#but classes and work don’t stop so i have assignments piling that i have no energy to start or complete

[residentrookie]

.

[samandcolbyownme]

This one shot will include a teacher!Reader x student relationship. Just move along if it’s not for you.

Warnings: SMUT18+, strong language, reader is a few years older than Chris, heavy flirting, tension, angsty, kissing, hair pulling, slightly rough actions, biting, scratching, oral (both), unprotected sex, general filth

Word Count: 2.9k | unedited

——

It was hard being a young professor at the university.

Always having to deter guys away from flirting with you. Having to ignore comments that are made towards you. The other, older professors trying to make passes while meeting with you one on one so you can answer their ‘questions’.

You just got used to it, constantly going through the motions as each day passed. Eventually, it became like muscle memory.

Until one day, one student changes everything for you.

You had no control over the feelings that had creeped in. No control over the smile that you fought so hard to keep off of your face each time you made eye contact with him, and it grew harder and harder by the days.

It also doesn’t help that he makes sure to get there early to grab the seat right up front in the middle.

Every. Single. Day.

“I expect to see the homework I’m assigning, done and on my desk tomorrow morning.” You look around, “It’s easy work, seriously.”

The class chuckles and you glance at Chris who’s looking down on his phone, “Something important Mr. Sturniolo?” You walk around the front of your desk and lean against it.

“No, not really.” He smirks and you nod slowly, “Mm, alright then.” You rest your hands on the desk beside you, “I guess that is it for today. I will, hopefully, see you all tomorrow.”

You turn around, dragging the strewn papers across your desk into a pile.

It didn’t take long for the room to empty out, or so you thought it was empty.

“Ms. Y/l/n.”

You turn around, laughing slightly, “Chris, this is college. You don’t have to-“

“I like it.” He shrugs, his peaking out to run along his bottom lip, “I was just wondering if I could get some extra help?”

You smirk, “Chris, your grade are.. perfect. What help do you need?”

His eyes glide down your body as he thinks of something quick, “I, um. The essay.” You raise your brows and tilt your head, “I’m going to let you in on a little secret, okay.”

You motion with your finger for him to come closer, and he walks towards you, “Yes, Ms. Y/l/n?”

You lean in, “There’s this magical place called a library. Full of books and knowledge. All you have to do is pick one under the genre of your choosing, and write something based on that book.”

He smiles and good god, you feel your knees wiggle.

“Right, right.” He steps back, “Just thought I’d give it a try.” He walks back to his seat and grabs his bag, “See you tomorrow.”

As he walks up the steps, you sigh, “Chris, wait.”

He stops, turning around on his heel, “Yes?”

“If you pick a book today, I’ll go over it with you tomorrow after class.” You watch as he nods, fighting back a smirk, “Thank you.”

“Mhm.” You nod and watch as he leaves, letting out a sigh before turning to gather the rest of your things.

——

The rest of the night you kept thinking about the interaction between you and your student, knowing damn well what he was doing.

And you were letting it happen.

The next day in class, Chris decided to wear his glasses, which only made it harder for you to give your attention to the other students, focus on what you’re trying to teach even though it was projected onto the big screen behind you.

“Before, I click to the next slide, who can tell me how the black plague was spread, bonus if you can tell me how many people were affected.”

You look around, “anyone?”

You see Chris raise his hand and you motion, “I’m going to say, rats.”

You nod, “You would be correct. Rats played a massive part in killing..” you shrug, “How many people?”

“A lot.” Chris answers, earning laughs from the class.

“I mean, you’re not wrong, but I’m looking for a number.” You laugh slightly, “Or a rough estimate I should say.”

Another person raises the hand and you point, “Yes, Jay.”

“Over a few million.”

You nod, “Close.” You turn around clicking to the next slide, “Over seventy five million people were affected and died by the plague.”

The day goes on and soon enough, it’s just you and Chris.

“Did you find a book?” You ask as you sit down at your desk. He sits down on the other side of your desk and shuffles through his bag, “I did, I just have to- ah ha.”

He pulls out the book and lays it on the desk, “Here it is.” He slides it over and you reach out, your hand brushing along his.

You glance up, his eyes already on you and you smile, “Good book.”

“You’ve read it before?” He tilts his head, reaching up to push up his glasses and you nod, “I sure have.”

There was tension. Obvious, tension.

You knew it was wrong.

You knew you shouldn’t be doing this, feeling like this.

But trouble has never looked so fine.

“Chris.” You laugh slightly, “What are you doing here? I don’t think you need any help.” He leans back, arms rested on the chair, “What do you mean?”

“What I mean is..” you take a deep breath, “I don’t think you’ve cracked this book open enough to need help.”

He smirks, “Yeah, I haven’t even opened it.”

You laugh, “So.. what you can do..” you lean forward, pulling off a sticky note, “crack open the book, and if you need any help..”

You press the note with your number on it down onto the book, “Text me.”

He bites his lip and nods, “Thank you.”

You nod, “Anytime.”

He shoves the book back into his back and leaves, leaving you to sit and wonder along in the silence.

Later that night, as you’re settled down onto your couch, reading one of your favorite books, your phone goes off.

You smirk before you reach forward, your face dropping in disappointment when you see it’s another coworker trying to get you to say yes to a date.

You ignore it, swiping it away from your screen.

As you go to set your phone back down, an unsaved number pops up.

Hello Ms. Y/l/n. It’s Chris.

You bite your lip, pulling your phone towards you and resting your hands on your book as you type.

What can I help you with, Chris?

You save his contact and by the time you’re done, he’s already responded.

I cracked open this book, just like you said to do.

You bite your lip, taking a deep breath.

Can you wait until after class on Monday?

You chew your thumb nail anxiously, “No, no.” You shake your head, typing up another text, but you stop when Chris’s text comes through.

I really don’t think I can wait any longer, Ms. Y/l/n.

I could really use the help tonight if you’re available.

Your breath is shaky, you knew what you wanted to say, but also knew that if you did that, you’re not only putting yourself at risk, but Chris, too.

Before you could even think, you texted him your address.

Make sure one know sees you come up.

You stand up, pacing back and forth, “shit, shit. This is actually happening.” You quickly move to start picking up your apartment. It was already clean, but you couldn’t help but feel the need to keep your mind occupied until you got that text.

Soon enough, your phone goes off.

I’m here, on my way up.

You walk over to the door, looking out of the peep hole until you see him. You open your door and he walks right in.

You could tell he wasn’t here to go over his book, or have any of his school questions answered. He didn’t even have his backpack.

“Thanks for inviting me over.” He smiles and looks around, “Nice place.”

“Thank you, Chris.” You smile and flip the lock on your door, “So what can I do for you?”

He takes a deep breath, smirking as he motions to you, “It’s weird seeing you in sweatpants and a tee shirt. You’re usually dressed up.”

You laugh slightly, glancing down, “I change into them as soon as I get home from teaching.”

“I like it when you dress up. You always look so pretty.” Chris steps towards you, “But there’s just something about the coffee stain on your sweats that make this even better.”

“Oh gosh, I didn’t even-“

Your words are cut short by Chris quickly closing the space between the two of you with his lips on yours.

You kiss him back until you push your hands on his chest, “We shouldn’t be doing this.” Chris licks his lips, giving you a shrug, “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

He closes the space again and slides his hands down to your hips, “I promise.”

You slide your hands to his neck, tilting your head to the side as his lips move down yours, “Fuck.” You breathe out, “You are such a bad idea.”

He leans back, shaking his head slightly, “You don’t like bad ideas?”

You let out a sigh, “I like bad ideas. Just, only when they look like you.” You re-close the space, pushing him to walk back towards the couch.

He sits down, pulling you into his lap. His hands slide back to your ass as you kiss down his neck.

“Fuck.” Chris groans out as you grind down onto him, his grip on your ass tightening, “Roll over.” You oblige, rolling over to lay on the couch on your back.

Chris slips out from under your legs and takes off his sweatshirt, tossing it to the floor before his white tank disappears from his body, too.

He drops down to his knees, leaning over the couch as he slips his fingers into the bands of your panties and sweatpants, “when I zone out in class…” Chris pulls them down, kissing the newly exposed skin, “I think about you, sitting on your desk, with your legs over my shoulders.”

You gasp, reaching down to slide your hand into his hair, your fingers tangle his hair around them, “Fuck.”

He pulls the clothing over your feet and drops them, pushing your one leg towards the back of the couch, “You just look so fucking sexy in those skirts you wear, Ms. Y/l/n.”

“You can use my first name, Chris.” You glance down at him and he reaches up to take off his glasses, “I’ll call you, whatever you want, ma.”

He leans in, ripping moans from your lips as his tongue glides up your core to your clit. His tongue flicks against it a few times before wrapping his lips around it to suck.

“Fuck, fuck. Yes.” You arch your back, the heel of your foot digging into his upper back, “Feels so.. good!”

He groans against you, his tongue dragging back down to slip into your aching hole. You groan, tugging on his hair as he earns louder moans from you.

His hands grip your hips, moaning against you as he slides one over to press his fingers onto your clit and rubs slowly.

“Fuck, fuck, yes yes yes.” You pant, gasping out as clench around his tongue. You pull him up, leaning forward to kiss him as he positions himself between your knees.

You moan at the taste of yourself on his lips, your hands sliding down and dragging your nails back up his back.

He groans into your mouth and reaches down to push his sweats down. You spread your legs more and he looks down to line his cock up with you.

You watch as the tip of his cock slips in and your eyes roll back, your head falling back as he slides in the rest of the way.

His hand cups your cheek while his other holds his weight up, “Fuck, ma.” He kisses up and down your neck, “you feel so good around me.”

You moan at his words, moaning loudly as he starts to thrust. Your nails dig into his shoulders and you tug his hair at the nape of his neck with the other.

He groans, “Fuck, fuck.”

You tighten your legs around his waist, arching your back, “Fuck, I’m g-“ you moan, “I’m so close.”

He brushes hair from your face, his head handing down to rest against yours. Your moans mix together and you gasp, clenching his cock like your life depends on it, “Yesyesyes.”

You create more red lines on his back, “Chris, Chris.” You pant out, “Fuck, yes.”

You come undone around him, whimpering out as he guides you through your high, “You look so pretty when you’re a mess under me.”

His lips connect with yours and his thrusts pick up, moaning into your mouth as he slides his hand up to your neck, squeezing slightly as he leans his head back, “I want you to ride me.”

You nod, sitting up as he move to sit down. You take off your shirt, revealing your bare chest to him, and you straddle him.

He bites his lip as he rests his head back, his hands tight in your waist as you sink back down onto his cock with a moan.

“Fuck, ma.” He slides his hands up to squeeze and knead your boobs, “You’re so hot.”

He leans in and you lean in, your lips connected in a heated make out. Your hands slide to his cheeks, cupping them as you bounce up and down.

His hands slide back down your sides and he lays his head back again. You kiss down his neck, biting and sucking a small mark into his skin, “You’re so hot.”

He groans at your words, bucking his hips up with a grunt, “Shit, ma. Gonna make me cum.”

“That’s the goal, right?” You smirk, head tilting back as you sink all the way down, “Fuck, you feel so good.”

You drag your nails down his chest, whining out as you start bouncing again.

He thrusts his hips up again, moaning as his arm slides around your waist, “Just like that, baby. Just..” he groans, bucking his hips upward, “Like that..”

He leans in, taking one of your nipples into his mouth. You moan as his tongue flicks against it, your hands tangling in his hair, “Fuck, Chris.”

You tilt his head up, crashing your lips onto his.

“I’m close, baby.” He warns, “Where do you want me?”

“Let me off and I’ll show you.”

His grip releases from your body and you bounce a few more times before quickly moving to your knees on the floor.

You waste no time in leaning forward and sucking on the tip of his cock. Your hand pumping what isn’t in your mouth.

You take more of him in, bobbing your head as your hand twists with ease from the slick on his cock.

He pants, whimpering out as he places a hand on the back of your head, “Fuck, fuck.” He throws his head back, bucking his hips as you feel him twitch within your grasp.

You swallow his cum, groaning lowly as you lick around to clean his cock.

You lean back, breathing heavy as you slide your hands down his thigh. He tilts his head up, his chest rapidly rising and falling, “I’ve always wanted to fuck a teacher.”

You laugh as you reach over to grab your shirt, “Have you?”

You toss him his shirt and he gives you a funny look.

“What?” You ask as you slip your shirt on over your head. Chris shakes his head, “Nothing, I just..” he chuckles slightly, “Didn’t think this was going to be a one and done thing, you know?”

You stand up, moving to slip on your sweats, “I don’t remember telling you that.”

He looks up at you with a smirk, “You didn’t.”

“Hmm. Guess that’s a good thing then right?” You sit down next to him and he lifts his hips to pull his sweats up, “I would say so.”

You turn towards him and sigh, “No one can know about this, Chris. You know that right?” He nods, “Why would I want something like this ruined?”

He reaches over, tucking hair behind your ear, “I plan on keeping you all to myself, Ms. Y/l/n.”

——

Thank you so much for reading. I love you all so much! See you in the next one! 🖤

Likes and reblogs are majorly appreciated!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Great Expectations 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, power imbalance, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Professor Holmes’ class is your most difficult, but he’s about to make it even more challenging.

Characters: Sherlock Holmes (modern AU)

Note: monday

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Friday arrives too quickly for your likely. Amid the usual cluster of readings, lectures, and assignments, you have Professor’s Holmes’ additional task to add to the pile. It feels unfair that he would point out your own efforts only to force more upon you. His praise hardly seems like that in retrospect. 

That you did the readings likely made your experience simpler, though the vague instructions leave you uncertain. No rubric, no objectives, no outline. Your format in the usual style and triple-check the word count before you resign yourself to fate or fortune, whichever favours you. 

As usual, Professor Holmes prefers a physical copy, neglecting the digital workspace designed by the campus for ease of access. He doesn’t seem to be the type for the easy way out, does he? You try not to malinger on your gripes and head off, promising to reward yourself with a double whip frap for your work. It’s certainly more than you’ll receive from your professor, even if you do manage to gleam your first A+ from the man. 

The softness of autumn mingles with the crispness of early winter. You mourn the orange and yellow leaves as they start to curl at the edges and brown, blowing across the pavement and catching on pantlegs and tree roots. Midterm season is almost over but it won’t be long before finals rise to haunt you. 

You come up the Herringbone building and look up at the romanticist arches and columns. The esteemed architecture has you feeling even smaller. Surely, the professor will only add to that. 

Inside, the air is dry from the heat blowing from the high vents and curved staircases crest the foyer. You follow the left one up and continue along to the small set of steps that lead up to a hallway with only three office doors. Holmes is at the very end. You went there once before when you needed to be signed into the course; he was certain to make you wait then threatened not to sign the form at all. 

You stop and stare at the frosted glass with his pedigree emblazoned on it. You contemplate just shoving the paper through his slot but the light is on. You raise your fist and gently tap on the wood. You bounce on your feet as you wait, tugging at the itchy collar of the blue sweater dotted with little clouds. In the warmth of the stuffy building and under your wool jacket, it’s stifling. 

You hear movement from within and ready yourself for the encounter. You don’t think you’ve ever talked to Professor Holmes without some degree of awkwardness. On your end, of course. He can’t be bothered to care what others think of him. 

The door opens and you try to smile but it feels like chewing rocks. He looks back at you without an ounce of emotion. You gulp. 

“Um, Professor, I have my paper--” 

He’s already walking away as you stand dumbly in the doorway. You blanch as he circles back to his desk and sits heavily in his seat. He leans forward and dips his head, bending over an open leather folio with a lined pad within. A curl falls onto his forehead and he reaches without looking for the pipe propped up on a mahogany tray. 

“Come in,” he says before he puts the pipe to his lips and bites down. He teethes on it as he snatches up a pen with his other hand. You warily obey and cross the threshold. 

“So, um, here you go,” you near the desk and lay down the stapled paper. He doesn’t look up. “Erm, thanks, professor. I hate to disturb, so I’ll just leave it here--” 

He sighs and sits up, flicking back the curl as he replaces the pipe on the tray, “they won’t let me light that, even with the window open.” 

You glance over at the drawn curtains and nod, “oh.” 

“You’re the first,” he interjects before you can summon any sort of response. 

“Ah, oh--” 

“You are rather quick, aren’t you?” He challenges as he rolls the pen between his fingers, his shoulders spreading wide against the puckered leather chair, “fleet of foot, as some Victorian ponce might say. Quiet.” 

You blink and purse your lips, giving a shrug. 

“You didn’t say hello,” he intones, “it is courteous when you see an acquaintance to greet them, though I suppose etiquette does continue to change.” 

“Um, I didn’t want to... impose?” You murmur. 

His expression remains cryptic. You can’t tell if he’s annoyed or amused or something else. 

“So you didn’t,” he shrugs, his vest bracing on his chest. 

“Sorry, er, sir. But um, there’s my paper, I’ll... let you be. I’m sure you’re busy enough--” 

“Terribly busy,” he confirms dryly. “Since I’ll have a new batch of papers to mark, I’ll be kept well in hand.” 

You clasp your hands together and sway, “right, uh--” 

“And you’ll be off like the rest of those dull girls, paying no mind to the real purpose of study, but rather the wordly pleasures of the modern campus. All that pumpkin spice and such.” He reprimands. 

“Oh, uh, professor...” you know better than to argue. He is set in his ideas of his students and what should make you any different than the rest. 

