#english lessons advanced speaking

[meadowscarlet]

BARCELONA’S SWEETHEART | OP81

✩ — summary: oscar develops a teensy-tiny… okay, maybe a huge (enormous, actually), crush on the younger sister of football barcelona’s talented midfielder, pedri.

✩ — oscar piastri x fem!reader

✩ — author’s note: mixed up timelines for the plot & i don’t speak spanish so i used google translate sorry in advance if it’s not accurate LMFAO

liked by oscarpiastri, mclaren, f1, lamineyamal, jkeey4 and 809,556 more

fcbarcelona A special visit from the grid to the pitch. Welcome, Oscar Piastri! 💙❤️🏁

View all 14,556 comments

random somebody pinch me

random OSCAR????? WATCHING A BARÇA GAME?????? this is so huge

random RIGHT MY TWO WORLDS COLLIDING

random why can’t this man at least wear an fcb jersey /?/?/? this white polo shirt is stuck permanently on his body im truly cracking up

random FCB x McLaren collab when 👀

random OMGGGG he was in the VIP players zone

random DID ANYONE ELSE SEE OSCAR CHATTING WITH PEDRI’S SISTER

random I DID… i also saw fernando and their mom smiling while oscar and y/n were talking… im about to start a rumor

random i wonder what they were talking about 😭

random thank god y/n’s fluent in english but anyways they’re so cute together oh my god

random THEY AREEEE this is the first time i’ve seen so much emotion on oscar when he’s talking to someone

random bro looked too comfortable like he’s been to 5 family dinners already 😭

oscarpiastri Huge win! Thank you for having me I had a great time

random and we said oh we’re sure

random ahhh te amo oscar 😍😍😍

random this is insane

random i love this crossover soooo bad

random now we need an oscar and pedri pic together

random carlos sainz disliked this

random OSCCCCC 🧡🇦🇺

random BARÇA AND F1 YESSS 🙏🏼

liked by oscarpiastri, pedri, pablogavi, ferrantorres and 234,223 more

youruser VICTÒRIA!!!!!!!! no podría estar más orgulloso 💙❤️ (victory, i couldn't be more proud)

View all 3,456 comments

random liked 👀 by 👀 oscarpiastri

random girl he also commented imejsnhsha

pablogavi hermanaa ❤️ (sister)

youruser pablitooo 🥰

random ugh their friendship is to die for

random VAAAMOOOOSS!!!

oscarpiastri as they say, Visca el Barça

youruser hmm i think your spanish is improving

oscarpiastri i’d still want some of your lessons so i could be more fluent and all

random is this oscar trying to flirt

random here he comes world, please be kind to him

random IMJSJSHXBHWHAHAH

random most supportive sister ever 🥰😭 pedri’s so lucky to have you

random i wonder what pedri feels with all these sudden y/noscar propaganda happening 💀

pedri publicando como si no me gritaste todo el partido (posting like you weren’t yelling at me the whole match)

youruser SHHHHHHH

random I LOVE THEM 😭😭😭😭😭

random PEDRIIJSNABSHA

pedri siempre la más orgullosa. te quiero, enana ❤️(always the proudest one. love you, shortie)

youruser te amo 🪄🌟

random the switch up is killing me

liked by youruser, mclaren, alex_albon, isackhadjar and 464,556 more

oscarpiastri Hola Barcelona 👋 ready for a fast weekend

View all 11,332 comments

youruser hola 👋

oscarpiastri suddenly forgot every spanish word i rehearsed

random THIS IS GOOOLD 😭💀

random NOT OSCAR BEING DOWN BAD IN REAL TIME

random OSCAR PLEASE 😭😭😭

random no way she got oscar fumbling his language skills tears in my y/noscar eyes

random barcelona’s got a way of making u smile a little more

random probably had to do with a certain pretty gonzález sister

opeightyone Vamos 😎💪🏼💪🏼

random i have a good feeling about this weekend

random ya’ll hear me out. y/n attends the race and oscar will win this gp then they start dating and it will all be so poetic like like like

random on to something ❌ ON something ✔️

fernandoalo_oficial 🤔

random NANDO?/?/?:? what r u doing here 😭

liked by oscarpiastri, lamineyamal, raphinha, hctorforrt_ and 211,33 more

youruser could get used to this 😋

View all 8,446 comments

random the second slide… ain’t no way

random did somebody check on oscar

random girl i feel like that arm belongs to oscar..

random he’s in the likes but he didn’t comment is it over for y/noscar 🥀

pedri dios mío ¿qué es esto? (oh my god what is this)

pablogavi 😂😂😂

ferrantorres 😂😂😂

lamineyamal 😂😂😭😭

random LMDAO THEY KNOW SOMETHING

random a case that doesn’t sit right w me 💔

random THIS HAS ME YELLINGSHHSHS

youruser has added to their story!

liked by oscarpiastri, youruser, colepalmer10, ferrantorres, harrykane and 546,553 more

mclaren Welcoming some special people in our garage in Spain 🇪🇸🤝🧡

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random did oscar like this while he was in the car??????????? LMFAOOOO

random Y/N ON THE SECOND SLIDE WE WON

random i knew she would attend today’s race 😭

random third picture is so cold 🥶🥶🥶

random barcelona’s sweetheart at the mclaren garage oscar’s plan is slowly coming together

random y/n’s so gorgeous

random right she’s unreal

random hermosa chica @youruser 🥺 (beautiful girl)

random why didn’t pedri attend with y/n like lewa ferran and eric were there but not him 😕

random he’s busy training with the national team

random some special people 🙂‍↕️ is one of your guest the special someone of ur driver 🙂‍↕️

random guys im gonna get delusional for a sec but i’d like to imagine that y/n’s wearing oscar’s mclaren jacket that’s all. thank u for listening

random here you go ❤️

liked by oscarpiastri, pedri, pablogavi, paucubarsi, mclaren, _rl9 and 312,112 more

youruser i quite like the color orange 🧡

View all 11,122 comments

oscarpiastri Hola 👋

* ♥ by author

random boy if u don’t put ur phone down… the race starts soon

random IM CRYING HE’S SO UNSERIOUS 😭😭

random he’s so lame i’m so endeared

oscarpiastri i like your cap

youruser a certain aussie with a cute smile gave it to me

random JUST FUCKING KISS GOD DAMN

random oh no she’s gonna make oscar malfunction before the race

pedri te criaste con el blaugrana, no empieces a cambiar de bando ahora... 🤨 (you were raised a blaugrana, don’t start switching sides now)

youruser no seas tan dramático (don’t be so dramatic)

random “i quite like the color orange” GIRL JUST SAY YOU’RE IN LOVE

random like mama we’re tired

mclaren Barcelona’s sweetheart gracing her presence in our garage 🧡

alejandrobalde ay, crecen tan rápido 🥲 (aw, they grow up so fast)

pablogavi JAJAJA 😂

random not these boys whacking y/n i know she’s sick of them 😭😭😭

lamineyamal 8️⃣1️⃣?

youruser sí (yes)

random okay chat it’s confirmed already

liked by youruser, ediepiastri, lamineyamal, pedri, mclaren, lewishamilton and 789,445 more

oscarpiastri What an enjoyable weekend

View all 20,334 comments

random oscar dedicating his win to his sister and y/n im gonna kill myself

ediepiastri ❤️🔥

random OSCAR MOUTHING HOLA WHILE HE WAS APPROACHING Y/N TO HUG HER IS THIS THEIR ROUTINE ITS SO CUTE FUCKEJ

pedri 👏👏👏🏆

random PEDRI APPROVE????

youruser bien hecho, mejor chico 🤗 (well done, best boy)

oscarpiastri Mi chica (my girl)

random WAR IS OVER

random oscar speaking in spanish 🙂‍↕️ the lessons from y/n is paying off

random MY FAVE COUPLE EVER

random they just make sm sense 😭🩷

mclaren VAMOS P1ASTRIIIIII 🧡🧡🧡

random such a great weekend!!! 😍

random futuro campeón 😎 (future champion)

liked by oscarpiastri, pedri, ediepiastri, lando, pablogavi and 321,132 more

youruser Hola 👋 huge win for osc congrats pretty boy 🥰 & the best weekend ever!!!!!!!! somebody pinch me (also thank u to edie for sending this pic of oscar trying to kick the ball lol)

View all 10,762 comments

random oscar piastri to barcelona here we go?

youruser let’s just stick to driving ❤️

random Y/NJDJSJSHSHHSHSHSHSH

oscarpiastri baby 🙁

random he calls her baby where’s my meds im gonna throw up they’re so 😭❤️❤️❤️😭

oscarpiastri Gracias preciosa (thank you gorgeous)

random he’s fluent now

random did anyone else see f1 putting “oscar piastri’s partner” when y/n appeared on the screen who else JUMPED

random this whole race was basically their hard launch 😭

random and people called me delusional when i was right 😒😒😒 this is so poetic

random and suddenly life is worth living 🚬

pedri bueno… si se le puede llamar lindo (well… if you can call it cute)

pablogavi 😂🥰🥰

lamineyamal el fútbol te echa de menos (football misses you)

youruser sabes que estaré allí en el partido de españa contra francia 😤 (you know i’ll be there in the spain vs france match)

pedri ¿vas a traer a cierto australiano? (are you bringing a certain australian?)

youruser obvio. ahora está atrapado conmigo 🙄 (duh. he’s stuck with me now)

oscarpiastri yes to whatever she said 😇

random this man is so whipped 😭

random there’s no saving him now i fear

oscarpiastri i don’t want to be saved thanks 👍🏻

random no way he replied to MEJDJSB

random oscar piastri winning the spanish GP in barcelona and officially dating the sister of the best spanish midfielder in the world… what prayers did he say…

random he’s living the life

random bagged the barcelona sweetheart and i had to stand up from my toilet to applaud

random girl who is going to be okay

[lingolabs]

Basic English vs Advanced English

[what-even-is-thiss]

Free or Cheap Spanish Learning Resources So You Can Run at Windmills in Fluent Spanish

I will update this list as I learn of any more useful ones. If you want general language learning resources check out this other post. This list is Spanish specific. Find lists for other specific languages here.

For the purposes of this list "free" means something that is either totally free or has a useful free tier. "Cheap" is a subscription under $10USD a month, a software license or lifetime membership purchase under $100USD, or a book under $30USD. If you want to suggest a resource for this list please suggest ones in that price range that are of decent quality and not AI generated.

WEBSITES

Dreaming Spanish - A website that is also a YouTube Channel. This is a comprehensible input site with videos about a variety of subjects with multiple hosts from multiple countries. It has content for learners from absolute beginner to lower advanced. It lets you sort videos by dialect, subject, length, etc. The free version has a lot of content. The paid version is $9 a month and has many more videos and allows you to track your listening hours. The website is in English but all videos are entirely in Spanish.

Lawless Spanish - A free website with resources to learn Spanish relating to grammar, pronunciation, and vocabulary. The website also has worksheets, charts, an AI chatbot, and reviews of different learning resources. The website is in English.

Spanish Boom - A free website with beginner lessons and free readings with audio and visual aids. They're also associated with a service called Esidioma that provides paid courses with tutor help for around $23 and also sells books. Prices are in Euros but they also sell to people outside of Europe. The website is available in multiple languages.

studyspanish.com - A website with free verb drills and grammar lessons. It's commonly used by high school Spanish students. They also have a blog that hasn't updated in a while but there is an archive to read through. They have a paid tier with access to their podcasts, vocab lessons, and their Spanish learning app which is $10 a month or $120 for a lifetime membership. The website is in English.

Speaking Latino - A website marketed at Spanish teachers but it's in English and has guides to colloquial Spanish and slang in a lot of different countries and a free blog with tips on sounding like a local in different countries. It has a paid tier but that's mostly useful for Spanish teachers. They also sell slang dictionaries for various countries that are usually less than $10.

UT Austin Spanish Proficiency Exercises - A bunch of free grammar, vocab, and pronunciation guides for various tasks you should be able to do in Spanish at various levels from one of my alma maters, the University of Texas at Austin. It's got videos of people from different countries pronouncing things. The podcast links often don't work for some reason but the grammar, vocab, and video links should work fine. The website is in English.

SpanishDict - A free dictionary website and app with a search feature that also has curated vocabulary lists on various topics and articles. They have a paid tier at $13 a month with a writing coach and subscriber only curated lists and articles. Personally I don't think their paid tier is all that special but it's up to you. The website is in English.

BBC Bitesize Spanish - Bitesize is a free study resource for kids and is sorted by level. It has articles aimed at little kids as well as secondary school aged teens studying for their exams or planning to study abroad. The website is in English and available worldwide, not just in the UK.

YOUTUBE CHANNELS

Hola Spanish - A channel by a woman named Brenda from Argentina who makes videos about grammar, pronunciation, culture, media, and general Spanish tips for upper beginner to advanced learners. The channel is almost entirely in Spanish with occasional vocabulary words translated into English onscreen. There are subtitles in Spanish onscreen but sometimes they randomly disappear.

Butterfly Spanish - A channel with free lessons from beginner to lower intermediate. The host also makes videos about useful phrases and listening practice videos. The channel is mostly in English.

Spanish After Hours - A comprehensible input channel for beginner to intermediate learners with vlogs, history, Spanish tips, and news. The descriptions and video titles are in English but the videos are all in Spanish. The channel host is from Spain.

Easy Spanish - A channel part of the easy languages network that makes a combination of videos with useful phrases and terms for beginners and interviews on the street with locals. They have teams in both Barcelona and Mexico City and there are dual language subtitles in Spanish and English onscreen. The hosts also have a podcast for intermediate to advanced learners.

My Daily Spanish - A catchall channel that has lessons, discussions of grammar, culture topics, vlogs, vocabulary, and other various things. The host is from Spain and also makes a lot of YouTube shorts. She mostly speaks in Spanish but occasionally uses English or has English translations onscreen.

