#do i use his first and last name ??? do i call him professor ?????? do i say dear or is that too formal ?????

[iamconstantine]

arcane characters as college staff

Mel

History professor 

Refers to all students by (honorific) (surname)

Nothing but praise on ratemyproffesor

“I didn’t like history until I took Professor Medarda’s class” 

Doesn’t write scholarly articles, just giant ass books that she pumps out almost every year somehow

Quickly responds to emails. No response = its in the syllabus 

“Is there any make up work I can do to get my grade up—“ Absolutely not

But if you go the writing center you can get extra credit

Every year her students ask for an extension on the final project and every year she gives a long and furious rant about how the project was visible online from Day 1 and they had all semester to work on it

She has a beautiful office that looks like a miniature library and she only sees students by appointment

Jayce

Physics professor

Is a prolific author but somehow can’t figure out how to set up the course online

Prints cheesy physics memes 

Every zoom meeting begins with 1000 messages saying “professor Talis we can’t hear you your mic isn’t on” every. time.

you can come see him in his office any time, door’s always open

but his office is so messy you probably won’t be able to sit because he has a stack of papers on every chair

“Everyone got this question on the exam wrong so I’m going to give everyone credit because that means i didn’t teach it properly”

Always throws an end-of-year party at his place 

Caitlyn

English Literature professor 

would win best dressed of the staff, always shows up in the slacks-and-blazer fit

“To understand why the narrator wears red shoes, we need to take a look at the sociopolitical state of Edinburgh in 1864.”

if you reply to a discussion board post with just “I agree” you’re not getting credit and it isn’t up for discussion 

Never reads contemporary fiction. The “newest” book she’s read is The Great Gatsby

“We’re not having a party but if you want to bring snacks and soda to the last day of class that’s fine”

Covers a lot of authors but it somehow always comes back to Emily Dickenson

Is that teacher that assigns 400-page books every week

Constantly publishing in lit journals (rumor has it she writes steamy open-door romance books under a pen-name but no one has confirmed this)

Ekko

Art professor 

You have to actively screw up to get a bad grade with him

He wrote thousands of letters to the board until they caved and gave the class a proper kiln

“Write a three-page essay explaining why AI art is not art and insisting otherwise is spitting in the face of humankind. Double spaced. Due Friday 11:59”

Throws back coffee. Has a coffeemaker in the studio. Two of them. 

“Hey guys some of you are submitting assignments at 2 in the morning. It can wait until the next day. Please get some sleep.”

He’s created awe-inspiring pieces but if you just wanna paint a frog wearing a hat he’ll say “that’s cool”

Says he knows who banksy is but will never tell

He gets way too deep in the zone. Once reached for his coffee cup while painting, drank paint water instead. Didn’t notice.

Jinx

Chemistry professor 

If you email her the response will be “k” or “no” and nothing else

Waits until twenty minutes after the class begins to email everyone that class is canceled 

Never wears a coat, goggles, or gloves. But will call out students if they don’t

takes 5 years to post grades

“Look I’m not remembering any names. Too many. If I’m talking to you I’ll just point”

Puts a meme on the projector every day. Mostly incomprehensible. Picture of a horse on an beach and it just says “Zimbabwe”

lowest score on ratemyprofessor

someone creates a website called ratemystudent and administration has no proof that it was her because technically the students with bad scores being the same students that get bad grades in her class can be coincidental 

Viktor

Biomedical engineering professor 

Only professor who still uses chalkboards

First day of class is first day of class. No reviewing the syllabus, turn to page 34 in your textbook.

Puts things in the syllabus to catch people who use ChatGPT. If you’re caught, you’re removed from his class. Immediately. You will not get to plead your case.

Most of his cited sources are himself

Literally begs students to thrift their textbooks online instead of buying them from the school. Provides free PDFs as often as he can.

He reads journals every day and will write personal letters to authors he disagrees with

If a student asks a particularly dumb question he’ll step out of the room for ten minutes to compose himself and then resume teaching like nothing happened

Vi

Not a professor, works at the on-campus gym and leads clubs

Constantly curses without batting an eye. Students will leave class with their very uptight professor then come to the soccer club where vi walks in like “sorry I’m late guys i had a motherfucker of a headache this morning”

Please don’t ask her about anything that isn’t club or sport related. If you ask for directions or how to get in contact with student services she’s got nothing

If she refs for a game and you’re on the opposing team you’d better watch yourself. She will rip you a new one if you break any rules. One time a player grabbed one of her member’s mask during a game and he left crying after Vi was done with him

Students run into her at the local hangouts a lot but it’s never awkward. just reminds you not to party too hard before the game tomorrow 

Leads pretty much every club but dance. Wouldn’t admit it but she has no sense of rhythm and refuses to even do it as a student

You can call her coach or captain or just Vi, whatever you want. But if you call her Violet she’ll stare you down until you correct yourself

Heimerdinger

Anthropology professor 

Spends the first day of class getting to know everyone. “We’re going to go around and give our names and a fun fact about ourselves!”

Gives the “Nacirema” assignment and can’t wait to tell everyone the catch

His classroom is filled with artifacts. Don’t ask about any of them because it will take up class time

If you can’t make it to class he sends really nice responses saying he understands, then checks in when you come back

The only thing that puts him in a bad mood is the “why do anthropologists study dinosaurs if anthropology is about people” question. He’s old and tired 

Keeps thinking about retiring, keeps changing his mind

Silco

Political science professor

His classroom is bare and blank. No life. Just fluorescent lights and chairs.

Brags about how few people pass his class

Very strict on attendance. Too many absences and you’re out. 

If the assignment is due at 11:59 and you turn it in at 12:00, it’s late

“I am quite interested to hear why you believe you are deserving of a higher grade when you’ve spent less than thirty minutes attending all of my classes combined. Please, continue.”

Will straight up roast other professors no problem. Encourages students to pass it along

He encourages debate but the only thing students debate about outside of class is whether he’s hot or creepy af

Final project is a choice between A) A ten-page essay on why there is no ethical consumption under capitalism, or B) a presentation on why the country is doomed

Vander

Education professor 

Makes his own series of Crash Course-esque videos

Comes to class in jeans at best. Sweats, sometimes. 

He has one coffee mug that says #1 Dad and he refuses to use anything else

He puts fun questions on his exams, like riddles. If no one gets it, he actually gets sad

Whenever he erases the whiteboard he always misses a spot. He’s that professor.

If he catches you plagiarizing, you get one pass before he reports it. But you have to come to his office so he can tell you how disappointed he is and how much potential you have

He gives a seminar about how worried he is for the future of education and the wellbeing of the next generation and everyone leaves feeling guilty. Everyone.

Make a pop culture reference in class and everything will grind to a halt so you can explain it to him. Visuals help.

Sevika

Librarian

If you play music in the library she’ll walk up to you and just go “are you joking”

Have a phone call on speaker and she’s hanging it up for you

There’s signs telling you to be quiet every three feet

If you see her outside of school no you didn’t

She’s in charge of leading classes on accessing academic databases and she fucking hates it

Somehow knows where every book is down to the shelf. She’ll tell you what you’re looking for before you can finish your sentence

technically she’s supposed to do a walkthrough before closing for the night but if you can’t read the library hours on the signs it’s your fault if you get locked in

[the-casbah-way]

WHY is emailing potential supervisors so intimidating. like hey esteemed academic in the field i aspire to become qualified in do you want to put up with my stupid fucking research project. do you want me to plague you with emails for the next year. do you want me to ruin your fucking life you poor innocent soul ensnared by your duties to inarticulate sleep deprived classics students. god

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

academic rivals request! viktor x fem!reader, nsfw

request: @4-leafed pls... if u have time pls write a viktor x reader that r both geniuses at the academy but very much toe the line of rivalry and sexual tension...i love competitive smart people that fall in love when the rivalry becomes respect ... and they FREAK IT!!! possibly in a lab ! up to you : 3c

i liked this request so much that i ended up writing a decent-ish one-shot….

update: i wrote a part 2 because it was highly requested! you can read it here :)

rating: explicit

word count: 3,5k

warnings: academic rivals. LOTS of dialogue and bickering. dubious science because i skipped it in school, had to do some basic chemistry revision to write this pornographic catastrophe, so please pat me on the back. rough sex? rough… foreplay, that’s for sure. dirty talk, if you can call bickering that. penetration. reader tries to slap viktor, spits in his mouth and he cums in his pants. normally, i only write vanilla stuff, so i have no idea how it turned out THIS kinky (at least for me okay). not proofread (yet). nsfw under the cut:

—

“How do you take your coffee?”

His voice betrays the feeble intention of civility, fusing that polite inquiry into a hiss—a phonetical torture you didn’t even know could occur before. So much for killing you with kindness. Outstaging quips by desecrating courtesies. 

“I don’t care,” you mutter on autopilot. Can’t let him in on any personal preferences, no matter how insignificant. “Just don’t put arsenic in it.” 

Viktor scoffs. Puts the kettle away and peers at you over his shoulder, all wretchedly complacent. 

“So the rest of the periodic table is welcome, I presume?” 

Viktor. The local Nikola Tesla knock-off. Never a moment of peace with him; and the fierce taste of competition grows coppery in your mouth whenever he’s in your sight—the most handsome trigger of your cheek-biting reflex.

His name is an insult on your lips and you want to taste it. Chew it, crush it with your teeth and spit right out, preferably aiming for those poignant eyes seeking you in every classroom—so eager to light up with objection the second your opinion differs from his. 

Always the first prick to disparage your input. A never-resting generator of all the meticulous ways to denounce your projects. 

“If I may.” 

Sickeningly polite, too. With that lithe finger pointing in the air— so irritatingly comical. He may not, but there isn’t a chance he’ll shut up, now, is there?

And so he’d clear his throat, straightening his tie in that ridiculously solemn fashion. As if stepping on a pedestal to deliver a life-changing speech—not some shallow nitpicking regarding your circuit breakers. All eyes on him while his kept staring only into your soul. Special treatment, if you will. 

You will not.

“Using magnetic frames is careless,” he’d state. With his hand imposingly pointing to the blueprint on your slide. “Copper coils may oxidize. Not to mention the overheating. I would use thermoplastics. They’re significantly more efficient. And heat-resistant.”

Oh please. Like someone here gives a shit about what you’d use. 

But you can’t say that. Not in a room full of professors. And, judging from the countless nods of approval, the shits were, in fact, being given. 

“Too risky,” you oppose. “Thermoplastics often degrade at high temperatures. Electric insulation is not worth the damage of releasing hydrocarbons. I assumed that you’d be aware of that, Viktor. But I suppose that was an omission on my part.” 

More nods of approval, now in your favour. Here it goes again—the ever-lasting spectacle of hatred. Elegant, when entertaining the audience. Anything but discreet, in private. A perpetually drawn game of chess. By repetition, not agreement. Both of you refuse to retreat until checkmate. 

Oh yes, the sentiment was mutual. You and Viktor were notorious for tearing at each other's throats. The things you’d sacrifice to make that more than a mere metaphor, though. To pull him by that neat tie to sweet asphyxiation and hear him rasp for mercy with eyes full of pathetic condemnation. And he dreamed of that, too. His cane was itching to give you a smack—to paint your behind a plum so deep you’ll have troubles sitting without wincing. When it came to making metaphors literal, he’d pick being the pain in your ass.

However, your mentors couldn’t care less about the rivalry. The Collegiate Inventors Competition was coming up. And who could possibly make better candidates than two greatest minds of the engineering department, with academic excellence so accurately neck and neck that both of your names now occupy the honorary first place in every ranking table? 

That’s how you ended up with your sentence—three weeks of after-hours cooperation in the lab with the incorrigible bastard himself, a quarter of which you’d already successfully wasted on pointless bickering. Well, not without achieving some common grounds. The choice of prototype landed on one of your personal ambitions—a wearable exoskeleton for post-surgery rehabilitation, with plenty of robotics involved. Endorsed by Viktor, for once. The greater good must have swallowed even his dispute. Off to a nice start, if someone were to ask you.

However, the first issues struck early: on the very stage of development. Viktor volunteered for modelling: meaning, the framework would be custom, to accommodate his spine specifically. An object lesson for everyone involved, it would seem—but only in an ideal world. Which, considering what you had at hand (acrimony, bitterness, an entire picky bit of gall), was filtered out by default.

Now, five gruesome days and who’s-even-counting-anymore restarts later, you’re nowhere near close to at least a draft, yet borderline keen on murdering each other. And you’re certain the latter is approaching. He did just contemplate putting arsenic in your cup, after all. 

Viktor stirs the coffee. Watches his reflection smudge in the dark, whirly water, shooting you an askance glance from beneath thick brows when you start stirring yours—the spoon clanking a tad too loud, as if you were doing it on purpose. Which, you undoubtedly were. 

“Stop that,” he groans, almost leaping out of his chair. Heavy, disturbed gaze meets your cheeky simper. “You don’t have to stir it so thoroughly. It’s not like you take it with sugar anyway.”

“Of course.” You shrug. “I don’t drink slop.”

“Oh, I figured. There’s nothing sweet about you, so why would your coffee be any different?”

“There’s plenty of sweetness about me. I simply don’t squander it on entitled pricks.” 

That finally grounds him. And you’re giddy for the way his sturdy hand grips the cup so hard that it almost shatters into his palm, knuckles growing pale enough to match the porcelain. More so when you take a loud, languid sip, feigning innocence. Fully wallowing in his darling, defeated speechlessness. 

“Excuse you,” he mutters. “Entitled?!” 

“So you agree with the ‘prick’ part?” 

“Yes, and I take great pride in it. You may mark me flustered.” 

“Don’t forget to bust in your pants.”

Viktor sneers: chapped lip twitching, scowl growing defensive. Lanky legs untangle as he rises to his feet, towering above you in an angry lean on his cane—long frame transforming into your personal, scrawny menace, pissed exhale sharp and nasal above your head. And you admit to looking small beneath him—all hunched shoulders, weak smile finally tumbling lopsided. 

“Don’t you dare call me entitled,” he demands—and means it. It’s palpable in the way he twists the handle of his cane, the squeaky sound violently scratching your brain. “I sweated blood to achieve my privileges in this establishment.”

You huff, rolling your eyes. “So did I, and yet you keep ordering me around as if I’m some braindead apprentice. We’re counterparts, Viktor. You’re supposed to be mindful of my perspective.”

“I never see you being mindful of mine,” he counters.

And, well. You can’t argue with that. 

Your coffee break continued in avoidant silence, but the ambience simply reeked of hostility—stifling enough to make you leave the lab feet first. The deadline’s chokehold besieging your neck wasn’t of any help, either—you had to submit the draft for approval by Sunday. And, so far, you haven’t even agreed on the design plan. 

You shoot Viktor a reluctant glance. Pensive, he sat slouched over his parchment, emitting pure peril. Like his shoulder blades might stab you if you attempt a single tap, belligerently peeking through the thin shirt. You tucked your lip under your teeth, chewing hard, tongue running over every small, neurotic wound inside your mouth. Fruitless negotiations held a special spot amongst your least favourite endeavours, but this conundrum called for a desperate measure.

“Viktor.” You winced at how chocked up it came out. He noticed that, too—because of course he did—turning in his chair to nod at you, ever so shit-eatingly. Lancing eyes scrutinised their way up to your face. What an affront. 

“Yes?” Always chiding in that condescending tone of his. Hissy ‘s’ echoed in the lab, gnawing at your nerves. 

“We have to submit something by the end of this week. Let’s at least decide on the blueprint.” 

“Fine.” He shrugged, returning to his sketch. “We’re going with mine.” 

“No!” You snapped. “We’re coming up with a new one. Together.” 

Viktor hummed in mock consideration. The strand of hair he’s been twirling unraveled, claiming more attention than you deemed him worthy of. Sighing, he lazily reached for your graph, frowning as his eyes started skimming over the scribbles. You made your way to the desk, claiming a spot behind his shoulder. That required a tacit truce. 

“You really want to wield… hydraulic actuators?” He winced, looking up at you. Had your breath hitching at that respectful attempt, the effort prominent in the very way he uttered those words—as if struggling to filter out swear ones. 

“Yes,” you mustered. “For high power.” 

“But they’re so heavy.”  

“Well, what would you use?” 

He chuckled—rich and malicious. Flipped the page and finally averted those curious eyes, arching a bushy brow. 

“I thought no one gave a… crap about what I’d use.” 

Oh, well. It felt nice while it lasted. 

“How did you even—“

“You ought to be more discreet with your vitriol,” he retorted. “I’ll let you know that I’m a decent lip-reader.” 

“Then don’t stare at my mouth next time. What would you use, Viktor?” 

Now that left you both startled. His fingers stilled above the diagram, flexing in disbelief, hollow cheeks hued a puzzled rouge as you almost chomped your tongue off, showing an embarrassed curse back into the depth of your throat. 

“Ahem. Electric motors,” he chanted, pretending to overlook the slip-up. And for once, you were grateful for his tact. 

“I see. Well, er… put that down, please.” 

He instantly complied, fetching a pen. Left you to reflect on your misery to the rhythmic sound of his scrawling, pressing a sweaty palm to his forehead. 

“Right.” He sighed. “What about the power supply?”

“Rechargeable batteries?” You suggested weakly. “Lithium-ion.”

“Very well. Frame?”

“Something durable. Titanium?” 

“Absolutely not,” he scoffed, pushing the notes away. “Why must you always insist on using the heaviest equipment?”

“I don’t know, corrosion resistance?” You muttered back, hovering over him. “Biocompatibility?”

“That’s perfectly manageable with carbon fiber!”

“So it shatters after the tiniest bump? Bravo, Viktor, how ingenious.” 

He lurches forward—rigid breath quivering over yours. Close enough to crush that thick skull with your forehead—if only you ventured, that is. But, alas, you’re not as brave just yet. Some brief eye-stabbing is about all you’re good for. 

“Fine,” he agrees, pulling away. “We’ll use aluminium alloys. Corrosion resistant and easy to machine. No one wins. Does that suffice?” 

“Yes. Now will you finally let me take your measurements for the sketch?”

He doesn’t answer—at least not verbally. Merely stands up and nods to the measuring tape, face still heavily contorted with displeasure. But you don’t oblige just yet. How can you, when Viktor’s fingers suddenly reach for his collar, fumbling with the button? And—oh no—now they’re sliding lower, reiterating once, twice, thrice, until his chest (flushed, but that might just be wishful thinking) is fully peeking out, teasing the smooth scrap of ivory skin. 

“What… are you doing?” You mumble, utterly startled. 

“…Undressing?” He says matter-of-factly, looking up at you so askance as if you’d just asked him if the sky is blue. One more ministration and the shirt is neatly folded next to the parchment—waiting for you to be through with the measurements to be slid back on his bony shoulders. 

“That, I can tell,” you mumble. “Why did you undress?”

Viktor’s gaze daggers into you again. “Don’t tell me you were actually intending to measure me clothed? Can you not comprehend precision?”

“Precision?”

“The prototype is expected to cling to me. I don’t see how that’s achievable with my shirt on— I assumed that was rather obvious.”

“Shut the fuck up.” 

“Ah, sweet civility. I even started worrying that other entitled pricks must’ve depleted your decorum, but it seems like you saved some up for me after all. I’m flattered, really—“ 

You don’t even register when it happens.

Next thing you see is Viktor seizing your wrist—sternly yanking your slap off his face before it gets the chance to land there in a flared handprint. Nothing but pure rage and prickliness—right where his short nails are lancing your skin, engraving an ugly bracelet you’ll wear for hours.

Well, maybe there is something else. Something inexplicable, and tremendous—deep in the way your eyes keep drifting south—where his pants sling low on defined hips, and the pretty trail of dark hair runs from navel to waistband—no doubt circling exactly what you manage to make out in the convex slope of his crotch. And you want to slap him for that, too—sonorous, and frenetic. Going in again with full force, but his force always turns out to be fuller—and in an instance he firmly twists your arm, pinning it behind your back—pale face barely five inches away from your flushed one. 

What happens next is beyond any explanations. Later, he’ll blame it on inertia—that stupid urge to maintain the speed, to stay in motion with your messy antics until some external force stops him—a simple need to claim you before the inevitable collision.

But there’s no inertia in escalation. In the way his free hand grabs you by the nape and clashes agape mouths together, teeth bumping hard enough to make you consider booking a dentist appointment later. Not a sign of inertia when you grab him, either—a little clumsy through the sharp pain in your twisted arm—bold fingers raking his scalp in a vengeful tug on his hair. 

And it’s more than a kiss. If anything, it looks like you’re trying to eat him—tongue out and thrusting into his throat so fiercely that he gags on it, almost tearing up. Now you know what sheer desperation sounds like, and it’s grunting against your mouth, suddenly pitching to a pathetic moan when you grab a handful of chestnut hair and pull so hard that his eyes roll back, lean frame shaking under your violent approach. You use that startled momentum to try and pry your arm free, but he still keeps it in place. 

“You’re hurting me!” You hiss, attacking his neck—the very one you always shamefully admitted to finding the sexiest any man can possess, and your teeth roughly pinch at his voice box, coaxing another whine. 

“Good.” He groans with spite. “I hope I am.” 

And yet, he releases your aching arm, trading it for a calculated squeeze of your waist. But the audacity overshadows his little mercy. You instantly use the unrestrained privileges to force a finger into his mouth—astounded at the way he instantly opens up, almost mockingly pliant. More so when you spit on his tongue, sparing no shame—as if trying to rile him up beyond recognition. Grinning, when your saliva dribbles down his chin. 

“Ah.” He huffs, instantly licking up the remnants. “Thank you. Ever so disrespectful.”

“You haven’t earned my respect,” you lie, nudging him towards the chair. Not even bothering to wait until he lands, impatient hands already messing with his belt—so treacherously earnest as you shake, unfastening the buckle, and the bastard chuckles at that, looking down at your eager work. 

“That’s a new low, then,” murmurs coyly, helping you into his lap, heavy head leisurely thrown back. “Sleeping with someone you don’t respect.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Oh yes. You’re about to.” 

You glare at him from under heavy lids, but the anger refuses to linger—not when he stares back full of indignant awe, so clearly basking in your attention. With his cock half-springing out of undone pants, shamelessly twitching against your palm. And not a single breath was hitched to conceal his excitement. 

“Must you always be so insufferable?” You reproach, pushing his hair back—too domestic for your own liking, and yet it doesn’t feel unfitting. Especially when he leans into your hand, welcoming your touch on his sweaty forehead—like he wanted you to feel it fever up with want.

“No.” He shakes his head. “But if it can grant me this, I’ll triple the effort.” 

“What happened to new lows? You don’t have a fraction of respect for me, either.”

“You’re right.” He shrugs. “Fractions could never encapsulate my tribute to you.”

And his hand slipped under your skirt, shakily crawling home—precisely where you’d never confess to needing him a mere minute ago. But the sentiment did a decent job at diluting your rancour. There came no protest when he introduced two long fingers into your underwear, openly gasping at the evident dampness. And you allowed him that with no regrets. Moreover, you helpfully sank yourself knuckle deep, wincing at the brief burn, arms wrapping around his neck as he sweetly looked up, seeking your  permission. Which was instantly found in the pretty moan you spilled into his mouth, slick tongues back at their futile attempts to strangle each other. 

However, your patience was running thin. As much as you wanted to indulge in proper foreplay, whatever masochistic dance he exposed you to had you in agony ever since it started—and it was getting unbearable to ignore the ache, no matter how bad Viktor  craved to postpone the main course. 

Your thighs clenched hard as you crouched above him, fingers wrapping around the hilt to awkwardly line the tip up with your cunt—the slick sound of it slowly sliding down suddenly igniting some tender bashfulness. Like you didn’t just spit in his mouth with a vile smirk. Like he never had to confine you from slapping him in the face. 

That stretch felt different from the one after his fingers. Significantly richer, it made you whine—a pitiful sound reverberating against his skin as you held on tighter and allowed him to bottom out, savouring every little crevice inside you. Raw, yet neither of you seemed to care—that concern was pushed alongside your underwear, then forgotten altogether when your walls clenched him, offering tight bliss. 

“Move,” you demanded, grabbing him by the chin. Viktor rasped something back, but you didn’t catch it—already too busy tongue-fucking his pretty neck, turning your teeth into sharp tools ready to stain it mauve with bites. 

And he complied again. One hand trembled on your hip while the other crawled between your legs—first missing your clit in the chaotic pace of thrusts, then finding it again as it grazed his fingertips. So cheeky when he dared to pinch it, avenging every pull on his hair. Though, he couldn’t gloat in your wince. Not when it clearly was one of the pleasured kind. 

But you didn’t feel like letting him regain composure. You already missed his husky groans—ached to test what else fucking you could make him mutter. Fogy gaze found his face again, softening at the sight—all wet forehead full of concentrated creases and thin lips bitten to bloodless paleness. 

You took over. Let him lean back and rest as you roughly rode him into the chair—and for that he gave you a grateful moan, the insistent thumb toying with your clit never stopping even for an instant. Good with his hands, and he knew it—proudly grinned when you struggled to keep going, taut legs treacherously giving up astride him. 

That didn’t please you in the slightest. You wanted him to be close, too: slid a hand up his chest and angrily tugged at one nipple—chortling when his mouth dropped in a stunned gasp. Bewildered, but he didn’t mind it—amber eyes squeezed shut when his head lolled, and you finally got his lovely moans back—raspier than before, ravenous enough to make your head spin. 

You could already feel it, pulsing somewhere deep within. Blurry vision couldn’t make him out anymore, the lab smudging into a mess of weird shapes—you were about to cum, hard, and Viktor threatened to follow suit any second—his thumb failing to hold steady, and yet the pressure was still there, courtlesly helping you chase that sweet relief. Such a gentleman. 

“Close,” you chanted. “So, so close.” 

“I know,” he answered, choking on a groan. “Me too.” 

And you melted, almost crushing him with your weight. Quivering in a spasm so intense that it had him struggling to keep moving, and yet he was mindful of the risk—used the last fractions of his brain capacity to gently nudge you off his cock and pump it fast and hectic. Cumming in one endlessly thick rope, with a moan so vocal that it reached you even through the layers of foggy, ear-buzzing aftermath. Had you shuddering when you clung off his shoulder, glassy eyes wide with trembling astonishment. You stared at him through the approaching wave of disbelief. 

No signs of regret so far, or maybe it was simply still forming—for now, you silently admired not a snarky bastard, but a pretty, fucked out boy beneath you. 

“Oh, would you look at that.” Viktor chuckled, sheepishly looking down. “I didn’t forget.”

“What?” You mumbled in confusion, following his gaze.

And when it finally caught your attention—sticky and relentlessly staining his pants—you slammed a hand over your mouth, muffling the hysterical laughter. 