“Right then,” he reaches for your paper and barely glances at the title page. He flips to the short essay and his eyes skim. He reaches for the antique pen and marks up the page as he goes. He hums as he scratches with the nib. “Good point but clunky prose. No, redudant.” He scribbles his comments in the margins. He turns to the second page and sighs. He closes it and holds it out. “You show comprehension but you need refinement.” 

“Um, thanks, er...” you take it hesitantly and back up again. He watches you with his bold blue eyes, not showing a single crack in his veneer. 

“Go off and enjoy your weekend, don’t fret over the fault of others. Certainly, you show more promise than most who haunt my lectures,” he says. His tone is flat but his words are praising. The contradiction has you off-foot. 

“Thank you, Professor, have a good weekend too.” 

He doesn’t respond as he puts his attention back to another stack of papers. You turn on your heel slowly and scurry to the door. He clears his throat and you stop. 

“Perhaps I mightn’t have such a tedious weekend.” 

You glance back but he still has his head down. You nod and leave him be with a sharp inhale. You hold your breath in until you close the door from the other side. 

Only a few more weeks and you’ll be through this class. Hopefully, you won’t ever have to face the heart palpitations that come with each encounter after that. For now, you will focus on the last paper and the eventual exam. Those are hurdles that look higher the closer you get. 

📕

There’s a cafe off campus you prefer. The library kiosk and the franchised booth in the Student Rec Centre are always overcrowded. This place isn’t so bad. A local mom and pop with a single barista. Maude, the retiree turned businesswoman, works slowly but efficiently. Traffic matches her pace but is enough to keep her thriving. 

“I’ll bring it to you, dearie,” she smiles as she hands you a plate with a crumbly scone on it. You thank her and go to find a seat. 

The place is homey. The seating is mismatched. There are armchairs around a low coffee table, some long tables with thrift store dining chairs, and square table in the corner with two benches and some stools. The rug that stands center to the sitting space is faded but its patterns still visible. 

You claim one of the armchairs near the bookcases and sit. Despite the tense submission, you’re glad not be stressing over another mark. Another A- to add to the rota in Holmes’ class. You could do a lot worse given what you’ve overheard from your classmates. 

The door opens and closes, letting in a chilly. You keep your coat on as you balance the scone on the coffee table. You’ll wait until you have your mocha and savour them together. It’s a rare treat but the dropping temperature coaxed you into it. 

A familiar baritone pricks your ears. You glance over before you can bury your nose in your phone and flinch. What luck. You almost doubt it’s a coincidence. Twice in a row you’ve managed to stumble upon the Professor outside of class. 

Your shoulders sink as you turn back and plant your elbow on the armrest, shielding your face behind your hand. What do you do? Your mind races. Despite what he said in his office he does not radiate welcoming energy. You can’t just flee and leave your order behind; it isn’t fair to Maude and you wouldn’t want to waste the money. 

Professor Holmes’ voice carries. He orders a black coffee and two shortbread biscuits; the Saturday special. The elder barista takes his order and as usual, bids him to sit down so she can bring it to him. You chew your lip as time ticks on. Make up your mind. 

Too late.  

“Pardon, oh,” Holmes approaches and gives pause as you look up at him. “You aren’t reserving these for your friends?” 

He gestures to the other arm chairs. You shake your head and clasp your phone tight in your hands. He dips his chin and sidles around the coffee chair. He removes his jacket and hangs it on the rack between the bookshelves. He lingers there as he browses the titles on the spines. 

Maude appears with your mocha in a large mug on a matching saucer. You thank her as she sets it by your scone. She calls over to Holmes, “I’ll have your coffee and biscuits in just a moment, dearie.” 

He turns his head and nods but says nothing else. She shuffles off and you lean forward to take your mug. Somehow your chocolatey treat doesn’t seem so sweet any more. He backs up and lowers himself across from you. You shyly return his gaze over the brim of your cup. 

“You come here often?” He asks. 

The question has you off-guard as much as his presence. You slurp noisily before you pull the cup away and put it down. You take the napkin by your scone and wipe your lips. 

“Sometimes. Once in a while. Er, I... I make my coffee at home. Tea, more often.” You clamp your lip shut before you can ramble on. 

“Mm, yes, I prefer tea as well. I was suggested the dark roast here by a colleague however.” 

You don’t know what to say. You’re entirely unprepared for the conversation. You’ve never thought much of what he might speak of outside his lectures. His interests, you assume, would align with his expertise. 

“You are enjoying your time? You haven’t any schoolwork?” He asks. 

You slant your lips one way then the other. You look down at the bag by your feet and back at him. He wears a wool sweater with elbow patches; not quite casual but casual for him. 

“I was going to do my readings...” you say. 

“Ah,” he sits back in the chair as Maude brings his coffee and biscuits. He thanks her tersely. 

You bend over and reach for your bag. You slide out your notebook and open it to the printed articles stashed between the pages. You hope it’s enough of an excuse not to talk as much. 

“My class?” He asks. 

“Yes, sir, er, Professor,” you answer. 

“Those are available digitally, as I understand.” 

“I know, but I, er, prefer print.” 

“Mm, yes, it does permeate more effectively, doesn’t it?” He intones. 

You agree with a silent nod and try to focus. You’re too shy to check if he’s watching you but it feels like he is. He sighs and sips from his cup. 

“What were you on the hunt for then?” He asks abruptly before you can read the introduction for the fifth time. You look up, perplexed. “At the craft store?” 

You open your mouth then pause. Finally, you summon the answer, “thread.” 

“Thread?” 

“Yes, I... make little things. Sometimes. It wasn’t urgent. I don’t have my sewing machine in my dorm and... no time.” You shrug and let the papers lay flat on your notebook. 

He considers you as his cheek dimples and he leans his chin on his knuckles. He looks down at the cup he holds over one leg. He sucks his teeth. 

“Rather flat,” he dislodges his elbow and leans forward. “And what did you get? It smells intriguing.” 

“Mocha with peppermint,” you answer. 

“Mm, with whip?” He peeks at your cup and the melting glut of cream. 

“Yes, Professor,” you reply. 

“I think I might trade mine for the same,” he stands with his cup in hand. 

You watch him, confused and uneasy. So much for getting some studying done. You doubt you’ll be able to concentrate with him looming on the other side of the table. 

[izudeeilo]

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You can study me

Sero hanta smau

volley-ball player sero x art student fem!reader, no quirks au, college au.

a/n it's been a while since I've written something like this...I'm nervous

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Senior year is finally here! You thought that this time, the teachers would be more lenient with you and your classmates, but not at all. In fact, they even got stricter... They assigned you a half year-long work, which would be worth 30% of your final grade. What does the work consist of, you ask? Making a complete study of the life of a student you need to pick and paint it.

But... you can't pick a friend.

Profiles • Part .2

Part 1

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You sat outside, pen in one hand, the other on your lap. Scribbling on the piece of paper quick doodles of a random animal. A rooster...a chicken…why was this one that popped in your mind, you don’t know.

A sight escapes your mouth as you look up at the sky. “This is going to be a nightmare” you mutter.

You would’ve been more ok with all of this if you could’ve chosen someone close to you instead. So much easier, simpler. But in the art course? nothing was easy.

You sometimes thought of quitting, completely. But the love you had for art kept you here and perhaps your supportive friends too. Seriously they meant everything to you, they’ve been here through thick and thin. They could be…themselves but you’d do anything for them, the other way around as well.

Taking your phone from your pocket, you check the time — 12:40 pm. “I should already be on my way to the cafeteria.” You get up slowly, grab your bag from the ground and shove the paper and pen inside.

As you enter the building, you greet with a wave of your hand some classmates you had met in your morning class. When you enter the cafeteria, you grab the tray from the pile and pick up a sandwich, a fruit salad and you pay for a soda can at the vending machine.

You weren’t particularly hungry today.

Scanning the room you make eye contact with your friends a bit further away. You march over to them and install yourself next to Himiko, Izuku in front.

”I’ve missed you guys so bad.” you say hugging Himiko’s arm. She hugs you back with a big smile. “Us as well!” she chuckles. “It’s only the first day of the week and I’m already tired.” adds Izuku with a slight smile before taking a bite from his sandwich.

You begin eating as well. “Can you guys believe it's the last year we’ll be together..” you say to them. “Oh don’t start already or I’m going to cry.” says Himiko, turning her head.

“ I know we’ll definitely be busy after but ain’t no way we’re getting separated, you better believe me, you ain’t getting rid of us” she taps her finger on your cheek in a teasing way.

”Oh that I already know” you chuckle.

Izuku suddenly perks up and says “By the way y/n I talked to some of my classmates and I’m sorry most of them don’t feel comfortable with that…” “Oh right mine as well…they say they don't want to meet new people or whatever” himiko adds.

”Oh well I did expect that honestly” you cross your arms and straighten yourself. “Guess the whole art course is going to struggle with finding someone” you sigh and begin to wonder how else are you going to find a student willing to participate in that. Ochaco may try with her classmates but you already have an idea of how it’s going to end.

You’d like someone with personality as well and there’s plenty of people like that here but—

You were cut off by a cheerful voice.

”Izuku you’re here!” A girl with pretty pink hair stopped in front of the table with her tray in hand. You all turned your head at her.

”Oh I didn’t know you were with friends my bad you guys!” she smiles.

”No it’s alright, you wanted something?” he responds.

”The boys are over there and I wanted to know if you wanted to come sit with us! Your friends can come as well if they’d like” She smiles at the both of us.

“Yeah for sure! Does it bother you guys?” He says looking at us.

”Not at all” Himiko and you respond at the same time. You look at each other before chuckling slightly.

”Perfect, follow me!” the girl begins walking ahead. “The name’s Mina by the way!”

”I’m y/n!” you respond back.

”And I’m Himiko”

You all reach a long table with four people already sitting and talking.

Four boys to be exact, one had blond hair and was just staring at the other three with a raised eyebrow, another had red hair and was laughing at something another blond said next to him and the last one with longer black hair was holding his sandwich with a smirk on his face.

”I am here and brought companyyy” Mina chants at the boys.

They perk up at the sound of her voice and all turn their heads towards us. You and Himiko smile not knowing what to do next.

”Hey, these are my friends, Himiko Toga and Y/n L/n !” Izuku introduces us.

He turns to us and points at the boys one by one.

”This is Kacchan- I mean Katsuki Bakugo. You already know him.” he laughs pointing at the blond with red eyes.

Bakugo nods his head with an almost visible smile.

”This is Denki Kaminari” The other blond points finger guns at us.

”This is Eijiro Kirishima” the red haired boy waves at us with a smile.

“And last but not least Sero Hanta” the black haired boy throws a peace sign at us and winks.

They all greet us happily and urge us to sit with them. You began talking for what seemed like hours, they told you they were part of the school volleyball team.

”Oh that’s so cool, how long have y'all been playing for?” you ask.

”We pretty much have been since we were kids. We practically all met through that.” Kirishima responds cheerfully. “Yeah we’re all like a biggg family” Kaminari leans on his shoulder.

Bakugo turns his head at us before speaking “So y/n, art huh? How is it being an artist?”

I laugh “I’m not an artist, artist yet but—“ you were cut off by Izuku.

”Oh stop that you draw, you paint even if it's not professionally yet you’re still an artist.”

”Yeah, it doesn’t matter even if it was just a hobby, you still are an artist.” Sero joins him before continuing. “And how is it going so far?”

”To be honest? Right now, horrible.” you chuckle.

They all seem taken back as their eyes slightly widen.

“It’s mostly because of an assignment our teacher already gave us.”

”Oh that's rough— On the first day?” Kirishima says.

”Yeah, I have like half of the school year to complete it? And it's worth 30% of my final grade too.” You lean your head on your hand. “I need to pick a student I don't know, to study their life? Like get to know them so I can make a painting of it—“

”You can study me?” Sero suddenly says, catching you off guard. “We just met so that’ll be perfect and I get to spend time with a cute girl like you so it’s a win-win situation.” He smiles and leans back on his chair.

You stare at him. That’s...a good idea actually you think to yourself and it’s not a total stranger if it’s one of Izuku’s friends…right?

”Well Sero you’ve got yourself a deal” I smile back at him.

”Call me Hanta.”

a/n i hope you guys like this aaah i'm so nervous and excited to post this...🤧 see u guys in the next part! 💋

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Day in the Life with Yandere Student Council | Part 2

Last Part

“Ah, just the three I wanted to see.”

“G-g-g-g-good a-a-afternoon (Y/n).”

You give him a small wave

The malicious intent is teeming off the couple as they glare at Lucoa

Who continues to smile entirely unbothered

“What do you need all three of us for? Mister. President.” 

“You both have a lot of work to catch up on.”

“We have already completed all of our schoolwork and the student council work we have yet to complete is not urgent.”

Lucoa’s piercing glints in the sunlight

“Not anymore. Respectfully this is the new work assigned to you both. Min Su.”

Struggling with one pile after another the treasurer pulls them out

until there are four fairly tall piles on the table

As if the sheer size wasn’t enough Min drops a nameplate on all the piles, politely smiling from behind them when he finishes

“I trust this will at least be finished before morning tomorrow.”

June’s face blanks  before a smile once again spreads on his face

“Gill, we’ll take two trips. Sorry (Y/n), we'll have to rain-check on our date.”

June waits for Gill grab two of the piles one with each of their names before walking out

“Bye, (Y/n).”

“Bye…”

When the door closes your attention is turned to Min and Lucoa who are each sporting smiles

“(Y/n) d-d-do you want to help me recount our savings for this month? O-o-or would you like to help me alphabetize our receipts?”

Before you can say anything Lucoa intercedes wrapping arm around your back

“Sorry Min I have a very important task for our honorary member.”

“...oh…”

“But I think it’ll be a good idea for (Y/n) to leave their bags with you.”

“Hah~Really?!”

“Yes, really.”

Min gives you a hug slipping off your pack to cradle it into his chest

“I’ll protect your things with my life!”

Redder than a tomato he runs off with your backpack

And you can only hope he doesn’t trip knowing him

“Well (Y/n) will you join me?”

You don’t have much of a choice as Lucoa already confirms you’re attendance and assignments for class are waived

Following him to his private office you admire the expensive decor and the pristine waterfall against the wall

Its a sight to behold

“So uh Lucoa what’s this super important task?”

“Just a survey. I think it’s important to know the preferences of all my members.”

“...’If you were relocated to a higher living space would you or would you not be satisfied with your life?’...”

“So?”

“Uhm not that this has anything to do with the survey but I like where I am now. I prefer a cozy and convenient place where I can keep learning at school.”

Lucoa smile never fades as he tilts his head at you

“You’re right it doesn’t have anything to do with the survey.”

“I’m not refusing to finish it. It’s just something I wanted to say.”

You wait for some kind of reaction but he leans in his chair and twirls away

“Well I’m glad you told me, (Y/n)."

He stops spinning to stare you down again

“I need that survey tomorrow.”

“Okay!”

You gather the papers prepared to leave

“You don’t have your back pack or any of your belongings.”

“I-i know but it’s getting late I have to get back before curfew.”

“Don’t worry I’ll have my driver drop you off. Besides I was wondering if you wanted to try a strawberry? I just had them imported after a business proposition.”

“Uh sure I guess.”

“Great.”

Everyday’s a new adventure with these guys

But it’s a school day after all 

a specialized college such as this is sure to have it’s eccentrics

To be bad your trapped with them

Not even the weekends will keep you out of their grasp

[heliads]

To the Moon and Back

Based on this request: "do u think u could do one where the reader has like the worse panic attack in their life n fred helps them n snuggles w them after n stuff?"

a/n changed somewhat to be about stress because i need a chance to vent

masterlist

The countless corridors and stairwells of Hogwarts have many positives. They’re gorgeous, for one thing. They get you where you need to go at least some of the time, depending on how much the stairs feel like moving properly. They let you see your friends and sneak around after hours, hidden by the true darkness only a castle can bring. 

And now, when you need it most, they let you hurry up to your dorm unbothered by ghosts and Slytherins alike. Today has been— a day, to be sure, a bad one, and what you want most right is for it to finally be over. You don’t want to see anyone, and you certainly don’t want anyone to see you.

It’s just, Merlin, life is so difficult. There’s so much to do all of the time. Even outside of classes, you have to carefully maintain your friendships, you have to join clubs or organizations so you can be perceived as having a life but specifically a life that can be marketed towards future careers. You should stay busy but not too busy; seeming like a frazzled mess all the time is unbecoming. Just the right amount of manic panic is okay.

And then there are the classes, which are completely killer. Hogwarts is one of the best magical schools around for a reason, but that reason is that students have to suffer through difficult classes with lots of homework all the time. Long essays drive you to exhaustion. Difficult exams make you want to give up and curl into a ball. And all of it is graded, graded harshly, graded without a single thought to the fact that you have tried so hard for so long and none of it matters.

It’s enough to drive anyone up the wall, and you’re no exception. Everything has been piling up for so long– so many assignments, so many tests and quizzes– that by now you’re just a glass statue of a student that’s more than ready to shatter at the slightest touch. Someone so much as looking at you wrong is enough to set you over the edge, and that happened tonight.

Hot tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you hasten your steps towards your dorm. Once you make it to Gryffindor Tower and you can get to your bed and pull the blankets around you and just block out the world until you fall asleep, you’ll be okay, you just have to get there first. Every moment you spend with your eyes open is one that you can’t stop thinking about all the thousands of ways you have messed up in this one life of yours and all the ways that you can’t fix it.

You can feel your breath catching in your lungs. It’s like you’ve been reduced to buzzing wires and chattering nerves, nothing more. There’s no time to rest. There’s no time to do anything but study or do work or be productive. Everything has to be perfect, but nothing is. You’ll never be perfect, and that thought makes you want to burst into tears.

