#I wonder if the similarities were intentional

[lechrts]

Hiiiii! i was so obsessed with your lando cooking one but i have another idea kinda where’s its a little similar but reader is his private chef or something ??? Plz i love you’re writing so much 🥰

Stay With Me. ✷ Lando Norris

Pairing: Lando Norris x Privatechef!reader

Summary: When he finally musters the courage to talk to his private chef and eventually invite her to stay for dinner.

Word Count: 2.3k

Disclaimer/s: flufffff :3 meet cute ,, ish??? and forced proximity almost (not at all) Just Squint idk

Vera’s Voice! LOVE THIS REQUEST AYYEEE , hope u enjoy!!!! thank u for reading my fics!!! mwaaahhh

Lando never thought he’d end up with a private chef.

The idea sounded unnecessarily extravagant when his management first proposed it. He wasn’t a picky eater, and takeout worked just fine. But after months of rigorous travel, racing every other weekend, and well… his need to somehow always mention the disgusting food pile in his pantry on live streams… his team insisted on the idea.

It wasn’t about luxury, they claimed—it was about nutrition, recovery, and convenience. Lando reluctantly agreed, figuring it would be just another stranger in his house.

And that’s exactly what you were.

The first time you arrived, Lando only caught a glimpse of you—a short, polite nod as you introduced yourself by name.

You didn’t linger. No small talk, no unnecessary pleasantries. You brought bags of fresh groceries, prepared everything with quiet efficiency, and left him with neatly plated meals stored in his fridge.

And this routine went on for weeks.

Lando grew used to hearing the door click open mid-afternoon, a soft shuffle of feet in his kitchen as you unpacked your things.

He kept his distance, a little unsure of how to approach you. You worked so intently that he didn’t want to interrupt, and honestly, he didn’t know what to say.

So, he settled for his usual routine: nodding, mumbling a quick thanks, and letting you go about your work.

But as the weeks passed, he found himself oddly intrigued.

He noticed how precise your movements were—the way you diced vegetables or measured out spices. He caught whiffs of garlic and herbs wafting through the house, making his mouth water.

Once, he saw you pause by the stove to taste a sauce, your face lighting up with the faintest hint of a smile. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to pique his curiosity.

He wanted to know more about you.

It wasn’t until a quiet Tuesday afternoon that Lando finally mustered the courage to do something about it.

You’d just arrived, placing your bags on the kitchen counter and rolling up your sleeves. Lando was sitting on the couch, his laptop open in front of him, pretending to be preoccupied.

But he wasn’t working.

He was watching you out of the corner of his eye, nervously tapping his fingers against the keyboard.

Finally, he took a deep breath, stood up, and walked over.

“Hey,” He said, voice a little shaky.

You turned, startled. “Oh. Hi.”

Your voice was soft but firm, and your eyes quickly darted back to the chopping board as if you didn’t want to intrude.

Lando scratched the back of his neck, suddenly unsure of himself. “I was, uh, wondering…” He hesitated. “Do you ever get to eat what you make?”

You blinked, genuinely surprised by the question. “Not usually,” You admitted. “I just cook for you.”

“Oh.” He shifted on his feet, feeling a bit awkward. “Well, that doesn’t seem fair, does it?”

You tilted your head slightly, your lips curving into the faintest smile. “I don’t mind.”

Lando cleared his throat. “Still, you’ve been cooking for me for weeks, and I don’t even know if you think it tastes good.”

You laughed at that, a quiet, melodic sound that made Lando’s chest feel a little lighter. “I taste as I go. You haven’t complained, so I assumed all was fine.”

“It’s more than fine,” He said quickly, then winced, realizing how eager he sounded. “I mean, it’s really good. Like… amazing.”

“Thank you.” Your cheeks flushed a faint pink, glancing back down at the cutting board to hide your sudden blush.

Lando watched you for a moment, then blurted, “Can I help?”

You froze, looking up at him with wide eyes. “You want to help?”

“Yeah,” He said, trying to sound casual. “I feel bad just sitting around while you do all the work.”

Your lips twitched, almost as if you were holding back a laugh. “Well that’s technically what I get paid for…so..”

“Well, I don’t mind lending a hand..” He stepped closer.

“Um.. Alright,” You said slowly. “But I don’t think I can trust you near a stove from what your management told me, so how about slicing and dicing?“

“Sounds good.” He flashed a smile, quickly coming to your aid.

And Lando wasn’t kidding when he said he wanted to help, but you quickly realized he was hopeless in the kitchen.

He now stood next to you, an apron tied loosely around his waist (as he insisted to feel official), struggling to peel a carrot. His grip was awkward, and the peels kept getting stuck in the blade.

“Like this,” You said, stepping closer and wrapping your hand around his to guide him.

Lando froze at the contact, his pulse quickening. Your hand was warm against his, and for a moment, all he could focus on was the soft scent of your vanilla shampoo and the gentle lilt of your voice as you explained the technique.

“There,” You said, releasing his hand. “Try now.”

He nodded, a little dazed, and attempted to mimic your movements. The carrot peeled more smoothly this time, though not without a few mishaps.

“You’re a pro.” You complimented, earning a wide smile from him as he continued.

Lando watched you, his confidence growing with each little laugh he managed to pull from you.

The atmosphere felt easy now, the awkwardness from before fading into something warmer. He grabbed another carrot and set to work, determined to keep up with you.

As the meal came together, the smells filling the kitchen made his stomach growl audibly.

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Hungry?”

“Starving,” He admitted.

You flashed him a smile before you mindlessly tidied around the kitchen, thankfully washing dishes as you cooked. You made sure to plate his food, sliding a portion toward him as usual.

But before you could reach for your bag and finish cleaning up, Lando hesitated, leaning against the counter.

“Wait,” He said suddenly.

You paused, glancing at him. “Hm?”

“Stay with me.” Lando said almost too eagerly, quickly catching himself before stuttering. “Like stay for dinner.”

You felt your eyes widen at the offer, your heart skipping a beat. “Oh, I don’t usually—” Your voice started, but he cut you off, his words tumbling out in a rush.

“I insist.” He smiled before shifting on his feet, suddenly shy. “You’re always here, making these amazing meals, but you never eat them. It feels wrong. Like… you deserve to enjoy this too.”

You hesitated.

The idea of sitting down to dinner with him felt… different. But there was something in the way he looked at you—hopeful, genuine—that made it impossible to say no.

“Um.. Okay,” You said softly, nodding as you set your bag back down.

Lando’s face lit up, and he immediately set about pulling plates from the cabinet, his excitement almost contagious.

And it was… nice.

You sat across from each other at the small dining table, sharing the meal you’d just prepared—a hearty steak, (opposed to the salmon you were incredible at making but you were instructed to never prepare him seafood), roasted vegetables, and a side of creamy mash. It wasn’t anything overly fancy, but it was perfect, and Lando couldn’t stop himself from saying so.

“You’re too kind,” You said, your tone teasing.

“I’m serious!” He insisted. “I don’t know how you make the vegetables taste this good. It’s like magic or something.”

You laughed again, a little less reserved this time. “No magic. Just practice.”

You talked as you ate, the conversation flowing easier than Lando expected. He learned that you’d gone to culinary school, that you loved experimenting with new recipes, and that you preferred baking to cooking.

And to his surprise, you were extremely funny, with a dry sense of humor that caught him off guard.

“I’ll need to try your pastries one day then?” He said with a quirked brow as you shook your head.

“Unfortunately, not on the nutrition plan your management gave me.” You bit down a laugh.

“One cheat day won’t hurt…” He pushed for it.

You sheepishly shrugged. “I’ll consider.” Another laugh escaping your lips as he let out a stupid groan with a roll in his eyes.

And, for the first time, Lando felt like he really saw you—not just as the chef who came and went, but as someone he genuinely wanted to know.

When the meal was finally over, you started to stand, reaching for the dishes, but Lando stopped you.

“I’ll take care of it,” He said.

Your brow furrowed. “But—”

“You cooked. I’ll clean. That’s the deal now.”

You hesitated, then nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Okay… Thanks.”

Soon, you grabbed your bag to leave, Lando walking you to the door, feeling an odd pang of disappointment as you stepped outside.

“Same time tomorrow then?” You asked, glancing back at him.

Lando grinned. “Only if you’re eating with me again.”

Your smile widened, and for the first time, you didn’t look like you were in a hurry to leave.

“Deal,” You tried to hide your excitement.

“Goodnight.” He smiled.

“Goodnight.”

And as you walked off while he closed the door, Lando was already looking forward to tomorrow.

likes, comments, & reblogs are appreciated!! ^_^ and please lmk if you wanna be apart of my permanent tags list :D

tags! @planetpedri @halfwayhearted @wdcbox @freyathehuntress @iovepoem @piastri-fvx

[116t98]

Close enough welcome back Sanderson sisters

[cutemeat]

sidebar: remember when dee wore a silky, satiny robe similiar to the one barbara had? lolllll

[fideidefenswhore]

soulmate-ism ❤️

[gfwooyo]

cannot stop thinking about yungi youth mv

[remyfire]

In old roleplaying circles, I used to have people get really angry at me because they found a lot of catharsis in taking their characters those agonizing angst without necessarily giving them an end point of healing whereas my characters would always try to prompt that moment of healing—would be an end point they could come to whenever they were ready, would love them through the pain instead of drive it higher—and I don't think I've really changed at all in that regard, and I hope that ends up being all right.

[ay0nha]

Don't Bite the Hand That Feeds | Lucius Verus Aurelius

SUMMARY: "Your brethren trust you, you are the embodiment of redemption.” They spoke around Lucius, spewing anything in hopes of saturating his mind.  “Where is your image of hope? Where is the person who will relieve you of the grief you share with your people? Where is your Empress?"

PAIRING: Lucius Verus Aurelius x f!reader (arranged marriage for political reasons)

WORD COUNT: 2.4K

WARNINGS: canon-typical things, not much, mentions of alcohol, old-timey language, Google-accurate Roman empire things, dancing, arranged marriage, talks of lineage, angsty-ish, quotes from various people like Nina Simone and Octavia Butler sprinkled into dialogue,  etc. 

A/N:  I quickly wrote this in a few days with the amazing help of @astrd00. This is just sort of an introduction to my fic idea so apologies if it's a little boring. Arranged marriage trope sort of colleagues to friends to lovers. Let me know if you'd like to be tagged for future parts. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE comment it really helps me to keep going! More to come, enjoy!

The Latin translates to: a water drop hollows a stone, not by force but by frequent falling.

Everyone clung to the fog of death in the air with stiff fingers, unwilling to let their proof of newly promised freedom go. They celebrated in the streets, disregarding the savagery that occurred only months ago. The public enjoyed the amnesia, looking to Lucius not solely for responsibility but as a new object to place culpability. 

Yet, the heaviness permeated Lucius’ marrow. He hid it well behind the mask of authority. Even a sharp eye would miss the way it restrained him, intentionally ignorant of a flaw in their new leader.