“And here I thought I finally fucked your remarkable memory out.”

“Oh, by no means. As, eh… intense as that was, that misery of mine is not going anywhere. However,” he trailed off, his hand skittishly moving towards yours, “sex clearly proved beneficial for our… dynamic.”

You smile, sliding your palm into his warm grasp. 

“Can it ensure us enough civility to win the competition?”

And Viktor scoffs, coyly looking you in the eye. 

“Why should we limit it to just that?” 

[accioscarheadthings]

ULTRAMINE ~ CHAPTER 1

kenji sato x reader

summary: you are professor sato's student and mina contacts you when kenji finds himself with an injured kaiju baby

pairings: kenji sato x fem!student!reader

author's note: turning this into a series (?) may not follow the movie's timeline completely. future smut, so minors DNI.

masterlist !

you stood beside professor sato in the tube lift as it descended to kenji's basement.

you fiddled with the ends of your shirt, anxiety beginning to spiral within you by the second.

being at kenji’ house was something you never imagined would happen, especially after your not-so-smart first date. 

like kenji, you also had a legacy to bear, with your father as an expert mechanic, he built a titanium-alloyed suit with sato to fight by his side. and with him gone, you had to take on the mantle and the responsibility of protecting the city.

kenji knew you as his father’s student, slightly bitter that his father was spending time with someone who was not him.

but he couldn’t deny, you were a sight for sore eyes.

he would throw his words at you now and then, relishing in your sarcasm and remarks, falling more and more for your fiery demeanour and silver tongue.

and with you both fighting kaiju attacks together, it only pulled you closer to each other.

the baseball player won a bet against you, asking for just one date with you. 

you were skeptical about it, not wanting to get tangled in his spider web of messy celebrity life. but you couldn’t back off from the bet. a deal was a deal.

the date went surprisingly well, with you and kenji bickering back and forth about the most mundane things, just to get a rise out of the other. but as time went by, the sexual tension was increasing between you two.

you couldn’t deny it, no matter how much he annoyed you with his bratty charm. he was hot. 

the date was supposed to end with him dropping you in your place, but instead, you found yourself in his arms in the back of his car- naked, needy, and moaning his name like a prayer.

after that, he took you into your apartment and fucked you good, mumbling praises and promises as he drilled into you. the next morning, he left before you woke up, leaving a note saying that last night was fun. 

no calls or messages after that. he merely acknowledged your presence after that.and you were thankful for it. a bit.

part of you wished he would reach out and check in on you after that night. but you knew he wouldn’t.

it made you feel used and unwanted. took you quite a while to get over it, but you eventually did. 

you only took care of the fights he didn’t pay mind to. like the kaiju attack he ditched when the kdf intervened.

and now with the doom of meeting him again, your nerves were on end.

“fret not, dear,” professor sato glanced at your tensed state, “it will be alright.”

"professor, um, you still haven't told me why we’re at your son’s place. or what we're gonna do. or why you needed me out of all people-”

"i just need you to trust me on this, dear. you're the only one i do at this moment. can you do that for me?"

"you know i'm big on trust, professor, " i commented, shaking my head.

the lift stopped, and professor smiled, "that i do," 

when the lift doors opened, ultramn’s face was right on, big glowing eyes.

you took a step back with a yelp, “what the-"

"oh my-" ultraman gasped, “y/n… hi,” he seemed to be dazed, breathless.

you nodded nervously, glaring at his metal head and glowing eyes, glad that you didn't have to look at his handsome face, “hi,”

“dad! what is she doing here?” kenji hollered, as if you were invisible.

you glared at him even harder, tilting your head to the side at his tone.

"i apologize for my son," professor told you, "kenji, this is my assistant and she knows best about kaiju infants,"

i added, "because i've studied about them.my entire life. what they eat, their life cycle, the metamorph-"

"okay, okay, got it yeah," he waved you off in a hurry, his voice laced with impatience and worry.

you were about to snap when a pained squeal rang out and you leaned past him to sneak a peak, but ultraman obscured your view.

“dad, i’m not asking for pain, complaints, guilt, or criticism. not right now. i just-” he paused, struggling, “i need your help. both of you,” his head turned to you.

when he moved out of the way, you saw it, a gasp escaping your lips .

a baby kaiju lying on its back in the middle of the room, its head resting on ultraman’s knees while he held it down, rubbing its head. a red beam blinked under its skin, signaling its distress.

"wow," you gaped at the kaiju baby, following after professor sato.

“she was hurt, dad. we were attacked, i don’t know what to do. she got loose. i-i should’ve been there,” kenji rambled, guilt evident as he beat him up for what happened.

professor sato examined her, running a hand over a scales, “incredible,”

i held out my fist, metal plates slipping over your fingers and crawling up your arm till your elbow. you held out a hand, shooting a scanning bean from your fist to examine.

“you brought your warsuit?” ultraman asked in wonder. he knew about your identity and was hoping he’d run into you in one of the fights.

“just in case,” you shrugged, eyes on the anatomy chart you had pulled up in front of you as the holograph blinked on the arm of the kaiju, indicating the site of injury.

meanwhile, professor sato ran a chem analysis of the tranquilizer that had hit her.

"oh, hello mina," you greeted the ai when it floated towards you, “it’s been a long time,”

"indeed," mina responded, "you look well,"

"thanks,"

the kaiju baby whined in pain, squirming. you rested your metal palm on its tummy, easing your way up and down on its body, "shh, hey, hey- it's okay, we're gonna help you, baby, mkay?” you cooed.

the kaiju baby seemed to somewhat calm down at your words, its body still trembling.

“is it a he or she?” you asked, tapping and prodding her arm juncture.

“a she,” mina responded.

"she's beautiful," you looked up at her in awe, “professor, i suppose she has fracture. there’s fluid build-up in her elbow. mina, can u confirm?,”

“yes, she had a mid-humeral fracture with associated hematoma,” mina added.

the kaiju baby cried out again.

“it’s okay, you’re okay,” professor sato uttered softly caressing her arm.

mina was filling in the professor about the analysis of the tranquilizer while you got a closer look at the baby, running your metal hand over her palm.

her fist closed around your hand, the kaiju baby cooing slightly. your heart melted at the action.

“poor thing. does it hurt too much?” you reached to touch her arm where she got hurt, only for her to squeal in alarm.

“it’s okay,” kenji soothed, “she’s-” he stammered, looking at you now fully and taking in your appearance and feeling somewhat flustered, “she’s not gonna hurt you,”

you spared a glance at him, turning away, your face turning red at the mere sound of his voice. pathetic, you scolded yourself.

“can you synthesize a 100 ccs?” professor sato asked mina. 

“yes, professor,”

“good we’ll need more,”

 “more?!” kenji snapped, “for what?”

“kenji,” “you may not agree with me on anything else, but right now, i’m the best chance she has. and with y/n, it will be easier. so please, please just let me help,”

kenji glanced at you, agreeing, “okay,”

professor sato held up a ragged bunny in the air. the kaiju baby beamed at it.

“dad,” kenjis sighed in nostalgia, “bunny?”

“it always worked on you,” he placed it on the baby’s arm. he notched his walking stick between her shouler and arm, making sure it was right. i nodded in approval.

i placed my hand on the kaju baby’s palm, “hold her tight, kenji,”

two mechanical arms appeared from the ground, grabbing onto the baby’s arms.

taking a deep breath, you mumbled along with the lullaby mina played in the back and pushed her dislocated bone into place. kenji turned his head away to the side, unable to watch while the kaiju baby screeched in pain.

you sat by the stairs of the containment unit as the kaiju baby slept in it, snuggling a half-crushed car.

you were watching the footage of the kaiju baby loose in the streets, observing its movement, behaviour—

“hey,”

you slapped your watch shut and looked up at kenji, blinking, “hi,”

your eyes locked for a moment longer adn you both looked away, feeling bashful and flustered. 

you felt him sit on the stair beside you and rest his elbows on his knees, fiddling with his fingers nervously.

“so, uh, how are ya?” kenji turned to face you, his hair falling all over his forehead.

you bit back the urge to brush them back, “fine. so how’s life being a single mom with two jobs?” you teased, hoping to ease the tension.

kenji gave a small smile, his chest rumbling with a groan, “exhausting,”

“i can tell,” you noticed the fading dark circles under his eyes, the fatigue in the paleness of his skin.

“watching me that closely, sweetheart?” he tipped his head to the side, leaning forward a bit, his flirty tone showing up.

“you wish,” you rolled your eyes at him.

“it’s good to see you,” kenji spoke genuinely, “after the last time we met turned into-”

“oh dear god-” you sputtered, “don’t just don’t,”

“was it that bad?” he seemed offended that you were shutting out that incident so quickly, “was i that bad?”

“no, no, ken,” i laughed carelessly, missing the way a shy smile crept up kenji’s face at your sound, “its just that,” you tried to find the right words, “it was amazing, but the days after that, not so much. we-”

“-drifted apart,” kenji completed, understanding now.

"yeah,"

“i’ll just,” kenji jabbed his thumb to the couch area and walked towards it, muttering and scolding himself for being so clumsy and flustered around you.

you smiled at his back, watching him sit down. you turned back towards the containment unit, watching the kaiju baby snore away.

you crossed your legs, getting comfortable, "mina?"

"yes?" the ai floated towards you.

"give me everything you have on the kaiju baby. and you might wanna get filled in on the kaiju anatomy and life cycle info i have in my database," you held up your watch for her.

“sure thing,” a mechanical arm took it from you.

"and also, could i get a cup of coffee, with three-,"

a cup was thrust beside your face to hold. 

you looked up and saw kenji holding one for you, having one for himself, “three shots of espresso. just how you like it,”

surprised but touched, you accepted it with a kind nod, watching him walk back to his father.

he relaxed back, leaning into the couch and spreading his legs apart shamelessly, one arm resting on the head of the couch.

you lips parted at the sight.

kenji did a double take and caught you staring, a grin quirking his lips as he did so. it only widened as he saw how you fumbled and turned away from him, finding your reaction adorable.

he couldn't believe how captivating you were, and he knew he was in danger of losing himself to your charm. 

 the way your hair draped over your shoulder, only if he could wrap his fist around them and pull you flush against his back-

“pure thoughts, ken. pure thoughts,” he chided himself, his mind struggling to process the mental image it created.

he silently chastised himself for letting you slip through his fingers last time, but he knew that he couldn't ignore you any longer. 

as he looked at you, he felt his heart skip a beat and he couldn't help but sigh, "sweetheart..." knowing that you were too tempting for him to resist this time.

[weasleysbliss]

𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 | 𝐠𝐞𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐲

pairing: george weasley x gryffindor!reader

summary: when y/n is asked to tutor george weasley, she expects nothing but chaos. but as their study sessions turn into moments of laughter and vulnerability, what starts as an obligation blossoms into an unexpected romance.

word count: 2.7k

➽────────────────❥

You were the top student in your Potions class—well, pretty much in all of your classes. With an average just shy of 100, you managed to outdo your friend and academic rival, Hermione Granger. Sometimes, you couldn't help but wonder how you weren't placed in Ravenclaw.

You were patiently waiting in Professor McGonagall's office, as she'd asked you to be there at 10 a.m. sharp. It was already 10:05, but you didn't mind. After all, she had hundreds—if not thousands—of students to deal with every day. You couldn't imagine being in her position; it must be incredibly stressful.

You saw Professor McGonagall quickly walk into the office. "Sorry, dear, I wasn’t expecting to be late. I had to deal with one of the twins again. Fred and those fireworks he won’t stop setting off... I can’t seem to catch a break," she said, clearly irritated. You chuckled.

Fred, along with his twin George, were infamous for their pranks—especially their fireworks. You weren’t particularly close with the twins, though you knew George from Potions class. You’d never really talked, but you’d heard plenty about their mischief. This definitely wasn’t the first time they’d caused trouble.

"No worries, Professor, I’m in no rush,” you reassured her. “Speaking of Fred, I actually called you in here to ask if you'd be willing to tutor his brother, George. His struggle is with Potions, and I know you’d be a great help, Miss L/N."

Her request caught you off guard for a moment. You had no problem tutoring anyone—especially since you were confident in all of your academic abilities. But George? Would you even withstand a single session without him pulling at least ten stunts on you? Despite not exactly wanting your "client" to be George, you couldn’t let Professor McGonagall down.

"Yes, of course, I'd be delighted to tutor him." Not that you were exactly thrilled. You didn’t have a problem with George, but you could already imagine the chaos his pranks would bring. If he pulled anything on you... well, you’d just have to pray you could withstand it.

Nonetheless, you had high hopes.

"Lovely! You both can start tomorrow at 6 p.m. in the library," she said. "I will let him know about the schedule. You'll be expected to tutor him three times a week. I have no doubt his grades will improve with your help." She gave you a warm smile, clearly pleased that you accepted her request.

You returned her smile and made your way out of her office. Now, all that was left was to wait for your first session tomorrow evening.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The next day, 6 p.m. rolled around much faster than you anticipated. You spent most of the day going over your notes and brainstorming effective ways to tutor him.

You found a seat in the library, one that George would be able to see when he walked in. Shortly after you settled in, his tall, lean figure appeared in the doorway. Your eyes met for a moment, exchanging weak but genuine smiles, before he walked over and took a seat beside you.

"Glad you came, Weasley," you said, a hint of sarcasm in your voice, though it wasn't meant badly. "Not like I had much of a choice, y’know. McGonagall practically twisted my arm…" he laughed. "But I have to admit, I was pretty lucky to get you as my tutor. You’re brilliant, Miss L/N—though I probably shouldn’t inflate your ego too much." You chuckled at how formal he sounded when using your last name.

"Yes, well… I'll try my best to make this session quick and effective. I'm sure you have plenty of other things to do outside of this," you said, scrambling through your notes. "Don’t worry about it, I’ve got all the time in the world," he assured, smiling. His comment made your cheeks heat up, but you quickly brushed it off as you laid out the notes.

"Right, let's begin!" you cheerfully said.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Nearly 45 minutes into your session, everything was going smoothly. You’d covered most of the first topic you wanted to go over, and George seemed to be doing well with it so far. However, there was just a little bit left of the lesson to finish.

"Okay, and finally…" you began, but you were cut off when you noticed the cup of ink you had dipped your pen in was gone. "Oh… did I misplace it somewhere?" you said, your voice tinged with confusion.

"Have you seen the cup of ink, George?" you asked, still looking around in a frenzy. "No," he replied simply, his nasty and mischievous smirk making it clear he knew something you didn’t. "George, stop messing around. Give it to me," you said, trying to remain calm. You only had a couple more things to explain, and you were ready to be done. You weren’t having it with his pranks, though you knew they were coming.

The cup of ink came into clear view when George stood up, holding it high above his head. "Reach for it, if you dare," he laughed, knowing full well you wouldn’t be able to reach it. "George, cut it out!" you said, clearly annoyed. You didn’t even try to get it; it would be impossible unless he brought it down some inches shorter.

Seeing the irritation on your face, George finally lowered the cup, holding it out in front of you. Just as you reached for it, he quickly pulled his hand away, making your face burn with embarrassment. "George, stop! We’ve been here for an hour already, don’t you want to leave?" you said quietly, trying to keep your frustration in check.

"I dunno, there’s just something hilarious about you when you’re mad," he said, a grin slowly creeping onto his face. He finally placed the cup on the desk, your eyes following his hand. Now, you can get back to finishing the lesson.

Once the session came to an end, you both discussed when you'd meet again—two days from now. "Same time, same place. Don’t be late," you said, your tone firm. "Right atcha," he replied with a playful salute before spinning on his heel and heading out of the library.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The next day wasn't one of your tutoring days, but you decided to sit next to George in Potions class. After all, you were tutoring him in the subject, and you figured it’d be a good chance to get to know him better outside of academics.

"Well, well, well," he sang as he saw you take a seat next to him. "Oh, shut up," you said, swatting his arm playfully.

For the entire period, you both got to know each other on a more personal level. Not too personal, but enough to now be considered 'acquaintances'.

George Weasley wasn’t as bad as you’d expected.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Next day, second tutoring session.

You and George met up at the same spot, same time. Library, at 6 p.m.

"Okay, now that you’ve learned what I taught you a few days ago, it’s time to apply it to an actual potion. This is when you’ll actually make one." you said, pointing to the empty glass tubes.

You handed him a piece of paper with a specific potion written on it—the one you’d ordered him to make. He took the paper and got to work. You watched his every move, from the way he added the ingredients to the tube, to the way his hands moved.

Something about his hands intrigued you. They were veiny, slim, and just perfect overall. Your thoughts were quickly interrupted by a loud explosion-like sound.

Your gaze immediately shifted to the glass tube, where black smoke was billowing out and clouding the air. He must’ve added the wrong ingredient.

"Guess I didn’t quite hit the mark with the studying, did I.." he muttered quietly. Yeah, clearly. The notes you’d given him to study had gone to waste—he’d messed up one of the easiest potions to make.

You rolled your eyes in annoyance, but despite the mistake, a laugh escaped you.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Another two days later, another tutoring session awaited you.

This time, you really hoped George’s effort would get you somewhere, rather than wasting both of your time.

"Believe it or not, I actually did some studying this time. Turns out your notes are pretty brilliant—who would’ve thought?" he said as you both stepped into the library. "Wow, Weasley. I’m impressed, but let’s see if it paid off," you replied, smirking at his comment.

You handed him another potion to make, this one more difficult than the last. To your surprise, he actually perfected it. It warmed your heart knowing he’d put in such great effort.

"Told you," he said, showing off his creation like a nine-year-old flaunting a Lego set he’d built.

It was nice seeing him improve, finally succeeding in something he’d struggled with, all with your help.

"Nice one, Georgie!" you cheered, patting him on the shoulder. "Trust me, if you keep this up, you'll be in the high 80s."

"Yeah, I definitely need that. A 52 isn’t exactly something to brag about, is it?" He said, a bit embarrassed, but with a playful tone. He had clearly exposed his grade, a bit more than he intended.

Your hand was still on his shoulder, but neither of you seemed to mind. You didn’t think of letting go. "Don’t let yourself down. We all start somewhere. And you’re getting better—thanks to me," you said, flicking your hair away as you emphasized your contribution. He laughed at your sassy move, clearly amused by your confidence.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Another session went by, then another, and many more after that.

You were seeing George every day—whether it was sitting with him in Potions class, during your occasional tutoring sessions, or even grabbing coffee and lunch together now and then. Though those outings weren’t exactly romantic, they still felt special in their own way.

He'd made immense progress, and it was clear when he told you he was averaging an 85 in the class.

Just like that, in two months, he’d gone from a 52 to an 85. Needless to say, you were proud—of both yourself and George. You felt accomplished, knowing you’d successfully helped a student improve their grade, and proud of George for sticking with the sessions and putting in the effort.

Despite his rare pranks and annoying moments, he made the sessions much more fun than they should’ve been.

Rather than being professional and straightforward, the sessions almost always turned into the opposite—filled with laughter, inside jokes, casual flirting, and lessons that took far longer to finish because of it.

You didn’t realize it at first, but those two months spent together had made you develop feelings for him. Not a full-blown crush, but something close. You’d gotten to see the things that made him attractive, and more importantly, a good person.

His lean, masculine figure, his hands, and his noble, humble, and brave personality made you realize he wasn’t all chaos and jokes.

He was exactly your type—almost everything you'd wished for in a guy. His good looks weren’t something he flaunted; instead, he prioritized maintaining a reputation for being generous and courageous.

You admired that about him.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

On one particular tutoring session, which was close to being one of your last—since he was already excelling in the class—you both shared a moment you'd never forget.

After your usual laughs at one of his ridiculous jokes, he suddenly shifted the atmosphere, his tone turning serious.

"Y/N, you do realize this is one of our last sessions, yeah?" He asked.

"I know. I’m going to miss moments like these. But hey, it’s not like we won’t still have class together! And I see you every day, stop being dramatic," you replied, playfully shoving him, earning a chuckle in return.

"I know, but I feel like these sessions are what really built our friendship. Honestly, if McGonagall hadn’t set this up, I’m not sure where we’d be." He said.

What he said was completely true, and you’d even considered it yourself. Where would you guys have ended up, in terms of your relationship, if Professor McGonagall hadn’t played matchmaker? It was like a butterfly effect.

"Yeah, I don’t think either of us would’ve spoken to each other," you laughed. In your defense, you wouldn’t have talked to George back then. You’d thought very differently of him.

"You're right. I'm scared of pretty women," he said.

That one simple comment made a thousand, if not a billion, butterflies erupt in your stomach. He always knew exactly what to say to earn a blush from you.

You were too flustered to respond, so instead, you shot him a small, shy smile, afraid you’d say something you would regret.

"I’m glad she paired us together, though," he said, breaking the silence. "Well, I happen to like you—a lot, actually. And somehow, it all snuck up on me so fast." he confessed.

His words sent your heart racing, pounding faster than it ever should. This was one of the rare moments where both of you were completely vulnerable and serious with each other.

"I’m really glad you enjoyed my company, Georgie. Honestly, these sessions meant more to me than just schoolwork." You hesitated for a moment, a small smile on your face. "You make me feel so… at ease. Like I can just be myself. And, well, I didn’t expect to get so attached, but here I am."

The words tumbled out before you could stop them, and his eyes widened slightly at your statement. For a moment, panic gripped you.

Oh gosh. What if he didn’t mean it like that? What if he only sees me as a friend? Did I just romantically confess to him? Am I dreaming? Get a grip, Y/N!

"You like me, L/N, don’t you?" he said, not even posing it as a question.

Your cheeks flushed instantly at the sound of your last name on his lips.

You couldn’t outright deny it—that would be a lie. But admitting it felt too direct, too vulnerable.

Standing against one of the library tables, you avoided his gaze, your lips sealed as you struggled to find the right words. Deep down, you knew the truth—you liked him.

He stood from his seat and stepped closer, closing the space between you. His finger lightly grazed your chin, gently tilting your face to meet his eyes.

"There’s only one answer," he murmured. "Let’s not lie now."

Your heart pounded in your chest as you fumbled for a response, finally managing a soft, unsure, "Maybe."

By now, your bodies were so close that his warmth seeped into you, making your breath hitch.

"I thought so," he said, his voice low and almost teasing, his gaze locking with yours.

Your eyes remained locked on his, staring into the rich, chocolatey depths of his gaze.

"Y’know, you’re not exactly subtle about how you feel, Y/N. But lucky for you, I’m happy to help," he said, his voice soft but confident.

Confusion flickered across your face for only a moment before it was replaced by the warmth of his lips pressing against yours. One hand found the small of your back, the other resting gently at your waist. The world seemed to stop as you froze in the moment, every part of you except your lips paralyzed by the intensity.

Your lips moved in sync with his, creating a rhythm that sent heat coursing through your body. Slowly, your hands unfroze, snaking their way around his neck and pulling him closer.

As if the ten seconds of kissing weren’t enough, George seemed in no rush to stop. His hands moved to your thighs, lifting you effortlessly and setting you on the table behind you.

Now, with nothing to steady but each other, you let yourself melt into him.

His hands slid from your thighs to your hips, his fingertips brushing the fabric of your skirt. Your own hands stayed around his neck, tugging him even closer until there was no space left between you.

The kiss was electric—otherworldly. It wasn’t just passion; it was connection. It felt like bliss, the kind of moment you never wanted to end.

This wasn’t your first kiss, but it was the first one that made you feel completely and utterly alive.

Unbeknownst to either of you, every tutoring session had been its own lesson—a lesson in love.

[reallchristine]

ENERGY ─ chapter one

pairing: logan howlett x !f!reader

Set during x-men (2000) and X2

warnings: angst, bad grammar?😭, basically the plot of the first movie!!!

-> next chapter

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─── ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─── ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

You were only 15 when Charles found you after the accident, and you’ve only ever stayed with him since.

Once you grew older more students started to appear throughout the school. Which led you to be given a position as the chemistry teacher at the school.

As for being an X-men, that was a different situation. Unlike Jean, Scott, and Ororo. You were scared of the extent of your powers, therefore when Charles asked if you wanted to be a part of the X-men you kindly declined.

Now you sat at your desk in your classroom marking the last of the tests that you handed out earlier today.

You let out a sigh while swiftly checking off one of your student’s answers with a red pen. Suddenly you hear Charles's voice in your head, “Come to my room there’s something we need to discuss.”

You quickly put away the unfinished marked test in your folder as you head to Charles's room. “You wanted to see me?” you ask as you near the door walking in.

You look around seeing that Scott, Ororo, and Jean are already standing there in the room. “-and this is y/n. A teacher at our school for gifted.” Charles says, giving you a welcoming smile which you return.

An unfamiliar man you don’t seem to recognize stands in the middle of the room eyeing you.

You’re confused why Charles decided to call you to be here but you don’t ask, instead you turn to give a friendly smile towards the unfamiliar man. He doesn’t return the smile back and looks to the Professor behind him.

“you’ll be safe here from Magneto,” Charles speaks. “What’s a ‘magneto’?” The man asks. “A very powerful mutant who believes a war is brewing between mutants and the rest of humanity.” Charles continues “-the associate of his that attacked you earlier is called ‘Sabertooth’.”

“Sabertooth?” The man asks. A pause as he then turns to point at Ororo clicking his tongue. “Storm.” He pauses again and looks to Charles, “What do they call you? Wheels?” He lets out a dry laugh and turns towards where you and Scott are standing.

“Cyclops, right?” He spoke, grabbing Scott’s shirt and pulling him towards his face. “You wanna get outta’ my way?” you're shocked at this sudden act and so is Scott, who’s giving a certain look towards the professor.

Charles uses his telepathy on the man. He lets go of Scott’s shirt and turn’s his head to look around the room. Finally, the professor speaks out loud, “I can help you, Logan.”

Before the man could even answer, Charles turns to all of you.“You all can leave now. I will call again when needed.”

Walking out of the room, alongside everyone else. You stopped to talk to Ororo. “What was that all about in there?” You ask her.

She turns to you, “We found him with a girl named Rouge. The professor believes that he’s a part of Magneto's plan.” You give her a look and she continues to explain, “The professor wants your help with what’s going on.”

You stare at her for a moment and blink. “Wait do you mean ‘x-men’ type helping?” Ororo nods, “Charles believes that your energy powers can come to great use.”

“But I told him I felt like I wasn’t ready, which is why I kept declining his offer.” You shook your head while explaining this to her.

“But the professor believes you’re ready! C’mon y/n, you’ve been practicing to control your mutation since the day you met Charles.” You continue to listen.

“Look, just come test it out with us on the next mission, and I promise none of us will bug you about being a part of X-men again.” You stare at her, thinking of the offer.