You somehow make it to the portrait of the Fat Lady, who regards you with a baffled stare. Even after you choke out the password, she frowns down at you for a second, launching you into a tidal wave of wondering if you really do look that bad, and worse still, how many people must have noticed that and figured out that you have absolutely nothing under control. A moment later, the painting swings forward and you’re admitted into the Gryffindor common room, but that moment feels like an infinity of terrible overthinking.

You ball your hands into fists at your sides, trying to use the sensation of your fingernails digging into your palms to distract you from the tears waiting to let themselves go. Your head is a mess, and it takes everything in you to nod and smile at your friends, who were talking by the fire and wave when you pass by. 

How is it that they’re in the same classes as you but they somehow have the time to just relax like this every evening? You’re practically worked to the bone every day, but they’re fine. Maybe it’s just you, then. Maybe the problem is you, because if they can do it just fine and you can’t, then who else is to blame?

You hurry past them. The stairs to the dorms are right there, you’re so close, but–

A hand on your arm; you’re pulled to an abrupt standstill. “Is everything alright, Y/N?”

You look up to see Fred Weasley peering down at you. He seems awfully concerned, and usually you’d appreciate your friends looking out for you but today you just want it over:  the prying eyes, the attention.

“I’m fine,” you get out, and try for a smile but settle for something kind of like a grimace.

You try to keep going but Fred follows after you. “No, you’re not. D’you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

“I don’t,” you tell him, and horrifically, a sob builds in your throat as you say it.

Fred hears it and tries to get back to you, but you’re already hurrying up the stairs to the girls’ dorms. At least he can’t follow you there. At least then, you’re away from it all, because everything around here is way too much and you just can’t take it anymore. You don’t want to see anyone. You don’t want to be reminded of how poorly you’re doing and how great everyone else is.

You fling open the door to your room and hurl yourself onto your bed. Thankfully, none of the other girls from your year are here, so you don’t have to worry about any witnesses when the sobs cascade from you, loud and wracking and practically painful in their intensity. You wanted to block out the whole world and so you do, curling up on your side with your eyes shut tight, almost convincing yourself that nothing exists outside of you and your bed and this raw, raw agony that won’t leave you alone.

The only thing that breaks through the spell is the creak of your dorm door opening. You freeze at once– you really don’t want any of your friends to see you like this, not in the slightest– but the sheer surprise of hearing Fred’s voice as opposed to any of your friends makes the tears pause for a moment in their relentless cascade down your cheeks.

You poke your head up slightly to see if you’ve just misheard it, but no– that’s Fred standing there, looking cautiously around the room until he finds you.

“Y/N,” he says, and you swear you can hear his heart breaking in the syllables, “Sweetheart, talk to me. Please.”

You shake your head, drawing back away from him. “Just go, please. Leave me alone.”

“I’m not going to do that,” he tells you.

You shake your head. “It’s what I want. Come on, Fred, you shouldn’t even be up here.”

“Tell that to the stairs,” he says, smiling somewhat lopsidedly as he pads across the room to take a careful seat on the side of your bed, “They let me in. Maybe they sensed that you needed someone to talk to.”

“I don’t want to talk,” you sigh, flopping back against the pillows.

Fred just shrugs. “Then don’t. I’m still going to be here for you, though.”

You hear the twin sounds of his shoes being taken off and falling to the floor, then he carefully scooches you over so he can sit next to you. Fred maneuvers your head into his lap and begins to softly trace circles into the skin near your forehead, your temples; slowly and deliberately taking pressure away from your head. 

“I don’t like seeing you hurt,” he says against the quiet stillness of the empty dorm, “and whatever hurt you like this, I’ll do whatever I can to fix it.”

You choke out a bitter half-laugh. “You can’t. It’s all my fault.”

You can’t quite see Fred’s face from your position, but you can sense the frown lingering over his words when he speaks again. “What d’you mean? Of course I can. We can do anything together, don’t you remember saying that when we were kids? If the problem is school, we’ll study together. Or I’ll extract notes from someone else, that may be more helpful. If it’s something else, we can take breaks like this all the time, or go out into Hogsmeade, or do anything if it makes you happy. I’ll do anything to make you happy.”

In spite of yourself, you find yourself distracted by the even, sweet rhythm of his words. It’s much easier to focus on him than the war inside your head, and so you do. “We can’t go to Hogsmeade, Fred. It’s not winter yet.”

Fred chuckles, and you can feel the vibrations of it through his ribs and against your head. “Sweetheart, you can hardly expect me to follow the rules at a time like this. I’d sneak us both out of the castle, obviously. I’d take you anywhere. London. France. The moon.”

This time, your smile comes a little faster, a little easier. “There’s no secret tunnel out of Hogwarts that leads to the moon, silly.”

“Well,” Fred contemplates, “That’s just because we haven’t found it yet, obviously. Give me time, I’ll work on it. Maybe we’ll swing by Saturn while we’re at it.”

You drift into quiet silence, letting the gentle pattern of Fred’s fingers against your shoulders fill the gaps. Slowly, surely, you can feel the stress starting to ebb away from you, replaced with the hushed lull of peace. It’s lovely right now, actually, you’re just scared that the second Fred leaves, everything will come rushing back. It makes you curl your shoulders into him a little more, press just that much closer against him.

As if he can read your thoughts, Fred’s arms wrap protectively around you. “I’m not letting you go anytime soon, lovely. I’ll stay all night if I need to. Not until I know you’re going to be okay.”

“That might take a while,” you warn him.

When you glance up to check the truth in his expression, you’re rewarded with a soft smile twisting over his lips. “That’s perfectly fine by me,” he tells you, and you believe it.

And so a terrible evening is made into a better one. The overwhelming stress will come again, you have no doubt of that, but for once it’s not on your mind right now. The bad times will always return to challenge us, but you have a new defense that you didn’t have before. You have Fred, and you have the memories of this quiet peace, the knowledge that things will get better, always. That, by itself, is a good reason to keep going.

harry potter tag list: @rogueanschel, @cameronsails, @neewtmas, @lovesanimals0000, @with-inked-solace, @sher-lokid7, @eclliipsed, @frenchgirlinlondon, @23victoria, @ilovexavierthrope

[stariikis]

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 | 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 007

synopsis ; based on the Chinese Drama, 'When I Fly Towards You', in which you, a going-on-high-school English genius named Huang Yuting meets the Mathematics genius of the 10th grade, Nishimura Riki, underneath the rain.

masterlist >>

Riki can’t think back to the ‘bus stop incident’ without physically convulsing and curling into a ball. Why did he have to go out and embarrass himself like that, anyway? He starts to reprimand himself, pacing back and forth around his desk. A sigh leaves him as he looks over at the pile of work sitting there like a threat. 

Lately, though he excels in his studies, dance has been his form of respite when he’s got pent-up stress. Yuting has probably ruined that for him, now that he’s been utterly embarrassed in front of her face. He doesn’t know why he even walked up to her as the bus approached her stop, and tapped her shoulder to wake her up, worried that she would miss her stop. He shouldn’t be so concerned, should he? 

When he finally sits down at his desk to study for the night, reaching out to switch his lamp on, his head replays the past hour once more. He cringes. Formulas and equations, judging him from where they sit on his assignments, don’t even cross his mind anymore. He will never focus at this rate, he thinks, picking up his pen and twirling it coolly. 

“No way she’ll remember that and laugh,” he mutters to himself, hand rubbing his forehead in an attempt to sooth himself. “She’ll think it’s really cool that I can dance, right? She won’t think I’m a weirdo for dancing in the middle of nowhere?”

He reads the first question on his worksheet, frowns when it doesn’t make sense, and reads it over and over and over. But everytime he tries, he thinks of Yuting’s wide, excited eyes, glimmering as she asks if he can really dance. This is not good, this is not good at all, he frets with a pang in his chest. What if he gets distracted like this in the middle of a test? What if something like this happens and he fails for the first time? He’ll never live it down. 

Screw Huang Yuting and her pretty, curious gaze. 

You pull your lavender, lace covers over your face and giggle at the thought of Riki practising how to dance at home. It’s so difficult to fathom him executing dance moves in front of a small mirror in his room. Or maybe he goes for weekly dance practice. Or maybe he even holds his own lessons somewhere! That’s a pleasant thought. 

You imagine him guiding younger children with a youthful smile on his face and it’s possibly the most adorable thing that you’ve ever thought. You bring your knees towards your chest and, strangely, start to daydream about it. That’s when your phone lights up with a notification. 

Finally, you think, grinning and opening your messaging app to check on what Moka has replied. However, when you do so, you take a scan over your chats and realise it’s not Moka. It’s your class chat. Your class monitor reminds you in a message full of obnoxious, cutesy emojis that you’re having extra-curricular selections soon. 

Instead of thinking of possible choices for yourself, you ponder whether Riki will choose dance. 

Seems fitting, but he could choose something nerdy like library club or coding, if he really wanted to. With his smarts and talent for almost anything he puts his mind to, selections like this must be really difficult. Anything he puts his mind to, he can probably ace just as he does with his current hobbies. 

Switching your phone off and putting it away, you tell yourself you’ll ask him what he intends to join. Tomorrow. If he doesn’t ignore you again.

“Hey, wait up!” Moka tugs your arm along as she runs after Riki and Jungwon down the hallway. It’s sure to leave a bruise on your wrist, with how tight she’s gripping you there. “It’s important!” 

Jungwon clearly hears her, rolling his eyes and continuing to walk forward. Riki keeps his nonchalant expression as always. Sunoo peeps out of their classroom and waves cheerfully at you both as you dash past, but neither of you pay him any attention. 

When you finally catch up to them, hands on your knees to stabilise your breathing, Riki looks down at you with a quirk in his eyebrows, as if judging you, but his lips are turned upwards. In another badly suppressed smile. He really should just smile more, wouldn’t it be so much easier on his facial muscles? 

“You look stupid,” Jungwon laughs right in Moka’s face. A stark contrast to whatever’s awkward tension there is here between you and Riki. Your best friend tucks a piece of loose hair behind her ear, sticking a finger in front of his eyes. She tries to speak, fails when she chokes on a shortage of breath, and tries again. 

“You,” she exhales slowly, “You…” 

Jungwon cocks his head challengingly, smirking. 

“I can’t think of any good comeback,” Moka glances at you and whispers quietly, pursing her lips. But this is her mess, you refuse to partake in her petty disagreements with Jungwon. You have enough with Ri- 

“You do look dumb,” Riki says, shockingly. And suddenly, you are a part of one of Moka and Jungwon’s countless arguments, all because of him. Just because he’s probably insanely inwardly humiliated from last night. You just know Riki’s self-consciousness gets the better of him sometimes. This is the same guy that deems only black, white and grey (occasionally, brown) to be ‘cool colours’ and could never be caught wearing any pastels. On a daily basis, he speaks an average of less than ten words. He probably studies during every pocket of freetime. 

“Cool”, you mutter under your breath. He’s such a wannabe, with his hands currently stuffed in the pockets of an ashy grey sweater, smug smile plastered over his cheeks. 

Sunoo joins you all at the corner of the hallway, eyes darting in between you and Riki. “What’s up, guys?” 

“I don’t really know,” Jungwon sighs almost spitefully, shrugging towards you and your best friend. “Ask them. They pulled us over to ask something important..” 

“We meant to ask you if you’re planning on joining a certain extra-curricular,” you respond, before Jungwon can say anything more offensive. Sunoo’s eyes light up, and Jungwon actually falls into contemplation for a moment. Riki, however, looks at you like you’ve uncovered another one of his deep dark secrets. 

“What?” You look at him, letting some disdain seep into your voice. You’re tired of his insouciant attitude every single time you do so much as ask him an innocent question. The only times he’s ever a nice person is if it’s raining and you genuinely do not have an umbrella. Maybe you should pray for it to rain more, and purposefully leave your umbrella at home. 

“Drama,” Sunoo grins resolutely, and instantly you think it’s not a bad choice for him. It’s actually pretty suitable, considering how empathetic Sunoo can get. He’ll definitely be able to get into character, whether he’s a do-good protagonist, or a villain with a snarky side. 

Jungwon takes a side-glance at Riki, who shakes his head wildly, before declaring, “we were thinking of contemporary dance.” The latter smacks his forehead and refuses to look your way. How cute of him, he’s embarrassed. again. 

When Sunoo stares in bewilderment at you who’s desperately trying to stifle laughter, Riki grabs his shoulder and shakes his head at him, as if telling him not to ask any questions. He’s got no faith in you – why would you ever spill anything? After all, though it’s a cute little secret shared between you two, it’s not your secret to tell. 

taglist (open)

@laylasmother @seunnimg @natalunae @roumajuli @tomomorin @purplelxvx

previous | masterlist | next

[happi-tree]

i hate accidents (except when we went from friends to this)

“Oh, god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you, I don’t know what came over me, you’re just so hurt and I was so scared and I didn’t know what to do and -”

Link cuts himself off as he glances up from Taylor’s still-glazed expression to his forehead. Before his eyes, the gash stitches itself closed, the open wound fading to a pink scar that pales to white before disappearing entirely.

Lincoln remembers hearing the words “kiss it better” throughout his entire childhood. He remembers the way his dads would patch up his scraped knees with ointment and a bandage and top it all off with a tiny kiss before treating him to a hard candy from their first aid kit for being such a good boy.

Never once had Link thought that the phrase could be literal. Or that his newfound powers could make it literal.

Or: Link discovers a rather unorthodox way of using Lay On Hands thanks to one Taylor Swift, and for some reason, he can’t seem to stop finding excuses to perfect his new skills. Fortunately, Taylor is more than happy to help.

once / twice / thrice, pt. 1 / thrice, pt. 2

twice (‘cause it’s gonna be alright)

The second time it happens, it’s not an accident. 

Taylor invited Link to his house on the pretense of doing homework together (who knew saving the world meant having so many late assignments?) and maybe watching some anime later. 

It had taken Link some convincing at first, but Taylor thinks he’s finally got him hooked on Blue Lock: Keyed Up!!! (which is good, considering it’s the only soccer anime that Taylor’s watched). 

Unfortunately, though, homework comes first. Which sucks, because there are about a million and one better things that a protagonist like him could be doing, but he doesn’t want to worry his mom about his grades slipping any further.

Plus, Taylor missed an additional afternoon’s worth of classes yesterday for a long-overdue orthodontist appointment (his jaw aches at the reminder), so he has extra extra make-up work. Ugh. 

At least Link’s passable at science. Normally, Scary could make up some pretty good answers for all of them for their English work, but she’s out recording some stuff for Erica’s podcast. Normal has cheer practice, so Taylor doesn’t really have much hope for his pile of Spanish worksheets, but at the very least, he and Link are making progress. 

Very slow progress. 

Taylor accidentally clenches his jaw a little too hard, and the ache in his teeth intensifies from there-but-tolerable to fucking-hell-it-feels-like-someone-is-wrenching-my-upper-jaw-in-two-holy-shit.

He makes a quiet, whimpering sort of noise, and Link looks up from his work immediately, eyebrows all scrunched together and lips downturned in concern. It would be cute if Taylor could focus on anything other than the agony plaguing his mouth.

“You okay, dude?” he asks, shifting closer on Taylor’s king-size mattress.

“Nnnnnnn,” Taylor moans, shaking his head ever so slightly and flopping back against the pillows dramatically (but carefully, so as not to accidentally make the pain worse somehow). “Teeth hurt.”

“Oh, right, you got your braces adjusted yesterday,” Link gently moves their notebooks and laptops to the side, where they won’t get crushed. 

Taylor’s eyes squeeze shut as he tries to do anything but focus on the ache. “Mmm,” he confirms. “And I think maybe my fangs might be growing in? Hard to tell, but I keep accidentally cutting my tongue on my canines, so I think they’re getting sharper.”

“That’s pretty cool,” Link says, and the sincerity in his voice brings a smile to Taylor’s face, which he cuts off with a wince because fuck, ow, that hurt.

“Would be cooler if my entire mouth didn’t hurt like hell, though,” Taylor grumbles. 

He opens his eyes to find Link hovering over him, looking worried and… hesitant?

“Jeez, Link, I’m not dying or anything. The torment is endless and the agony neverending, but I will persevere! Ah, fuck,” Taylor mutters, pressing a hand to his cheek, which only seems to make matters worse.

Link’s still looking at him like that, though, so he makes grabby hands to beckon him closer.

“Cuddles would maybe help, though, if you’re just gonna sit there,” he offers.

“I can work with that,” Link says, laughing a little under his breath and leaning back on the pillows beside him. 

He opens up his arms and Taylor wedges himself between them, tucking his head under Link’s chin and burying the top portion of his face into his chest, right below his collarbones. He inhales, trying to focus on the smell of laundry detergent and fresh-cut grass and sports deodorant and sweat and something uniquely Link rather than the pain in his jaw, and it works a little.

Link’s arms come around to encircle him, and while Taylor can feel stifled by skin-to-skin contact (he already has enough trouble regulating his own body heat without throwing someone else’s into the mix), the way Link holds him feels… nice. Protective. Link begins to trace tiny, meaningless circles into his back with his thumbs through the fabric of Taylor’s shirt, and the sensation grounds him. 

Taylor quietly realizes that he hasn’t felt this safe in a long time. 

His mouth still hurts like a bitch, though.

As if on cue, another pulse of pain floods his mouth, and Taylor instinctively clenches his jaw against the feeling, which in hindsight was pretty stupid because it makes the ache intensify tenfold. Taylor lets out a whine into Link’s chest, clutching helplessly at his best friend’s shirt. 