It might have even been seen as a strategic move, a way to humanize the gladiator who seemed to defy the Gods. Strategy outside the arena was new, different from the portrayed brute that dusted his hands with sand. What lay in his palms now was similar to that of a child’s heart, beating rapidly with a not-yet-known burden of life. It was heavy and warm, begging for unwavering loyalty from its possessor. 

Lucius remained delicate with his hold, but the heart wanted more from him. Strength and honor would soon no longer suffice. It needed sustenance worthy of devotion and destruction. His eyes were steady on this phantom heart until those around him required his attention. 

“Emperor—” A magistrate repeated, voice raising enough to tease an echo. The new title sat heavily on Lucius’ shoulders, contorting his body into a position that mimicked Atlas.   “Our suggestion should not be taken lightly, it is for the prosperity of your Rome.”

Scrutiny wasn’t found in his tone or bitterness behind the remark but rather in genuine regard. However, there was an intention behind the ownership of Rome, a hint at the generational promise.  

“The public can wonder, speculate, but they do not see beyond the issue.” He continued, watching the twitch on Lucius’ face. “You may not like the mere thought, but gutta cavat lapidem, non vi sed saepe cadendo.” The magistrate paused, his words lingering. “How much longer until Rome is hollow once again?”

“This order is a fallacy.” Lucius finally made contact, eyes surveying those around him. “There is a need for trust, yes. And yet, you ask for deception?” 

“You misunderstand us, Emperor.” Another member of the senate spoke, hoping to alleviate tension. “There would be no deception in this union, only fortification of the reigning; an image for the people to find themselves in.”

 “Your brethren trust you, you are the embodiment of redemption.” They spoke around Lucius, spewing anything in hopes of saturating his mind.  “Where is your image of hope? Where is the person who will relieve you of the grief you share with your people? Where is your Empress?”

—

You smiled through the wine-fueled chattering of the ceremony, appeasing those who had just witnessed your union, but your focus moved beyond the conversation and revelry.  Above you was a darkened sky that mimicked night. Rain poured down, tempting you to fall prey to its numbing hold. 

The Gods are favoring your union, you were told when the sky opened. Divine intervention.  

But you knew the Gods were fickle, always testing your will against temptation. It was a test sent for you, one that an elaborate wedding and an emperor declaring your shared existence hid well. 

So you ignored the call of the humidity, being dutiful to your new role as empress. People bowed to you and nearly cried at how beautifully you paired with your new counterpart. Even as you sat on the marble throne beside Lucius you couldn’t deny their exactness. 

“Don’t worry, they’ll soon pass out from the wine.” You spoke softly, eyes ahead at your guests as you spoke to your husband. His grip on your hand fidgeted exposing his anxiety.  

Lucius paused, determining if honesty was worthwhile. His self-awareness was enough to remind him how unfamiliar he was with the environment that consumed his senses. 

“It is for them.” You nodded ahead to the crowd. The room was hot from the amount of bodies swirling around.   “Remind yourself of this when their faith falters.”

Lucius looked at you, attention trained on your profile. Even with a soft veil over your features, you were so absolute. 

“I know my purpose here. You are still learning yours.” You continued. “All I ask of you is that when they falter you place your trust in our bond.”

“I will place it where it is due.” There was your gladiator. The defiance comforted you. 

“Those around you are untroubled by that; all they crave is to spit on the fallen. It doesn’t matter if you are one of them, they are quick to turn.” You sharpened. “Be careful; join the sinful and you will be remembered with spite and desperation.”

You spoke of hidden things, of politics that lingered like venom in the bloodstream of the empire. Lucius knew not to mistake your words for ulterior motives. You were direct in your vows to further his image of a new Rome, it was why you were chosen to be by his side. Your mind was clear. You read the room perfectly, unraveling every detail of what was inherited. 

“My legacy does not motivate me,” Lucius stated. His ears attuned to you and you only, enraptured in how deeply you spoke as if it was a common thought. “I will not look to them for fame.” 

“You will, conscious or not. And once you do, you will not be able to look away.” You smiled pitifully as though you knew something he didn’t. “Just as they watched you fight, you misunderstand the impact of what is before you.”

“You believe that little of me?” There was a swirl of censure in his chest despite the small smile pulling at his lips.  

“There is opportunity to win, but that is a fool’s goal—

“To win?” Lucius scoffed. “Even you have been mislead, then. Thinking that there is a conquest waiting to happen.”

“I do not wish to insult you.” Your thumb adjusted against his fingers. It was in your nature to be candid, but at times you placed your frustrations unfairly. You softened. “Your promise of growth will help amend this.”

Lucius wished to pull away from you. He needed to think, to be separated from the feigned festivities adjoined to love. This was love; love created not between two people, but shared by you and him for Rome. 

That was not to say you were birds of a feather. 

Your strengths were found in your experience. Although young, you were no novice to how to hold your chin high while delivering truths to the senate. You learned from your uncle, an official who raised you on the true meaning of government. You were clever. The public viewed you as such. You were of noble status and fit to stand before them. 

What you lacked was a specific connection that Lucius brought to the people. He was one of them, raised humbly, hands worn from the earth’s harvest and war forced upon him. Lucius spoke well to them, building comradery with every way of life. 

“I would never ask you to compromise your beliefs. I know better than to think you’d behave.” You teased at his rebellion, hoping the guard that was up would calm. “Besides, a well-mannered lover is an offense.”

 “We are not lovers.” It was sterile in tone but revealed emotions long since buried.

“And we are not enemies.” You were quick, reading between his words to find the insult. 

“My lord!” A raspy voice begged for attention. “My lady!” 

You stood, bowing politely to the affluent man before you. He took advantage of the night; jewels adorned every finger that pulled at the elaborate fabric of his outfit. 

“It is time.” The rasp withered when he lowered to speak to you directly. His arms went wide as if inviting a hug, but he spun skillfully to face the audience. 

“Time?” Lucius looked to you. 

The man boomed over the forgotten rain. ““It is time!” 

Standing, you didn’t release Lucius’ hand. There was resistance on his end, wanting to remain sedentary and silent to wait out the rest of the night. 

“Our dance.” You answered to his wide eyes. Your guests cheered, clearing space. “It is customary to rise together and move as one. It will complete the ceremony.”

He rose at your words, not much of a choice otherwise than to follow. 

The fabric of your dress swam behind you, kissing the floor with each step toward the middle of the marble floor. The dress looked like water cascading down your body, hiding each bend and swell of your body. Yet, it highlighted something else, something deeper. It was subtle but powerful, like the way a garden seemed to breathe life into a space. 

“May the rain create a river to fertility.” The man held a contagious grin that spread around the room. 

Prosperity and posterity.  This is what they wanted. Lucius alone was not enough. The bloodline was more important than a single figure. It hadn’t needed to be discussed as it was the obvious forethought for your unification. 

The officials of the republic were more concerned about your fecundity and frame than the knowledge you held. It was a typical belief, one that you expected. Your fingers itched to bring your willingness to support the new decree to play and if this was your path to it, so be it.  

You remained clinical at the thought. It was a means to an end rather than something to be meditated on. The way Lucius hardened at the man’s words told a story from another perspective where the political became personal. You did not miss the ring on his pinky that rubbed against a new gold one. 

“Does the great gladiator know how to dance?” Your voice flowed to Lucius only knowing the opportunity rarely presented itself. 

The music shifted from something fast-paced to something more melodic that would encourage you both to move swiftly but attractively. You knew your words would hit a nerve, but it was strategic to motivate Lucius’ hesitant hands. 

“It is a back and forth. A push and pull.” You guided your hand to press against his palm, meeting together as if you were to pray. “Just like the arena, no?”

Lucius’ eyebrows pinched together. Not out of curiosity or frustration. He was genuine in his response. 

“Rarely is a touch this…subdued.” Soft.  

“Shall I spin you in circles, then?” Your painted lips were easier to see now that Lucius was close. He saw as they rose through your veil with the quip. “Disorientate you to the point of submission?”

Your arms weaved behind your back still connected to Lucius’. The dance was simple, one practiced as children. There were very few steps and wistful gestures that even the familiar still enjoyed. 

“Those are my only options? Coercion or blind fealty.” 

It left little room for interpretation or defiance. The statement came without hesitation but held pent-up sentiment veiled by familiar poise. You vetted his blank gaze for proper determination of his upset. 

It was odd to see Lucius so close, your memory had failed to cast such a strong light on him. Once overgrown hair had been trimmed to only curl at the nape of his neck. Dirt was cleared from every line of his face.  He was still rugged, but you saw through the exterior to find a boy.  

A boy who had been stripped of child-like wonderment and care. Instead, he held his broad shoulders high and an expression that lingered from his exile. Lucius’ skin perked every time your dress acted as a barrier between the two of you, a warning that whatever you offered had to be earned.  

“I do not ask much of you, Emperor...” You put it simply, knowing your worth and wisdom. You needed to be promised his word that against anything you would be beside each other.  “...so I will not ask again.”

“You are not satisfied with the trust of the marriage alone,” Lucius stated his question like an observation. “You wish I promise myself to you in ways which I may not be able to provide.” 

“Able or willing?” 

Your faces were close, noses mirroring each other as you turned on beat.  You could feel the warmth of your frustration start in your chest, only to spread across your skin as goosebumps.  

“The past and the future press so hard on either side that there’s no room for the present at all.” You spoke again before he could answer.  “You must decide where you belong.” 

The music returned to Lucius’ ears. Its melody weighed down your words, letting them settle deeply in his mind. His head spun with thoughts busy on reasoning.  Perhaps he was too guarded for his own good, but he’d gotten himself this far relying only on himself. He had held in a great deal. Often he felt he couldn't speak until the waters overflowed their banks and broke through the dam. 

Those around him garnered support, but this was different. You understood what freedom was; it meant no fear. Fear rolled right off of you. Fear was like a pet to you: something you picked up to get a better look at but that you soon grew tired of.

The music slowed coming to an end. Lucius removed his hands from your body but didn’t venture far. His calloused fingertips followed the seam of your soft veil to meet the laced end. Once there, he gently revealed your true manner. 

Your features were accentuated by an internal glow. There was no modesty in your gaze, it shattered any notion of strength. There was no insight into your emotions. What Lucius found was someone gifted. It was a marvel he hadn’t heard of you until you presented yourself as the wise option for him to marry. 

Although you ran in many circles, your name wasn’t whispered among the council. They didn’t believe beauty and wit could fit within the reach of a woman. Yet, here you stood. A new challenge to be accepted. Lucius resisted the urge to swallow quick breaths as if he were going to endure a blow from Viggo. His body agitated in preparation, but looking at you so wholly all he could muster was concession.

 “You have my word.”

[ozzgin]

Santa baby are you really there?!

