged cheek a kiss. Logan sighed defeated "Yeah, yeah” he answered, putting a hand on your thigh while rounding a corner. “Maybe next time, you pick her up”

You grinned, laying your hand over his. He was a little tense. You knew why. He didn't know if you were jealous, maybe you were a little mad but didn't show it. "I'm not jealous, if you think that. Not at all"

Logan raised an eyebrow. Then he looked at you - really looked at you. At the way you fit so perfectly against him. At the way your eyes sparkled with mischief, teasing him. At the way your hand rested over his, like it belonged there. And when he turned his hand to grasp yours tightly, he was holding his heart in his palm. Yeah. You weren't jealous. Because he was yours. And you were his. And nothing was ever going to change that.

Not even when Laura stood in front of Logan a week later, her arms crossed, staring him down despite him clearly towering over her.

“You have to come”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do”

Logan sighed, rubbing his temples. They had been at this back and forth game for like 10 minutes now “Why?” he grumbled. “Because it’s career day” Laura answered flatly.

He gave her a look that said he cursed the way she was just as stubborn as him “Yeah? So?” he muttered lowly and shrugged. Laura huffed and rolled her eyes. “So” she said, already looking exhausted over the argument “everyone has to bring a parent to talk about their job”

Laura really wanted him to come. Mostly because she was always the black sheep in her class when it came to telling stories, showing emotions and just simply existing. She was different than the other kids, and after what happened to her, she had every right to be. The others picked on her more often than not and while she wanted to let her claws speak for her, Logan had strictly forbidden it. So all she could do was listen to them. It was draining. She just wanted to be normal for once.

Logan knew that, yet he scowled, picking up a can of beer from the fridge "Tell ‘em I’m dead.” he said between chugging down the bitter liquid.

You were sitting on the couch and as you heard their conversation, you couldn't help but snort.

Laura didn’t blink, unfazed “You have to come.”

Logan glared down at her, hating just how much she was like him. He was about to tell her to fuck off and go to her room, but he sighed “Kid, no one wants to hear me talk about drivin' a damn limo.”

Laura shrugged at that, turning on her heel. “Too bad.” she said. And just like that, Logan lost the argument.

And thats how Logan found himself sitting at the front of the classroom, arms crossed, scowl in full force. You stood at the back with a few other parents, your eyes fixated on him. It was fun, seeing him so annoyed. But it also warmed your heart- he sat next to Laura, sitting way taller than she was, his long legs barely fitting under the table. The two were bickering, poking each other back and forth before Laura leaned her head against his shoulder, his arm around her securely. He was it for you. Yes, you were married, but you'd marry him again in a heartbeat.

There were parents that had already gone before him. Firefighters, doctors, a lawyer. A police man sat down in his seat again after his presentation. And now it was Logans turn.

Great.

With a grunt, he stood up, slightly limping over to the blackboard. He could already feel the judgy stares of the other parents. Laura gave him a small thumbs up, and so did you.

Miss Dover, the teacher yes, that one, smiled at Logan “Alright, Mr. Howlett, why don’t you tell us what you do for a living?” she cheered.

Logan exhaled slowly.

"…I drive a limo.”

Silence.

Some of the kids blinked. A couple of parents exchanged unimpressed glances. Then one kid raised his hand. “Like… for famous people?” the young boy asked, looking a bit intimidated by Logans frown.

“Sometimes.” Logan grunted as an answer. Another kid raised her hand, bolder and more confident than her classmahe “What’s the coolest person you ever drove?”

Logan grimaced at her question, but what was he supposed to do? “A drunk guy who puked in my backseat” he replied, looking at his feet while silence spread through the room again. Miss Dover cleared her throat, the tension in the air was awkward “Oh! well, uhm..does your job have any…exciting parts?” she stuttered out, the eyes of the other parents resting on her as if to ask: why the hell did you allow him to come?

Logan stared at her, the question heavy in the room. Did she really want him to tell a bunch of ten year olds about the times he got into fistfights and gun battles with passengers?

“…Not really” he muttered.

From the back, you smiled. You knew exactly what was happening. Logan wasn’t embarrassed about his job, nor did he care about what these people thought. But he cared about Laura. And right now? He felt bad that her dad was a limo driver while other kids got to brag about firefighters and surgeons and stuff.

Your chest ached.

Because he didn’t get it. Laura didn’t care about any of that, she just wanted her dad.

Miss Dover clapped her hands, her cheeks red in slight embarrassement. “Well, let’s open the floor for more questions!” she welcomed the classroom.

Big mistake.

A mom from the third row, blonde, red lipstick, way too interested, raised her hand “So, Mr. Howlett” she started, smiling too much, “do you work long hours?” she nearly purred. Logan tensed a little, rubbing his beard “…I guess.”

Another mom, brunette, twirling her curls around her fingers in a flirty manner, leaned forward. “Must be tough coming home late all the time. Bet it gets lonely.”

You bit your lip, amused, but also a little sorry for the kids that had to witness their moms shamelessly thirst over another kids dad. Laura rolled her eyes and Logan scowled “I’m not lonely.”

The blonde mom giggled, biting her bottom lip “Yeah, I bet with me you wouldn't be” she purred. Jesus, what as up with these women??

Logans jaw clenched in annoyance. He didn't understand how these women could just full on flirt with him while their children were there. Besides that, he, Laura and you had arrived later than everyone else and he had kissed you before sitting down, surely they noticed that? Apparently not, not even the obvious ring on his finger seemed to catch their attention.

You, meanwhile, just waited. Because any second now-

“He’s married.” Laura deadpanned, her arms crossed, saving him yet again.

The brunette mom blinked “Oh” she mumbed, her face burning red. The blonde mom hesitated. "really..?”

Logan, already done with everything, just pointed at you in the back of the room. Every head turned and in any other situation, this would have you highly uncomfortable. But you just grinned. “Hi Ladies” you greeted them. You walked forward to the blackboard, smiling at the way their jealous stares bore into the back of your head. You could tell the women were fuming over the fact that you bagged such a handsome man, but Logan knew only you could truly appreciate him. "We should try and advertise our marriage" you giggled.

Logan grumbled, wrapping an arm around your waist protectively. You smirked up at him, fixing his loose tie “Maybe you should start to wear a sign.” you teased him even more. He rolled his eyes at you “Shut up" he mumbled, but his grip on you tightened. Because you were his. And he wanted to show that.

You didn't even wait for the other parents to have their turn at presenting their jobs. You just took Laura and went out of there, walking back to Logans truck. “That was hell.” he sighed, letting himself fall behind the wheel with a grunt.

You laughed as you closed your door from the passenger seat, slipping your hand into his “You survived"

“Barely.”

Laura climbed into the truck behind you two, buckling her seatbelt “Next time, I’m bringing her” she said, pointing at you. Logan frowned at that, the engine purring to life “What, so she can brag about…what? Painting? Making fun of me?” he grinned smugly, making you want to wipe that smirk off his face.

You returned the grin “I could have given them a whole presentation on how sexy my husband is.” you hummed, leaning in close to his face, your noses touching. Logan chuckled, the sound rich in his chest "Oh, yeah?” he muttered gravelly, leaning in to give you a deep, wet, noisy kiss.

Laura made a gagging noise.

You pulled back with a laugh and Logan turned towards the road as he started driving, a satisfied smile on his lips. You glanced at Laura in the backseat. “So?” you asked. “Were you embarrassed?

She blinked at your question, her brows furrowed, making her look so much like Logan “What?”

You gestured toward Logan next to you, then looked back at her “That your dad is a limo driver.” you stated simply, matter of factly. Lauras frown deepened, like the question itself was stupid. “No.” she said flatly.

Logan glanced at her through the rear view mirror, his brow cocked. "That right?” he asked her, feeling a soft smile creeping onto his lips. She shrugged, looking out the window. “You pick me up every day. You don’t talk too much. You don’t smell weird. You’re fine.”

Your heart swelled and you aww'ed at the two. "Great review, kid.” Logan huffed, but you knew he was feeling proud inside. Laura pulled a juice box from her bag and for a moment, the car was silent.

“Better than the other dads.”

Logan swore his heart just did a giddy flip “Yeah?” he asked, as if he had just heard her wrong. Your expression was soft as you looked at him, your hands curling around his.

Laura nodded wordlessly. And just like that, Logan realized it didn’t matter what he did for work, what he had done in the past. It didn’t define him entirely. Because Laura?

Laura was just happy he was her dad.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

idk how these career days work, I am not american and never had one, I don’t even know if they are that popular im sorry😭

I still have a few unfinished requests in store, i am so sorry everything is taking so long!

[litomilo]

miss you

billie eilish x reader ⭐

context: just listen to miss you by conan gray!

warnings: angst but happy ending ig, use of y/n, not proof read, im pretty sure i didn't use any pronoun other than "you" to refer to the reader idk

a/n: i wrote this thinking about one of my college classes, one of my teachers said that hate is not the opposite of love, but rather the closest feeling to it that can be found and damn she's so right 💔

You thought you weren't made for love. You weren't made to love or be loved, and maybe you didn't even deserve it. After a few relations and situationships you started thinking that you were a difficult person to deal with. You didn't want to bother whoever ended up falling in love with you — since that was what always happened. So you just pushed them away.

You constantly thought about the strange monotony that love began to reveal in your life. Always the same, but in the end, only one thing changed: if you wasn't hurt, you were the one who hurt someone, consequently hurting yourself as well.

Hurt by unrequited love, by harsh words, maybe by abandonment, or even by the melancholy caused by remembering important memories and unfulfilled promises... Or hurt by guilt, regret, remorse, anguish and so many other feelings caused by having hurt someone, even if it was necessary or what you thought was the best thing to do.

When you meet Billie you felt it all again. You felt happy, special, loved, but then all the possible good things you felt got blurred and momentarily forgotten 'cause of the paranoid.

I'm so hard to deal with, she won't stay.

That's what you always told yourself. But if you leave first it won't hurt that much, right?

After ghosting her for about three days you had several lost calls in your call logs and texts in all the apps possible.

"y/n?"

"did i do something? why don't you answer?"

"look idk what happened but i'm sorry"

"talk to me pls"

You gave her a week, maybe two, to give up and stop texting you. That's what always happens, One day they always disappear and you move on with your life.

You were surprised, what always happened didn't happen. She insisted, kept texting you almost daily for a whole month, sometimes she even knocked on your door, you never answered. She slipped two or three letters through your door.

"hi, it's me, billie, again.

i know you don't want to see me anymore, but i wanna know why, can we PLEASE talk about it? i can't bear the thought of possible have hurt you, that's killing me.

i'm so sorry, please let's talk, just to sort things out, i promise you'll never see me again if that's what you really wants.

i love you so much, i'm missing you, y/n/n."

Fuck.

You couldn't move on. She wouldn't let you do that, or maybe you just loved her too much to let go. That's exactly why you didn't block her at all and spent nights conflicted about calling her, but you didn't want to face reality.

In that one month that passed you couldn't talk to anyone else, you wanted to prove to yourself that you had overcome it, you didn't need her, but how do you do that when no one captivates you or calls your attention, not even for a simple hookup.

"I don't know why... why don't she just fucking give up?" you ask your best friend, in tears, through the phone. they keep quiet for a few seconds, then sigh.

"Maybe it's because she loves you?" they say as if it was already obvious, and it actually was "I think it's pretty clear at this point that she's not like the others, and you still keep pushing her away... You're not only hurting yourself, you're hurting her too, y'know?" you don't say anything, just sob and sniff, then they continue "Call her, you should talk and try to explain yourself, y/n, i keep telling you that pushing people away just 'cause you're starting to get attached is not nice and, as your best friend, i need to tell you that this time you've really messed up".

You didn't want to give in, you were too proud for that, but in one of those nights you just senseless called her, and she picked up.