He fantasizes somewhat deliriously about taking his teeth and chucking them out of his face where they can’t hurt him.

“That seems like it must be pretty painful,” Link says sadly.

“Nnnnnnnngh,” Taylor replies because yeah, no shit, Sherlock-kun.

“You know,” Link starts out, tone still soft but much more considering, more nervous. Taylor can feel the vibration of Link’s voice against the top of his head, right where it’s pressed against his taller friend’s throat. “I think I can fix that, if you want.”

Taylor pulls away a bit, and Link loosens his hold to allow for some space.

“Well, why didn’t you say so earlier?” Taylor asks. “I know I look totally awesome and composed on the outside, but I am fucking perishing inside. Yes, please, whatever your idea is, I will literally do anything. What were you thinking of, though?”

“Well,” Link says, voice pitching high, “I was thinking, I could, uh. Kiss it better? Like I did last week, if you remember that?” He looks briefly down at Taylor, as he says this, scanning his face for… something. “Oh my god, it would be so embarrassing if you didn’t remember that. Never mind, this is so stupid, sorry, forget I said anything.”

Except Taylor doesn’t really hear that last part because he’s too busy reliving the feeling of Link’s chapped lips pressed against his temple, callused hands cradling the back of his head, big brown eyes that look like black holes in the darkness of sun-off threatening to swallow Taylor completely. 

Does Taylor remember last week? That’s like asking someone if they remember that the sky is red. Taylor remembers last week annoyingly well, and he keeps remembering it, and the scene plays and replays as the hellfire within his ribcage flares and the heat rises and he looks up at Link who’s still working himself into some anxiety-ridden ramble and -

Cool it, cool it, part of his mind whispers to him. 

Link offered to kiss me, an irritatingly large amount of his brain shrieks back at him, uncool and uncharacteristically nervous and taking up more mental real estate by the second. Boy hugging me boy touching me boy kissing me?

You just need to calm down, the more rational part of his brain assuages. You’re Taylor Swift, you’ve got this.

I’m Taylor Swift, I’ve got this. Taylor mentally chants, strongarming the fire in his chest and turning the flame down to something a bit more bearable. I’ve got this. I’m popular, I’m icy cool, and anyone would be lucky to kiss me. I’ve got this.

Brain successfully rebooted, Taylor nudges at Link’s shoulder, stopping his friend’s mutterings in their tracks.

“As long as you haven’t talked yourself out of it, I’m, like, totally down if you’re still offering. You severely underestimate how desperate I am for pain relief.”

“Oh,” Link says, eyebrows drawn up in surprise. Then, “Really?”

“Yeah, oh,” Taylor echoes back. “Really. The only thing is… don’t you usually have to touch whatever’s hurt for it to work? And like, it’s my teeth, so…”

“Yeah, and?” Link prompts, like he isn’t quite seeing any problem with that and.

Oh.

Oh, Link means kissing kissing. Like, on the mouth. And to get at Taylor’s teeth… that’s like making-out-kissing. Oh, god. Oh my god, okay. This is fine. Sure! Great.

“Oh,” Taylor says aloud. Then, “Okay!”

“Are you sure? About this?” Link questions, searching Taylor’s expression even as he places a slightly-clammy hand to Taylor’s cheek, even as Taylor’s face feels like it lights on fire in response. The clear concern in the upturn of his brows and the gleam in his dark eyes has Taylor humming in assent before he realizes what he’s doing and placing his hand atop Link’s larger one, holding him there as Taylor’s gaze is drawn to his slightly parted lips.

“For the love of god, Link, just kiss me already.”

“Okay,” Lincoln says, quiet and slightly unsteady. And he closes the gap.

It’s clear that this is Link’s first kiss, and Taylor’s pretty sure Link can tell that it’s the first time he’s kissed someone, too (well, someone that isn’t his body pillows).

Link’s lips feel softer against Taylor’s than they had against his forehead. He’s tentative and shy and exceedingly gentle, and Taylor’s unsure if that’s out of the fear of causing him undue pain or if it’s just who Link is, but he appreciates it either way.

 Link’s thumb strokes delicately across Taylor’s cheek, almost reverently, like he’s afraid that Taylor will break apart in his arms if he doesn’t treat him with care. Link’s other hand comes to rest at the side of his neck, threading through the hair that’s escaped Taylor’s topknot, and the feeling of it paired with the light press of Link’s lips against his own draws another humming sound from his throat.

Taylor tries his best to reciprocate, mouth pliant against Link’s, free hand fisting in the soft, slippery fabric of his best friend’s shirt and tugging gently as if to bring him in even closer. His other hand moves from atop Link’s to cradle the back of his head and run his fingers through his close-cropped hair.

Link makes a low, soft sort of noise that will no doubt be replaying for weeks on end in Taylor’s head. God, he needs to hear that sound again.

Sadly, though, they’ve run out of air, and Lincoln pulls away only to lean back in and carefully rest his forehead against Taylor’s.

Taylor’s eyelids blink open (oh, he had closed them, when had that happened?) and he comes face-to-face with Link, brown eyes deep and dark, half-lidded and half-dazed, staring directly at him with open affection. His hand still rests on Taylor’s cheek, and Taylor can feel the stark temperature difference there, anxiety-chilled and demonically-overheated, as something flutters hard in his chest.

“Uh, wow,” Link says, quiet and very breathless, and God, who gave him the right to be so beautiful and so adorable at the same time?

Taylor draws his lip in between his teeth and is greeted with a sharp stab of pain.

“Ow, fuck, shit,” Taylor hisses, scooching back to put more distance between the two of them. “Guess that didn’t work, but thanks for trying, Link. You out of spell slots or something?”

With Link’s complexion, it can be difficult to tell when his friend is flushed or flustered, but his wide eyes and cringing expression definitely come across as embarrassed.

“No,” he replies, voice a few octaves higher than normal. “I, uh, forgot? To do the spell.”

At Taylor’s quirked eyebrow, Link elaborates, “I just wanted to make sure I didn’t accidentally hurt you more, and then I got so wrapped up in that that I guess I forgot, and then you did that thing with your hand in my hair, and -” he cuts himself off with a whine, covering his eyes with a hand and dramatically rolling over, the picture of mortification. “Kill me now.”

Taylor laughs, loud and sudden and sharp despite the pain, and Lincoln curls a little further into himself. 

“I can just, uh - I made it weird, I can just go, I guess?” Link says in that reedy, nervous way of his, voice cracking toward the end as he sits up, moves to stand -

“Dude,” Taylor clambers across the mattress after him, grabs his wrist. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“I-“ Link gestures with his thumb toward the door. “Home? I mean, I screwed up, and you laughed, and now you probably think I’m so stupid and-“

“Hold up, handsome,” where did that pet name come from - “I wasn’t laughing at you- I mean! I was,” Taylor watches as Link’s expression droops further “- but not to make fun of you! It’s just…” Come on, just say it, you’ve never had trouble speaking your mind before - “endearing.”

Link looks more confused and anxious than anything, but that’s better than sad and anxious, so Taylor takes that as a win. 

“Plus, you’re not getting away from me that easy, Li-Wilson,” He adds, tugging his friend a little closer. Link doesn’t resist it.

Taylor allows a smile to pull at his lips, only flinching a little bit at the pain he now expects. “You can try again, you know,” he offers, looking up at Link through his lashes. 

“I can?” His friend asks, skin flushed darker across his cheeks. “I didn’t make it too awkward?”

“Nope!” Taylor responds, popping the “p.” 

“Nothing awkward about a good old-fashioned makeout session with your best friend!”

“Best friend,” Link echoes, “Right…”

“C’mon,” Taylor goads, crooking a finger toward him as he smirks. “I don’t bite.”

Taylor’s gaze lowers from Link’s face and rests at the side of his friend’s neck, taking note of the sparse freckles there. His teeth feel a little heavier in his mouth.

“Not unless you want me to,” he murmurs. 

“What?” Link asks, sounding strangled. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Taylor evades.

“If you’re really sure -“

“I am,” Taylor confirms, moving to sit half-gracelessly in his friend’s lap, hands steadying his weight on Link’s strong shoulders. “Now, less tally-talky, more smoochy-smoochy!”

“So demanding,” Link teases, even as he threads his fingers through his hair again. Taylor can hear the smile in his voice without having to look - which is good, because if he did, he’s pretty sure he’d give into the impulse to kiss the curve of his lips without preamble.

“You bet.” Taylor’s voice comes out much breathier than he expects as he meets Link’s eyes. “Don’t forget the spell this time!”

“I won’t! Probably.” 

Just like before, Link leans in again, and a slight smile pulls at Taylor’s lips as he meets him halfway. 

The sensation of Link’s lips against his own is a little less foreign now, a little less startling. Taylor lets himself melt into it, and just before he closes his eyes he can see the adorable little furrow of concentration between Link’s brows that he gets whenever he’s casting something. 

Kissing his best friend tastes like vanilla chapstick and Taylor’s favorite soda. Link had snagged a bottle of lychee Ramune out of his hands earlier, saying something about how carbonation was bad for braces and offering his homemade sports drink instead (which hadn’t tasted too great but wasn’t quite as bad as Taylor had expected). Taylor finds that he doesn’t really mind, now - not when the flavor is even more addictive this way.

Link’s hands come up to cradle the sides of Taylor’s face like some sort of fairytale prince, firm and gentle and insistent all at once. The soft pressure of his friend’s fingertips ghosts along the jut of his jawline, and it’s almost worshipful, like Link sees Taylor as someone to be adored. 

The tenderness of it all sends a thrill down Taylor’s spine, and then the chill spreads, unfurling itself through every nerve. 

Taylor has been on the receiving end of Link’s magic before, but he’s rarely lucid enough to appreciate it, to bask in the comforting coolness his friend’s Lay On Hands brings. It’s less like running an open cut under cold water and more like a fresh breeze in the middle of a stagnant summer afternoon, he thinks, something blissful and relieving that reminds him of safety, just like the boy he’s kissing. He falls forward into the embrace - both the spell and Link’s affection - as his hands tangle themselves in the back of Link’s athletic shirt, chasing the feeling. Link’s magic is a deeply soothing sensation, a balm to Taylor’s flushed cheeks and fire-bright nerves and burning heart, and he can feel himself melt in Link’s hold, his thoughts reducing to little more than a warm haze against his lips.

Link pulls away after what probably amounted to only a few moments, and Taylor leans after him on instinct. His eyes flutter open just in time to see Link gazing down at him fondly through his lashes, the last dregs of his magic sparking across his irises in anvil-sharp flashes of bronze before fizzling out entirely. His lips are slightly kiss-bruised, and it sends a jolt of satisfaction through Taylor’s stomach as he realizes that he did that.

“Did it work this time?” Link asks him, still cradling Taylor’s face in his hands, thumbs still grazing lightly across his cheeks.

It takes a few seconds for Taylor to register the question, then a few more as he prods at the back of his teeth with his tongue, clenches his jaw experimentally.

“Looks like it!” He confirms happily, though his joy sours a bit as Link’s hands leave his face to lean back on his arms, mourning the loss of contact.

“You’re a genius, Link,” Taylor praises, smiling and then smiling wider when he realizes that he feels no pain whatsoever. “Think you could do that again whenever my joints are acting up?”

He doesn’t really mean it - of course, a bigger part of him than he’d like to admit does, but his tone was supposed to come off as teasing - but Link’s eyes go wide and his cheeks darken further, and maybe Taylor wouldn’t mind at all if his friend takes that one hundred percent seriously.

“I- I mean, if you want t- If it’d help?” He fumbles, face flushing further as he stutters. It’s pretty commonplace to see Link a bit flustered, but it’s different when Taylor knows that he’s the reason for it. It’s pretty cute, in his opinion. 

“It’d do more than help. Chronic pain sucks ass, but you’d be, like, my personal angel,” Taylor says, looking up at Link. 

You already are, his mind adds for him. 

“Sure, then. Anytime. Uh, that’s what friends are for, right?” Link asks, those big brown eyes of his searching Taylor’s face for something.

He said “anytime”, is Taylor’s only coherent thought, one that runs giddy circles in his brain. I kissed Lincoln Li-Wilson. Twice. I just kissed my best friend twice. He said he’d kiss me again. God, I want to kiss him again. 

“Mm,” Taylor half-responds, still reeling from the way Link’s hands carded through his hair and smoothed over his cheeks and the way their lips slotted together. 

“Oh,” Taylor hears Link say distantly. “Okay, that’s, um. Okay.”

“Mm,” Taylor hums again, still in the process of rebooting what’s left of his brain.

A hand waves in front of Taylor’s face. “Taylor? You okay there, buddy? Did I do the spell wrong somehow? Please tell me I didn’t break you.”

You can break me anytime, Taylor thinks, mind conjuring images he definitely should not be having this close to the subject of his fantasies.

Taylor shakes his head in attempt to clear them. “All good, my man! Just, uh, thinking.” He desperately hopes his face isn’t as red as it feels.

“Wanna get back to homework, then?” Link says, gesturing to the pile of notebooks. “I think one of our make-up quizzes is due tonight.”

“Oh, shit, I forgot about that. We should probably get back to studying, huh.” He scoots away from Link to grab a notebook and his laptop, and for once in his life he misses the body heat of having a person next to him.

“Okay,” Link says, patting the empty space next to him and propping himself up against Taylor’s headboard.Taylor complies, settling himself into place at his side and handing him a pen (ballpoint, blue ink, Link’s favorite kind). He finds his own (a click pen, black gel ink) after a few moments of feeling around on the comforter.

“We’re still on chapter seven, right?” He asks, chewing on the end of his pen as he attempts to decipher the chicken scratch that is his own handwriting. 

“Unfortunately,” Link sighs, slinging his left arm around Taylor’s shoulders. 

As Taylor leans into Link’s side, he thinks that even though make-up work is bound to be hell, there are much less fortunate things than this. He smiles to himself, and it doesn’t hurt one bit.

[fearlessword]

I’ll meet you in my dreams - Chapter 2

Summary: You dreamed of the boy who played piano before you knew who he was. Humming the melodies you heard in your sleep brought BTS into your life and you thought it was just meant to be.When you finally have the chance to see him perform live, you realize that the dreams you have are more than a coincidence. You hope he dreams of you too.

Slow burn/ Slow build/ canon divergence/ d-day tour / soulmate- ish

Pairing: Idol! Min Yoongi x Reader

Ongoing

Masterlist

Author’s note: Hi tumblr! I’ve been wanting to post this fic here for such a long time! Seriously! I can’t believe I actually did it! I’m so excited for you to read this chapter! I post on AO3 first, but it’s nice to share my work on this platform too! Please send me your thoughts on this chapter, I’d love to hear it. I’ll come back in a few days with chapter 3, but if you want to read it before that, you can find it here. I hope you like it! Thank you for being here!

Chapter 2

February 2023

“…So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, so long lives this, and this gives life to thee…” you read.

“This is one of my favorites, and one of the most famous Shakespearean sonnets. You guys already know how much I love words but in this sonnet…” you pause with a sigh. “I feel so happy reading it, it took Shakespeare only 14 verses to explain how powerful and everlasting words are. Can you imagine how extraordinary it would feel to be the muse of a piece of work like this? I don’t want to go crazy over this, but how beautiful is that? And to see that he was indeed right, the poem does give life to his beloved muse, it makes me want to cry. How beautiful is that? Just think about it?!”

“Ms. _______, you are fangirling over poetry again” one of the students says.

“Well, it is my profession after all! I am also a fan of so many things, it’s the way I function!” You laugh. “But you guys need to agree, it’s beautiful. You should think about writing a sonnet like this to your Valentines next year… Does anyone want to comment on their first impressions of this piece before we go deep into our analysis?”

The students were ready to give their opinions when the bell rang, announcing your lesson was over and stopping the discussion from happening. The backpacks and chairs in the classroom combined in a messy, hustled melody created by your high schoolers. It was the end of the school day, after all.

“ Well, it’s nice to end the day with a hook. Please read Sonnet 18 one more time and write a short comment about it in your reading journals. We’ll discuss it in the next class. Enjoy your Valentine’s day, everybody!”

One by one, the students left the room, leaving you alone with the mess of the classroom. As usual, you organized the desks and chairs for the next day, erased the white board, turned the electronics off and put away all of the supplies in the cabinet. You only left out your pencil case and the piles of assignments to grade. It was Tuesday, but the faster you start grading, the easier your Friday will be. Even though being a teacher means that you eventually (or always) take work home, you made yourself a rule that you’d avoid working during your weekends. Also, no teacher wants to grade anything on a Friday afternoon. It’s not like you have anything to do on Valentine’s day, either way.

You directed your attention to the desk and a huff left your body as you thought about the few hours of unpaid work you had ahead of you. You didn’t know if the gray Tuesday made your situation worse or better. You tried to see it with a positive attitude: at least you wouldn't spend the next few hours inside, admiring a perfect sunny day through the windows of your classroom.

Before sitting down to start grading, you got your phone and your airpods in your bag, you didn’t bother to turn the airplane mode off, and, to be honest, that was probably the best option if you wanted to really focus on your work. A playlist of your favorite songs is the one selected for the occasion. You put your phone away, grab your green pen and start.

