#and i did not pay attention in class since then

[specialgradefckr]

nerd!gojo is so cute! please give him a kiss on the cheek for me.

you stare at the note you found in your locker. it's written in glittery purple ink, which only adds to the insult.

gojo, "cute"??? give him a kiss on the cheek???

like an ill omen summoned by its name, a terrible presence looms over your shoulder, "watcha got there?"

"hate mail." you say dispassionately as you quickly shove gojo away.

when you face him, you see gojo's face change - smooth features and rounded eyes hardening into anger.

"hate mail?" gojo frowns, "in your locker? who would send that?!"

"you want a list?" comes geto's snarky voice. "she's kind of a bitch."

you shoot him a glare, but gojo speaks before you can.

"don't talk about her like that."

the room feels a little bit colder. since when did gojo sound so... mean?

"i'm just saying," geto says, shrugging, "you'd know better than anyone, she's always on your ass."

"yeah, my ass," gojo turns to you, a pout on his face, "you're not bullying other people, are you? i don't have any other bullies."

only satoru gojo could get into an argument this stupid.

"no," you drone, "your drain on my time and attention is uncontested."

rather than being ashamed of this, gojo looks absolutely tickled.

even when you punch him in the shoulder, his good mood is undampened.

"nerd," you grouse, stalking off to your next class, which gojo naturally follows.

it sucked being in the same classes as him, but at least it meant you could get his help. he really is a huge nerd. all those hours you put into it, and he seems to understand everything effortlessly.

the class feels like it takes hours. you pay diligent attention, take so many notes, and somehow, gojo comes out of it completely chipper.

you're left in peace for a few blessed minutes afterwards as he bolts out of the room for some reason or another.

is he finally starting to fear you as his bully? took him long enough -

"here!" pressed into your hands, your favorite snack from the campus vending machine.

gojo smiles at you, that big, boyish smile that makes him look extra stupid. "sorry i messed up last time."

you don't know what comes over you. maybe it's pure delirium brought on by hunger. or the joy from having something nice to eat.

maybe it's a new form of torture, humiliating him by making him endure a kiss from his bully.

it's just a kiss on the cheek. it's whatever.

he stands there, still, face completely red, blue eyes wide in shock. gojo looks even dumber than usual, which shouldn't even be possible.

you fan your face for a moment as you turn to leave.

"come on, you idiot. we've got a test to study for."

gojo whistles some unbelievably stupid tune, practically skipping the whole way to the library.

"i can't believe it! she kissed me on the cheek!!! a real kiss!" "uh-huh." "don't uh-huh me, suguru, it was REAL! anyways, it all makes sense now. she was just hangry. no wonder she shoved me into a locker. it's my fault for not taking better care of her..." "would you listen to me if i reminded you that you're not dating and this is all pure delusion?" "not dating yet." "so a no, then," suguru says, rolling his eyes as he returns to his work. satoru's already finished with the homework and scrolling through his text message history with you, no doubt spamming you again with memes or pictures or just remarks. but you haven't blocked him yet, have you? suguru smiles to himself, closing his notebook, tucking away a shimmering violet pen.

[devotedlyandrogynousyouth]

Sugar, Baby

Chapter Three: Unraveling

Bruce Wayne x Sugar Baby! Reader

| Part 1 | | Part 2 |

I pinky promise there will be smut in the next part🤞 I just felt like making this one a bit of a slow burn

Taglist: @shadowqueen1322 @secretsideofbree @lillyrob

It started with nights at the manor.

At first, it was just a casual thing—Bruce would send a car, and you’d spend an evening talking over expensive whiskey, letting the world outside the Wayne estate fade into irrelevance. You still worked at the bar, still went to class, but somehow, Bruce had become a fixture in your life.

And it wasn’t just the money.

Yes, he still tipped you ridiculous amounts when he showed up at the bar. Yes, the black card he’d given you sat in your wallet, burning a hole you had yet to fill. But more than that, he was there.

The texts started coming more frequently.

B: You still alive?

You: Barely. My professor is trying to kill me with this assignment.

B: Send me the prompt. I’ll have my team handle it.

You: Absolutely not.

B: I don’t like seeing you stressed.

You: And I don’t like billionaire academic fraud.

B: Fair point.

He called, too—not often, but enough that you found yourself waiting for the sound of his voice on the other end of the line.

The nights at the manor got longer.

At first, it was just drinks and conversation, but then there were the quiet dinners Alfred started preparing for two instead of one. The slow walks through the grand halls of the estate, the firelit nights spent sprawled on the couch in the library, his arm slung lazily over the backrest behind you.

And then, of course, there were the kisses.

God, the kisses.

They started slow, teasing, an extension of whatever sharp-witted conversation you’d been having before he inevitably leaned in. Bruce kissed with purpose, with intent, with the kind of control that made you dizzy.

But that’s all it was.

Kissing.

He never pushed, never let things go further than you could handle, and part of you wondered if he knew.

If he had already pieced together that you had never done this before.

Not this—not just the kisses, but the way he made you feel.

Because it wasn’t just physical.

Bruce knew you.

He listened when you ranted about your classes, when you muttered about your deadlines, when you offhandedly mentioned your favorite books or movies. He remembered, too—casually dropping facts about your life into conversation, surprising you with small gestures that proved he had been paying attention.

“Tell me something real,” you murmured one night, curled up next to him on the oversized couch in his study.

Bruce glanced down at you, brow raising slightly. “Something real?”

You nodded. “Something not in the tabloids.”

He was silent for a moment, fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles against your knee.

“I never sleep for more than three hours at a time,” he admitted finally. “It’s been that way since I was a kid.”

You frowned, shifting to get a better look at him. “Why?”

His gaze flickered, something unreadable passing through his expression. “You know why.”

You did.

Gotham knew the story of Thomas and Martha Wayne—the billionaire philanthropists gunned down in an alley, the grieving son left behind.

“I dream about them,” Bruce continued, voice quieter now. “Not always in the way you’d think. Sometimes it’s just… glimpses. My mother’s perfume. My father’s laugh. I wake up before I can hold onto any of it.”

Your chest tightened.

You reached for his hand without thinking, threading your fingers through his. Bruce blinked, as if surprised, before his grip tightened around yours.

He didn’t pull away.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured, rubbing a slow, deliberate pattern over your knuckles. “I just—”

“I’m glad you told me,” you interrupted softly.

He exhaled, eyes flickering toward your lips.

That night, the kisses were softer.

Not urgent. Not desperate. Just there.

Something real.

—

It was a few weeks later when you finally asked.

You were sitting in Bruce’s bedroom—an indulgently large space that still somehow felt distinctly him. There was a fireplace crackling in the corner, the low golden light casting shadows across the room.

Bruce was on the bed beside you, leaning against the headboard, sleeves rolled up as he scrolled through something on his phone. You had a book open in your lap, though you weren’t really reading it.

Instead, you were watching him.

“Bruce.”

He glanced up at the sound of your voice. “Mm?”

You hesitated. “Are you… waiting for something?”

He set his phone down, eyes scanning your face. “What do you mean?”

Your fingers tightened slightly around the book. “I mean, we’ve been… this for a while now.”

Bruce’s lips twitched. “This?”

You rolled your eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” he admitted.

You exhaled. “So, are you waiting? For me?”

His expression shifted, something fond passing through his features.

“Yes,” he said simply.

Your stomach flipped. “Why?”

Bruce sat up, moving closer. One of his hands found your knee, fingers brushing against the fabric of your leggings.

“Because I know you,” he said, voice low. “I know you wouldn’t be here if this wasn’t real for you.”

You swallowed hard. “And?”

His thumb traced slow circles against your leg.

“And I want to take my time with you.”