Spansh Boost with Martin and Spanish Boost with Mila - These channels are run by a couple from Argentina who also work as tutors on italki. They often appear on each other's channels and both have their own podcasts and vlogs and general content videos that they make discussing their lives, giving tips, and discussing culture. Mila also makes a lot of videos playing the sims.

Spanish Boost Gaming - Run by Martin from Spanish Boost, this is a lets play channel in clear and easy to understand Spanish. Subtitles are available in English and Spanish and a few other languages as well and it's an actual let's play channel. He plays a variety of video games, makes jokes, and says cuss words and everything.

Mextalki - A channel run by a couple of guys from Mexico city that has listening practice, podcasts, street interviews, and Mexican Spanish specific lessons. Some videos have dual language subtitles onscreen while others do not. The channel is majority in Spanish but in a few lesson videos or portions of videos they will speak in English a bit.

Espanol Con Juan - A channel that teaches Spanish in Spanish from upper beginner to upper intermediate. Juan has grammar lessons, vocabulary lessons, and videos about culture. He is from Spain and the channel is entirely in Spanish. He also has a podcast for more advanced learners.

READING PRACTICE

Vikidia - A wikipedia type website specifically made for kids. The articles are short and written in more simple easy to understand Spanish. The website is in Spanish and made for native speaker kids.

Spanish graded readers by Olly Richards - Spanish has short stories and dialogues for beginner and intermediate, books in easy Spanish on world war 1, world war 2, western philosophy, and climate change. There's also dialogue books specific to Mexican Spanish and Spanish used on social media. The books usually go from $5-$20 new depending on how old they are and whether or not you bought a digital copy. These are really easy to find at used bookstores for cheap though, especially in the US.

Conatilteg Digital - This is a mobile app that provides digital versions of the free textbooks for children provided by the Mexican Ministry of Education both historic and current. The link I provided is for iOS but the app is also available on android and the app is available in multiple countries and not just Mexico. The app is entirely in Spanish and categorized by grade from preschool to secondary school so it's a resource appropriate for all levels and may be enjoyable for any kids you know that are learning Spanish. You can also view their browser website here. (also entirely in Spanish)

Hola Que Pasa - A free website with news articles for learners from beginner to intermediate difficulty. They also provide audio and have the news articles available in podcast form. Every article has certain phrases highlighted that you can hover over and get and English translation of. The website is in a mix of English and Spanish.

Spanish in Levels - A world news website in Spanish for learners. The articles are separated into three different levels and the website is in a mix of English and Spanish. Each article also has audio.

PODCASTS

Spanish for False Beginners - An unscripted podcast about various topics hosted by a guy from the UK and a guy from Spain. The podcast is aimed at people who find beginner content to be boring but still find intermediate content to be too difficult. English is very rarely used.

Uforia/Univision - Uforia is a free app aimed at native speakers in the US and has Spanish language radio, music, and podcasts. Univision in general is also useful if you like American and international news and programming in Spanish.

Radio National de Espana - Another site for native speakers, this is Spanish National Radio. They have a variety of free podcasts and radio programs.

Spanish Obsessed - This is a series of lessons in podcast form for learners from absolute beginner to advanced.

Storylearning Spanish Podcast - This podcast tells different short stories in Spanish and is aimed at upper beginner to lower intermediate learners.

Radio Ambulante - A Spanish language podcast from NPR that's similar to something like This American Life that tells stories from around Latin America. Although it's aimed at native speakers, the language used is clear and understandable and transcripts are available. They're also aware that a lot of intermediate and advanced learners use them for listening practice and they have developed a free app that helps with comprehension and vocabulary when listening to their podcast.

SELF STUDY TEXTBOOKS

Madrigal's Magic Key to Spanish - A self study textbook written in the late 80s that still mostly holds up for beginner to upper beginner Spanish. A paperback edition of the textbook is about $25 and used copies and ebooks are also usually available wherever you like to buy books. It's also half off on Amazon pretty often.

Complete Spanish step-by-step by Mcgraw Hill - This is a complete version of the McGraw Hill budget option, the spanish step by step series that focuses on the most frequently used words and grammar. It's $25 new but the individual books in the series usually cost less than $10 and used versions and ebooks are available.

Complete Spanish Grammar from Mcgraw Hill - This is a workbook as well as a textbook that usually costs around $20. The complete Spanish all in one version of the book costs about $40. Used versions of these books can be difficult to find because people tend to write all over them but ebook versions are available. You can also find their beginner workbook for around $18.

Practical Spanish Grammar - This book is usually around $25 but because it's not a workbook it's fairly easy to find used copies. An advanced grammar textbook is also available.

SERIES FOR LEARNERS AND KIDS SHOWS

Destinos - This is a series of over 50 episodes of a telenovela made for Spanish learners. The plot revolves around a group of siblings searching around the world for their long lost half sibling they just learned that they had so the series includes a lot of different Spanish dialects.

Extra Spanish - A 13 episode sitcom made to show in Spanish classrooms that revolves around a group of friends in Spain and a student that just moved there.

Dora la Expladora - Yeah if you remember Dora the Explorer from your preschool days it also unsurprisingly exists in Spanish. You can watch clips and some full episodes on YouTube and buy full seasons for around $8 each on Amazon.

PBS Kids in Spanish - A few PBS Kids shows like Cyberchase and Daniel Tiger have been dubbed into Spanish. The link I've given goes to a place to buy them on Amazon Prime but if you go digging on their YouTube channel or the PBS Kids website you also might be able to find them for free. They don't always make it easy to find though.

Plaza Sésamo - The Spanish language localization of Sesame Street for Mexican audiences with its own unique characters. The YouTube channel has a huge amount of content on it and often has episodes streaming live.

[buttercandy16]

UNTIL YOU'RE MINE

PAIRING: Teacher!Agatha Harkness x Student! Reader

SUMMARY: When your teacher becomes your nightmare.

WARNING(s): Dark Themes, Yandere, Kidnapping, Blood and Murder, Stockholm Syndrome

A/N: Been a while 😚🔪

You were sixteen the first time you saw her.

It was the start of the second semester, and you were assigned to a new English class—Advanced Literature. Room 207. A class meant for seniors and the academically gifted. You didn’t feel like either. You’d only gotten in because of your high reading scores and a transfer from your last school. A quiet, bookish girl who kept her head down, who blended in easily. You’d always preferred the silence of pages over people.

The bell rang as you stepped through the threshold. That’s when you saw her.

Ms. Harkness.

She stood at the front of the room, chalk in hand, already halfway through writing a quote on the board:

“We are all fools in love.” —Jane Austen

The first thing you noticed was how still she was—like a painting. She held herself with a kind of effortless elegance, tall and commanding in a dark plum blouse that hugged her figure, her black slacks sleek, polished boots clicking softly against the floor as she turned.

And then she looked at you.

A subtle flicker of her violet eyes over her shoulder, and the second her gaze met yours, your breath caught. There was something unreadable in her expression—something sharp and silent, like the moment just before lightning strikes.

Her stare wasn’t just a glance—it was assessing you, stripping you down to your bones and memorizing each one.

You froze in place.

She smiled.

“New student?” she asked. Her voice was smooth, honeyed, but there was something underneath it—a weight that felt too intense for a simple greeting.

You nodded. “Y-Yes.”

“Name?”

You told her, feeling like the sound of it no longer belonged to you.

“Lovely,” she murmured. “Why don’t you sit here?” She gestured to the front row, third seat from the left. Right in the center of her field of view.

It wasn’t a request.

You obeyed without question, feeling her eyes on your back the entire walk there. The other students were chatting, oblivious, but something inside you had already shifted. There was a tremble in your chest you couldn’t name.

You sat down, took out your notebook, and tried to focus. Tried to steady your breathing.

But Ms. Harkness didn’t look away.

The lesson that day was on Pride and Prejudice. You’d read it before. Knew all the characters. But the way she spoke about it made the book feel entirely new. Her voice was slow, deliberate, and she never once glanced at her notes. Every word she spoke felt chosen. Purposeful.

“Love,” she said, strolling between the desks with her hands clasped behind her back, “is often mistaken for admiration. Or obsession. Or control. But real love… it transforms you. It consumes you.”

She paused by your desk.

Her hand rested lightly on your shoulder. You froze again.

“Sometimes,” she continued, looking down at you with eyes like wine, “you don’t even realize you’re falling until it’s far too late.”

A few students chuckled. You didn’t. Your skin was burning under her touch, but her grip didn’t move. Not until you shifted uncomfortably in your chair.

Only then did she withdraw.

At the end of class, you were the last to leave. Your pencil case had spilled open, and you were scrambling to gather everything when her shadow loomed over your desk.

“You’re quite bright,” she said, crouching to help you collect your pens. “Your analysis earlier on Elizabeth Bennet’s pride… It was insightful. Very mature for someone your age.”

You gave her a quiet “thank you,” cheeks flushing. She was too close. You could smell her perfume—something floral, but dark, like night-blooming jasmine.

She handed you a pink gel pen you hadn’t noticed was missing.

“Don’t be afraid to speak more in class,” she said gently, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “I want to hear what’s in that pretty little head of yours.”

You nodded, almost dizzy from the attention.

She smiled.

You left the classroom feeling… strange. Not quite flattered. Not quite afraid.

Just noticed in a way you’d never been before.

That night, as you sat on your bed journaling, your thoughts drifted back to her. The way she looked at you. The way her fingers had lingered too long. You tried to tell yourself it was nothing—that you were being silly.

But deep down, something about that first glance stuck with you.

What you didn’t know was that hours later, Ms. Harkness was still in her classroom—alone, the lights dimmed, your name written over and over again in the margins of her notebook like a chant.

She didn’t go home.

She stayed there long into the night, whispering your name under her breath with a smile so soft it could be mistaken for love… if not for the madness shimmering beneath it.

The days passed quietly at first.

Ms. Harkness kept her distance, at least in the way most teachers did. No inappropriate comments. No touchy-feely gestures like that first day. But her attention never strayed far from you. She called on you often—always asking the most difficult questions. She said it was because you were “capable,” “gifted.” But her gaze never felt like it belonged to a teacher admiring talent.

It felt like a secret. A claim.

Every time you looked up, she was watching you. Not always directly. Sometimes through the reflection of the window. Sometimes from behind a book, her violet eyes just barely visible. But it was constant.

And soon, subtle things began to change.

Your essays always received glowing praise, even when you knew they weren’t your best. She began to write notes in the margins—not just about the text, but about you.

“You have such a sensitive soul.”

“Your mind is beautiful. I hope others recognize that.”

“This reminds me of a line I once underlined when I was your age—‘She walked through life as if the stars were her only companions.’ That’s you.”

You showed one of the notes to a friend once, laughing it off. But even as you smiled, something inside you twisted.

Then came the gifts.

Small things at first. A new journal left on your desk. A ribbon tied around it in your favorite color. A paperback book—The Bell Jar—with a note tucked inside the front cover:

“For when the world feels heavy. You’re not alone.” — A.H.

You never told her your favorite color. Or that you suffered from the occasional panic attack. But somehow, she knew.

When you brought it up after class—trying to politely return the journal—she merely smiled and said, “A teacher’s job is to nurture their brightest. I see you, sweetheart.”

She said it like a blessing. Like a vow.

You started to dread English class.

But skipping wasn’t an option. She always noticed. And the one time you were late because you had a nosebleed in the hallway, she showed up at the nurse’s office ten minutes later, eyes blazing with concern.

“She’s mine,” she hissed at the nurse when she tried to escort you. You saw it. Heard it. A quiet, deadly whisper she thought no one else caught.

You pretended not to.

Later that day, you found a packet of tissues and a bottle of herbal tea left inside your locker. No note. But it didn’t need one. You knew it was from her.

You started double-checking that your bedroom blinds were drawn at night. You couldn't explain why. It was just a feeling.

And then came the dream.

You were walking through a library alone. Shelves stretched up into the darkness like pillars in a cathedral. Every book you touched had your name on the cover.

And then she appeared behind you.

Her hand slid down your back—slow, warm, possessive. Her voice against your neck.

"Do you know how many versions of you I’ve read? How many I’ve rewritten in my head?"

You woke up sweating. Shaking.

Something was wrong.

The final straw was the email.

It came late—well past midnight. You checked it while lying in bed, groggy and half-asleep. The subject line read:

“My Dear Girl.”

Your heart thudded before you even opened it.

I know it’s not appropriate to write this. But I can’t help myself anymore.

You’re in my mind constantly. Every word I speak in class is for you. Every book I assign is because I want you to feel seen. Heard. Loved.

When I look at you, I don’t see a student. I see a soulmate who hasn’t yet remembered me.

Please don’t be afraid.

This is destiny.

Yours, always.

Agatha

You stared at the screen for what felt like hours. You didn’t breathe. You didn’t move.

The next morning, you didn’t go to school.

Your parents noticed your silence. You brushed them off. Said you were tired. That it was just “school stress.” But your hands kept shaking.

When you finally worked up the courage to show them the email, they both went pale. Your father called the school. Your mother held you tightly as you cried, whispering, “It’s okay now. We’ll protect you.”

The school promised action.

And for once… they followed through.

Within a week, Agatha Harkness was fired.

The official story was “boundary violations.” No charges filed. No police involved. The school didn’t want a scandal. They swept it under the rug with the efficiency of a place terrified of lawsuits.

But the day she was dismissed, she stood in the hallway outside your class.

She was wearing the same plum blouse from the first day you met her.

And she was smiling.

You stayed inside, heart pounding as you watched from the window. She didn’t yell. Didn’t weep. She simply placed a small envelope on the floor outside your door, turned slowly, and walked out of the building.

You never opened the envelope.

Your father burned it in the fireplace that night.

But even as the flames consumed the paper, and your parents held you in their arms, something inside you whispered:

It’s not over.

_-_-_

You didn’t sleep much after she was fired.

Even with the locks changed, even with your father installing motion-activated floodlights outside the house and your mother insisting you carry pepper spray, you couldn’t shake the feeling that she was close. Watching.