When The Truth Untold started, you were halfway through grading. You couldn’t help thinking of how unlucky you were. BTS came into your life only during the pandemic, which meant no concerts, but lots of content and late night meme videos and Korean lessons that distracted and helped you when you needed the most. When the concerts finally happened in the US, you were out of the country to complete part of your Masters in Literature in England. It was more than a dream come true, from visits to the Globe to visits to the lakes and all of the places your favorite authors and characters saw long before. It felt bittersweet. The timing was just wrong, and now, it felt like the chances of seeing all seven of them just escaped through your fingers. All you could do was wait. Wait until the seven of them come back, and trust them. It was hard, but was there another option?

Just fans understand how hard it is.

Alright, you need to focus on the grading.

The playlist kept going as you corrected and graded and wrote comments in each of the papers, carefully analyzing the work of your students. Every once in a while, you’d laugh at how they expressed their opinions on their essays. How fun their snarky comments were! The piles of paper were organized into folders. Thankfully, in less than three hours, the work was finally done, (until the next time, which will probably happen sooner than what you want.) It’s half of the week, and finally time to go home.

Winter was unusually warm this year. Still, the short walk from the school to the subway station felt longer because of the cold air. It wasn’t too cold, but it wasn’t comfortable either. The hot mass of air that embraces you as you enter the station is welcomed, at least during the colder seasons. The station was packed, it’s always a struggle when it’s peak time, but on days like this, when the busy people of the city go out to dinner to celebrate the existence of their love life, it is just the worst. When the train came, you found a spot where you could stay, close enough to the door so you could leave it three stations later.

You hope there is a seat for you in the Q train that will take you to Brooklyn. Deep down, you know it’s hopeless. At 6 pm Times Square station is filled with both New Yorkers and tourists. You could differentiate them easily, from their clothes to the kind of demeanor they have. The empty eyes were usually the giveaway whether someone was a New Yorker or not. You hoped you had the same curious eyes you had when you first moved to NYC for college, but you understand that, as much as you love the city and all it means to you and your journey, routine takes some of the magic away. Right now, you bet your face gives away your exhaustion too, if there’s someone watching you, you’re sure they know you live here.

People watching was your favorite pastime during your commuting time: imagining what each one of those people was like, their dreams and hopes, if they had any. Today, you could see a considerable amount of bouquets in the train, and it makes your imagination go wild imagining what expects these people once they get to their destination. You try not to get caught while you look at them for the next 30 minutes, then, you leave the train and walk home.

You were fumbling in your bag in a failed attempt to find your keys when the door of your apartment slammed opened.

“Where the hell were you?” Your roommate demanded.

“At the school, Cami.” You answered as you took your shoes off and went inside.

“ Why weren’t you answering your phone? I called so many times.”

“I was grading papers”

“On Valentine’s Day?”

“It’s not like I have a date”

“______ you seriously need to do a better job at answering your phone” she huffed. “I was freaking out here”

“Is everything okay? Are you okay? Is my family okay? It was in airplane mode and I just didn’t care to check it after I left the classroom.”

“Everybody is okay. Well, emotionally I’m definitely not okay. I’ve been freaking out here since I got home from work. Seriously, we need to communicate better so we can actually leave school together, we can grade here! Why do you have to stay there so late anyways? I needed to talk to you and You. Weren’t. Answering.” She paused. “Why am I freaking out? It’s not like it’s something I care about. Oh my God! Maybe I care about it because you care about it." Camila pointed at you. "What is happening to me?! Am I literally freaking out on Valentine’s day because of a tour of a guy that I’m not even interested in? I promise I won’t be alone for Valentine's day next year, I need a date to look forward to instead of getting crazy over a K-pop man. This is the worst day of my life!” Camila rambled while pacing in the living room

“Did you say tour?”

“Seriously? That’s all you heard?!”

“You were saying so many things”

“Alright, sit, and please, I am begging you to turn the airplane mode off”

You do as she says, and as soon as your phone connects to the wifi, hundreds of notifications pop on your screen, including notifications from the Weverse app. Your heart jumps. One of the members of BTS on tour? You opened the app.

SUGA | Agust D TOUR

“What?” Your voice was so low you could barely hear it.

“Why are you so calm? Isn’t he the whole reason why you are a BTS fan?” Camila pauses to massage her temples. "Why am I freaking out? Isn’t he the guy you dream about all the time? ”

Yes, he is. You thought. The one and only Min Yoongi. The reason why you became an ARMY in the first place.

Turns out, the mysterious guy from your dreams back in 2020 was real. You've dreamt of him so many times before finding out he was actually a living person and not a figment of your imagination.

After the first time dreaming about him, you were washed with a sense of comfort you couldn’t quite understand. The crying over your ex had gotten better with each dream, simply because the feeling of seeing him in your sleep made you feel happy the whole day and forget anything else.

You could see him… Writing, laughing with the most precious smile, reading, recording at the studio, and at last… playing the piano. A real piano. The first time you heard him, though, he looked younger, but you could still see the same focus and the same passion as he played each note so beautifully. That morning of quarantine, almost a month after the first dream, you woke up with the urge to cry from how mighty the scene was. The warmth of the presence of the boy in the piano was already a familiar feeling, but actually listening to his music? Ah, you wanted to stay in that scenario forever. You hummed the song throughout the day, you asked Camila if she knew that melody, just so you could listen to it again. You thought about that the whole time, until you remembered how technology existed and you could just hum the melodies to your cell phone.

It was a BTS song.

And so you listened to that sweet piano melody, and heard him rapping for the first time. And searched for the names of the guys in the band. And finally, you saw the face of that mysterious man on your phone screen. It was weird that you dreamed of an actual person that turned out to produce music before knowing the person actually existed, right? Why you were dreaming about a korean idol and why it made you feel so content was a mystery to you. You tried not to dwell on that, realizing this was the way the universe sent BTS to you, when you needed it the most. And slowly, moving on from your trauma was easier. Letting your ex-boyfriend go was getting simpler each day. You finished that letter (Was it a letter or a novel? With the amount of pages you wrote, you didn’t even know anymore) and just let it go. Yoongi helped you, the boys helped you, and they didn’t even know.

Sometimes when you watch stuff, you get washed with the sense of deja vu. But it is what it is. Yoongi keeps popping in your dreams from time to time, you started to write about him and you irresistibly became an ARMY. How could you not?

“Earth to ______'' Camila snapped her fingers in front of your face “ I thought you’d scream! For God’s sake, I did! Why aren’t you freaking out when I am? You are the fan!”

“Sorry, Cami, I just don’t know how to react. You know how much they all mean to me. But with him… I just can’t believe I’ll finally have the chance to see him” your eyes burned filled with tears.

“Oh, amiga… We will try all we can to get you the best tickets. You will see him play the piano in front of you. I know how much this means to you, how much you changed after you became a fan. I will make sure it happens. I promise.”

You looked at your friend, sitting by your side on the pink couch you insisted on buying for your living room.

“You can’t control that, Cami”

“I can’t, but I will sign up for the pre-sale with as many email accounts as I can. I will even buy the membership thing.”

“ You sound like a fan”

“Well, if he helps you so much, maybe I should be a fan, do you think one of them could visit me in my sleep too? I bet it would be fun” She jokes.

“I wish I could talk to him, even in my dreams”

“When you go to the concert, he will look at you and you guys will fall in love”

“Cami, this is not fanfiction”

“Are you really quoting me right now? Well, I will create my own fanfiction if I want to. Nothing’s impossible. It would be great, then next year you won’t be alone for Valentine’s day. Maybe we can go on a double date, cause next year I’ll definitely have someone.”

“I’m not alone, you are literally in front of me”

“You know the kind of alone I’m talking about. Now, let’s make our Galentine’s dinner. I saw this recipe of spinach gnocchi that seems very easy. I want to try it tonight. Then, we’ll have a date with Mr. Darcy.”

“Camila, have I told you that I love you?”

“Te quiero, amiga, but you better answer your phone next time”

🪷🪷🪷

After squealing during the entirety of “Pride and Prejudice”, you called it a night and went to your room. It was late, but you couldn’t stop yourself from checking all of the details of the announcement and texting your ARMY friends back.

It felt surreal. That your bias will go on a tour. That you’ll finally have the chance of seeing one of them. Excitement was an understatement. You could feel your heart beating against your ribcage. You needed to sleep now, but your whole body was already buzzing with anticipation of going to the concert, of seeing Yoongi in front of you in real life.

Instead, you open the Weverse live and watch it. You pay attention as he talks about Slam Dunk and shares about Fashion Week. You worry when he said he hasn’t eaten, you smile with him once you see his reaction to the tour announcement coming out. You are washed with a wave of love for the artist on the screen.

“It’s not good to be delusional, _______” you say out loud. But you are not sleepy enough right now, and it was indeed Valentine’s day, so your imagination starts making up alternate realities of what could’ve been. You get your dear journal and write a poem, a confession.

“Let’s see each other in person, Yoongi” That’s what you hope and pray for.

🪷🪷🪷

Yoongi POV

Yoongi woke up on that Wednesday with that fuzzy feeling on his chest again. He knew this was getting too weird for his own good, there was no way dreaming about a random person he had never seen in his life was a normal thing.

Three years ago, he thought seeing a woman crying while writing was just a way his brain found to deal with his own creative process and the frustrations coming with it. But the story was getting too complex, the scenes were getting too detailed. There’s no way he knew sonnet 18 by Shakespeare by heart to create that kind of scene. He didn’t even know it by heart in Korean!

He couldn’t complain. He was nervous about his solo tour and his album and seeing her in his dreams gave him a warm sensation of calmness. He hasn’t heard her voice many times, so listening to the teacher in his dreams reading that poem with such devotion made him happy. He closed his eyes, still in bed, trying to replay it in his mind. The big smile and kind eyes shining so bright while talking about the sonnet with so much passion… His heart shrinks a little, the good kind of pain, he wishes he could see her for real, if she’s real. She must be. She has to.

He knew that feeling wouldn’t leave him, even if he tried, the warmth, the pull and the want to see her one more time. This would follow him for the rest of the day and he was getting used to it after such a long time.

He didn’t know what to do. Yoongi knew people would say he’s crazy if he dared to talk about this out loud. So, he resorted to his old friends, the yellow notepad and the pencil. And just like the other times she followed him in his mind, he wrote her another song.

To be continued.

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[oldiesstationlover11607]

The Project - Frank Iero x GN!Reader

Pairing: Frank Iero x GN!Nerd!Reader

Warnings: Strong language, mentions of smoking, stress

Word Count: 1,062

Summary: When you and Frank are paired up for a class project you do everything you can to change partners to no avail. It feels like he's doing everything he can to make this hard on you until he shows up at your door.

A/N: Used a writing prompt for this one but actually never ended up using the prompt itself in the story. Thought I'd write something for Frank because my MCR stories are doing well at the moment.

“Y/N and Frank,” Mr. Reynolds pulls your names out of the group jar. Presentations for your Health class are a key part of your grade, and everyone is anxious to find out their partners. The last thing you want or expect is to be paired with Frank; it’s practically an automatic fail with the way he acts. You hear a loud groan come from the back of the room and turn around to see Frank’s friends laughing to themselves. The bell rings soon after that, and everyone—including Frank—piles out of the room for lunch.

“Mr. Reynolds?” you ask, shoving your books in your bag.

“Y/N, what can I do for you?” he asks, flashing a smile your way, always excited about his work. He has no idea what he’s done by putting you together. This is the moment you finally get to use your "favorite student" card.

“I can’t work with Frank,” you mutter. You won’t work with Frank.

“I know you two don’t exactly get along, but I think it’ll be a good challenge for you. I’m not changing the groups, but if you can show me you’ve put in the effort, I’ll give you a good grade, even if the presentation isn’t at your normal standard,” he says. That is good enough for you. You say a quick thank you to Mr. Reynolds before leaving to meet your friends in the cafeteria.

Frank and you both happen to have a study period after lunch and agree to meet in the library. You dread the entire hour because you have to be around him.

“Hey,” he says, turning to look at you. His hair is up in a small mohawk and dyed a reddish-orange color.

“Hi,” you reply, sitting down next to him. You’ve been assigned to do a presentation on the dangers of smoking, which is incredibly ironic considering you’ve seen Frank smoking outside school almost twice a day for the last four years. “Do you have any resources prepared? I know Mr. Reynolds sent out a few emails with good links,” you ask. Frank lets out a loud laugh, clearly signaling he hasn’t done any work yet and doesn’t plan to.

“Shh!” you press.

“Oh, fuck off,” he laughs. “You know, you really need to take a chill pill, Y/N. You’d be a lot more likable if you stopped acting like you had a stick up your ass.” He has no idea how much stress you’re under through school and at home. You need to get into your dream school, or your life is going to go completely off track.

“This project is a lot more important than you think. I need a good grade, and I’m not going to let you mess this up for me,” you say, running a hand through your hair.

“Oh my god,” he says, sinking into his chair. “I’m not going to waste my time on a project I don’t give a shit about.”

“I hate you,” you groan, getting up and leaving the library.

10:30 PM

You rest on top of your bed, reading the project description on your laptop when you see the notification pop up in the right corner of the screen.

Frank.

Frank: Are you awake? Left on Read Frank: Come on, Y/N Y/N: I’m awake, yes. Frank: Are you doing anything tonight? Y/N: No, why? Frank: I’m bored, and all the others are at the movies. Y/N: I’m not doing anything with you. Frank: Well, given that I’m outside your bedroom window… you don’t really have a choice.

You immediately get up from your bed and run to the window where Frank is standing, his phone torch in hand. Opening the window, you lean out so he can see you.

“Go away, Frank!” you shout.

“I’m not leaving until you come down here!” he responds. You let out a loud sigh and move back inside to put your shoes and a sweater on. It is cold and dark outside, but Frank is waiting on the left side of your front lawn, leaning against the fence.

“I’m not hanging out with you, Frank. You’ve done enough already.” Your arms are folded across your chest in frustration.

“I just… I wanted to say I’m sorry. I think we should talk.” He nods his head towards the sidewalk. You reluctantly agree, and you set off down towards the park at the end of the block. “I shouldn’t have been such a dick. I was talking to Mikey about it, and he told me how much stress you’re under to succeed. I didn’t know. School kind of comes second for me in life. I didn’t mean to be so difficult, you know. School is hard for me.” His voice seems full of genuine remorse. You hadn’t realized that he had trouble at school. You’d sort of just assumed everyone was at the same level as you.

“It’s okay. I’m sorry I put pressure on you to be prepared,” you sigh. This is when he stops walking and looks at you.

“You know, I rigged the groups. I asked Mr. Reynolds to put us together,” he mutters. So that’s why he wouldn’t give you another partner. But why on earth would Frank have asked to have you as his partner? “I’ve had a crush on you for a few months, Y/N, and I didn’t know any other way to get you to talk to me.” You stay quiet, completely in shock. Frank Iero certainly doesn’t have a crush on you. Punk rock guitar shredding Frank Iero. The guy who threw paper planes across the classroom like an idiot and consequently got into a fight and ended up in the principal’s office with the guy who was picking on you last term. Oh god, Frank has a crush on you. “Why aren’t you saying anything? Did I overstep? You literally just said you hated me this morning.” He looks embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I’ll go home.” He turns around and starts to walk away, his red hair shining in the light of the lampposts lining the street.

“Frank, wait.” You feel like you are losing a battle against yourself. He turns around. “I don’t hate you. You’re not the worst person in the world, okay.” You walk over to him as a smile starts to grow on both your faces. “You beat up Tom because of me, didn’t you?” He nods, and you pull him into a tight hug. “And you really like me?” You can feel his smirk on your shoulder.

“I like you more than I like guitar.”

“You aren’t making this any easier,” you laugh. He probably knows where you are going with that comment. You feel his hands on either side of your face and an unfamiliar stare directed at you.

“Can I kiss you now?” you nod.

“Of course you can.” You feel his lips press against yours in a desperate kiss fueled both by his frantic energy and your pent-up stress. His lips taste of cigarette smoke, which you aren’t surprised by. You cup his jaw as he deepens the kiss, and you nearly fall on the concrete ground. While you hadn’t expected to be in this position that morning, you definitely don’t plan on regretting it. When he pulls away, his eyes are scanning yours for any sort of reaction. However, they relax once you flash a smile in his direction. “Your friends are going to bully the fuck out of you for that one, Frankenstein.”

“Hell yeah, they are,” he smirks, “but at least you’re finally mine.”

//

Feedback is appreciated! Please request on my page if you have a story idea. I write for lots of different fandoms so request anything and I'll write it!

[sanccharine]

04 | potential, promises, and plotting

hogwarts au

pairing: hufflepuff!tzuyu x slytherin!reader genre: fluff, slice of life word count: 5.1k

warnings: none that i can think of :]

summary: whether on the field or during class, you never shied away from trouble. and in your sixth year, trouble seemed to follow you like a shadow, though you couldn’t complain. especially when that series of misfortunes led you to the transfiguration prodigy, chou tzuyu. includes: red velvet's yeri, ateez's yeosang, san, wooyoung and jongho; viviz's sinb; txt's yeonjun; loona's olivia; le sserafim's yunjin; dreamcatcher's gahyeon

status: ongoing a/n: back to post once in a blue moon :D theres quite a few people in this one huh O_O

masterlist | chapter 3 | chapter 5

The Dark Arts assignment felt like a fluke. 

Well, it was a fluke. 

You wouldn’t have gotten the grade that you got without the help of Tzuyu. 

After that assignment, they seemed to keep piling on top. Playing Quidditch seemed to be up for debate again. Though you know somewhere deep in your mind you were playing this year. Still, you couldn’t catch a break from your studies. 