You felt yourself flush, warmth spreading through your body at the implication.

Bruce smirked slightly, tilting your chin up with the crook of his finger.

“You deserve more than rushed decisions,” he murmured. “I don’t need more. Not yet. Not until you’re ready.”

You inhaled sharply. “I—”

His lips brushed against yours, soft and coaxing.

“Don’t overthink it,” he whispered against your mouth.

And for once, you didn’t.

—

It didn’t happen that night.

Or the next.

Or the one after that.

But somehow, the waiting didn’t feel like waiting.

Masterlist

[imustbenuts]

Wolfwood is an underdog character screwed by social hierarchy and Japanese cultural subtext more ways than one: a messy half-assed write up.

This is me saying that Wolfwood is in no way the equivalent of 'white' or even near the top in terms of class even when viewed with a Japanese lens and there's at least a few threads you can follow that will lead up to that conclusion. So to try and (badly) cover this topic as best as I can, the sections highlighted in this post will be the following

Colorism and imperialism

Tribes and burakumin

Shintoism and the burakumin people

Wolfwood's entire fucking design

I explode

Colorism

So in short. Asia has a colorism problem on top of a racism problem, but people like me get really frustrated when a more American POV is applied to try and shoehorn the discussion into purely racism. The reason is: history.

So. Japan was super imperialist back in history. And so was China, which Japan took many inspiration from in terms of language, culture, and most importantly, governance.

In order for their particular system of governance to work, both China and Japan ended up having their own respective court systems where the aristocrats and nobility would spend their days indoors as they administer governance. (Or more accurately, to be so educated, cultured and refined as the world outside implodes.) Thanks to this system, there is essentially a walled garden system where the well-educated nobles would spend their time well away from hard labor like farming under the sun.

This meant there is a greater amount of favoritism towards fairer skinned people as opposed to tan, since it became a quick indicator of class and status. Bc only laborers tended the field under the harsh sun, and women got this especially bad, bc imagine her having to tends the field like a peasant. Gasp.

Anyway bada bing bada boom white skin eventually became so associated with beauty and status. The old poverb, "色の白いは七難隠す", or White skin covers seven flaws, refers to women with pure white (sometimes powdered) skin is attractive no matter what their physical flaw might be. Think Geishas and their job of entertaining at private events with a face full of white powder makeup.

This colorism also hits men less, but the idea of status stays.

...Wink. (To note the above gif here for a sec: IMO Vash doesn't qualify as desirable purely because he's a blonde. A foreigner. An Other. But the hiding flaws part might be worth chewing on.)

And now we suddenly are looking at some kind of a vague hierarchical system. And indeed, Japan has had a caste system of sorts in with varying degrees of social mobility depending on which era you look at. The lowest in some era were slaves. And even then, there is another class even lower than that, the Burakumin. Put a pin in this bc it'll be important in the next part.

Tribes and Burakumins

There are actually, in fact, different tribes in Japan even today. Current day, the well known ones are the Yamato people, who make up 98% of the population in Japan. Mostly fair skin, black hair. East Asian.

Then there are the Ryukyuans, who live mostly in okinawa with their own culture, and then the Ainus.

I don't want to get even MORE historical, but those two groups were conquered and forcibly had their culture identity, language, and even land stripped off them. Attempted to have loyalty towards the emperor instilled towards them at various points. One might think the presence of these two might mean that there were more tribes back in ancient Japan, and, yes, you would be right!

Many of them might have been assimilated into what we think of as Japanese people today. There are always variation in skin color, hair color and facial features alone if one pays attention even in Tokyo. Not all East Asian are fair skin and have straight black hair, but an overwhelming majority do. (plus hair dyes and perms wahoo. who's to know sometimes)

One example perhaps is this. Ever watched Princess Mononoke? Did you know that part of the story centers around Ashitaka, who is part of the Emishi tribe, who are a group who has been rebelling against the Emperor Yamato for 500 years? And so he shoots samurais on the regular?

So here's the rub: the Emishi were in fact a real indigenous group who were basically conquered and assimilated. Some did resist during the 11th century, with their villages/hamlet out deep into the north of Japan. They were of course, greatly outnumbered.

These people who resisted the rule all over Japan with different identities, names and culture and survived came to be called the Eta 穢多 (lit. abundance of filth). Later, Burakumin.

Now I mentioned the Burakumins. Burakumin are written like this 部落民, and refer to a strongly discriminated class of people who live in discriminated villages/hamlet. The kanji though, literally translates to "People who falls outside of the order", or, "Outcasts". In other words, even though there's a caste system which basically at least recognizes people as part of a governing system, the Burakumins do not qualify to even as to be human in this system.

And indeed, some of these tribes who had their culture and identity stripped off them are not even people in the eyes of the ruling government. Today, the term refers to the descendants of these people, and they do encounter a lot of discrimination and abuse in their daily lives from social to work. It's so bad that parents do not tell their children of the ancestry to avoid discrimination. Also its possible to know if one is a burakumin just by checking family names and registers jsyk, since they were once location based.

EDIT: those judged to be criminals also become part of this group!

More info by a Japanese guy regarding current day burakumin problem here on youtube.

Oh and also, many burakumin ended up joining criminal gangs like the yakuzas. Put another pin in this.

Shinto and the Burakumin people

Preface: shinto is a very sacred religion to many Japanese people and is still actively practiced today. Be respectful and just know I'm being hyper specific about this singular aspect of shinto. It is a very old religion and history which is fascinating.

But to not talk about this specific topic would be to kinda miss what Studio Orange has been doing to Stampede Wolfwood so I'm just gonna do this super quick. A more indepth messy write up can be found here if you like.

Right. So. Like with many religion, Shinto was also used as a means to convince people to fall in line. One thing that Shinto has is the concept of spiritual dirtiness, which is generated upon contact with death, blood and disease. Being dirty would then draw evil spirits and invite terrible misfortunes, so being clean is important in Shintoism. So important that meat was considered dirty. (With the exceptions of game meat and the whole religion thing applied to them.)

It's so important that certain professions such as Butchers, Tanners, Gravediggers etc were seen as so terrible that no one but the etas, the burakumins would do it. This whole thing then reinforces the hierarchy. And meanwhile the rulers in their court and shinto priests could conduct rituals to purify themselves.

And for me, this is the most insane thing since dirty jobs like that must be done no matter what era it is. Just by being alive, people get dirty and there's no avoiding that.

Anyway. In Trigun and even Japanese media, this gets translated into what I would call The Tormented Ones Whose Hands Are Permanently Stained With Blood.

Nicholas the Undertaker was certainly an interesting choice of writing. At least imo.

FUcK

Ok now to recap. I've established that even without colonization and talking about (american pov) racism specifically, there are still very real elements of Japanese history that is too strong, too deep, to intertwined with classism to ignore.

This is the historical baggage of Japan's colorism. Whether or not if Wolfwood is a burakumin here is not the point, but rather that it borrows from that issue all of its influence in varying shades.

It's the erasure of ethnicity and culture in its totality, or to be so consumed by the bigger ruling group that this thread straight up disappears. And to be considered so unwanted that even their descendants today are considered dirty.

They abolished the feudal caste system in the 1800s by the way. Still dealing with like over a thousand years' worth of shit though.

Now I can finally talk about Wolfwood.

Wolfwood's entire character design and writing choice.

Since trimax wolfwood is the base, I'll start with that.

Dark(er) skin, sunglasses, a business suit and a kansai dialect.

All of those are significant.

Now remember that I've mentioned Fair Skin and Black Hair to be the most defining trait of an East Asian. Even people who say East Asian even casually have that specific image in mind. But Wolfwood with the exception of BLR has always been depicted as just slightly tanned especially beside Vash.