You’d flinch at the sound of tires on gravel. You started checking behind you in hallways, in parking lots, in the mirror. Every shadow stretched too long. Every stranger in the corner of your eye became her.

You kept telling yourself it was over.

But you knew better.

And so did your parents.

Because two weeks after she was fired, you found a bouquet on the front porch. Black dahlias. Tied with the same ribbon she once wrapped around the journal she gave you.

No card. No name. But you knew.

Your mother screamed when she saw them. Your father threw them in the garbage with shaking hands. That night, he filed for a restraining order.

The hearing was short.

You didn’t have to attend in person—just a signed statement. Your parents sat before the judge and presented the emails, the gifts, the testimony. The envelope. The flowers. It wasn’t hard to prove inappropriate conduct.

Agatha didn’t fight it.

In fact, she didn’t show up at all.

But as you would soon learn, that wasn’t mercy.

It was calm before the storm.

The order was granted. Agatha Harkness was forbidden to come within 500 feet of you or your home. She was not allowed to contact you in any form.

But that didn’t stop her.

It began subtly again.

You started seeing your name carved into things.

A bench at your bus stop, freshly etched with careful script: Y/N + A.H.

Your Instagram account—private—somehow had a new follower with no posts, no icon. The account’s name? ForeverHarkness.

Blocked.

Then came the voicemails.

The first was just breathing. A soft, almost lullaby-like hum in the background. You deleted it, hands trembling.

The second was worse.

“You’re confused right now. I understand. But I forgive you. I forgive your parents too… even though they’re trying to poison you against me. They don’t see you the way I do. They never did. You’re mine, little one. And I’ll wait. As long as I have to.”

You never gave her your number.

Your mother found you sobbing in your closet that night, curled into yourself like a frightened animal.

The next morning, you transferred schools again.

But it wasn’t far enough.

Agatha sent letters. Somehow she found your new campus. She started leaving gifts in your locker—no longer with love notes, but with old poetry torn from books:

“I cannot live without my soul.” – Wuthering Heights

“She is all things holy and unholy, and I will drink her like sin.” – Scribbled over in red ink

At this point, police were called. But the letters stopped before they could catch her. No fingerprints. No footage.

She was careful.

Too careful.

Your parents considered moving out of state. You begged them to. You begged.

But your dad insisted, “We can’t let her drive us out of our lives.” He stood firm.

You wanted to believe him.

But deep down, you felt it coming.

The night it happened, it rained.

You remember that detail more than anything. The sky split open like it was mourning before you even knew why.

You were in your room, headphones in, buried beneath a blanket, trying to disappear into music that didn’t remind you of her. Your parents were downstairs. Your little brother was watching cartoons in the living room.

Then—

A bang.

Not thunder.

A scream.

Then another.

You ripped off your headphones and bolted upright just as the lights went out. The entire house plunged into darkness.

You called for your dad.

No answer.

Called for your mom.

Nothing.

Then—footsteps.

Not heavy like your father’s.

Heels. Sharp and slow.

You panicked and ran—not outside. There wasn’t time. You ran into your closet and pulled the door almost closed, holding your breath.

And through the crack, you saw her.

Agatha.

Drenched from the rain, hair clinging to her face in wild strands. She wore black leather gloves and carried something long and gleaming—a knife. Her face was calm. Serene.

Like she was finally home.

She stepped over your father’s body first.

His blood stained the carpet. His eyes were still open.

You didn’t scream.

You couldn’t.

Your entire body had gone cold.

Your mother’s sobs came from the kitchen. Pleading. You heard a single word: “Please.”

Then—silence.

Followed by the sound of slicing.

Wet. Slow.

You wanted to close your eyes, but you couldn’t. You were frozen in a nightmare where you had to keep watching.

Your brother never even screamed. He was the last. You watched Agatha cradle his head like a mother might soothe a sleeping child.

When she finished, she stood in the center of your living room, slick with blood, and smiled.

“I told you,” she whispered to the dark. “They were in the way.”

You bit into your sleeve to keep from making a sound. You tasted blood—your own—where your teeth broke skin.

Then, suddenly, she stopped.

She tilted her head… as if listening.

Her gaze turned toward your room.

Your closet.

And she started walking toward it.

You never remembered how you escaped.

Not really.

The trauma split your memory in half, like a photograph soaked in bleach—faces smeared, sounds muffled, colors all turned gray. But pieces of it stayed with you. Forever.

The smell of blood.

The sound of wet footsteps squelching across your bedroom carpet.

The closet door cracking open just a few inches…

And her face.

Agatha's eyes had been wild with something almost… joyful. Like she’d finally peeled back the last page of a long-awaited story. There you were. Huddled inside the closet like a trembling paragraph she’d always known was hiding between the lines.

But something stopped her.

Maybe the distant echo of sirens. Maybe the sight of your tear-streaked face, paralyzed and bloodied from biting your own sleeve. Maybe it was enough, for now, just to see you watch her.

She didn’t pull you out. Didn’t speak.

She knelt slowly.

Placed her gloved hand on the closet door, just above your head.

And whispered.

“You’ll understand someday. I did this for you.”

Then she stood, turned—and vanished into the house.

By the time the police arrived, she was already gone.

You were the only one left alive.

The only one who saw everything.

Your parents.

Your little brother.

Slaughtered.

And you—

The hidden, haunted witness.

The courtroom was cold.

Almost too clean. Too bright. As if no evil could possibly exist in such a sterile space.

But when they brought her in—hands cuffed, orange jumpsuit too neat on her body—you felt the oxygen drain from your lungs.

She looked beautiful.

Not bloodstained. Not mad.

Beautiful.

Her hair was neatly pinned back. Her makeup light, tasteful. She looked like a version of herself you hadn’t seen in a year. The composed teacher. The poised intellectual.

But when she saw you…

Her lips parted into a soft, delighted smile.

Like you were a long-lost lover walking down the aisle.

You couldn’t look away.

You wanted to, but your body didn’t obey you anymore.

She mouthed two words across the courtroom.

Deliberate. Slow.

“My darling.”

Your hands trembled. A court officer touched your shoulder gently and whispered, “You don’t have to look at her.” But it was too late. Her image was already burned behind your eyes like a flashbulb.

You testified.

Through a locked jaw and a throat full of knives, you told them what happened. You told them everything.

The emails. The stalking. The flowers.

The night you saw her kill your entire family.

The jury never even debated for long. The evidence was overwhelming. The restraining order violation. The blood on her gloves. The flowers matched to the same rare nursery where she bought the black dahlias. Everything lined up.

She was sentenced to life in prison with no chance of parole.

And yet…

That final moment—before the guards dragged her away—unraveled everything.

She leaned forward as the verdict was read, her hands trembling with something between ecstasy and rage.

And she stared right at you.

“This isn’t over,” she said aloud.

“You’re mine. One way or another, I’ll have you.”

Court officers restrained her. The judge slammed the gavel. Your therapist cried. The newspapers printed your face under headlines like “Teen Survives Family Massacre” and “Killer Teacher Obsessed with Student.”

But none of that mattered.

Because her words stayed with you.

They grew roots in your chest. Coiled around your spine.

You weren’t just a survivor.

You were a promise.

Years passed.

You tried to move on.

You changed your name. You changed schools. You changed cities.

You stopped writing. You stopped reading. You stopped anything that made you remember her, which meant almost everything. You drifted through therapy like a ghost. Some days, you felt human again. Other days, you weren’t so sure.

And then… finally…

You met someone.

A girl named Elara.

She was everything Agatha wasn’t—soft-spoken, gentle, uncertain in her own way. She kissed you like you were made of glass, and you kissed her like you were trying not to shatter.

She never asked about the past.

Only the future.

You smiled when she called you hers.

You believed her when she said you were safe now.

You even agreed to go on that vacation with her and your friends. A quiet cabin, upstate. No signal. No noise. Just trees, water, sky.

You almost felt alive again.

You never expected the nightmare to crawl back from the grave.

The cabin was supposed to be an escape.

Nestled beside a glimmering lake in the woods, hours from any major city, it had no reception, no internet, and no past. Your friends insisted it would be healing. A clean slate. A few days with people who made you laugh, drink, dance, and forget.

And for a time, it worked.

Elara held your hand without expecting you to explain why your grip trembled. She knew enough to understand your ghosts had teeth. The others—Mika, Jules, and Aaron—respected the space around your silence.

There were s’mores. Laughter. Music that filled the trees.

The stars looked like diamonds that had forgiven the night sky.

You let yourself believe it was over.

You let yourself breathe.

Until the first night.

The first sign was the carving.

Aaron found it etched into a tree near the dock while looking for firewood. Letters carefully gouged into bark.

Y/N + A.H.

Forever. Even Death Can't Stop Me.

At first, they laughed. Said it must’ve been someone messing around. A coincidence. A joke.

But you froze.

Because you’d seen that same phrasing before. In a letter. In her voice.

And the carving was fresh.

Elara noticed your stillness and led you inside. “It’s nothing,” she whispered. “It’s someone else. It has to be.”

But that night, you barely slept.

The woods felt too quiet. Too aware.

The second sign was the phone.

Your old phone—the one you’d discarded years ago—was sitting on the windowsill the next morning when you woke up.

Dead. Cracked screen.

The wallpaper still the same: a photo of your family. From before.

And taped across it was a single line:

"You changed your name, but not your soul. I still know where you live."

You dropped it. Screamed. The others came running.

Jules wanted to call the police, but there was no service. Mika searched the woods. Found nothing. No footprints. No sign of entry.

“We’re miles from anything,” Aaron argued. “No way someone just walked up here in the middle of the night.”

But you knew better.

This wasn’t someone.

This was her.

That night, Mika didn’t come back.

She said she was going to the car for extra blankets. She didn’t answer when you called. The guys searched until dawn—up and down the dirt road, into the tree line, calling her name.

At sunrise, they found her.

Or what was left of her.

Face down by the lake. Throat slit. A flower in her mouth—black dahlia.

Just like before.

The rest of the day was a blur.

Jules vomited. Aaron wept. Elara held you like you were breaking in slow motion.

You wanted to believe this was a nightmare. You wanted to believe it was anyone else.

But you knew it was her.

Even after prison. Even after life without parole.

She had escaped.

She had found you.

And she was taking everything back.

You wanted to leave. But the car keys were gone. So was the gas can. Someone had sabotaged the tires—sliced clean through. And with no service, no signal, the woods may as well have been the moon.

Jules didn’t want to split up. Neither did Elara. But Aaron insisted they had to try hiking to the nearest ranger station—six miles through dense forest.

They left.

Only one of them returned.

Jules burst through the front door just before dusk, screaming, soaked in blood.

Not hers.

He collapsed in the living room, babbling nonsense, face pale, mouth open wide in a soundless scream.

Aaron, he said, had been hung like a puppet between two trees, his stomach carved open. Above his corpse, written in his blood:

“Tell them to stop taking what’s mine.”

You didn’t sleep that night. No one did.

You locked the doors. Nailed boards across the windows. Sat in the dark with a kitchen knife in your trembling hands.

Elara didn’t speak much. Her eyes kept flicking toward the window, as if she could feel her out there. Watching. Waiting.

When she did speak, it was a whisper against your skin.

“We should have stayed home.”

The next to die was Jules.

It was quick.

A scream from the bathroom. Then silence.

You and Elara ran in.

And all you saw was blood.

Every wall sprayed red. His body hanging over the tub, mouth full of teeth that weren’t his.

Your knees gave out.

You couldn’t scream anymore. Your throat was raw.

Elara pulled you away. Clutched you tight.

“We have to run,” she said. “Now. Before she gets you.”

You tried.

Together, you ran through the woods barefoot, clothes soaked from the storm, rain blinding your vision. Every snapping twig felt like a gunshot. Every rustle a whisper in her voice.

You didn’t know how long you ran. Minutes. Hours. Time unraveled.

And then, without warning—

Elara’s hand was ripped from yours.

You turned.

And saw her.

Agatha.

Drenched in mud, eyes glowing with madness, arms outstretched as she dragged Elara back by her hair, knife glinting between her fingers.

Elara screamed your name once—just once.

And then there was only silence.

You collapsed.

There was no fight left in you.

No running.

And that’s when she found you.

Agatha stepped into the clearing like a storm finally making landfall. Calm. Controlled.

Her hair was matted with rain. Her shirt soaked red. But her smile…

That smile had never changed.

“I told you,” she whispered, kneeling before you.

“One way or another, I’d have you.”

You sobbed. Not because of fear. Not anymore.

Because there was no one left to save you.

And she knew that.

You stopped counting the days.

After the fiftieth mark on the bedpost, it felt pointless. Time had lost shape. There was only before her… and after.

She was still careful with you. Still patient. Still obsessed.

But the madness had softened its claws. She no longer chained you with violence or threats. She didn’t have to.

Because your world was her now.

Each day followed the same pattern.

A soft knock. Breakfast. Books. Talks. Walks around the tiny greenhouse she’d grown just for you.

She sang sometimes. Old songs, lullabies, things you recognized from your childhood—though you never told her that.

Because the way she looked at you when you smiled…

It was terrifying.

But also… safe.

The outside world began to feel like a dream. A cruel one. Where your family died. Where your friends screamed. Where love was sharp and always out of reach.

Here, at least, you were wanted.

Here, you were the center of someone’s universe.

Even if that someone was deranged.

Even if it meant your past had to rot quietly in your mind.

It started with letting her touch your hair.

She asked, always. Gently. As though even now, she wanted your trust more than your submission.

And after so long in silence, so long buried in the cold tomb of your own isolation… you whispered, “Okay.”

She wept when you let her braid it.

Kissed your forehead.

Called you her girl.

The locket stayed around your neck.

You stopped trying to tear it off. Stopped staring at it with disgust. It became another part of the world you now lived in—just like the clean sheets, the soft music, and the quiet meals where she held your hand across the table.

One night, you whispered, “I don’t want to feel like this anymore.”

And she pulled you into her lap like a child.

Held you. Rocked you.

“Then don’t,” she said. “Let me do it for you. Let me be your anchor. Your only thing. You don’t have to remember pain anymore. Only me.”