"Y/n??" you hear her soft voice on the other side of the line, she sounds so worried, she was so worried "Hey, love, are you there?" and that was all it takes for you to break down.

"Come over, please" that's all you could say between sobs.

"Fine, i'm on my way, okay?" you just nod, even tho she couldn't see it.

She stayed on the line all the way, trying to calm you down until she parked in front of your house. You hang up the call and gone to the front foor as soon as you heard her car. When she was about to knock on the door, you opened it, immediately hugging her.

You hear a soft gasp leave her lips, but she hugs you back, her hands finding your hair, stroking it soothingly while guiding you inside and closing the door with her foot.

"I'm sorry" you whisper with your face buried in her hoodie "I shouldn't have pushed you away, but I was so scared"

"Scared? Of what?" she asks confused, her right hand holding your chin gently to make you look up at her.

"Of loving you and I thought you were going to end up leaving me so I just left first" you say feeling her thumb wipe the tears away from your face.

"I would never leave you, i love you, y/n" Billie said kissing your forehead and sitting you on the couch with her "have you pushing me away broke my heart".

"I never meant to, I just... I didn't knew how to cope with everything I was feeling, I thought that pushing you away would be the best but I spent all these past weeks only wanting you" you say resting your head on her shoulder "I'm so sorry, I miss you" she looks at you, her heart clenching at the sigh of your teary eyes.

"Shh, it's fine... It's okay" she whispers pulling you closer against her chest "y'know i missed you too".

[808airsoftbros]

Leap Year Pt.I (Triple S)

Author: An irrational fear story that randomly came up in my head so I hope you enjoy it anyway lmao. If you want to see more stories check out my Masterlist.

Y/N's POV

After going through another grueling day of management duties, I was looking forward to a nice rest in my room, managing 24 chaotic girls is a nightmare and I wonder what the company was thinking hiring only one manager for a large group.

Whatever... At least the paychecks are paying off my debts from law school, I wanted to be a lawyer at first but nobody wanted to hire me and I was in thousands of dollars in debt.

Luckily this company was kind enough to hire me and although being their manager didn't pay as much as lawyers, it was enough to pay off the debts.

"Baby~!" I heard a voice called and I turn around before being embraced by Sohyun.

"Oh, hey, Noona... Did you need something?" I asked tiredly.

"Do you mind if we cuddle? Besides tomorrow is your birthday," She asked and I nodded.

"Sure..." I agreed.

Sohyun walked with me into my room, my bed was big enough for the two of us, but what I'm gonna hate tomorrow is that it's the 29th of February.

Why? Because it's leap year meaning the 29th of February is only a day in the calendar once every four years and I'm twenty years old.

Welp, I guess I better prepare myself for the never-ending teasing from the girls.

"Goodnight my little baby~," Sohyun said and lightly pinched my cheeks.

"Noona~! You know I'm sensitive about that!" I complained and she giggled.

"Hey, we know you're an adult, we just like to have fun. It's not a bad thing is it? And besides who wouldn't want to be a kid again? Life was so much simpler back then," She pointed out and I sighed seeing she had a point.

"Yeah... Perhaps I could somehow transform back into a kid, since I'm apparently only five years old… I replied, and she chuckled.

"Right okay, my little baby~," Sohyun teased, and I sighed.

I was too tired to argue and just wanted to sleep. Sohyun was kind enough to let me use her chest as a pillow, which is much more comfortable than my pillow if you catch my drift.

Even though my manager job is hard, it's worth it because I get to be close to Sohyun and the others, even though they are chaotic as hell. But I sometimes wish I could go back to my childhood days... Wouldn't that be something?

~

Next Morning...

Waking up bright and early as usual, I yawned but as my vision cleared up, I was suprised to see I wasn't laying on Sohyun even though she normally stays with me the whole morning.

"Hmm... Guess she needed to get dressed... But we don't have any schedule today, do we...?" I tried to recall.

Suddenly the door swung open, Mayu and Xinyu walked inside, Mayu was holding a tray of breakfast foods and Xinyu walked in with a camera.

"Happy Birthday baby boy~!" They both cheered and I chuckled.

"Oh... Thank you, girls, I didn't expect-" I was about to say but was cut off.

"Girls? What are you talking about baby? I'm your mom and this is your aunt Xinyu~!" Mayu corrected and I raised an eyebrow.

"W-What...?"

"Aww~. I guess the baby forgot today was his fifth birthday!" Xinyu said and my eyes widened.

Wait...? Did she just say my fifth birthday...? Do they really think I'm five years old? This has to be some sort of joke right?

"Uhm... I'm not sure if this is a prank, Noona, but I'm not five... I'm turning twenty-one," I tried to correct and they shook their heads.

"Nu-uh, you are five years old. It seems you still need to work on numbers, but I'm confident your kindergarten teacher can help with that~," Mayu replied, and I was starting to grow more confused and begin to panic a bit.

Looking around for my phone, I realized there was no phone around on my night stand but some iPad, I grabbed it using the screen as a mirror and my eyes widened as I saw I was a little boy.

"W-What the hell...? How could this have happen..?"

"Yah~! We don't use that language here, mister... Unless you want your birthday party cancelled," Mayu warned.

"What birthday party?! There was never one planned!" I swore and they looked at each other before looking at me like I was a crazy person.

"Okay baby, will just leave you here... But don't take too long now because you still have school," Mayu said and they both walked out of my room.

As soon as they left my room, I gathered my thoughts trying to figure out what the fuck was going on and how the hell did I become a kid again.

I don't know how I'm going to fix this, or if I somehow traveled back in time or into another alternate dimension.

"I hope this is a dream... Wake up! Wake up!" I desperately slapped myself but it was no use as nothing changed.

I was still a little boy who was apparently five years old when I very well remember I was turning 21 today and I began to wonder if this is some sick amusement for the Heavens above because my brithday is on leap year.

Regardless, I have no other option but to play along with this alternate universe I am in. I begrudgingly got myself dressed despite how difficult it is with my short height and small arms.

I sighed coming out of my room to see Mayu and Xinyu talking with one another and they turned their attention to me when I came out.

"Oh, Y/N, you got yourself dressed~," Mayu pointed out.

"Aw~. They grow up so fast~," Xinyu cooed with a sweet smile and I sighed.

"Now, sweetie, are you ready for school today~?" Mayu asked me kindly and I nodded.

"Yes No- I mean Eomma..." I answered and she took my hand.

Without further ado, she quickly lifted me in her arms and cuddled me like the child I am even though my mind is that of a 21-year-old man. She gave me one big kiss on my cheek and cooed how adorable I am.

She walked into the garage to her car, opening the backseat door, inside was of course, a high chair... Doesn't make this any less humiliating.

Mayu placed me onto the high chair, buckling my seatbelt making sure I was comfortable and secured to the chair before going into the drivers side.

"Alright, baby boy, time to go~," Mayu cooed as she started the engine and I sighed bracing myself mentally for what's to come.

As Mayu drove down the road, she glanced at the rearview mirror from time to time, making sure I was okay while I thought of trying to find a solution so I can go back to my home dimension.

Arriving the school, the entrance was loud and chaotic as hell with kids running and yelling along with school staff trying to keep things under control.

Mayu parked the car in a spot before taking me off the high chair, there she walked me to the building, down the hallway to which apparently was my classroom.

"Alright, baby boy, I hope you have a good day in school and remember to listen to your teacher okay~? I don't want any teacher's notes," Mayu told me in a soft yet stern tone and I nodded.

"Yes, Eomma," I answered and she smiled before pecking my cheek.

"Good boy~. I'll be here when the bell rings~," Mayu promied and left me alone.

Shortly after waiting for the bell to ring, the teachers opened the doors calling their students to line up but the problem was I don't know my teacher was...

"Yah! Y/N, come line up!" I heard a voice shout and I turn see... Sohyun?

"Y/N, come line up with the class please~!" Sohyun instructed me and I slowly lined up with the rest of the kids.

But before I could I take a step I felt my hand being grabbed and I looked up to see Yooyeon.

"Sorry I was a little late, Y/N, come on let's go to class now~," Yooyeon said and lead me to the classroom.

Sohyun opened the door for us telling us to walk inside and take our seats in an orderly fashion which is not to be expected as these kids are energetic.

There was chaos in the classroom as some of them were fighting over seats and the rest were being annoying as shit.

"Jesus fucking christ... " I muttered to myself as I sat in a empty table.

Sohyun closes the door, kindly telling everyone to shut up and take their seats, soon enough we begin the lesson of learning to read and write which is hella easy for me.

However, since I already know Kindergarten level stuff like the back of my head along with any person that has common sense, I felt like I was gonna fall asleep.

"Yah! Y/N, head up! We're not even halfway to nap time," Sohyun barked at me.

"But Miss Park, I already know this stuff..." I tiredly said and sighed making her raise an eyebrow and Yooyeon was giving me a stern look.

"Yah, Y/N, that is rude! We do not speak to teachers like!" Yooyeon scolded.

"But I do!" I swore.

"Really now? Class, I think we better make sure Mister Y/N here was paying attention... Okay, Y/N, how do you spell cat?" Sohyun asked me.

"C-a-t. Cat," I answered without a stutter and the kids whispered to one another. Sohyun and Yooyeon were surprised.

"Oh... Y/N, looks like you were studying hard last night, huh? Alright, anyway class..." Sohyun said, a bit baffled, and continued on with the lesson.

"Wah Y/N, yesterday you were struggling with that word, and all of a sudden you're a master at it, you must've been studying hard," Yooyeon whispered words of praise.

I sighed deeply as I felt I was being treated like a little kid, even if I was physically, but I remember to them I'm still five years old in this world, and speaking of which, there is still no solution.

Maybe there is something I am missing... Perhaps tomorrow things will go back to normal, or am I stuck in an alien simulation? Nah, that's crazy even for me.

After the lesson was over, it was a break time, allowing the kids to play with the toys in the classroom or enjoy games on the iPad, which allowed me to find a solution to this mess.

Looking at Yooyeon, she was pre-occupied with talking to Sohyun, allowing me to sneak on the iPad. I grabbed an iPad from the cart, opening it up but to my dismay Google and basically the internet was restricted.

"Of course it's restricted... What did I expect?" I sighed in defeat seeing my last hope faded away.

"It's quite strange at how Y/N learned how to spell cat so quickly when yesterday he couldn't pronounce a single word on the alphabet correctly," Yooyeon mentioned.

"Yes, in my years of teaching, I have not once seen a single student spell cat or any word fluently without stuttering, it's impressive," Sohyun replied.

"Perhaps, we should test him? See how far his intellect goes?" Yooyeon proposed, and Sohyun thought for a moment.

"Best not yet, we'd have to get the principal to approve of such a thing, and we don't have enough proof. Why don't you take him aside and test him yourself?" Sohyun asked, and Yooyeon nodded.

"Yeah, I can do that while you're teaching the class," Yooyeon agreed.

With the plan set in motion, break time was over, everyone went back to their seats except me, Yooyeon took my hand pulling me out of the class and into another room that is quiet.

"Okay, my smart munchkin, today, I want you to spell some words and count, can you do that?" She asked in that sweet tone that you speak to a child and I interally groaned.

"Yes... Miss Kim..." I grudginly acknowledged and she raised an eyebrow.

"Excuse me? Is that how you're gonna talk to me?" Yooyeon warned me in a dangerous tone and I gulped.

Probably wiser if I change my attitude and drop all my displeasures of being treated like a kid or else...

"Yes, Miss Kim!" I said in a more enthusiastic tone, and she smiled, satisfied.

Phew... Had no idea Yooyeon has her ways with kids... She is bloody scary seeing it first hand.

Yooyeon goes into the closet, pulling out a couple of education card boxes before pulling them out and setting them up.