The shade fluctuates all the time depending on the artwork, but it's clear that the production staff knows the roots his character design is touching on in order to elicit that "otherness" from the Japanese audience. Which is all that above. The entire post.

Sunglasses and business suit also has a significance. One might think it's just the outfit of an average Japanese salaryman, and yes, that would be technically correct. More so though, this combo is also the outfit style of the Yakuza. Sans ties maybe bc Ww hates his organization.

This is a picture of a Yakuza group known as the Yamaguchi-gumi. Their leader stands in the middle of this photo, the oyabun/father of the group, Kuzuo Taoka. More info and another rabbit hole here.

The Yakuza are a historically violent criminal gang whose membership often consisted of societal outcasts. Outcasts like the Burakumins, who due to their status in society could not find a proper job, and suffer abuse. Being in the Yakuza meant respect and status, and turned boys into men.

All that was needed is absolute loyalty to the leader, the oyabun or the patriarch of the group. If he says it, white is black and black is white. Disloyalty means to chop one's finger off.

If any of this sound even familiar.... Well, yeah. Unhinged criminal boss Knives and his merry Gung Ho Guns.

Next, kansai dialect. So, Japanese dialects are never properly taught when one attempts to learn Japanese. It's a thing that's not Standard and therefore unnecessary to learn. We learn the -desu's, -masu's, the keigo, but never the '-yan's', the 'eenen', the 'akan' or the chau's. (Or even the many other dialects out there)

I will now ask you to hold the idea that 'dialect' and 'language' can be interchangeable. The implications of the Standard Japanese is that it is the ruling class' language and the most proper form of it above all else. Seeing as the Capital of Japan is Tokyo, and their government centers there, it would not be stretch to also call Standard Japanese Tokyo Japanese.

Which means, Tokyo is the classy city and Osaka, the largest city in Kansai, is not as classy. Not as important. Not as well educated or hold as important of a place to the entire country.

It is also very common to hear Japanese people mask their dialect with Standard Japanese when they're in Tokyo, and then go back to their hometown and code switch. Because it's considered 'hick'.

Which, if you haven't considered is also a thing many of us do, I now present you the gift of this fun knowledge.

I Explode

In closing I hope this at least is interesting to chew on for anyone interested. It's by not means perfect and I might have gaps in my knowledge but fwiw, I hope it's at least fun.

Nightow has stated Wolfwood's ethnicity is ambiguous, which I would also interpret as him saying indirectly that Wolfwood is as valid an interpretation to see him as anything but a privileged guy having a good time in the story of Trigun.

It's possible that his ambiguity of roots is meant to simply elicit the idea of a "stolen child".

One fun thing I do consistently notice is that Fanon Wolfwood almost never is in a comfortable position in life even in AUs, and always somewhat broke. In both EN and JP. Which, yeah. Yeah.

There is intersectionality going on and I hope this post helps people see some of it at least. So thanks for reading! (sorry it got so long...)

Additional cool posts other people have written from their pov:

udon-tea's write up about wolfwood's unestablished canon ethnicity

interesting thoughts about tortoise matsumoto being the base and what they think of wolfwood's possible ethnicity

[tojimybelovedd]

Anatomy lesson!

Gojo x fem!reader ; mndi ; Nerdjo saves life!

Warning: masturbation f!receives ; fingering ; clit bullying ; kinda mirror sex ; dirty talk ; Nerdjo!!

"Aaand here, here is the clitoris, do you feel, sweet, how good it is?" Satoru's voice is calm, interested not so much in having a delicious pussy between his fingers but in teaching you your own anatomy. His fingers flick your clit, swollen and sore. And no, he hasn't even touched you yet, not really, but you're so wet, so needy, you've probably already had an orgasm.

That fucking nerd. If you could only form a sensible sentence, you would say that. With his chest resting on your back, his legs intertwined well with yours to keep them open and his fingers torturing your pussy, you don't miss the little smile that curves his lips. he's having so much fun torturing you, as if he wasn't even hard enough to hurt, his erection pressing into your back. "fu—uck Toru.. do-do something" you whine, causing Satoru to laugh.

But no, Satoru has to give you an anatomy lesson before he fingers you so hard you pass out, just like he promised. "Tch tch, crybaby" He says, pinching your clit in such a way that makes you moan so deliciously. "The lesson is not over. Be-Be patient"

ah-ah! did you hear that? Satoru is slowly breaking too, his voice faltering, his grip on your hip slightly tighter. "Who cares Toru! I can't take it anymore please—please" You hear him snorting at your whims. But hey, he's not the one being tortured, kept on edge.

or maybe yes?

The mirror in front of you shows your bodies intertwined, yours exposed but in a way that takes your breath away. You can see everything. From your rapidly rising and falling breasts, to your messy hair, to your open thighs, all the way down to your pussy. Shiny and plump, wetting Satoru's fingers, oh, it's such an erotic sight.

"Since you didn't pay attention in class, I'll have to punish you, right?" His voice tickles your neck, goosebumps covering your skin but you can't tell if it's his gaze, his touch or his words to make you feel this way. Maybe all three. "This naughty little pussy needs to be put in her place, don't you think?"

You don't have time to respond before the fingers that were teasing your clit are now inside your tight hole, disappearing inside you until only his knuckles remain outside. Oh fuck, fuck. Your eyes roll back, as your head rests on his shoulder.

But Satoru's other hand, previously busy holding your hip, grabs your chin bringing your gaze back to the reflection of the two of you in front of you and you see it. Your pussy split open by Satoru's fingers, sliding in and out with speed, the obscene sound of your fluids.

And you cry, because he's going at such a fast pace that your whole body is shaking, and you squirm, your back rubbing against his painfully hard cock, a grunt escaping his lips. "That's right sweet. feel my fingers that—that go so easily inside your tight little pussy"

"mh-mh let me hear those moans sweet, don't hold back. After all, your pussy isn't doing that, it's literally sucking my fingers! How cute!"

And it's at this moment, with the orgasm imminent and Satoru's mean fingers inside you, that you realize that giving the school nerd a chance was the best choice of your life.

oof!! first real nsfw fic!! i don't know how to feel tbh! Nerdjo is taking over my life🧎

uhh please leave some feedback so i know I don't really suck at writing!

i don't know y'all i got freaky ok? not my fault<3

[fourtyforever]

I knowwwww I'm supposed to be working on emergency care but I have the absolute brain worms for the ballet au from opening night so here's 3.5k of ballet max verstappen being the bane of ballet nico rosberg's existence

---

The worst year of Nico’s professional ballet career was also the same year they moved that prodigious blonde freak up from the junior company, which in hindsight might have had something to do with it. 

He showed up to the first rehearsal of the season in his uniform shirt and black tights from the junior company, even though company dancers were allowed to wear anything they wanted, and he stood ram-rod straight at the barre while the rest of the company lounged around waiting for class to start. He had the ugliest haircut Nico had ever seen, but he was good--good enough that Nico understood why they brought him up early, even though he knew that must have sucked big time for the other dancers in the junior company who were his age. 

It hadn’t really registered to Nico, because there had been bigger things on his mind. Things that spent the whole class on the opposite side of the studio from him, looking, frankly, upsettingly good in a loose tank top with the arm holes cut even wider to show off the muscle he had built at that summer intensive in Brazil. Lewis avoided eye contact with Nico, and Nico did the same, but it was a little impossible not to look. Their last season hadn’t ended well, and it didn’t feel like time apart had healed any wounds. Still, Nico didn’t really have attention left over to pay to the new kid until Seb mentioned him after class.

“That boy’s going to give us all a run for our money this year,” he said, following Nico out of the studio to the dressing room. The kid in question was still gathering up his things just out of earshot, totally oblivious to the conversation about him going on just a few good steps away. “Are you worried?”