*hears a voice in my backyard*

FUCK SKIN WALKER

- you make Yan skinwalker i’ll do anything to get a skin walker to love me … yes I am 100% mentally stable

I'm not sure if you had something horror-esque in mind, because my immediate idea was Reader accidentally getting cursed and continuing her life completely unaware with a ""dog"" everyone is freaked out by, but she finds it cute. So more like dark comedy vibes. You be the judge. :D

Disclaimer: I have changed the name to Shapeshifter as to not delve into potentially offensive takes on native folklore. Thank you for informing my European ass.

Yandere!Monster x Reader [Shapeshifter]

On your last hiking trip, you've stumbled upon a helpless, lost dog. Or rather, it stalked you down to your cabin and spent the night in front of your window. You didn't have the heart to abandon the poor soul and so you brought it home with you. Strange things have been happening ever since and no one knows how to tell you that the monstrous coyote-like creature might be to blame. You're oblivious to everything.

Content: female reader, dark comedy, monster romance, reader is cursed and proud

It wasn't your intention to return home with a new pet. Some might say it was written in the stars, this fateful encounter of yours. You had finished packing your supplies for a day-long hike, vehemently refusing to join your group of friends that would be guided around by a native. They’d warned you many areas of the mountainous forest were supposedly cursed or haunted, so you just scribbled the limits on your makeshift map and promised to stay on the main trails. After all, this was your chance to commune with nature. As the sun begun to set, you wondered if going by yourself was indeed a smart idea, given your lack of spatial awareness and difficulty to navigate maps. You flipped the piece of paper several times, deep in contemplation. Could it be that you’ve reached the forbidden lands? You quickly surveyed the area: based on the stuffed rag dolls hanging from old branches, and the animal skulls arranged in patterns among patches of burnt grass, it was very much a possibility. Perhaps the improvised slab that said “Stay away” in dripping crimson letters should’ve been enough of a warning, but you assumed they’d just been creative with trail markers.

You didn’t have the time to panic. Just as you were furrowing your eyebrows in a final attempt to decipher the map (at the time upside-down), your ears picked up a faint shuffle of leaves. Further away stood a dog, its glossy eyes fixated on your form. A lost puppy? It seemed to be on the larger side, but then again some breeds grow rather fast. You lowered yourself and patted your knees, whispering diminutives in an effort to call the animal over. It remained in place, staring quietly. Alright, then. You focused on finding your way back instead. Every now and then you'd turn back and see the dog, motionlessly eyeing you at a constant distance. Oh, dear. Was it lost? Frightening affair.

Back at the cabin you told the others about your discovery, with a hint of worry in your voice. You hoped the little pup had found proper shelter. You'd expected a similar reaction coming from your friends, but one of them suggested: "What if it was some shapeshifting monster? There's many legends and stories from the area." Everyone laughed and you joined hesitantly, mildly annoyed by the lack of empathy. That night you barely slept, twisting and turning under the heavy feeling of being watched. You woke up tired and nervous, dragging your feet towards the window for some fresh air. That's when you saw the same forest creature, fully awake and tall in its glory, positioned before your room. This was no coincidence. You had been plagued by the guilt of abandoning a vulnerable quadruped and you weren't about to continue as a passive observer. You strode out without a word and lifted the large dog with a huff, carrying it back in to figure out the transport logistics.

Thus started the unexpected companionship. To you, it's a lovely tale of two lost souls finding one another. Most people seem to disagree. Can you blame them? The rescued puppy you often speak of is, in the eyes of everyone else, a monstrous beast by all definitions. It resembles a coyote more than a dog, but even this description is too gentle. The fur is always raised threateningly and the protruding clusters of fangs remind one of the anatomical anomalies displayed in museums. The eyes, oh, the worst of all perhaps, bottomless depths that pull you in until you run out of air. The creature stares with the all-knowing gaze of a human. "Don't be rude", you snap at whoever dares to point these details out. "It must be a mixed breed or something."

Their persistence is truly ridiculous. You've even had guests run out in panic, claiming the dog stood on its back legs and whispered in a language unknown. Or that its shadow would morph into a grotesque man with claws and crooked antlers. Or that they've found it hunched over your sleeping form, its spine twisted outwards with jagged peaks breaking through the wild fur. Rubbish, all of it.

Strange things have been happening, no doubt, but your adopted fur-child has no blame to carry. You've been trying to distract yourself, going on dates and occasionally bringing potential suitors over. They all vanish overnight, nonchalantly leaving an empty, ruffled bed for you to wake up to. "Am I just unlucky?" You sigh, running your fingers through the coarse fur of your dog. It lowers itself under your touch, visibly enjoying the affection. For a split second, it glances out the window. By the time you come out of your depressed slump, the birds should've finished feeding on the remains. He made sure to tear and grind everything fine enough to not leave any marks behind.

That's how curses work, after all. He didn't expect, however, that you'd be utterly unaware of it. He has to give you the credit, not many people become stalked by an ancient curse and continue their life in blissful ignorance. Even more, for them to just casually pick up the haunting entity and bring it inside their home willingly...You're, uh, certainly a special one. Hence the change of plans. He was supposed to torment you into an early grave, but he's grown rather attached to your bizarre antics. And you do provide some damn good chin scratches. He's therefore satisfied with causing anguish and destruction to anything and anyone in your immediate vicinity instead. Since you've been complaining about the resulting isolation...

You wake up with a gasp, wiping your drenched forehead and checking the sheets. The dog is curled next to you, although its head is now tilted in your direction. "O-oh. It might be the loneliness talking...but I had the strangest dream." How troubling and embarrassing. Your beloved pet had turned into a deformed, monstrous man instead, pinning you down and hungrily grazing your skin with his sharp teeth. Your fearful protests eventually turned into shameless moans, your frail body at the mercy of the mysterious beast. It unfolded so vividly that your core feels sore. You stretch a sheepish hand towards your pet and abruptly stop halfway, noticing the marks diffused into your wrist, like violet smudges of watercolor. What the hell did you do last night?

The dog buries its head under the sheets and nuzzles its snout into your soft flesh. Heh. How many more disappearing guests will be needed for you to figure out your situation? He does find your obliviousness terribly amusing, as well as your willingness to clutch onto him despite his unsightly appearance. He was feeling particularly cheeky and thought of giving you a little scare, only to be once again taken aback by your neediness. He has to wonder who exactly is trapped in this situation, because your reactions to everything he does are frighteningly tempting. Maybe tonight he'll finally let you know, just as you're about to come undone beneath his heaving body. Something like, hmmm. "By the way, love, this isn't a dream." He could even add a little "woof" to tease you more.

[catcake24]

Celebrations

Summary: based on the Mecha Pilot Jazz Au by @keferon and inspired by the holiday season, primarily Christmas since that is the holiday I personally celebrate every year. JazzProwl fic, mostly fluff.

From what Jazz could tell, it had been roughly a year and a half since he had been flung into space and inadvertently made first contact. So much had happened, it was hard to believe it was so little time – but at the same time, he knew how moments could stretch out into what felt like days.

He had only been outed as an alien organic a few months ago, but he had settled into a new routine. It was hard sometimes, to get all your needs in a base designed for giant robots, but he managed. He had managed for all those months even before he was found out.

But there were still things that couldn’t be recreated out in space – like the holiday celebrations.

It wasn’t anything fancy, but everyone back home that had to be on call during the holidays would put together a little party of their own. They couldn’t get smashed or do anything too stupid, but the white elephant games and helping to a light a Menorah for the first time was good enough.

It gave him the warm fuzzies, along with the worst food coma he’s ever had after eating too much holiday food from the potluck.

But out here? He didn’t even know what kind of holidays Cybertronians had, if they even did have them. He assumed they gotta, but either weren’t celebrating, or this was one of those things that they did on a much longer calendar than a human one.

It was lonely to be the only human, even surrounded by his friends, and the lack of shared holidays just made that worse.

“What’s on your processor?” Prowl asked, jarring Jazz out of his sleepy daydreaming thoughts. He had dozed off a little, and was thinking of the lights and snow from back home.

“Oh, it’s nothing Prowler,” Jazz said with a smile, “just thinking of home.”

“Hmn,” Prowl said, contemplative expression on his metal face. It was very handsome to see, when he was trying to work through a problem in his processor.

“It’s okay,” Jazz said, giving a pat to Prowl’s large hand near him. “I’m happy to be here, I just miss some things from home.”

Prowl shifted his attention away from his work, leaning on the desk. It was hard to describe just how large Prowl was sometimes, not just in physical size but presence. He could take up an entire room without even trying, drawing all the light towards him.

He was an absolute catch, even if he happened to be an alien older than dirt that could turn into a car. Sometimes Jazz wonders when the ridiculous became mundane, or how he was so lucky be able to know Prowl.

“Tell me about it,” Prowl said, looking at Jazz with a considerable expression.

Jazz hummed lightly as he thought about where to start, and decided that the holidays were a good place to start – as it was already on his mind.

“Well… around now, it would be winter, what we call the holiday season. We have so many different celebrations around that time, but my family -er, clan, always celebrated Christmas,” Jazz then looked up, considering how to explain it.

“Christmas is a festival, celebrated near the winter solstice – when the day reaches it’s shortest. There were a few different explanations for it, but it was mostly about giving eachother gifts, getting together with family, and eating food.”

“We also would string up lights across houses and buildings, since the days were so short it would light up whole streets. My folks used to walk up and down all of our neighbours, handing out sugar cookies,” he smiled to himself, remembering how his mom would bundle him up for the Washington winters and how he loved to watch all the houses with blinking lights, reflecting off the white snow.

“There were others too of course, but I still have a soft spot for Christmas,” Jazz admitted.

Prowl was listening intently, nodding along. “I see, we did similar things in Praxus before the war.”

Jazz perked up, “Really? What was it like?”

“Well… We celebrated once every half vorn. You see, Cybertron’s orbit around the sun was tilted in such a way that our city would be completely in darkness for periods of time. We celebrated the ends of those periods with a festival, where we would hang lights on the crystal gardens and bake crystal treats,” Prowl said, him having a turn at being wistful. "We all gathered together to see the sun rise after all the darkness, and we would have a day off to bask in the first new day."

Jazz smiled, “It sounds nice.”

Prowl nodded, “It was. I’m sorry you can’t attend your Christmas Festival, it sounds important to you.”

Jazz shrugged, “It’s okay, I’m happy to spend the time with you.”

Prowl smiled then, rare and soft and genuine. It couldn’t replace what Jazz missed, but it did help a little.

[chiasfeu]

as a retired ff writer ive come out of hibernation bc the lack of smallville clark kent ffs is unacceptable tom welling is toooooo fine

sorry for all the grammatical errors i wrote this all at once and didn’t reread

part two

SECRET ADMIRER - clark kent x reader

Fumbling the lock of your locker, you sigh; you were on your fifth day at smallville high school and you weren’t ecstatic to say the least. After your dad had gotten into some legal trouble with LutherCorp your family had to move out of Metropolis to somewhere more safe.. more remote. Adjusting to the rural life of smallville had proven to be difficult and the people seemed strange. Slamming a fist against your locker you try again, meticulously turning the lock of the locker. Click. As you open the doors of the locker, a piece of paper slowly falls out.