Often, you found yourself in the secluded corner of the library, the place had become yours. If you weren’t hunched up over a textbook there, you were in the Great Hall. Always scribbling away on parchment, writing and rewriting your notes. Transfiguration theory made no sense at all. 

Professor Lee’s words from earlier in the day returned to you. 

She asked you to stay behind after class much like the many times she had before. You readied yourself for a scolding. A lecture about how you could do better, how your grades were slipping, and how you aren’t achieving your full potential. 

You never understood what she saw in you. 

“What are you doing?” Professor Lee asked, her eyes not lifting away from the book in front of her. 

“I don’t understand—”

“I asked what are you doing in my class?” 

Your heart stopped beating. 

“I don’t know, Professor. I'm not sure as well... I don’t know what I’m doing in your class. I don’t know how I passed and I definitely don't know how—” you stopped your rambling. You should’ve put this together sooner. How could you be so stupid? “Did my parents—?”

Finally, Professor Lee looked at you. 

"No." Her gaze was scathing. 

She held your stare. A lifetime seemed to pass. You don’t if you should be relieved or terrified of this revelation. 

It seemed unreal. 

There was no way you were in this class without your parents pulling some—

“You are more than aware of my standards. Especially to enter my N.E.W.Ts class,” Lee straightened as she watched you freeze in real-time. Then her gaze softened, only ever so slightly. “The only reason you are in my class is because of your merit. You have potential.”

What potential is she going on about?

“Nothing else,” Professor Lee paused, her eyes steely as she finished. “And no one else.” 

“I understand,” you didn’t attempt to repeat what you say every year. You really did understand, you couldn’t let her down. You didn't want to let her down. Changes meant the most these next two years. So, you will work hard this year, and unlock whatever potential she sees in you. 

“Now, get out. You’re wasting my class time,” and she was back. 

With a salute, you let in the quiet first years who had lined up outside. You didn’t catch the little boy waving at you. 

The conversation kept playing in your mind. It brought a new sense of motivation you fear you’ve never felt… at least not for anything apart from Quidditch. It also brought up an immense amount of stress. You were playing this year, you were studying hard this year. Will you be able to win the cup again? Will you be able to pass next year? Only weeks passed and already your control was slipping. You hated that feeling with every fibre of your being. 

Every sound in the hall seemed to unnerve you, clawing and climbing its way up your back until you couldn’t even hear your own ragged breathing. Couldn’t notice that you were grinding your teeth, jaw locked and aching. Worst of all, you didn’t realise your grip had pushed the quill in and torn the parchment. A gaping hole where words should be. You were so tightly wound up, all the tension caught in the back of your neck.

Which is why when someone tapped your shoulder, you sneered much like a rabid dog. “What?”

The regret was immediate when you saw familiar glassy eyes staring back. The apology is ready on your lips but... 

What was his name again?

“Minwoo just wanted to say hello. You missed us by the Transfiguration class,” the diligent girl from the feast! What was her name? She was quick to step in front of Minwoo, completely blocking him from your view. That strikes you as odd, you couldn’t place why. “He was wondering about joining Quidditch, we both were… I’m Jooyeon, by the way.”

Busted by an eleven-year-old. This had to be a new low for you. 

“Right, sorry for that. I’ve been so busy with assignments and it just didn't—never mind, that doesn’t matter!” you said sheepishly and pushed aside your parchment and turned to face them. When Minwoo didn’t look up, you sighed. “I’m sorry for snapping at you, Minwoo. I shouldn’t have done that, please forgive me.”

Finally, the boy looked up from behind Jooyeon’s shoulder. Were those tears in his eyes?

“Listen, are you—” you started but then caught yourself. From Jooyeon’s protective stance to Minwoo’s tears, you surmised this wasn’t about you. Something else was at play here. You just didn’t have enough information… yet. You dropped the line of question and put on the best smile you could muster. “What do you want to know about Quidditch?” 

“We want to try out.”

Quidditch season was finally beginning. Eunbi pushed back tryouts in favour of her studies. Though, you knew she was plotting something. Especially with open positions. You don’t know what that meant for you, but you trusted her. 

When you arrived on the field, most of your teammates were already there, geared up and gathering equipment. Eunbi stood to the side, frowning at the piece of parchment in her hand. In front of her were the potential recruits, they were thrumming with anxiety. It was easy to discern what years they were from their little groups and behaviour. 

Minwoo and Jooyeon stood to the far left. Separated even from the other gawking first years who would no doubt be rejected. First years rarely made substitutes, let alone the team. But you understood their enthusiasm, you had been in the same place a few years back. In fact, a large number of second and third years weren’t going to be happy with Eunbi’s decisions either. 

A smile graced your face as you patted your pockets with your free hand to find something. 

“Good to see you two here,” you sidled up to Minwoo and he nearly shot a meter into the air. Why is this kid so jumpy around you? That will have to be amended. You smiled at his friend and said, “Hello Jooyeon.”

“Weird,” you muttered and leaned forward to catch Minwoo’s frog before it could leap away from him. “You’re supposed to eat these, not let them get away.”

Excited wouldn’t be the word you’d use. Minwoo couldn’t seem to look you in the eyes. Even worse, he kept glancing back at the crowd of Slytherins, shaking a bit. 

Sighing, you began, “I understand if you’re nervous, it’s only natural. That’s why I brought you guys something.”

At that, both of them looked up at you, eyes shining. 

“How do we feel about chocolate frogs?” you asked, as you fetched two from your pockets and handed one to each. 

“I saw these on the train,” Minwoo smiled, finally. It relieved you. “Thank you!”

“I want to know who you got, open them, go on!” You folded your arms as their nervousness seemed to dissipate. 

“Headmistress Boa,” Jooyeon said, reading the card while holding the frog in one hand. 

“I got her too!” Minwoo said as he giggled at the frog jumping up his arm. 

“Weird,” you muttered and leaned forward to catch Minwoo’s frog before it could leap away from him. “You’re supposed to eat these, not let them get away.”

“But it’s alive—”

“We’re about to start,” Yeri shouted with a clap. That was your cue to leave. 

“We good?” you raised your fist to Minwoo. 

“Yeah, we’re good,” Minwoo grinned and bumped your fist. “Thanks again for the chocolates.” 

You aimed your fist at Jooyeon and she reciprocated as well. With a proud nod, you sauntered over to your team. 

Yeonjun quickly made his way to your side and bumped his shoulder into yours. Smiling, you glanced around. This team carried you through many wins throughout the last two years. You were a precise, well-oiled machine led by Eunbi. What you lacked, your teammates covered with their strengths. The only missing spot was your Keeper, who graduated last year. 

Plus, next year Eunbi will graduate. Followed right after by you, Yeri, San, and Yeonjun which leaves Olivia to fend alone. The thought was mortifying. You understood why talks of a new captain and tryouts seemed so important. 

Eunbi scanned the crowd in front of her and nodded. “Quidditch is not easy. It’s brutal.” 

You couldn’t help but smile at the familiar start. A spiel you have heard so many times you could probably announce it yourself. 

“Without proper practice and dedication, you’ll be living in the Hospital Wing,” you couldn't help but snicker as you rolled your left wrist. Beside you, Yeonjun grabbed his right shoulder and sighed. Everyone landed in the wing at least once and that was being generous. “Forget positions, they don’t matter. What’s important is flight, speed and endurance.”

Gasps already erupted at Eunbi’s dismissal of the roles in the team. The next part should be fun.

“Five minutes,” Eunbi held up her palm. “That’s how much time I want you flying laps around the field and at the fastest speed you can manage—”

Now, the juniors seemed to pale as the senior students only groaned. This was nothing. They’d endure much worse in a proper game, a grim thought but it was true. 

“—I need you to push yourselves. Those who don’t fly as soon as I say start, who fall behind, and who fail to complete all five minutes will be instantly cut.” Eunbi was merciless. “Line up! First years at the front, and each year following right behind.” 

You smirked at how quickly your juniors fell into lines. Your teammates and senior students strolled up behind them. Olivia was up ahead, glaring holes into other fourth year students. Some sixth years lined up just ahead of you. It was hard not to follow in Olivia’s footsteps and glare holes into a familiar mop of hair. Fortunately, Yeonjun and Yeri’s bickering brought you back to the present. 

Your line consisted of the pair and San. You didn’t have to interject to know that this race would earn you some money. San shook his head as he lowered himself on his Nimbus, already at an advantage. When you glanced at him, his usual easy-going smile was nowhere to be found. 

The second Eunbi yelled the four of you were in the air. It was too easy. 

San was speeding through the crowd of students, deftly avoiding any stragglers and leading the lap. The things you would do to get a hand on that broom of his. You didn’t need to look back to know that some juniors struggled with the initial take-off. Yeonjun soon followed San, quick to catch up with him. Yeri, however, had seemed to completely give up on the bet and joined you, instead. She zig-zagged through the crowd as if it were a leisurely flight and not an ordered task. 

One look at her and you knew what was in her mind. Shaking your head, you steered beneath the crowd. With a grin, you completely flipped yourself around as Yeri mirrored you. You began rotating and increasing your speed. If strings were attached to your brooms, it would look like a helix. This is what happens when you don’t do your regular midnight flights. Eunbi was going to chew you out for this stunt but it meant all the same when you caught Yeri’s laughter against the wind. 

Dizzy, you righted yourself just as someone zoomed past you. 

Olivia. 

She passed Yeonjun and San just as another person flashed by you. They caught up easily to your youngest Chaser, her ponytail just as black as Olivia’s. 

Not having the heart to jostle Olivia when she was determined, you joined your friends. All four of you watched Olivia and her rival keep trying to one-up each other, even though it was futile. They were matched in skill. You assumed it was the fourth year she was glaring at. 

Unsurprisingly, Olivia and the fourth year were the first to land when the five minutes were over. Both of them were panting and shaking, yet still managed to glare daggers at each other. Eunbi squinted at the two of them as you landed easily beside her. 

That was not the case for a lot of students. 

Completing the exercise was one thing but landing afterwards was another task altogether. Some landings were disastrous, the fatigue and nausea couldn’t have helped. And those who did manage to land somewhat decently, instantly crumpled to the ground from vertigo. Eunbi scrutinised them unflinchingly before considering her parchment. 

You searched for Minwoo and Jooyeon only to find them both sitting on the ground. Jooyeon was in much better shape than Minwoo, they landed safely and that was all that mattered. It was hard not to miss the way Hyukwoo stood proudly when you scanned the crowd. He didn’t seem fazed at all. The idea of playing by his side made you nauseous. 

It couldn’t be helped though. 

Your teammates and previous substitutes were called up. Hyukwoo threw a smirk at you and your hands twitched. 

Some new faces were called. Huh Yunjin. That was the name of the fourth year that competed with Olivia.

However, the majority was rejected. Granted, as Eunbi mentioned, some people would be instantly cut and cut they were. 

“That is all,” Eunbi said with no hint of remorse. 

“That’s all? We’re done already?” Someone in the back whined and you bristled. “We just flew around the field, that doesn’t measure our skill. Plus, we had to use these stupid school brooms.”

The silent but agreeing crowd parted for a girl. Possibly a first year, definitely a pureblood. The school broom frayed and splintered, landed with a whimper when she threw it at Eunbi’s feet. The sight was familiar. 

Eunbi only stared at the broom, not saying a word. You were about to speak up when she inhaled deeply. 

“You’re right, the school brooms suck.” The girl’s head perked up to hear the Captain agreeing with her. “Unfortunately for you, that’s not a good enough excuse.”

You couldn’t help but glance at Hyukwoo, only to find he was already staring at you. His expression was unreadable. 

Eunbi called your name, followed by Yeonjun and Yeri. As if controlled by puppet strings, the three of you stepped forward at the same time, heads held high. 

“These three became substitutes in their first year with those ‘stupid’ school brooms.”

“So did Eunbi,” Yeri said with a smirk before you could. Even her smile didn’t reduce the tense atmosphere. 

“It’s not a good enough excuse,” Eunbi repeated. “Try next year with your own broom then.” 

The student scowled, ready to whine but her friends dragged her away. With that, the others began to leave as well. Eunbi began shouting orders but you quickly excused yourself to catch up with Minwoo and Jooyeon. 

“Sorry, you guys didn’t make the team.”

“It wasn’t realistic anyway,” Jooyeon shrugged but Minwoo’s disappointment was clear on his face. He stared at the pureblood girl who was yelling at her friends as she walked out. He then turned to you, disappointment morphed into caution as he said the next four words.

“Are you a pureblood?” 

Jooyeon shot him a look, clearly startled by his question. Every interaction with this kid only seemed to confuse you more. 

“Um, yeah,” there was no better way to put it. 

“So you’re a full wizard?” 

Jooyeon hissed his name and you stood there, perplexed. 

“Full wizard? Minwoo, you’re a wizard too,” you said, indignant at the claim. Then it clicked. “Hold on, did someone say—!”

“Yes, but both your parents are wizards, right?” You couldn’t help but bristle at the mention of your parents. “You’re a full wizard? Both my parents are muggles so I’m a—”

“Listen, that doesn’t matter,” that was a blatant lie but you had to stop him. Jooyeon had the same idea as she nudged his side. Minwoo was unbothered by his friend and unconvinced by you. “At least, not anymore.” 

That wasn’t a lie… but it wasn’t the truth either. 

You had to tackle this delicately.

“You’re here at Hogwarts, yeah?” you asked and waited for an answer. 

“Yes.”

"Did a wand choose you?"

"Yes."

“Can you do magic?”

“Yes.” 

“Then you’re a wizard, simple,” comfort didn’t come easy, you barely believed yourself. There was a strange tension in your voice but it was difficult to ignore the implication of Minwoo’s words. “Minwoo—both of you—if someone is bothering you, you come let me know, alright? Promise me that!” 

For some reason, you guessed who would be putting these thoughts into these kids. Harassing first years had to be a whole new low, even for him. 

When Minwoo didn’t answer, Jooyeon did. “We will, we promise. Thank you!” 

She raised her fist and your lips twitched up at the action. You bumped yours with hers before moving it in front of Minwoo. Both you and Jooyeon waited with bated breath. Minwoo left but not before brushing his fist against yours and mumbling goodbye. 

Jooyeon grumbled an apology on his behalf before running after Minwoo.

Are you a pureblood? So you’re a full wizard?

This was not how you wanted tryouts to go. For the most part, you were out of it, fortunately not enough for Eunbi to notice. Granted, she had her hands full. 

You could only think about Minwoo. 

Eunbi, in the time you'd spent with first years, had split up the recruits into small groups. There were also workshops so every new member could get a feel of each role. Everyone was assigned their usual roles except for Yeonjun and Oliivia. The former took up the Keeper’s role while the latter shadowed Eunbi, the pair conversing seriously. 

You walked over to the chest where the Bludger rattled in its cage, Yeri sidled up as you sighed.

“You alright?” she asked, motioning to the recruits assigned to the two of you. 

“Yeah, I'm fine—no,” you changed when you caught Yeri’s stare, “I’ll tell you later.”

She nodded, dropping the topic altogether before speaking to the new teammates. You recognized one of them quickly, yet you forgot her name already. 

“Huh Yunjin,” Yeri whispered beside you as you picked your bat, sarcasm dripping with every word. “Olivia’s best friend.”

“Do you know why?”

“Jealousy. Possible threat. Youngest privileges lost,” Yeri stopped to look at you. “Do you want me to keep listing more reasons? Or… ?”

You rolled your eyes at your friend and rounded up the pair, gesturing at them to take off into the air. 

“They’re fourth years, what did you expect?” Yeri yelled after you, no shame in admitting what she was whispering about. 

Shaking your head, you began to explain the basics of your role. Though you’re sure they were already well aware of that, so you made sure to emphasize just how dangerous being a Beater could be. Right on time, a resounding crack echoed through the field. 

The act was involuntary, muscle memory alone carried the task for you. The Bludger zoomed past the two recruits and with another resounding crack was sent back straight for Yeri. Flawless aim and deadly strength. You couldn’t help but smirk at yourself. 

The new students looked terrified, to say the least, but they were poised to whack the Bludger. When Yeri sent the ball back, it lacked its usual vigour, her hit purposely pulled back. Yunjin took the initiative putting herself in the ball's way before taking a swing. 

She managed to hit the ball back in Yeri’s general direction with quite a bit of strength, she showed promise. However, she did slightly stumble to the side of her broom, almost losing balance but she was quick to catch herself. Yunjin turned to you with a proud smile, awaiting praise. You couldn’t deny her that. 

“Well done, that was a good shot,” she straightened as you turned to the other recruit. “Your turn.”

The colour seemed to have completely drained from the kid’s face. If he wasn’t already terrified about facing a Bludger, the fact that Yunjin had managed to hit it almost perfectly couldn't help. Trusting your gut, you readied yourself in case something went south. 

A thunderous crack filled the stadium, his strength was paramount. 

Now if only he hadn’t smacked the Bludger backwards. Heading straight for the stands. 

You swore enough to lose a solid amount of points from your house. Good thing you were ready because you were flying at a speed you normally saved for your games. Your best friend has the same idea because Yeri was right by your side in a second. 

Ignoring the shrieks from the audience, the pair of you managed to surpass the Bludger with just enough space to spare. Without sharing a glance, you raised your batting hand and striked the Bludger. So had Yeri. 

With double the power of notorious Beaters, the Bludger soared high above the field and over the other end of the audience. Yeri only grumbled before speeding away after the ball. Leaving you to deal with the students whose lives you put at risk.

When you turned, the first person you see is Chou Tzuyu.