“No,” said Nico, very confidently, which turned out to be a mistake. “There’s always new dancers. He doesn’t seem that special.”

“He’s good,” grunted Kimi. 

Seb nodded. “I can see why he got moved up on his own.” He looked over at Nico out of the corner of his eye as Nico tried his best to ignore him. “Do you think Lewis is worried?”

Nico shouldered open the door to the dressing room, trying to let it close in Seb’s face. It didn’t work. “I don’t think any of us need to be worried about some moderately good teenager,” he said as Kimi and Seb pushed through the door behind him.

“You’re talking about Max?” asked Daniel. Like usual, he was butt-naked in the middle of the dressing room, forcing Nico to make very pointed eye contact. “He’s pretty good, isn’t he?”

“Someone ought to take him under their wing,” said Seb, elbowing Daniel in the ribs.

Nico scoffed. “Nobody ‘took us under their wing’ when we were starting out, and we turned out fine,” said Nico. 

“Michael,” said Kimi, simply. 

“Yeah, you’re really gonna sit here and say Schumi meant nothing to you?” added Seb, and Nico had to acquiesce. But it had been years since Michael retired, and these days he didn’t feel all that advantaged by the older dancer’s mentorship. 

“We also didn’t get moved up to the company by ourselves out of nowhere,” said Daniel. He looked thoughtfully back at the door that neither Max nor Lewis had come through yet, dick still out for all the world to see. “Must be tough. He could probably use a friend.”

“Save your pity for the kids that didn’t get moved up,” grumbled Nico. He had hoped to get to bitch about Lewis to Seb a little bit, who was always a good listener even though Nico knew he talked with Lewis just as much as he did with Nico. But if everyone wanted to instead focus on the new wunderkind, that was, well, whatever. Nico didn’t care.

---

Nico certainly noticed Max at their first joint mens’ class with the junior company, because it was impossible not to. The kid was a freak. Nico had always been a turner, but Max very nearly matched him when they did à la seconde turns side by side. Then he put the whole junior company and a good chunk of the senior company to shame when they did jumps across the floor, hitting the kind of split in midair that Nico usually only saw from the company ballerinas or from Lewis. His musicality was kind of shit, and his port de bras clearly needed work, but there were certainly worse things to be bad at. 

The only time he made eye contact with Lewis was when Max replaced a single pirouette with a quadruple out of nowhere, meeting and matching Lewis’s shocked face out of force of habit. He regretted it as soon as he looked, but there was a weird sort of comfort in knowing that Lewis was just as unsettled by this new guy as he was. At the beginning of last year, which felt like a lifetime ago, he would have been standing next to Lewis and whispering under his breath about how insane the new kid was. For now, though, he had to be content with stolen glances and ignoring Daniel’s appreciative whistle from behind him. 

---

At the company mixer and pizza party, Nico sat across from Lewis at the same table they always sat at since they started in the lowest level of the junior company, entirely ignoring each other. Max, of course, sat right in between them, with Seb on one side and Daniel on the other. 

“Who do you think will be the cavalier this year?” he asked, his mouth full of pepperoni pizza. He had loaded up his plate with nearly half a pizza, fucking kids and their impossible metabolism. He wasn’t about to break a nearly-a-year vegan streak for some subpar pepperoni pizza, but that didn’t stop him from feeling a little jealous. 

“It’s barely August,” said Nico, hating how Lewis looked up at the mention of the Sugar Plum cavalier role. He probably thought the part was as good as his, secure in two years of being cast in the top role while Nico was passed back and forth between Snow King and the Nutcracker prince. The Nutcracker didn’t matter as much anymore, but Nico couldn’t afford to give anything less than his full effort, not when casting for the spring performance came out barely a week after the last Nutcracker show. “It’s too early to be worrying about that.”

“Auditions are in a month,” said Max. “I want to be prepared.”

“Playing guessing games isn’t going to make you more prepared,” said Nico.

Max shrugged. “Neither is being so uptight, but we of course all have our own strategies.” 

He stuck another piece of pizza in his mouth, and Nico fought the urge to get up and slap his paper plate across the room. He had to settle for glaring at the top of the kid’s shitty hair. Lewis went back to his phone and his vegan mushroom pizza which he wasn’t even pretending to enjoy, while Seb smiled that toothy smile that meant he could sense drama unfolding and Daniel laughed like Max had told the funniest joke he’d ever heard. Pathetic. 

“You know what we all used to call him?” said Seb, a truly mischievous smile spreading across his face. 

“Nico?” said Max. “No. What?”

Nico kicked Seb under the table, but it made no difference. “Britney. Because of his pretty blonde hair.”

Honestly, Nico could not imagine what would possess Seb to tell the awful child that. His eyes lit up as Daniel giggled and even Lewis looked up at the mention of Nico’s nickname. “Britney,” Max said, the name sounding already way too comfortable on his tongue. “Like Britney Spears? I can see it.”

“I’m not doing this,” announced Nico, picking up his plate and storming off to join a random gaggle of junior company dancers at the next table over. 

---

Nico was cast as the Sugar Plum Cavalier, but he still couldn’t really enjoy rehearsals, not when Lewis was getting just as much of the praise as the Nutcracker Prince. He especially couldn’t enjoy the full-company rehearsals where he had to watch him dance, graceful and majestic as he’d always been. 

“Why do Britney and Lewis hate each other?” stage-whispered Max from behind Nico. He was doing such a bad job at being quiet that Nico almost thought it was meant for him to hear. In any case, it was enough to distract him from watching Lewis rehearse the fight scene with Fernando. 

“There’s, like, history between them,” was Daniel’s just-as-loud whispered response. History was an incredible oversimplification. Lewis had been the first friend he ever made in ballet, the only other boy in his beginning dance class when he first started out who made him feel like he might actually belong there. They had been each others’ rock moving up through the dance school and then the company, the only constant in the chaos of that world. He had been Nico’s first crush, the first person to know he was gay, his first kiss, first everything. 

Not that any of that mattered now. 

“What kind of history?” whispered Max. “Were they, like..?”

Nico couldn’t see what kind of gesture Max did to finish that sentence, but he could guess what it was based on Daniel’s barely muffled laugh. “Uh, yeah,” said Daniel. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure.”

“Oh,” said Max. “Well, that is very stupid, then. What, did they just break up and now they can’t talk to one another?”

Nico wanted to turn around and give the shit child a piece of his mind before he realized that the absolute last thing he wanted was for either of them to know he had been listening in. “I guess it was a little more complicated than that,” said Daniel, at least doing the bare minimum of coming to Nico’s defense. “But hey, I guess that’s what you get for dating a fellow dancer.”

Maybe he was right, Nico thought. Maybe it was a doomed idea from the start. Maybe that was something Nico should have realized when Lewis had reached for his hand that first time and Nico had taken it, that this would hurt them in the long run. It made something wrench in his chest to think that, something small and bruised and soft but still alive no matter how hard he tried to squash it, that cried out that what he and Lewis had had to have meant something. But it was hard to believe that now, when they could barely look at one another. 

“I think they might just be stupid,” whispered Max. “There’s nothing wrong with dating a fellow dancer if you’re not stupid.”

Incredible. Nico had to close his eyes and count to ten to keep himself from punting that blonde bastard straight across the studio. The Coffee Princes dance that Max and Daniel were both in could not come soon enough, he thought.

---

It was nice that the studio tended to hire the same handful of guest choreographers every year. The jockeying for their favor was always a little less pronounced when everyone knew who they would pick as their favorites. 