Picking it up you read your name in bright red across the folded up piece of paper, you smile to yourself thinking, my very own secret admirer..

Maybe smallville won’t be so boring.

—————

Sipping on your coffee, you annotate your copy of the scarlet letter for English class. “Hey! y/n right?” A friendly voice calls out. You look up from your book, smiling. “Yeah! you must be Lana?” She nods, “I see your getting ready for the English exam, you need any help?” You glance at your book before starting, “I’m good for now.. I’ll let you know if I have any questions!” She smiles again before turning away to walk back behind the counter. Your eyes follow her as she talks to the costumers by the counter, they look familiar— a blonde girl with short wispy hair, and two other guys beside her.

You almost jump out of your own seat when you lock eyes with one of the boys, has he been looking at me this whole time? You think, embarrassed, quickly focusing on your book again. Although you’ve looked away you can still feel his gaze lingering on you.

“Hi.” You’re startled as you hear the voice, looking up at the boy that was staring at you from across the room. Before you can reply he starts, “You’re in my first period Bio class.. you know.. with Jenkins..” You blink, waiting for him to continue. He gulps, “uh well Jenkins is really tough.. and we have our first quiz next class so I was wondering if you would want any help….?” You smile sweetly, what is it with small town folks being so eager to help out? “Yeah I would really like that actually,” He smiles, almost in a relived way. “Great. You’re actually my new neighbor so I’ll just come over to help out,” He says before turning away. You cock your head to the side before saying, “Wait.” He turns around, facing towards you, “I never got your name,” you say.

“Clark Kent.”

—————

You’re sitting on your bed as you peer up at Clark while he explains how to convert moles into grams, “So you’re going to divide the number of particles by Avogrados number..” You yawn tuning him out, your eyes fall the paper that slipped out of your locker earlier today. I still haven’t read that note. You grab the note, opening it up, “y/n are you listening to me.” He says clearly frustrated. “Sorry Clark..” you say apologetically smiling, he notices the paper in your hands and nervously looks back up at you. “What is that?” He says, shifting around in his seat, looking intently at your face. You smile lightly, giggling, “It’s a letter from my secret admirer.” He visibly relaxes, “Oh.. I take it you like having one?” You nod shrugging, “makes smallville a lot more interesting than it could be.” He fake winces, “Smallville is a lot more interesting than you think.” You raise your eyebrows unconvinced, “Really? You’ll have to show me what’s so ‘interesting’ one day.” He smiles glancing down, “Maybe I will.”

You look at Clark’s notebook and your eyebrows furrow, the handwriting looking strikingly similar to the one in the note you found this morning. “Clark..” “Hm?” He looks up at you, “Do you possibly happen to know whoever wrote me that note?” He scratches his head, “No? Why would I?…” You shrug, “Just curious..” He awkwardly smiles before writing in his notebook again. You shift your position on your bed, scooting closer to him, “Clark, it’s ok you can tell me if you do know…” you bring your hand to his exposed forearm caressing it. He coughs before breathlessly stating, “I really don’t know who wrote it, y/n.” You push up against him, drawing circles up his arms, “Hm.. that really is too bad..” He swallows dryly, “yeah?” You nod slowly, “yeahhh.. I would’ve gone along with everything they wrote in that letter..” There’s a moment of silence as he looks at you. He shuts his eyes, sighing hard before confessing, “I wrote it.”

You grin mischeviously, running a hand through his hair, “You really didn’t have to lie, Clark..” He opens his eyes to look at you, his cheeks red from embarrassment, “y/n” “hmm?” You hum, tilting your head bringing your lips closer to his. He glances at them, sighing heavily before parting his lips to say something. He’s cut off by you pressing your lips against his, you feel his body relax into yours, his hands sliding up your back and his lips pushing deeper into the kiss. You pull away from the kiss, your hands holding Clark’s head; using your thumb you wipe lipstick off of Clark’s swollen lips as he looks at you longingly.

Yoau press your lips together, suppressing a giggle, “Hmm it’s getting late.. how about we pick back up tomorrow?”

[lujingheswife]

eyes of silver and gold

soulmate au! everyone has heterochromia, one eye is your natural colour the other is your soulmate’s natural colour. once you meet eye contact, all eyes return to its natural colour.

featuring: neuvillette

word count: 1075

cw: soulmate!au, reader is a liyue adeptus, gn!reader, reader’s eyes are GOLD because GOLD, traveler can be lumine or aether (they/them pronouns), intentional lowercase, not proofread

author’s notes: super duper rushed IM SORRY,,,, this could be written better but yeah 😭😭 i’ll do better next time !!! (i love soulmate aus)

_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

neuvillette blinked at the reflection of himself on the mirror for the nth time. it was not the first time he had done so, but every time he observed the eyes of the citizens of fontaine it made him question what made his soulmate so special.

because one thing for sure, he was almost certain his soulmate was not human.

the chief justice knew the eyes of a human when he sees one. their round iris, and the common eye colours of brown or blue could easily tell that they’re merely human.

however, his soulmate’s eye replacing his left one did not look like the eyes of a human. it was an unnatural colour, usually similar to the eye colours of those who wield a vision. what caught his attention though, was the pattern of his soulmate’s eye that stood out amongst the others. like how his eyes are of a dragon’s, and lady furina’s eyes are of dewdrops, his soulmate’s eye, igniting a warm colour, shouted gold.

the first thing he had in mind was the land of gold where the geo element usurper resided. he knew liyue was a land of the adepti, where many immortals who once battled in the archon war still lived in the mountains of amber.

yet for centuries living as the hydro dragon, he had never once encountered his soulmate.

was it because of the distance between them? it was understandable, after all, for an adeptus to remain loyal to their homeland.

he had visited liyue a few times but failed to find this soulmate of his. maybe they were not residing in liyue after all?

neuvillette chose to let fate decide.

he heaved a small sigh as he turned away from the mirror, back to his office desk to continue checking the documents for the next trial.

“monsieur neuvillette!” a loud, squeaky voice which he knew belonged to a certain floating alien chimed through the door. he watched as surprisingly, only paimon, flew her way into his office with an excited expression.

he blinked confusedly at her unusual demeanour. “miss paimon,” he called, “how may i assist you today?”

he allowed her to take her time as she panted heavily. “your—“ she looked up at him and he swore he saw her eyes sparkling a lot brighter than usual. “my?” he asked.

“soulmate! we found your soulmate!! they’re outside!” paimon exclaimed excitedly.

neuvillette’s world stopped for a millisecond, for he had not known that his soulmate had just traveled kilometres from the southern liyue to the northern fontaine. he did not realize his legs moved on his own, allowing paimon to drag him by the sleeve towards the outside of the opera house.

“monsieur?” he heard paimon called before snapping himself out of his thoughts. he noticed her looking at him in concern, realizing he had stopped his tracks right by the door. “are you okay?” she asked.

is he okay? he wondered the same.

he felt an uncomfortable feeling in his chest, as if someone— or something, was banging the drums inside. he felt the drums getting louder and faster, and he could not feel his legs anymore.

he inhaled sharply. “i’m perfectly fine, miss paimon,” he paused in between, “well, let’s meet my… soulmate, shall we?”

his gaze turned towards the entrance of the door, sensing the melusine looking at him eagerly as she patiently waited for him to get ready. “monsieur neuvillette! are you going out?” she asked.

he nodded. “yes, i am. thank you very much.”

the melusine by the door clapped her hands excitedly as she immediately skipped towards the door knob before opening it for him. “well then, enjoy meeting them, monsieur!”

neuvillette watched the door opens before the light outside instantly came greeting him in an embrace.

and the first thing that entered his vision was a pair of heterochromatic eyes that matches his.

you were there with the traveler, dressed in foreign attire not befitting of fontaine. your vision clinging onto your waist like a proud medal. you were by the entrance, surrounded by melusines who were saying how your eyes match their chief justice. he watched how your confused expression tries to have a conversation with the little melusines while the traveler laughed next to you.

the cute moment did not last when the melusines notice the presence of their chief justice, immediately rushing towards him excitedly wanting to ask him about his soulmate. yet his widened eyes had locked with yours, watching your eye adorned with his blueish-purple colour slowly changing back to gold— the familiar gold that greeted him every morning in front of the mirror.

“monsieur neuvillette! your eyes!” he heard a melusine exclaimed, their hands holding his sleeve as they jumped happily.

he blinked confusedly at the tugs of his sleeves when a melusine appeared with a mirror in their hands. they showed a reflection of himself where his eyes were back to his original form— the mixture of silver, blue and purple.

he averted his attention to his soulmate who seemed to be doing the same. you were looking at your own reflection, realizing your eye has reverted to its original form. he watched your surprised expression until you noticed his attention had diverted towards you.

your flushed expressions felt a little foreign to the iudex of fontaine, but he was certainly relieved at the sight of your comfortable state in a foreign region.

he gave you a sincere smile as he placed a hand over his chest as a form of greeting.

“greetings. i’m neuvilette, chief justice and iudex of fontaine. it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

since birth, neuvillette never understood the concept of soulmates until he was given a chance to experience such phenomenon. from when he had awoken to a change in his appearance to encountering the partner that was given to him by fate, it was a surprise that a being like him could have one too.

in fact, his own soulmate was not mortal either. an adeptus originating from the land of gold, you began your exploration in the continent with the fellow traveler when they could not stop persuading you to follow them to meet someone.

a smile was formed on your lips in return as you introduced your name to him, which sounded nice to his ears. “and it’s a pleasure to meet you too, mister neuvillette.”

maybe he could give this concept a try.

_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

[sayuri-of-the-valley]

On how Crowley and Aziraphale felt during the kiss (but mainly Crowley here):

Ok so first, the main idea for this huge meta is that a LOT of us noticed how the music from the kiss scene is similar to the nebula one, right?

Second, a lot of us also correctly noticed the parallels between the kiss and how it was to taste food for the first time for Aziraphale: bc of his reactions, the hand on lips, the similar way MS acted both scenes, the little inhale etc. So how was it for Crowley?

Aziraphale's reaction to the kiss is practically a puzzle to solve on its own, so it's fun to analyse it, but basically, in a few words, Aziraphale kissed Crowley and he discovered he was physically starving for him, longing for him, yearning for him, for his kiss, and he had no idea. Just like with the ox. And now he needs to gorge himself in him but he can't. Great amazing heartbreaking chef's kiss someone give MS an Emmy.

But there's already so much amazing meta out there about Aziraphale x Ox ribs x The Kiss that I want to focus on Crowley here, and on the music.

So back to the music. The song in "Before the Beginning" and the song that plays during The Kiss (I Forgive You + Don't Bother) are so similar. They're not *exactly* the same, but they're totally reminiscent of each other. The viewer is immediately reminded of those chords that played in the opening scene. It's no coincidence that the fandom was talking about this fact only minutes after first watching those final fifteen minutes. This is an obvious intentional choice for storytelling reasons (David Arnold is a genius).