Like a magnet, your gaze seemed to land on her first. Her steely stare renders you speechless for a moment. Her knuckles were white from clutching a textbook you didn’t recognise. You wondered whether the pages were cutting into her skin. 

“Listen, I’m so sorry, Tzuyu,” you may have joked about how you were always apologising to her if someone hadn’t interrupted you by clearing their throat. Aggressively. 

Finally, you noticed the three other people seated next to Tzuyu. You couldn’t put names on two of them, one of which was clutching their heart as they whispered to the girl next to them. Her eyes were in crescents as she let out a chuckle, blushing to her ears. But, you did recognise Yeosang, Wooyoung’s best bud! 

Or so that's what Wooyoung claimed. You’ve never heard Yeosang confirm it. For that very reason, you doubted the Ravenclaw had a glowing impression of you. 

“Yeosang, buddy—”

“No.” He stood up, his eyes rolling back into his skull as he dragged the Hufflepuff next to him. They whined and made quite a scene as they were pulled away, the girl beside Tzuyu only giggled at their antics. You didn’t miss the wink they sent her before turning your attention back to Tzuyu. 

Her eyes were glassy as she stared. You’ve seen her smile, you know how she can light up a room. Yet, she managed to place such a cruel unfeeling mask over herself. 

“I really am sorry,” you said as the girl, having come down from giggles, shook her head. “Try-outs can be… rough.” 

You turned to Tzuyu again, hoping you salvaged something of your friendship. Not even, just merely the beginning of it. Her features were still steely, which wasn't good. When her friend’s hand came to rest atop hers, she softened. That was incorrect, her eyes didn't soften, she just lost her glare. 

“This is Gahyeon,” Tzuyu said, sentence clipped. “My friend.” 

Gahyeon smiled widely, extending her hand. Before you could even say your name she did it for you. 

“I know who you are,” Tzuyu shot her a strange glare but Gahyeon ignored it, unfazed by Tzuyu’s behaviour. “We’re all good, we knew you and Yeri had it covered. Hope the rest goes better than this!”

With a sad smile, you lowered your head again to apologize. You glimpsed at Tzuyu. Her features were still clouded with distaste, and maybe curiosity, but shifted to her aloof self as soon as she noticed you staring. Bidding them an awkward farewell, you turned to fly back to the third year.

Yunjin was to a side, her prideful demeanour nowhere to be found because she knew what was coming. The third year at fault was shaking on his broom but that didn’t deter you. 

With more vitriol than necessary, you said, “You better be good at some other position because you’re not a Beater!” He tried to say something but you were quick. “There’s no point if you’re all strength, you could’ve hurt someone—”

Yeri's voice came from somewhere to your side, but you decided to continue, baseless anger slipping past tightly shut gates. But your best friend placed a hand on your shoulder and pulled you back, forcing you to face her. 

The look on her face said everything you needed to hear. You can’t berate a kid for something they can’t control and no one was hurt… Tzuyu wasn’t hurt. 

“Get the next pair,” Yeri ordered and all you could do was nod. As you flew down, you could hear Yeri console the third year who was reeling from your words. 

Apart from that incident, practice went quite smoothly. The tasks were easy enough to follow, you and Yeri made sure to inform the recruits to consider aim and strength before swinging the bat wildly. Although, you didn’t allow room for anything to go wrong. Especially with the feeling of someone watching your back. 

After discussing with her teammates, Eunbi assigned substitute positions to the recruits. Though, everyone anticipated who would be the lucky person to fill up the Keeper position. Hyukwoo seemed all too smug, no doubt expecting the position to be his. Which is why it was all the more satisfying to see his expression sour when Yunjin was picked. 

Introductory ice-breakers. Short warm-up. Flight exercises. Two hours seemed to pass by in a blur before Eunbi decided it was time to play a few mock games. 

It was supposed to be harmless but everyone seemed to take it seriously. That was understandable under Eunbi’s unyielding watch. 

The intensity increased tenfold when the captain herself joined, taking her position as the Seeker. The small crowd lounging around the stadium cheered and it almost felt like a real game. Though, you and Yeri were grinning ear to ear, exhilarated just to play together again. 

Once the match ended, Eunbi asked everyone to relax but not before reminding the team to meet at the changing rooms later. Some of the younger recruits were not so eager to do nothing, they began rounding up equipment for the arriving Hufflepuff team. 

Eunbi was long gone and you waved away your friend's call to play catch in the air. Instead, you finally took the time to do what you loved; fly unperturbed. You missed the feeling of the winter chills crawling up your sleeves, cooling down the sweat on your forehead. Soon your mindless rounds came to a slow drive, almost floating in place, suspended in the air as you smiled at no one in particular. To even have considered not playing this year was a fool’s thought. 

A blur hurtled past before turning to stop in front of you. The shiver that ran down your spine was difficult to shake off. 

“So it’s real then?” Wooyoung’s voice squeaked at the end. You hoped he wasn’t insinuating what you think he was. “You and Chou Tzuyu?”

“What are you on about… ” the question died on your lips when Wooyoung looked to his left and you followed his gaze.

Not even a few meters away, Tzuyu was seated exactly where you’d left her an hour ago. Her friend, Gahyeon, if you remember correctly, was reading the prefect's textbook. Tzuyu’s attention, however, was completely on you. 

Apparently, in your daze, you had been flying near her. And in return, she’d been watching you. 

Fortunately, your best friend had immaculate timing. 

But none of the decorum. 

Yeri saved you from the paralysing staring concert by crashing right into you. 

Being the professional that she is, Yeri pivoted at the right moment, parking herself beside Wooyoung. You weren’t so graceful. The groan you emitted was ugly and pained, but at least you didn’t topple off your broom and plummet to your death. The most you experienced was disorientation from the blood rushing to your head. Oh, and the insurmountable amount of embarrassment. Why was Tzuyu looking at you?

Blinking away the white spots, you scowled at your so-called friends who cackled at your misery. “Was that necessary?” 

“Wouldn’t have been if you hurried instead of ogling Hufflepuffs,” Yeri offered an unapologetic smile. She was right, none of your teammates were anywhere to be seen on the field. 

“And it wasn’t even me?” Wooyoung pouted, his voice pitched higher. Both you and Yeri groaned at that. “I’m heartbroken.”

“Alright, we’re done here,” you said as you turned away from Wooyoung’s unbearable expression. 

“No, don’t leave me—” Wooyoung groaned instead of finishing the sentence. No doubt, Yeri shoved him too. 

“Good luck with practice, Woo,” you called out as you descended. Yeri was quick to pass you, shaking her head with a smile as she did. 

You didn’t leave the field without sparing one last glance at Chou Tzuyu. 

Her eyes had never left you.

“We’re focusing on scoring this year,” Eunbi said just as you entered the changing rooms. “This means Beaters, I need you to prioritize Chaser’s protection over mine.” 

You hadn’t even gotten the chance to seat yourself before you were shooting up. 

“What?” you squawked along with Yeri. The team was quick to follow with their outcries. 

Being a Seeker was no walk in the park. The title alone was an automatic target on your back. It didn’t help that there was a running joke of a guaranteed win if Eunbi was eliminated first. Of course, that has never happened. Eliminating Eunbi that is. Not with you carelessly taking Bludgers for her with your head instead of your bat. All ten fingers and ten toes wouldn’t be enough to count how many fouls you and Yeri have intercepted. It was only natural that one of the Beaters was always floating around Eunbi. 

So to ask for no protection seems ill-advised. 

Undeterred, Eunbi continued. 

“This is especially important for our opening game with Gryffindor. Jongho did a damn good job of blocking most of our goals last year,” Olivia scowled at the mention of the Keeper. He hadn’t let her score a single goal. “Focusing on scoring means not only prioritizing our Chasers, but the opposing team’s Chasers as well. If you can keep the Bludgers and their Beaters concentrated on them, then I will be fine.” 

“That’s a big if.” Yeri stated, not necessarily rejecting Eunbi’s unconventional strategy. 

“You are more than capable of pulling it off. I just need you to do it,” Eunbi said, her eyes glossing over the entire team. “All of you.” 

any feedback is much appreciated.

a/n: i feel like this fic is more about studying and sports than tzuyu HKSDFGJKDS like i know it seems like a slow burn, but the original draft didn't even have romance in it HJFKSDGF (i still don't know what type of relationship these two will have) it was me messing around and just dragging shit around for fun so we'll see how this one goes. as for sport, idc for it and if the stuff i say makes no sense, you've come this far i'm sure you can suspend your disbelief just a bit more :D anyways,,,see you next month-ish ? maybe ? who knows ? hope everyone is doing well and have a good day/night !

taglist: @someone-who-likes-broccoli @tatliegilim

send an ask to be added !

[anomalyaly]

TWO chapters out today - 10 and 11! We have a Sebastian POV and some banter.

You can read it here on AO3 or Wattpad!

Preview below the cut (TW: mentions of blood, language):

Again with the dead ends.

Sebastian had been even more on edge lately. Anne had been incredibly vague in her letters, which always made him assume the worst. He knew she just didn’t want him to worry, but she should know better - he was going to worry anyway.

The last time Elsie had spoken to him was to rub her victory as Crossed Wand champion in his face after Natty had enthusiastically congratulated her. Otherwise, she was tending to keep her distance. Better for him, anyway - helping her retrieve those missing pages had set him back a bit with his own research.

Then again, he was finding his mind always trailing back to her regardless. It wasn’t just curiosity over what she was searching for anymore, though that certainly still lingered. It was more of the fact that he had enjoyed talking with her and being around her, something that he hadn’t felt since Anne got sick.

Every time he walked into a class he shared with her, he found himself searching the room for her. She was usually hunched over, her dark waves cascading over her face, her freckled nose scrunched in concentration as she fought to catch up on her ever-growing pile of assignments before class each day. It was becoming distracting.

He let out an exasperated sigh as he stormed off to the Undercroft. At least it was quiet enough in there to clear his head, as long as Ominis hadn’t decided he wanted to seek solace in there at the same time.

The gate clattered open and he froze as he spotted someone curled up next to one of the various stacks of boxes. 

“You should get a couch in here, you know.”

Sebastian chuckled as Elsie muttered, her knees pulled tightly to her chest, her head buried in her arms as she leaned against them.

“A couch?”

She straightened and gestured around them. 

“There’s nowhere to sit. You just come in here and stand the whole time?”

He raised an eyebrow. “The floor seems perfectly fine.”

“It’s dusty.”

Sebastian let out a bark of laughter. 

“My apologies, Princess. I’ll make sure the floors are sparkling the next time you come in here.”

He meant it in jest, but she tensed, her eyes flashing with anger.

“Don’t ever call me that.”

He didn’t even know that she had a sensitive nerve, but apparently he had struck it. She always appeared to be so easily cordial. If anything did bother her, she hardly ever showed it.

It bothered him that he was the one to get that reaction out of her.

Sebastian’s face fell into something more serious, and he changed his tone.

“Okay. A couch. Next time Ominis asks about the interior decorating of the Undercroft, I’ll be sure to suggest it to him.”

Elsie let out a snort, and he took it as a small victory. At least she wasn’t scowling at him.

As he took in her appearance more, she looked…worn. Something had clearly happened for her to be down here in the Undercroft speaking to him - especially since she had been so busy with catching up on school work, she hadn’t seemed to have had time to wander down here the past few weeks.

And…was that blood on her?

“What the hell-”

“I didn’t know where else to go,” she sighed, turning to look at him. Sebastian stared in horror at the state of her. The sleeve on her left arm was in tatters and her hair was a disheveled mess. Her stockings were torn, and her knees and exposed shoulder were caked in dried blood. He was at least relieved to see that she didn’t have any open wounds on her.

This was…uncharted territory. It was easy to joke with and tease her. If he kept his distance, kept up his cheerful facade, people wouldn’t look too closely. His own classmates had just recently stopped looking at him as if he was something to be pitied, and he liked it that way. It was easier, shouldering his own burdens.

He considered leaving her in the Undercroft by herself to have the space to herself. He already felt like he had intruded upon something, following her to the Map Chamber a few weeks ago.

It certainly would be easier to just leave.

Instead, he sat down next to her and put a hand on her shoulder, clenching his jaw.

“What happened?”

Elsie leaned her head back against the boxes. 

“We returned the book to the Map Chamber. Professor Rackham is one of the Keepers.”

She went without me?!

“Wait.” He shook his head. “The Keepers? Like in Quidditch?”

Elsie shook her head. “No, like…of ancient magic. I don’t even understand it completely. He said that I need to complete four trials first. Professor Fig took me to the first one.”

“Hang on…is that where you came from? What do these trials entail? How come you didn’t tell me before you went? And why-” he gestured to the state of her. 

She examined her torn sleeve before answering. 

“I went right after I talked to Professor Fig. I didn’t have time,” she muttered. “We went straight there.”

Not a good enough reason, but fine.

She continued speaking.

“I had to travel to a tower, up north of Hogsmeade. I opened a doorway that led me to the first trial. At first, it was like solving puzzles by following the traces of ancient magic, but then…”

He waited. “Then?”

“I had to fight more of those stone statues. When that was finished, there was a much larger one that was the guardian of the pensieve. It was all for a memory that Professor Rackham had involving Isidora. But it barely answered any questions.”

Sebastian hummed, his face showing concern. “And that explains the blood. Fighting something like that. Why the hell would these Keepers make you have to do something like that? You could have died, by the looks of it.”

“Yes,” Elsie said, picking at the spots by her torn stockings. “Professor Fig gave me a Wiggenweld potion, though. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Sebastian said tensely, although he was grateful that at least Fig was there to help her. “Isn’t there another way? Rather than risking your life for these idiotic trials?”

She shook her head. “The Keepers said that in order to prove myself, I need to complete them. They warned me it would be dangerous, but…”

“That’s fucking stupid.”

Elsie’s eyes widened in shock at his bluntness. “Sebastian!”

“What? It’s true. I see no reason to throw yourself into danger simply because some Keepers ask it of you.”

She gritted her teeth. “I need to help Professor Fig find out what Ranrok is after. If these trials will give me answers, then I need to complete them.”

He eyed her up and down. “You could have at least vanished the blood away, you know.”

She shrugged. “I…don’t know how to. I think I’d rather just take a bath. I was too tired to think. Needed to come here to process everything before heading back to the common room, and I’d rather go in when fewer people can see me like this.”

In the short month that he had known her, he had never seen Elsie look so down. He supposed he could understand - she had gone from not knowing magic had existed to being told she needed to complete four “trials”, whatever they were, and she and Fig weren’t getting any answers.

Perhaps they could both use a break.

“Well,” he said softly, pulling out his wand and scourgifying the blood from her, “there’s a harvest festival in Hogsmeade.”

Elsie gave him a weary look before glancing down and realizing she was now relatively clean.

“Sebastian, I’m honestly not sure if you’re trying to be cryptic or taunt me right now, but I’m really not in the mood.”

He shook his head. “I just mean, we both could probably use a break, why not do something fun for a change?”

Merlin knew he could use it. Especially because he was hoping to visit Feldcroft next week to see Anne, and he was nowhere closer to finding a cure than he was a year ago.

Elsie seemed to consider it. 

“You really want to risk going to Hogsmeade with me again? After what happened last time?”

Oh. Right. The troll attack.

“Consider this a redo,” Sebastian said brightly. And a good opportunity for me to get to know you better. “It can’t be worse-”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” she warned. “You know anytime someone says that, it always gets worse. Let’s not test it.”

He nodded, a sly grin on his face. “Fair enough. But I’m not hearing a ‘no.’” He nudged her shoulder with his own playfully.

Elsie sighed, hiding her own smile. “Fine. For the sake of a redo, I’m in.”

[im1nobody]

Theo

TW: Christianity, Bullying

The next day after waking up Adora tidies up her books and looks at the guardian jobs needed. One she notices still up, abandoned, is for a bullied teenager who had been outed as bisexual. Adora had recognised the word, bisexual, it is part of the LGBT community. 

She had decided that this would be the job she worked on. Grabbing the flyer she goes to the head of guardian angels to gain approval, a pretty simple task. They merely skim the job and make sure it’s up to your skill level.

“You want this job?” she asks looking up from the flyer.

“Yes,” Adora answers smiling softly. 

“I mean, it’ll be a bit difficult, I think you could handle it but I should advise you not to delve too deep into things you don’t understand,” Alice says softly but sternly.

Adora frowns to herself and nods before being granted access to the job. She flies down to a small town in the country. Adora finds her assignment, a boy named Theodore, in his small apartment. 

His home life had not been mentioned so she decided to watch him and his family. It seems fairly nuclear, a mother, a father, and a baby sister. Adora watches Theodore in his room, he’s finishing his homework and doodling on a sketchbook beside him. 

“Theo, honey it’s time for breakfast,” his mother calls from their small kitchen

Theodore, also referred to as Theo, perks his head up. He sets his homework back in his backpack before walking out. Theodore's father is already at work so he won’t see him till after school.

“How did you sleep, honey?”

“I slept good, thank you, Mom,” he said. Theo eats his breakfast, toast and an egg with orange juice on the side. It was small but good. 

After breakfast, Theodore’s mom drives him to school and takes his little sister to daycare. Adora follows Theodore through the halls. He keeps his head down his brown hair covering grey eyes.

“Kissing any boys lately Theo!” a kid mocks down the hall.

Theo tugs his hair narrowing his eyes at his feet as he nears his locker. Adora notices it’s littered with papers people have taped on. She tried reading them but Theo rips them down before she gets the chance. While Theo puts his bag away Adora picks up the pages to see what was written, more hate messages,

“Bicycle”

“Pick a side”

“Unnatural”

Adora is stunned by the hatred that these children can have for their peers. She looks back and follows Theo to his first class. He sits in the back of the class and tries his best to blend in and go unnoticed. It’s an unfortunate sight to see for the guardian angel.