And in that moment, something broke.

But something else… settled.

Months passed.

You laughed once.

A real laugh.

She was so stunned she nearly cried.

You read books out loud to her. You started sleeping beside her without needing her to ask. You dressed in the things she picked out for you. Let her call you sweetheart without flinching.

You never forgot what she did.

You never truly forgave.

But slowly, gently, the horror dulled. The grief hollowed into numbness. And her voice—always soft, always praising—became the one constant you could rely on.

One morning, she woke to find you standing over her.

Not in defiance.

Not in fear.

But with a question:

“Do you love me?”

Agatha sat up slowly. Studied you like you were something divine. Something she never deserved.

“More than my soul,” she said.

And when you crawled into her arms and whispered, “Then don’t let me go,”

she broke.

Cried into your skin.

Promised you would never be alone again.

Years passed.

The cabin became a home.

No one ever found you. She made sure of that.

And even if they had—you wouldn’t have left.

You didn’t know how to exist beyond her anymore.

The girl who once screamed in the dark was gone.

Replaced by someone who wore white for her.

Smiled for her.

Loved her the way she always wanted to be loved:

Completely.

Unquestioningly.

Forever.

In the end, she didn’t have to take you.

You gave yourself to her.

And that was all she ever needed.

_-_-_-_

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[kragehund-est]

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[cryptfile]

Ꮺ˖˚₊ leeches, [ logan howlett x vampire!reader au ]

summary — logan howlett lacks of patience (and he can also be a nice little blood-bag while losing his temper). 8k+

warnings — 18+ mdni, fem!reader implied, blood kink (keep in mind you’re a vampire! not twilight but more of a true blood kind?) downright filth im sorry, dead dove do not eat, smoker!reader, endless tension, manhandling, praise kink, kind of porn without plot (LIES CAUSE IT HAS ONE THO??) my boy's into paaaaaain can't help it it's canon, age-gap at first (reader is her 20's but again, vampire), public sex (it just happened), daily reminder to wrap it before you tap it, p in v, choking, filthy mouth, pet names.

side notes — thought this could take place after days of the future past? au cause why nottttt ,,currently on ovulation season so bare with me,,, been a little mia cause i’m surviving aka going through the worst semester of my life at uni? internships are breaking my ass currently so well, here i am just existing, also, english’s not my first language and everyday i’m grateful for it, so any mistakes i’m not sorry in advance lol i’m also too lazy to correct once published,, feel free to send more logan requests since i've basically been a slut for him for a while now (i'm rotting in hell).

He could swear the mansion got ten degrees hotter when you came in.

It’s inevitable. It’s this thing you carry, the way you move — Graceful, elegant, almost compelling as the air fills the room. It’s not public knowledge that you’re not a mutant itself, yet you’re presented like one, like you have healing factors and age painfully slow, but human after all, a subtle lie, one that can harm no one.

It’s safe to say you catch his attention in the most annoying way: How couldn’t you? All you do is this weird seduction he’s appealed to, whether you’re conscious or not it’s just captivating, an invisible force that even when you ignore it is there, there waiting for the perfect moment to flood every time you happen to be in the same room.

Captivating. That’s the word.

The room becomes smaller after, the air grows thicker, and it’s almost like a ticking bomb, the way you wouldn’t even look at his face while he’s noticeable pinning after Jean Grey, the mystery that surrounds you and he cannot seem to resolve no matter how much time he puts into it.

It’s like he's the plague. You don’t really try to exchange more than just a few words, only when it's needed and you cannot avoid him any longer, and he didn’t say anything at first, keeping his distance too cause he don’t see how you’d become friends, cause after all, what he could have in common with a girl that doesn't surpass the twenty years?

But soon he's upset about it, even when he doesn't really say anything out loud, it's a spike he cannot reach under his skin. You seem to become friends with anyone but him, mutant kids in your history lessons, the rest of the team, even the damn mailman when he delivered a package — You'd say hello like it's a long time lover or so, greeting people like they mean the world to you.

He has students now that are asking for a transfer from his class to yours cause it seems you're fun to be around, more like he is, and he fucking hates it.

It's fair to say it's been getting into his mind lately. That thing you do with your hair, twisting it in your index finger on a lock as you speak, the subtle red glow in your eyes he always catches by mistake, not enough fast to stop looking at you, pretending he didn't even see in your direction at first.

Tension. Logan just happens to hate tension.

In fact. He's almost sure your problem is personal, that you might hate him enough to act like he didn't exist at all, enough to avoid him like he was not there.

That's why it's just so weird.

When he finds himself walking down the hallway to the kitchen and he smells this cherry-scented aroma that settles under his nostrils, he changes the direction he's walking to, to instead, follow the path to the person that was silently smoking outside. Hiding. Maybe, a student he'll have to scold like the old man he was turning into.

No smoking in the mansion!

However, as the night is just settling, he doesn't recognize a little mutant, but instead happens to recognize you in the middle of the gardens of the mansion, close to the maze; escaping the comfort of the inside to enjoy a self-rolled cherry tobacco he has smelled before in the air. He's a victim mostly, cause his legs move on it's own as his mouth go dry, approaching you in silence.

"What do you want?" you ask when he's halfway there. And your tone is just cold as ever, not an ounce of feeling as he contemplates your side profile, the way the tobacco sticks out of your parted lips, seated on a bench hidden between bushes and trees — "Is Scott bitching about the smell going into the mansion already?"

No. He's not. But he doesn't have enough reasons to explain exactly why he's outside if you asked, why, all of sudden, he followed the scent of cherry knowing it was you the only one who carried a colts package in the pocket of every single jacket you wore, constantly asking Storm if she could hold on to the bag of filters for you while you rolled in the worst moments.

It's distracting, to say the least.

"Yeah," he quickly says, lying cause in reality he hasn't seen the guy in the whole day, yet it sounds like something he would say. "Do you happen to have another one of those to share?"

You don't talk much, hand reaching his as you offered him from your tobacco without a single word, the same that was placed between your lips and now was on his in what seemed to be something more intimate than what he'd like to admit, the cherry taste filling his lungs as they weirdly enough, shared a cig.

"Aren't you too young to be smoking?"

You laugh, and the sound sends a shiver down his spine cause he has never heard a sound quite like it, nothing that resembles that throaty, raspy sound that came out of your lips in amusement thanks to his words. He, out of all people, has never seen you like that — "And how old you think I am?"

He seems to think about it for a second, carefully picking his next words. Logan knows that women and their age are a tricky thing, you cannot say a number that's too compromising, nor act stupid and say something that's clearly not correct — "Not a day over twenty-two."

The answer pleases you, and he just knows he's wrong, but you don't seem bothered by it, instead, you nod pretending he's right, like he just got the answer right away.

He can see why everyone's switching classes now. Cheeky bastards.

"Twenty-two is not young at all, but i'm twenty-seven though," you say, and he scoffs at the statement, seeking for any change in your heartbeat, any sign of a lie. The strange thing happens when he cannot pick any heart at all, any sign of pulse.

"You are pretty young still," he says, against his age, you’re just starting out living—. "You don't look like you are twenty-seven at all."

"Cause I age slower than the rest," it's a practiced lie. One you know from repeating the same explanation over and over again, the priced answer of why you haven't changed a single bit in the past few years and made you a mutant — "I never looked my age."

Such a fucking liar. He doesn't need any heartbeats to confirm it cause deep down you are a terrible actress, he can see it so clear, how you're calculating every answer, thinking about the correct thing to say, the normal thing to say.

"Is that your thing?" he asks, playing pretend almost as bad as you do. Tilting his head to the side as he questions you — "Age slowly?"

"I have healing powers," you explain as he tossed you the joint once again. "My saliva kinds of help healing wounds. It's pretty boring."

"Boring" Logan repeats. The word itself sounds so damn fun in your lips it's contradicting. "That doesn’t sound really boring."

There's a moment of silence after that. Where you smoke in silence taking in the taste of the cherry, and he is having a hard time wrapping his head around the fact that your lips also touched the side of the cigar he was smoking before, the plain lies you've been repeating over and over the last ten minutes.

It's almost infuriating. Makes his blood boil without question, he surely endures your treatment of silence, but being lied to? That's a whole different level.

“How old are you, kid?”

Your brows furrow in response, a clueless face. You are pulling out this show once again Logan don’t buy for a damn second. Something about the scrunch in your nose, the way you dismissed your own powers as if they weren’t enough. He knows it’s all a lie. He knows it even when he doesn’t really know you at all, when it’s the first time you’re truly speaking to him after your arrival to the mansion almost a year ago.

“How old you really are?”

You laugh at the question once again, and he just knows it, knows it when he sees you barely illuminated by the dim light of the moon, the act you always keep up, a web of tangled lies you have to be into— “Told you i'm twenty-seven already, didn't you hear?”

“Is it now?” he asks, amused by the sass, exhaling the smoke of the low-quality tobacco he doesn't understand why you're so invested in when passed it to him—. “Cause you don’t seem very convinced, it really sounds like bullshit to me.”

You're almost offended. By the look you give it's like the worst mistake he could ever make, yet you remain silent, not giving the satisfaction of an honest answer yet. Testing his patience like he did have one to begin with.

"Is that why I can’t hear your heartbeats, darlin'? Cause you age so slowly?”

The nickname scratches a part of your brain, and you hate him for it. The word rolls out of his tongue with an accent, smoking your cherry tobacco cause you happen to be nice.

“You can’t?” you’re good at faking it suddenly, at least, that's what he thinks when your brows furrow in alleged curiosity, stiffening your back, uncomfortable. “How weird.”

“Damn right it is” that's when you realize he knows you are lying. Even when you don’t talk much, even when you act all stiff and bothered when he’s close, he knows that you are fully invested in lying. In whatever twisted little lie you've planned, like it was your real life and not something you made up. “Are you going to tell me truth, then or do I have to find out? Does the professor know that you're lying?”

The smoke lingers in the air.

“How old are you?” he asks once again, demanding an honest answer this time — "Thirty? Thirty-five?"

You find his questions annoying, mostly cause he won't stop until he gets an answer, one that pleases him enough to leave you alone, the other part cause you happen to like the playful banter you two keep going, dangerously much. You don't hate attention it's clear, what you do hate it's the way he seemed to see pass the lie, to demand more even when he has no right to.

He enjoys being the one who's right though, Logan cannot help it. He's pleased to catch that look on your face who says everything but nothing at once, to have you where he wanted, almost at the edge of admitting a truth.

Is it payback because you've been stealing all of the little mutants from his class? He's jealous cause kids like being around you? It does not make much sense, but he is fully invested. Questioning all.

Even when you're outside, it seems like the air grows thicker. And Logan finds himself seeking for your breathing, cause he don't know nothing, nothing about you more than the fact you don't seem to have a heartbeat, or pulse and now, breathing.

“If you really are that eager to know, i'm a hundred and twenty-seven” the words float in the air for a while, and he's sure you're just messing with him, cause there's no way a pretty little face like yours had endured a century. “I've been alive for quite a while.”

He doesn't fully believe it first. Of course he doesn't. Logan's sure you're messing with him also, distracting him about your real age.

“And I supposed this do come from you slow aging powers” He tries to give you a point there, but it's difficult to be serious when you're just playing with him—. "How so?"

To be honest, you do have a little temper yourself, you've learned to stand up for yourself most of the time, so when you happen to notice he's teasing you, that he doesn't really believe you, you adopt this attitude of defense he notices as you shift over the wood you're seated in.

"No, it doesn't" you steal the joint from his hands to have a smoke yourself. "You really aren't as smart as I thought you were, huh?"

Do you happen to have a dead wish? His muscles tense beneath his shirt, and in contrast of his problem, you can hear it all. All the sounds his body makes when he's all bothered just by the beat of his heart, that annoying sound his bones make each time he moves.

"What are you?"

"That's it," the praising goes directly into his chest, the tone you use to tell him he's going in the right direction it feels just so right he forgets why he got mad in the first place—. "That's what you should be asking right there."

It's almost a shame having to admit he would also switch classes. That he would also go through all the paperwork himself without a second thought and that right there, is pathetic, but you're smiling at him as if you're encouraging the man to try harder, to find the answer himself, and fuck — He's old, too old, he's tired, he's in a bad mood as fucking usual, and he happens to dig a drink in the quiet of his own room, but he's pulled by something as equal as devastating as the gravity force, shoot towards you in pure need to have some answers even if he has to make you spit them.

"I find it strange, cause when you don't have a heartbeat, you aren't usually alive" Deep down he's fascinated, hazel eyes glues on your face trying to understand. He feels like he has it in the tip of his tongue waiting to leave his mouth as a catastrophic answer, but he doesn't find the right words.

"That's cause i'm not," you state it like it's something obvious. And just as he knows you're lying, this time, he knows you're telling the truth, blowing the smoke in his direction just to bother him — "Why do you think i'm teaching history after all huh?"

He hasn't seen it all, it seems.

Yeah.

He's losing it after that night.

It’s known that Logan has sleeping problems, but that night specifically he thinks about something else rather than what usually torments him, a truth he also has to keep a secret now that he's learned more about it.

See, Logan doesn't expect you to be really dead. Much less to hear what you are and have been hiding this whole time from the rest of the people in the mansion — He also learns that you feed on blood, that vampires are a common thing in the world and that he shouldn't, at least, be that surprised when he's a mutant in a world full of humans himself.

You are a folklore myth on small villages, stories in Rumania and horror character in films, so you don't blame him when as you spoke, he finally understands why you're so damn attractive, so damn seductive as you explained more about your way of living, some memories you've been keeping to yourself since being a vampire was so damn solitary, memories he listens to cause he knows what it's like, to be misunderstood, to be eternal, to be alone as well.

It makes the two of you grow closer by the next weeks. You now talked during broad daylight about random shit at first, about the war sometimes, about your condition as he refers to when people is around, eaves-dropping on what you two are talking so invested in. Friends.

Simple as that.