I have no expertise whatsoever when it comes to music, so I asked our friend @otsanda to see if that made sense and not only it does and she explained it, but she also uncovered so much more hidden meaning in all of it (musicians are amazing), so check out her meta about the music that not only serves as evidence to what I'm proposing here but it also has so much more juicy information in it 💖.

Back to the point: WHY thought? Why choose a similar song? Why intentionally COMPOSE a similar song for that moment?

Hear me out. WHAT IF, by reminding the audience of the creation of the nebula, they meant to convey to us that, for Crowley, kissing Aziraphale gave him the same feeling that creating his stars did?

THAT'S what the music is telling us. THAT'S why it makes us remember "Before the Beginning". It may sound cheesy, but Crowley may have literally seen stars when he kissed Aziraphale. He couldn't react accordingly (just like Aziraphale couldn't), bc it was an overwhelming and extremely sad moment (the music is also telling us that) for both of them. They knew it was ending . They were both having a moment of huge revelation that was fated to not come to completion. Crowley was right, it was too late.

It makes sense to show Crowley's feelings through the music, bc he was the one who started the kiss, and also he was wearing sunglasses in that scene, it's different from a character like Aziraphale that has all his million expressions for everyone to see at all times. And they've been doing this ever since s1 with the Queen songs that play in his car or in the background.

So my point is: the same song being used there makes me wonder if kissing Aziraphale finally gave him what he lost. His purpose. What Aziraphale was trying to give back to him by taking him back to heaven. There's no need for Heaven. Just kiss him, Aziraphale, and there he'll find the stars you want to give back to him. There you will one day see that smile on his face you saw Before The Beginning. Neil Gaiman and David Arnold I am in your walls 😭

This is what may lead us to see this happiness in Crowley again (not the action of kissing itself, of course, but what it represents to their relationship, them being together, them being an Us).

As @otsanda said: from the music we can interpret that that moment was a Revelation for them. Almost a religious experience. Crowley found his purpose again. What he'd been missing the whole season (or even his whole life since the Fall, but we've seen him especially depressed this season).

I'm not even getting into the poetry of how one can interpret the parallel to the angel's reaction to the kiss as carnal, and the demon's as religious; that would be another whole essay but let's just agree that it's incredibly beautiful. (Let me be clear that I mean here Aziraphale's reaction is carnal specifically for Crowley, and Crowley's is religious specifically for Aziraphale, not religious as in "worshipping god")

"Do you ever wonder what's the point?" Crowley asked in s2e1. The point, for him, is Aziraphale (if you've seen The Good Place you know what I mean). I hope he figured this out with that kiss, even as heartbreaking as it was. Even if it was a (temporary) separation kiss. (I hope Aziraphale figures this out with time too, that he's more than enough to make Crowley happy, that Crowley doesn't need Heaven, or stars, that Crowley needs him.)

Maybe that's why Crowley didn't leave and kept waiting outside until the very last moment.

Aziraphale and Crowley both bit the apple at the end of s2. There's no turning back from that Knowledge now.

Edit: I just have to add here this brilliant colour analysis of the nebula scene by @halemerry. And it's pointed out that during the nebula formation there's a moment when it looks like two people embracing. And the fact that a similar song is used in the actual Kiss scene I just... I have no words

[un-lawliet]

“He Knows”

— in which you’re avoiding Gojo and he wants you to tell him why.

(or i’m coping with rejection rn pls god help me)

“You’re avoiding me.”

“Huh?!” You jump back, almost dropping your pen as you turn to see frowning Gojo Satoru staring down at you expectingly, the usually relaxed demeanour he wore crumbling in the slight dip in his brow.

It wasn’t a question, Gojo stated it as fact, and if you looked hard enough, the downwards tilt of his lips could tell you about his complete (and utter) disapproval in his conclusion.

“I have no idea what you mean.”

You were running, sprinting even away from your problems.

Avoid, avoid avoid.

You refused to let it come to this, cornered in a library with Gojo Satoru, a man you definitely were not avoiding, nope not at all.

“You.” Gojo leans down, capturing your eyes in his, “Are avoiding me.”

And you’re leaning back, in your seat, away from him. Attempting to create any distance between the pair of you, unable to stand the giddy rush of joy that the proximity generated.

A moment passed.

And then another.

And deep down you pleaded, with conviction similar to that of a desperate man crying out for God, that the floor would fall in, taking you with it and allowing you some leeway to escape.

Gojo cocks his head, blue eyes scanning your panicked face before he sighs and stands back up again, resuming his position of elevation before you.

“Why?” His voice lacked the sentiment of interrogation, he couldn’t find in himself to dwindle on anger, he missed you and he selfishly wanted you to know it, to feel guilt in your mistreatment.

“Gojo.” You started, moving your eyes away from his face to glare at the book your reading instead.

Were you sweating? You felt like you were. Oh God.

Jujutsu sorcerers were not supposed to fall for another, it was an unspoken rule shared between sorcerers.

An unspoken rule that constantly plagued your thoughts when you were near Gojo. And so, you decided confidently to yourself that you could easily get over this silly personal flaw. Surely it would be easy.

But Gojo isn’t an easy man, and falling out of love with him followed that damn trend.

At every turn of your head, your gaze found his, longing for him to catch your eyes and reassure you with his presence, boisterous, like how he handles everything. And at night, when you tossed and turned, the cruel Summer heat forcing you to wither in your bed, you wondered if he could ever dream of you like how you longed for him.

It was pathetic really.

And so yes maybe you were avoiding him.

But you were doing it with good intentions!

You weren’t about to burden him with your childish wish for his unreturned feelings. Not in this world, under these circumstances, not when he was already holding the weight of being the strongest.

“Is there something bothering ya?” Gojo paused, “Cause y’know you only have t’ ask, and I could take care of it.”

And you wanted to cry.

Because Gojo Satoru is loud, and unabashedly himself, but he cares in silence, through actions hidden behind a loud laugh and a cocky grin.

“No, no it’s nothing really.” You had to do something, to say anything.

“Nothing? I haven’t seen you in days Y/N.”

“I’ve just been busy…” You mumble, fidgeting awkwardly in your chair.

“Oh yea? With what? Reading?” Gojo scoffed, his shoulders dropping in poorly hidden exasperation.

Your cheeks burned as you nodded, unable to form words, “And missions too I guess.”

“I asked Yaga, you haven’t been on a mission since September.”

Fuck.

“Preparations for missions then.” You cringed at yourself, lowering your head in the shame of being caught in your own shitty lie.

“Come on Y/N cut the bullshit.” Gojo all but whines, “I know somethings off, I know you.” You look at him then, his shoulder slumped, and face pouting, and you felt horrible.

“It’s really nothing Gojo I swear.”

“See there!” Gojo jumped, his eyes wide with determination, a look you only ever see on him in the middle of a mission. “You called me Gojo, you never do that, it’s Satoru to you, just Satoru.”

“You’re upset because I’m not calling you by your first name?” You asked, unable to break eye contact with him.

“You use to call me Satoru.” He huffs, crossing his arms.

You had to get out of there, the fact that your confession was all but resting on your tongue scared you beyond words, and you moved to pick up your stuff.

Then you felt his hand touch yours and your froze.

“What’s going on inside that head of your Y/N.” He was so close, so, so close. You could feel the warmth of his chest that was almost pressed against your arm, “Please.”

And you crumbled, because your weak and you could never escape the way you felt when he was near you, how you could barley hold yourself back from leaning into his chest and breathing in his scent.

“Satoru.” You whispered, your confession hushed, your head down and eyes closed, “I think I like you.”

And silence.

Silence.

Silence

And you were running walking away, avoid, avoid, avoid, your feet moving fast, abandoning the books you had brought because oh my god you had just told Satoru Gojo that you liked him and that was stupid, you’re stupid, everything was stupid and-

You were pulled back into him, effortlessly turned around so that your face was in his chest, the sound of his chuckling encasing your shameful state.

“The fuck are you laughing for?” You protested, unsuccessfully trying to wriggle your way out of his embrace, his arms circling you close.

“You’re pretty when you’re embarrassed y’know?”

And you had to hold yourself back from punching him right then and there, because of course Satoru Gojo knew you liked him, of course he was teasing you.

Nothing can escape those damn eyes, and he’s smarter than he lets on.

“You’re such an asshole I hope you know that, as soon as I leave this room I am never speaking to-’

Your rambles were cut short when you felt a tiny kiss on your forehead, and you finally looked at him fully, only to see the softest expression on his face as he looked down at you.

“I think I like you too Y/N.” He winked, his hand tracing the indent of your spine as he pulled you back into a hug, rocking you gently.

And you hugged him back, finally allowing yourself the closure you had dreamed of for months.

End.

feel free to leave a request !!

masterlist here <3

( authors note: do we all wanna hear a mini rant about how the girl i fucking adore just got a boyfriend and my heart is in SHAMBLES- anyway i wrote this to cope pls enjoy,,, i love u thank u for reading have a great day <3 )

[temiizpalace]

Ooh, maybe #6 with the tweels for the new event?

☆┊FIGHT ME. LIKE, ACTUALLY. (🦈 vs🐬)

SUMMARY: IT SEEMS THE ONLY WAY TO WIN YOUR LOVE WAS WITH A NICE SOLID QUICK LEFT HOOK TO THE JAW! (THEY FIGHT).

CHARACTERS: floyd leech vs. jade leech

EVENT MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: no determined end couple, jealousy, violence (punching and stuffs), minor blood

NOTES: leech twins fight is crazy. i appreciate you, anon. thank you for your request!

reader is g/n, reader is yuu

˚∘☆∘˚

jade was a patient man.

very patient. he’ll wait as long as he has to for something, including your love. he’ll do anything he needs to to win your love. tend to you, defend you, fight for you, serve you, just name it and it’s already done. he knew human courting rituals were far different from those of a moray eels, but he’s oh so willing to learn just for you.

his brother on the other hand..

impatient. if floyd wants something, he wants it then and there. which also includes your love and attention. if you don’t speak to him within 10 seconds of calling your name, he will pout about it and make everyone else’s day horrible. while this was usually where jade got most of his entertainment of the day, knowing his brother chose the same person to be his mate was incredibly irritating.

especially whenever he’s trying to court you. seven forbid..

“prefect, there you are.” jade smiles, standing behind you with a bag in his hands. “hm? oh, hi jade. need something?” you ask, noticing his body language is much more chipper than usual. “i actually have gotten something for you. a token of my gratitude and an invitation of sorts.” he hands you the gift bag, the weight being much heavier than you anticipated.

“woah! what’s in here?” you raise your brow, looking up at jade to ensure this wasn’t some prank. you knew that jade liked stupid jokes as much as his twin, despite his gentlemanly appearance. “you doubt me? how cruel, id never lie to you.” he wipes away a tear, a sad look on his face that was more than obviously fake.