"Okay, Y/N first word... Can you spell 'please' as in please?" She instructed me.

"P-l-e-a-s-e, please," I answered flawlessly and she seemd impressed as she moved on to the next card.

"Next word, can you spell mother? As in mother," Yooyeon asked me, and I gulped as that word sends shivers down my spine on some nights with the girls.

Best if I not go into detail about it...

"M-o-t-h-e-r... uhm..." I paused nervously and Yooyeon smiled warmly.

"Correct... Can you say mother for me~?" She asked me once again and I gulped.

"Mother," I blurted out making her sing with praise.

"Good job! Next card..." She praised me and we continued on with the spelling test.

[howi99]

King of Teachers Au: What's gonna happen when Mama Arc finds out about Cardin bullying Jaune?

The "King" of Teachers 3

Jaune: *Placing himself between team CRDL and his mom* Forgive them mother! They didn't know what they were doing!

Artoria: *a dark aura covering her, her golden eyes as cold as the 9th floor of hell* And ignorance should acquit their fault? Should a killer go unpunished if they didn't know their victims?

Cardin: *panicking* WE'RE SOR-

Artoria: *staring directly into Cardin's eyes* Did I give you permission to speak, vermin?!

Cardin: *shutting his eyes closed, internally praying to all the gods he heard of, hoping at least one could answer his prayers*

???: *Joyful voice* Hey, come on now, no need to be THAT angry, right?

Cardin: *opening one eye, seeing a second woman next to the teacher*

Jaune: *taking one step back* Aesc!? What are you doing here!?

Aesc: *smiling* Your father sent me to look after your mom. You know how my sister can be!

Artoria: *gritting her teeth* Aesc-

Cardin: *tears in his eyes* (A savior! I was saved from certain death! Truly, the gods have answered my prayers!)

Aesc: *placing on hand on her sister's shoulder* Now, i'm sure they didn't mean to really hurt-

Nora: *from the back of the class* THEY PUSHED HIM INTO A LOCKER AND SENT HIM INTO THE EMERALD FOREST! AND NOT EVEN A WEEK LATER, THEY ALMOST GOT HIM KILLED BECAUSE OF AN URSA MAJOR!

Aesc: ... *Sigh, losing her smile as her hair turns white*

Morgan: *pointing her staff at the group of bullies* 'Tis a ruinous dream I cannot bear to see.

Jaune: !?

Morgan: No recompense, no salvation to be had.

Jaune: *turning around, clear panic in his voice* EVERYONE, GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!

Morgan: At the world's end, a bird sings of tomorrow.

Artoria: *now also panicking* Sis, i was just going to chew them off! Dont-

Morgan: Let this be a sign—

_ meanwhile _

Ozpin: *sipping tea with his friend who came visiting* Ah, today's a good day, is it not?

Merlin: *trying not to burst out laughing* Y-yeah, a very nice d-day indeed!

Ozpin: ...

Merlin: ...

Ozpin: Merlin, what did you see-

Morgan: *from afar* ROADLESS CAMELOT!

*sounds of a lot of "unforeseen expenses", as the entire school shakes from the strength of the attack*

Ozpin: ... *Sigh, looking as his "friend" is laughing hysterically* I'm not paying myself enough for this...

_ _ _

Artoria: *having tanked most of the attack to protect team CRDL* . . . *Fall face first to the ground, knocked out*

Cardin: *frothing at the mouth, his eyes turned inside as his consciousness left him*

Jaune: . . . *Taking a slow breath* Aesc?

Aesc: *nervous* Y-yes?

Jaune: *taking her staff from her hands* You are forbidden from using your semblance as long as you stay here. Not only that, but i'm also calling dad and you can say goodbye to your magnificent delicacies for the rest of the year.

Aesc: *lying flat on her stomach, asking for forgiveness* Please, PLEASE! ANYTHING BUT THAT!

Yang: *hiding under a desk* IS EVERYONE IN YOUR FAMILY LIKE THAT!?

Jaune: *turning to Yang* You should see my third mom, she's even worse-

Yang: WHAT DO YOU MEAN, THIRD MOM!?!

Jaune: *pointing to the gigantics holes through the roof* To his defense, it's not like my dad had a choice!

*the wall behind him falls to the ground, as the dust settles*

Jaune: *wince* ... That said, i'm beginning to understand why he didn't want any of them to train me. I'd either be dead, or there wouldn't be much left of our house.

[lupinmoonlight]

Hi! Could you write an alpha prof!remus x omega reader in heat. He gets her to his office after lessons to offer help and she agrees to spend the night( breeding kink)

Masterlist AO3

Alpha, please.

Summary - You are an omega about to experience her first heat. Professor Lupin offers to help and you end up getting railed in the Shrieking Shack (3,416 words).

Warnings - teacher/student relationship, omega verse, alpha!remus, omega!reader, breeding kink, unprotected sex, dubious consent because reader not very in control, age gap, my grammar (english is not my first language), not proof read.

Notes - Throwing this here and RUNNING AWAY. I am SO sorry for the delay, I was hit by a bus (jk lol i'm just burnt out). On a serious note, this was my first time ever writing something in the Omegaverse. Sorry if it sucks :( Thank you to everyone for your patience. I will eventually get to your request!

He noticed your scent before noticing you- a wave of pure, unadulterated omega scent that struck him like a physical blow, a visceral assault on his senses. The classroom, usually a blend of various scents, was now entirely dominated by this scent. Your scent, one of an omega on the cusp of her first heat yet blissfully unaware of it but one that Remus, an alpha, sensed with every fibre of his being. It was rich, sweet, intoxicating, awakening a primal need he had learned to control years ago. An almost uncontrollable need to own, to mark, to protect, to make his. 

As an alpha, the presence of an unclaimed omega, especially one as evidently oblivious to their own nature as you, was concerning. Why were you there without suppressants? How could you not know what was about to happen to you? It was dangerous. Both for you and for any other alpha around, yet there you were, looking as calm and serene as if it were just another day. 

You took a seat at the front of the class, your eyes glued to him. He was tall, commanding, exuding the authority and confidence of an alpha and you hated to admit how much it drew you in. Deep down, you were not interested in following the traditional roles of your status. You didn't want to submit to anyone. The thought alone filled you with dread...except right now. 

The class began and Remus found himself incapable of focusing on his carefully prepared lecture, distracted by the powerful need for something he didn't even allow himself to entertain. It was like all his senses were heightened. He could hear everything, feel everything. Too much. 

The lecture drew to a close, and you began to slowly pack up your belongings, your mind unconsciously reluctant to part from your professor. He made you feel so- 

"Y/N, may I have a word with you before you leave?" Remus asked. His voice was calm but it held an underlying urgency that he hoped you wouldn't notice. 

You looked up to him, your eyes wide and innocent, and in that moment, it felt like you would've done anything this man asked you. What was wrong with you? 

"Yes, Professor Lupin?"

He cleared his throat, attempting to appear casual. 

"Y/N, I... uh, I need to discuss something somewhat personal with you, and I apologize for the discomfort," he began. 

Your brows knitted in confusion, your posture tense. "Something personal, Professor?" 

He paused, gathering his thoughts, carefully selecting his next words. "I've noticed...that is, I've sensed...that you might be approaching a significant time that's inherent to your nature as an omega." 

Your expression shifted from confusion to embarrassment, unsure where he was going with this. "I- I'm not sure to understand, Professor... what do you mean?" 

Remus hesitated, his instincts as an alpha to protect and take charge clashing with his respect for you and your autonomy. "It seems that uh... you're about to experience your first heat, Y/N. It's a critical time for an omega, and it can be very dangerous if you're not prepared or aware." 

Your eyes widened, your embarrassment escalating into fear. "My first heat? But... I- I didn't know... I thought I had more time before... before that happened," you admitted shyly. 

Remus nodded, trying to appear comforting despite the turmoil raging within him. "It's unpredictable at times, especially the first one," he assured you. "It's imperative that you have a safe place and proper care during this period, especially considering that... well I assume, considering you haven't been on any suppressants." 

You looked away, uncomfortable. "No... no I haven't."

"That's okay. That's why I'm offering to help. I can provide a safe place for you, ensure that you have what you need to get through this safely. It's not ideal... but I cannot, in good conscience, let you face this alone." 

You suddenly wanted this very much, despite your habit of fighting your inner nature at every turn- no. You were not going to be a weak, vulnerable omega who needed an alpha to protect her. You could manage. You would manage. This was no big deal. 

"I can handle it myself, Professor," you said, trying to sound confident but failing pretty miserably. 

"I understand, but I assure you, my intentions are solely to offer protection and support. I wouldn't suggest this if there weren't a genuine need." 

At that moment, you weren't sure if he was just very good at being persuasive, or if your pathetic omega nature begged you to bend to his "protection". 

"Are you sure?" the question coming out more as a challenge. 

"Yes, I am. It's my responsibility as your professor and as an alpha to ensure you're safe," he affirmed. 

"O-okay, fine." 

"Just come to my quarters at the end of the day. I'll have everything prepared for you. We'll make sure you're as comfortable and safe as possible," he instructed and this time, his tone was firm, leaving no room for you to argue back. 

You simply nodded and made your way out of the classroom. The conversation had left you disoriented. Your lifelong determination to maintain independence and resist alpha authority was now clashing with an inexplicable trust in your professor. 

You had never expected your first heat to come so suddenly. You thought there would be signs to prepare you, like most other omegas. But no. It was just there. And what was more embarrassing was that it wasn't you who found out first. It was an alpha. And your professor, at that. 

You seriously considered not going to his quarters that night. Not because you were scared or didn't trust him, but just for the shame you felt. That shame, however, was quickly overshadowed by fear. You knew what could happen to unclaimed omegas who were in heat and who didn't take suppressants. Not all alphas were as kind as Remus. Some of them were vile predators ready to pounce on the first vulnerable omega they smelled. Somehow, you knew- rather inherently felt, that Remus wasn't like that. 

Swallowing your pride, you made your way to Professor Lupin's quarters, your stomach an absolute mess from the strange blend of anxiety and odd sense of security. 

Remus was already out by the door, a small bag in hand, a gentle smile, albeit somewhat anxious, expression gracing his face. 

"Thank you for coming, Y/N. I know this must be overwhelming," he said, trying to keep his voice soft and reassuring. 

You nodded, not sure you could trust your voice in that moment. 

He offered a small smile, then gestured for you to follow. "We're not staying here. I have a safer place in mind." 

You obeyed silently, following him through the corridors and then outside, the only sound being the small vials of potion clinking in the bag and the soft thumping of your feet on the wet grass. 

You had no idea where he was taking you, but it didn't matter. In that moment, you were quite literally trusting him with your life, and you hated that. 

Stopping before the Whomping Willow, Remus motioned for you to wait at a safe distance, and you watched in awe as he expertly pacified the violent tree, revealing a hidden entrance to an underground passage. 

Without questioning him, you proceeded in silence, making your way through some damp, sketchy tunnels. This was definitely not how you had expected to have your first heat and your need to be with him was growing stronger and stronger. In normal circumstances, you should have been scared, terrified even, following a grown alpha to Merlin-knows-where, but you actually were starting to feel desperate, aching for something you couldn't explain. 

You finally emerged into an old, creaking building, full of dust and looking like it was about to fall apart. Despite this, fresh blankets were laid out on the bed, candles provided a soft light, making it look somewhat comfortable. 

Remus carefully set down the bag of potions and turned to you, looking a bit sheepish. 

"It's not much, I know. But this place has been a refuge of sorts during my time here as a student... it's secluded, away from prying eyes and other... influences," he explained, deliberately vague about the deeper reasons. 

You looked around, taking in your surroundings. He was right, this wasn't much, but it was safe. "Thank you, Professor Lupin." 