And it's safe to admit also that in the course of the next days, Logan Howlett is a fucking mess, and he knows it, but he won't do anything about it.

He won't flirt cause he knows you're a hell of a woman, in every good sense of the word, that he's way too damaged for a vampire even, for all kinds of people out there, and as much as he'd like to say anything, he values your attention, how you switched the attitude of acting like he didn't exist to be a friend, one that you came to share secrets with a cherry aroma glued in their skin.

It gets him insane, to the point he's no longer spending much time with Jean and people start to pick up on it as if he didn't have enough headaches already. He doesn't care. Shit you are not bothered by what people say, and to be honest, he cannot seem to care either.

At first, he's reluctant of keep on talking to you as normal as it is. He's not really invested in religious themes, but he sure admits you're a sin by all meanings, a religious experience of some kind if anyone asked him — He agrees with what he has heard also in the hallways. Innocent conversations of teens and their platonic crush on their teachers. You are pretty hot.

He's so interested in knowing more about you, about the nights you spend in Rumania, when you leave to Canada, the different lives you've lived across the years. He finds himself looking forward to share his stories too, weird enough, cause he's over two centuries himself and he just craves to talk about it with someone who also gets him in a deeper level, that weariness that fills your body when you age so long.

You got the best of immortality, and instead of feeling envious, Logan finds himself attracted to you so much like he's never been in his whole existence. Not at the point it happened with you at least.

By the end of the first month he knows your little treats. You use a lot of sunscreen, and avoid activities outside as much as you possibly can with those classic, tiny black sunglasses that hided you from the rays of the sun, always in the shadow so unapproachable; how you'd usually dismiss food offerings from anyone who's kind enough to even offer you something, and when you haven't fed well during the course of the week, you'd become the most maddening woman he'd ever met.

Maddening.

"What wrong with you, Leech?" Leech. You've been in such a bad mood lately that when he's seating next to you in another random smoking session outside, your fingers twitch, clearly pissed at the nickname after saying multiple times you don't like it.

"I'm not in the mood for plays now."

He can tell from before. When you talked to him that very morning and stared at the collar of his flannel for what it seemed a good, nice minute, he realizes the same moment that you were staring at that pulse point in his neck, where the flesh blood was pumping in his blood flow: You're hungry, as any living creature would be and at your own manner, in constant control as you fight the sense of hunger.

So instead, the mutant ask, like he always does when he’s curious about something that involves you:

"When did you last feed?"

"A couple of weeks ago."

That would explain it. You don't talk much about your meal plan, he knows the professor is in charge of all of that. You've told him about blood bags and hospitals, but he's not really aware of how constant you need to eat, how the blood supplies most of your energy, makes you stronger, gives you vitality, so Logan at first, don't really know what its like to not drink any blood in the course of two weeks.

"What happened with the blood bags from the Hospital?"

The mention of blood out loud seems to triggers you. A groan escaping your lips as you can swear you feel the taste in your mouth — "Don't know. Haven't seen a single one this week, Charles said something about next week, problems in the bank I guess."

You're clearly worked up. It's a new look he hasn't registered before, your hair is tangled in a less-composed look, and there's a slight shake in your hands as if you're going through withdrawal, deprived for what you needed the most.

"And animals?" he questions, trying to find a solution. “Can’t you eat a cat or something?”

"Like shit i'm going to feed from a fucking animal," you're almost immediately grossed out, scrunching your nose at the idea. "I can barely handle being so close to a damn human but animals? I'd rather fucking die this time for real, no waking up."

"That bad huh?" the mutant asks, taking a sip from the beer he sneaked outside, chucking lightly afterwards. "So you're a leech with elegant taste, huh? Of course you are."

"Clean blood is rare," you explain, rolling your eyes. It's inevitable. He knows you hate the nickname so much that he insists to keep on calling you that way just to get a reaction—. "Humans nowadays taste like dirt. They consume drugs among other substances, pills, food supplements, even damn vitamins, don’t get me started about blood diseases cause it gets me in a bad temper. Every single thing affects on your taste, even what you eat. It's all registered there. Clean, good blood is rare to find. Call me elegant, call me picky. It's a damn fact."

"And what about mutant blood?" he questions. And it seems like a mere phrase at first, one with no subtle tones, he’s usually curious about your nature so you don’t pay much attention as he spoke—. “You’re picky about mutants too?”

“No, i’ve never had a mutant before.” The truth is, you hate feeding from people, the act being something so intimate, so damn personal, you refrain yourself. Killing humans, picking a next victim to fed on, is considered now a treat you don't appreciate from your kind, making you steal from hospitals and any kind of blood bank before Charles offered you help. You haven't fed from a mutant, cause you avoided everyone equally, but you don't want to be rude about it. “You all smell different, but i’d be lying. Maybe yes, i’d be picky about it too, feeding is something intimate.”

It's an undeniable admission, and now that he's trying to be in your position, he would also be picky about someone's blood. Logan remains stoic cause he’s suddenly filled by the thought of something else, a glimpse of his own weird creativity he forces himself to push aside, to really suppress now that it's not the time or the moment.

“How do I smell?” It's too late to stop the words from coming out of his mouth when he asks her. And at first, is out of pure curiosity. He has never encountered a vampire in his life until you, let alone had someone talking about the subtle tastes of the blood being undead, so he doesn't want to let the opportunity slip — Of course he wants to know if an over two hundred mutant like himself would be as remotely good as a fresh, clean bag from the hospital.

"You stink like wet dog," he surely deserves it after all the times he’s been calling you a leech — "Like those cigars you tend to smoke, alcohol, and musk. It's similar as wood. That smell you got when you're in a forest and it's not raining but straight pouring."

"Is this a way of telling me i'd taste bad, peach?"

You make a mental note to let him know after you like peach way more than leech.

"If i'd found a human smelling like that, you won't be hearing from me anytime soon" you're just messing with him. A playful banter you enjoy more than ever, the distraction you needed to think in something else rather than the blood bags you craved so deeply — "Hell, i've would just walked the other way."

"So i'm taking you won't be feeding from me anytime soon."

It all takes a dark turn there. You're very aware of the tension the last month now that you talk to him in daily basis, but it’s just mere tension, nothing that ever goes beyond the limit. Logan has never said something to flirt with you despite the million chances he got, and he always remained like a friend, one that you enjoy spending time with now. Cannot be blamed when you're taken aback.

“Cat got your tongue, kiddo?” Man. You're about to whine about the name before you remember he is indeed, older than you are. Vampire or mutant.

"You want me to feed from you?"

He seems so willing when you ask. Even when you teased about his smell calling him a wet dog. He just seems so eager to let you just do it, try a mutant for the first time.

"Yeah," he dismisses it like it's not something so deep — "I doubt Charles is going to let you take a bite since you could clearly kill him, and I'm not sure the others would be pleased with the idea of you sinking your teeth in them, so yes. Me, leech."

Logan Howlett doesn't really smell bad. And you don't know why cause he has all the ingredients to fucking stink, yet, you'd call him interesting. That's what you thought when you find his pulse point again, the vein in his neck you looked earlier in the morning, thinking just as the same you were thinking now.

Of course you would feed from him. Is it a good thing to do? No, in any other circumstances you'd decline. He's your friend.

Now? You’re having a hard time.

"So I'm guessing that you're pleased with the idea, then," Real talk?, you just want to hear him say it. He doesn't talk much usually, but now that he's very vocal about what's on his mind, you have to take advantage of it—. "I'm not sure either. But I do think Storm may be interested too."

He seems content with the response, taking a long sip from his beer before adding — "Please, go and ask her so you're less annoying."

You're almost completely sure he doesn't find you annoying. You also don't care about Storm. And maybe he knows you're not going anywhere, that you're not moving.

"You really want me to bite you?"

"I dunno now, princess" he looks at you pleased now cause he got you where he wanted to, cause he managed to awake all the interest now that you're looking at him "Are you going to pull a Dracula on me?"

"No, i'm not going to suck you dry if that's what you're asking."

Logan chuckles. He's a damn masochist. It's been like that as long as he can remember. It may have to be with his healing powers cause he likes it more than usual, but the idea gets to his head soon enough, all falling so damn fast: Your breathing would be against his neck and he'd take the bite like a damn champ.

"Yeah I can handle you," he says, aroused. "You're not gonna hurt me if you take some blood. I'll be fine and you won't be a pain in the ass."

He acts so gruff about it but you hear the sound of his heartbeat already high enough to wake the entire mansion, his labored breathing since he suggested the idea himself. He digs it, strange enough. Thrives on the idea.

He's a grown man already, and he can take a little leech like yourself.

It's clear you're hungry, cause it doesn't take much for you to accept, nodding like you're defeated, like you just lost the war entirely, cause there's no many options here to take and even if it were, you are now interested in have him more than any other blood bag. In fact. To hell with the hospital.

"Okay."

It's a simple answer, and it sure works with him as you get close to him, the bench you always used to sit now seeming so small as you look around confirming you guys really are alone—. "You won't tell anyone?"

It's something stupid to ask, cause after all that time he has never said anything, keeping your secrets as if they were his own, saving you from weird questions people get sometimes as they didn't know much about you. He's clearly not going to say nothing at all.

"Are you going to stop whining for a second and just eat darlin'? Cause I might change my mind here."

He's feeling overload soon after.

You don’t need a formal invitation to lean closer to his neck.

There's no way to describe it also cause he has never seen something like that, never felt a similar sensation more than when he's fucking, the cold touch of your fingers in his chest, taunting the vein in his neck without a previous warning before leaning in even closer than before—. "Stay still" you demand, face close against his bare skin, only one goal in mind. "Don't move for a minute. Just-"

You cannot finish the sentence, and Logan can experience the sporadic pain of the bite first hand when your teeth finally sink in his neck, piercing the flesh so easily as you let the blood fill your mouth. He grunts at the sharp pain, his face contracting momentarily before it's replaced by a nice wave of pleasure, one that hits him right in the guts as he grabs you by the nape of your neck, pushing you against him, almost demanding you to be closer, to keep on taking what you want, what you've been craving for two weeks.

When did he turned into this perverted sick? Getting off by something so primal as the fact you're feasting on him.

The feeling of your lips and the clear suck you gave when feeding are sending him into a spiral, and to be honest, he didn't expect to be so devastated by you, by the way your fingers stay against his chest to prevent him from moving, pinning the mutant between the wood bench and yourself so he won’t move, won’t do anything unless you want him to,pressing on the wound to draw more blood out.

"You heal so damn fast," you complain, looking at the traces of your bite with an unpleased face as they disappeared on his skin as fast as you created them.

"Then bite me again. I don't care."

You chuckle before leaning once again, and you can feel how the air grows hotter than how it was usually, the shift on his breathing as you bite him again, pressing on the wounds once again just to suck.

And you’re hungry, it’s the whole deal. His taste differs from what you believe at first, a huge change from what humans taste like, from what you’re used to deal with in hospitals. There’s a subtle taste of alcohol yes, but it mixes good with the sweet taste of honey, the weird taste you cannot put into words. It must be a mutant thing for sure cause it’s thicker than usual, a mix of flavors that explode in your tongue.

The headache you suffered from the whole week seems to dissapear as you drink in, feeding the monster you responded to in your stomach, demanding you to make him bleed more, to satisfy yourself until you can’t have any more.

Logan, on the other hand, is really fighting against his very own war.

You’re already close enough, but he just wants you damn closer, as much as he possibly can. It’s clear that well, it hurts slightly, but he has endured much worse, means nothing when it’s the pleasure that comes with it who strikes on his body, the light sucking, the idea you’re full of his blood, that you are not on trouble as you were before thanks to him. All because of him.

He's not used to acts on his impulses, but he does it anyway.

"C'mere" he says in a strangled voice, Logan's having no trouble moving you around, grabbing you by the hips to make you straddle him, keeping you glued to his neck as he doesn't want to disturb you—. "You really are a pretty leech, huh?”

You hum against his skin, pleased at the contact, and when he realizes you’re not complaining about his actions, he let his fingers grip your tights, keeping you against him.

You can hear him making this sound, quite like a moan but not exactly when you’re licking the holes you left in his skin, he does heal fast and don’t need any of your help when you’re done, but you coat his skin with your saliva anyway just to speed up the process, cause you want to do it, looking down to him after to check if he’s pale or nearly dead. You never really know.

And Logan himself is just fine cause his fingers gather the blood under your lip when he takes the sight of you sitting in his lap as the pearly white rays of moonlight makes your skin shine, and he pushes them inside your mouth so you don't waste any drop of what it can be considered food.

"So what's the final verdict?" he asks as his hands are now grabbing your tights, there's something so intimate about the moment, so personal, hot as he presses his fingers against the flesh of your muscles, he understand what you said before—. "Do I taste like utter shit?"

"Well, i’d need another taste to have my final decision" he laughs, and he don't really laugh often so the unexpected sound sends a shiver down your spine now that you’ve heard the sound quite a while now—. "Not much, just a little."

“Have you fill then, peach” He encourages you. “I want you full so you don’t whine the rest of the week.”

You don’t have any heartbeat, but if you did, it would be ragging in your ears at his words. At the warmth he’s spreading like a disease on her body that, despite being dead and cold, you can feel more than ever.

“I like peach,” you admit, this time pressing a soft kiss before directly hurt him—. “Leech is annoying.”

He’s going to say something, tease you about it maybe but he’s interrupted by the nice feeling of what he considers are your fangs tearing his skin apart, familiarity hitting him all sudden as he moans, a rough sound that comes from the deep of his throat, hands coming down to squeeze your ass, making you gasp against his neck when you experience the aching need physically forming in his pants.

“Still,” you say, concentrated on not allowing the wounds to close. But at the lack of complaints on what he's doing, Logan’s hands kept wandering around, making you move against his now clearly stiffed cock—. “Fuck’s sake I said still.”

“Stop being a damn brat. You can eat while I move you,” he grunts annoyed, shoving you against him, the friction of his jeans against the thin fabric of your shorts is enough to keep you quiet: Feeding from a stranger and feeding from a person you’re attracted to are two different things, especially in the position you find yourself in. “You don’t have to do anything. Quit whining about it.”