“Alright, fine. But if something goes wrong-” she cuts you off, “y/n, you’re going to be great. Don’t worry.” She places a hand on your shoulder and gives you a reassuring smile. You nod at her action. “I’ll see you later, m’kay?” She says. “Yeah, okay.” You smile and she waves goodbye heading down the other side of the hall.

you stand there thinking for a few minutes and decide to look for Jean, wanting her guidance with you becoming part of the team and maybe try to ask her about the whole Magneto and Logan situation.

when you enter the lower level of the school and reach the lab, the two metal doors slide open, welcoming you in.

You take a step inside and can see Jean in her lab coat preparing Logan for an x-ray.

Logan turns his head to look at Jean, “I’m sorry.” He spoke. “For what?” She asks, confused. “If I hurt you.” He stated. But before Jean could form a reply Logan turns his head towards you noticing you approaching the two of them.

“Y/n!” Jean says, turning to face you. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt! I didn’t know if you were busy. I’ll just leave you two.” you say embarrassed shifting your eyes to look at Logan who’s already staring at you. “No, it’s fine! What’s wrong?” She asks. Your eyes gaze back to her’s, not wanting to look at Logan’s eyes for too long. You start to explain, “I just wanted to tell you I’m going to be joining you guys for the next mission.”

“That’s great y/n! I’m glad you’re finally coming along with us.” She says as Logan lies there listening to your conversation. “Yeah, but it’s not for certain I’m going to be a part of the team. I’m just testing it out.” You say timidly.

“Oh.” She says. “Still, I’m proud that you’re trying to test it out.” She smiles at you. “Thanks, Jean. I’ll talk to you more after you’re finished.” You say appreciating her words and not wanting to bother her more. “Alright.” She reply’s still smiling at you.

You turn, approaching the big metal doors as they slide open as you walk out of the room. The sound of your heels getting quieter and quieter as you make your way back to your classroom.

Jean goes back to continue to prepare for Logan’s x-ray. “I thought she was already a part of this whole X-Men team thing you guys got going on.” Jean looks at him. “Y/n?” She asks. “Yeah, the girl that just walked in here about 1 minute ago.” He says with a tone.

Jean sighs, “Charles has been trying to get y/n on the team since she got control over her mutation.” She explains, focusing on putting another patch on his chest. “So why isn’t she on it?” Logan asks. She pauses for a moment to look at him. “Because she doesn’t think she’s ready.”

She continues, adding yet another patch but this time on the other side of his chest. “Although her abilities are one of the strongest in our school, and she can control it exceptionally well. Y/n’s incidents from the past get’s in the way of how she sees herself and her mutation.” The conversation goes silent.

Logan looks away from Jean to focus on staring at the ceiling instead. He thinks about what she just said about you and your mutation, and a certain spark of curiosity starts to build.

Jean quickly snaps him out of his thoughts and starts to speak, "Okay, I’m going to put you through the x-ray now.” Logan nods at her words as she puts him through the dome of lights. His head begins to fill with thoughts as he patiently waits for this whole x-ray to be over.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─── ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

a/n ──the plot is very much still in the works so I’m not sure how long every update will take but we’ll see😭 I’m planning on trying to post 12 chapters so I hope I can stick by that🫡 ALSO this prob has some grammar mistakes so mb😊

[kombuuuu]

NEEDD someone to write more about simp!miles and how he finally asks reader out. I love him w the trope friends to lovers i definitely feel like he would try to ask his s/o out and fail to so many times😭😭

Jitters.

Simp!Miles Morales x Gn!Reader

“Oh my god you’re clueless.”

THIS WAS LIKE FIVE MINUTES ADTER MY CALL FOR POST LMFAOOO OKAY BBY I GOT U ‼️

2 + 1 Trope? Got that DOWN baby.

—

The first time Miles had ever met you, it had been the most bland, unimportant, nothing-burger of a day he’d ever been privy to living.

The weight of his classmates gazes settled uncomfortably, but familiarly, onto his back. The whispers they shared with one another having him strain to hear over the beating of his own finicky heart.

A boring, low effort slide show casted on a lazily erased white board was barely keeping him from falling asleep.

And yet his foot wouldn’t stop tapping, the nerves alighting something within him like sparks near a gas leak. The way his heart was beating wasn’t just from the whispers flown around he knows weren’t about him. (He couldn’t help it, what if they are?)

There was something else, like an anticipation boiling his blood vessels. Spidey-sense through the roof and heart rate accelerating.

He stanced his feet, twisting them slowly to shoot out of his seat when ready, as if a crazed, murderous version of him was going to burst the the door at any moments notice.

The handle twisted, his vision honed in, ears sharp-tuned to every movement the muse terry figure made.

And as the door swung open, the breath he was holding left him. Exasperation and amazement at the person in front of him, the harmless, beauty of a person.

“Ah. Mx.[Last Name], Pleasure of you to join us,” His Teacher snarked, adding a hasty ‘finally’ to the end under his breath.

Miles shot the man a dirty look before focusing back onto you, as seemingly everyone had.

You caught people’s attention from the get-go, aura leaking something trusting, something good. Like out of everyone in the world he could talk to, he knows you’d listen in earnest.

You made eye contact with him, your eyes glistening against the light of the projector, he almost sighed.

You looked away again, addressing your Teacher. “Sorry Sir, I didn’t exactly know where to go.” You politely laughed it off, disrespect to authority wasn’t exactly something you wanted on your track record the moment you got to this place.

“It’s—“ He dragged a hand down his face whilst you shuffled in your spot. “It’s fine. Just go sit next to uh.-“

Miles say up a little straighter, a silent competition with the other people in his class crawling for your attention.

“Miles. Morales raise your hand.”

He felt almost smug as he did Small huffs of disappointment coming from his undeserving peers. You smiled at him, waltzing over with a confidence he could only dream, and sat in the chair beside him. He watched you unpack your stuff as the professor drawled on, and when you caught his watchful eye, you waved.

He blushed. The whispers definitely weren’t about him now.

—

One.

You were putting you books in your locker when a small tap was placed upon your shoulder.

Catching your attention, you stuffed the remaining books inside carelessly and turned to face the subject of curiosity.

The boy you had sat next to your first date stood shuffling foot to foot before you. Nervously scratching his neck and kicking his Jordans.

“Hey I- Uhh.” He coughed, scared his voice would crack in front of you, he almost cringed at the thought. “I’m Miles-“

“Morales. I remember you.” You smiled sweetly up at him, you did remember him. It was no lie, he was kind of hard to forget. “Oh, you do?”

“I mean, you were the only one in that class willing to sit next to a stranger. And you were pretty nice about it too.”

“Uhuh, yeah, that’s me.” Only one willing? With a person like you showing up? The entire room was glaring at him.

“Thanks for that, by the way.”

You closed your locker and turned back to him.

“Yeah, no problem. It was no big deal, really.” He rushed out, your presence alone making him nervous.

“Anyways I-,” he cleared his throat again. “I was wondering if you’d y’know..” He looked at you through his thick eyelashes, god he was pretty. “I’d…?”

“Wannahangoutsometime.”

You stumped for a moment, trying to figure out what he’d just said before laughing lightly. He swears he saw heaven the second you’d smiled at him.

“Yeah we can hang out, right now actually!”

Grabbing his arm and walking with him as you chatted. His breathing stuttered, unprepared for your misunderstanding of his intentions, but okay with the outcome. Having your arm linked with his, pulling him wherever you wanted to go like some puppy. Giggling and whispering to him something he couldn’t pay attention to over the sweetened sound of your voice. He was pretty damn okay with it.

—

Two.

It had been around three months since you had met Miles. And although you hated the thought, you only had your mean professor to thank. So, kudos to him.

You were into the boy, no doubt. His charming personality additional to the kind of dorky thing he had going on, you loved it. A month after the initial meeting, he had finally got the courage to ask you to hang out with him. It was probably the most adorable thing you’d ever seen watching him stumble upon his words.

Now you sat with him on the rooftop of his apartment building.

A picnic blanket had been laid for the both of you by Miles himself, and his mother had made snacks.

You had just met his mother, Rio. The sweetest woman you’d probably ever met. And by the way Miles and Rio interacted, you could only think how good of a man he was.

You can always tell the intentions of a man, by his treatment of his mother.

“Your ma is really nice.”

“You think? She’s kinda protective of me.” He turned to look at you through his peripheral, leaving enough space it wasn’t obvious. “I think it’s cute, she cares for you, y’know?” You shifted yourself to face him, the Sundown light glittering against his smooth skin. He looked beautiful here, you thought. He looks beautiful everywhere.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Good, ‘s always good to know you’re loved.”

Miles’ heart stuttered in his chest, sucking in a quick breath and turning himself to face you.

“Mhmm.”

You looked up at him, leaning on your hand, drifting closer to him subconsciously.

He let himself drift as well, your voices quieting without either knowledge.

“Miles?” Your soft words questioned him, doey eyes gazing up at him, heart on your sleeve.

“I wanna—“ His sentence was cut off, a blaring siren sounding in his head, nerves.

“I think I might..—“

He huffed, mad at himself for being unable to speak.

“Do you want- Holy shit.”

You laughed, leaning back, a genuine glee in your eye.

“Do I want holy shit?-“ You giggled, he felt his heart flutter along with his disappointment (once more).

“-Not really, no.” You kept giggling, the serenity of your moment with Miles and his fumbling an apparent treat to you. He buried his face in his hands and groaned loudly. Only furthering your hysteria, “Leave me alone.” He dragged the ‘lone’ dramatically before flopping back against the blankets. Huffing and staring up at you from his spot. The smile on your face was a quick fix for his soured mood, not that it was that sour in the first place. But knowing a moment of undeniable spark like that, had you smiling and giggling after, even if it led to nothing. Had his hopes and his pulse rate rising.

—

Miles was head over heels for you. He was smitten, a total and complete dog for your affection. Sitting at home sulking when you weren’t there to hang out with him. Making you add his steam solely so he can play games with you.

A puppy of a man, god he wasn’t even ashamed.

“Dude, you just need’a ask ‘em out already.” Hobie served no help to his ever growing dilemma with you, but did serve to humiliate his seemingly non-existed romantic experience. “I’m *trying, man. They just keeps misunderstanding.” “Are they taking the hint?” “What hint?” He looked up from his slouched spot in his gaming chair. Spinning the thing in circles idly. “You haven’t given ‘em a hint?” Hobie blanched at Miles, like it was some obvious mistake.

“What. Hint.”

“Oh my god, Miles.”

—

He still didn’t get it, Hobie had explained his way of ‘hinting’ to someone he liked them. Through slight touches and subtle looks, a wink here and there. But not a cringey wink (Miles would argue they’re all cringey.), the ones where you feel like you’re part of a secret. This would be helpful to him, sure. If had hadn’t done everything with you already, except the winking, that is.

He did touch you, he did catch your eye when everyone else around looked away. He kissed your forehead and held your hand. You seemed borderline allergic to walking without you arm linked through his. All of there’s things that Hobie said were couple things, he’d already nailed. So why couldn’t you just.. date each other?

“I don’t know, it’s not like that.”

“But it is,” Hobie pointed to the centre of Mile’s’ forehead and flicked. “You guys are quite literally already dating.” “No, not really?”

“Oh my god you’re clueless.”

Hobie sighed, jumping off the bed and stretching his arms above his head. Miles grumbling a pouted ‘am not..’, Hobie settled him a look, taking a deep breath and continuing.

“Miles, mate, You both go to each other for comfort. You cry to each other, you find solace in one another. You touch and cuddle and sleep in the same bed.” He took another breath, seemingly needing a lot, “The only things you’re missing, are kissing each other for real. And calling each other your partners.”

“And if they end up saying no?”

“Then i’ll smash my guitar.”

Miles paused, considering the severity.

“Okay, okay i’ll do it.”

“Thank fuck.”—

—

+one

Miles had spent the better of an entire afternoon hyping himself up (and subsequently psyching himself out), before he finally had managed to make it your door and knock.

He was beyond nervous, the jitters in his bones crawling under his skin like spiders. Worse than normal, he observed.

A shuffle from inside your apartment had brought him back down to Earth. Everything suddenly becoming very real to him as you opened the door grumpily.

“Oh i’m sorry, did I wake you?”

“Oh, Miles!” Your pout had almost instantly been lifted, a smile grazing your face sleepily, it was so late, he shouldn’t have come.

“I’m so sorry- It’s late. I should—“

“No!”

“No?”

It was your turn to get bashful, twisting the hem of your shirt in your hands nervously. “Stay Miles.”

He softened, posture relaxing at your tone.

“Don’t want you running away again.”

That caught his attention. “Wha-“ “I was wondering when you’d finally show up outta’ the blue.” You glanced down to his lips then back. The amber in his eyes haunting your dreams, in such a welcomed way.

Miles couldn’t take it, with the way you spoke, so soft and fragile. To the things you were saying, confident and headstrong. He couldn’t fucking take it.

His hands shot up to your face, caressing the curves of your cheeks and slope of your jaw. The trails of hair behind your ears his fingers just grazed. He brought himself down to your height once more, standing on your porch step. Like some sappy rom-com.

“Tell me to stop.” He was near breathless. You didn’t, you didn’t say a thing. You simply carded your deft hands over thick curls, and pulled him down to meet you. His eyes fluttered closed and lips met yours. He felt like crying.

Like after the months of pining for you. For trying and trying for your love, for your affection, that everything in his life had only ever led to this one point. And everything farther was his happy ending. The spiders under his skin stopped crawling, settling into the crooks of his bones and finding home. He wasn’t shaking. He was still.

And as you pulled away to breathe, ogling up at him with nothing but love to give he smiled and laughed just like you did.

ITS FUCKING 3 AM I GENUINELY HAVENT SLEPT THIS IS SO CUTE

(he is ⬇️)

[bootsukki]

“Hey Reddit, an update”

aita series masterlist previous part

author's note: tysm for the incredible amount of notes, reblogs and likes the series has had. i'm completely amazed by it :D i would love to read your opinions on this! hope you enjoy this part! there is just one part left to the series and that makes me really sad but life goes on (´°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥ω°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥｀)

this has 5k words!!!! sorry!

warnings: a bit of angst, fluff and SMUTTTTTTTTT (smut will start and finish after this: *****) so please, mdni!!! p.s.: haven’t written smut in ages so……….

The university was buzzing with the usual midday energy when Tsukishima stepped through the front doors. Multiple students were going in and out of the several buildings, ready to go home or get some lunch. Tsukishima fixed his tie, nervous. It was two days after their painful phone conversation and even though he didn't want to admit it, talking to Akiteru about everything made him more aware of (Y/N)'s feelings. He couldn't let things stay the way they were. He didn't want to lose the woman of his dreams just because he cannot deal with his plans and his nerves towards his future proposal.

Clutching the bento in his hand, he made his way through the education building. (Y/N) was in her last days of finishing the first draft of her book so she was likely to be at the small office Fujimoto-san, her mentor, had given her to work on it. The smell of (Y/N)'s favourite food wafted from the bento and, despite the knots in his stomach, he hoped this would be the first peace offering that would get them closer.

He had tried his best to get her to come home, texting her the previous day with little success, only receiving a yes/no answer to his texts. He had even tried contacting Yachi but the smaller girl was completely blinded by rage towards him ("Tsukishima, you're a fucking asshole and if you think I'll let you hurt my best friend, you're terribly wrong about it. I may be 5 feet tall but I know how to punch someone, especially tall guys like you.") He regretted his actions from that night, including the complete silence he gave her when she was just trying to get an explanation from him.

When he reached her office, Tsukishima took a deep breath, stopping at the doorway. He was nervous to even see her as she had been staying at Yachi’s, knowing she had been at home showering and taking clean clothes whenever he was at work thanks to the smell of her coconut shampoo and the missing socks from the pile of laundry he needed to get through. As he was about to knock on the door, a voice called his name and he turned.

"Fujimoto-san."

"I knew it was you, Tsukishima." Fujimoto-san was a 55-year-old university professor that had been (Y/N)'s professor during her first year. He had been with her through every stage of her university degree and he was the one to who proposed writing a book on second language methodologies to her and the one who accompanied her during her research in the US. Tsukishima was grateful that (Y/N) had found someone who was giving her the support she needed to get over the project, almost acting like a father figure towards (Y/N). "What are you doing here?"

"I was bringing (Y/N) some lunch."

"Oh! That's so nice of you, boy. She hasn't been out of the office for the whole day." Fujimoto knocked on the door and without even waiting for an answer, he opened the door.

(Y/N) was sitting at her desk, completely absorbed in her work, clicking the keys on the keyboard quickly as she wrote, brows furrowed in concentration.

"(Y/N)."

"Fujimoto-san, sorry, I haven't been able to find the document you asked me for." She looked up, surprise flashing across her face as she saw her boyfriend next to the professor before her expression hardened slightly. She wasn't expecting him here. "Kei."

"He brought you some food, isn't that great?"

(Y/N) gave her mentor a soft smile and stood up, getting close to them. With a smile, she reached for the bento on his hands.

"I just wanted to let you know that he's here. I'll leave you two lovebirds eat alone."

"Thank you, Fujimoto-san."

The man waved his hands, leaving the office and closing the door behind him.

"Kei," she said, her tone uncertain, guarded. "What are you doing here?"

Tsukishima shifted, feeling awkward. "I thought you might be hungry," he said, voice softer than usual. "And… I wanted to talk."

Her eyes flickered to the bento, then back to his face, her expression unreadable. For a moment, she didn’t say anything, and Tsukishima’s heart pounded in his chest, nervousness gnawing at him. What if she didn’t want to hear him out? What if she was done?

But finally, she sighed, gesturing for him to sit down.

Relief washed over him as he sat down on a chair. "It’s your favorite," he added quietly, watching her reaction.

(Y/N) looked at the food, then back at him. Her walls were still up, and he could feel the distance between them. But she was here. She was listening.

"Thanks," she muttered, but there was still tension in her voice. "But you didn’t have to bring me food just to say whatever you came to say."

"I know," Tsukishima said, sliding his hands into his pockets. "But I wanted to."

There was another long pause before (Y/N) sighed, leaning back in her chair. "I can’t talk right now, I have a meeting in 10.”

“Oh.” Tsukishima shifted on his feet, feeling the weight of rejection settle uncomfortably on his shoulders. “I didn’t know.”

(Y/N) sighed softly, the tension between them palpable even in her small office. “I really can’t talk right now,” she repeated, glancing over at her desk again. “But maybe… we could talk after work? At home?”

Her voice was quieter on that last part, as if she was extending a tentative olive branch. Tsukishima nodded immediately, relief washing over him despite the lingering tension. “Yeah. Tonight, at home. We can talk then.”

She nodded, and for a moment, their eyes met—there was something fragile in her gaze. It made his chest ache. “Okay,” she whispered, opening the bento. “Thank you for the food.”

He didn’t press her further, didn’t try to fix everything in that moment. Instead, he turned to leave, hoping that maybe, just maybe, they’d be able to find their way back to each other that night.

*****

Later that evening, Tsukishima sat on the couch, waiting, his fingers tapping rhythmically against his knee as he tried to calm his nerves. His mind was racing, replaying everything that had happened between them—how distant he had become, how his silence had hurt her more than he’d realized.

When (Y/N) finally walked through the door, she looked drained from the long day. She dropped her bag by the door and glanced over at him, offering a small wave.

“Hi,” she said softly, as if unsure of how to start.

“Hey,” he replied, standing up awkwardly. “You want to sit down?”

She nodded, walking over to the couch and sitting down next to him, but there was still a noticeable gap between them. The air between them felt heavy, weighted down by everything they hadn’t said.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The silence stretched on, thick with tension and uncertainty, and Tsukishima felt the guilt gnawing at him. He hated how far apart they felt, how much he had hurt her without meaning to.

Finally, (Y/N) took a deep breath, her voice small and shaky when she spoke. “Kei, I… I don’t even know where to begin.”

He swallowed hard, his throat tight. “I know,” he muttered, his gaze dropping to his hands. “I’ve been terrible about all of this. I’ve shut you out, and I didn’t realize how much it was hurting you. I’m sorry.”

(Y/N) bit her lip, looking down at her lap. “It’s not just that you shut me out, Kei. It’s everything… You’ve been staying late, coming home at random hours, and… Mia—”

Her voice broke slightly as she said the name, and Tsukishima’s heart sank.

“You obviously don't notice but I’ve seen the way she looks at you,” she continued, her words trembling. “I've noticed since that time you were out with your coworkers and I had to give you your keys and from that moment, she’s always around, and I just—I couldn’t help but think that maybe you were spending time with her. Maybe… maybe you were choosing her over me.”

Her voice cracked, and she quickly wiped away a tear that slipped down her cheek, trying to maintain her composure. But Tsukishima could see how much this had been eating at her, festering under the surface.

“I felt so stupid for thinking that,” she whispered, her shoulders shaking slightly. “But I couldn’t help it. Every time you were late, every time you didn’t answer my texts… I thought maybe I was losing you to her.”

Tsukishima’s chest tightened painfully as he listened to her. The thought that she had been feeling like this—feeling jealous, insecure, like she wasn’t enough—it tore him apart inside. He had completely ignored her, left her on the dark on everything and his words from two nights before were eating him alive, seeing her like that. He had been so focused on keeping the surprise, on managing everything on his own, that he hadn’t even seen how much he was hurting her.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his voice filled with regret. He reached out, gently taking her trembling hands in his. “Mia means nothing to me. I don’t even notice her like that. She’s just a coworker. You... You’re the one I love. You’re the only one I want.”

Her lip quivered, and more tears fell from her eyes. She looked away, trying to compose herself, but the pain was too raw, too fresh. “But you...” she whispered. “You never told me what was going on, so I didn’t know… I didn’t know what to think. All those nights at the museum or with the computer here at home... I don't know, I felt so...”

Tsukishima squeezed her hands gently, his heart aching. “I should have told you sooner,” he admitted, his voice low. “I didn’t mean to make you doubt yourself or us. I was just… trying to plan something special for us. That’s why I’ve been working late. I’ve been trying to get everything ready for our anniversary. I've been looking for the best place where we can relax and I've been trying to get days off by just... overworking, I guess.”

She looked up at him through her tears. “Our anniversary?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, his voice soft. “I’ve been planning a trip. Just the two of us. I wanted it to be a surprise, but in trying to keep it secret, I ended up shutting you out. I’m sorry. I never meant to make you feel like you weren’t enough. I'm the worst at these things. I hate surprises.”

(Y/N) blinked, more tears falling, but this time there was a flicker of relief in her expression. “You were doing all that for us?”

“I was,” he said, brushing a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “But that doesn’t excuse how I handled it. You shouldn’t have had to worry about Mia or think that I didn’t care. I should’ve been open with you, told you what was going on, not leaving you like nothing was happening. I was a complete asshole with you.”

Her shoulders trembled, and she let out a shaky breath, wiping at her eyes. “I felt so stupid, Kei,” she whispered. “I felt like I wasn’t good enough for you, like I was… like I was losing you to her.”

Tsukishima’s heart clenched, and without another word, he pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly. “You’re not losing me,” he murmured into her hair, his voice soft but firm. “You’re never going to lose me. She isn’t even a thought in my mind. You’re the one I want, Y/N. You’ve always been the one.”

Her hands gripped his shirt tightly, and she sobbed quietly into his chest, letting out all the emotions she had been holding in. Tsukishima held her close, his hand gently stroking her back.

After a few moments, she pulled back slightly, her face streaked with tears. “I don’t want to feel like this again,” she whispered, her voice broken. “I don’t want to keep thinking I’m not enough for you.”

“You are enough,” he said firmly, cupping her face in his hands, forcing her to look into his eyes. “You’re more than enough. I’m sorry I made you doubt that. I’ll do better. I promise I’ll be honest with you from now on. We’ll talk about everything—no more shutting each other out.”

She sniffled, her fingers curling around his wrist, holding onto him like he was her anchor. “I just want to feel like I matter to you, Kei.”

“You do,” he whispered, his thumb gently brushing her cheek. “You matter more than anyone. I love you. I’ve always loved you, and I’m sorry I didn’t show that enough. I’ll do better. You are my everything. I won't hurt you like this again.”

She nodded, tears still clinging to her lashes, but the weight between them seemed to lift, just a little. “We’ll figure this out,” she whispered. “Together. I also need to communicate my feelings better."

Tsukishima leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, lingering there for a moment before moving onto her lips, kissing them for just a second. “Together,” he echoed, his heart swelling as he held her close.

"We really suck at this sometimes," she muttered.

"Yeah, we do."

They both laughed softly, still holding each other tight.

*****

(OP) tsuk113_:

Hey Reddit, an update.

Seems like we just needed to have a long and conversation between us. I took your comments and advice from friends to heart and explained everything to her. I told her about the surprise trip (but not about me proposing on that trip, surprise, I guess) and everything has gone well. WE are working on our problems and I promised her to be better. I need to be better for her because she is truly the best thing that has happened to me.

Anyway, trip is just a few days away and I'm actually nervous about proposing but, I hope it goes right.

*****

The drive up the mountains had been long, winding through dense forests and past breathtaking views, but the destination was worth it. Tsukishima had booked a secluded cabin that sat high up, surrounded by towering trees and overlooking a serene, glassy lake. The autumn air was crisp, carrying the scent of pine and earth, and the sky above was a brilliant expanse of deep blue. It was the kind of place that felt untouched by time, peaceful, and far removed from the hectic pace of their daily lives.

(Y/N) had been in better spirits since their talk. Tsukishima had worked hard to open up to her, to let her in on how overwhelmed he had been. And while she didn’t know the full reason for the trip, she had let herself hope that this weekend away was his way of making things right between them and celebrate their anniversary as well.

After they had settled into the cabin and left their small suitcases by the beautiful bedroom that had amazing views to the lake, (Y/N) found herself touring the place as Tsukishima started to cook them dinner, standing by the long railing at the balcony, appreciating the views and fresh air, the view of the mountains and lake calming her completely. She smiled softly as she took it all in, admiring the leaves on the trees and their vivid shades of gold, red and orange, making the entire scene look like something out of a painting.

Tsukishima had been looking at her from his place at the kitchen, the weight of the ring in his pocket settling in, waiting for the right moment.

As the sun began to set, casting the sky in shades of pink and lavender, Tsukishima suggested they take a walk before they have some dinner.

Taking their coats and putting on more comfortable shoes, they stepped outside into the cool evening air, the path they followed covered in fallen leaves that crunched beneath their boots. (Y/N) held her boyfriend's hand, leaning against him as they walked in comfortable silence. He had found the perfect place to relax and she was grateful for it. (Y/N) breathed deeply, feeling the tension of the last few weeks melting away in the serenity of the surroundings.