"Please, call me Remus here," he insisted gently. "I'll let you settle down. I'll be just next door. If you need anything, just call for me."  

"Thank you, Remus." 

In the adjacent room. Remus sat rigidly, every muscle tensed, focusing on every breath, attempting to anchor himself to his resolve. He was battling his own nature, his instincts, usually so well-contained, were now threatening to overwhelm him, fuelled by your potent scent. It had been years since he'd felt such a primal pull, and he had never acted on it. So he sat, focusing on deep, steadying breaths. it was all he could do to maintain control. 

Meanwhile, you were beginning to experience the torturing onset of your heat. It was a violent assault of unfamiliar sensations, confusing, intense, leaving you feeling profoundly alone yet achingly in need of something- something, specifically Remus. The room felt too large, too empty, yet suffocating. 

Unable to bear the isolation and the escalating ache, you called out, your voice echoing a desperation you barely understood. "R-Remus... Remus, please... I don't know what's happening to me." 

Remus hesitated at the door, his hand clenched around the frame. "Y/N, I'm here. Tell me what you need," he encouraged.  

"I need... I need... I feel like i'm losing my mind. I need... I don't know," you stammered, your confusion and need radiating from you in a way that tugged relentlessly at Remus' instincts. 

He stepped just inside the room, his expression a mix of concern and fear- for you, for himself, for the line he was terrified of crossing. "I know, I know. I understand. It's your heat... and it's strong. But I brought something that might help," he said, retrieving a vial from the small bag he had brought. "Drink this; it should ease the symptoms." 

You took the vial with trembling hands and drank the potion, your eyes never leaving his as he sat cautiously at the edge of the bed. 

"Why is this happening to me like this? Shouldn't the potion work immediately?" you asked, panic evident in your tone. 

"It should, but... your heat seems to be very strong. Let's just wait for a moment. I'm here." 

"Remus... it's not working. Please, I need..." 

"I know what you need, Y/N. But I can't give it to you. We have to wait it out. It's going to be alright." 

This wasn't going to do. Being far from him was painful. Being close to him without getting what you needed what torture. You needed him in a way you had never needed anything else before. You needed him to consume you, to take you, to mark you, to breed you. 

"Alpha, please," you whispered without even meaning to. The moment the words left your lips, Remus froze, his heart racing as every fibre of his being, of his soul, responded to that word. It was spoken with such raw need that it resonated with the very essence of his being. His resolve shattered, not out of defeat, but out of an overwhelming need to fulfill his role as an alpha. 

Before you could react, you were flipped onto your stomach, the sound of a low growl reaching your ears. You were not even in control of your body anymore. Your instincts were controlling you, and you desperately raised your hips, presenting yourself to him in the most intimate way. 

The sight made Remus' blood travel south immediately. Already hard, he yanked down your trousers before unbuckling his own. You raised your hips higher, whining pathetically, desperate for him to take you. As he looked down at you, his cock throbbed with need and he knew then, there was no going back. 

"Please, alpha," you begged again, your voice trembling. "I need... I need you." 

"Fuck..." he growled, reaching down to position himself at your slick entrance. "I'm sorry," he started, his voice trembling, "this is the only way I know to help you." 

You closed your eyes, bracing yourself for the pain and pleasure that would soon consume you. "Please," you whimpered, "I need this." 

With a grunt, Remus pushed himself into you, your bodies connecting in a way that was both deeply intimate and primal. You gasped at the intrusion, your body trembling as you felt him filling you. 

He felt you tighten and tense as you tried to accommodate his size, your body reacting instinctively. "Relax," he instructed, his voice a low rumble. "You need to relax. Let me take care of you." 

His words, the authority in his tone, something deep within you responded. You forced yourself to relax, even as you felt his girth stretch you. He hissed in pleasure as he felt you accommodate him, your tightness almost too much. 

"That's it, good girl," he rasped out, one hand coming to rest on your lower back to steady you. His hips snapped forward, burying himself fully within you. 

You moaned, your entire being blissfully consumed by the feeling of fullness. 

"Are you alright?" he asked, staying very still within you. 

You could only nod before another desperate plea escaped you. "Yes, alpha... please, more."

At that, he allowed his instincts to fully take over. His hands gripped your hips painfully, and he began to move, his thrusts deep and powerful. A part of him was urging him to be gentle, but the other part, the alpha, was screaming at him to take what was his, to claim, to mate, and it was too strong to resist. He needed to feel you beneath him, to lose himself in the pleasure of your connection. 

You clung to the sheets, your nails digging into the fabric as Remus continued to rut into you. Your body rocked with every thrust, and soon enough, the pain began to fade, replaced by a blissful warmth that spread through your body. He knew he was taking a risk. A huge risk. But he couldn't help himself. He needed you, and you needed him. 

"Fuck, Y/N," he grunted as he continued his relentless pace. He leaned over you, his chest against your back, your bodies moulding together as though they were made for each other. "You feel so good," he growled low in your ear, his voice deep, rasping, reflecting his unending hunger. 

Each of his movement was sharp, controlled yet desperate, a constant rhythm of push and pull and he delved deeper into you, the pulsing throb of him only heightening your pleasure. 

"Alpha... alpha, please... I- I'm going to-" you tried to say but your orgasm tore through you with such force that you lost your voice. Remus didn't slow down. If anything, feeling you clench around him only fuelled his punishing pace. 

"I'm going to knot you," he announced. "I'm going to fill you up. Mark you as mine," he continued breathlessly. "I want everyone to know you're mine, to see you swollen with my seed, to see you bear my mark." 

You whined, barely able to hold yourself up from under his weight, but you managed to keep your hips elevated, desperate to be filled, to be marked, to be owned. 

His movements became jerky, sporadic as the wave of his release began to crest, each thrust of his hips pushing you further down into the mattress. "Take it," he rasped, "take my knot," his voice a harsh whisper against the shell of your ear before his teeth latched onto the soft skin of your neck, imprinting his mark on you. 

You moaned at the mix of pain and pleasure as his hand traveled down your arm, tangling your fingers together and with a final, deep thrust, he surrendered to the pleasure, his body shuddering as he came inside you. His hips flush against yours, his body draped protectively over yours as he poured himself into you with abandon. Finally he stilled, grunting as he felt the knot at the base of his cock start to swell. 

The sensation was foreign, somewhat painful, and you tensed, almost instinctively trying to move away. 

"Shh, it's okay, it's okay," he tried to soothe, still panting from his intense climax. "Stay still for me. It'll subside soon, I promise." 

He remained on top of you for a while, the knot locking you together, securing a powerful and intimate bond between you. His fingers stroked your skin gently, before he carefully maneuvered you to your side, spooning you protectively as his knot was still deeply lodged within you. 

"I know, it's okay. I'm just making you more comfortable. I've got you," he soothed as you whimpered from the movements. 

You stayed like that, your bodies intimately connected, until the knot subsided enough for Remus to pull out. You whined at the sudden loss and the wet warmth spreading between your thigh. 

As he felt you relax into him, Remus gently kissed your temple before carefully disentangling himself from you. With a flick of his wand, the wet feeling between your legs disappeared and a blanket was draped over you. 

Turning to the potions bag, Remus retrieved a vial, his hands slightly trembling as he grasped the small bottle. 

"Y/N, can you sit up for me?" he asked gently, offering his hand to support you. 

With his help, you managed to move into a sitting position, your movements languid, utterly exhausted from what had just transpired. Remus handed you the potion, noticing your confused expression. 

"This is uh... it's just a precaution... to prevent any unwanted consequences," he explained, uncomfortable from the intimate implications of his words. 

Your cheeks flushed with a hint of color as you took the vial, your fingers brushing against his in the exchange. 

"Oh, I... thank you." 

"I know this looks like... perhaps I had planned for this to happen. But I promise, it is not the case. I simply keep this sort of supply for any students who may be in need." 

"I trust you, Remus. And this was bound to happen, one way or another... and I'm glad it was with you." 

"Well, I... erm. It's important to stay hydrated, especially after this. Here," he said, trying to change the subject. 

You laughed softly, accepting the water from him. He had this way of knowing exactly what you needed before you even knew yourself. You were actually thirsty, and the cool liquid helped soothe your parched throat. 

As you sipped your water, a sudden sharp pain caused you to reach for your neck, your fingers brushing against a fresh, deep red mark. You looked at Remus with questioning eyes, seeking an explanation. 

Remus, visibly uncomfortable and with a hint of regret in his eyes, cleared his throat before speaking. "That's... that's a mark. My mark," he began, struggling to maintain eye contact. 

"In the heat of the moment, it's something an alpha can leave on an omega. It's a claim, a deep, instinctual reaction that seals a powerful bond. I didn't mean to- I should have controlled myself better." 

Your fingers lingered on the mark, your initial shock giving way to a different emotion, one of a surprising acceptance and even a hint of joy. "Does this mean... are we mates now?" 

Remus nodded. "Yes, it does. And I'm sorry, Y/N. I didn't intend for this to happen this way. You're a student. I should have been more careful, more in control. But please know, I will take responsibility. I will take care of you, support you, and I promise, I won't be overbearing. I'll-" 

"Remus, stop," you interjected, amused by his words tumbling our in a flustered rush. A smile crept onto your lips, a sense of deep contentment washing over you. 

"I'm not upset. In fact, I'm...happy," you confessed. 

Remus looked up, surprised. "You are?" 

"Yes, I am. To be marked by you, to be your mate... it feels right, despite everything. I don't see myself with any of those young inexperienced alphas..." 

"Young inexperienced alphas," he echoed. "Are you calling me old, miss?"

"Yes, maybe I am..." 

[deathbxnny]

Herta, Dr.Ratio, & Ruan Mei with a teen!reader who is a member of the Genius Society! They’re smart and they know they are and like they just shit on Dr.Ratio bc he’s not a member so that means their probably smarter then him they just rub it in his face.

But with like Ruan Mei and Herta they’re an angel (I’m playing fav’s) like always helping with Mei’s projects and running errands for Herta! (Platonic oc!)

\(^ヮ^)/

(I have sent a lot sorry! I have to many ideas but can’t write…(╥_╥))

Hello Anon!! I don't mind your many asks, especially because I love them all, hehe!! Thank you for this cute request, too, and I hope you'll like this!!<33

Content: Reader just being a bit of a snobby smart-ass, Ratio being over it, fluff, unserious, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns!!

((Not proofread))

》DR. VERITAS RATIO

Ratio absolutely regrets ever taking you in daily. You were a student of his that was one day just suddenly promoted to being a member of the genius society, after a groundbreaking scientific discovery you made. He was truly proud of you at first, especially as he was your teacher and caretaker ever since you were a small child.

But he'd certainly be lying if he said that he didn't think about putting you up for adoption at least ONCE, whenever you were teasing him relentlessly for essentially being smarter than him. He usually ignored your bullying attempts, knowing that you still needed his mentorship and care anyways, but he couldn't help but still deadpan when you'd giggle and wave your rank right in his face.

He definitely also banned you from his office after you kept on boasting about your grand achievement. You, however, only seemed to stop once he threatened your weekly allowance. Just as expected.

》HERTA

Herta was less impressed by the whole ordeal, mainly because she obviously expected you to be a member. This, however, doesn't mean that she doesn't appreciate your discoveries as they still helped her out with things on the ship. Since she still is your senior, she also expects to be still respected by you as one, which you ofcourse oblige to gladly. Just because you were announced to be a genius, didn't mean that you weren't still a kid in your mentors care.

With that said, the only visible change she gave you after your little promotion was more high-profile errands, which required alot more effort than usual. She figured it was enough to showcase her "congratulations", whilst also making clear that you were still a child.