However, that meant that everyone--Nico included--was completely fucking blindsided when Horner picked Max out of all people to have a solo in his latest contemporary piece, passing over Nico and Lewis and his former favorite Seb to put the kid in the front and center. It was completely out of nowhere. Nico had been expecting to be competing with Lewis and Daniel for the top solo in a Christian Horner piece, but not once did he imagine being overlooked in favor of fucking Max. 

He didn’t even develop an ego over it, which was kind of the worst part. Dancers that got a taste of success and then walked around like they owned the place were sure to crash and burn at the slightest provocation, and Nico would have been happy to let the terrible child wear himself out and then fade back into oblivion. But Max acted like it was the most natural thing in the world, like he was used to getting all the best roles and therefore wasn’t especially affected by this one. And the worst part was that in Horner’s position, Nico might have done the same thing. Max continued to be unreasonably, unbearably good, in a way that sometimes made Nico want to pull a Tonya Harding on him, bash in his kneecaps after class (though he’d have to do it in the rare moment where Daniel wasn’t annoyingly attached to him). The only consolation he ever got was that Lewis looked just as happy to be there as Nico was, which was not much at all.

Though sometimes Nico thought that Max was more aware of his unique position than he let on. “I really don’t know why everyone always complains about the contemporary pieces,” he said one day while they were getting changed after rehearsal. “I think this is actually a lot of fun.”

“Yeah, I bet you would,” Nico muttered. He thought he might have heard Lewis snort under his breath at that from the other side of the dressing room, but he wasn’t sure. He would obviously never look up to check. 

“What was that?” asked Max. It was impossible to tell whether he was being genuine or not, which was even more aggravating. 

“Don’t mind Britney,” said Daniel, putting an arm around Max’s back that was maybe a little bit too friendly. “He’s just jealous of you.”

Nico was going to kill them all, including Seb for telling Max that fucking nickname. He threw his shorts into his bag with a little more force than necessary. “Enjoy it while it lasts,” he sneered, aiming it more at Daniel and reveling in the sudden look of confusion that came over him before storming out, slamming the dressing room door. 

---

The spring show was Don Quixote, and for some asinine, unbelievable reason, they had decided to double cast Lewis and Nico in the role of Don Quixote, so that they had to go to all the same rehearsals and switch off every other run. Maybe they thought it would be better for the two of them to be in equal standing, but all it meant was that every single rehearsal was like reliving their falling out from start to finish. It was made so much worse by the fact that Max was cast as Basilio -- way higher of a role than anyone should expect for their first spring show. 

“You need to move forward here,” Max told him after they finished a run but before Nico could swap back out with Lewis for the next one. “Always you are in my way, and if you don’t move I might crash into you next time.”

It was a little much to deal with while Nico was still catching his breath. He still couldn’t understand why Max was never so much as winded after this much dancing. “What?” he gasped, just to give himself a little more time to breathe.

Max huffed indignantly. “When you’re finished with your solo. You need to move out of the way faster, because I’m starting my next part right behind you.”

“He’s got a point,” said Lewis, staring directly at Nico. 

Nico sneered at him. “I only have three steps before the last couple of jumps to get across the stage. I am already traveling as much as I can.” He spared a look at Lewis, looking him up and down and pointedly lingering on his legs that were shorter than Nico’s just because he knew it would hurt, twisting that particular knife. “I doubt you’ll have an easier time getting there.”

He could see that he had struck the nerve he was aiming for, Lewis’s lip curling just the smallest amount. Part of him wished it hurt more to hurt Lewis, instead of the sickening satisfaction he was left with. But there was still ground to be gained--they hadn’t yet chosen which of them would get to dance 7 shows and who would only get 6--so Nico didn’t really have sympathy to spare. All he felt was bitterness, whether he did better than Lewis or worse. The fact that they were forced to be so close together made it harder for Nico to feel anything else, the love he had for dance that brought him here almost foreign to him now. Sometimes it felt like too much, like the horrible wanting he felt--wanting to be better than Lewis, wanting to hurt him, wanting him back, wanting to prove something, wanting things to go back to the way they were--was poisoning every moment he spent in the studio. 

“Well, you need to be farther forward somehow,” said Max, putting his hands on his hips. Nico could strangle him. “Otherwise I’m going to run into you one of these times.”

“Boys,” said Toto, looking back and forth at the three of them disapprovingly. Max backed down slightly at his voice, but not very much. One of the only things Nico had to look forward to was the day that kid finally mouthed off to Toto (or god forbid, Director Wolffe herself) and got absolutely eviscerated. Nico would laugh. Lewis might laugh with him. “We only have time for one more run tonight. Max, begin your solo farther upstage. Lewis, swap with Nico.”

Max rolled his eyes, but did as Toto said. Nico didn’t meet Lewis’s eyes as he stormed back to the corner of the studio to watch the two of them dance. 

---

It was all too much. Nico needed someone to vent to. 

It couldn’t be Lewis, for obvious fucking reasons. He found Seb in one of the smaller studios, but he was busy teaching the townspeople dance to some of the junior company dancers. “Sorry, I really have to finish this,” he said. “You can complain to me in half an hour, though. Or you can go talk to Kimi?”

“Kimi’s not going to let me complain,” said Nico.

Seb laughed, and some of the dancers around him laughed too. They followed him around the studio like ducklings, and sometimes Nico was jealous that Seb had been able to move so peacefully from the studio’s top dog into more of a mentor for the younger dancers. “I think Daniel’s done, though. I just saw him going into the dressing room on my way here.”

“Perfect. Thanks,” said Nico, shutting the door to the studio and stomping off towards the mens’ dressing room. He and Daniel were okay friends, and he had a reputation as the friendliest guy in the company for a reason. He might have to leave his gripes with Max out of his rant, but that was fine when his complaints were more to do with Lewis anyway. Maybe he could even get some gossip about the kid out of him if he played his cards right. 

The studio was loud with the sounds of concurrent rehearsals going on in studios all around them, so Nico didn’t have any warning about what he was walking into until he opened the door--which was a little stuck, but the old doorknobs always opened eventually if you jimmied them the right way--and stopped dead in his tracks. Seeing Daniel Ricciardo’s bare ass in the dressing room was not even slightly out of the ordinary, but what definitely was out of the ordinary was seeing him pinning someone to the wall, pale, muscled legs wrapped tight around his waist and hands buried in his curls as he thrust upwards, his shorts discarded on the floor next to a suspiciously familiar white T-shirt and pair of black leggings. The person he was fucking against the wall of the dressing room lifted their head from his shoulder, and Nico was shocked, dismayed, and horrified to be looking into the eyes of Max fucking Verstappen. 

Daniel, at the very least, had the common courtesy to look mortified when he turned his head and shoulders around to see who had walked in on them. Max very much did not, looking almost pleased with himself as Daniel scrambled to cover both of them with his body. “Shit--fuck, sorry Brit--Nico, sorry, I thought I locked the door.”

Nico slammed the door shut. After a bit of shuffling, he heard the old lock click shut and heard a metal chair screech against the floor until it was resting in front of the doorknob, and then the sounds--which he hadn’t been able to pick out of the rest of the noise of the studio before, but which he could definitely hear now--started up again. Nico fought the urge to scream. He didn’t even have a leg to stand on to yell at Daniel, not when he had been among the small group who walked in on him blowing Lewis in a dressing room at the theater back in junior company.

Fuck this, then, he thought. He stormed back the way he came, passing Seb as he walked out of the other studio. “Don’t go in the dressing room,” he growled, picking up his ballet bag and marching straight out to his car. 

None of it really mattered, in the end. He would perform Don Quixote and prove for once and for all to Toto and to Lewis and to whoever else that he was and always would be the best dancer at this fucking studio. Then he would attend every summer audition he could find, take the first offer he was given, and get the fuck away from this place and hopefully never see Max Verstappen’s fucking face again.