“mhm.” you hum, looking through the bag. there were terrariums, small potted plants, packets of flower seeds, just anything and everything a gardener could hope for. “oh wow.. this is all for me?” you ask, trying to calculate the cost in your head.

“why, certainly. as i said before, this is a token of my gratitude and an invitation. i was wondering if you’d like to—”

“boo! there ya are shrimpyyy!” floyd giggles, wrapping his arms around you tightly. “GAH—! FLOYD, YOU SCARED ME.” you shout in return, unaware of jade’s murderous glare. “just what i was goin for! what’s in the bag?” he asks, already rummaging through it. “floyd.” jade states, his tone stern and slightly annoyed if you listened closely.

“hm? oh it’s from jade ain’t it? probably a ton of terrariums or somethin boring.” floyd scoffs, looking to his brother. jade couldnt help his eyebrow from twitching, finding his twins antics much more annoying than it usually was. normally this would provide entertainment, not fuel to a fire. “well, i think it’s a sweet gesture.” you shrug, fiddling with the handles of the bag.

“whatever. just a buncha leaves.” he mumbles, feeling his jade’s smug expression burning a hole into his head. your phone buzzes in your pockets before jade can comment, your eyes widening as a sign of your concern. “sorry guys, gotta run. grim got his ear stuck in a mousetrap and i don’t even wanna know how.” you sigh, running off with a wave.

the twins stare at each other, the silence awkward for the first time in forever. “alright jade, fess up. i know you’re tryna court the shrimp.” floyd grunts, jade only laughing smugly in response. “let’s not act like you don’t have similar intentions, floyd. you won’t believe how difficult it is if you’re always there to interject.” jade feigns distraught, knowing floyd doesn’t buy it.

“womp womp, not my fault im tryna court em at the same time as you.” he frowns, sticking it his tongue in retaliation. the tensions in the air were high. just stepping into the same room was enough to intimate the bystanders.

their antics continued for the whole day. floyd could come up to you, smiles and all, only for it to be dissipated as jade entered the room and swept you away. same thing for jade. he could be explaining to you the different types of mushrooms from his well tended garden, before sending his brothers presence a moment too late. floyd stomps in, picking you up, and running off. poor you, it’s been like this all week.

“i know you’re going to see em, jade. quit hogging!” floyd whines, shoving his twin out of the way as he tried walking out of the mostro lounge. “i wouldnt have to if you just waited your turn rather than be a thorn in my side.” jade scoffs, pushing his brother off of him. “haah? you askin to be squeezed? been awhile since we fought.” floyd scowls, grabbing his brothers arm.

“oya? id like to see you try.” jade chuckles, grabbing floyd’s in an attempt to toss him to the side. however, he doesn’t go down easily. floyd quickly grabs his brothers hand before he could strike, kneeing him in the stomach harshly. jade winced at the pain, but couldn’t give up now. not when his pearl is on the line.

floyd tries locking him into a hold, but jade was a quick thinker with quick reflexes. he elbows floyd aggressively, kicking him to the ground as he was stunned. floyd drags jade down, letting him hit the cold marble floor. they hit each other against the ground as blood trickled down their noses. floyd had stamina for days, but knew when he hit his limits. he free spirited, not stupid.

red stained the floors as panicking students ran to the board game club in hopes azul would stop this mess. luckily, someone else was able to manage things. “JADE AND FLOYD LEECH, WHAT THE SEVEN IS WRONG WITH YOU TWO?!” the boys stopped in their fighting, turning towards the entrance of the lounge. it was you.

walking towards them with a frown, you separate the two from each other, tutting in disapproval. “what has gotten into you both lately?! all you guys ever do is fight now, i never thought it’d get like this.” you sigh, dragging them both by the hand into the kitchen. “oh my, it’s quite embarrassing for you to see me in such a state.” jade sighs, glaring at his equally beat up twin.

“tell me about it. if only someone didn’t try to rock my shit.” he hissed, wanting to grab at his brother for a second time. “don’t even think about it,” you groan, grabbing the first aid kit from the counters. you sat them onto the barstools outside and began to rub alcohol onto their wounds. bite marks, bruises, scars, scratches, just all kinds of injuries.

“i apologize for having you do this.” jade looks at you apologetically, actually looking genuine for once. “hehe, shrimpy it burns!” floyd giggles as the cotton swab grazed over his cuts. “don’t mention it, but you should probably get some guys to clean up before azul sees the blood on the floor.”

“of course. at your service.” jade smiles, bowing before you jokingly before ruffling your hair. “fineee. cleanings borin but azul forcing me to wait extra tables sounds worse.” floyd sighs, giving you a quick squeeze before grabbing a mop and bucket.

and as if on cue, you could hear azul scream in horror at the mess of his dining hall.

A/N: idk how to fight 🧍🧍

date published: 8/30/24

© temiizpalace — do not copy, steal, or put my work into ai. thank you!

[tinyfantasminha]

HIIIII ur oc is so cute i love her 🥺 her dynamic with jamil looks so funny could you elaborate on ur thoughts 👉👈

HAHA... yall yearn for some toxicity...

Recommended to read her OC intro/lore for context

No one knows why or how Vic’s attraction to Jamil began (I mean can you blame her?) At first glance, it might seem hypocritical for someone like Vic, who values raw honesty above all else, to be into someone who constantly hides his true feelings and intentions. But Vic is highly perceptive; she sees through Jamil's polite masks and recognizes the similarities between them. It’s his rare moments of unfiltered honesty (when his sharp tongue slips or his composure cracks) that make her swoon 🥰 On the other hand, when he’s overly polite or uncharacteristically kind, she finds it unsettling and even a little disturbing. It feels insincere and unnatural... ''T-That's not Jamiru...''

Jamil's opinion on her is that she's just a little weird. She reminds him a bit of Ace with her mischievous tendencies, which is precisely why he doesn’t trust her around Kalim. (She has a habit of charming Kalim into giving her “small” sums of money).

Still, while she can be... a little inconvenient sometimes, Jamil doesn't hate her, not at all!! In fact, Jamil would never admit just how much her constant attention and praise inflate his ego. Her enthusiasm for even his smallest successes leaves him secretly flattered, though he’s careful not to show it. He may even take advantage of her willingness to help him when it suits his needs...... she’s too eager to be useful to him for him not to 🤭

Despite his cool demeanor, he isn’t entirely heartless when it comes to her. His attentive nature means he’s quick to notice when she’s in trouble, and he sometimes finds himself worrying about her safety. That said, there’s a darker part of him, a tiny, selfish voice, that sometimes wonders if it’d be easier to just leave her to her fate. For example, if she were kidnapped, (basically the NBC event ig??) his initial instinct would be to rescue her. But then, the little devil on his shoulder might whisper, ''Just leave her. Think of the peace and quiet. No more headaches!'' while his conscience, his inner angel, would protest, ''You’d never forgive yourself if you left her!'' In the end, Jamil almost always listens to the angel, albeit with a heavy sigh and gritted teeth.

overall fun facts

Jamil seems to run into Vic more often than he'd like. While he’s pretty sure she’s not stalking him, the sheer frequency of their encounters feels like a cruel cosmic joke... He detests the way she greets him ''Hi, Jamiru~'' in that same overly sweet, breathless tone every single time.

He’s lost count of how many times he’s been jumpscared by her presence in the Scarabia lounge, usually because Kalim invited her over for dinner. Of course, Kalim never listens to Jamil's constant ''stop interacting with her so much'' speeches.

He now has a double reason to not get near the game board club (🐙🐙🐙)

Ace is quick to notice her blatant favoritism when she comes to watch their basketball matches, complaining that she always cheers for Jamil and not for him. Jamil pretends not to care of course, but we all know he basks in the attention.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Carpe Diem | Michael Gavey x fem!reader

Summary: After himself being ditched by Oliver, they meet once again. Both seemingly skirting around what happened in the Common Room when they last saw one another. | Word Count: 5.1k~ (oops) | Warnings below the cut!

Part One: Quid Pro Quo Part Three: Veni, Vidi, Vici

warnings: virgin michael, oral sex (f receiving), fingering

A/N: I feel...like the word count is overboard but FUCK IT it's my blog 😈

“Greek and Latin both belong to the Indo-European language family, which does not necessarily mean they are similar. The branches are totally different. Whereas Latin belongs to the Romance branch, Greek belongs to the…”

She half-listens to the lecture, caught between Professor Wardon’s monotone ramblings and scribbling whatever bits and pieces she can string together in swirly handwriting, trying to ignore Trevor two rows in front of her, typing loudly on his brand new Macbook that he no doubt got from his well-off parents for Christmas.

Pencil and paper for the peasants, she thinks bitterly.

The laptop she has back in her dorm is clunky, too thick for carrying in her bag, and any notes she makes now will have to be typed up meticulously later. She supposes it’s a good way of getting the information to be irreparably printed into her brain though. That’s the only thing keeping her from going insane.

Which is where she finds herself now, in the wee hours of the morning, her fingers so tired and eyes so strained she feels that all the letters and characters are beginning to merge together.

She's just about to close the damn thing when a notification blares in the bottom right corner of her screen.

‘m_gav_314159265359 is now online’

She presses her lips together to stifle a laugh at the username, it makes her giggle every time. Of course his username is fucking Pi.

After their little ‘happening’ in the Common Room, they'd talked for a bit over MSN, sometimes texting when she had enough credit and even more rarely meeting up at Trinity College campus. Their timetables never seemed to line up very often, so their meetings were quick and over before they could even get settled into really getting to know each other.

It felt strange to have done something so exciting and yet not really know someone.

The memory made her blush. She was never usually that impulsive and brazen. But she didn't regret it.

Everytime Michael saw her, his cheeks flushed almost without her even needing to try. And it felt nice to see someone act like that in her presence.

After lectures had started after Christmas into the New Year and then into Spring, she found herself somewhat self-conscious. Second guessing herself. Wondering if the freedom and calmness of the holiday period had given him a new sense of clarity.

After all, he'd not spoken to her once since lectures had started again.

A heaviness weighed in her chest, bitterly like rejection.

Maybe she was delirious from the time of night, but she felt a surge of courage, desperately wanting to just know if this was going to be more or not.

She felt her cheeks heat somewhat, rubbing the backs of her knuckles against her lips. There was no time to reply before he sent another.

And if what he'd said before didn't make her face burn, that certainly did. She nearly smirked when she thought to herself, 'you mean when I sucked you off in the Common Room?'

But she didn't type that. She decided to have mercy on him, if only a little.

His replies were so blunt and to the point that they were so quintessentially Michael. She found herself wondering if what he'd typed before had been for the intention of making her blush, but she doubted it. He seemed the type to be somewhat oblivious to how words could affect the opposite sex.

Or anything to do with the opposite sex for that matter.

Her stomach fluttered with excitement as she typed off a few quick goodbyes and with a soft, plastic tap, shut her laptop for the night.

“There are no fit guys in my class this semester, fucking livid,” Priya rolls her eyes, nursing a stale pint and a cigarette.