As they reached the lake, (Y/N) walked away from Tsukishima, leaning towards it, looking at the sky. "This place is amazing," she said, voice soft as she looked at the lake glimmering under the fading sunlight. "If this were a movie, we would see a proposal right now."

Tsukishima's heart skipped a beat as his hand made his way towards his front pocket.

"Is that so?"

(Y/N) laughed, completely unaware of the scene that was about to happen behind her. "I think we are the only people here, though, but..." She streched her arms out to the horizon. "Wouldn't that be something?"

When she turned back around to make another playful comment, the words died on her lips.

Tsukishima was no longer standing behind her. Instead, he was down on one knee, his tall frame somehow looking both awkward and incredibly graceful at the same time. In his hand was a small velvet box, the lid open to reveal a delicate, sparkling ring.

(Y/N)’s heart stopped. Her breath caught in her throat, her hands flying to her mouth as she stared at him in disbelief.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. Tsukishima, for all his careful planning, looked almost… shy. His usual sharp gaze softened as he looked up at her, the words he had rehearsed for weeks suddenly feeling far more significant now that she was standing there, her eyes wide and her lips trembling in surprise.

“(Y/N),” he began, his voice low and steady, though his heart was racing in his chest. “I’ve never been good at showing how much you mean to me. I know I’ve messed up, more than once… but you’ve been with me through it all. And I can’t imagine spending the rest of my life with anyone else. These 5 years with you as my girlfriend have been the best years of my life. You have taken care of me, loved me and I can't be more grateful that you are mine.”

(Y/N) was already tearing up, her hand still covering her mouth as she let out a soft, breathless laugh.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a long time.” Tsukishima continued, his voice just a little quieter now, as if speaking the words made him feel vulnerable in a way he wasn’t used to. “I want us to have forever. So… will you marry me?”

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still. The only sounds were the gentle rustling of leaves in the breeze and the soft murmur of the lake below. (Y/N) stared down at Tsukishima, her heart pounding so loudly she could barely hear anything else. (Y/N) got on her knees, looking at Tsukishima, the man in front of her blushing.

“Yes,” she breathed, her voice cracking with emotion. “Yes, of course!”

Tsukishima let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, his lips pulling into a rare, genuine smile. He, carefully, took the ring away from the box, slipping the ring onto her finger with careful precision, as though it was the most important thing he’d ever done. Once the ring was in place, he cupped her face in his hands, leaning down to press his lips against hers.

(Y/N) closed the distance between them, her arms wrapping around his neck as she kissed him, the taste of salty tears on her lips from the emotions spilling over. In that moment, it felt like everything had fallen into place.

When they finally pulled away, (Y/N) laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. “I can’t believe I just joked about you proposing.”

Tsukishima raised an eyebrow, his smirk returning. “Timing is everything.”

She laughed again, glancing down at the ring on her finger. It had a parti sapphire as a centerpiece, a gem with a blend of rich forest green and subtle blue hues. The sapphire, in an oval shape, was set in a delicate gold band surrounded by what it seemed like small diamonds. It was, elegant and perfect—just like him, in his own way.

“Wow, Kei... It is beautiful... I can’t believe you managed to keep this a secret,” she said, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “You, the guy who hates surprises.”

Tsukishima shrugged, a slight flush coloring his cheeks. “I figured you were worth making an exception for. To be honest, I thought you were going to find the ring at home.”

"What!?" (Y/N) gasped. "Where was it?"

"I know you hate grocery shopping so I hid the box between the bags I take shopping."

(Y/N) laughed, her heart swelling with so much love she thought it might burst. She reached up to brush a stray piece of hair out of his eyes, her thumb tracing the familiar curve of his jaw.

“I love you,” she whispered, her voice full of everything she felt but couldn’t quite put into words.

Tsukishima’s eyes softened, and for once, he didn’t feel the need to hold back. “I love you too.”

Their lips met in a kiss that was soft, sweet, and filled with everything unsaid. It wasn’t hurried or desperate—it was gentle, almost reverent. Her hands slid up to cup his face, his glasses cool under her fingertips as she pulled him closer, deepening the kiss just a little. It was a kiss that spoke of promises and forever, a merging of relief, joy, and love so deep it made their heart ache in the best way possible.

Tsukishima’s hands tightened around her, pulling her flush against him, and for once, he let himself be completely open, pouring all the love he had into that single kiss. As they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested together, both of them smiling breathlessly, the world quiet except for the pounding of their hearts in sync.

*****

(Y/N) hugs Tsukishima from behind, enjoying the warmth of his body as he washes the dishes of their dinner. Tsukishima can't help the smile on his lips as his eyes glance down to her ring, sparkling under the lights of the kitchen. For a moment, he is grateful about the lack of signal of their phones because for once, (Y/N) is not checking her emails constantly (seriously, Tsukishima reckons she has a Gmail addiction) and secondly, because she's been teasing him all night, running her fingers, especially her ring finger, through his arm, chest and neck, kissing him slowly, running her tongue over his lips, well, teasing him more and more as the night went on.

Tsukishima dried his hands and turned around, pulling (Y/N) flush against his chest, cupping her face as he slowly leans down to brush their lips together, hands around her hips, massaging the eposed skin between her sweatshirt and her soft pajama bottoms. Without a second though, (Y/N) pulls away, taking his arm, leading him upstairs. As soon as she reaches the bedroom door, she opens it, pulling Tsukishima by his T-shirt to get him inside.

As their kisses grow deeper which every passing second, the man quickly takes off his glasses and T-shirt, leaving them at one of the bedsides tables before running his hands through (Y/N)'s body, undressing her slowly. First, her sweatshirt, leaving her bare from the waist up.

"God, you're so beautiful."

(Y/N) blushes but doesn't waste a second and takes off her pajama bottoms and underwear, pushing them aside with her foot before siting down at the end of the bed and spreading her legs.

Tsukishima can't help it and his eyes slowly make their way towards her most intimate part and he slowly, gets down on one knee and grabs her leg, kissing her leg and inner thigh, before, after what it seem like an incredible amount of time, delving in like a starved man.

Tsukishima lifted one of (Y/N)'s legs up, placing it atop of his shoulder as he parted her lower lips and started to lap his tongue in her.

He moans out, the vibrations of it sending a shiver all over (Y/N)'s body as she cries out his name, hands making its way towards his blonde hair.

Her breath hitches when Tsukishima makes a slurping sound as if he was tasting the most delicious meal in the world.

Tsukishima, eyes closed at the taste of his fiancée, cups her heat, one of his long fingers pressing against her walls.

"Oh, Kei..." (Y/N) opens her mouth, a loud moan leaving her throat, chest heaving. "Right there, baby. Jesus...."

"Right there, pretty?"

"Uh-huh, please! God, yes."

The combination of his mouth and fingers curling inside her shocks her with a wave of pleasure and she pulls on his hair, a gasp leaving his lips as he looks up at her. He can't believe it. He can't believe that the beautiful woman in front of him, so overcome with plasure, is his, forever. Tsukishima smirks, adding another finger as (Y/N) glances down to look at him as her body goes still, climaxing in a long and wonderful orgasm, moaning a mixture of what it seemed like Tsukishima’s name and several curse words.

Tsukishima looks at her once again, soflty massaging her thigh for a few seconds, letting her relax a little bit before rising to his feet and pushing her into the mattress, laying on top of her as her arms make their way around his neck.

From then, (Y/N) slowly reaches to take off his sweat pants, the sight of him that hard making her mouth water, still feeling a bit hazy from her orgasm. Teasing, she fondles with him for just a few seconds, hand slowly inside his boxers, touching him. Her hand moves up and down as she keeps her eyes on him, Tsukishima's eyes closing due to the feeling of her soft hand and the coldness of her new ring on him.

"I love you."

Tsukishima nearly comes at the sound of that and he inhales sharply, smiling. He can feel her everywhere, her hand moving the way he likes it, her lips moving and kissing along his jaw, neck and lips, the sight of her bare pussy... God, he is in heaven.

She pushes his boxers down, straddling his lap as she slaps his throbbing tip on her clit a few times before alinging it with her entrance, slowly making her way down, the sound of his name leaving her mouth as he fills her up.

"Fuck..." Tsukishima bites his lip as (Y/N) slowly moves her hips slowly, splaying her hands on his chest as she moved up and down, an animalistic look in her eyes as she watches him whimper. Without thinking, she grabs two of his fingers and places them inside her mouth, biting and licking them.

"Jesus, fuck."

"Tell me... Tell me what you want, pretty boy."

"You... So bad."

(Y/N) smiles, leaning down to kiss him slowly, the eye contact between them so suffocating that Tsukishima feels like he is going to explode. The feeling of her body on top, the pressure and warmth of her walls. It's too much. Tsukishima doesn't let her move and he cups her cheeks, sucking on her tongue as they both sigh in pleasure.

"Baby..." Tsukishima grabs her breast. "You're so pretty. You're so pretty when you fuck me."

(Y/N) pants, laughing and her hand wraps itself about his throat, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Yeah?"

He nods, biting his lip.

"You're mine, Kei." (Y/N) hisses, bouncing on top of him with more strength. She was close, so, so so close. "You're mine forever."

"Forever."

(Y/N)'s back arches for just a second and Tsukishima notices her movements are getting sloppy and without even thinking about it, she grabs her by the waist and rocks their hips together, thrusting into her at an alarming pace, bed shaking a bit due to their movements.

"Oh, fuck!" (Y/N) moans, her hands touching his chest, reaching for his shoulder. "Like that, baby. I'm so..."

"I know, me too."

(Y/N) leans down to tug on his earlobes wit her teeth as she growls something not even him can't understand. Tsukishima quivers at the feeling of his cock reaching even deeper and for a moment, he feels like he is seeing stars.

"I'm going to cum, Kei!" Please, please, keep going!"

"Cum with me, baby. Cum with me." His voice becomes deeper as he feels his own orgasm approach him, looking at (Y/N), who had her face on his shoulder, sweat running through her forehead. Tsukishima kisses her slowly, hands moving her hair out of her face. "Fuck, (Y/N), where do you want it?"

"Inside, please." (Y/N) begs, her lips still brushing his. "Please, baby. I need it so bad."

"Yeah?"

"Yes, yes!"

Tsukishima's cock twitches inside of (Y/N), gasps leaving his mouth as he cums inside of her. They both jerk, the feeling of their orgams making them feel dizzy and light-headed.

"Fuck."

"Yeah..."

"That was..."

"So fucking good."

(Y/N) laughs as Tsukishima kisses her cheeks repeatedly, lips swollen from all their kissing.

"If I knew we were gonna fuck this good after proposing, I would have done it at 18."

"Kei!"

Tsukishima laughs loudly and (Y/N) melts, the sight of him like this... So happy and perfect... She hums, hiding her face on his neck for just a second.

"I love you so much."

"Me too."

"No. I don't think you understand." Tsukishima adds. "You really taught me what is like to love and even though I may not be perfect at it, I promise I will love you every single day of my life and even after death."

"Kei..."

"You are my everything, you know that, right?"

"You can't say things like that!"

"Why?"

"Because..." (Y/N) blushes, placing her hands on her face and getting up from the bed. "Because! I'm going to take a shower."

Tsukishima laughs, looking at her as she walks towards the bathroom door, biting his lip.

"Don't look at me like that and come shower with me."

"Yes, (Y/N) Tsukishima."

"Shut up!"

*****

(OP) tsuk113_:

I'M GETTING MARRIED FUCK YES

User 1:

Congratulations! After 20 years of being married, let me give you a piece of adivce: listen to each other. Enjoy the little moments together. I am sure your love is pure.

taglist: @lavanderdreamve @lizzymizzy-blogg @quilyzayaki @uhnanix

[ravcnism]

HEY uhm.. i've been having this idea.. like imagine kenji sato x m!reader athlete as well? help, i just thought the dynamic would be cute. it could be a rival team on the baseball league or another sports. I just thought it would be cool!

STRIKEOUT. — KEN SATO x Male!Athlete READER

Summary: The Hiroshima Toyo Carp may have a new player in town, but his name is nowhere near unheard of. The prized star pitcher of The States takes the country by storm when he spontaneously shows up against the Yomiuri Giants. Ken Sato’s career is given a run for its money.

# # TAGS: Longform, Enemies to Lovers but like Still Enemies as Lovers, A LOT of Tension, Sports Anime-Level of Ridiculous, Star-Athlete!Male Reader, Author Doesn't Actually Know Anything About Baseball, Sort of a Slow Burn? No Beta We Die Like Onda

# # WARNINGS: Mild Violence, Mature Language, Eventual Smut if I’m Brave Enough, English is not My First Language, Around 2000 Words, Part One of ??

Night fell promptly upon the Sato residence. The sun had tucked itself into the sea and left a trail of gold in its warm, glistening wake. From afar, the ever-lively city of New Tokyo lit up street by street.

Beneath the water, in the basement, a newly-bathed Emi waddled towards her corner of the house; smelling of fresh sakura petals, and cuddling a half-crushed Nissan Skyline GT-R. Full from dinner, and satisfied by her shower, she felt the gentle arms of sleep coaxing her to a nap. With a squeaky yawn, and a stretch of her arm, she succumbed to its calls and laid on her spot on the ground. A very amused Hayao Sato came walking after her. “Silly girl. The bath and snack combo never fails to knock you out, huh?”

Kenji Sato, well-dressed for a night out, entered after. He was preoccupied by his sleeves, fingers fumbling to button them shut. “Remember, Dad. No videos after 10 pm. We can’t ruin her sleep schedule again.”

“Of course, Kenji.” His father waved him off with his cane. “You act as if I don’t know her routine like the back of my hand.”

“I’m just making sure.” He was fixing his hair, then, gelling it into place. His eyes narrowed at his own reflection, trying to make sure he wasn’t forgetting anything. “And of course you’ve got Mina to help.”

“Definitely, Ken.” As if on cue, the round hovering bot came floating in. “We have everything under control. You needn’t worry about us here.”

Professor Sato chuckled at his son, leaning on his good foot. “You seem to have a lot of nervous energy in you, Kenji.”

The batter sighed, tugging on his collar one last time. “I’m always nervous when I’m not playing.” Deciding he looked alright, Ken left his reflection alone. “No idea why. Might have something to do with my dislike towards things that I can’t control, but I’m not gonna get into that right now–” He shuffled about, searching frantically for his jacket. “Mina, where did I put my–?” An extended robot arm appeared from the floor and handed it to him. “Oh. Thanks.”

“Try to enjoy yourself anyway, Kenji.” Professor Sato had walked over to Emi, who was fast asleep, snoring slightly. He lifted a hand and rubbed her head. “I think it’s good that you go to these games even when you’re not scheduled. I can tell it lifts your team’s spirits.”

“Yeah, well, honestly I’m still trying to get used to it. The whole sportsmanship thing.” Ken sprayed his cologne on. He made a quick jog towards Emi and kissed her cheek. “Sleep tight, Sweetie.” He looked at his dad. With his motorcycle keys now in hand, he walked backwards to their glass elevator. “If anything happens, call me. You know the drill.”

“Yes, Ken,” replied Mina. “We do. Rest assured, there will not be a repeat of last time.”

“Right, right. Last time.” Kenji forced out a laugh. “Look, if she wakes up and I’m not home yet, try to get her to tire herself out. Load up a park. Throw some balls. But no flying outside, please? You know she gets carried away.”

“Understood.”

With a final glance, and a reluctant sigh, he stepped into the lift. “I’ll be back soon.” Leaving her 20-foot Kaiju-of-a-daughter never got any easier — no matter how many times he had gone and done it. He waved his family a quick goodbye, before disappearing from their line of sight.

His dad was right. It was good that he was going. The Giants had a game to win.

"Good evening sports fans! Ladies and gentlefolk, we welcome you to the highly anticipated matchup between the Hiroshima Toyo Carp and your Yomiuri Giants.”

The stadium was bright and buzzing with excitement. Ken was used to the energy, but he never grew tired of it. There was something almost magical about having this many people in a stadium together. Something electrifying about hearing their collective voices. Whether or not he was set to play, the crowd was what grounded him into focus. He adored their cheers, regardless of who it was directed to.

“We’ve got an intense start to the game so far, the home crowd doesn’t look too happy with Tateoka’s second strikeout.”

“How's it looking?” Ken appeared beside his teammate, Yuki, who was watching the game by the barriers.

“Bad. We're dying out there, Sato. Tateoka's our second batter. We're down one strikeout.”

Ken's brows knitted together, intrigued. He had gotten here a little late and missed a good chunk of the first inning. He had missed most of the commentary, too, so he was pretty much left in the dark. All he knew was that the home crowd didn't look too cheerful. And neither did Coach Shimura. ( Though technically, he couldn't remember a time when Shimura looked anything less than disappointed. ) Ken settled into his spot, nursing a canned soda.

The pitcher’s back was against him, his jersey name too far for him to read. He couldn't see who it was. Ken took notice of their form. Their figure. “Wait, who's throwing again?”

His teammate dropped a name so familiar it sent Ken choking on his drink.

“Fucking, who?” He dropped the name of a famous star-athlete. A name he saw on billboards, news reports, articles. A name so expensive it put his vintage cars to shame. A name with a strikeout rate so disgustingly high it had the best teams falling to their knees. A staggering 1.75 ERA. Almost zero walks. Your name, sent a shiver down Ken Sato’s spine. You, the Mets’ notorious Bullet, now a surprise player of the Toyo Carp.

He watched as you turned around. Your face came into view. You were frighteningly calm. The Giants’ batter was one strike away from an out. Kenji swallowed thickly. “When the hell did he get here?”

“Yeah. Apparently they traded him to Carp a week ago. Didn't get much buzz for some reason.” Yuki scoffed. “Think they covered it up? Element of surprise? It was a pretty big move.”

The fact that Kenji had never been put up against you before was sheer dumb luck. That's what he thought, anyway. Despite the fact that the both of you had been celebrities in The States, the seasons just never aligned well enough to get the both of you to play at the same park. But he hadn't dreamed of it. Who in their right mind would? Like a bullet from a gun, your pitches were unstoppable. You had a mutant-like control over the ball. There were studies on the physics of your technique. Even the best batters would miss your throws. And at that moment, as he watched his teammate strike himself out, Kenji wondered if he'd miss, too.

He wouldn't have to keep wondering. Understanding the weight of your presence, the Yomiuri Giants opted to bring in the calvary.

“Sato.” Ken flinched at Shimura’s voice. He looked over his shoulder, facing him. “Locker room. Get dressed — I'm calling you up.”

He laughed, nervously. “You sure that's legal, coach?” He wasn't scheduled to play today, and spontaneously entering a non-player into the field was only allowed upon certain circumstances. Like an injury, for example.

“Of course it is.” Shimura grumbled. “Tokuda just broke his arm.”

The mentioned Tokuda stood behind him, sipping on some soda, with his obviously not-broken arm. “You heard the man, Ken. I just broke my arm.”

Ken grimaced, heading for the door. “The press is going to love this…” Japan's finest batter, versus The States’ fastest pitcher. Oh, this would make the headlines for sure.

Kenji did as he was told. He walked into the locker room, then walked out in full-attire. The speakers crackled to life. There was a steady rise in the crowd’s demeanor. People were slowly piecing the situation together. The announcers were losing their minds. “And It looks like — oh my goodness, folks. I don't believe this. Ken Sato has been called up into the field!”

The stadium went alight. Ken walked into the park and wondered if the lights were a little brighter than usual. He was doing his stretches, rolling his shoulders. His bat was handed to him and he flipped it in his hand. He allowed the cheers to boost his energy, and perhaps a bit of his ego.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we might be witnessing baseball history tonight! Two of the opposing team’s star players have come face to face for the first time ever. And it's happening right here, right now.”

You met his eyes. Ken’s breath hitched. You were so… intense. He couldn't properly describe it. You watched him move into position like a lion stalking its prey.

“Will Sato stop the Toyo Carp’s brand new Bullet? Or will he walk out of this game bleeding?”

The trick was to look them in the eye. A pitcher was no different from a batter when it came to a game. They shared the same weight of responsibility. The only time a stadium is silent is when they're standing face to face. Like a duel. One of Ken’s techniques was staring them down and reminding them that he was a force to be reckoned with. He was Ken Sato, for crying out loud.

Unfortunately for him, you were unshaken. Which he would’ve been offended by, if he were younger and more immature. No matter, he had other things to look for. Like the cues. Each pitcher had their own cue; a sort of tell that told Ken what kind of throw they’d be going for. He didn’t hit those pitches out of pure luck. Contrary to popular belief, he was actually thinking these games through. There were a plethora of things to look at. A pitcher’s stance, their position, which hand they were using. In an easier game, Ken would be able to read these pitchers like an open book.

But if you were a book, then you would've been written in a different language. He could find no such cues. He didn’t really have anything to calculate. You were as unpredictable as you were quick. None of his usual techniques seemed to be working on you.

The last resort: keep your eye on the damn ball, and freakin’ swing.

You held your hand outward, fingers pointed at him. There was a kind of hunger in your eyes, an expression that made Ken’s heart skip a beat. Your focused glare made him feel as if a red dot had appeared on his forehead. Like you had marked him for prey. It felt… personal. Like it wasn’t a part of the game, and you were only pointing at him. A threat. A dare.

You pulled your pitching arm back. He swore he heard a gun cock. The stadium went quiet. The crowd held its breath. So did Ken. He tightened his grip on his bat. He waited, eagerly, for you to make your move. He was counting the milliseconds, watching you, anticipating your throw, waiting for you to shoot.

And you did.

Ken blinked, and the ball was gone from your hands. He released the breath he was holding through a disbelieved scoff. He turned, and the catcher had stumbled slightly, holding your ball. The crowd grew into disarray, a rising cacophony of cheers and boos. They just couldn’t believe it. Ken Sato not only missed your pitch, but wasn’t able to move at all. He couldn’t even swing. You were too fast. Too abrupt.The ball was a white blur, there a moment, then gone the next. It wasn’t an issue of the curve, nor the direction. It was just too fucking fast.

His teammates couldn’t believe their eyes. And neither did his coach. Ken craned his head to look at you. You stared back at him, stone-faced.

He took a breath to regain his composure, resuming his earlier stance. He would never admit it, but he was rattled. He was trying to understand how that throw was humanly possible. How he had somehow forgotten to move. He could do nothing more but stand haunted as he heard the resounding “strike one!” from the umpire. This wasn’t the first time he’d missed, but it was the first time he froze. It was a spectacle to all, and a moment of horror for his fans. Did the Unstoppable Ken Sato finally meet his match? Even if he did, he was determined not to lose a second time.

“Okay,” he whispered. He took a deep, focused breath, slightly shifting his stance. He kept his feet firm on the ground, bat at the ready. “Okay, Hotshot. Bring it on.”

You kept your eyes on him and him alone. You stared at him as if you were the only two people in the stadium. The crowd went silent once again. The Giants fans were desperate to give Sato the focus he so-terribly needed, but the Carp fans were just curious to see how the second pitch would go. The air was thick and heavy with tension.

Like before, you threw your hand out, fingers pointed at Ken. You drew your pitching arm back, like an archer, and there was that sound in his mind again. The cock of a gun. Ken waited. He counted you down. He was a hunter dressed in camo, waiting for a deer to move.

Then, for the first time since he’d seen you, your expression changed. You grinned at him.

Then you winked.

Shit.

You threw the ball. Ken swung.

But he missed.

The crowd erupted into chaos. There was an indistinguishable pandemonium of disdain and celebration. People screamed and jumped and waved their banners as high as they possibly could. A number of them had already entered a state of acceptance — the Giants would lose to a perfect game. No batter would ever get through the wall that was you. But a lot of them kept their faith in the ever-notorious Sato. He could hit the last shot. He could pull this off. He might have been struggling to match your speed, but he would figure it out. They believed in him like he was a god.

And at that moment, as Kenji heard the echoing “strike two!” he certainly felt the anger of one.

Did you just fucking wink? Did you seriously have the audacity to wink at him? Kenji took it personally. Who did you think you were? Though his lips spoke nothing of the foul words he wished so eagerly to shout, it was clear on his face that he wanted you gone. It was one thing to embarrass him with a fastball, but another to rub it in. He wouldn’t let that slide. He wouldn’t allow you to strike him out.

Yoshimura was gripping the barrier so tightly that his knuckles were turning white.“Eyes up, Sato!”

Kenji breathed. Through his nose, this time. He drew a long breath into his entire body and blew it out through his lips. He wouldn’t miss. He couldn’t miss. While he might have already taught himself the humility that came with losing, he hadn’t taught himself jackshit about losing to you.

“If looks could kill,” whispered Ami Wakita, the reporter who watched the game from the press booth. Typing into her laptop, she wrote: “There seems to be obvious tension on the field. Nothing new for Ken Sato, yet, significantly different. Japan’s star player has finally met his match. This game has been a long time coming.”

This was his last chance, and he wasn’t going to waste it. Kenji raised his bat, and narrowed his eyes. You weren’t blind to his added efforts, and smirked at him again. Oh, how it made his blood boil.

Point.

Pull.

Throw.

Swing.

This time, the ball made contact.

The crowd blew up once more, exhausting their lungs as they watched the ball fly across the field. Kenji had hit it. Kenji had managed to catch your bullet-of-a-pitch. He dropped his bat to the ground and ran for his life. Base to base, corner to corner. Kenji leapt across the field and jumped for home.

“Safe!”

The crowd went wild. He had heard stadiums cheer for him before, but he didn't think he had ever heard anything this loud. With a relieved laugh, Kenji got up from the ground, and finally caught his breath. His teammates ran to greet him, though they had only passed the first inning. With a round as intense as that one, they felt it was only right to celebrate a little early.

And then he looked at you. Your eyes met. You were smiling at him again. He didn't like the lack of concern on your face. He didn't like that you didn't seem challenged. And he especially didn't like the fact that he was out there playing for his life, while you seemed to have played for a weekend game at the park.

Kenji was glaring at you, as if he was burning holes into your head. You lifted a hand and threw him a casual salute, flicking two fingers towards his direction. Dammit, he thought. That wink really threw him off. Which it shouldn't have.

Unfortunately for him, the game was nowhere near the last time you'd interact.

And there'd be the after-party to boot.

[kiyo-cant-write]

Sebek and Silver with a strong s/o ✧･ﾟ

Summary: These headcanons are for Silver and Sebek Zigvolt with a physically strong s/o who is able to lift them into the air and carry them around in their arms.

TW/CW: None

Notes: established relationship, they/them pronouns for reader, gender neutral reader, the reader is assumed to be smaller than Silver/Sebek

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✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

Silver

Silver was floored initially.

How is his s/o SO STRONG?