---

also on ao3 

[roxygen22]

Bus Stop (Part 4)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Nic: Good morning

You grabbed your phone from your nightstand before you had even fully blinked the sleep from your eyes. A message from Nic was waiting for you. You giggled and kicked your feet in excitement as you held your phone to your chest. Last night wasn't just a dream, after all.

You: Morning!

Your fingers typed wildly.

You: You're quite the early bird.

Relunctantly tossing the warm covers away from your body, you got out of bed to start your morning routine, bringing your phone along so as to not miss anything. As you leaned over the sink to brush your teeth, you felt it vibrate on the tile counter. Just seeing his name on the screen made your heart beat a little faster.

Nic: I try to start the day with a run or bike ride. Just got back inside. Gotta hop in the shower and get ready for class. What time is your lunch break?

Blood rushed to your cheeks at the thought of him being soaked in sweat or lathered up in soap. Too soon, you cautioned yourself. Thank goodness he couldn't see you.

You: Usually at noon, unless a mtg runs long.

Nic: K. I'll give you a call on my way to the station, if that's OK?

You bit your lip. How to sound positive but not TOO eager...

You: Yes, please :)

The morning crawled and meetings droned on and on. Several times you caught yourself daydreaming, staring out the window or drawing abstract shapes on your paper instead of taking notes. As the clock ticked closer to noon, your knee bounced under your desk in nervous excitement, impatiently waiting for your phone to light up.

Like clockwork, your phone buzzed in your hand at 12:00 on the dot as you ran out to the rear courtyard for a semi-private spot to talk.

"You are quite punctual," you answered. Nic chuckled.

"I've been holding my phone in my hand just staring at it for a solid two minutes waiting for the right time. How has your day been?"

"Oh, [nervous laughter] I'm not exactly sure. I spent most of the morning off in la-la-land. I had a little trouble paying attention."

"Funny you should say that. I had the same problem in class."

"Oh, yeah? What were you thinking about?"

"You first," he teased.

"No, you."

"Alright, since we're not in person to settle this with rock-paper-scissors like mature adults, how about we both say it on three?"

You laughed. "Ok. I can appreciate a good compromise. 1...2...3..."

"You."/"Last night."

"Really?"/"Really?"

There was an awkward pause that was probably not as long as it felt. You broke the silence.

"I was stoked to see your message this morning. Confirmation that I didn't dream the whole thing up," you admitted.

"I haven't had a fun evening out like that in ages. I...I felt like- like you were just so easy to talk to."

"I had fun, too," you replied. "I, uh...I dreamed about that kiss. It's been - a while - since I've been kissed like that."

"Me, too."

"Dream or a long time since the last?"

"Both."

"Awwwww!" you vocalized. "Well, you don't have to wait that long again." Your boldness startled you, so you started backtracking in a panic. "I mean, if, uh, that's what you want. Because that's what I want. I mean...," you trailed off and groaned as you smacked your forehead with your palm. "I'm going to shut up now."

"Please don't," Nic replied. "It's adorable when you ramble when you're flustered."

"You do seem to have that effect on me." The tops of your ears burned with embarrassment at your admission.

He chuckled. "So I've noticed."

After a beat of silence, you asked, "So, just curious, how long has it been for you? It's been just over two years for me."

"Almost four years. I've been trying to work on feeling whole on my own before getting involved with someone again."

"Kudos for putting in that work on yourself. My ex did not. He projected a lot of pent-up baggage onto me. I've been on a break since. It was toxic and lasted longer than it should have, and I've been in no rush to get mixed up with the wrong person again.

"But now?" Nic eagerly implored.

"Nowwwwww I think I could be persuaded by the right person," you hinted.

"Ah, I see." He paused. "[Y/N], I...," he cleared his throat. "Do you like Italian food?"

Somewhat taken aback by the jarring transition, you stuttered, "Y-yeah, I love Italian." You worried that you threw him off by mentioning your ex. Maybe it was too much too soon?

"There's this great place near the bus stop where I usually get on at Lexington and 1st. I was thinking we could go get a bite to eat tomorrow after work?"

Whew. Maybe you didn't scare him off after all. "That sounds delicious. I'd love that."

"Great! I'll meet you at the bus stop and walk you over. But for now, you should probably actually eat something on your lunch break. I just made it to the news station and need to go get settled in."

You pulled the phone away from your face to check the time. You only had about 10 minutes left. "Alas, responsibilities befall us all. See you tomorrow?"

"See you tomorrow. Bye, [Y/N]."

"Bye, Nic."

You ended the call and stared down at the dark phone screen in your hand. The fading excitement felt like you were crashing from a sugar rush. You slowly got up from the bench and shuffled back inside to get your food.

Your coworkers were standing at the ready to interrogate you. They knew you generally hated talking on the phone, but this time, you were all smiles.

"Tell us all about him, honey," the receptionist, Henrietta, demanded. "We need some excitement around here."

"What? How did you...."

"Dear, you have lovesick written all over your face!"

You blushed hard. Before you knew it, you were encircled by colleagues rolling over in their desk chairs as you recounted spotting Nic on the bus and working up the courage to say hello, and how magical that first unexpected date and kiss were last night. Once they were done peppering you with questions and chairs were rolled back to desks, Henrietta came up to you and gave you a hug.

"I'm glad you are finally putting yourself back out there after that jerk, Matt. You deserve to find love again, and he sounds like a wholesome guy."

"Thanks, Etta." You patted her arm and gently squeezed. "Time for me to come down out of the clouds and get back to work, I guess."

Small text exchanges throught the rest of the day kept you going, but you craved to hear Nic's voice again. Tomorrow felt like forever away. You knew you'd need to distract yourself with a rare visit to the gym that evening to pass the time and wear yourself out.

You were walking to the bus stop after work when you felt your phone buzz in your bag. It was a long, repeated vibration - someone was calling you. You fumbled through the main section of the bag, cursing yourself for not putting your phone in the pocket it belonged for quick access. Once in hand, you stared at the screen. Nic?

"Hello?"

"Is now a bad time?"

"No, not at all. I just wasn't expecting to get to talk to you again today. I'm off work and walking to the bus. How was the rest of your day?"

"Not bad, but I have to say it definitely peaked at lunchtime. I wanted to hear your voice again."

You chuckled. "Same here. Sounds like you are walking, too."

"The meeting isn't far from the station, so I like to get more steps in if weather permits."

"Maybe your habits will rub off on me."

He didn't respond, but you could hear him breathing on the other end of the line.

"Getting up early routinely and going for a run, walking instead of taking the bus or taxi. I have a gym membership, but I'm the worst about actually going," you added.

"Oh," he replied, followed by anxious laughter. "Hey, I made it to the meeting spot. I'll talk to you later, ok?"

"Ok. Have a good night!"

"Bye, [Y/N]."

<><><><><>

There was no message waiting for you the next morning. Trying not to think anything of it, despite the strange end to the last two conversations, and to keep things balanced, you decided to send one yourself to start things off.

You: Morning!

You had already made it to work and started on your case load before Nic responded with a simple "good morning" in return three hours later. You were elbow deep in paperwork and couldn't break away to message again until lunch, which was later than usual.

No additional texts. And no call. Desperately trying not to overthink, you reminded yourself that he said he would talk to you later, so there had to be at least some intent to make contact. He had given you no reason not to trust his word, but you couldn't take it any longer.

You: Sorry for the radio silence. It's been a busy day prepping for a case.

Nic: No worries. At work, too.