She wants you to see this accomplishment more as a beginning to your long and very much successful career so that you don't begin to slack off thinking that this was it. Quite the contrary, as she knew you could do even better than that. Trying to be a smartass with her wouldn't work anyways, as her puppets suddenly turn deaf whenever you try and "outsmart" her in anything.

》RUAN MEI

Her only awknowledgement to your achievement was a simple pat on your head and a gentle hum of praise before she handed you more worksheets to fill out on her most recent creations. It wasn't that she didn't care, but with her mind drifting through endless different projects she had to complete, you knew that her earlier actions spoke on her pride for you more than any words ever could.

She also showcases her appreciation for your new rank by letting you in on rather personal and more challenging little projects of hers. She confides in you more, not afraid anymore to overwhelm you with complicated calculations or complex questions.

This, however, means that you are often now also contemplating things like she does, mainly as she was the one to mentor you through all of those years to begin with. She wants you to learn more, see more, and think outside of the capability of the genius society in order to further your own future projects more easily. She also knew that you need to be pushed even harder now in your younger years before your rank made you lazy. She's thankfully alot more softer and slower with her methods than Herta is.

Alrighttt... thank you again for the cute request and I hope this was okay for you!!<33

[luvrlou]

"I Didn't Know You Could Read."

Pairing: Vance Hopper x fem!reader

Summary: It seems Vance Hopper is smarter than he looks.

Warning: swearing

A/N: she's backkkkk (and bearing a tiny fic)

Word Count: 0.8k

The bell had just rung to signify the end of your maths class, however, you had been asked at the beginning of the class to stay behind and talk to your teacher.

You stood up from your seat and walked towards your teacher, Mr Kelly. You cleared your throat and stood in front of his desk.

"So, Y/N I expect you know what this is about." he spoke dryly, looking up at you while pushing his glasses up his nose.

You groan softly and nod. You knew this was about your grades as it was safe to say maths was not your strong point.

The older man continued, "as we both know... you have failed every test we have took this semester, which only means you will have to be tutored."

"Yes, I understand." You answer meekly, embarrassed by being called out on your mathematical ability.

He picked up on your tone and tutted, "there is no need to feel down about this as there are many tutors out there. Now of course if you don't feel like spending any money on a tutor I can contact our top student in the maths department to help you."

You nodded, "I'd prefer that," you chuckled, "I'd rather not have my dad find out I'm failing."

He pursed his lips, "okay, sounds good, I'll have you meet them in the library after school."

You smile awkwardly at him and then walk out of the class, at least you wouldn't have to study with anyone you knew very well, it would probably be one of those self-centred nerds.

Oh how wrong you were.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You walked into the library with all of your maths equipment and sat down at an empty table waiting for your tutor to arrive.

Your pen battered against the desk as you sat there impatiently. "God, can you stop that?" You looked up and gasped lightly. It was Vance Hopper.

"Don't tell me you're my tutor." You groaned, dramatically throwing your head onto the table.

He huffed and sat down across from you, "quit complaining, I'm giving up my good time to help you."

You looked up at him, "I thought Mr Kelly was getting the top student in the maths department to help me."

"You're looking at him."

You couldn't help but laugh, "you? seriously?"

"Yeah me! How is that such a surprise?" He spoke sternly, crossing his arms over himself.

"I didn't know you could read! Nevermind be some maths genius!" You laughed harder.

He looked at you straight-faced, "do you want help, or do you want to continue to be a failure."

You rolled your eyes, "well that was rude."

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It's been about 2 months now since your first tutor session with Vance, and surprisingly that boy was a genius. After all the sessions you and him had started to grow a friendship.

"So Vance, my test is tomorrow!" You smiled, leaning your head onto your hands.

"Which means if you pass I can get my Thursday nights back," he tilted his head as he spoke.

"Am I really that bad to tutor?" You chuckled lightly.

He smiled at you, "to tutor yes... but you're quite nice to talk to."

His words made you flush lightly, "aw that's sweet!"

"Yeah, yeah don't get used to it." He laughed and leaned back in his seat.

You and Vance sat and studied for about an hour and a half, sharing a few laughs here and there as you worked. It was nice. If you told yourself 2 months ago that you would be enjoying Vance Hopper's presence you would tell yourself to fuck off.

As you were packing up your things Vance turned to you, "come and find me tomorrow and tell me what your results are," he smiled sweetly.

"Will do Vance."

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You had gotten 87%. That is the first time you have passed a test in maths ever since you were 12 years old. You had to find Vance.

You left the class immediately after the bell rang, as soon as you left you scoured the hallways for your curly-headed friend. You speed-walked up and down the corridors, then you spotted him.

He was standing with his group of friends when you found him, you approached him cautiously, you weren't exactly acquainted with his friends.

"Vance..." you meekly spoke, causing him to immediately turn around and smile while his friends looked at you confused.

"How did you do?" He asked, looking down at you.

You grinned up at him, "I got a 87!"

His smile grew wider, "actually?" You nodded excitedly, "I'm so proud of you Y/N!"

"and you now have free Thursday nights again!" You laughed.

His smile faltered as he gazed at you, "well about that, I thought we could maybe do something tonight."

"Are you asking me on a date Vance?" You chuckled.

He made a face before speaking, "...maybe?"

"Pick me up at 6," you grinned and placed a kiss on his cheek before walking away up the hallway.

[lo0py-lunar]

*SLAMS HANDS ON TABLE*

ALRIGHT BITCHES LETS TALK ABOUT THE WAY SEVERUS SMELLS

While reading and writing Severus Snape fanfiction I've noticed no one has a full idea of what he smells like and honestly that is fair.

there is a tldr at the end for the people who don't want to here the rant!

I've seen a lot of people say his main scent node would be sandalwood and HONESTLYYYY I don't think that's accurate. Severus in all accounts does not take care of himself past basic hygiene niceties something like applying a cologne would not be there??

Sure there is an innate musk from his shampoo and body washes (which i think he makes himself but that's more of a doesn't want to spend money when HE HAS PERFECTLY GOOD INGRIDENTS TO MAKE WHAT HE NEEDS RIGH THERE but like i don't think he puts fragrance into them it isn't needed he just needs it to clean him not make him smell good)

SO LIKE HERE IS WHAT I DO THINK HE SMELLS LIKE IN LIKE STRONGEST TO WEAKEST??

Tea

-a self made blend of Chamomile mint and clove-

I've always head cannoned he drinks a lot of it. not because haha British but because it preoccupies him while others are talking so he can note things for future use. I think he makes his own blend because since he is constantly growing herbs and foraging it for potion making it becomes cheaper to just dry out and make your own (i also think he gifts his tea blend at yule time). I think he only makes calming teas. Being around people all the time when its very clear he doesn't want to be you need something to stay calm while there are calming droughts and other potions its widely assumed they can be addictive and yes he could probably make a non addictive version he doesn't have the time. So tea. Chamomile and mint have always been noted to calm nerves and i feel like the clove adds some spice that he enjoys.

Potions / potion ingredients

There are to many to list honestly.

Just in general you can assume the one person making potions for self research, constantly in a class teaching with varying ingredients, Brewing for The castles Medi-wing. Then in the later portion of the story TWO sides of the war. smells like a varying array of ingredients.

It could be said that the smells changes seasonally.

During the fall months he may smell more of ingredients themselves as he would've had to prep certain things that cannot be bought (or are not up to his standard at an apothecary) Yet, during the winter months when flu season is happening the lingering scent of brewed pepper up because those snot nosed kids sure as hell cant make it themselves. Spring would be whatever his classes are working on he wouldn't have time to do any research.

Summer though, Summer i think is when that smell changes the most. There are no kids he needs to brew for right away so he can focus on whatever potion he wishes to improve or outright create he can work with more dangerous ingredients.

That changes during the war of course he now has the workload from voldy and than we can assume he is at least brewing wolfsbane monthly for the order (the snupin shipper in me wishes to think he started brewing it during Remus tenure as the DADA teacher and just never stopped. he constantly badgers Remus for his new address to ensure he takes the potion to stop that daft wolf from doing anything idiotic it just becomes easier when he knows that he would be at grimmuald place) And than whatever they need for "war purposes".

Lavender

now hold on i thought you said he wouldn't use any cologne or anything like that. YES BUT i think he would use lavender in floral form or in oil for as a calming agent to sleep. I think this would've started when he was young possibly something his mother would do to soothe nightmares, (a sprig under his pillow or a dab of oil into the case itself) and he carried that on when he went to Hogwarts later when he returned to teach mentioning it in passing to Pamona and she gifts him new sprigs and oils for yule every year.

Tabaco

This one is honestly pure head cannon. But it makes sense to me he was raised in a coal town were he was constantly surrounded by booze and smokes. He would've picked up at least one of those habits and seeing his dad and the at the time normality of smoking yeah he would've done it. I think he quit for a while keep a pack tucked into his drawers in case he had a really bad teaching day and needed a hit of nicotine to make him not throttle anyone. But when both wars where happening i think he allowed himself to just smoke. Smoke when he wanted smoke to numb himself to whatever remarks were made about him at any meeting he showed too. Its a vice we all need one and i think its his.

SO YEAH.

I think he just naturally smells more floral and herbal than "woodsy" he may have a bottle or two of more masculine scents he was given from the Malfoys that he wears when forced into social events or when they are around him. But given what we know i think it wouldn't be sandalwood or driftwood whiskeys or scotch etc. (I'm also in the head cannon while he owns booze he doesn't drink often for fear of becoming his dad)

TLDR: I think Severus Snape smells mostly of Tea, Potions/Potion ingredients Lavender and Tabaco.

WHAT DO YOU ALL THINK I WOULD LOVE TO KNOW

<3

[narcissistcookbook]

I'm finally listening to Myth, and man. Your works always make me want to tell stories. I just wish I knew how to find the stories inside of myself. The most I seem to be able to do is leapfrog off an existing story, weaving frayed ends of canon into something that feels more complete to me and in conversation with itself, adding onto characters so they're more than just a 2d cutout.

Theres always these recurring themes that appear in what I've made, though. I know those must be what the stories rotting in my throat are about- I just don't know how to extract them.

I'll figure it out one day.

(Sorry for the long ask, the details just felt appropriate for these albums in particular.)

okay, well, maybe this will help

the album MYTH is a big hodgepodge of different influences. details below the break for people who don't want the album demystified

the core idea draws on the relatively contrived PR narrative surrounding Bon Iver's first album ('he's just a regular dude with a guitar who got broken up with and recorded an album in a cabin' ) and The Lost Songs Of St Kilda (a collection of lofi recordings of piano melodies written on the real life isolated island of St Kilda before it was cleared, performed by a dying man in assisted living who had learned them from his childhood piano teacher who had grown up on St Kilda)

the idea of being compelled to tell fairytales against your will is lifted heavily from Susanna Clarke's Jonathan Strange And Mr Norrell (in which a character is cursed to tell surreal fairytales whenever she tries to tell people a secret). i also found out after publishing it that a very similar fate befalls a character in the Sandman series although i've never read it

the idea of layered recordings with some kind of entity buried beneath the layers - this is getting into lore than isn't directly referenced on the album - is loosely based on the 1972 horror film The Stone Tape (where a ghost haunting a castle is revealed to be a 'recording' in the castle's stone walls of someone who died of fright - when they wipe the recording the ghost disappears, and is replaced by the even stranger and more frightening entity that scared her to death)

the layers commenting on and later conversing with each other is a trick i vaguely remember in House Of Leaves although i haven't read it since it came out

the islanders who have a cult-like relationship with a magical being is such a well-worn trope i shouldn't even need to reference it

Heavy Rain On Hot Tin Roofs is a reworking of a shitpost i wrote years earlier advertising a pub trivia night i run. it wasn't supposed to even be a story, the characters didn't exist in my head until years after i wrote it. i do wonder sometimes if the notion of writers experiencing their characters as real, living beings inside their minds is an unhelpful myth. a character is a magic trick you are playing on your audience, and the purpose of a magic trick isn't to fool yourself. a lot of writers won't find their characters as convincing as they want to because they know how the tricks they're pulling to make them seem real to everyone else

the fairytales themselves are told in fragments because that was all i had. i knew i wouldn't have time for whole stories so i skipped to the parts of the stories / images that resonated most with me - but also, writing traditional narratives isn't one of my strengths, and i knew fragments that tease the existence of longer stories would be more evocative than any full story i could write

these are only the examples i can think of off the top of my head

my point is, if you sit around waiting for your work to not feel derivative you're robbing a potential audience of your take on familiar ideas. the way ideas and settings and characters you've nicked from other places brew and stew in your mind is unique to you. no one steals like you do 💜

[the-oblivious-writer]

Daylight |Blurb|

Amber Freeman to Eventual Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader

Blurb

Summary: When you notice Tara Carpenter being harassed by a little jerk, you spring into action

Warning(s): Swearing, Tara & r are like 6 in this blurb, & lil Tara being bullied :(

Notes: Ngl to you, it'll probably still take a while before you get the first chapter of this series, so I just wanted to give you guys a lil something. It's not much but I didn't wanna keep you hanging with nothing

Masterlist|Next Part

You have known Tara since you were little kids. You remember the time you first met, clear as day—or at least when you officially met. Johnny Miller was harassing her, once again, during recess. Kicking sand in her face, taking her toys, and calling her names. Tara felt incredibly overwhelmed by the situation. It seemed like nobody saw her getting tormented by this little asshole. But, that was until you turned you head.