He has been training since childhood and they just... lift him.

Silver is confused about how someone smaller can do such a thing.

He is also amazed, however, and... Ultimately, he likes it.

It eases his worries that his lover can find him and carry him to wherever he needs to be if he passes out against his will.

At first, he found it a bit emasculating but he's over that now.

The reason he is over it is that Lilia pointed out his own height.

Silver ended up apologizing for dishonoring his father.

Silver's s/o got to hear about this the day after.

Silver asks his s/o if they would consider training with him.

If they accept, they get to see a new side to Silver.

They also unlock a new era of their relationship called "Lilia is my father-in-law AND my teacher woohoo!"

Silver opened his eyes to see the world moving by him much more quickly than anticipated. Hadn't he been in the courtyard? Why was he looking up at the sky? Why were the clouds moving so fast? It was a bit jarring if the light-haired boy was being honest about it.

"Wh...?"

"Oh! Good! You're awake!" [Name]'s voice could be heard from...

...Above him?

He looked down and sure enough, there was his lovely partner. They were holding him bridal style as they walked (at a fairly good pace). Where were they headed? Was he awake right now? He felt sluggish.

"[Name]...?" it left Silver's lips slowly, "Wh... What are you doing?"

"Taking you to class, silly!" [Name] told him, laughing softly.

"Oh..."

[Name] was headed toward his next class. Silver wasn't sure what his next class was but he was probably late for it. Sebek would not like that.

Father may or may not care but Sebek would never let him hear the end of it. He might even insist on Silver being punished for dishonoring their master. Silver wanted to sigh at just the thought of it.

"Thank you..." Silver told them, face dusted with a soft pink, "Uhm. This is helpful... If not a tad, er, embarrassing..."

They giggled at his wording.

"I don't mind helping you out, Sil," they told him, "And, is it? I think you're cute like this."

They were being a bit too honest for Silver to handle, his face turned a bit redder at the comment. People didn't often carry him. It wasn't something that should happen to guards for Prince Malleus, his master. And it had been years since his father last carried him anywhere. He was no longer a child.

And... being called cute was different when it came from [Name] and not his father or Prince Malleus (when he was younger).

"I, ah... Thank you."

Those were the words Silver settled on as they headed to his class together.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek is startled and a bit offended the first time it happens.

His s/o, his TINY LOVER, lifts HIM into the air.

He screams and gets detention from Professor Trein.

The second, third, and fourth times it happens are no better.

Each time, he yells in startlement and thinks there is danger afoot.

The only reason s/o doesn't get clocked is because they are s/o.

WHAT IF HE HURT THEM?? NEVER!

By the sixth or seventh time, he starts to get used to it.

Sebek starts to expect his s/o to pick him up if he makes a fuss.

Sometimes, he will make a fuss so they showcase their strength, the pride he feels for their existence outweighing the show of weakness in front of others.

In the end, he's fine with it, but he still shouts in a typical Sebek fashion that he wishes to be put down.

His s/o understands that he doesn't mean it and sometimes makes a mad dash across campus with Sebek in their arms.

Lilia is the one who asks if you want to train with them sometime.

Sebek is gleaming with pride at the fact that his s/o was acknowledged by his teacher, THE Lilia Vanrouge.

Sebek was yelling down at his partner as they carried him across the courtyard of Night Raven College. Despite this, [Name] did not stop running. In fact, they did not seem to mind one bit. It was quite fitting for someone who had chosen Sebek as their lover.

"PUT ME DOWN, [NAME]! I WILL BE LATE FOR MALLEUS-SAMA'S APPOINTMENT!" Sebek called to them, not caring that his volume was attracting attention from other students.

"You'll be fine, I can get you there!" [Name] told him, switching directions to head toward the Mirror Chamber, "You'll be there early!"

As they turned, Sebek did not even pause his yelling as his body flew around like a tower in the washing machine before settling back in the strange upright position his lover was carrying him in.

"WE HAD BETTER NOT BE LATE! WE CANNOT DISHONOR MALLEUS-SAMA!" Sebek continued.

[Name] just laughed at his statements as they headed toward his destination. It was kind of fun to be transportation for Sebek, the looks it earned from peers and upperclassmen alike was hilarious.

As long as they didn't crash into anyone, it should be fine!

"ONWARD, [NAME]!"

"I thought you didn't like this, Sebek?" they teased.

"I DO NOT! I SIMPLY WISH TO GET TO MALLEUS-SAMA."

"Sure, sure."

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Thank you for reading! Likes and reblogs are appreciated! Do NOT repost my writing/headcanons as your own >:c Check the top of my blog for the inbox status and read the rules before requesting. This is not a twst-only blog! ^^

[simp-ly-writes]

To Be Someone To You

─────── · · How Could You Refuse? (pt.8)

Pairing: Jayce Talis x Shy!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: You started your new life, got a new job and making new friends yet it seemed no matter how hard you tried to forget about him- Jayce's presence always lingered in your life and it seems that even he himself is not ready or willing to be out of it- he begs you not to be stranger, we only want to be someone to you.

─ · · TAGS: female pronouns used, protective! jealous! grovelling! Jayce, some emotional angst but a LOAD of fluff (potentially cheesy) and mutual pining, kissing, teasing, sharing clothes, intoxication, a side-OC, reader is mentioned to have hair and is shorter than Jayce, not beta read.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 4,814

─ · · SERIES MASTERLIST

─ · · A/N: THEY ARE JUST SO UGH, I NEED IT- PLEASE 😩‼️

─────── · ·

─ · · The carriage continued down the road and into a neighbouring region. You were shocked to see various members of the local guard awaiting your presence and helping you out of the carriage before leading you towards their parliament buildings. To your equal shock people waved and smiled once seeing you, what the hell did Jayce do now? You ask yourself standing in front of the prime ministers desk. "We have been expecting your arrival Miss (last/name). Councillor Talis had informed us..." you zoned out for the rest of his speech nodding along until Ximena Talis squeezed your hand, bringing you back to reality, "...we have a few professors and scholars in the area that would love to work with you if you are interested Miss?"

You smile and nod, "I would love to take that opportunity, thank you." An assistant suddenly comes in running, "this way, ma'am," they lead out of the office and back out onto the street, pointing you in the direction of the university before the parliament doors shut behind you and seemingly on your old life.

─────── · ·

─ · · In the next coming days that turned into weeks you worked alongside Evren, a professor and active researcher at the local university as his new lab and teaching assistant. It felt great to meet new people, be back in the lab space, and to see all of Evren's students, you loved your new position getting to work with the next generation of scientists and develop their skills yet it always surprised you how excited they were to talk with and learn from you.

─ · · You could scoff remembering your first day sitting in Evrens' office as he walked you through the learning material and basic questions students commonly asked that you could filter for him. You were beyond anxious to mess something up or to have a hoard of students calling after you yet Evren only taught the upper years and from having such small classes he really only needed you to grade work and developing new material with him.

─ · · Evren always made sure you were comfortable and confident before leaving you with the students or in the lab when he had to take a step away. He even helped you to move in to your's and Xiema's new apartment and bought a wine bottle for you all to share while building furniture (class was cancelled that next morning as you all stayed up way too late laughing and sharing stories).

"Do you know I was married for a year?" he asks you, cheeks flushed red from the booze in his system as he fixed his glasses- an anxious tick. "No way, really?" you asked, leaning forwards in your seat with wide eyes as Xiema scoffed mentioning she was heading to bed as you two waved her goodbye for the night. "Yeah, high school sweetheart turned out not so... sweet. Stole all my work and designs I had yet to publish."

"I'm so sorry to hear that, Evren," you say, giving him a pat on the shoulder as he shrugs, fixing his curly brown hair. "Well," he begins in a matter-of-factly tone, "I actually thanked her for doing so since I came up with a better idea the next week." You throw your head back laughing as his dry commentary, your heart racing remembering how Viktor used to talk to you like this. You face soon falls remembering the man Viktor connected himself to... Jayce.

"Hey, everything alright?" Evren's face falls, green eyes looking into yours with concern as you pull away and look distantly through the window. "Just... remembering past things," you try and move conversation, feeling anger, pain, and sadness starting to boil underneath your skin the more you think about it. "Favourite book?" Evren asks into the dead air as you look at him with relief for not asking any further questions- he seems to silently understand what you were going through internally and you were thankful for it.

"Asking all the hard questions aren't you now," you tease before burying yourself into the blankets on the couch as he throws you a pillow, "don't fall asleep on me now-" Evren begins to say seeing you ready to doze off. A wave of deja vu flashes over you and see Jayce's eyes looking into your own before blinking them away to see green again. Evren now looks exceptionally concerned, "I wasn't going to press earlier but I am worried about you, friend."

You smile at the term, something you both established at the beginning as many of the students "shipped" you two together. "I just hate that I miss him. Hate that I always check the death lists coming from Piltover- wait to see his name as they study corpse after corpse. I just feel disgusted with myself for..." you fail to continue your sentence, confused as to what to say next.

The thought of Jayce Talis made your heart race and equally ache, he made your blood boil and yet when you flipped through one of the few journals you packed, you broke down at the messages and jokes he wrote to you in the margins, you couldn't help but cry for everything you had lost. You swore to see him sometimes between the ailes of bookshelves in the library, at the market, or out of the corner of your eye. But when you would walk closer, you would either just walk right through the mist of him or just blink him away like another fleeting thought.

You were bitter towards that fact as you regretted your final moments together. You knew your feelings were in the right but looking back, you would have made the same choices that Jayce did. Trying to play into that fantasy future you both could have had for as long as possible... knowing the inevitable. Giving yourself that peace to enjoy every moment no matter how short as if nothing could come in between you both. It pained you with want just pleading with your past self to step back into that council room and just hold him, go against your pain and your anger and just have lived a little moment longer.

Evren holds out his hand and seeing that you don't take it he gently flicks the side of your head, "It's okay to be frustrated. You hate them because you loved them once, nothings wrong with working through emotions at our own pace."

"Thank you Evren... I really needed to hear that," you respond, closing your heavy eyes. "Goodnight, (name)," he whispers before you hear the door lock closed behind you for the night.

─────── · ·

─ · · Your daily schedule continued as it usually did yet today felt different and the title of todays paper only concerted that, 'councillors working together to build stronger cities'. Piltover and Zaun were combining resources to rebuild- your heart ached remembering this is what Viktor and Jayce worked so hard towards... and now they wouldn't be able to see their vision finally coming to life. Near the end of the newspaper it noted that the final list of the deceased would be out by the end of the week, and still not sights on the name Jayce Talis.

─ · · You stumbled into Evrens office later that day holding coffees for you both as you apologized for being late, the shock of the headlines still ringing through your head, "shit sorry I'm late, did you get a chance to read the news yet- its crazy I never thought this day would..." you slowly stop talking once not hearing Evren respond, hanging up your jacket over his as he stares at you, leaning against a windowsill with an apologetic look on his face before walking over and pulling you in for small hug.

You pat his back, "bad day already?" you mumble with a slight groan not looking forwards to it. You feel Evren shake his head before another voice clears their throat from behind you both. You feel as Evren jumps in your arms before he pulls away and grips your shoulders, forcing you not to look just yet. "I promise you that I had no idea, if I had I would have screened you first and this was not my choice and-"

You take a deep breath before looking over and your heart drops seeing... "Jayce?" sitting behind Evrens desk glaring at the other mans hold on you before catching your eyes and smiling anxiously. You can feel the world slow, your vision tunnelling to his smile and the shake in his hands he tries to hide by holding them together. Blinking away tears, as he slowly nods and stands, you hold out your hand, silently asking him to stay in his spot. "Am I seeing things, Ev?" you ask in a small voice, unsure.

Evren takes his time to respond, "that is Councillor Talis," he confirms before starting to move out of the room to give you both space yet you reach out and grip his hand for support. You look at Evren, "thank you, I'll be in lecture soon." He nods, giving your hand a squeeze and shuts the door softly behind himself.

"I know you must be confused but please allow me to explain-" Jayce begins before you cut him off with a heated glare. "No, Councillor Talis. You will fucking listen to me when I say you shouldn't be here after what you did to me. You said you were going to die, going to leave me, and yet you have the audacity to stand before me and plead?" You watch as Jayce's expression falls, his shoulders dropping as his head lowers apologetically, shuffling on the spot as if you kicked a puppy- your heart aches and you only become more frustrated.

"No Councillor you don't deserve to be moping around after the utter shit you pulled trying to play hero. I won't thank you, won't get on my knees and worship you- no. Do you understand how many nights I held myself sobbing to sleep, thought to see you- to hear you, desperate to feel you?" you are vibrating with anger, electricity flowing through your veins power by the passion in your heart.

"I do understand," Jayce's tone is firm, a warning to your heart for what is to come. You watch as he walks over and stands before you, his head tilting down and cocking to the side as he looks over your features distantly with dark eyes- you hate yourself for blushing.

"When I got stuck in the rune, I was forced to see your dead body before you consumed my every. waking. thought. It was your voice that called me back to you, that allowed me not to feel the pain in my leg, the ache in my ribs from starving. The thought of your touch against my body propelled by every step. I didn't stop- wouldn't stop until I knew you were safe... and you know what happened afterwards," Jayce allows a smirk to form across his features once seeing you subconsciously bite the inside of your cheek before taking a few steps back as you let out a breath you didn't know to be holding.

You walk after him as Jayce moves to leave against the desk. You stand in front of him before slapping him straight across the face. Jayce flexes his jaw, licking away the taste of iron building in his mouth. He looks back at you with wide, remorseful eyes and press lips- your blood boils, "I fucking hate your face."

"Mhmm?" Jayce hums, imploring you to continue getting your anger out. You take a step closer, standing in between his legs as you grip the lapels to his coat, knuckles turning white, "I hate that I'll always listen to everything you say and desire your touch. Hate that I still care about you, that I still want you. I hate myself! Hate my weak heart and yet I still let you have it- I fucking hate that I can't move on. Can't function a day without thinking to see you. I HATE YOU- hate that I love you, Jayce!" You punch and sob into his chest, utterly tried and longing for him to comfort you in a way no one else could as large warm palms hold you closely and tightly to his chest.

His beard tickles the top of your head, ruining your styled hair and yet you can't find it in yourself to care about anything. You feel sick with yourself for almost moaning when he kisses the side of your head and hums his apologies into your hear. You are embarrassed with yourself as you shake your face into the crook of his neck.

"I'll do anything for you to be mine again... and if you can't accept that just yet or even ever... I just want to be someone to you- just not strangers, never strangers... please," Jayce begs, squeeze your hips once feeling you starting to pull away but letting go once seeing your puffy eyes mirroring his own.

"I would say yes to everything now, Jayce. But I know that wouldn't be good for either of us knowing what happened last time," you explain as Jayce lowers his head into a nod, "I love you," he speaks softly.

"I know, I know," you respond, taking a deep breath before picking up your notes and learning material, "and thats why you are going to leave me alone for awhile... just so we both can sort though ourselves and come back with clearer minds." Jayce chuckles a little, "what part of me do you need a clearer image on, sweetheart?" he teases watching as you groan and huff your way to the door.

"Goodbye, Jayce," you twist open the doorknob only to feel a hand on your shoulder, holding your movements, "not goodbye- never again," Jayce says while looking into your eyes sternly. You raise your chin, "of course.... see you later then?" you try and say yet it comes out more like a question. Jayce smiles, your heart skips a beat, "better, see you later," he leans forwards to kiss you but ends up kiss air as you flee down the hallway smiling to yourself. Jayce sighs, watching as you turn down the hall and out of sight, back to square one.

─────── · ·

─ · · You feel bad that Evren paused the class as soon as you appeared, checking over your face and telling you to spin three times to ensure you were a-okay. The rest of the students fell into a hysteria and all you wanted was for his lesson to continue and for life to move on. "I'll beat of that councillor if you need me to miss!" "Would you ever consider going back?" "If he were ugly he wouldn't have gotten away with all of the shit he pulled!"

"Silence!" Evren ordered as everyone fell back into their seats and reopened their journals, you looked towards your friend with thanks, seating yourself beside him as you finished marking the papers before you, inputting the grades into your tables to help take your mind away. The class went by more quickly than you thought once zoning out, "how about a nice long lunch break this afternoon?" Evren asks, holding out your coat with a smile.

"Is coffee included?" you ask, offering a small smile watching as his grows, "of course it is."

─────── · ·

─ · · "So tell me, am I going to have to hire another assistant?" Evren asks, stirring the sugar in his coffee while watching your expression tick with annoyance. "I'm not jumping his bones as soon as I see him, at least not again after thinking him to be dead." Evren kicks his feet in laughter, the table jumping with the movement as you kick his shin, mumbling for your friend to, shut the hell up.

"I mean... I would jump his bones. Did you see that oxford shirt?" Evren groans, twirling his non-existent long hair as you roll your eyes. "And here I thought you had my back?"

"I do! I do, but after him threatening me... I think I questioned my sexuality-"

"WHAT?" it was your turn to yell as other cafe-goers looked between the two of you in question. You sunk down into your chair, embarrassed yet eyes demanding to know the answer as you took a sip of your coffee. Evren regretted his words not wanting to stress you out further but every time he would try and change conversation... you would only ask him again.

"Well... I think someone told him the wrong information about our relationship. I walked into my office not expecting anyone yet as I sorted through our schedule on the board and then next thing I knew a hand was being clamped down on my shoulder, the other on my hand in a tight shake..." Evren continued to recall the story of their interaction with Jayce who appeared to "size him up-" you scoffed.

"...and then he said to me," Evren lowers his tone watching as you shake your head at him, "...'I've killed gods and came back from the dead. If I hear that you've done anything against her- know that there isn't a place on this planet I won't be able to find you'."

"He said that?" you ask to confirm- Evren nods his head, chuckling, "He was so jealous saying it- I would have laughed if I wasn't so scared shitless."

"Oh god," you sigh out.

"Oh Jayce!" Evren mocks... whatever we're you going to do?

─────── · ·

─ · · It had been a few weeks since you had last seen Jayce. He had been sending flowers to your apartment with little notes attached that you kept in a box underneath your bed. Jayce also donated a very generous amount of money to your universities department and event sent service people to help fix your leaking sink and shower.

─ · · Jayce was very conscious about keeping physical space between the two of you just like you had asked. Even though it pained him listening to you talk in lecture as he stood at the back of the hall and when he stared down at the tattoo on his arm.

─ · · Everyday was a new challenge for you both not running to one another- it posed a new hurt that you both needed to feel mutually as you jotted down what you wanted out of your future the next time you both were to talk. Jayce on the other hand swirled your ring between his thumb and index finger, reminiscing on past dreams that if he waited just long enough could become his future.

─ · · Jayce always made sure to tell you when he was headed back to Piltover and for how long he would be gone since he was still needed at the Council as they rebuilt the cities and reestablished their trade routes and partners. As a parting gift, he offered you a shirt of his or left his jacket behind somewhere in your apartment when you were out a work and he visited his mother. Evren would also laugh when seeing you practically live out of the large jacket as you glared at him, daring him to say anything.

─ · · In one of his attached notes to a new pair of boots from the Zaun cobbler you liked he noted down Viktor's final words to you and worried for your letter back. You thankfully took the information well... or at least he couldn't see any tear stained pages or furiously written text, just thoughtfully exposed words in a mature understanding of the events. A part of you did wonder for a moment what a future with Viktor would have been like before realizing you both argued more than you agreed on things and the little moments you both shared were only possible because of meeting Jayce... Jayce, your heart heart longs for... and how could you refuse his affection when you wanted him just as much?

─────── · ·

─ · · A part of you was worried that your presence and relationship with Jayce was keeping him away from spending time with his mom but when you and Evren came back from the bar one night totally hammered, your drunken self was almost made sober by the shock of seeing Jayce open your front door for you once hearing you struggle with your keys.

"Had a good night there, sweetheart?" he asks in a loving and equally teasing tone as you fall into his chest, looking up at him with wide eyes. "Wow, you're really here! Hey handsome," you giggle, feeling as his back muscles flex as he holds you up in his arms. Evren mumbles something about heading into your kitchen but all your groggy mind can think about is pawing at Jayce.

You stand on your toes, trying to kiss him. Jayce remembers your words of wanting space and moves his head to the side, your soft lips fall upon his beard with a huff, "mean! I wanted to kisss you since I misss you~" you slur your words together, suddenly becoming interested in your glimmering heels in comparison to Jayce's dress shoes, "I love how much bigger you are to me, always so warm and huggable," you giggle, feeling giddy with yourself before stepping away and running after Evren, "Ev! you should really get a hug from Jayce! He gives the best hugs!"

Evren picks his head up, eyes squinting to the dim kitchen lights to look at you and Jayce who watches your every moment, hands extended and ready to catch you as you wobble on the tiled floors and towards the fridge in search of a snack, oooh apples!

You turn around, fridge slamming behind you in search of a cutting board and blade. Jayce's heart drops as he wraps his arms from behind you, gently taking the knife from you and doing the job for you.

You lean your head back, smiling softly at the man before you- touching his clenched jaw with fascination, "you trimmed your beard, it looks good."

"Thank you," Jayce smiles before presenting you the plate. Removing himself from your touch as he looks around to hide the knife from you. "Are you sober enough to get home? Or should I put a fire on in the living room?" Evren points at himself as Jayce nods, "yes, you."

"I've been sober the whole time to watch over that one," Evren points over to you as you wave cheerfully back, snacking on your apple slices and offer one to him in which he accepts. "None for me?" Jayce teases as you shake your head, "No," you state coldly. Evren laughs, "You ready to get to bed?" he asks you.

You look between Evren and Jayce, "Get your mind out of the gutter," he shoves your shoulder as you laugh, pushing Evren on his back as he pretends to stumble over into the wall, "if you start shoving me, I may just have to report you to the dean," he teases as you narrow your eyes. Jayce crosses his arms watching as you two rile one another up. "You wouldn't dare!" you point your finger in his face.

Evren puts his palms up and shrugs, "Hey, I know that you're leaving by the end of the year anyways- what difference would a few months make?" He asks looking over at Jayce expectedly.

Your gaze also turns towards Jayce, eyes softening as you fall into his side. Jayce holds your upright, thumb gently rubbing the side of your arm. "Are you saying I can't hold a grudge?" you ask, feeling as Jayce fixes your hair our of your face.

"Well, I was trying not to say it like that-" you scoff as Evren treats you with a deadpan stare looking between you and Jayce expectantly. "This means nothing right now," you say, wrapping Jayces arm around your front and playing with his fingers. Jayce stiffens staring down at you yet you look forwards- having a silent conversation with Evren who sighs, "okay, goodnight you two. I can trust you to make sure she makes it to the couch, right?"

"Of course," Jayce says, squeezing you against him for a moment as you smile and wave goodbye to your friend, listening to the door close behind him before stepping out of his touch. "Did you... really mean that?" Jayce asks, not expecting a confident answer since you still appear under the influence.

"No, just had to stick it to him," Jayce chuckles before saying something he hopes you will not remember in the morning, "I miss you, so much... I just want you back but I'll wait... forever if I have to but I'll always live with hope." You look at Jayce for a long moment before heading towards your bedroom. Jayce stands there in the kitchen wondering if you even heard him before hearing your voice whisper-shout down the hall.

"I miss you too... I just want to make sure its more than that first."

─────── · ·

─ · · In the morning you her Xiema in the kitchen, the local news radio ringing through the apartment as you groan and place a pillow over your head, I really have to start saying no to nights out, I'm getting to old for this feeling...

─ · · You startle at the sound of a knock at your door, but Xiema's in the kitchen? Jayce sighs from behind the door, gently opening the door but not looking in as he calls to you, "Morning sweetheart, my mom told me to come and wake you up. Evren wrote in saying you both were..." Jayce contains a laugh, ""sick" this morning." You mumble something incoherent that Jayce only picks up the end of, "...come here."

─ · · Jayce opens your door fully before walking over to your bedside and crouching down to look at your face as you smile at him lazily. Pulling your hand from underneath the covers to hold his cheek, feeling as he nuzzles into your touch- closing his eyes as he drinks in the moment not knowing when the next time would come... if ever, he feels his heart drop as you watch his expression become pained. Guilt gnaws at your chest as you roll yourself over underneath the covers before patting at the empty spot.

Jayce opens his eyes, eyebrow raised as if to confirm. You nod your head and extend your hands to welcome his warmth to your side, intertwining your legs together as you rest your head on his arm and press a kiss to his chin, "I love you," your murmur, not confident enough to look at him in your soberness with the confession.

Jayce gently tips your head back in his direction, his other hand massages your thigh as you hum at the feeling while looking into his eyes filled with nothing short of pure adoration, "I love you too, princess."

You swat his chest before trying to crawl away, "no! you don't get to say that!" you yell into your pillow, holding it to your face once feeling his heavy arms wrap around your torso, touch calling you back to him. "Say what? princess?" he teases, purposefully using his groggy morning voice while taking away your pillow- you kick your feet. "Stop it," you huff, hair sticking up in all positions as you sit up and glare at him watching as his arm flexes from behind his head as he looks up at you, "I love watching your cheeks flush for me."

Your jaw drops as you are at a loss for words, "Jayce-" you warn feeling your heart rapidly beating in your chest. "I love hearing my name from between your lips." You throw yourself out of bed, "and I love you in my clothes."

"This is too much now, Jayce!" you plead for mercy (though you love it) as you run out down the hall and towards the kitchen as Jayce chases after you. "Morning Xiema!" you chime watching as she turns around to see Jayce hugging you form behind with a large smile that matches her own, "Good morning to you both, now who I made a few options..."

─ · · You all sit at the kitchen table together, passing food and the coffee pot. Jayce places an arm over the back of your chair, playing with your hair as you look apologetically towards his mom who just smiles brightly seeing you both together again.

─────── · ·

─ · · A/N: thinkin' 2 more chapters? 🤔 or... idk, I love these two together so much but I don't want to over do it! 😅

─ · · SERIES MASTERLIST

─ · · JAYCE TALIS TAGLIST: @sseleniaa @sunshiines-stuff @kiromiix @todorokishoe24 @w2momo @m-arj-1 @reid490 @kaminocasey @chickenlvr123

[starlighttsv]

I’m not fine - p.b

Sum: R is struggling bad and Paige comes to the rescue

Warnings: bad mental health, depression, grief, talks of cancer

Notes: this is my first time writing like angst/sad stuff please tell me how it is and what to change 🙏 requested by @melpthatsme

Pair: paige x bsf!reader

Wc: 1.9k

It’s now been 9 days since your mom died, although it feels like it’s been a lifetime. Your mom was diagnosed with breast cancer about 2 years ago and 2 years ago she said she would fight to the end…and she did.