You: Still on for dinner? I should be at your stop about 5:40

Nic: Yep, see you soon

You chalked his stilted, near transactional messages up to being busy at work. For once, you were grateful for the hectic pace at work to keep your brain from spiraling. At the end of the day, you gathered your things and took a deep breath before leaving the office. You reminded yourself that you were beyond capable of handling whatever the evening threw at you.

You boarded the bus and mindlessly watched the scrolling marquee of upcoming cross streets. Your heart rate surged with each stop that brought you closer to Nic. What if he wasn't there? What if he was acting strange because he's planning to cut things off?

The next stop was yours. You stepped off and looked around once you cleared the bus and breathed a sigh of relief to see Nic leaning against a nearby pole. One worry down. He walked over toward you.

"Hi," you said, trying to sound chipper.

"Hey." He bent down and gave you a small peck of a kiss on your cheek. He looked...sad. Not the greeting you had hoped for. "Ready to eat?"

Truthfully, no. But you weren't going to fill him in on your anxieties yet, so you just nodded and walked alongside as he led the way to the restaurant in silence. Something was obviously up. You could see an Italian restaurant sign up the street, but he paused before you made it there.

Nic stepped over to a nearby bench and gestured for you to sit beside him. You did so nervously, clutching your bag in your lap so he couldn't see your hands shake.

"Hey, listen," he started. "Before we, uh, go in, I...I need to tell you something. I owe it to you and to myself."

Your eyes widened. "Oh, God. You're not, like, still married or something, are you?" Your voice raised, garnering attention from passersby.

"What? No, oh, no no, not that." Nic reached out as if he wanted to hold your hand, but hesitated before pulling it back to his leg. He looked around to see if anyone was still paying attention and took a deep breath before locking eyes with you. "[Y/N], I am a recovering addict. I have been sober for about three years now."

That is not what you expected. Your brain churned through a thousand different responses, trying to figure out the right thing to say to such big news. Before you could say anything, he continued.

"I go to NA meetings every Wednesday evening. They reminded me that... that...if we are going to get to know each other, I need you to know me. Who I am. That is part of my identity and daily challenge to continue to be my best self." His shoulders fell as he looked down at the sidewalk away from you. "I also...I wanted to give you a chance to end this early if that is too much. You deserve to be with the right person, and I understand that that may not be me."

Nic jumped slightly when you hooked your finger under his chin to lift his head up, where you met him with a soft smile.

"That is nothing to be ashamed of," you replied slowly. "Thank you for sharing. I know that couldn't have been easy, but at least now I better understand why you weren't talking much today. I thought...I thought maybe I said something wrong yesterday."

"What?! No! Oh no, I'm so sorry that I made you think that." He pulled your hand up to his lips to kiss it. "You- you're a breath of fresh air. A fresh start with someone who isn't stuck on the image of the old me."

You released a deep breath you didn't even know you had been holding. "I must admit that I can't even begin to know what your journey has been like. Or will be like. But I'm willing to take things one day at a time to find out."

"One day at a time is all I can ask for." Nic gently leaned his forehead against yours. "Thank you."

You were enjoying the closeness until your stomach betrayed you with a loud grumble. Now that your worries had eased, you were terribly famished. Nic sat up and wiped a tear off his cheek, laughing as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He stood and held his hand out to you.

"Hungry?"

"Starved," you replied as you stood and followed him toward the restaurant once again. "So what's good here?"

"Well, I prefer their spaghetti over their penne..."

<><><><><>

The End

<><><><><>

Masterlist

Tag List:

@croatianprincess @bluizh @groovy-lady @pmak2002 @itshonestlynotme @parkbabyj @genesis-margarita @superlegend216 @crypticslytherin

[balladofthe101st]

[simandy]

I find it fascinating how every single one of my health issues can be mistaken for laziness

[aggressiveguitarnoises]

yeha sorry the i dont care fuck off attitude doesn't work for me. i will continue on with the fuck off part tho

[surpriserose]

God i hate the american education system

[mwagneto]

sir this is the nightblogging website

[hyuuukais]

FINALLY got into my ocas account !!!! looking at my transcripts and holy shit i did so good in my last year ??????????????????? huh ????????

[lwieserce]

Omggg stop making me mourn my unlived hs experience on a thursday morning

[elprupneerg]

an update on my big project: i'm still unsure of what to do with the big piece of fabric (do i frog it and make it the right size? do i just keep it as-is and adjust the rest of the pattern?) so instead i've been (slowly) working on other panels for the project.

unfortunately, my gauge issues have continued. i needed to make 2 rectangles that were 4in long and 6in wide. first attempt was too wide by about an inch, frogged it. second attempt was a lesson in using consistent tools to measure things: i'd measured myself with my tape measure to get the measurements for the garment, and i'd measured most of the project so far with it to help keep consistent dimensions. however, i'd forgotten to bring the tape measure with me to school that day so i measured the rectangle with the wood ruler i keep in my backpack. and the rectangle was too narrow but about half an inch. so i frogged it. and then i went home and i realized that maybe it had actually been the right dimensions after all, and sure enough my ruler and my tape measure are just Slightly off from each other.

finally managed to make the first of the little rectangles, and now i'm starting the second. yes it took me almost a month, life is busy, my joints are hurty, and i lost my wrist brace for over a week after i left it in the pocket of a pair of pants. but i found the brace, the weather is getting nicer, and finals are approaching. so some of my miseries will be over with soon!

[awearywritersworld]

megumi's teacher — gojo satoru x reader

tags/warnings: fluff. fem!reader. gojo beefing with an eight year old. 700 words.

ever since megumi started the second grade, it's been (l/n)-sensei this. (l/n)-sensei that.

gojo picks up megumi's favorite ice cream, only to be scolded by the young boy. "(l/n)-sensei's favorite flavor is strawberry, so that's my favorite now!"

gojo tries to help him with his math homework, and it's "(l/n)-sensei did it this way. that means you should too!"

gojo reaches down to tie megumi's shoes for him, before his hand is promptly smacked away. "(l/n)-sensei said big boys tie their own shoes!"

honestly, gojo is starting to feel a little jealous. megumi's known you for what? two months?

he's been raising megumi for the past few years, but does that earn him an ounce of the adoration the young boy seems to have for you?

apparently not, though he perseveres nonetheless.

he and megumi are spending the afternoon out in the city and they stop at a small bakery for lunch.

while megumi is distracted looking at all the sweets behind the glass counter, the bell on the door draws gojo's attention.

his eyes fall upon a pretty young woman. actually, you might just be the prettiest woman he's ever seen.

and of course, a smirk forms on his lips when he catches you looking his way. he's puffing out his chest, running a hand through his hair.

he's always had a certain effect on the ladies, and he's never been more happy about that until this very moment—

"megumi?" you call from a few feet away. the wide smile adorning your face makes you look even more radiant.

while gojo visibly deflates, megumi's head whips around at the speed of light. "(l/n)-sensei!"

oh.

gojo very quickly comes to understand why the boy is so enamored by you.

megumi launches himself at you, while you crouch to meet him with open arms.

"i'm so happy to see you!" he practically sings, clinging to your neck.

you chuckle at his enthusiasm. "i'm happy to see you too, 'gumi."

gojo clears his throat, hoping that megumi will take the chance to introduce you two, but he is completely ignored.

"what are you going to get? i'll buy it for you," he states proudly, despite having zero money of his own.

your gaze shifts to gojo for the first time, and having your attention even just for a brief moment takes his breath away.

"that's very sweet megumi, but that's alright." you ruffle his hair when he pouts at your words, standing back up. "who's this?"

"oh that's just gojo. don't worry about him," he states with a wave of his hand.

the white haired man gawks at him in response. the nerve on that kid! he silently decides megumi will be losing dessert privileges for a week. no, two.

you stifle a giggle before offering your hand to him and introducing yourself as megumi's teacher.

he repeats your name, taking satisfaction in the way it sounds rolling off his tongue.