In response, your fingers press against the wound, not caring if it hurts or if it bothers him, but just enough to get him to bleed more and prevent the cut from closing, lapping at the blood that gathered over his collarbone, staining his white tank before you could even avoid it.

Your fingers grab the fabric just to pull it slightly down so it won't bother you, and the deep sound his chest make when he mocks about your desperation is stuck on your brain for the next couple of minutes, indulging in his taste, shutting up the rest of the world.

A moan comes out of your lips, muffling it against his skin. You're too zoomed out to hear it, but he's on a hell of a ride too, moaning as he demands more. It's been a while since the last time you did something like that, combine the pleasure of something as primal as eating with a mundane activity like sex, so you kind of forgot how good it felt, blaming yourself from depriving from something so needed.

"Do you always get this turned on when someone bites you?"

"No" Logan answers as you finish. He's rock hard beneath you, and he lets you know it when he's controlling the movement of your hips, working you against him at a slow pace—. "See, the woman i'm trying to seduce don't usually bite me, nor make me their main dinner plate."

You whine at the friction.

He looks down to the cause of all his damn problems just to notice his pants being damped with nothing but a physical form of need, soothing the uncomfortable fabric of his blue jeans — "So wet for me already, you’re making a damn mess, do you always get this turned on when feeding?"

Cheeky bastard.

He's using your own words against you, and you cannot be less bothered as you laugh softly, licking your lips only cause you know there's dried blood in them, drowned in his smell, the honey taste that lingered in your mouth.

“No, I don’t.”

At the sight, Logan's hand grabs your jaw in a rough movement, making you look at him before making you kiss him, deepening the contact as fast as you give him the chance. His tongue is soon invading your bucal cavity as he takes control of it, slow, intense and needy, as if he was holding on so much time before giving in to his own desires.

It is something like that.

You don't need to breathe in daily basis, but there's a burning sensation in your chest of wanting, of infinite lust you've been also experiencing by yourself.

The old mutant can taste his own blood in your mouth, a metallic taste as he keeps on kissing you until your lips are pink and puffed. He has thought so much about it that now that he has the opportunity, he devours as if he's a starved man having his first meal in what seems are ages.

"You didn't tell me if I tasted bad."

You think about it for a second.

"I'm afraid you're a rare breed cause it doesn't make any sense" You don't need any help now moving, cause you're rolling your hips on top of him at your own pace, allowing him to use his hands for something else—. “You have all the ingredients to taste like shit, but it's nothing but the contrary, even better than the fucking blood bags.”

“Sounds like your going to make me your meal plan, darlin. I’m here offering you a hand and you just take everything,” — “Such a greedy little vampire.”

He doesn't seem to care though, same as before he's nothing but willing to let you take everything as much as he tries to bark about it. He's more worried about his hands now that they're sliding down your oversized shirt, tracing patterns over your stomach, his touch so hot against your usually cold temperature.

"Logan," you whine,— "Someone can see us out here."

"Now you care about that?" his hazel eyes are a shade darker when he speaks. "After you're nice and full of my blood?"

His hands are big enough to take your whole cunt, allowing his digits to roam over the fabric of your underwear, almost thanking you for using those loosened pajama shorts he has seen before that very night as he just takes the fabric and pull it to the side.

"Nobody is going to see us. It's late and everyone's sleeping, leech" he teases you, and you cannot bring yourself to care about the nickname at the feeling of his hand taunting you from over the fabric—. "If you can bite me here outside, you might as well take my cock here too."

You cannot battle against that. You're deep in whatever spell he puts you into, giving in to the attraction and the tension that now needs to be taken care of. Logan's fingers touch you in nothing but experience, cause he knows how to please after so much time alive, how much pressure he needs to apply to leave you plain dumb, pliable for him.

"D'you think I need to stretch you out before fucking you?" he asks against your neck after leaving a reasonable-sized hickey in the zone, he likes the idea of people finding out about what you've been doing with him the next morning. "Or you're a big girl and can take me all by yourself?"

He'd like to take your time with you. Thoroughly enjoy you as much as he wants to, let everyone know you're his now, that you're shuddering thanks to him only, but he's too needy for that, too deprived of you to take his time.

"I want you to use that pretty mouth of yours and talk to me," he demands, coming up to look at your face while torturing you, his index and middle finger rubbing your clit from over the underwear—. "I'm not properly touching you yet and you're losing it already, peach. C'mon, you can talk to me still."

"I can take you," you say in a strangled voice. "Please Logan, please."

It's the plea of your tone that gets him, the soft begging of an ache he can only soothe, your face while you ask for more, not aware of anything else but him.

"Please what?"

"Please just fuck me already," you ask in frustration—. "I just need you to fill me up for a damn while."

You are starting to love the sound of his laugh. The deep sound he makes when he’s really enjoying something, his voice in damn general.

"Be a good little vampire" He says in a gentle tone. Logan’s trying to be kind even when his touch is so rough. "Unbuckle my pants and take my cock out. My hands are busy now, and you can do it yourself."

He is busy indeed. Toying with your underwear being the only thing that’s keeping him from the direct contact, pushing the fabric against your hole as it works as a barrier, preventing his digits to fuck you as he’d like to. He’s busy keeping you in place, preventing you from downright melt as your hands came up to unbuckle his belt first, the sound of the metal as it moves filling the air for a couple of seconds before you put all your attention in the button of his jeans, the zipper coming down with the force you’re using.

“Yeah baby,” he praises—. “You’re doing so good, keep going.”

When you pull the fabric of his briefs down, he’s already leaking for you, pink head, slightly curved to the side, moaning, erratically how much he needs your hands on him, how you're wet and ready for his cock. You close your fist around him, stroking slowly as your hips lift up enough to position yourself on top of him.

He’s big. Damn fucking right he is, you’d expected it from before cause sometimes you swear you can see his full length in his jeans, but taking him in your hand is a struggle but itself.

“Are you going to take me yourself or do you need my help? I know you can.”

Despite his words, he does help. Grabbing the black fabric of your underwear to finally make it to the side, the tip of his dick pushing against your clit before he's the one to place it in your leaky hole, forcing himself slowly, giving you time to take him in, inch by inch.

“Good girl," he says, head rolling backwards for a brief moment as he experiences the warm sensation of your walls surrounding him, clenching against his cock as he keeps one hand on your hip, helping you as you lower yourself over him. "Let me look at you.”

His fingers grab your jaw, squeezing you as he makes you look back at him, pushing you once again as you holded a loud moan. He's stretching you at his need.

"One more time," he begs. "One more time and you got it, peach. You're almost there."

Jesus fuck. You can feel yourself getting dizzy. You've drank a lot of blood and you're now overwhelmed by this intense pleasure that formed in your lower stomach, gathering there and waiting for the perfect moment to explode—. "Fuck I-"

Logan's pampering you with kisses as a mere distraction, his lips travelling through your neck to your collarbone before you're finally seated on top of him, a muffled moan you need to shut filling the calm of the night.

"Fuck you're tight," he exhales, and he's lost in the sensation, the way your velvety walls welcome him inside. He stays still for a moment, giving you time to adjust, to make you the one who starts moving on top of him.

You can see his veins popping up. All over his chest and coming down to his shoulders and his arms, and god gracious — He smells so fucking good you’re tempted to ask if you can have a bite again.

The moment feels longer than usual, the seconds pass slowly as you stay there. Logan’s hands are just touching your skin from under your oversized t-shirt, taking in the low moans you gave him, the almost perceptible whispers as you get used to him, to his size.

He likes the intimacy of it, the bliss. Man you look so pretty in his lap when the light of the moon is stripping you all to his eyes, even if you’re fully dressed an he’s seated in a damn bench, he cannot enjoy it more, pulling you in for a needy kiss, one that is rougher than the first one and leads you to move inevitably.

His cock pushes past that nice spot inside, and the friction is enough to make you move again, rocking your hips at a slow pace for a few seconds. The sound of your moans is silenced by his demanding kisses, and now that he knows you can handle him, his grip on your hips turn more firm now, squeezing the skin there so he can control your speed, the rythm of your movements now faster than before.

“Shh, don’t whine” what he lacks of vocal usually, he pours it all in just fucking, talking you through it when he feels you’re being too loud—. “Do you want to wake the others? We can’t have them seeing you like this, all fed up and cock-drunk.”

“Let me bite you again,” you ask soon enough. And it takes a lot to do it, cause you’re doing it out of pure greed, cause you can’t have enough.

“Take whatever you want, leech, just don’t make me faint” he jokes, his panted breathing betraying him as he moans, incredibly interested in the idea—. “Want to be conscious when you cum all over my dick.”

Logan’s sure your eyes glisten in a red color as you lean over his neck. And this time is less affectionate, much less gentle as you finally bite him again, teeth piercing the flesh so easily his hips jolts against you in response of the sharp pain your fangs create, the warm sensation of his blood in contrast of your cold touch, tongue-licking all you get from him.

And fuck it feels good.

He shrudders beneath you, shaking his head just slightly at reflex of pain before continue working his way with you, placing his hand between your tights as he lets his fingers rub on your sensitive clit, just enough to make you bite on his neck harder, the lewd sounds of your cunt taking him between holded moans as you suck on his neck.

“That’s it taking me so good,” He praises — “You like that, princess? Like how you’re full of me?”

You hum against his skin. The blood coates your chin as it goes down through his chest, staining his white tank for a couple of seconds before the holes your teeth made finally closes on their own.

It’s pure ecstasy. He can feel it when you clenching around his cock, cheeks red from his blood going now through your system, his vitality, his energy.

You can feel him fucking everywhere. So when you kiss him it’s all teeth, bite and his blood.

The pleasure’s taking control of you now, and Logan’s dizzy from the blood loss, his body covered now in sweat as his words slur together, not threading any coherent thought.

“That’s it,” he says, making you bounce of his cock. “Gonna’ have you in my room then, all spread out f’me.”

His hand wrap around your neck tightly, keeping the direct contact as he chokes you. Shit. You don’t need to say a word. Logan already got you.

“James-” he’s too deep to question why you’re using that name with him. How you facade is crushing down now as you let go.

When your body trembles on top of him he’s already cumming too, the squeeze on his cock sufficent to fuck him up personally, his bruising grip on your hips shoving you as deep as he possibly can as his release hits him like a brick falling from the damn sky.

He lets you work for it, ride each second of your high, milk him dry as a white circle of his own cum mixed with your juices coated the base of his cock, his underwear now slick with your orgasm.

He’s struggling to breathe, to properly say something as you’re finally coming down from your peak, looking at him through half lidded eyes.

“Did you called me James?” he questions, and you’re a damn bad liar, cause he knows imediately you’re hidding something cause of the look on your face—. “Do we know each other? From before.”

You don’t know how to respond at first, at least, cause you cannot lie in a position like that now.

“Well uh. It’s quite a long story here.”

Before you can continue he gets up, making you wrap your legs around his hips before stsrting to walk to the mansion.

“Logan-” you say in a strangled moan yourself, still sensitive as he’s balls-deep inside you.

“It will be less than two minutes, leech” he responds gruffily,— “Need to get you into my room so I can enjoy you the rest of the night, and you can tell me all of it.”

He don’t care if he’s bloody or a damn mess as he squeezes your ass climbing up the stairs, much less if anyone see the two of you in that state.

“I want to hear all the details, Cause I have a weird feeling that this has happened before.”

You cannot find a reasonable excuse to say no as the man’s already reaching the second floor.

Logan’s fucked after that night. When he learned about all that you were before, weirdly connected to you through the decades.

It must be the bite isn’t? Shit. He’s more in sync than ever now that you’ve been feeding from him a lot the last few weeks.

Ah. You fucking leech.

my masterlist

[lavilavs]

♡ˎˊ˗ From the start

› Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

› Scenario: You love Jason so much that you completely forgot what you are. Silly you!

› Notes: English is not my first language + I feel like the ending is rushed, so—my apologies <3

This is hell.

You're hanging by a thread between continuing and giving up. Catching Jason's attention is becoming more of a wish than a goal. You could only hope to get it.

You've caught everyone's attention but his. It didn't matter that his brothers complimented you, nor Alfred, and not even his father! You only wanted his approval.

His brothers were witnesses to your suffering. Always somehow being at the scene of the crime—a.k.a. your embarrassment.

Your first attempt at catching Jason's attention was showing off your prowess as a fellow vigilante. What else could a big, strong guy like him admire in a woman, right? He seems like the type to go for strong women. His past flings say a lot about his type.

Much to your surprise, Jason agreed to come with you to the training area. Under the pretense of getting tips from him, you managed to make him come along. And how else can you demonstrate your full potential without a sparring buddy? Good thing Dick was there to save the day.

When Jason turned his back on you to sit on the bench, you quickly took this opportunity to tell Dick your plan. The eldest brother gasped at your romantic advances towards his brother, saying stuff about young love and how passionate you are towards his brother.

You quickly pushed him away by the face when you heard Jason speak.

"I thought you guys wanted to spar, not chitchat." Somehow, without looking at him, you just knew he rolled his eyes.

It was pointless to talk back. You'd just feel annoyed at the fact that he's so dense and impatient at times. Both you and Dick took your respective places, getting in stance to fight. With Jason being the spectator, he took care of being the referee as well.

You gaze at Dick intently as you wait for Jason to give the go signal to spar. His eyes sparkled with excitement, almost looking like he's about to burst. Maybe you shouldn't have told him about Jason.

At the sound of Jason's voice, you both went head-to-head. You shared a groan over your foreheads clashing, hands clasped and shaking with force to push the other back. Realizing none would submit, you released each other and gathered your breaths. Dick didn't have an opportunity to react to your fast recovery, but he still managed to dodge your attacks.

It was going so well. Dick looked like he had a hard time fighting you off. Despite being an acrobat, your flexibility was on another level. You were too slippery.

"You had some secret lessons from Selina?" he jokes.