When you got the call that she wasn’t doing to great you immediately booked a plane ticket to Minnesota and left, forgetting to mention anything to your professors, Geno and CD, or any of your teammates including Paige.

You received calls and texts wondering where you were and what happened for days the only one that didn’t message for days was Paige - and that’s because she has your location.

When you didn’t respond to her 10 messages and 20 missed calls she knew something was up and checked your location to see you heading towards Minnesota, immediately knowing something was going on with your mom.

Paige thinking responsibly in this situation went and talked to Geno, telling him what she thinks is wrong and where she knows you went. Geno ended up giving you and her a week off telling her to find you, make sure you’re ok, and then to get you back home safely.

When Paige got to Minnesota that night she went to check your location while at the airport to see your step dad had texted Paige - basically telling her that your mom has an hour maybe two left and that she needs to get here as soon as she can because he’s worried about you.

That confirmed what Paige was thinking was happening and made her rush to the hospital getting there in around 35 minutes from Uber. When she walked in she went to the front desk telling them your moms name with them giving her directions to the room.

Walking into room 305 she saw your step dad leant against the wall with one of his arms crossed over his chest and the other covering his mouth, looking around she saw your older brother trying to comfort your guy’s kid siblings, and you laying on your moms hospital bed with your head on her chest holding onto her tightly, sleeping.

Your step dad noticed her first getting off the wall and walking towards her - bringing her into a hug “thank you for coming, im just- I know this is gonna hit her hard and that she’s gonna push us away. I feel like you’re the one she won’t be able to push away and if she does you’ll still be able to get to her.” he whispers to her while they both watch you sleep on your moms chest while she slowly plays with your hair

“How long has she been like this?” Paige asks him “I called her at around 11am she got here around 6:35pm so since then.” He replies sadly “she’s been just hanging out in the corner watching all of us but the doctor told us to start saying goodbyes a little bit ago. She decided to go last and she hasn’t moved since.”

Paige nods setting her suitcase that she filled for both of you knowing you weren’t thinking when you just up and left, by the door and carefully walked over to you and your mom

“Hey, mom” paige says to your mom as you guys grew up with each other so you call each other’s mothers mom. “hey Paige, how are you?” She replies weakly while still slowly playing with your hair “Been better, what about you?”

“Ohh you know, been better” she replies a little sarcastically chuckling a little bit, making Paige fake laugh a little with her eyes welling up with tears

“Oh Paige don’t cry, it’s ok! I promise!” Your mom try’s to backtrack “Its not ok. You don’t deserve this. This shouldn’t be how your story ends.” Paige says wiping the tears that escaped

Your mom didn’t say anything just opened her other arm for Paige, letting p hug her.

Your mom sadly passed about 25 minutes later with you waking up because you didn’t hear her heartbeat in your ear anymore.

Ever since you got home from the hospital you locked yourself in your room. You stayed laying sideways on your bed facing the wall for days without moving. The day of your mom’s funeral was probably the hardest day to get through, getting up from bed was painful because of you not moving around, standing made you dizzy because of the not eating, you also had a headache and stomach ache from not eating.

During the funeral it was like ‘the lights are all on but nobody’s home’ you were smiling and greeting everyone, having multiple conversations through out the day with different people, you also spoke at her funeral, you didn’t cry once. You stayed smiling through the whole day.

Until you weren’t.

Getting home from all of the funeral duties you guys did at around 8pm, everyone was tired and everyone was upset - but they all still noticed your behavior at the funeral and now.

“Hey why don’t we all watch a movie in the living room? I’ll make popcorn?” Your step dad say’s trying to keep you from going to your room without you noticing that’s what he’s doing.

Your siblings and Paige all agree but you don’t “I’m tired. I’m just gonna take a shower and head to bed.” You say starting to walk upstairs “hey wait up, I’ll go with you” paige says starting to walk closer to you “no it’s fine P, just watch the movie like you wanted. Im just going to sleep.” Paige looked like she was going to argue “P seriously, I’m fine. Im tired and I want to go to bed.” You say trying to convince her and yourself

Paige looked hesitant but ended up letting you walk upstairs with her sighing and turning around to go to the living room where all of your family went during that conversation

Your step dad looked at Paige in a way of asking if you were joining making her shake her head sadly and him sigh.

Since coming back home from the funeral, you went back to hiding. You locked yourself in your room laying bundled up in your blankets, you ignored everything and everyone. Your family and Paige knocked on your door multiple times a day either to try and get you out or to try and get you to eat something, but you just ignored them everyday.

It’s also now been more than a week meaning you and Paige were supposed to be back in Connecticut 3 days ago. Luckily Paige is your knight in shining armor right now and called Geno, telling him everything. He gave both of you another two weeks excusing both of you from any games that would take place in that time frame.

Paige has been talking through your door for the last 25 minutes trying to get you to open the door, no luck so far.

“Your dad went back to work today, said they couldn’t figure out how to do somethin. Your siblings also went back to school today, the school knows what happened so they’re offering counseling to them.” Paige says sitting against your door listening for any movement but sighing when she didn’t hear any “please open the door. Im worried about you.” She starts “remember when you first found out about her diagnosis? You came to me crying saying you didn’t want to lose her and that you were scared. Do you remember what I said?”

“I said that I would always be by your side, that I would never let you be alone. No matter what, and I’m gonna stick by that even if you’re trying to push me away. Your moms not in pain anymore I promise.” She continues before starting again “your mom wouldn’t want you to be locked up in your room over her. You and I both know that. please just open the door, you don’t even have to leave your room just let me come in there.” She says and try’s listening for movement again but gets disappointed all over again

Right when she was standing up from sitting against your door to go back to the living room, your door opens making her immediately turn around and look at you

You look disheveled. Your hairs messy, you have dark circles over your eyes with tear streaks still on your face, your eyes are red and puffy, your favorite hoodie is now a little baggy on you, and you look like your about pass out

Paige immediately walks closer to you and brings you into her chest, letting you lean all of your weight onto her. She has one hand holding your head to her chest and the other wrapped around the middle of your back while you have your arms wrapped around her waist

“You don’t have to go through this alone, You know that right? Paige mumbles into your hair with you staying quiet.

After a few moments of silence Paige feels something wet on her shirt already knowing that you’re crying, making her hug you tighter. That triggered the waterfall making you start sobbing into Paige’s shirt

“It’s ok, it’s ok. Let it out, it’s ok” paige says staring to rub your back and hold you tighter. “I can’t do this” you sob out “i can’t live without her”

“Shhh shh it’s gonna be ok. You’re never gonna be living without her, she’s always gonna be right next to you watching you and being your guardian angel I promise.” Paige say’s keeping up with her movements on rubbing your back and scratching your head

You don’t answer just cry a little bit louder. Your knees buckle under you but since Paige was holding you still she was able to catch you and decided to just help you sit on the ground so in case you do pass out you would be able to lay down.

She sits against the wall and has you sitting in between her legs still holding onto her waist, with her hands still in the same spots they were in before.

“Please stop trying to push me away. I wanna be here for you.” Paige mumbles into your hair, you just nod into her chest gripping the back of her shirt in your fists

Paige kept her promise and stuck by your side, helping you with everything. You needed groceries? She’s already driving to the store. You don’t have the energy to cook? She’s making it or she’s door dashing, depends really. You can’t get out of bed? She’s getting in your bed beside you and you guys are having a movie night sleepover. You don’t feel the best because of your depression? She’s drawing you a warm bath with a bath bomb, candles, and scents and making your favorite food while you’re in the bath. And so much more - paige has been your rock during this whole nightmare making it feel not as dark and difficult as it actually is.

You both have gone back to Connecticut, and you talked with Geno and CD when you got back with them requesting that you also see some type of councilor or therapist. After that the team decided to have a team night where you do anything and everything - wanting to show that they are in fact there for you and you don’t have to go through the grief process alone.

And eventually after some time you realized that on your own.

[bruhstories]

Muse III

p.1 && p.2

minors dni

summary: one way or another, the inevitable happens - circumstances force you to talk to viktor

pairing: viktor x painter!reader

warnings: some angst, swearing, super slow burn, p with plot?? unprotected p in v, kind of creampie, reader on top, fluff, comfort, afab!reader with she/her pronouns, some mentions of y/n (i think maybe once), canon divergent, bickering and banter

w/c: 6k...

a/n: there we go, the series is now complete! i do hope you all enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it! liking and reblogging are encouraged! thank you for being on this journey with me haha

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The constant ticking of the clock irked Viktor and he pinched the bridge of his nose. The downside of becoming a professor were the exams — sitting down, waiting, wasting hours was unproductive. He could've taught, could've researched, could've experimented with new elements. Instead, he was stuck in a classroom with a handful of students who looked like they were about to shit themselves.

And then there was you. In the back of the room, watching said students like a hawk, circling them like a predator, like you wanted to catch at least one of them cheating. He hadn't spoken to you since the academic year started — two months and two weeks, to be precise.

Viktor tapped his cane, impatiently counting the minutes until the exam was over. It felt like an eternity, watching the sand in the hourglass flowing ever so slowly. The thought of counting each particle of sand amused him. It probably would've been the most productive thing in the past hour.

The sudden noise of a book being dropped caught his attention. Viktor got up from his chair, but you were already at the source. Some little shit thought he could cheat his way through the semester, but not with you there.

"Get out." You told the student, your rigid voice reverberating in the classroom.

"Professor, please-"

"Get out of my classroom." You repeated, eyes burning holes into the poor student's head.

Trembling with fear, he gathered his belongings, tripping on his way out. You just knew the gossip that would start around the campus about you being a bitch, a horrible teacher, the worst he'd ever seen. But you only had one single rule — no cheating. That was it. You allowed your students to eat during your lessons, to call you by your first name, to approach you with any issues they had, whether academic or not. But you did not tolerate cheating.

No one dared to move until the end of the exam, and even Viktor was shaken by your hostility. He remembered you so differently, still visualising how you knelt between his legs to take off his brace, and how sweet your scent used to be whenever you visited him in the laboratory. But now you built metaphorical walls around yourself, changed your clothes, your hair, even your perfume — jasmine, bergamot, musk. Anything but sweet. And Viktor couldn't help but blame himself for that.

The grandfather clock in the classroom struck once, and every single student put their quills down. No one wanted to get on your bad side. Still watching them intently from the back of the classroom, they gathered their belongings quietly and placed their papers on Viktor's desk on their way out. With the last student out, you walked up to the desk and counted half of the papers, stacking them in a separate pile.

"Can we talk?" Viktor caved in. He couldn't stand seeing you like that anymore.

"Here's your stack of exams." You ignored his question. "I'll mark my part, then drop them off at your lab once I'm done. Tomorrow or the day after."

"Of course. I shall try to finish them as quickly as-" He watched you leave, hips swaying as you walked out the door without even saying goodbye. "-possible."

There was no denying that Viktor found your attitude insufferable, albeit it being his fault. He misunderstood you, he got that now. But you refused to give him a chance to explain himself, to apologise, and that drove him mad. The worst part? He couldn't blame you. You basically saved his life, and he repaid you with disdain. Viktor would've probably done the same if the roles were reverse, really.

You walked back to your apartment with the papers neatly organised in a leather bag, careful not mix them with other files and textbooks. The air was getting colder, winter was approaching, and you rushed to get home before the wind froze you to death. You appreciated the warmth of your apartment more than ever, and began marking the papers as soon as you took off your coat and boots.

Thinking back at how you reacted when you caught that boy cheating, you began to consider it might have been too harsh. He still had the chance to retake the exam in summer, but you scared him shitless, you could see that in his eyes. And you didn't want to be the bad professor. You didn't want Viktor to be the good one. The mere idea of him being loved by students while you were hated by them made you cringe.

No, you needed a different approach, one that wouldn't compromise your position at the Academy, or your title of Master of Arts. You needed to kill them, and especially Viktor, with kindness. But you only had two options to be able to do that. You could tell Viktor you got over whatever happened in the lab last year, which was unlikely that he would believe you, or you could actually talk to him about whatever happened in the lab last year, which was highly improbable of you to do.

Okay, so maybe being a spiteful bitch was the way to move forward, only it wouldn't work on the long run. Not when the exams were half science, half arts, and you needed to speak to Viktor about them. Or when the curriculum needed to be revised, and you needed to speak to Viktor about that, too. Or when there were staff meetings, or half term parties, or social gatherings.

The bottom line was that, one way or another, you would end up in a situation which required you to speak to him more than just hellos and goodbyes, and the longer you avoided him, the harder your life would be. And what could you even say? Sorry? Fuck no. Viktor was supposed to apologise, not you.

True to your word, like you had always been, you visited the lab to drop off the papers. Some things stayed the same — same doors, same walls, same floors. But there was something new within the laboratory, something you did not expect. A woman.

She smiled at you, a sickening sweet smile that made you gag, but out of politeness, you nodded, acknowledging her presence. Her tight curls were neatly gathered in a top bun, and she pushed back her half-moon glasses that hid the freckles on her cheeks.

"Hi." You clutched the exam papers at your chest. "Is Viktor here? I need to give him something. "

"He should be back any minute now. I can give him whatever it is you need." She still smiled.

"No, I can wait."

Why? Why did you say that? You could've given her the damn papers and left. You and your stupid mouth. Silence echoed in the lab as you shifted your weight from one leg to another, impatiently glancing at the door in the hopes that Viktor arrived sooner. She, on the other hand, tidied up the place, careful to not throw away anything useful, organising tools and materials that belonged to him. You knew Viktor didn't like it when others touched his stuff, so why was she just casually picking things up like she lived there?

"And you are?" The words came out before you could stop them.

"Oh, silly me, where are my manners?" She shook her head and walked towards you, a hand reached out to shake yours. "Sky Young. I'm Viktor and Jayce's assistant."

"Assistant?" You nodded, stunned by the newfound information. Since when did Viktor need an assistant? "Y/N Y/L/N, Master of Arts." You shook her hand, gripping it a little too tight for her own liking.

"Ah, you're the painter who saved Viktor's life!" Sky looked at you in awe. "I used to be his nurse. Whatever you did baffled the medical community! I became his assistant to help around, but to study him as well."

Study him? You studied him for your portrait, that didn't earn you a spot in his lab. Why was she any better?

"How... nice." The fake smile on your lips betrayed the jealousy in your heart. "On second thought, you can give him these papers. There's no need for me to be here."

"Are you sure? Vik should be here any minute now." Sky's nod of encouragement only added fuel to your desire to leave.

Vik?? They were on a nickname basis now? Bullshit, she wasn't just his assistant.

"I'm sure. I need to prepare the lectures for next term anyway. I don't suppose you know if he finished marking his part of the papers?" You kept your cool.

"He did, actually! Let me get them for you." The girl rushed into an annex of the lab and came back with the stack of exams.

You took a quick look through them to make sure they were all marked, so you wouldn’t need to come back, and shoved them in your bag.

"Thanks."

"No problem! What you are doing is groundbreaking! If there's anything I can assist with, please let me know!" Sky smiled.

Okay, you got it — she was nice and you weren't. Was that how she got under Viktor's skin? By being insufferably nice and sweet? It didn't matter. She was there, in the lab, working with him. And you? You went back to your apartment, alone and upset.

Viktor spent his holiday revising the curriculum for the next term. While Sky was a brilliant assistant, she could be quite overwhelming sometimes. He learned his lesson about not assuming that anyone who treated him with an ounce of respect wanted to secretly mock him, but he forgot about boundaries. As a consequence, Sky waltzed into his lab every day, talking, singing, bringing him food, coffee, tea — Viktor took your silence for granted. He missed that.

He missed you.

Snow crunched under his feet, each step heavier than the previous one. Viktor should've known better than to go to the Academy during a blizzard, but he needed to return a few books back to the library and to write down the grades in the register. Sky offered to do that for him, but there were personal details about his students that she wasn't allowed to see.

He locked the back door to the staff entrance once he was inside the Academy, wiped the snow off his brace and boots, and walked straight to the library. It was hauntingly quiet and dark, and although he appreciated silence, the empty hallways of the University gave him anxiety. Viktor was a rational man, he knew there was nothing there, but the lack of students and staff simply sent a chill down his spine.

With the books returned, he traversed the library and walked downstairs to the staffroom. He would have to write down the grades quickly — the blizzard was getting worse, and the last thing he wanted was to be stuck in an empty University for who knows how long. It would be ironic, poetic even, to die of starvation in a place where he starved for knowledge.

The door to the staffroom was ajar, and the lights were on. Strange, he didn't think anyone else was there. Not in this weather, anyway. Pushing the door open with his cane, Viktor froze on the spot when he saw you sitting down, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, forehead creased as you copied the grades into the register. He would never get another opportunity like that. He needed to finally clear things out with you.

"Hello-"

The wooden chair fell to the floor as you recoiled in fear, one hand on your thumping heart. You sighed in relief when you saw Viktor standing in the doorframe, the panic stronger than the hate you held for him.

"For fuck's sake, Viktor." You grabbed the chair to put it back in its place and sit down. "You scared the shit out of me."

He wasn't used to your colourful vocabulary, not when you posed as an elegant, educated professor. But he couldn't deny the joy it brought him to hear you say his name.

"My apologies, I didn't mean to startle you." Viktor propped himself on his cane.

"No, it's fine. What are you doing here?" Averting your gaze, you looked down at the register.

"I came to return some books and register the grades. I see you're doing the same."

"Yes, well, no rest for the wicked, I suppose." You shrugged. "Why in this awful weather, though?"

"I thought you'd do it when the term started and I didn't want you to feel obliged to speak to me then." Viktor said.

Ouch. His words made you feel horrible. You had been horrible to him. It was a deserved jab at your behaviour and attitude.

"I can come back later-"

"Don't." You almost launched yourself across the table. "You walked all this way in a snow storm, don't leave because of me. If anything, I should leave."

"Eeh, we've both been pricks." Viktor shrugged.

There it was, the crucial, inevitable conversation you dreaded for so long. The one that kept you up at night and stopped you from functioning. The one that would make or break you.

"Listen, Viktor, I-"

"I'm sorry." He cut you off. Taking advantage of your shock, Viktor pulled a chair and sat down, his leg hurting too much to stand. "There's no excuse for the way I reacted, but you must understand that I haven't met a lot of people who genuinely wanted what was best for me. Most people either mocked me or pitied me for my disability. No one really saw past that, with very few exceptions, like Jayce or Heimerdinger."

Shit, you didn't think about why he reacted the way he did. You just assumed he had a god complex and thought your art wasn't comparable to his science. You really took it the wrong way, and drowned him in pettiness and loathing. How could you not think he must've been bullied his whole life? Just because you saw past his illness didn't mean others did. Oh, you were an idiot.

"You don't need to apologise, I need to. I just thought you considered art to be beneath science, and by extension that I was beneath you." You cringed at your own ignorance.

"Why would I ever think that?"

"I don't know, I've been stupid, alright?" You scoffed. "I'm sorry, Viktor. Peace?"

"Peace. Do you mind if I register these exams? That snow storm looks terrible and I’d like to finish before it gets worse." He took out the papers from his bag.

"Not at all! I'll make us some tea, it's bloody cold in here."

When you turned on the stove, Viktor dragged his chair next to yours, and your heart skipped a beat. Rationally, you knew he did it so you could both access the register, but the idea of sitting so close to him gave you heart palpitations. You stirred the honey in his tea, and you smiled to yourself at the memory of you doing the same thing a year ago, when you were in his lab. Who knew you would do it again?

"There you go." You placed two mugs on the table and sat down.

The scent of roses, cinnamon and vanilla filled his nostrils, and Viktor couldn't think anymore. It was the same perfume you wore when you spent time in the laboratory, when you put all your blood, sweat and tears into his portrait. He wondered if wore the other perfume, the one that didn't suit you as much, just to spite him? No. Surely you weren't that petty. But if you did, it stroked his ego to know you cared so much. And just like you did in the lab, you jotted down the grades in complete silence, both of you focused, and so close to one another. It felt normal, and he realised how much he needed your presence around him.

Between writing and sipping tea, you occasionally glanced at Viktor's profile, and it sparked something within you — a burning desire to sketch. He didn't know, but you finished registering the exams a while back, and reached out for a pencil and a scrap piece of paper. Your other hand shielded the lines and circles that began to take shape and look more like him, and as inconspicuous as you tried to be, it was futile.

"I know you're drawing me."

"Damn it!" You huffed.

The staffroom echoed with your laughter, and how could you not laugh? It was such an innocent moment between the two of you that both you and Viktor found it amusing. You really couldn't stop yourself from drawing him — your muse. But all good things had to come to an end, and Viktor finished writing down the last grade in the register. You didn't know why, but the idea of having to go home left you feeling hurt.

You walked with him down the dim hallway and unlocked the back door, but were unable to open it. Something was in its way. Viktor looked out the window, amber eyes wide in genuine panic. When he didn't say anything, you scoffed and moved in his way to try and look outside, but you couldn't see anything but white. The thick snow was blocking the door. You were effectively stuck. One more push, and the door didn’t budge. Another push, and you hurt yourself more than you moved the door.

"Well, looks like we're going to have to dig our way home." You mused.

"You're joking. We'll freeze to death!" Viktor leaned again the window for support.

"I don't see you coming up with a better idea, Mr. Scientist."

"Oh, and digging through snow was your master plan?" He snorted. "I'm sure me and my leg are going to make it back home safely."

"What would you rather do, then, if you're so clever?" You folded your arms across your chest. "Go on, genius."

"We can just... wait for it to end." Viktor pondered. It was definitely better than going out in the cold, and you hated to admit that he was right.

"Ugh, fine. But it's getting late and it doesn't look like it's going to stop any time soon. We need to find a place to sleep in."

"My office has a sofa. I can sleep on the floor." He suggested and you stared at him in shock and disbelief.

"Office? You have an office? All I got was a fucking closet."

"Well, I was the Dean's assistant." Viktor chuckled.

You didn't reply, for fear of saying something you might regret later, and instead huffed, puffed and stomped up the stairs, trailing behind Viktor like a lost puppy. That part of the University was foreign to you, and you stopped to examine the portraits of some members of staff — Professor Heimerdinger had one, Jayce had one, Viktor had one, but whoever painted it couldn't capture his real grace.

"Hm, I could do this with my eyes closed." You judged the technique, the colours, the proportions. It was a fantastic portrait, it just missed Viktor's essence.

"Is it not up to your standards, Miss Painter?" He tapped his cane. You got the hint and carried on walking.

"No, the painting itself is fine, but it didn't do justice to your beauty." You said with so much nonchalance that it made Viktor short of breath.

Did you really think that about him? You probably meant it as a painter — most artists found beauty in ugliness, or in the mundane. But there was no possible way you meant it as a woman, not when you were so perfect and he was so broken.

Viktor stopped in front of an oak door with a thin tinted window in the middle of it. He pulled out a set of keys, all of them identical, but he knew exactly which one unlocked his office. Curiosity got the better of you, and with inquisitive eyes, you began examining his study. The first thing that caught your attention was the bearskin rug on the floor. A bit distasteful, you thought, but it looked soft enough to sleep on it. In front of you was a brown velvet sofa, and to your right was a fireplace. The mantle was decorated with trophies from competitions and a picture of Viktor and Jayce, which brought a smile to your face.

On the other side of the office, across the fireplace, was his desk — a few papers were scattered on it, but otherwise it was tidy — and behind it were a bookcase and a wardrobe.

"What's there?" You asked, head tilted towards a door.

"The shower."

"You have a shower, too? I'm sorry, do you live here, fancy pants?" Your reaction to his answer made Viktor chuckle, but he had a perfectly reasonable explanation for that.

"Eeh, Professor Heimerdinger found that some of us spent so much time buried in work that he had showers and toilets installed. They're powered by hextech, so regardless of the weather, there's hot water. Feel free to use it if you want." He shrugged, hanging his coat by the back of his desk chair.

"There's only one problem, Mr. Scientist. I don't have any spare clothes." You saw the grin on his lips. "Don't tell me you have that, too."

"Plenty of clean shirts in the wardrobe. Please help yourself to one." Viktor nodded.

"Wouldn't your girlfriend mind if I wore your clothes?" The hint of jealousy in your voice betrayed your nonchalance.

"Girlfriend?" He looked at you dumbfounded. "I'm afraid I don't follow."

"Come on. Pretty girl with glasses and freckles and a sickeningly sweet smile? Sky?"

"Ah, Miss Young!" Viktor remembered. "I'm sorry to disappoint, but she's not my girlfriend."

It did not disappoint you at all. In fact, it made you hopeful. You weren't sure what you were hoping for, but it felt as though a boulder had been lifted off your shoulders to know that Viktor wasn't involved with Sky.

"Very well. I shall take that offer, then. A shower will warm me up." You walked up the wardrobe and examined the collection of identical shirts. "I suggest you do the same, you shouldn't stay cold." You chose a top that looked a little bigger than the rest, as you didn't want it to be too tight and uncomfortable around your chest.

"I'll start a fire for us, then. The office should warm up by the time you're finished." Viktor dragged his feet to the fireplace.

You thanked him and entered the bathroom, searching through cabinets and drawers for a clean towel. You found one and brought it to the shower, then stripped down and let the hot water clean your body. There was nothing wrong in what you were doing, right? You were two professors stuck in a university until the snow storm settled down. Nothing wrong with taking a shower. Nothing wrong with scrubbing your skin with his body wash. Nothing wrong with drying yourself with his towel. Nothing wrong with wearing his shirt. It was just a professional predicament, nothing more, nothing less.

Gathering your belongings, you exited the bathroom, tugging at the hem of the shirt to cover your thighs. It was shorter than you had hoped, but you knew Viktor was an honourable man. He understood the situation you were both in and it wasn't as though he would jump your bones. Mostly because he didn't like you, and while that comforted you, it hurt your ego. He was an attractive man, and his mind was complex and intriguing — of course you had certain feelings for him. You didn't entirely understand those feelings — respect, admiration, adoration, leftover spite. It was an amalgam of emotions and you didn't have time to process them because you spent a whole year being a bitch.

Viktor's heart throbbed when he saw you awkwardly pull down his shirt to expose less skin, even if it was to no avail. He pretended not to notice your bare thighs and how tight his shirt was around your chest, the buttons barely keeping your breasts from spilling out of it. He poked the fire instead, and you walked around the desk in the hopes that it would cover your lower body.

"I don't suppose you have a blanket I could cover myself with."

"I only have one blanket." Viktor said, back facing you to give you privacy. "Top shelf in the wardrobe. You can use it tonight, I'll sleep in my coat."

"Absolutely not." You stretched, tiptoeing to reach the shelf and he could not stop his head from turning, eyes darting at the shirt that did nothing to cover your lace underwear as you struggled to grab the blanket. "We'll sleep on the rug, back-to-back."