Throughout the day people heckled and one even tried to ask him out as some strange prank. At the end of the school day, Theo’s mom picks him up, and he sits in the back waving and cooing at his little sister. He’s calmer now Adora notices. Happier.

Once home Theo sits down at the dining table and begins working on homework. He hears the heavy steps of his father approaching the door as it opens. Theodore looks up from the pile of papers smiling as the tired man walks in. 

“Hi Dad,” he exclaims softly.

“Hey, how was school?” he asks in response. Adora smiled at the Father’s voice, It was rough but a kind of gentle she rarely saw.

Theodore shrugged, “the same old, I guess,”

“Those bullies still picking on you?” he asks. Theo gives a curt nod and his dad smiles brightly, “Well you gotta show them you can take it. Show them you’re in charge. Sock ‘em in the mouth, they won’t give you any problems I can guarantee,”

His mother scoffs lightly from the other room, “that’s a one-way ticket to detention,” she says.

“Sure, but it’ll show that you’re strong and can take what they dish,”

“You shouldn’t resort to violence, Theo. You’re a strong man. Just show them that they don’t get under you’re skin and they’ll stop, alright?” his mom adds in.

Theo smiles at his parents nodding and goes back to working on his school work. The night went by smoothly. They ate a small but good dinner. They played together and laughed and talked. Before bed Theo kneeled beside his bed and folded his hands, Adora had seen this action many times before for prayers. She listened intently hoping for a hint on how she should help him tomorrow.

‘God, I’m sorry for sinning, I’m sorry for being bi. Thank you for my loving and supporting family. Please keep them safe,’ he prays. His vibrations were deep showing his intentions were true. Adora smiles softly watching him get into bed before flying off to her dorms. 

In the morning Adora goes to Theo’s home to find a family photo. It was easy to find a spare, one from his sister's birth in a kitchen drawer. She slips the picture into his binder before rushing off to his school before he finishes breakfast. Theo’s locker has begun acquiring hateful papers again but she begins getting rid of them before he comes.

Theo arrives, his head down as always, and reaches his locker. Theodore looks up preparing to rip off papers but sees a blank door. He smiles softly feeling a rush of relief before quickly putting his bag away. He hurries to the first period before heckles can be thrown his way. Adora follows him proudly. Pulling out his binder the photo falls out as a crude slur comes from one of his classmates.

Theo turns his head not noticing his family at first towards the sound of the remark. Adora doesn’t know quite how to fix it other than give guidance to take a deep breath and turn back to his desk, like his mother’s advice. Once looking back to his desk he sees the smiling faces of his mom and dad and the sleeping face of his baby sister. He smiles softly to himself placing the photo in a safe space before getting to classwork.

As the day continues Adora tries her best to get rid of physical reminders such as litter and reminding Theo of his family. Theo enters his Mom car kissing his sister on the cheek before exclaiming how much better the school day was.

“There were no letters in my locker, and I must have forgotten a family picture in my backpack because it fell out in math! And every time I got upset I just thought of you guys and I felt better,” he exclaims smiling brightly.

Adora listened smiling and followed them home as a precaution. Theo’s home life seems enjoyable and safe compared to school so she won’t have to watch him there going forward probably. As predicted the night went smoothly, much like the one before. Though Theodore kept telling everyone how special today was and how much better it was compared to usual.

Theo kneels beside his bed for prayer and Adora listens, ‘Thank you for today. Please keep my family safe and bring me more days like this please, it was great.’ 

Adora smiles bringing a hand to her chest before leaving. Instead of heading straight to her dorm, she decides to roam the streets to see what changes are going on, and see if she can see Xander again. She would love to tell her all about her mission so far. The night is young, a soft glow from the sun illuminating everything nicely. Unfortunately, the night doesn’t stay young forever and Adora does not find him.

She flies back to the dorms, humming happily, thinking of the best ways to continue helping Theo. Little did she know something big was gonna happen that was going to help her. 

The next day, Adora starts checking on Theo before scurrying off to his school. She made sure his locker was bare when he came in. It was obvious that yesterday had made Theodore feel better but he was still wary of everyone. 

“Hey Theodore, you sure seem happy,” a blonde girl said.

“Oh, hi Susan, I’m alright,” Theo responds. He doesn’t know what to say. Is this a prank? Is she trying to make a joke of him or be genuine? Adora looks at Susan quizzically reading her intentions but they all seem pure so she guides Theo to continue talking.

“There’s a partner project coming up in literacy, I was wondering if you’d be my partner?” she asks smiling. “We can do pretty much any book, I read whatever”

Theo thinks for a moment before nodding, “Yeah, we can be literacy partners,” 

“Awesome! I’ll see you then Theodore,” she beams walking away, leaving Theo to ponder over her words.

Once Literacy began, as Susan had said there was a partner project, and as suspected looks of disgust were thrown towards Theo. Susan smiles brightly and walks over to him setting down her books.

“What book were you thinking of for this prospect?” she asks humming.

“I don’t know. The book list is pretty good. Maybe we should try ‘The Giver’ it sounds cool,” Theo says looking through the list of fiction books given to the children to make a project on.

“Yeah utopian but not is so cool! Let’s do it,” Susan agreed and went up to the teacher to tell her their book and grab two copies. Theo feels eyes glaring at him and Adora takes note trying her best to influence him not to care. “How should we divide this book up? We have a whole month for this project. Man, our teacher rocks, right?” Susan says sitting back down with a smile and handing a book to Theo.

“Well, obviously the first part is to read the book. It doesn’t seem too long so that’s nice. We can make a Google doc or something to share notes while we’re reading. And then afterwards we can decide what type of project we want to do,”

“Yeah! Hmm, 23 chapters. Well since we have a full month we can take our time. How about 2 chapters a day then we do the last 3 that’ll put us around two weeks to read the book and two weeks for the project,”

“That sounds like a good plan,” Theo smiles thumbing through the book. The two used the rest of the class period to begin reading ‘The Giver’ and Adora smiled watching them.

Throughout the rest of the day any free moment Theo had he continued to read. He was enthralled in the book without realising it finding a sort of comfort in Jonas the main character. Adora was happy that he found a haven through the verbal assault. 

It was strange in a sense. How Theo only now learned how safe books could be but it was the start of something big for him. Adora could tell. She kept watch of him over the years as he finished high school. She blocked out what she could, filtering the hate, but Theo learned of the worlds where he’s alike. He felt better and graduated ending Adora’s mission. She wouldn’t lie, after years of making sure he was okay and happy she was sad to be moving on but she was happy to have helped and to have made a difference.

Adora stretched her wings and arms out wide walking around and smiling wide. She had a successful mission, a successful long mission with a queer kid no less. She wanted to meet up with that Cupid she meant not long ago and tell him all about it. 

“Little angel, what are you doing here?” said a voice behind her.

Adora jumps turning around and smiles bright. “Xander! I was just looking for you! I finished an assignment for this sweet kid named Theo. He was getting bullied at school for being bi and after what you said I decided to do some reading and I think you’re right. We should be doing more to protect the queers. And I think it’s unfair that-” Adora begins excitedly to tell all about her mission and what she thought.

“Hold on there, you should be careful what you say. You can fall too, you won’t be much help down here. You don’t have a human form, do you?”  Xander says, calmly keeping his eyes stern but curious.

Adora pauses watching him and nods. “Sorry. You’re right, it’s just so strange. Why don’t they want to help everyone? But I want to help everyone, that’s what I’m going to do!” she says determined.

“You can only go to the jobs posted and approved through. If you go behind the uppers' backs enough they won’t think twice about having you fall. Especially if they think you’re in contact with me,”

“Yeah, but I’ll do my best with what I have. I’m sure I can do it. I mean, you still help people too though don’t you?”

“Yes, but what I can do to help is a lot more limited than anything you can do,” Xander explains. 

Adora nods thinking to herself. “Well, either way, I’m glad we were still able to talk. It was nice seeing you again Xander. I should head home and do some reading,” she hums before waving leaving the fallen boy to himself.

Once home Adora reads up on what the world is like now, how people live, are divided. She finds it entrancing and soaks all the information she can about how angels can use the common day technology to the advantage, and how it can be a disadvantage. Technology has made it easier for people to connect but it has also made it easier for people to harm others. As an angel Adora’s job is to help people stay safe but with ever-growing technology it’s more difficult than when her peers started.

[writtenbeneaththestars]

Tags: @nqds

Notes: I wrote this one a year ago and it was for a slam poetry assignment for English class so just imagine this except me speaking it :)

Home

What is home?

Home

Noun

“The place where one lives permanently”

But that’s not my home

我要回家

I want to go home

I want to escape from this reality

But what if I don’t know what I’m running from?

我要回家

还有多久才能回家

How long is it until I can go home

How many more years of this do I have to endure to finally achieve safety

But the thing is there is no home

What is home?

Where is my home?

Where is my paradise

My haven

My shelter in the middle of a hurricane my little hut shielding me off from the storm of life

My oasis in the middle of the Sahara

But my oasis is just a mirage tricking me into finally thinking I’ll be safe for once

Just to crush all the hopes and dreams piling on as I run toward

My oasis my home turned mound of sand turned the destruction of my sanity

Isn’t it better to just stop hoping then?

Stop hoping that this cactus will have the purest water in the world that will somehow revive all the parts of me that has died

Stop hoping that this igloo will keep me just warm enough for help to arrive but help won’t arrive not now not ever because that help that we so desperately need to survive this earthquake

Doesn’t exist

Everything is getting ripped up into this tornado and spinning around and around but as I try to work my way back to the ground I can’t seem to find

My home

Where is my sanctuary

The only thing keeping me from floating away into the void of questions and noise

The last stick in the middle of a freezing ocean after the crash of the Titanic that last desperate attempt of staying afloat before you

Fall

Down

Down

Farther and farther away from the light

There is no light at the end of the tunnel because there is no tunnel everything is just black abyss

Where is my tiny star that little speck in the middle of the night sky

That one piece of light when everything else is trying to make you blind

我要回家

我现在就要回家

I want to go home now

我不能再等了

I can’t wait any longer

I can’t wait any longer or else the tsunami will rise up and drown everything inside and

That bottle that contains the entirety of me is sealed up so tight and

I’m afraid if I smash it open it will cut me open from the inside out and that can’t happen before I know

What home is before I know

Where my home is before I can go there

And get my heart crushed all over again because

Once again

This home is just a hallucination

What is home?

[questions-from-d87]

oc-tober day 7 - hatred

♤ tobi overhears.

♤ 814 words

♤ prompt for @oc-tober2023

♤ this one is loosely inspired by things that have happened to me, it was an experience to write lmao

Tobi arrived home from school at three. He sat in the back next to Phoebe while Melody talked about her day with their mom. Phoebe looked sad. 

Seventh grade was taxing - he knew Melody would be horrified if he said that to her, what with her grown-up high school classes, but at that point in their life, it was 100% true. They went into the pantry and grabbed themself a granola bar from the box their mom had gotten at the grocery store and took a seat on the couch. It was a colder day, and Mom had finally turned the heat on.

They turned on the TV and switched it to some cooking channel. They honestly didn’t usually watch much of whatever they turned on - they just liked the background noise. It helped him to think.

Phoebe was in the kitchen microwaving herself a bag of popcorn. Melody had brought her backpack upstairs, presumably to work on homework.

“How was school, kid?” The way Phoebe talked made them sound so much older than they were. They were only a teenager, not that much older than Tobi in the grand scheme of things, but she was such a mentor to them that she might as well have been three years older in Tobi’s mind.

“Fine,” he answered. “A little boring.”

“I remember when I was in seventh grade. I was always bored out of my mind.” She chuckled softly and took a seat beside them on the couch, holding an open bag of popcorn. “Don’t tell Mom about this, alright, dude?” They gestured to the bag of popcorn - technically, eating on the couch was a no-go. Tobi nodded. They weren’t a snitch, especially not about a rule so small that they were actively breaking themself.

A few minutes later, Phoebe stood up and gave Tobi a little bonk on the head - not hard enough to hurt, but a simple, friendly tap. “I’ve got homework. See ya at dinner, kid.” Tobi waved and she headed up the stairs.

Tobi got up and went to the piano in the other room - they could take a little time to practice before they had to study for their math quiz. The walls of the room were lined with art projects of varying quality from the kids of the family, and their music sat in a messy, disorganized pile atop the piano. One book sat on the stand in front of the keys, the result of yesterday’s practice.

Miss Emily had assigned him a new piece at the last lesson. He opened to page sixteen and looked over the notes briefly. This one was fairly new to them, since they’d only played it a couple of times so far.

They straightened their back and rested their fingertips on the keys -

- when they heard talking.

Not talking. Talking wouldn’t be notable. This was talking just on the cusp of yelling, voice raising but not quite that much.

“You have to be kidding me.”

That was Phoebe for sure - only she and Melody were home besides him, and that voice, in all its boldness and clarity, was unquestionably hers.

“Phoebe, you aren’t listening to me -”

“Oh, I’m not listening to you? Grow up and stop acting like you’re better than me.”

“You’re being ridiculous-”

Tobi covered their ears and pressed them closer to his head until his sisters’ gradually crescendoing voices became an unintelligible mix of muffled sound. They knew they should be used to all the arguing by now, but it still made them sad to hear. He remembered seeing them slowly lose their ability to get along as they got older. One of his very first memories was hearing the two of them proudly proclaim that they would be best friends forever - he watched that vow gradually decay, and it probably hadn’t even hit rock bottom yet.

Suddenly, they didn’t feel much like practicing anymore.

He went back to the kitchen, picked up his backpack, and took it down to the basement couch. Their voices were still audible from downstairs, but they were quieter and easier to cover up with headphones.

He slipped on his headphones and plugged them into the family laptop. Listening in to these arguments was useless, he’d learned - there was no point in taking sides, because neither one would mention it later anyway. They would try not to fight around Tobi - he’d inevitably hear it, but the effort was nice of them.

They pulled up a Depeche Mode album and pressed the play button. The math Quizlet would always be agonizing, especially with his sisters fighting upstairs, but maybe good music would make it a little less insufferable.

The older they grew, the more they realized how much of a mess their household really was. But it was theirs regardless.

He turned up the volume of the music, desperately hoping to drown the yells out.

[badger-and-bee]

I’m tired of caring and tired of trying

If I didn’t crave academic validation I’d have no means of motivation

I burn myself out and set the bar high

But it’s still not enough

Cause at the end of the night

I still cry at the thought of losing what I worked for.

My new school is tough

Somehow harder than my last

And now I’m out of touch with my friends from the past.

I’m scared to make new ones

Because history has shown

No matter what I do or what I change

They’ll find someone better than me.

And I don’t understand.

I try to be the best friend I can be

I listen and i comfort and joke and change myself

So you’ll like me more,

Cause just me has never been enough before

I try so hard to learn and see

Why everyone is chosen over me

I don’t understand and I can’t say

Why they’re making me feel so much pain.

Cause if they fix it it won’t be true

But if they don’t I’m still stuck in my room.

I hear them making plans and I want to be invited

But how can I when I’m looking in from the outside?

I could open the door but what then?

It’s better to not attempt friendship than be rejected.

They talk about each other, their words harsh and unkind

How can I trust them with friendship when my heart is on the line?

So I eat in my car and keep my words to myself

Because it’s better to be alone than rejected.

I’m awkward and I don’t know what to say

How do you start a conversation after asking about their day?

They’re whispering and giggling

Is it about me?

Do I look fat in this shirt or is it something I said?

And my mom won’t let me stay home safe in my bed.

I like learning but I feel stupid in my classes

I could understand so easily before, but less and less as the time passes.

I refuse to cry where they can see me

But they’re everywhere

There is no privacy.

The only place to cry is in the bathroom stalls

But the entrance doesn’t even have a door on the wall.

I don’t want to dread school or be afraid to make a friend

It’s why I moved schools in the first place, isn’t it?

But still I’m here writing in a journal

Instead of talking to friends I don’t have.

And I don’t get invited out or thought of to begin with

But how can I be hurt when it’s my own doing?

My only friends are my parents and it makes me feel pathetic

I feel alone

I feel lonely

I feel tired of it all

But still the teachers continue to pile on

Onto the workload, onto the pressure

“You need to start thinking about your future.”

I’m barely surviving now

I don’t want to decide anything right now

How can I when I’m struggling to keep breathing

I want to be perfect

I want to make my parents proud

I want to be able to stop and look around

I want to have friends

To have someone choose me

For once in my life I want someone to choose me

But instead my life is school

Homework and assignments

I can’t even work to distract myself cause I can’t get hired

I’m tired and burnt out and I just want to sleep

But I can’t because I still have Bs

I have nothing else to judge myself by

I’m trying my hardest but the grades are never high enough.

If I can’t get an A, then who am I?

God, I know you’re there, but sometimes I can’t hear you over my exhaustion

Cause if I say I’m not fine I’ll have to open up.

I’ve never done that, not fully

No matter who I’m talking to, they only see a piece of me

Not even a counselor heard the darkest thoughts I think.

I don’t want to be dramatic

I don’t want to be a burden

But damn if only I could lose that weight.

Failure is heavy

Exhaustion is heavy

There’s too much weight everywhere- mentally and physically

If only I could get out of this abyss of misery

If only I could stop and breathe

If only I could sleep

If only I weren’t so tired of everything.