Your ears picked up the foul words Johnny spoke. You were six, that's old enough to know when somebody was being a jackass. Out of curiosity, you looked over to see the scene that was unfolding. You immediately recognized the girl. You had seen her around before, well, more than just that. She was in your class. You never really spoke though, opting with staring from afar whenever she wasn't looking. There was just something about her that prevented you from looking away. Something that made you heartbeat pick up, something that made you feel all warm inside. Something comforting about her.

You walked over to Johnny and Tara, getting there just in time stop Johnny from reaching for the toy Tara had just managed to get back from him.

You pushed him down in the sand box. The little boy stared back at you with rage, but Tara only stared at you with admiration.

"Stop being a jerk, Johnny," you seethed.

He opened his mouth to speak, but quickly shut it when he saw something in his peripheral vision. A smirk appeared on his face before he began to cry, holding onto his elbow as he practically wailed.

It didn't take long for you to realize why there was a sudden change in Johnny's demeanor. An angry teacher storms up to where you were, wearing an angry expression with her arms crossed.

"Y/N Y/L/N, did I just see you shove Johnny?"

"I–"

"Yes or no," the teacher interrupted.

"Yes, but–!"

"There are no buts. You pushed a student, that's all I need to know. Come with me, you're going to the main office."

"Mrs. Johnson, she was only defending me," Tara tried to help.

"She also knows the school rules; hands to yourself, not even as self defense."

"But that's not fair!" Tara's voice grew with aggravation, she still couldn't believe how stupid the school rules were.

"Are you back talking me right now?" Mrs. Johnson looked at her with an almost shocked expression. "Looks like you'll be joining Ms. Y/L/N."

Tara only rolled her eyes, stomping a foot with her arms crossed. She couldn't believe how ridiculous this whole thing was. If she was being honest, she was more pissed about how unfair she was being towards you. Tara also felt bad because you were in this situation because of her.

So as Johnny got escorted to the nurse with a non-existent injury, you and Tara got sent to wait at the main office. Tara couldn't help but glance at you every now and then, but as for you, you refused to meet her gaze. You've never been this close to her before. There was one time where you got paired for group project, but Mindy Meeks was also there so you were able to keep to yourself without things getting too awkward due to your silence.

Once you both got to the main office, you sat on one of the chairs that were lined up against the wall. Your leg bounced as you picked at the hem of your shirt. This wasn't the first time you were here, and it certainty wouldn't be the last. Tara followed behind before, unexpectedly, taking a seat right next to you. You continued looking down at the floor. Tara didn't see the furrow in your eyebrows when she sat right beside you.

There were plenty of other seats she could've chosen.

After a couple minutes of silence, it grew almost unbearable for the younger Carpenter. She finally spoke, "I'm Tara, by the way."

You looked over at her to see that she was holding out her hand for you to take. "Y/N," you replied in a quiet tone; you took her hand in yours to shake. As your hands made contact, it felt as if a jolt of electricity ran through your body.

And the feeling was definitely mutual.

"Thank you for defending me," Tara continued before your hands separated; you immediately missed the contact.

"No problem," you said genuinely. Now that you were fully looking at her, you simply couldn't pull away your gaze.

"I'm also sorry," she added, confusing you.

"For what?"

"For getting you in trouble," she answered with a sorrowful tone.

"Don't be. Johnny should be sorry for how he was treating you."

A smile grazed the other girl's face as she saw nothing but truth and kindness in your eyes. That was the moment Tara Carpenter knew, the moment she knew you she would never let you out of her life.

For worse, and for better.

-----------

A/N: about time I post something for this series

Taglist: @alyciaddict @tropicals-things @orignalpat

[anzulvr]

korosensei does this haunted house thing and makes class e go in it, the reader is really unamused so reader and karma work together to scare the crap out of korosensei

i've seen videos where people hide and reverse the roles in a haunted house instead of being a victim, i think it would be hilarious to see that with a stoic-ish reader and karma

Haunted - Karma x Reader // THIS THING DELETED TWICEE //

- End class had been completely transformed back into an abandoned looking building, much like its original state but with more of a horror factor. Korosensei went all out with Halloween decorations. He'd tried to set a few students up during the last school trip at the abandoned caves he called the "test of courage". It didn't work out, but second times a charm? He'd at least get one couple together this time.

The goal of today's "lecture" was to find a way out of the end class building without breaking any windows. Korosensei mentioned it would test everyone's problem solving abilities as assassins in training. First pair to successfully find the exit through a series of side quests, riddles and puzzles each got two free strikes at Korosensei's tentacles.

The catch? Everyone had a a rope tied around their wrist to a partner. Every move made meant your partner would be right beside you. You got stuck with Karma. You suspected it was not likely by coincidence.

Karma is very cute, but he's also the second worst classmate to be tied to. (First goes to Okajima)

“Karma will you stay still for one minute? You’re bruising my wrist!”

"I'm trying to reach the envelope on the ceiling, will you jump at the right time?"

"There's an easier way to do that."

You yanked the rope on him making him stumble over to you, you brought out a desk together and he was able to use it as a stool.

He opened the envelope and read it to you, "If you found this note go to teachers lounge to look for your next assignment.”

Hint: Keep your eyes out for something four-legged that cannot walk and has a back but no front.

You and Karma headed over to the designated location when you bumped into Rio and Okajima who looked like they wanted to kill one another.

Rios eyes softened when she looked at you. "[Name]! How's your search going?"

"Well we found a-"

Karma put his hand over your mouth before you could tell them about the note. He's not risking his win. "It's going boring, but we do need this room to ourselves, ya mind leaving?"

"Oh you want to be aloneee? Okajima get moving!"

Rio pushed him out the door. "Why couldn't I get stuck with Kanzaki..." "IM THE ONE WHO SHOULD BE COMPLAINING YOU..." Their argument got quieter as they left the area.

You looked back at Karma, "She definitely got the wrong idea."

"Yeah I wouldn't kiss you in this room."

You glared at him, "Solve the riddle before I choke you with the same rope we're tied to."

He mocking stuck his tongue out "Four legs, doesn't walk, it's obviously a chair [Name]! This is too easy."

He turned to get the envelope stuck under one of the chairs.

"Let's read it in the hall, the lights in this room are acting up."

You turned the handle but the door wouldn't budge. You started shaking the door harder hoping it would open. Karma chuckled, then he tried to open it himself and it wasn't so funny anymore.

"Do you think this is apart of the test or are we stuck?" You ask Karma.

He grinned "Change of plans, If Korosensei comes in here I'm going to need you to act possessed."

"I agree we've got to teach him a lesson on not playing Cupid or whatever but how do I do that?"

"Act crazy? Like you normally are but with more enthusiasm and growling."

You snatched the letter from him, "I'll read it."

Instructions: Close the blinds, then hold your partner's hands, chant your names in unison three times... the spirit you summon will lead you to the next step.

Holding Karmas hand while a spirit, Korosensei came to scare you two? It was clear He was trying to get you to cling onto the guy, you could only wonder how many classmates fell for one of his cheap tricks already?

Your question was quickly answered when you heard a girlish scream that sounded eerily like Maehara. Atleast one!

You chanted your names with your hands knitting together the lights completely went off in the room, you braced yourself for what would come.

Korosensei flew into the room and busted the door, you noticed his weird costume as he stood right in-front of you reciting cliche warrior dialogue you could've swore you heard in some movie Karma made you watch a week ago, Sonic Ninja something.

Without missing a beat you twisted your back and hands and started charging backwards towards your teacher, Karma had to crouch weirdly and run at the same time to not drag you down.

Korosensei sped out of the room yelling, about ten seconds later he was back with a set of candles and who knows what else to try to exorcise you.

By that time you and Karma were laughing trying to pick each other back up after you hit yourself on the ground because he stopped running and accidentally yanked you back.

Karma pointed down at Korosensei's wig which fell off when he flew out the class "Was he wearing a powdered wig?!"

Neither of you had noticed Korosensei made it back because of how much you were laughing. Karma ran his one free hand through your hair and face as if to check if you were hurt. It was weirdly gentle for how he usually is. He was casual about it, his confidence made moments like these feel completely natural and comfortable no matter how rare they were.

Maybe the haunted house didn't go exactly how Korosensei intended it to, but this was a sweet enough outcome.

"Nufufufu…"

"Korosenseiii, you ruined the moment!"

Karma laughed softly "That was a moment?"

You headed straight for the door.

"[Name] I'm still tied to you slow down!"

When you refused to listen he tugged back on the rope and wrapped his arms around you.

“Alright, I concede it was a little bit of a moment.”

[xomakara]

Kindergarten Love Story

SUMMARY |  Attending elementary functions as a single mom with other pretty, attention-starved, flirtatious moms is a struggle. Especially since the new kindergarten teacher is Hongjoong, an old friend of yours that you haven't seen since your university days. You're torn between telling Hongjoong that he's your daughter's father or keeping everything a secret. PAIRINGS |  Hongjoong x Reader RATING |  SFW, Implied suggestive GENRE |  KindergartenTeacher!Hongjoong, Dad!Hongjoong, PoliceOfficer!Reader, non-idol au, fluff, slight angst CONTENT/WARNINGS | nothing really?? mentions of implied sex, one night stand LENGTH |  4,358 words TAGLIST | @jjoongstar NETWORKS | @illusionnet @atzhouse @cromernet @wonderlandnet @k-vanity @othersideoutlawsnetwork AUTHOR’S NOTE |  Hi there. Linda here. I hope you all like this! Don’t forget to like, comment, reblog and show some support. Love you all 💚

ATEEZ Main Masterlist

"You must be Hanbyul's mom."

You thought you wouldn't have seen him after so long. After so many years. But here he was again, back in your life like it was no big deal at all. He hadn't changed much, still handsome, and if anything he looked even better now than when you last saw him during your college days. Your heart fluttered just by looking at him, and seeing him smile felt like someone opened up a box full of butterflies and let them loose on your insides.

"It's nice to finally meet you. Hanbyul has been telling me nonstop that you're a detective." He says, holding out his hand. You look at his face for a second before grabbing his hand and shaking it.