If Viktor didn't know any better, he would've thought you did everything you could to get closer to him. But that was just his imagination. He had no chance to be with you, and understood you were only trying to protect him from the cold. You snatched the blanket and wrapped it around your body, and while it irked him that he couldn't see the skin he would never touch, Viktor found the way you looked all snuggled up to be adorable. It was a stark contrast from the heartless mask you wore for so long.

He left to take a shower, and you guarded the fireplace, cast iron poker in one hand like some knight of flames. The blizzard wasn't getting any better, and the darkness of the night coupled with the snow made it impossible to tell when it would stop. One thing was certain — you were grateful you brought food, and enough for both you and Viktor. Who knew how long you would be stuck there for? Surely Jayce would come looking for Viktor considering he wouldn't be in his lab any time soon.

A great friend he was, you thought. Not just to Viktor, but to you, too. It was Jayce who forced you to draw again, who managed to get you out of the house and who brought some sort of stability in your life. You should thank him at some point. Him and Mel. Things were somewhat back to normal, and it wasn't because of you, but because of them and Viktor.

As if he knew you were thinking about him, Viktor walked into his office, wearing only a pair of loose linen trousers that barely clung to his waist. Beads of water glistened on his pale chest and a few strands of wet hair stuck to his flushed cheeks. You assumed he would put a shirt on, but instead he crawled on the bearskin rug, wincing at the pain caused by his leg, even if it wasn't as bad as it used to be.

You reached out for the leather strap of your bag and pulled it into your lap, taking out the bread you baked that very morning. Breaking it in two, you offered one half to Viktor, who eagerly took it.

"We make a good team, don't you think?" He said and you looked at him with inquisitive eyes. "I provide shelter, you provide food."

"We even make a whole outfit together. You have the pants, I have the shirt." You joked and Viktor rolled his eyes at your attempt of a joke, but his smile was there.

With food in your bellies and the fire dying down, you lied on your back and pulled the blanket over you and Viktor. You could still vaguely distinguish the patterns on the ceiling in the dim light — leaves and vines, flowers and curved lines.

"Back-to-back, yeah?" You told him, turning on your side.

"Yes." Viktor murmured, doing the same.

In the silence of the night, he could hear his own heart pumping blood through his veins. Viktor could've sworn he heard your hear beat, frantically thumping against your ribcage, but he blamed it on his imagination again. You were probably sound asleep, dreaming the sweetest dreams.

You weren't sleeping, you were staring into the darkness of his office, eyes wide and refusing to stay closed. There wasn't an ounce of tiredness in your body, but you thought Viktor had already fallen asleep, and didn't want to bother him with late night conversations about the meaning of life.

His left side was going numb from the pressure of his weight, pins and needles in his arm and shoulder. Viktor sighed, uncomfortably sighing at the sensation. He turned on his back, feeling better already. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, vaguely distinguishing the shapes around him. He raised his head to look at the fireplace — the last thing he wanted was to set fire to the Academy. His mind spiralled, thinking about the next term, about the work he still had to do in the lab, about how his interactions with you would be from now on. Viktor was so used to you ignoring him that he couldn't even imagine you smiling and greeting him in the morning.

"Are you sleeping?" You whispered, pulling him out of his thoughts.

"No, not really." He said. "I don't feel tired."

"Me neither." You turned on your back and faced the ceiling.

"What happened to back-to-back?" Viktor playfully mocked you.

"I got pins and needles in my arm." You admitted. "Can I ask you something?"

"You already did."

"Oh, wow, okay, fuck off." You frowned in the darkness and he laughed.

"I'm only joking. You can ask me anything."

"Would you model for me? I swear on my life I'm not making fun of y-"

"Yes." Viktor cut you off with no hesitation in his voice. "If that will make you happy, then yes.

"Oh. Since when do you care about my happiness?" You laughed, hoping he was jesting, praying he would say something witty.

"Since I lost you." Came his all too serious response, enough to make your blood freeze in your body.

He meant that platonically. He must've meant it platonically. There was no way in hell Viktor cared for you more than a friend, not after the way you treated him. You waited for him to chuckle, to say he didn't mean it that way, but he was quiet. Only one way to find out how he meant his words.

His breathing was heavy, like he had a weight on his chest stopping him from functioning properly, and Viktor flinched when he felt your hand touch his under the blanket. He brushed it off as an accident, until your pinky found his, hooking around it.

"I'm here now." You told him, voice sweet and soothing. "If you'll still have me."

Viktor boldly intertwined his fingers with yours, and you could feel your cheeks burning. But friends held hands, didn't they? It wasn't out of the ordinary. The room was getting colder, and the thin blanket barely offered you any warmth. When your body shivered, Viktor dared to scoot closer to you, his body radiating heat. How was he so hot when he looked so pale?

"Do you want me to hold you?" He asked — platonically, of course.

You didn't reply, but instead crawled under his arm, resting your head on his chest, feeling his frantic heart beats. Friends did that, didn't they? Particularly in such a situation that required you not to freeze.

"I missed you so much." Viktor confessed, burying his face in your hair. You smelled less of you and more of him, and it drove him mad. You were so close, and so far at the same time that his heart almost exploded in his chest from the overwhelming emotions.

"Missed you too." You mumbled, intoxicated by his scent and warmth. "I don't ever want to be a petty bitch to you."

"I promise I won't give you any reason to be one." He smiled into your hair. "Although I must admit, it was quite exciting."

"Mm, how so?" You looked up at him, even if you could barely distinguish his features in the pale moonlight.

"Well, as frustrating as you were, I really wanted to put you in your place." Viktor purred, fingers combining your hair. "I still do."

There was nothing platonic about his words, nothing platonic about the way he held you, and nothing platonic about how you lifted your leg to straddle him, hovering over his body.

"So do it, then. Put me in my fucking place."

His hand slithered behind your head, pulling you into a wet, feverish kiss with newfound strength. Toes curling, you let out a guttural moan, grinning against his lips — you needed him, not as a muse, not as a model, but as a man.

Viktor's hands travelled up your thighs, up your hips, pulling the shirt over your head. There was no time for foreplay — he wanted you, and he wouldn't stop until he had you. With the shirt tossed on the floor, you leaned back for another kiss, another taste of him, and he gladly obliged.

The room wasn't cold anymore, not when you could feel him hard against your clothed cunt, and you automatically rolled your hips, aching for any bit of friction.

"So needy." Viktor's lips curved into a grin, and he dug his fingers into the plush of your thighs, earning a whimper from you.

"Not needy." You shook your head and pouted. "Greedy."

He couldn't see the lust in your eyes, but he felt your hand slip between your bodies, under the fabric of his trousers as you tugged on the waistband, yanking it down. That same hand found his cock, fingers gently wrapping around his shaft and Viktor bucked his hips, yearning for much more than just your fist.

"So needy." You mocked his words, and he found your panties, sliding them to the side.

"Greedy." Viktor corrected you, his digits poking at your entrance, slick coating them.

Lifting yourself to manoeuvre his aching cock, you pushed his fingers away to slip the tip inside of you. Inch by inch, you sunk lower, feeling him stretch your spongy walls. He was bigger than you had anticipated, and you sat there for a good minute to get used to the girth, hissing at the pain caused by the intrusion. It had been a while since you did this.

"Tight." Viktor bit back a moan, struggling not to move — he wanted you to take the lead when you were ready. Perhaps skipping foreplay wasn't such a good idea.

You placed a hand on his chest for support, slowly rolling your hips, his cock reaching deeper than you thought was possible. It was no easy feat taking him all in, but what little stinging pain you felt was soon replaced by pleasure, and the hissing turned into whimpering, weeping.

Viktor was on the verge of a panic attack when he heard your quiet sobs, almost pushing you off him until you bounced up and down his cock, riding him like it was the last time you would see him.

"Fuck- oh, fuck, Vik-" You broke when he held you in place by your hips, fucking you deeper, harder, and you were pliant for him. Obedient for him. Good for him.

Viktor wouldn't last long, not when you chanted his name like a prayer, cunt clenching around his cock. You were made to take him, he thought, his hand on the back of your head pulling you into another sloppy kiss.

"I'm close-" He shamefully admitted, wanting this moment to last forever, but his stamina was weak, and you didn't want to push his body over the limit.

Your fingers reached out for your clit rubbing frantic circles over it to help you climax. Not that his cock couldn't do that, but you could feel it twitching inside of you. He lost himself when your orgasm crashed down like a tide, having the privilege of finishing inside of you. Your body was limp as you struggled to get off him, falling backwards on the rug, his fingers firmly wrapped around yours.

The silence in the office wasn't haunting anymore, but rather peaceful, natural. You didn't feel the need to fill it with meaningless conversations, or petty bickering, or silly jokes. No, it felt good just lying there next to Viktor, holding hands and breathing. Two lost souls — mind and heart, logic and feeling, science and art — coexisting, completing each other, fusing with one another to create something so delicate — love.

[artdnldsn]

gestalt therapy

college professor!art donaldson x fem reader

word count: 5.2k

warnings: 18+ MDNI, swearing, student!reader, age gap, porn w/ a little plot, head (f receiving), fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, slight degradation (question mark?), one mention of "daddy"

synopsis: you're done with your senior year at college, and all you want is a parting gift.

a/n: my first full fic here wow my first ever smut WOW the only thing that's not a first here is english because it's my second language so be patient pookies. college prof au has been haunting me for days so i needed to get it out. even though i have no fucking idea how colleges work in the us ;) hope you like it! happy reading

The first thing he notices about you is how ridiculously smart you are.

It's not even a stretch or him trying to justify the instant attraction he feels towards you. No, you're genuinely, undeniably brilliant, especially for your age. You've got this way with words, and concepts come to you so easily. You pick up on all his lead-ups to lecture topics, knowing exactly what the main conversation will be about a good five minutes before the rest of the class. You smile smugly, crossing your arms and leaning back, your eyes seeking his because you want him to know that you know.

And honestly, he'd be mad at you for being so smug if you weren't so damn smart.

The way you walk up to him after class to discuss your latest essay, your stance confident and voice sure, as you argue over why you deserved a 100 and not a 98. He's looking at your essay, then at you, then back at his computer screen, squinting just to appear like he's thinking it over, but he knows you're right; of course you are. Your essay is perfect. He was just being a dick about it, nitpicking because he couldn't admit you're basically flawless.

He's getting self-conscious about his teaching. There's nothing he can teach you—you come so prepared for every class that he wonders if you even have a life outside his classroom. Maybe your brain just works like that, but a small, selfish part of him hopes you spend hours prepping for his classes. The thought that you do it for him and not the subject is a nice one, but he shoves it away.

At least that way, it wouldn't be as pathetic for him to spend nights rewriting his lectures, perfecting his presentations to the point where he's sitting in his bed at 3 AM, pondering whether Times New Roman or Arial would make his point come across better.

He's always been a perfectionist, living by the book, striving not for greatness but for the reserved maximum of his natural capabilities. He never really pushed himself. But you—oh, fuck, you. Fuck you. You make him want to lose sleep just to prove to you or himself that he's certainly smarter than some college senior.

He calls you a lot of things in his head. A know-it-all, an "excuse me" because you're always "excuse me"-ing him like he doesn't have a name, a smartass, a bitch—he hates when he's in a mood like this last one because it signals it's time to sleep. You're a lot of things, but you're not stupid.

In fact, he starts wondering if you're a once-in-a-lifetime talent. Because he's rather young for a professor, he hasn't seen as many students as his colleagues, who always crack up anecdotes about past students, someone who graduated 15, 30 years ago, but the older professors still remember them. He wonders if he's going to remember you like that. He's pretty sure he will.

He's never even thought about you as a woman and not just his student. He's just respectful like that. Sure, you were hot, which only added to your confident allure. He's not blind—hell, he'd admit it if he had to—but he's never thought about you like that.

But apparently, you have about him.

You appear at his office doorstep minutes before he's about to clock out for the night. You're looking pristine as always, and with your silhouette illuminated by the office's dim lights, he wonders for a second if you're even human with your endless drive, brilliant mind, and hair that always looks like it's animated because it's impossible for real human hair to flow that perfectly.

"Good evening," he greets you, eyebrows creasing slightly in confusion. You've never visited, your final grades are in, and you're graduating in a week. He's already said his goodbyes to your class, and when he did, you shot him a little smile that he read as everything being good between you. What are you doing here then? "Can I help—"

“Are you impotent?” you cut him off, arms crossed, a challenging look in your eyes.

He actually chokes on air. “E-excuse me?” he mutters under his breath, his expression shocked, his voice strained. God, he’s ridiculed you for years in his head for addressing him like that, and here he is now.

You turn your back to him, lock the door, and make your way to his desk in confident steps. You sit on the edge of his desk, looking at him over your shoulder. "I asked if you're impotent," you shrug, arching your eyebrow.

“No,” he blurts out, his expression still one of pure horror as he doesn’t know where to keep his gaze, his eyes darting between the papers on his desk, and his computer screen, and his hands, anywhere but you. “God, no.”

“Why you never fucked me, then?” you ask, your tone still almost accusatory, but your voice soft. It’s almost like there is a hint of genuine regret in your words, and he doubts his sanity right now, wonders if he’s imagining things. He pinches his thigh under the desk, just to make sure.

“What do you mean, why?” he stutters, his cheeks flushed. “B-because.” Oh, God, it’s really bad. He’s really speechless, his mind unable to conjure up a full sentence. “Because you’re my student, and I respect you, and there are boundaries that shouldn’t be—“

“I’m not your student anymore. Not technically.” Your tone is matter-of-fact, one he’s too familiar with. One you’ve used to tell him about all the typos in his handouts, all the mistakes in his tests, all the times he’s fucked up grading someone’s papers. Only now you’re telling him… Fuck, he really can’t grasp what it is you’re telling him.

“I can’t argue with that, but I really don’t understand the point of this conversation. You’re completely out of—“

“Consider it gestalt therapy,” you shrug nonchalantly. He’s getting mad, really, with you cutting him off like that, like you’re getting back at him for years of having to listen to his lectures without having an opportunity to talk over him. It takes him a second to grasp what you’re implying. He clears his throat.

You sigh, letting your arms drop to your sides, sliding off the desk, walking up to him in these fucking deliberate strides, spinning him in his chair so he faces you, his hands lifted up in the air as if he is surrendering. He doesn’t know to what, exactly.

“Just really have to get this out of my system, Mr. Donaldson,” you sigh almost guilty, your gaze landing on his lap. He's hard, his cock straining the fabric of his trousers. Of course he is, what the fuck?

You cup him, eliciting a soft sigh from his lips, his eyes falling shut. You start stroking him through the fabric, confidently like everything you do. It makes his blood boil. You’re such a bitch. A know-it-all. A smart-ass. And so, so hot that he can’t bring himself not to kinda wish you’re intending to fuck his brains out.

He opens his mouth to say something, maybe a weak protest to give you a final out, but you lean down, pressing your lips to his in a languid, deep kiss, a thorough exploratory one like every single one of your fucking essays has ever been.

You move to his lap, straddling him, the chair creaking under your combined weight. Only when his hands move to your hips does he understand you’re wearing a skirt. God, he hasn’t even noticed that. He lets his hands stay there, caressing your bare thighs as your skirt rides up, and you lean in for another kiss.

There's no raw hunger. If anything, he’s sure he’s incapable of it in this situation, his mind still trying to catch up, trying to relabel you as not forbidden. You’re grinding against his growing erection, tugging at his hair as you deepen the kiss, your curves so unexpectedly perfect against him.

He only realizes you’re working on his belt and zipper when he hears them. Instinctively, he moves his hands to your wrists to stop you, but you just shake them away like you’ve shrugged him off all these years. He gasps into your mouth as you wrap your hand around his freed cock, stroking the length expertly, thoroughly, meticulously, as your lips never leave his. He actually relaxes into the chair, his hands gripping your waist, tugging your top up to reveal more bare skin.

No bra. Of course you didn’t wear any. You’ve come prepared as always.

You chuckle quietly, your lips continuing to move in unison with his, finding a lazy rhythm that drives you both insane. He reads this chuckle as you being amused at him taking any initiative. It makes his blood boil.

He breaks the kiss, one hand squeezing your breast firmly as he leans down, capturing your left nipple between his lips, sucking gently before biting. His other hand lands on your ass with a loud smack, making you gasp. Finally, some reaction.

He starts bucking into your hand, seeking more friction, moving his mouth to your other breast, lavishing it with the same attention, leaving a bite mark on the side, making you wince but moan. That moan—fuck, that beautiful sound. Now he’s angrier at himself than you are at him for not having fucked you sooner.

He understands you were expecting to ride him, like he’s some sexless creature, a toy to use, a dick attached to a fantasy that has nothing to do with the man he is, and it makes him even madder. He’s always admired your insightfulness, your capability to get right to the gist of things through walls of useless shit, but he’s feeling his respect for you slipping as he understands just how wrong you must’ve been about him in your head.

He peels himself off your chest, lips glistening with saliva, smacking your ass again, harder this time, groping both cheeks as he lifts you off his lap to sit you on his desk over the papers he’s grading. He’ll just tell everyone he spilled a drink. No one will miss them.

His lips find yours again in a searing hot kiss. It’s messy, all tongue and teeth like he’s trying to hurt you, but he’s not. Of course not. It’s just that something dormant is being woken up in him. You whimper as he cups your mound through your panties, making him chuckle. Well, look who’s laughing now.

"You've seriously dreamt about this?" he whispers against your jaw, his long fingers sliding into your underwear, finding your slickness. Fuck, you're so wet for him, it almost makes him black out. "Wanted me to fuck you on this desk? Or the one in the classroom? Or in the library? Or right in the fucking hall, huh? Why not? Let everyone watch." His tone is almost taunting, his every word accompanied by a painfully slow and teasing circle of his thumb over your swollen clit.

"Yes, yes, yes," you mutter, eyes squeezed shut, forehead pressing against his shoulder, hips bucking helplessly into his hand, seeking friction. It’s not clear if you’re answering his questions or begging him to go faster. It doesn’t matter; his smirk is already in place, his eyes glistening with amusement as he looks down at you, breathing hard through his nose.

"Yes, what?" he chuckles, shrugging, his eyes scanning every reaction on your face. The way your head falls back, your lower lip caught between your teeth, your cheeks flushed. He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "Yes, what?" he murmurs softly, his hand in your panties slowing down to the point of stopping.

A groan of disappointment escapes your lips as you snap your head back up, eyes darting open. He can see your pupils blown wide even in the dim light, the lamp on his desk illuminating you from behind like a renaissance painting. "Yes, fuck me," you say dryly, like it’s obvious, still seeing him as some pathetic, stupid nobody, but you’re slightly out of breath when you say it, so that’s a win in his book for now.

Just means he’s gotta try harder.

His arms wrap around your waist, holding you in place. He’s standing between your legs, keeping them spread wide for him. He pulls his hand out of your panties to bring it to your face, shoving two fingers into your pretty smartass mouth. Your eyebrows crease, eyes falling shut at the action, a hum leaving your lips, vibrating through his skin, but you still suck on them obediently, tasting yourself on his fingers and coating them in your saliva.

He slips one finger right inside you when it makes its way back down. He starts thrusting it into you at a steady rhythm, his lips finding your neck, nibbling on it, his teeth grazing your delicate skin, tongue sliding over the little marks his teeth leave there, as he curls his finger inside you, thrusting deeper, deeper, almost aggressively.

"God, I really thought you were smart," he mutters under his breath, hot against your skin as he adds another finger and starts stretching you, eliciting a soft moan from you. He leans down, sucking on your tits again, noticing how hard your nipples are now, almost painfully so, matching the way his dick is rock hard, still standing at full attention against his clothed abdomen. "Thought you were different. Hard-working. Proper." He sinks onto his knees in front of you, looking up at you with a glint in his eyes you can’t quite read. "Turns out you’re just a slut."

He tugs your panties down, his tongue finding your cunt, one of his hands moving to throw your leg over his shoulder, keeping it there tightly as the fingers of his other hand re-enter your cunt, starting to finger it at the same urgent pace, his tongue moving feverishly over your clit, making you moan quietly because, yes, there are still people in the building, you have to keep quiet, but a part of him, the one you’ve awoken, wishes the circumstances were different, that he could hear you scream for him.

He’s getting high off the taste of your juices, off the scent of your arousal filling his nostrils, his nose pressed into your pelvis as he fucks you with his fingers in a relentless rhythm, curling his fingers inside you, feeling your walls clench down onto him, searching for that sweet spot that’s going to make your toes curl.

“Tell me,” he rasps out, pulling away from your cunt just for enough time to say what he needs to say, peppering your inner thigh with kisses in the meantime. “Tell me exactly how long you’ve wanted this. And how you wanted me to fuck you. Leave no details out.”

You whimper when he delves back onto your clit, sucking on it, not caring to keep his teeth from grazing your sensitive skin here and there, but it’s a good feeling.

“S-since that lecture. Sophomore year,” you breathe out, you throat tight from holding back so many moans that are begging to be let out. Your mouth falls open in a silent ‘oh’ as he sucks your whole clit in, lapping at it with his tongue inside his wet hot mouth, your hand snapping instinctively onto his head, gripping his hair to pin yourself down to the reality. “You wore that slutty turtleneck, and of course I’ve thought you’re hot, but then you had one wrong date in your presentation, and I got so fucking mad at you. Thought you’re too careless to teach.”

He hums against your cunt, encouraging you to go on, or agreeing with your point, he can’t tell himself anymore. He’s completely gone at this point, drinking your juices like he’s drinking in your words. Amidst all this, he actually appreciates you not calling him stupid. You might’ve, but you didn’t.

“And you were always s-so passive, like I tried arguing with you, reading all that shit instead of going out just to get a rile out of you, and you never fucking bucked. I-I-I—“ you stutter, your mind going into overdrive for a second as he continues abusing your g-spot, his fingers moving at a frantic speed in and out, in and out. He smacks your thigh to get your attention back on the topic. “I just couldn’t fucking believe you. I was being a bitch, I was nagging you, just because. And you didn’t even care.”

He smiles into your cunt, a huff of air leaving his nose. At last, you admit it. He suddenly doesn’t feel bad at all for calling you a bitch in his head. He can feel your walls contracting around his fingers, your breathing irregular, you’re practically panting, your grip in his hair tightening as you guide him closer, rolling your hips against his tongue and fingers, seeking release. You’re close.

He pulls away, earning another cuss and another groan of disappointment off your lips. He smacks your thigh again, hard, the action leaving a red print of his big palm on your skin. “You didn’t answer,” he rasps out, delving back into you. Fucking students, he thinks to himself. Always so smart, thinking they know it all, and always forgetting to answer the second part of the question after they’re done answering the first.

Your mind is so hazy at this point, it takes you an effort to rewind the interaction in your head to understand what he means. “L-like this,” you whimper, your thighs trembling as he grips the one that’s not on his shoulder to stop it from shaking too much, keeping you in place. “I-I didn’t want you to be nice. You’re always so fucking nice, it’s not human, I knew it wasn’t true.”

He’s too set on making you cum to chuckle now, although it is pretty funny. He’s been doubting you’re human, too, but the way you gasp for air, trying desperately to hold back your moans as he feels you coming closer and closer to release, it tells him all that he needs to know. You’re just flesh and bones, not the perfect genius he’s painted you to be in his mind.

“Fuck!” you whimper, giving his hair one last tug before your hand springs up to cover your mouth, biting into your index finger to keep yourself quiet. It takes one slide of his fingers, one roll of his tongue, five seconds, and your muscles go taught as your hips buck off the desk, his pens in the glass standing on the edge of it clattering against each other, the keyboard of his computer flying up for a split second from impact of your ass slamming back down onto the desk. It’s like a mini-earthquake, that’s left your world erupt into white behind your closed eyelids.

He fingers you through it, lapping his tongue over your clit until you wince quietly from it hurting, and he pulls away reluctantly, standing up from the floor to stand in between your legs again. His neck and back hurt like hell from crouching down on the floor for so long, his muscles are not what they used to be, after all, and for a split second he considers actually giving up and letting you ride him, but it would be your win in his book, and he can’t allow that.

He spits on his hand before he leans down to kiss you, his tongue sliding back into your mouth, letting you taste yourself once again, as he brings his hand down to stroke himself, breathing softly out of his nose at the relief of some friction, finally. “You’re such a hypocrite,” he murmurs into your lips, softly, almost lovingly, the same fucking slightly condescending tone he’s always used in his classroom.

You open your mouth to ask what the fuck he means, but he pushes his tongue back into your mouth, all thoughts of a protest evaporating from your mind. You slide closer to the edge of the desk instinctively to accommodate him when he eventually pushes into you. You almost can’t wait.

He gropes your ass to position you like he wants you, his fingers digging into your plump skin maybe a little too hard. You don’t protest. He breathes heavily, like it’s physically paining him to hold back any second longer — it does,—and his brows are furrowed in concentration while he slides his tip over your clit, coating it with your slickness, the same way he frowns when he’s grading papers or goes over tomorrow’s lecture in his head.

He pushes inside in one determined thrust, piercing through you, a quiet grunt escaping his lips, a soft moan escaping yours. Before you have any time to adjust, he starts pounding his hips into yours, one of his arms hooked around your torso to keep you in place as his free hand flies to your chest, squeezing your right tit roughly, pinching your nipple, rolling it between his thumb and index finger, making it harden again.

“Careless?” he scoffs, an expression of pure disbelief on his face at the fact you’ve even dared to say that. He grunts again, his hand falling from your breast to your hip, gripping it firmly as he continues pounding into you, your breathing quickening again. He’s rather big, and it hurts a little from you still being sore from your orgasm, but you still moan softly under your nose, your wrists hurting from you leaning on the desk behind your back for so long.

“You call me careless for a typo in a presentation I made six years ago, and it’s not careless for you to come here, asking me if I’m impotent? Fuck you,” he grunts again, a grin pulling on his lips as he throws his head back, the rhythm of his hips never faltering. You’re squeezing his cock so tightly, there’s no way in hell you’re ever going to be asking him or yourself that question again.

He lets go of you, reaching behind your back to pull on your wrists, tugging them further to himself, which makes you fall back on the desk. “Fuck you,” he repeats, his words almost sounding like a moan now as he holds your wrists near your stomach, basically transfixing you. He moves one of his hands up to throw your leg over his shoulder again, another continuing holding your wrists down, as you both groan quietly at the change of the angle, the new one allowing for him to go so deep he’s touching parts of you you didn’t know existed.