"that's a pretty name," he compliments, trying to recover from megumi's dismissal. "heard a lot about you. in fact, the kid never shuts up about you."

this earns him a glare from megumi, but gojo is too preoccupied with the shy look that crosses your features to notice.

gojo insists on paying for your order, a show of appreciation for taking such good care of megumi in class. you chat with the pair of them for a little while longer before eventually excusing yourself.

"thank you again, gojo-san. i'll see you on monday, megumi!"

just as you're turning on your heel, gojo calls your name and you look back at him expectantly.

"when, uh," he struggles, scratching the back of his neck. "when do i get to see you?"

nice.

"oh! well, parent-teacher conferences are only a few weeks away! i'll look forward to seeing you then," you answer sweetly, misunderstanding the meaning behind his words.

you bid them goodbye once more and they both watch your figure disappear down the street.

megumi turns to look at gojo smugly. "weeks? that sounds like a really long time—"

"shut it, kid."

[sloaneispunk]

“teacher’s pet”pt.2 (mdni 18+)

teacher!in-ho x you

getting involved with his student was risky, but how far was he willing to take it until he would be confronted?

༯ ──── ❤︎ ──── ༯

“you know, something’s up with you and mr in-ho… you’re like way friendlier than most students and teachers are.” you friend commented as you were walking out the school gate.

“what? no!” you glared at her, looking away.

to be fair, it was pretty obvious. you just didn’t want it to end, it felt good having a handsome man like mr in-house wrapped around your finger. but you didn’t know who you were trying to protect more, him or you.

the next day when you stepped into class, you gave him yet another wave, causing him to do the same.

if mr in-ho wasn’t so good-looking, you would say his lessons were mundane. but luckily for you, your interest had peaked miraculously ever since you started attending his class.

when the bell rang, you packed your bags, ready to leave. but just as you brushed past his table, you felt his hand grab onto yours.

“stay back.” he whispered, making you look back at your friends that had left.

“why? did i do something wrong?” you asked as he slowly but hesitantly released your hand.

“no, not at all… i just thought we could spend some time together.” he shrugged, seemingly with pure intentions.

but you saw right through.

bullshit.

“it is your lunch now right?” he asked.

he swiftly half sat on his desk, signalling for you to take his teacher’s seat instead.

“yea, it is. did you stalk my timetable?” you teased causing him to let out a chuckle.

“just happened to see it.”

“okay then. so, how are you liking this school?”

“oh, i’ve taught in this school before. i just haven’t been back into the teaching scheme in awhile.”

“oh, i didn’t know that.” you replied, hands rested on your hands as you stared at him, intrigued. “so i’m guessing you liked teaching him, or you would’ve found another school.”

“of course. there’s something in the air of this school, makes me keep wanting coming back.”

“maybe it’s the student… maybe a student.” you wiggled your eyebrows as you joked, testing waters.

“possibly.” he shook his head in disbelief.

“i’m assuming you don’t have a wife?” you questioned.

“well… i did, but she isn’t with us anymore.” he said, his tone changing, sounding much softer, much more vulnerable.

“oh…i’m sorry, i don’t mean to pry. i’m sure she must have been very beautiful… inside and out.” you offered him a smile as you placed your hand over him comfortingly.

in-house looked down to where your hands were meeting, breath suddenly caught in his throat.

“thank you.” he cleared his throat before gently pulling away. “so, are you doing anythung after school?”

“no, not really. alot of assignments are piling up, i should go home straight away.” you told him as he nodded sympathetically.

“so you’re a hard-working girl, huh?”

“of course, have you not seen me in your class?” you laughed.

“i have… alot.” the last word said almost in a whiser, barely able to hear if you weren’t fully paying attention to him.

you could feel a string of tension in the air, you breath quickened as he started to move away.

“i should go, should probably eat before my next class.” you made up an excuse, grabbing your stuff and dashing for the door.

before in-house could stop you, you were gone.

shit, did he take it too far?

for the rest of the periods, you couldn’t focus. it was so wrong. so, so wrong.

this was the moment you realised how bad you had it too. in-ho, the man you knew for barely a month had already had you in a chokehold.

when classes ended, you were going to head home. but then came a slight misfortune, it was pouring.

you stood at the gate with a huff as the rain grew heavier by the second. all your friends had took off, heading to a nearby diner together, leaving you behind.

fuck it, you thought. you walked in the pouring rain, feet dragging as you let out curses under your breath.

just then, there was a honk.

as you shielded your eyes from the rain you saw who it was, mr in-ho.

“what are you doing?!” he asked as he pulled up beside you, “get in before you get sick!”

with no other choice, you pulled open the car door, hopping into the passenger seat as you felt his eyes tearing into you.

“thank you.” you breathed out as you looked at yourself, you were soaked. “i’m sorry about the car seat, this looks like a really expensive car.”

“don’t worry about it… are you okay? is it still cold? i can turn off the air conditioning.” he replied, his eyes full of worry.

“no, i’m okay. thank you.”

“do you have an address where i can drop you off?”

in-ho gave you his phone, letting you put your address into his gps before he drove off.

at first, the car ride was silent. it wasn’t an awkward silence, it was a comfortable one. one where you could hear the humming of the engine and the water splashing onto the windshield.

“why did you take off just now?” in-ho suddenly asked, turning to you for a split second.

“i-i just… you- i don’t-”

“it’s okay, you don’t have to answer.”

“no. it’s just that i don’t want to misinterpret anything and end up regretting it for the rest of my life.” you vomitted out.

he stayed silent.

“and what would that be?” he asked after a bried moment of silence.

“that you were into me…” you said softly, “…like how i am to you.”

he only hummed in agreement.

shit, was this it? did you mess up?

before you could somehow salvage the situation, the car came to a stop.

“we’re here.”

“i’m sorry, i knew i shouldn’t have said that. i-i was just misinterpreting the whole thing a-an-”

but you were cut off with in-ho’s soft hands cupping your face, barely giving you any time before his lips met with yours.

you let out a muffled gasp before you melted into him.

at that moment, he was all you knew.

in-ho, in-ho, in-ho.

when he pulled away, you involuntarily let out a whine, causing him to smile.

“it’s our secret.” he said as you nodded frantically. “you know what? since you’re my favourite student, i’ll give you my number…”

he then took out a piece of paper, scribbling his number on it and placed it in the palm of your hand.

“don’t lose it.” he instructed as you were still caught up in what exactly just happened.

with that, you exited his car, giving him a small wave as per usual. he made sure that you got into your apartment before he took off, a stupid smile never leaving his face.

that night, you were on your bed, tossing in turning. you couldn’t sleep.

‘maybe this was the time to put his number to good use.’ you thought.

you crawled over to your nightstand, taking you phone as you typed in his number.

‘hey! i hope this is the right number.’ you texted.

within a minute, your phone had buzzed.

‘Y/n?’

‘yea. sorry i don’t mean to bother you.’

‘It’s alright, i was just grading papers. It’s late, why aren’t you asleep?’

‘couldn’t. but if you’re busy we can talk when you’re free. :) ’

‘Nonsense. Papers can wait. Did you catch a cold?’

‘no, i’m okay. thanks for the ride though!’

‘Anytime, Y/n. You have my number, call me if you ever need a ride home. :)’

you were kicking your feet like a pre-tesn texting their first crush.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow in class okay? Get some sleep, need you to be awake for my class.’

you giggled.

‘okay. goodnight mr in-ho!’

‘Goodnight, Sweetheart. Sweet dreams.’

yup. you were fucked.

༯ ──── ❤︎ ──── ༯

( bungee jumping of their own - 2001 )