“Did you really expect Modern Languages to be teeming with attractive men?” She smirks in response.

“No. But I at least expected a good shag within the first three months.”

“Does they have to be within our course?”

“No, course not. I'm not lazy as fuck. Can’t be arsed to go off campus.”

She laughs, waving the smoke trail that's formed between their faces, the smell of cigarettes and damp, beer-soaked carpets fill her senses, nursing the only pint she's capable of downing.

“Don't shit where you eat, Priya.”

“Don't you fuckin’ start,” she grins with all her perfect teeth before checking her phone, “fuck, is that the time. Sorry mate you've got like half your pint left-”

“Don't be silly, just go. Whoever you're meeting is bound to have a bigger cock than me anyway.”

“You're a nasty bitch, you know that?” she smiles, standing and pulling her mini-skirt down, “see you later? Catch up?”

“Wouldn't miss it for the world. Have fun!”

“Oh I will!”

She smiles, sipping the stale beer as Priya rushes out the door excitedly tapping the keypads on her phone in reply to a guy no-doubt, nearly running right into a lamppost.

She pulled out her own phone, spotting a new message from the ex-boyfriend she hadn’t heard a peep out of since Freshers Week, groaning with a displeased expression at the first few lines of text that read as if he were desperate. Even over the crackling sound of the speakers and Daniel Powter’s ‘Bad Day’ lulling quietly through the pub, she was still sensitive to the sound of his voice.

“-get me another pint please, Oliver? Thanks.”

She had to crane her neck, half-swivelled on her chair, but it was undoubtedly him. Only one person had that hissy, direct way of speaking, had dirty, blonde hair that touched the nape of his neck and was likely to wear such an…interesting selection of clothes.

Her mouth was barely open before she realised it was Michael, and by then he was too far away to shout from across a busy pub. She found herself with a sort of stupid grin, watching him walk with such a lanky gait, as if walking were an inhuman thing for him to do. 

It took her a few moments to text back a reply to her ex before she looked up again, eyebrows furrowed when she saw that whoever Michael had been with, was now umming and ahhing about whether to join the popular lot, for which she recognised Felix Catton amongst them, shockingly ill-dressed in a ‘what happens in Kassiopi stays in Kassiopi’ t-shirt, with a cigarette between his lips that had been inhaled to a nub. 

She grimaced. Only rich people could dress so fucking shocking.

And then her heart leapt in a different way when she saw Michael look distantly at Oliver, his hand half-raised in an awkward wave, his face crumbling in a way where she knew he was disappointed and yet, not surprised in the slightest. 

It was when Michael pushed his glasses up his nose in a way she couldn’t help but find sweet and go for the door, that she slipped from the stool she was on, a quarter of her pint left, and took off after him.

“Michael!”

The late winter air nipped at her skin, cursing internally that his legs were so fucking long he could stride a hell of a lot further than her. 

“Michael!”

It wasn’t hard to see the glint of his glasses lenses off the streetlights once he’d turned to face her, his lips parted in surprise and a heat rising to his cheeks.

He swallowed visibly, “H-hey..”

She felt her own heart rattle in her chest at how easy it was to fluster him, “Hey, you alright?”

For a moment, the self-proclaimed mathematical genius seemed genuinely lost for words, his throat closing up on him like he was having a sort of allergic reaction to the opposite sex. So with all that, he simply nodded, his hands clenched as if not knowing what to do with them.

“Sorry about your mate, that was a shitty thing to do.”

“Oh, he’s…he’s not my mate.”

She nodded, rubbing her hands together to warm them from the chill, “d’you wanna go somewhere?”

Michael’s eyes behind his glasses widened, “like…together?”

“No, I’ll make you go off on your own,” she grinned, “yes together!”

He huffed an embarrassed but elated laugh, and only now her eyes studied his shirt, cocking her head in amusement at the ‘that’s how I roll’ shirt with what looked like a maths equation beneath it. The actual meaning was lost on her, but it was so dorky it made her smile.

“U-uh, my mum bought it me for Christmas...” he muttered quickly to which she cracked an even bigger smile, the two of them laughing quietly for a moment before he spoke up again. 

“Do you wanna come to mine?” he asked, and it was so direct it made her blink, her lungs feeling as if they were fluttering, “I mean-my dorm.”

She wet her lips from the dry cold, watching how nervous and twitchy he was. And how it reminded her of the last time they were alone together. 

“Like…catch up or something. I-I’ve got alcohol if you-”

“That’d be lovely, Michael.”

He at least seemed grateful that she’d actually replied to save him from rambling, and even cracked a thin-lipped smile himself, clearly and delightfully nervous. Thirty-minutes ago, he’d have never considered this to be the ending to his evening. 

Michael’s room is disturbingly tidy, she wonders if he actually even lives here. It’s like those university rooms that they take photos of to advertise the ‘spacious’ and ‘community-driven’ atmosphere of campus life. 

At least it was clean, she mused as Michael passed her a bottle of the only alcohol he had, which were lukewarm WKDs.

“Thanks,” she smiles, taking a sugary sip and looking about the room. Michael has since cracked open his own drink, but seems disinterested in it as it rests on his bouncing knee, looking up at her from where he’s sat on his desk chair from under his brow.

His laptop sits shut, pencils in a neat line next to it. His walls are bare, with what she can only assume are blue tack marks from the previous tenant’s last year. With the exception of a wall-mounted calendar next to his desk.

“No posters? Was hoping I could be nosy, see what you like.” 

When she turns back to Michael he quickly looks down as if not wanting to be caught staring, “It’d just be maths stuff.”

“And Carol Vorderman?” she teases mindlessly, not catching the way his cheeks go alight.

She hums an amused laugh behind the bottle at her lips, “It’s very tidy.”

When he just replies with a shrug, she scoots off the bed to have a roam about the place, needing only a few steps to cross the room to his bookcase, filled to the brim neatly with books. She runs her finger along some of the spines.

“You’re not going to mess anything up are you?”

She laughs, coming out more of a snort, which makes her cheeks warm, “Sorry. Just curious about your books. ‘Mathematics of Language. Sounds like a bit of me and you.”

There’s that flush again.

That deer in the headlights look.

“Uh…just sounded interesting.”

“And is it?”

“Is it what?”

She smirks, “interesting.”

There’s a silence that for a moment neither of them are able to shake. 

Michael swallows visibly, “don’t know yet..”

She sees something in his expression when a playful smile lifts across her face, suddenly the memories and implications of what they’d done before now weighing heavily on them. And all at once, he’s able to smell the body scrub she’d used in the shower that morning and eyes flitting to the glint of her stud earrings. He’d remembered brushing past them with his fingers when her mouth wrapped around his-

“And who says you’re not a languages man?” she presses with a teasing lilt to her voice. The tone and sing-songy nature of her voice has his heart doing backflips, feeling as if he could feel the erratic beating between his ribs. 

Michael seems stuck in the position he finds himself as she lazily crosses the room, slipping back on his bed, one hand brushing across his bedsheets and the other setting the drink on his bedside table. For a long moment, his eyes couldn’t leave her. The whole situation was suitably extraordinary. A girl who had come onto him (to say the least) was now in his room, sat on his bed, touching his things…all while wearing something he personally deemed unsuitable for the cold, a dress with black tights beneath.

She turns her head to him, smiling, “you seem nervous.”

He swallows, trying to claw at any sort of reply, “is that an accusation?”

It comes out a bit harsher than he probably expected, but instead of recoiling, she bites her lip as if to stifle a full-toothed grin, “an observation.”

He shrugs, “just never had a girl in here before.”

“Worried I’ll mess up your feng shui?”

“My what?”

She genuinely laughs at that, nearly smacking her head on the bed frame, but a hearty chuckle all the same. And Michael doesn’t know why his own cheeks start to heat up at that, taking this opportunity that her eyes are shut to look down at her legs. For some reason, making her laugh just makes him want to try more. 

He’s never had that feeling before. Wanting to make someone laugh.

“No, really, my what.”

She meets his eyes brightly with her own, “feng shui, it’s like…the vibe of a room, a space. Like,  how you place your furniture or whatever.”

Michael raises a brow, his lip quirking on one side, “sounds like bullshit.”

“It probably is.” she laughs.

“Can I ask you something?”

The quick u-turn and tone in conversation has her eyes meet his nervously, her interest and curiosity piqued. Her hands find themselves nervously stroking her legs, the texture of the tights providing some level of comfort, “yeah sure.”

She can't quite figure out what expression he's trying to put on. His brows are furrowed in judgement and a curious sense of guarding himself. And yet he's sat back in his seat, looking at her like he is trying to figure her out, and yet wants to know why she is the way she is.

“Why did you do that?”

She blinks at the accusatory and monotone rhythm of his way of speaking.

“Do what.”

“Don't play stupid. Doesn't suit you.”

She nearly scoffs at that, “what? Why have you gone all weird all of a sudden?”

“Why did you do…that at the Christmas party?”

She shrugs and shakes her head, as if the answer should be obvious, “because I wanted to? And you didn't seem to mind either.”

“I didn't-that's not the point!” he retorts, “are you genuinely taking the mick out of me?”

“You've asked that before and no.”

“Well why then?”

“Is it not enough to really think that I find you interesting? And nice to talk to?”

Of all the things she expected Michael Gavey to go quiet at, it certainly wasn't that. But she watches him all the same, the line between his brow slowly disappearing as his frown vanishes.

She cocks her head, “and not bad looking either.”

“Stop it.”

“I mean it!”

“Nobody wants the fucking maths virgin-”

“Michael. I don't give a fuck about that,” she says calmly, “Hell, I was a virgin not that long ago. You keep saying ‘nobody wants the virgin’ but you can't keep using that as an excuse just because you're embarrassed you haven't done anything.”

He sighs, like he doesn't want to believe her. And she can hardly believe how self-deprecating and yet direct this man can be in a single breath.

“Look, if you don't want to talk to me, I can always go-”

Almost as soon as she is stood, he is too, one large hand wrapped around her forearm, “No.”

They've been sat so long, she had almost forgotten how tall he was, and the difference between them briefly has her tummy doing back flips. From here, she is able to smell whatever body wash he uses, and if she had to guess, probably blue radox.

“No, I didn't say I wanted you to go. Stay…”

He doesn't say ‘please’ once, and yet she's able to hear the desperation.

When she doesn't move, his grip loosens, and she feels tingly all over when his hand slides up her arm.

“Can I kiss you again like last time?”

She almost smiles in adoration at how he asks it, but for the sake of saving him the embarrassment of thinking she's laughing at him, settles for a simple and gentle nod of her head. She is sure she's not really thought it through. Weighing up the pros and cons isn't exactly the first thing on her mind right now though as Michael has to bend significantly to crash his lips to hers.

Much like last time, he is a bit endearingly clumsy, his lips moving quickly on hers like he's running a race with his mouth. This time there is no pool table for him to cage her against, but all the same his legs take him forwards until her knees hit the edge of his bed.