“So, you wanted me to be a good teacher and a good dick all at the same time?” he muses, a smirk pulling on his lips again as he looks down onto your dishevelled form, your tits bouncing out of your tugged-down top, you skirt ridden up to your waist, your fucking face, so unbearably beautiful, flushed and your lips swollen from his kisses and from you biting on them so much. He can’t fucking get enough of how silent you are now after running your mouth at him for all these years. “Did you want me to be your boyfriend, too?” he chuckles, shaking his head, his expression faltering as he picks up the rhythm for a good minute, pounding into you so hard all the items on the desk are clattering, and you have to bite on your lips again not to scream from him practically tearing you apart, because you can’t cover your mouth anymore with your wrists held by him.

“Daddy never loved you, right?” He understands he’s probably taunting you too much, his words almost feeling cruel, but he’s too far gone at this point, he’s making a forceful effort to continue looking down at you to imprint the way you look right now into his memory to revisit later, even though his eyes are almost rolling back from just how good your cunt takes him. “That’s why you’ve been pining for my dick for fucking three years? Are you getting what you wanted?”

“Y-yes,” you whimper weakly. Yes to all that, actually, but he doesn’t need to know that. He feels too good, filling you up to the brim, you can almost feel him in your guts, he’s making your toes curl. And he’s finally not acting nice. Just like you wanted him to.

“Good,” he growls, letting go of you for a second before his hands find the undersides of your knees, bringing them close to your chest, changing the angle again as he starts hammering down into you, the room filled with the sound of your shared ragged breaths, the desk creaking under you and the sound of his pelvis slapping against yours. “Fu-uck, you’re taking me so good, none of your schoolwork was ever that good,” he’s lying through his teeth. Not about the sex — you’re taking it like a champ—but about your schoolwork. It was, indeed, that good.

He basically has no power left over what words leave his mouth, he’s completely drunk on you, the taste of your cunt and your mouth still lingering on his tongue. “Are you gonna come again?” he pants out, slowing down, feeling your walls clenching down on him, squeezing him tight.

“Y-yeah,” you mutter, fluttering your eyes open to look at him from under your eyelashes, but you can pretty much only make out his silhouette with how hazy your vision has become with just how good he’s fucking you. “I knew,” you repeat, your throat feeling tight again, your head falling back on the desk as you bring your now free hands to your mouth, covering it to muffle out the scream you know is there, brewing, destined to roll of your lips when he drives you to release again.

“You—“ he starts in disbelief, but he’s getting closer, too, there’s no point in arguing now. He just can’t fucking believe the nerve on you. What do you mean, you knew? Knew he could fuck you like you wanted to? Knew you would be walking out of here with a limp? Such a know-it-all, always thinking she’s two steps ahead everybody else.

He sighs shakily, a broken, needy sound as he brings his hand in between your legs, finding your clit again, his other hand still holding your knees pressed to your chest. He rubs at you in sync with the thrusts of his hips, his pace picking up, up, and up, until he finally lets out a low grunt, stilling, slipping out of you as he watches you bite on your hand, tears streaming down your cheeks as he feels your pussy convulsing under his fingers, another orgasm hitting you, and in a matter of seconds, after a few fast strokes, he comes, too, thick ropes of his seed landing all over your stomach and knees, and some of it lands on your chin.

For a few seconds, he just stands there, catching his breath, watching over you. He opens his desk drawer, pulls out a tissue pack, and wipes himself before doing the same for you. You're still lying there, face hidden in your hands, your outfit a mess. He's already caught you crying and knows you might feel awkward doing it in front of him, so he just makes sure you're clean for when you leave.

He tucks himself back into his trousers, fastens his belt, and walks to the other side of his office. You hear him rustling around while you try to get your breath back and keep your emotions in check. His soft footsteps approach the desk again, and you feel him gently patting your knee. You open your eyes to see him holding out a cup of water—a peace offering or an apology. But you know he doesn't owe you either. He just gave you everything you've wanted for the last three years. And he even brought you fucking water. Because he's disgustingly nice like that.

You nod in gratitude, sit up, and take the plastic cup from his hand, downing it in one gulp. It actually brings some life back to you. You breathe out shakily, fix your top, and tuck your tits back in before sliding off the desk. Your shoes land softly on the floor, your legs still trembling, your knees feeling like they'll give out any moment. You tug your skirt down and sheepishly meet his gaze, unsure where to go from here.

He steps closer and brings his hands up to your face to fix your hair. His eyebrows furrow in concentration again as he smooths it down, making sure you don't look disheveled when you walk out of here.

He sighs, letting his arms drop to his sides, and keeps looking at your face as if making sure you're not just looking okay but are okay too. “I didn’t mean that. The ‘fuck you’. And the ‘slut’ comment. Well, I kinda did,” he shrugs, averting his gaze with a humorless chuckle, “but I didn’t.”

You punch the air out of his lungs as you pounce on him, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug. It takes him a second to gather himself, but he hesitantly hugs you back, just letting his hands rest on your lower back as you nuzzle your nose into his chest.

You had to get it out of your system, but now that it's in, you feel like you’ll never get enough. He feels like a beacon, one he's always been for you. The guy you picked a rivalry with your first week of sophomore year just to push yourself harder, to strive for greatness. He wasn’t even aware there was a rivalry to begin with. He's an academic, though, they’re all fucked up in the head, he must understand a part of it, at least.

And he understands. Truly. He just hopes you won’t start crying again, because he doesn’t know how he'd handle that. He pulls away slightly to look you in the eyes, cupping your face in his hands, and plants a soft kiss on your forehead.

“You’re a smart girl,” he says, his voice low, the small, friendly smile on his lips sincere, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly as he looks down at you. “You’ll figure it out. I don’t doubt it.”

He had this whole speech prepared for the class about how adult life is going to treat them, the challenges they'll face, how scary it’ll be, but also insanely rewarding. It was long, sentimental, with a few jokes thrown in. Some girls cried, but it was all bullshit. What’s real is this. Him understanding your fears without you having to voice them. Him telling you you’ve got this.

“And until you do, you always know where to find me,” he nods to the side, obviously meaning his office, a lopsided smirk making him look a good decade younger. His gaze finds yours again, and he pulls you into another tight hug, one he initiates this time.

In his mind, he’s already thinking how long it would be appropriate to wait before he can invite you for a coffee.

[bitterspoons]

For once, I thought it was me.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Soulmate au where you can hear the songs your soulmate is listening to. Fred asks your best friend—Angelina—to the ball thinking she's his soulmate.

use of y/n

Warnings: Angst and just a lil' fluff

Word Count:

part one / part two coming soon

A/N: of course the first thing I write is a soulmate au 😭—it's fine and I hope you like it.

"Angelina!" Y/n calls, running over to the Gryffindor table—almost tripping over her feet before placing a hand on Angelina's shoulder.

"Yes?" Angelina looked up from her conversation with the Weasley twins and smiled at her best friend. The Great Hall was bustling with noise.

Y/n panted, catching her breath as she fixed her hair. "Sorry—I just—I ran—oh god I'm dying—" Y/n tried to catch her breath before waving her hand at the twins. "Give me a second—continue your conversation..."

Angelina chuckled before turning back to George and Fred. "This is my friend, Y/n." Angelina introduced. "She's in Hufflepuff so I doubt you would've met her."

Y/n waved, stealing some of Angelina's water.

"Why haven't you invited her to some of our parties?" George asked, batting his eyes. "It would've been nice, seeing a pretty face more often."

Angelina rolled her eyes at the flirt, making space next to her for Y/n. "Yeah, I've asked her but she's not a huge fan of social events." She explained. "It's a miracle she's even in the Great Hall—why aren't you with Willow?"

"Oh, I wanted to know if you wanted to hang out after Divination. Turns out my detention with Professor Sprout is cancelled!" The Hufflepuff said happily, still a bit red from George's flattering.

"Hell yeah!" Angelina cheered. "I told you she loves you."

Y/n smiled. "Yeah but turning her favorite plant into a pair of heels is pushing the line."

Fred cackled. "Y/n, You did what?!"

In her head, a symphony sounded. Him just saying her name sounded like an orchestra.

Pops of warmths fidgeted around her. She had always had a crush on the Weasley, and she never really knew when it happened. She hasn't told a soul and she never would. It was just— he always seemed so happy. She had made him happy, she made him laugh.

Y/n beamed as she explained how she had gotten too caught up with her conversation with Angelina about what shoes to wear for the Yule Ball, she had completely forgotten about the spell she was casting.

"Little Chéri's a troublemaker huh?" Fred teased, scrunching up his nose.

"Chéri?!" Angelina cackled—not a fan of pet names in the slightest.

George grumbled. "Fred has been learning French so he can impress girls."

Y/n laughed, taking a sip of Angelina's water again. "I think it's cute." She bit the tip of her thumbs, an old habit of hers.

"Ever the hopeless romantic, Y/n." Angelina commented, stealing her drink back.

The four engaged in conversation until a Slytherin tapped on Y/n's shoulder. "Uh—Y/n, I think I have a fitting right now." She said awkwardly, getting glares from the Gryffindors.

"Oh!" Y/n shot up, grabbing the last strawberry off of Angelina's plate before grabbing Angelina's pen—sticking it behind her ear—and running off, dragging the Slytherin with her.

"Hey!" Angelina protested, grumbling as she bit into her toast.

"What was that about?" Fred asked, battling Ron for the last corndog.

"Huh? Oh—Y/n and I are helping organise the Ball." Angelina explained, not seeing how Fred watched her run her fingers through her hair as she grabbed another pen to do her Potions Homework. "She's helping make and tailor people's outfits."

"Y/n?" Hermione clarified, popping into the conversation. "She's ridiculously talented, she made the dress I'm wearing!"

"She made adjustments on mine!" Angelina looked at Hermione. "I didn't like how bland my dress was, so she helped bedazzled it."

"Do you think she can fix Fred's dress?" George asked, earning a punch from Fred. "Ow! No seriously though, his tie is all wonky and his pants go way past his feet. Poor bloke's gonna trip!"

Angelina laughed, packing her stuff away and slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Find out yourself! I have to go check up on the Frog Choir."

Just a couple minutes later, Fred heard oddly croaky choruses from his soulmate.

●●●

Fred was trying to go the sleep that night, but all he could hear was stupid music.

When he couldn't decipher whether he was hearing it through his soulmate or if he was hearing it in the common room, he shoved his slippers on and slowly went down stairs.

As he peeked his head around the corner, he saw Angelina dancing with somebody—a CD player in the background as they laughed.

It was the same music playing in his head...Is Angelina—actually his soulmate?

He watched Angelina dance with her friend, practicing their dance for the ball before slowly going back upstairs.

Y/n and Angelina fell the floor in a heap, almost crying of laughter as Angelina stepped on Y/n's foot and then went crashing to the floor.

"So, are you planning on asking your mystery crush to the ball?" Angelina asked, rolling onto her stomach and popping the CD out.

Angelina didn't have a clue about her crush on one of the Weasley twins. Y/n refused to tell her, but she did give vague details about why she liked him so much.

"You think I have time for that?" Y/n questioned, brushing her hair. "Even if I did have the time to ask him, he's probably not even my soulmate."

"Who cares?" Angelina asked, exasperated.

Angelina was one of the people who couldn't hear music from their soulmate, it happened more than you'd think—about as common as dyslexia.

Angelina didn't give two fucks about whether the person she was dating was her soulmate, she tended to do whatever she wanted.

"Well—my soulmate is pretty cool too." Y/n protested.

"Well obviously!" Angelina retorted. "They has to be good enough for our Y/n"

"Oh stop it." Y/n laughed, throwing her hairbrush at Angelina. "I won't have time to ask someone and besides, I think he likes someone else." Y/n looked down, fiddling at the edge of her pink pyjamas.

"Your soulmate or your crush?"

"Maybe both!"

●●●

Fred woke up early today, mostly because he couldn't sleep. I mean, he just found his soulmate! This is the moment that everybody waits for, and it finally happened!

Fred was utterly in love with whoever his soulmate was. The two soulmates have sang duets with each other since they could talk—never making any action to try and find each other but Fred would be lying if he said he hadn't blasted music in his ears just to see if someone in the Great Hall would react.

His soulmate was constantly listening to music and singing songs, it comforted him whenever he heard it—especially since he's heard it since he was little.

And it was Angelina, a girl he was been trying not to crush on for ages.

Fred walked down the stairs, almost laughing when he saw Angelina.

Angelina and Y/n were completely passed out on the common room couches, paper sprawled out as they were doing a history of magic essay.

Fred shook Angelina awake. "Angie...Angie!"

Angelina fell off the bed. "What?"

Fred grinned. "I just thought you might wanna head to bed before the rest of the house wakes up."

Angelina rubbed her eyes before looking around—seeing essay papers, pens and her best friend, still sleeping as she sleepily held the tip of her thumb in her mouth and lulled herself asleep. "What time is it?"

"You have a little less than three hours before everybody else wakes up."

Angelina sighed, getting up and separating their papers and pens. "Hey, Fred?"

"Yeah?" He said hopefully.

"Can you do me a favour?"

Angelina handed him a messenger bag with little bows and gold chains decorating it, he took it without question as she continued.

"Do you think you could get Y/n to her common room? This is.. um This is the longest she's slept for a while and I don't know how to get into the Hufflepuff common room."

Fred thought for a moment—but who was he to deny his soulmate? After all, getting into the Hufflepuff dorms were easy—having learned the ins and outs of practically the whole school.

So Fred slung the bag across his shoulder and walked over to Y/n, still sleeping peacefully.

"Thank you!" Angelina grabbed her own supplies and started going up stairs. "You're the best!" She called. "I'll get you a tailoring with her today! Is dinner alright?"

Fred nodded, slowly picked Y/n up, putting her on the couch so he could give her a piggy back ride to her common room. "Hold on..."

Almost as if her sleeping body could hear it, Y/n's body tensed up, making it easier for Fred to carry.

So Fred walked out of the Gryffindor dormitories and started walking in the halls to go to the Hufflepuff common room.

The sun had barely risen, shining dull lights into the hallway and Fred felt Y/n shift in her sleep—ignoring how his skin fluttered as her breath rolled on top of it.

Fred almost stopped walking as Y/n shifted once more, making a small whimper, trying to pull her hand closer to her face.

"Chéri, if you move your hand, you're gonna fall—okay?" Fred said softly, adjusting his grip on her legs, making sure she wouldn't slip.

Y/n hummed in response, tucking her head on Fred's shoulder as he kept on walking.

Fred was halfway to the common room—walking slowly as to not wake up Y/n when he froze.

Having her thumb clasped between her fingers around Fred's chest, supporting her upper body weight—Fred felt her head twitching, needing something to soothe her to sleep.

Not wanting to have to explain the situation to the sleeping girl or disappoint Angelina—Fred adjusted the girl, now giving her a piggy-front, letting Y/n head sit comfortably against his neck.

Fred debated checking whether his face was on fire when the sleeping girl began to press little kisses on his neck, trying to substitute something for her thumb.

Fred continued walking, but why was he so flustered?

Maybe it’s his soulmate’s best friend.

What was her name again? Y/n?

Fred knocked on the Hufflepuff dorm door in the tune of Helga Hufflepuff. Before walking in and taking the stairs to the girl’s dormitory.

Trying not to feel awkward, he searched the dorm labels until he saw it.

______________

Girls Dorm #207

- Susan Bones

- Lia Diggory

- Y/n L/n

______________

Praising Merlin that she didn’t have too many roommates— He knocked on the door a few times, jumping up again to make sure Y/n didn’t slip.

"Hello?" A small voice asked, a very tired red head opened the door.

Fred gave an award smile. "I have a delivery?"

The girl smiled before letting him in and pointing at the empty bed and messed up desk.

Feed walked over, clutching on to Y/n as he quickly flipped the blanket open and tucked her instead. Y/n immediately latched onto the blankets.

Fred smiled before looking at her desk—tons of dress designs a long with tons of reminders everywhere when a certain one caught his eyes.

The Weasley Twins Inspired Dress

Curious, he picked up the sketch to see that she managed to make a confetti canon dress, inspired by that time he and George covered the Slytherin team in confetti right before a Quidditch match against Hufflepuff.

"I think you're cute together," Susan whispered bashfully, her cheeks pink.

"Oh no," her face fell when Fred denied it. "I already found my soulmate today."

"Oh I'm sorry." Susan apologised, combing her hair. "I just thought your h—never mind." She began to point at her neck before waving it off. "I assume you know how to take care of it?"

"Yeah! I'm planning on asking her to the yule ball!" Fred said, not having any idea what Susan was talking about.

"What? Ya know what—" Susan dug through her make up bag before grabbing Fred's arm and swatching some concealer shades. "You're lucky, you're my winter shade." Susan tossed Fred a concealer wand before shooing him out. "Bye!"

Holding onto the concealer, extremely confused, Fred walked back to him common room before going into the bathroom.

"Shit." Fred vocalised, realising why Susan Bones has thrown him concealer.

A light hickey lay on the side of his neck where Y/n had been.

Fred spent the next two hours trying to figure out how concealer worked.

He didn't understand it—instead opting for a scarf instead to cover up the blotchy disaster he created on his neck.

●●●

Y/n genuinely didn't question why she woke up in her bed and more concerned on her planner—you could see her running up and down the halls all day.

"Professor Moody, may I borrow Ron Weasley please?"

Ron showed her his suit for the ball. "Never mind, you're beyond help. Professor Moody, you can have him back." Y/n said, scribbling something out in her planner.

Taking the stairs, Y/n just started walking—flipping to the back of her planner to edit some sketches and ideas for dresses—not noticing the stair cases changing directions.

Walking up and down and sideways along the halls, Y/n kept walking until she bumped into someone.

"I'm so sorry!" She said automatically only to be shushed by two voices. "Huh—?"

""SHH!" Y/n looked at the two Weasley twins.

"Why?" She asked, looking around to see nobody.

"I don' know," Fred admitted.

"We're skipping, so I assume we have to be quiet." George finished.

The Hufflepuff scoffed. "I'm not skipping. I did all my work in advance so I could focus of the dress making." She looked down at the planner. "And on that note—you have a appointment with me in two minutes. We can't be late!"

"Does that mean you have the answers?" Fred asked as he got dragged away.

"We can discuss answers after we're on time for our session."

"If it's our appointment, how can we be late?"

Y/n sighed, shaking her head. “It’s fine we’re almost there, Willow’s gonna be upset.”

“Who?”

Y/n dragged Fred near a tree where a small desk, mannequins and color swatches were, Y/n thrust Fred upon a little platform until tree branches began to swing around chaotically.

“Willow! Calm down! This isn’t Ron! This is a different Weasley!” Y/n started yelling.

“Willow? As in the Whomping Willow?!”

“Stop moving!” Y/n snapped, petting the branches. “Willow didn’t like it when your brother nearly killed her with a car. I think she has like— Weasley trauma.”

Fred cackled. “Weasley trauma?” A tree branch slapped the back of his head. “Hey!”

“She’s very sensitive.” Y/n defended. “Speaking of Ron, please tell me your suit isn’t as hideous.”

“Don’t worry— I just have a normal suit… I wasn’t sure if I should’ve brought it so I just wore it—”

“That’s perfect. Mind shrugging off the jacket and scarf?”

Nervously, Fred took off the scarf and jacket, revealing the concealer mess on his neck.

“Oh sweetie, what the hell happened to your neck!” Y/n cooed. "Goodness, let me help you. You're gonna break out... Accio makeup kit!"

"I have every shade under the sun, I'm helping people with their makeup too." Y/n waved her hand down. "Get down, off." Y/n stepped onto the platform as Fred stepped off, facing Y/n.

Y/n took a makeup wipe and cleaned up the spot before taking out a whisk and spinning it on the hickey.

"When did you learn how to hide hickey? Does that even work?" Fred asked, watching the metal kitchen utensil.

"Oh hush, it's common knowledge." Y/n pushed his face away, continuing to whisk. "It helps the blood disperse. Next time, put ice on it before it bruises."

Shade matching and blending it in, Y/n hoped Fred couldn't hear her heart beating out of her chest as she finished hiding the red mark. "See? Like it never even happened."

Willow presented a mirror for Fred to see for himself, thank god because that scarf was very itchy.

"Now, how much are we thinking off the tie?" Y/n held up a tape measure and a sharpie, tucking the sharpie behind her ear. "It supposed to be around your belt buckle...Do you feel comfortable with it over here?"

Fred nodded, looking at her in the mirror more than him. Why hadn't he seen her more often? Has she been friends with Angelina for a long time?

"Lovely...okay do you mind if I take this?" Y/n took the colorful tie off Fred and held it up to Willow." Willow, this is Fred's tie." Willow held onto the tie.

"Okay just one second..." Y/n brought out a sheet of brown fabric and a sheet of black fabric and hopped onto the platform with him. She pulled the black one around half of his chest and the brown one around the other half.

"Okay so I think the brown is more flattering on you, I feel like you look paler with the black one—Hey!"

Fred's head started tilting to one side as he imagined Angelina and her hanging out—still in disbelief he had actually found his soulmate.

Y/n grabbed his jaw and moved it so that it faced her. "Sorry, I just need to see—" Y/n furrowed her eyebrows confused as Fred pointed at something in the distance behind her.

Y/n looked behind her only for her jaw to pulled back and facing Fred, pulling the same move she had accidentally done to him. "Touché," She smiled—desperately hoping she wasn't blushing.

"How long have you friends with Angelina?" Fred asked, snapping Y/n out of her mental freakout.

"Oh—uh, since first year. We met on the train." Y/n cast a spell to turn Fred's suit brown. "Yeah that looks better—you looked like you were going to a funeral."

“Then why do I never see you guys hang out?”

Y/n thinks before answering. “I like to keep myself busy, that or I just eat in the kitchen.”

“Why not hang out with Angelina?”

“Uh- Well Alicia and I don’t really get along so I don’t want to make it weird for Angelina. Besides, most of the time Angelina hangs out with me in the kitchen.”

So that’s why Fred never sees Angelina in the Great hall. “Why the kitchen?”

“Because the house elves love me.” Y/n smiled, writing her to do list. “Besides, I like baking.”

Fred stepped off the platform and watched Y/n write. “Do you bake any of the food in the Great Hall?”

“The brownies, but sometimes I also cook the ribs but I like baking more than cooking.”

Fred loves the brownies, he eats them every time they show up on the table.

“Speaking of food… It’s dinner, you better hurry before all the seats are taken.” Y/n starting putting things away and getting out a dress presumingly belonging to her next appointment.

Fred stepped off the small platform, checking his covered hickey once more before starting to turn around. "You aren't going to dinner?"

"Maybe later." She responded quickly, casting a spell on the dress. "Not hungry. " She said briefly. "You can pick up your tie by like tomorrow."

"Alright then, I'll see you around?"

"Sure. Angelina! Can you grab that?" A piece of fabric swirled away in the wind near an approaching Angelina.

Fred walked away, happy with his day and his fitting appointment.

(A/N lmao I have nooooo idea how to end these. Part two could be ready tomorrow or in 3 months, we'll see.)

[icarusredwings]

Do you guys ever think about dementia Charles seeing Pietro and getting sad or becoming really happy because his poor mind connects the dots that he's Erik? It dosn't compute that this wouldn't be Erik because hes too young to be Erik rather assuming that he is young Erik and not exactly having the logic to understand that they are so differently aged.

"Oh! My old friend, you've gotten a haircut. Quite bold of you. It makes you look much younger."

".. yeah, yeah, old man.." he mutters, trying to avoid him best he can, but sometimes, when the others are busy, he can't stand to leave him alone. Coming to sit with him just to litsen to him gab about random nonsense, talking so fondly about his X-men and memories dear to him.

"Do you remember?"

"Do I remember what?"

"When Jean got her first bad grade and she cried to you about how cruel I was to her." He chuckles softly. "And all she got was a B-"

Pietro stares at him like he's crazy. Jean cried to his father? But why? He had his own children to take care of. So why would he treat her like that? It makes him a bit angry. "No.. I don't. What else?"

"Hm?"

"What else happened? With jean and my da- erm. Me."

"I believe it's Jean and I." He corrects his grammer, making the younger man roll his eyes in annoyance. Once a professor always a professor I guess.

"Sure. Jean and I.."

"You acussed me of being too hard on her, but when I explained it, you laughed... I haven't seen you laugh like that in so long.." It's sort of now that Charles remembers what's going on. Who he's talking to.

"..Im sorry. Who are you again?"

"Well you like to call me speedster."

"Pft. No I do not. Mr. Maximoff.. you've grown so big since the last time ive seen you."

'You just saw me yesterday' he thinks but makes that awkward smile and nods. "Yup.."

"Youll have to forgive me. Im not always.... here."

"I know.. are you alright?"

He shrugs in his chair. "About as alright as anyone could be in my situation." Ah yes. The paralyzed old bald man who was losing his mind still had jokes. Funny. But sad. He remembered him being so similar and yet.. so different.

It's not long before Jean comes to give him his medicine again, convincing him that it was for the kid's saftey. "You don't want to hurt them. Do you, Charles?"

"No... but I'm not that gone yet. I can decide when it's best to take my medication."

She smiles so sweetly at him. "Professor, you made this time schedule yourself. Im just doing what you told me. You always knew best for us."

"Oh.. well, alright then."

Before Jean can walk away, He stares at her.

"....Why did my father like you?"

"Excuse me?"

"Charles... he said.." He trails off, not sure how to say it without talking too quickly.

"He said you cried to my father. And.. he defended you."

Jean tilts her head. "I wouldn't say defended. I was just a child having a fit." She admits then shifts, looking at the walls as if remembering.

".. He was here a lot.. and then he just.. stopped coming. Im sorry. I don't know why. Like I said I was just-"

"Didyoureadhismind?"

"Uhm.. just a couple times."

"Jean used to con you into getting her ice cream." Charles smiles, closing his eyes, reminiscing.

"He.. got you ice cream?"

Jean's not dumb. She understands his frustrations, glancing at the old man and then to Pietro again. "Like I said.. I was just a kid.. I was just excited to be able to use my powers. I didn't mean anything by it. I didn't even know he had other children."

"...He never got us ice cream.. he didn't even bother sign my birth certificate.."

"Im sorry, Peter... Professor? Tonights dinner is potatoes gravy turkey with apple sauce. Remys making it so it might be a little spicy."

"Oh, that's alright. He means well. Erm.. thats the blue one right?"

Jean snorts. "No Professor. He's the card one."

"Oooh yes. Reeemmyy... right." He says his name slowly as if trying to connect 'the card one' to 'Remy' in his brain.

"...Bye Peter." She says, now awkwardly leaving.

"Remys that rat from the cooking movie" Pietro whispers and Charles' eyebrows raise. "Ahhh! Remy! That's right."

He might be an x-men. But he could still pull a little evil here and there.