Did he recognize you? Were you that forgettable? Did he forget all those times back in college where you'd hang out together, the way he looked at you whenever he got the chance?

"Thank you for taking care of my Hanbyul." You smiled warmly at him. You turned to look at your daughter, who was playing with Seonghwa, your partner on the force and your longtime friend. She always wanted to play detective when you and Seonghwa picked her up from school. It was adorable.

"She's a great kid. She learns fast too." He says, nodding with the brightest smile on his face. Lord, his smile made you weak. You could only stare at him for a while longer, trying not to lose yourself to thoughts about the things he could do to you.

"Y/N, shouldn't we be heading home soon?" Seonghwa walked up to you, his hand on your shoulder. Your daughter, Hanbyul, was holding onto Seonghwa's hand, smiling brightly. Seonghwa looked at the man that you were conversing with, eyes wide with recognition. "No way! Is that you, Kim Hongjoong?!"

Hongjoong looked at you and at Seonghwa with a confused look on his face. He blinked several times, before his face was filled with recognition. "Seonghwa? Park Seonghwa? And Y/N? I can't believe...wow, you're parents now!"

You could see the look of confusion on Seonghwa's face clear as day. "Oh no, Hongjoong. You got it all wrong. I'm not a parent. I'm just an uncle. Y/N and I aren't even dating. We are just friends."

"I'm just a single mom." You corrected him. "Seonghwa is my partner on the police force."

Hongjoong nodded. "Oh yeah, that makes sense. Well I'm sorry to have mistaken you guys." He gave you another one of his dazzling smiles. You had forgotten how his smile made you feel all tingly inside.

"That's okay. No need to apologize. I guess we'll be heading home soon then. Hanbyul, tell your teacher goodbye." You told your daughter, smiling at her as she ran over to her teacher and waved goodbye.

You never imagined Hongjoong to be a kindergarten teacher. Back in college, you would've never pictured him teaching kids. But now, standing in front of him, you couldn't help but think that he was perfect for the job. He really did make children feel comfortable and safe around him. They seemed to love him more than anyone else in their lives. You could only imagine how he made a difference in their lives. It made you smile knowing that he had found his calling in life.

Moments later, you were in the car with Hanbyul dozing off in the backseat and Seonghwa in the driver's seat. You looked at Seonghwa as he kept his attention on the road. A silence fell between you two, both lost in your own thoughts.

"I'm surprised you haven't told him yet." Seonghwa said suddenly, breaking the silence.

"And what would I tell him? That he's her father?" You looked at Seonghwa with a raised eyebrow. "I didn't even know he was Hanbyul's teacher. The last time I saw him was five years ago."

"But don't you think you should tell him before Hanbyul grows older? Don't you think he deserves to know that he's teaching his own daughter? He might want to know." Seonghwa said softly. You sighed, looking out the window. There was no point denying that Seonghwa was right.

"Alright. Maybe I will. If I get the chance to meet him. And if he's willing to listen." You say. "If he knew about Hanbyul, I'm sure he'd be happy."

"Let's hope so." Seonghwa smiled.

Your mind drifted back to when you first met Hongjoong. How cute he was back then. How his shy smile could make you fall for him immediately. You reminisced on all the fun times you had with him back then, how you loved his company so much that you almost forgot that he was a player. His charm was irresistible. His ability to pull women towards him was incredible. Women wanted to be with him, men wanted to be like him. Everyone loved him. Even your closest girlfriends were jealous of your friendship with him.

Then that one night at the frat party changed everything. You remembered clearly the expression on his face when he saw you walking into the party. You also remembered the way he looked at you afterwards, the softness in his voice when he asked you to go home with him. You remembered the hours spent with him, the laughter, the touches, the words he whispered into your ears. You remember every inch of his body. Every little detail. And you remembered the way he treated you. So sweet. So gentle. You remembered how you never wanted him to stop touching you. How you wanted to spend every minute with him. You remember waking up the next morning to find yourself naked and curled up next to him, his arms wrapped tightly around you. You remember the look on his face when he woke up. You remembered the way he kissed you before leaving his apartment. You remember the taste of his lips.

The drive back home passed quickly, and before you knew it, you were pulling up to your house. You looked at the clock and noticed it was already past eight o'clock. You yawned as you got out of the car. You hadn't realized how tired you were. All this thinking was making you sleepy. After unlocking the door and watching Seonghwa carry Hanbyul into her room, you sink into the couch cushions.

"Man, how the years go by." Seonghwa muttered as he sat next to you. You turned your head to look at him, and couldn't help but smile. "I can't believe it's been almost six years since we graduated."

"Me neither. It feels like yesterday." You laughed. "Do you think...if I told Hongjoong that he has a daughter..." You trailed off.

"Hey whatever you do, just know I'm here to support you." Seonghwa said, putting his arm around your shoulders. "Even if you choose not to tell him."

"Thanks." You smiled, leaning against Seonghwa.

He chuckled before getting up and heading towards the door. "I gotta go take care of some paperwork. Call me if you need me."

A few minutes later, you were lying on your bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. Your thoughts going in circles. Over and over again. Should you tell Hongjoong? Would he even want to hear from you? Or did he already moved on from you, just like everyone else did? Was it fair for you to keep this from him? What if he hated you for keeping such a huge secret from him?

How did you end up here? In this predicament? This mess?

No.

Having Hanbyul wasn't a mistake. Sure, you went through hell in the delivery room by yourself. But when you held her in your arms for the first time, when you looked at her tiny face, you instantly knew that she was the most precious thing in your life. That you'd do anything to protect her. That she deserved the best. You promised yourself that you'd give her everything she needed. And you meant it.

Hongjoong watched as little Hanbyul played with the other kids in the sandbox. Her face was covered in sand. He tried not to laugh, instead giving her encouraging words as she took her time digging in the sand with a shovel.

There was something about Hanbyul. He couldn't put his finger on it. But he could tell that there was something special about her. Something he'd never experienced before. He didn't know why he was paying more attention to her compared to the other kids in his class. He wondered if maybe it was because she reminded him of himself. Of the younger version of himself. But then again, there were many things that reminded him of himself. Maybe he was just being silly.

When the kids started filing out of the sandbox, they came over to where he was sitting and talked amongst themselves. Hanbyul tugged on his pants, looking up at him with a pleading expression on her face. "Teacher Hongjoong?"

Hongjoong looked down at her. "Yes, Hanbyul?"

"Can I ask you something?"

Hongjoong leaned down so that he was eye level with her. "Of course you can."

Hanbyul glanced around to make sure nobody was listening. "Is it true that you're Mommy and Uncle Seonghwa's friend?"

Hongjoong let out a small laugh. He thought that this was just the cutest thing ever. "What makes you think that?"

"Because they talk about you a lot." Hanbyul explained.

"Well, I hope it's nice things." He smiled.

Hanbyul giggled. "It is." She smiled.

"Thank you." He gave her a wink.

She giggled again. "You're welcome."

They shared a moment before she decided to get back to playing with the other kids. Hongjoong stood up and brushed off his pants. When he turned around, he caught sight of you watching him from afar. He smiled at you. "Y/N, what brings you here?"

"Just checking on Hanbyul." You replied, sitting next to him.

"She's having a blast playing with all the other kids." Hongjoong said, taking a sip of water from the bottle in his hand. "Look at her, she looks happy."

You gazed at Hanbyul. She looked very content, laughing and giggling. "She's always like this. Never fussy or cranky. She doesn't cry often either." You sighed. "I mean, she does get upset when she gets hurt or hungry but she doesn't cry much."

"You're so lucky." Hongjoong mumbled, closing his eyes for a second. "To be able to enjoy motherhood like this."

"It comes with its struggles, too." You frowned and looked at him. "She asks about her father a few times. Sometimes I feel bad telling her that he doesn't live with us anymore. That he's gone away."

Hongjoong nodded slowly. "I understand how you must feel."

"Are you married?" You asked, changing the subject.

"Not yet." Hongjoong admitted.

"That's good." You smiled. "Do you have any plans to settle down soon?"

"I'm still young." Hongjoong shrugged. "Maybe someday."

You nodded, biting the inside of your cheek. How do you tell this man that he has a child and that she's right there playing with the other kids? Do you say something? Say nothing?

"Speaking of settling down, are you dating anyone?" He asked suddenly, turning his attention to you.

You bit your lip nervously, feeling nervous all of a sudden. "Uh..no."

Hongjoong sighed. "Y/N. Why not?"

"Well, I guess it's just not the right time for me." You answered quietly. "I've been busy lately. With work and raising Hanbyul and all."

"Hang in there, Y/N." Hongjoong smiled at you. "Everything will work out."

"Thank you." You smiled.

A few minutes later, Hanbyul came running over to you and tugged on Hongjoong's pants. "Teacher Hongjoong?"

Hongjoong nodded. "Yes, Hanbyul?"

"Will you play with me?"

Hongjoong stared at her. She was adorable. "Sure." He nodded. "Where should we go?"

"Playground!" Hanbyul exclaimed excitedly. "My favorite swing!"

Hongjoong smiled at her. "Okay. Let's go."

You watched as the two of them walked hand in hand towards the playground. They stopped near the swing set, smiling and talking to each other as they waited for their turn. The sound of their laughter filled the air, creating a peaceful atmosphere around you. Your daughter and her father, enjoying each other's company. Just like you always dreamed. You looked up at the sky, hoping that one day, you would have the courage to tell Hongjoong about Hanbyul.

It had been several weeks and you still hadn't had the courage to tell Hongjoong about his daughter.

Sometimes, you found yourself wondering whether he already knew. Did he suspect? Did he know Hanbyul was his? Was he upset that he missed out on the first few years of her life? Did he resent you for lying to him?

But no matter how much you kept wondering about these things, you would only continue worrying yourself over nothing. At the end of the day, it wouldn't change anything. Not now, and definitely not in the future. No matter what happened, the important thing was that Hanbyul was well taken care of. That she was happy and healthy.

Hongjoong invited you over for a cup of coffee one day and you knew that it was time.

While he made you both a cup of coffee, you began thinking of ways to start the conversation. Maybe it would be easier if you were to come straight out and tell him.

You glanced at him while sipping your coffee. His eyes were fixed on his mug as he stirred it, occasionally taking a sip. He seemed to be lost in his own world.

"Can I ask you something?" Hongjoong finally spoke up.

"Go ahead." You replied, hoping that he'd be straightforward.

"Hanbyul's father...is it...me?" He asked.

You gulped hard. Had he known all along?

You stayed quiet for a while, unsure of how to answer. When you finally opened your mouth, it was to nod your head. "I...thought you might've known." You murmured softly.

"So I was right." Hongjoong muttered softly. "She looks like you but she acts so much like me when I was younger. She reminds me of myself."

"She's your daughter, Hongjoong." You stated, still trying to hold back tears. "It was hard for me to not tell you that you had a daughter. That one night stand we had resulted in a pregnancy. I loved Hanbyul so much. I wanted to do whatever it takes to make sure she was happy. I've done my best to raise her. To provide for her needs. I know it hasn't been easy. I understand if you don't want to accept her into your life."

"Why wouldn't I accept my daughter? Why wouldn't I love her?" Hongjoong whispered. "All this time being her teacher, it never occurred to me that I had a daughter. That I could've possibly fathered someone so innocent and beautiful. A girl who looks so much like you."

Your heart fluttered. "I've missed you." You admitted quietly. "I've missed our talks, our laughs. All the memories we shared together. We've been through a lot together. I know it's weird to know that you're the father of your friend's daughter...but that one night we had...I don't regret it. I don't think I ever could."

He gazed at you, studying your face. Then his gaze traveled down to your lips.

You swallowed hard. His presence alone felt comforting. So warm and welcoming.

"Back then...did you ever have any feelings for me?" He asked after a while.