By the time he is on top of her, she's managed to weave her fingers through his hair, her nose nudging against his glasses every now and then, and guiding him with her own movements to slow down and enjoy the moment, with no need to rush.

She knows that secretly he's probably just excited.

But this time, his hands are extremely active.

She's unable to help the breathy whimper between desperate kisses as he tentatively squeezes her thighs, not quite brave enough to go beneath the dress yet and drifting upwards to her breasts, touching and clutching fondly, as if any harsh grip or movement and she'll get up and leave.

He's still unsure, maybe even nervous, she can feel it.

It's here she realises that whether he is doing it subconsciously or not, she can feel the strained bulge at the front of his trousers rubbing up against the inside of her leg, probably chasing friction that feels too good for him to feel lucid.

“Can I see you…” he asks as his lips break away.

She doesn't even reply, she just complies, pulling the sleeves of her dress over her shoulders and the bra straps along with it. The position she's in making it near impossible to reach behind her.

If she could print his face in her mind as she pulled her dress down to her ribs, she would. He looks entirely mesmerised in adoration, and once the only thing covering her breasts is the thin material of her bra, Michael looks at her with an almost dream-like gaze. 

His hand moves before his mouth, or at least before he catches himself, “Is it oka-”

“Course..” she says far too quickly. 

All she can hear as Michael pulls the thin straps of her bra fully down her arms, exposing her breasts, is his breath, staggered and uneven. His hand easily covers one of her breasts, squeezing experimentally, his thumb gently drifting over her nipple and watching them stiffen to needy buds. 

She doesn’t need to look between them to see how hard he is, she can feel him against her thigh, where her dress has since ridden up to her hips. 

His glasses knock against her chest as he leans down, all-too-carefully covering her nipple with his tongue, like he is trying to print the taste of them to memory. 

There is an unconscious desire to press her thighs together, but she settles for rolling her hips, causing Michael’s voice to rumble against her chest where he mouths at her breasts. One hand forever stays at the one he isn’t paying lip service to, testing the weight and shape in his palms. 

It feels like all sensitivity has been turned up to 1000. He is so slow, so unsure, that every languid movement has every nerve feel as if it’s on fire. A selfish part of her wants him to go faster, so used to the fervent, almost rushing nature of who she’d been with before. It was never like this, borderline worshipping.

“Michael…” she breathes, rolling her hips against him experimentally, rewarded with a low whine from him.

She watched as her nipple slips from his lips in the most erotic manner she’d ever seen, before his clear eyes are on her again. 

“Is this okay? Am I doing something wr-”

“No,” she shakes her head quickly, “feels nice.”

Michael licks his lips, a sign of how nervous he is, “Can I do something else?”

He is so eager to please, to learn, that looking at his face as he asks she can hardly deny him. And her head moves without effort, nodding as she watches his hand disappear beneath the hem of her dress to pull her tights down her legs. 

It then becomes obvious what he wants to do. 

“Are you sure, I-”

“I’m sure.” he adds, rolling the black nylon down her legs until all that is left between Michael and her bare skin below her hips, is her underwear. A flush of embarrassment engulfs her face at the thought of how aroused she might be, knowing he has no experience, she doesn’t want to scare him off. The tender and yet needy way he’d mouthed at her breasts had her body all warm, and she can’t remember the last time she’d been this ready for anything.

“I just want to do the same for you as you did for me. Make you feel good.”

And that certainly doesn’t help that feeling either.

She’s not sure if she will get tired of the sight of his long, lithe fingers gripping her thighs apart, and for a moment she finds herself entranced by the view, until he is pressing sweet kisses to the inside of them. Open-mouthed, with an addictive cooling sensation when he pulls away, only to edge closer to the centre of her underwear.

Her breath remains stuck in her chest as she watches him navigate the female body, mapping it out in his head. She knows better than to say anything, knowing him as she does now, he is immensely competitive, and wants to get things right. It’s likely if she stepped in to instruct him, it would only embarrass him more. So she stays quiet, and lets him come to her.

His thumb dips beneath the leg hole of her underwear, “Can I?”

She swallows visibly, now for some reason it’s her being the nervous one. Possibly because the first time, it was her doing something for him. And now, it is very much the feeling of being studied, of being watched to see what made her tick. A feeling that has her desperate for some kind of fulfilment. Anything.

She lifts her hips to help him slide her underwear down her legs, her cheeks warming at being so utterly exposed to him herself for the first time. There is a finality to it that she just can’t quite put into words. A point of no return.

A full body shudder made its way through her when she felt his thumb trail across the spot where her leg met her hip, trailing the line there that led to her sensitive womanhood.

Michael looked as if he was being presented with an equation, she could practically hear the thoughts in his head. But beyond not entirely knowing what to do, it didn't dissuade his curiosity.

She could tell though, that he didn't know what to do.

Michael nearly flinched when she took his hand, encouraging his thumb to touch her bundle nerves hidden between her folds. 

She watched him as his thumb cautiously collected the wetness that had begun to come out of her and used it to gently apply pressure to her clit. Breath was hot in her chest  as he started slowly.

“Does that feel good?” He asked softly.

As soon as she nodded, confirming how pleasurable it was, Michael's first reaction was to go faster. And so he did. Like he was trying to light a fire.

“No, no, no, it's fine to go slow.”

“Shit, sorry…”

“It’s fine,” she smiled, “just more gentle.”

The panic on his face had been clear. But at her gentle instruction, she saw him relax, taking her words and applying gentle pressure in slower, tighter circles. And it seemed Michael was now fully aware of its intended effect, as his eyes were able to lift up to hers underneath the rim of his glasses to see her breathing had increased, and blood rushing to her cheeks. 

It felt incredible to watch his expressions, she thought. Seeing the little thoughts rattling around in his head, to be able to awaken something in him for the first time. But it also felt utterly exposing, and every time his thumb drew circles against her clit, she heard the soft click of her arousal that made the room feel as if she were inside an oven. 

Michael’s lips parted, his head moving as if pulled by an invisible string to her core.

“Can I…?” he asked again, but more uncertain this time. 

The anticipation gnaws so much at her skin, combined with the way he is taking his time that she has become somewhat impatient, so it’s completely involuntary when she nods her head and somehow manages a whispered ‘yes’.

She doesn't really, really know what's wrong with her. She's had head before. But when he dives between her thighs so quickly and eagerly, his thumbs almost pulling her skin gently to expose as much of her as he can, and swiping his tongue over the centre. From her entrance, all the way to her bundle of nerves.

It has her breath stuck in her chest, instinctively reaching down to run her fingers through his sandy hair. Even the slightest tug on it has a low groan vibrating through her where his mouth moves slowly against her.

“Michael…”

At first he is careful, taking the instruction she'd given him before and applying it to tasting her instead. But his eyes flit up to her when she breathes his name like that, so he redoubles his efforts, gripping the underside of her thighs to tug her towards him in a teasing rhythm.

She didn't really know what to expect, assuming he hadn't done anything like this before. But Michael seems eager to please, as he nudges between her sensitive folds to tease her entrance with his tongue, the sharp shape of his nose butting against her bud with every movement, as little as it is.

With one hand in his hair, her hips move against his face, the glasses perched on his face hanging askew. And all she can see is that his eyes are closed as he tastes her, every now and then he makes a noise between a whine and a moan, as if he didn't want the experience to end.

Dragging his tongue back up to her bud to focus his attention there, Michael experimentally slides one long, slender digit easily inside her, pleased at the breathy sound it seems to elicit from her. Two feelings at once, just as she'd given him before.

“Oh, shit-” 

He fights the urge to smirk when he hears that. She's so warm and wet, that it's easy to slide in the second, feeling her walls suck him in as they clamp around his fingers moving in and out of her. It's a feeling he couldn't describe if he tried, and he daren't think of what she'd feel like around his cock, or if she'd let him.

She can feel her stomach muscles tightening, an orgasm bubbling up to the surface when he gains confidence, flicking her swollen clit with his tongue and pistoning two fingers with a pornographically wet smack into her over and over. Brushing that sweet spot inside that he manages to find sometimes, seemingly without realising.

“Michael - fuck - I'm gonna-”

He groans as her fingers tug at his hair, her hips grinding herself against him and chasing that delicious friction as her high barrels through her, sparking pleasure down each notch of her spine until it fizzles out through her limbs.

She can feel Michael grinding himself against the bed, searching for his own, as he maintains his actions, lapping up everything she gives him with determination. When she dares to look down at him, as if he can sense it, his eyes open to watch her expression, the blue of his eyes nearly entirely eclipsed by black.

As if something had been awoken in him that even he couldn't recognise he'd wanted.

With one last swipe of his tongue over her centre, Michael withdraws his fingers, gripping her thigh with them and making the skin there glisten.

Her cheeks feel as if they're on fire when he rights himself to his knees before her, looking down at her with admiration at how she is still essentially half naked. The tightness at the front of his jeans makes it obvious how he felt about what he'd just done.

Engrossed by watching her breasts move as she breathes heavily, the slight shimmer of sweat on her collarbones, Michael raises his hand to his face, using his palm to wipe her slick from his lips and chin.

She breaks the silence with a tired laugh when he pushes his glasses back up his face, one half of the lenses completely fogged up. It prompts him to laugh too.

“Was I okay?”

This time she doesn't hold back her smile at the way he asks it. As if she hadn't just shaken with the force of her high all over his face.

She nods, “More than okay.”

He seems genuinely relieved.

She bites her lip as she looks at him, his cheeks all tinged pink, his mind reeling at what they'd just done.

He doesn't know what to say or do, and she can see it.

“Do you fancy having a girlfriend, Michael?” she asks.

“Uh…I've never had one, not properly anyway.”

“Yes, but would you like one?”

She watches the bob of his Adam's Apple as he swallows heavily, “Y-yeah…”

She pushes herself up to meet him where he's knelt, admiring his features for a moment, before leaning forward to kiss him, encouraging him to kiss her back. It takes a second for him to respond, but when he does, it's needy, teeth and tongues clashing as the musky taste of her is captured on him.

“Tell you what, after your exams, when you can relax, I'll be your proper girlfriend. In every way..”

His breath comes out shuddered against her lips, “what do you mean?..”

She wets her lips as she smirks, “I think you know exactly what I mean, Michael.”

She doesn't think she'll ever get tired of seeing him blushed and bothered.

And when they're both dressed, sharing awkward giggles and nervous kisses, she gives him a look with a cock of her head as he checks his wall-mounted Countdown-themed calendar.

“What you looking for?”

“My last exam is the 15th. There's exactly 12,246 minutes between now and then and all I'm going to be thinking about is whether you'll really be my girlfriend or not.”

She nearly smiles at the fact he does the maths so quickly. 8 days, 12 hours and 6 minutes until his last exam. And even though she's made it clear she wants him, he's still unsure.

She meets his gaze, unable to hide the grin off her face, “Better get studying then. You've only got 12,245 minutes left until you've got me.”

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