"Nah, all talent." You smirk at him.

You were filled with adrenaline. Too happy that you were doing so well. Seeing Dick struggle to keep up with you is a testament to your skills.

You sneak a glance at Jason as you perform a flip. Thinking back at it, you shouldn't have. Because seeing that look of approval on his face made you overjoyed that you managed to fumble your landing.

"Shit!" You yell in panic.

You were grateful to know that the mats were soft enough to land in; the worst you could get from the fall is embarrassment, and you can live with that. But something hard snapped you out of your thoughts—you didn't land on the mats. You hear a groan beneath you, feeling his muscles tightening and flexing against your suit.

His scent, you know this. Your heart races at the thought of Jason catching you and taking the impact instead. So he did care about you like that.

"Woah—hey, don't snuggle up to me like that." You snap your head up at Dick's awkward chuckle, his hand lightly pushing you away to prevent you from smushing your face against his chest any longer.

What do you expect from men who live with each other? Dick must've borrowed his cologne. It was such a bad timing. It makes you want to strangle yourself at the mishap.

Dick wanted to laugh at your face, but he knew not to. Seeing that mixed look of shame and anger, he would rather not get roped in by your fury. But Dick being Dick, a small portion of his laughter slipped out of his mouth. His shoulders rattled as he tried to stop himself.

If God can truly hear everyone, you're praying that he would just take you right here, right now. You could figuratively feel foam in your mouth from the embarrassment. You lied—you cannot live with the shame of this fall. It could've been easily avoided if you played it off cool. But those escape plans of yours shattered the moment Dick caught you.

"Alright, that's enough." You hear Jason's gruff voice behind you, looming over your tangled bodies on the floor. Thank God you can't see his face right now. You don't want to see him eye to eye after falling on top of his brother.

He hooks his hands under your arms, lifting you up easily, and places you on his shoulders. You slumped in defeat, deciding to be silent for another few hours before having the courage to speak to Jason again.

"Tip number 1: Don't snuggle up to your enemies." Jason teases you further.

You take it back—extend those few hours to a few days.

──── ୨୧ ────

Your second attempt happened within Wayne Tower. Tim happened to need extra help with security, and you also happen to be adept with technology. Of course, Jason wouldn't like a woman with just strength. You need to have the smarts too. And this is not a moment you'll waste after that moment with Dick last week.

Tim was reluctant to let both—er, you—help him. Seeing how Jason was just dragged here. He didn't even hide the scowl from his face nor his grumbling.

If only Tim had gone along with his gut feeling to throw you guys out of his room, you wouldn't have embarrassed yourself for a second time.

It was simple, really. Just help him monitor the extra footage since his occasional helper just had to be unavailable today of all times. Tim can do it all alone, but he needs to have sufficient rest for the gala next week.

Once he finished instructing you both on what to do, you and Jason sat together by the corner and began working out the files.

Everything was doing great. It felt too great if you're being honest. What more can you want when you have Jason this close next to you? Your breath hitches when he leans in to whisper something. His muscles unknowingly flex every time he positions himself into a more comfortable position in his tiny seat.

You're hyperaware of everything about Jason in this dark room where only the dim lights of the screens illuminate yourselves. He's so close that you could almost kiss him. And he knows that too. He directed his attention to you, stopping momentarily to gaze at you.

This isn't a dream. If it was, why was there an annoying beep from the monitor next to you? Jason can feel this tension too, right?

Wait—beeping?

You both turn your heads to the monitor. A red notice taking your attention without delay.

"Anomaly found, click this to exterminate." You read the notice aloud.

Jason swears this was the dumbest clickbait he has ever seen. He can't even believe this was here. What happened to his brother's extremely difficult security on his tech?

"This is stupid." He glides the mouse over to the close button.

"Hey! Wait, no!" You slap his hand away.

"What the hell?" Jason looks at you deadpan.

"This could be important, let's call Tim."

Tell him you can't be serious right now because ain't no way you're falling for one of the oldest tricks in the book.

"He's not here. Let's just fix this ourselves." You quickly grab the unattended mouse on the table. "No, this is a v—" You slap his hand away again when you see the countdown on the screen, urgently trying to make you click the link. "Let go, Jason. We're gonna get in trouble if we don't fix this." You groan at him, desperately trying to snatch the mouse away from him.

You both fight over the mouse. Things get intense to the point where you had to stand up and push him away. Jason earns a glare from you. Cocky, big bastard just sitting there cause he knows he doesn't have to put in as much effort as you do.

That's it, you've had enough. Jason's eyes go wide when you practically lunge yourself at him and successfully snatch the mouse off him. Before he could even stop you, the action was done.

"Trust me, it's not that bad, Jason. What's the worst that could happen?"

"Why would the "worst" happen?" Tim's voice catches your attention from the door, holding a tray of two drinks and fries.

"Nothing at all. We were just fighting over this—"

"Ngh—ah! More, please!"

You all went silent. Eyes going wide from the multiple porn videos popping up on Tim's screens. Shame and anger overtake your senses once again. Embarrassment just loves you this much, huh?

Jason grunts when he gets pushed along with his chair to the side, effectively making him face the wall. You didn't know how you managed to push him that far, but it's understandable when you put all your strength into the kick as you rebooted Tim's system along with running his anti-virus program.

You release a sigh of relief but it was quickly brought back into your throat at the sight of Tim looking at you with a judgmental expression.

You try talking, but Tim puts his finger to your lips. "No need. I can take it from here."

Much to your dismay, you have embarrassed yourself again in front of Jason and his brother. You both walk out silently, an awkward air surrounding you.

"You think that was just his leaked search history?" Jason cackles at the thought while you groan about another failed attempt at showing off.

──── ୨୧ ────

You spend another week recovering from your mistakes. And tonight, you swear that it will be successful. The gala would be your stage in capturing his attention. To think that you're here fitting dresses with the youngest Wayne might be a way of the universe telling you that you'll embarrass yourself again, but you won't let that happen, fate won't get in your way tonight!

"So, what do you think, Dami?" Damian looks up from his shoujo manga, narrowing his eyes at you as you twirl around in your red dress. His silence worried you a tad bit, so you can't help but egg him on. "Well? Good enough to catch Jason's attention?" You laugh awkwardly.

"He'll like whatever you put on," he tells his not-so opinion before reading his manga again.

The answer didn't satisfy you. It only made you more confused and conflicted. Like, yeah, what would a kid know about dresses and stuff, but he's still Jason's brother, he'll know what his brother likes... Maybe.

You stumble beside the boy with a groan. Cracking under the loss of hope of getting Jason's attention. Damian looked at you as if you were a child having tantrums beside him.

"You've gotta help me out here, Dami. I'm trying so hard to catch his attention, and I can't even get at least one smile from him these past few weeks." You rant to the youngest brother, hiding your face in your palms as you feel tears prickling your eyes. Love sucks!

He mutters something beside you, but you're too busy in your own misery to mind it.

You sigh again, feeling stupid that you're so helpless that you're ranting to a child of all people. Silence overtakes the room. One is too sad to speak any longer, and one is too speechless at your predicament.

"I don't know what's going on between you two, but trust me when I say you look marvelous, big sister."

Damian's compliment warms your heart as much as it warmed his own cheeks by saying it. You pull him into a hug and ruffle his hair. He retaliates by trying to wiggle out of your hold.

"Thanks, Dami. You made me feel better." Hearing your sincerity, Damian accepts your intimacy. You feel him relaxing under your touch.

You step inside the gala with unwavering confidence. Damian really boosted your mood up despite being a little devil at times. Dozens of cameras flashed your way, almost blinding you if Jason's broad back didn't block all of it. He took your hand in his as you both climbed up the ladder.

He stopped you from walking any further. Seeing your confusion, he only laughed and pulled you beside him to face the cameras. You instinctively smile and pose, totally minding his hand placement on your body. You could feel your brain short-circuit when you could feel it rest on the small of your back.

Jason feels you lean against him more. He smoothly looked down at you. You locked eyes with his dark, brooding ones. He was so breathtaking from this angle.

"I thought you hated the press?"

"I thought I could make an exception tonight."

You didn't question him any further. Just thought hard as to how important this gala must've been for him to take pictures without a forced smile on his face for once. Jason looked very happy tonight.

He looked so good with a red tie and suit. It even matched with your dress. It was refreshing to see him look sophisticated and modest instead of his usual attire. Jason looked more handsome when his hair was obviously prepared by an A-class hairstylist.

You both part ways at the entrance. He kissed your hand and pulled you close, just enough to make sure only you could hear him.

"I'll come back for you later. I need to make sure everything's perfect." His breath tickled your neck.

Jason didn't wait for you to reply, he got swept away by Dick and Bruce, who gave you a curt nod and a smile. Only Alfred was left beside you.

"Do come in, the guests are excited to meet you." Alfred's sweet smile almost made you miss what he said. Did he say that right? You're sure he didn't stutter, but what?

You spare him a small laugh first so as to avoid sounding rude. "I'm sorry—me? Are you serious?"

"Why yes, you're the star of the night. Wonderful dress, by the way."

Speechless, you could only nod.

"I must return now to Master Bruce's side. Have fun, miss. It's all for you." Alfred bows goodbye.

You were left in the middle of the gala feeling awkward and confused. A lot of things aren't making any sense, and you're too scared to move from your place in fear of doing something embarrassing. Being around his family just seems to magnetize shame to you.

"You look lost," Tim coos beside you. You turn around to face both of the youngest brothers. The blade in your heel retracted itself as you tapped anxiously, an awkward chuckle resonating from you.

"Ironic since this gala is for you." Damian crosses his arms, displeased at the way you're so clueless about everything. You can't help but feel so out of place despite being the so-called reason for the party.

Before you could ask any further, Tim and Damian get swarmed by the elite class that was invited by Bruce himself. Talking to them either for matchmaking or strictly business.

Someone pulled you to the side, your face colliding with their toned chest. By scent alone, you know who it is. You're fighting very hard to keep your heart at a steady pace. His name leaves your mouth in a breathless whisper.

"Miss me already?" Yes.

"You wish."

You both went silent. The air felt suffocating but also not at the same time. There was just an elephant in the room that the other was unaware of.

But you had a mission. You made up your mind, and you're not turning back. All the mistakes and embarrassment you've felt over the past few weeks have come to this—your hand holding his tightly as you run through the corridors.

Jason followed you blindly, watching as the air went through your hair, your perfume along with it. A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips when you wear his gift tonight. From head to toe, you were adorned with items that he bought and picked out for you.

You closed the door to the balcony. There was only you and him here. No distractions. No brothers of his around. This was your moment. And even if someone knocked on this very door, looking for you both, best believe that they'll have to wait if they don't want to end up in a casket.

Jason looked at you quizzically, but there was something else with it. You felt yourself freeze in place under his gaze. Why is he looking at you like that? You shrug it off—no more distractions!

"Jason, I—well, it's been a tough few weeks for us, mostly me, but you're always there as well to witness all of it."

There was a gap between you and him. This balcony was spacious, but you didn't have to put this much space between you guys. Jason slowly walked over to you.

"And those quick trips we made were all part of my plan, you see."

He's getting closer.

"I wanted to show myself off to you. Maybe that way, you'll see how amazing I am."

You subconsciously step back as he steps forward.

"'Cause despite all of it, I just can't seem to keep your attention. I went through humiliation—most of it was my fault, I know. But how else can I prove myself to you?"

Jason caught up to you, caging you between him and the stone wall, keeping you from falling. He wiped off the tears you didn't know that were already falling.

"Is this why Damian asked me if we were having a lover's quarrel?" He asked you softly, cradling your face in his hands. Judging by your expression, you needed more context.

"Princess... honestly? All this time—I thought we were together already." Jason never looked more unsure. "Dad, my brothers, and even Alfred thought we were official. That's what this gala is for; to officiate our relationship to the public." He smiles at you softly.

You wanted to laugh at yourself. Or maybe at Jason. The situation was too eccentric to even process quickly enough. So you're telling me that Jason thought you were dating all this time and you assumed that he didn't even like you? What did you even do all that for? Oh my gooood. Save the embarrassment for later, because you don't wanna die strangling yourself full of shame.

"What—? How? When? How did you—?" You can't even formulate a sentence from how shocked you are.

Jason laughs at your reaction, but he supposes that it's also his fault for assuming. He pulls you close and hugs you tightly. "What else would I assume when you slipped that safety pin on my finger when we fought those hooligans on the east side?"

Oh.

Oh.

That time when you jokingly proposed to him after jumping into action while you were drunk. That's when you confessed to him? But hey, it isn't your fault that he called you as backup while you were out having fun with your friends. Meaning it's also not your fault if you don't remember.

You laugh at him. "Did you not notice I was drunk?"

"Of course I did, idiot. I even had to carry you home." He grumbles at the memory.

"But you still accepted that drunk confession of mine."

"A confession is a confession. You're mine whether you remember or not."

You relax in his hold, burying yourself in the comfort of his arms. You felt so happy hearing the truth. It makes you overjoyed that Jason feels the same way. Although this wasn't how you planned on starting with him, it's surely an unforgettable moment.

It may not be as romantic or perfect as others would say. Who cares! It's a moment that will be engraved in your memories as a funny misunderstanding that made your love bloom even more.

You pull Jason in for a kiss, pouring all of your love and affection into it. You've gone through a lot just to be his. Except, you were his the entire time. You're not holding back, and he isn't either. His hands grabbed on to your neck and behind you, holding you closer as if this was the last time he'll ever get to savor the taste of your lips.

You feel yourself levitate and be placed upon the balcony. Falling is the least of your worries. You know Jason wouldn't let it happen. His tounge slides against your bottom lip again, asking for another. He looks up at you, finding permission from your eyes. And once he got it, he almost took your breath away. Jason kissed like he was a starved man.

He blinked at you when you pulled away. You take a moment to collect yourself before speaking, "Ask me officially. Ask me to be yours." Your fingers find amusement in his soft hair as you wait for him.