"Did I ever have feelings for you?" You repeated. "Honestly, yes. Did you ever...? Like, did you have feelings for me? I mean..." You blushed. "Before we had sex."

His gaze softened as he reached out to place a hand on top of yours. "If I had the chance to go back and redo everything, I would've kept you in my arms that night." He whispered. "I would've given you everything you deserved. I wish you would've told me sooner."

"Me too." You whispered back.

You leaned closer to him, placing your forehead against his. You closed your eyes, taking in his scent. He smelled like lavender and vanilla. His scent was intoxicating.

"I'm sorry." You apologized softly, wrapping an arm around his waist, resting your head against his chest.

"Don't be." Hongjoong replied, bringing one hand up and stroking your cheek gently.

"I've wanted you for so long." You confessed, keeping your eyes locked onto his.

He smiled. "And now we're here."

You returned the smile before moving your hand and cupping his cheek. He didn't hesitate in pressing his lips to yours, and within seconds the kiss became heated. You whimpered against him when he pushed you onto his bed, hovering above you.

The kisses moved further up, from your jawline, to your neck, until finally arriving at your lips. It was slow, sensual. As if every movement was perfectly planned out, carefully thought over. And you responded to his touch eagerly. His hands wandered all over you, mapping out every inch of your body. You reached up and tangled your fingers in his soft hair, letting him do whatever he wanted to you.

When he broke the kiss to look down at you, he smiled, caressing your face. You bit your lower lip and cupped his cheeks, pulling him close. He pressed his forehead against yours before connecting his lips with yours once more, his hands roaming all over you again. This time, though, he didn't pull away as quickly, instead lingering there, staring at you with his mesmerizing eyes, making your heart skip a beat. You let out a shaky breath before allowing yourself to melt completely into the kiss, allowing it to continue for a couple more minutes before he started moving southward, exploring the rest of your body with his fingers and mouth.

Finally, you broke away from him, panting heavily, and pulled back slightly, staring up at his handsome face, which was flushed from the passion between the two of you. He was still breathing hard himself, looking down at you with hooded, darkened eyes, his lips wet and swollen from the previous make out session. It made you want more, but unfortunately, it was getting late.

"I should get home." You breathed out.

"Please don't." He pouted, pressing his hips against yours and grinding into you.

You gasped. His erection pressed against you. "Hongjoong...I have to. Hanbyul..." You explained.

"Just ask Seonghwa to babysit for tonight." He nipped at your lip. "Please?"

You chuckled, shaking your head. "I can't Hongjoong. Not right now. Not tonight." You placed a quick kiss on his lips. "There's plenty of time for us." You promised him, pulling away and getting out of his bed.

"Can we...can we spend next weekend together? You, me, and Hanbyul? I'd like to spend more time getting to know her."

"Really?"

"I'm her Dad, aren't I?" He raised his brow with a playful look on his face, smiling down at you. "That's if...you'll have me?"

"You're stuck with us both now." You winked, pecking his lips once more and giggling as he captured your lips.

It didn't take long for the kiss to deepen, and by the time he let you go, your head was spinning.

He pecked your cheek, holding you to him once again. "Have a safe ride home. Make sure you text me when you're there." He reminded you, his grip tightening.

You nodded. "I'll be sure to."

He grinned before letting you go, watching as you exited his house. You were smiling to yourself as you went home, feeling giddy and happy. This is what you always wanted. A second chance at romance with Hongjoong. Sure, the beginning may have been rocky, but if everything went according to plan, things were about to become much better than before.

It was finally the weekend, and it couldn't come quicker. Hongjoong had been texting you all week. Talking about things here and there. Anything from small talk to sexual thoughts, or flirty compliments. Every day you look forward to the weekend.

It was currently 7am in the morning and you were awoken by Hanbyul jumping on you and yelling "Wake up!!" repeatedly. It didn't bother you that you had an energetic five-year-old. She brought excitement into your life. But, man. Why'd you have to wake up early today?! You just needed a bit more beauty rest.

"Good morning, little bean." You yawned, kissing her forehead.

"Morning, Mommy." She squeaked back.

You smiled, pulling her into your arms and tickling her, making her laugh loudly and squeal with delight. You giggled along, tickling her under her armpits and around her waist before eventually stopping, taking in her beautiful giggles, the sound was music to your ears.

"Now, let's go brush our teeth and get ready for the day." You said.

She nodded happily, racing off towards the bathroom, laughing like a maniac. You chuckled, watching as she scampered away. Then, a knock at the front door caught your attention. You hurried over, wondering who the hell was knocking at this hour. Upon opening, it revealed a grinning Hongjoong. You opened your mouth but no words came out. He was too handsome for you to find your voice.

"Hey." He greeted brightly. "Surprised to see me, huh?"

"Y-Yeah.." You replied shakily.

"I just figured I'd come surprise you instead of picking you both up. Save me some gas money." Hongjoong shrugged. "Is she up?" He asked excitedly.

"Uh, yeah..."

"Mommy! Why is Teacher Hongjoong here?" Hanbyul poked her head around the corner.

Hongjoong waved at her. "Hey. I came to spend the day with you two, if that's alright." He told her, approaching and kneeling down to be her level.

Hanbyul's eyes lit up as she bounded forward and threw her tiny arms around Hongjoong's neck. "Okay!"

Hongjoong stood up, carrying your daughter with him. He spun around, making her laugh hysterically. Your heart pounded at the scene unfolding before you. Everything seemed surreal.

You didn't want to interrupt the precious moment. It seemed too personal. So you simply remained at the door.

"So. What shall we do?" Hongjoong questioned playfully.

Hanbyul tilted her head, deep in thought.

"What's wrong, little bean?" You teased her.

"Hmm..let me think." She replied.

"Alright, while you think, let's sit down." Hongjoong replied. He let her down, leading her and you to the living room to sit down.

Hanbyul joined Hongjoong on the couch. While you were tempted to sit on Hongjoong's free side, you decided to take a seat next to her and opposite Hongjoong instead.

"Hanbyul, can mommy tell you something?" You suddenly spoke up. Hongjoong raised his eyebrow at you and you mouthed to him "she needs to know before we go any further." He nodded and sat silently as he waited for you to start speaking.

"Hanbyul," you began. "Hongjoong isn't just your teacher anymore." You said to her, smiling widely.

"No." Hanbyul shook her head. "Why mommy? I like Teacher Hongjoong!"

"That's not it, sweetie." You patted her head. "Hanbyul..."

Hanbyul looked confused, so Hongjoong lifted her onto his lap. "Hanbyul, I'm your dad."

Hanbyul's eyes widened, her gaze landing on you. Then, she looked back at Hongjoong, her lips forming an 'o' shape.

"Teacher Hongjoong? My Daddy?" She tilted her head in curiosity.

Hongjoong grinned and nodded. "That's right. I'm your dad, Hanbyul."

She blinked rapidly, letting out a surprised squeak. You could see tears starting to pool up in her eyes.

"Aww, no. Don't cry." You reassured, leaning over and wiping away a tear that ran down her cheek. "Are you okay?"

Hanbyul nodded. "Daddy." She looked up at him with wide eyes, studying his features intently. Her face lit up. "I know I'm not supposed to cry."

She squirmed on his lap, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing him tightly. "No wonder you're my favorite teacher." She said, snuggling her face into his shirt. "I always hoped that Teacher Hongjoong would be my daddy one day."

You sighed, ruffling her hair. "And here you are." You cooed softly.

You love this little girl. More than anything else in this world. Even though she might've grown on her own with you, you knew you had plenty of room in your life and in your heart to share the experience of raising her alongside someone else. A person you loved. You would be happy and proud to watch her grow up and turn into an adult with the help of Hongjoong.

You bit down on the inside of your cheek to hold back a gasp when Hongjoong leaned down, peppering kisses all over Hanbyul's face. She giggled and nuzzled into his chest, resting her head against his shoulder. It was adorable seeing father and daughter interact with each other.

"Mommy." She broke the moment, her eyes still fixated on you. "You're crying." She stated bluntly.

"Oh..." You didn't notice the warm tears run down your cheeks. You wiped them away quickly and smiled. "I'm just happy, little bean."

"It's okay to cry when you're happy." She replied, her gaze softened and filled with adoration for her mother.

Your heart warmed. You scooped her out of Hongjoong's arms. You held her close, placing a gentle kiss on her temple. "Thank you." You whispered, a huge grin graced your features as you brushed away more tears.

She placed her hands on either side of your face, caressing your cheeks softly. "Aren't you and Daddy gonna kiss now?" She asked, her question directed towards Hongjoong, who stood and was coming over to the two of you.

He wrapped both his arms around your shoulders, placing his head atop hers. "No need to hurry, little one." He smiled gently, looking down at your beautiful little girl. "We still have forever to do that."

You gazed up, meeting his eyes. "Then let's start with today." You grinned before pressing a soft kiss to his plush lips.

Everything felt right in this moment. Just the three of you.

[mytwofaithsandtroths]

So what do we think Mr. Martin is lying about this time regarding the fire?

His story is: I contemplated suicide but I changed my mind last minute and tried to clear the gas from the room. Janet walked in carrying a flint torch from another chemistry test. It was an accident caused by a moment of despair on my part and poor timing. I need Janet’s forgiveness to move on from accidentally killing her.

Except: He has never once before given an accurate recounting of that day. Including to Janet. When he met Rhonda, he offered the lie first that Janet died in some other way. Janet says he did it to protect her. Protect her from what? Rhonda’s already dead, and I doubt "chemistry fire" would have thrown up a flag for her -- it happened 6 years before Rhonda died, so she could have known already/heard in middle school. Seems like a risk to make up another death, tbh. It also seems Janet believes Mr. Martin was protecting Janet’s reputation (?) because she had “caused” the fire from Rhonda?

Why has Janet been made to think that “causing the fire” is a bad thing to have come out. It was an accident, right?

Janet felt this need/appreciated his "reputation management" with Rhonda without realizing that Mr. Martin has been lying to her since the second they died. She clearly did not know that he was contemplating suicide and that’s why the gas was in the room. After Dawn crosses over and Janet is mentioned in the support group, Mr. Martin gives another big ole lie about the fire (A lie that, coincidentally, makes him look like a hero):

The day I died, I made a mistake. I turned my back on a student for a split second, and there was an error, a fatal error. There was a fire. I managed... I managed to save my class, but not myself. Doesn't that make you a hero then? A martyr? It wasn't even your fault. I was the teacher. I should have been paying closer attention. I should have known what was going on. Instead my... my students had to live with the memory...Of seeing... seeing all that.

Seeing what? If you were closing the windows to open the gas valves and count in your watch, your students weren’t in the room, Mr. Martin. You’re lying for the fun of it at this point. And when fiiiiinally confronted with the "truth" and wrath of the ScaryScoobyGang, Mr. Martin says “I didn't know you were testing flint torches and you would light a flame!” Well, goddamn, Everett, how was she to know you were flooding a room with gas?

And, the closest to a first-hand source we have is Eugene Bergstrom who says:

No. I know for a fact that Janet's father is the reason Mr. Martin was fired. I overheard them talking about it the day after... The day after she died. The police don't believe me, but I know in my bones Mr. Martin started that fire on purpose. He wanted revenge. He killed her.

Mr. Martin says: "The school district had, had been looking for a reason to get rid of me. They said I was a thorn in their side. And all it took... was one phone call from Reverend Hamilton, and they sent me packing." And that this was also enough for Alice to leave him because she couldn't see a future with him -- dunno about you, but my man losing one job wouldn't make me turn him down immediately. There is a pattern of something with him.

Why was he a thorn in their side? Why were they already looking to boot him? I get Janet's dad made the call, but more than Janet's father protesting led to his firing.

What was it?

What part is he leaving out or twisting yet again?