Jason says your name like he was only allowed to say it twice a year. Loving the way it rolls off his tounge. "May I be yours?" He pampers your face with light pecks. And he grins when he hears a lovely yes fall from your lips like an answered prayer. "Atta girl." 

Jason laughs as he picks you off the balcony and places you in the middle before sharing another kiss with you again.

He just can't get enough now that you're really his.

Your only sin would be thinking that his attention wasn't yours to keep from the beginning at all.

Extra Scene!

"Second Wayne child revealed his girlfriend at last night's gala! Found passionately kissing 50 meters above ground"

You feel your mouth foaming at whoever made this headline about you and Jason. He comes rushing in the living room when he heard you cursing. You grumble beside him, saying how you can't even rip it to shreds because you don't want Bruce getting mad at you for making a mess.

You hand him the newspaper, pointing angrily at the headline. Jason wouldn't even lie, he had respect to the journalist who wrote this paper. They had balls. Heck—how did they even manage to get a photo this clear 50 meters high?

In the kitchen however, his three brothers were busy splitting up the money they got from the journalist.

"I should get 50%, I was the one who flew up all the way just to get the picture. Mind you that I saw them kissing firsthand!" Damian shudders at the memory.

His two older brothers fought desperately on their share, disagreeing with their 25% portion.

They stopped their discussion when they smelled your perfume inside the kitchen. Their adam's apple throbbing up and down with fear.

"100% all mine. No whining unless you want to be revoked of uncle privileges."

"ALREADY?" They all shout in unison.

[nightwngz]

— 𝓐 𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐨 ✮!! eng.

fratboy!wally west x fem!reader

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀… drabble, porn with plot. smut. dirty talk, multiple orgasms, oral sex, fingering.

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁. . . no copying of my work is allowed. Free translation is allowed as long as I am credited.

𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘂𝗮𝗴𝗲. . . as I said in my other posts, English is not my first language. I have tried to make corrections with the translator, but as you all know, it is prone to making mistakes, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes or if anything sounds weird.

𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲. . . A friend of mine gave me the idea for this, so I said, 'Okay, this sounds good,' and decided to write it. I hope you like it.

Since you started university, you’ve always been part of the crowd. You never cared about being popular or standing out in class; you just wanted to get by like everyone else. You made an effort to fit in without drawing attention, avoiding conflict and focusing on passing with just enough.

Being part of the university meant interacting with certain people, even those you weren't particularly interested in but had to tolerate. Like the popular guys from a fraternity whose name you couldn’t quite remember, led by Richard Grayson and Wallace West—better known to their friends as Dick and Wally—or those slightly higher on the social ladder than you.

Dick Grayson was friendly, and his appearance clearly explained why he was so popular. He was also sweet and kind, so much so that if one of your friends asked you directly, you'd probably admit to having a crush on him. Wally, on the other hand, was a different story. Although he was funny and somewhat charming, and also popular because he was Dick's best friend, he didn't appeal to you as much. In fact, there were times when he would shamelessly try to flirt with you, but you would just respond with a gesture before completely ignoring him.

Conveniently, no matter how hard you tried to stay away from Wally, he always found a way to cross your path. Like the day you were sitting with Timothy Drake in the cafeteria when Dick Grayson came over to say hello to his brother. Wally seized the opportunity, walked up, grabbed Dick by the shoulders, and wasted no time flirting with you.

— Don't worry, babe. If you don't understand anatomy, I can give you a lesson or two.

You don't know what part of you thought it was a good idea to have Wally help you study. But you didn't realize how bad it was until the books fell off the bed where you were supposed to be studying and his face literally ended up between your legs.

You had never been with someone with such fast skills, so to speak. It was like being with The Flash himself. His tongue moved quickly over your wet pussy, causing your eyes to roll back in pleasure.

His tongue glided over your lips, tracing them from top to bottom, while his greenish gaze was fixed on yours. With one hand he helped you to spread your legs wider and with the other he filled your tight hole completely with two of his fingers. Then, growing restless, he moved to your clit, where he began to give you sweet, teasing licks. His mouth moved so quickly between your clit and your lips that it seemed he was caressing both at the same time.

And when you arched your back, with moans so intense that Wally was sure they could be heard in the hallway, he knew you would climax any moment, for the third time that night, with minimal effort on his part. It hadn’t even taken him more than five minutes.

Sweat trickled down your forehead as you reached your climax, and a wave of pleasure swept through your entire body. As you gasped, you watched as Wally pulled away from between your legs, a mischievous smile on his face. He looked beautiful, his mouth smeared with your fluids, and maybe that's why you didn't ask him to clean up.

— Damn, babe, that was so good. After what comes next, you'll be so dazed that the only name you'll remember from these books will be "Wally”.

You looked at him with wide eyes, confused by what he meant by 'after what comes next.' Hadn’t it ended? You wondered if you could handle more, given that you had already had more than you could bear.

— Oh, what? Did you think that was it? Unfortunately for you, we're not done yet. And I have enough stamina to fuck you for hours.

[einawnimie]

𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗥𝗧 𝗦𝗟𝗢𝗪 — gojo satoru oneshot.

summary — years after a quiet college breakup, two former lovers unexpectedly reunite as teachers at the same school. Amid lesson plans, student gossip, and lingering glances, old emotions resurface. As they navigate their shared past and present, they find themselves questioning if time really healed—or simply paused—what they once had.

pairing — ex!gojosatoru x ex!reader

content — afab!reader, exes to lovers, school setting, both of them are teachers, gojo teaches PE, reader teaches english, slice of life, mutual pining, reader is a complicated person, gojo understands that (hehe), bantering + more

warnings — reader is a hypocrite kinda lol, sfw fully!

words — 5.3k

—————

The smell of dry-erase markers hung in the air as you leaned againts your desk in the classroom, your eyes roamed around the whole classroom as your students worked on their essay.

Teaching the advanced class really eased up your work as most of them are really good at writing, their essays often needing only minor feedback rather than full rewrites. You walked around the class, the quiet scratch of pens and the occasional whisper filling the room and would stop at the ones who asked for assistance.

One student, sitting at the end of the class near the window asked if their essay is magazine material enough, as she tried to write an article about The Mystery Behind the Mariana Trench. You let out a soft chuckle as you leaned over to read the first few lines.

“You’ve got the bones of a strong feature piece here,” you said, offering her an encouraging nod. “With a bit more polish and structure, I’d say National Geographic better watch out.”

Her eyes gleamed from her glasses and nodded, before returning her attention towards her paper to resume her writing. You glanced at the window, intending only to give your eyes a break from the class — but the moment you did, your gaze landed on the field. There he was.

Satoru Gojo, now standing at the center of a makeshift soccer match, whistle between his lips as he acted as referee for a group of overly competitive students. He jogged alongside them, calling out fouls with that same commanding tone you remembered — the one that used to make you roll your eyes and fall for him all at once. The sunlight caught in his hair, and for a moment, it felt like college all over again — like no time had passed, and everything still hurt the way it used to.

And as if your mind isn’t already a mental traffic jam with all the mock tests you have to grade, half-written report on the students’ speaking test analysis, you suddenly remember it all— your relationship with him.

Four whole years ago—you’re both were in your final year of college.

Your lives are different. Opposites, in fact. You majored in English Literature, surrounded by dusty novels and the quiet comfort of libraries, where meaning lived between the lines and silence spoke volumes. He, on the other hand, thrived in motion — studying kinesiology, sports science, or whatever let him move, sweat, and breathe competition.

While you dissected metaphors, he timed sprints. You wrote essays; he memorized muscle groups. It never made sense on paper — and yet, somehow, it did.

It all started when he accidentally mistook your laptop as his at the library charging station. You were already stressed, trying finish four essays and study for your Victorian Lit midterm, all while surviving on instant noodles and cheap coffee. The library was packed, your laptop was on 12%, and your brain was running on fumes.

The last thing you want is some tall, smug, strapping guy accidentally stealing your laptop — and yet, here you are, sprinting across the packed library as it is the exam seasons.

He turned around, eyebrows raised, clearly puzzled by the sudden rush. You caught your breath, taking back your laptop with a mixture of irritation and disbelief.

Neither of you said much—just a brief, sharp glance that felt oddly charged, like two parallel lines finally close enough to notice each other. No fireworks, no grand revelations—just the quiet possibility that this awkward moment might be something worth seeing through.

What got you was that obvious gleam he has on his face all the time, the stupid grin when he realised he in fact—took the wrong laptop and then offering to sit beside you because he apparently “suck” at studying.

After that day, he came to the library more often. Lying to his friends about trying to find that one interesting book he found in there. Perhaps that book was you. He spent his time instead of playing basketball with the others in that same library as you, reading you.

He glances at you from time to time. Sometimes, dead on staring at you.

“You’re being weird.” You glance up at him from your laptop as you raised your eyebrows at him.

“No, I’m reading something interesting.”

“I’m no book.”

“Well, you are interesting,” He grins. All he met then was a pen flying at his face.

After that conversation, the library became your place. It wasn’t official, of course—no declarations, no reserved tables—but somehow, you always ended up at the same corner desk by the tall window, a quiet little battleground where literature and muscle physiology collided daily.

Days blurred into weeks. You teased him about his water bottle obsession; he teased you about your book hoarding. But the teasing got gentler, the glances lasted longer, and sometimes, the studying stopped altogether.

Well, let’s pretend he did ANY studying at all.

“You know,” he started, voice low but steady, “I’ve been showing up here for the books… but mostly for you.”

That made you look up. His grin never disappeared from his annoyingly handsome face.

“I figured,” you said. A beat of silence.

“So,” he continued, trying to sound casual, “what do you think—me, you, something that doesn’t involve fluorescent lights and dead authors?”

You tilted my head. “What-“

“Let’s get out of this sterile, academic place and do something real—just us.” He sat closer to you. “I didn’t ask you to paraphrase it.” You chuckled.

“Am I hearing a yes?” He looked a little too hopeful. I look back at my notes and nodded, feeling my cheeks growing slightly warm than it was.

———

You see him jogging around the field, his hair messy from the breeze and his eyes sharp as he referees soccer for his students. He made sure to drop a few strategies and tapping his students back for support, ruffling their hair as he laughs.

A gesture you were so used to.

At least a few years back.

You turned my attention away as you cleared your throat, walking towards the desk infront as the bell rang, indicating the end of your class.

The class monitor stood up and leads a respectful thank-you and bowed as you nodded, smiling before exiting the classroom. You ended up at the teachers’ lounge, making a cup of tea.

You looked over the clock, 9 AM.

Thursdays are your compact day, meaning you have classes lining up between each other. This is the only time you can take a breather before your next class at 9:30 AM soon.

You stirred your tea in slow, absent circles, the spoon clinking softly against porcelain—then, the door swung open. And there he was.

Gojo Satoru. Your ex from college— the PE teacher of the school you’re currently teaching English at, the last person you ever expected to see again, stepping into the room like a storm you thought had long passed.

You were the first to enter the school as a teacher. Life there was a quiet rhythm of chalk dust, distant laughter, and the weight of young eyes waiting to be shaped. You felt like you’re just where you wanted to be. A teacher.

It was until a few months later at the morning assembly, the principal introduced the whole school of a new male teacher teaching physical education.

You felt like you wanted to dig a hole at the school field and just bury yourself there and then.

You made sure you won’t see him anymore. No, you made sure no one from your college could meet you anymore. You intentionally chose the school furthest from your college!

But there he was, making his entrance speech with that ridiculously alluring and sexy voice you used to hear every day—now leaving the female students utterly spellbound, hanging onto his every word like a sweet, forbidden secret.

“Strawberry tea, Sensei?” His voice snapped you out of your small flashback.

“Uhm, they don’t have that here.” You don’t look at him when you answer. “Just normal tea.” You were more surprised that he talked to you rather than the fact that he remembers your favourite flavour of tea.

He nods, opening the fridge to take out cold water. You assume that he just finished his class, the one you saw from the classroom.

It was an awkward silence when you quickly try to finish your tea, and then washing the cup before turning to make your exit.

You didn’t miss when he muttered a soft “have a good day” when you left.

———

Your next class was with a more talkative group of students, so you wouldn’t feel bored while teaching. You explain what needed to be done and what they needed to prepare for their midterms.

You’re halfway through a class activity when the topic of love somehow finds its way into the discussion — blame the literature piece you assigned that day. The students are chatty, full of energy, and someone decides to throw a question your way, half as a joke, half out of genuine curiosity.

“Sensei, who was your first love?” one of them blurts out, grinning, clearly expecting a flustered or dodgy answer.

The room erupts in laughter. You blink, thrown off just enough that you don’t immediately answer. Your eyes flicker to the open window where the field is visible — and as if summoned, you think back when you see Satoru playing soccer with the students earlier.

Your lips twitch. You recover with a practiced smile. “That’s classified information,” you reply, voice light, “and definitely not part of the syllabus, kiddos.”

The students groan and laugh, a few muttering things like “You totally had one!” and “Come on, just a hint!” But you turn back to the board, trying to calm the sudden flutter in your chest. Your fingers tighten slightly around the marker.

Then, a voice from the door interrupts.

“She was into tall, athletic guys. Bit annoying, though.” and you physically freeze at your spot.

The students all turn toward the door.

There he is — Satoru, holding a stack of equipment and wearing that annoyingly smug grin.

“Am I wrong?” he adds, raising an eyebrow at you.The class bursts into wild laughter and teasing. You roll your eyes, but your face is warm — too warm.

“I believe this is my class?” Your smile dropped, “Get out.”

“Just saying, the kids asked!” he laughs, walking off with a wink. You turn back to your class, cheeks burning, heart pounding — and for a moment, it really does feel like college all over again.

———

After class you find him lounging behind his desk, one foot propped up, casually sipping from a giant sports bottle like he doesn’t have a care in the world. You step inside, shutting the door behind you.

“I’d like it if you don’t disturb my classes again,” you say, arms crossed, voice calm—but laced with irritation.

Gojo looks up, unbothered. “Disturb? I was just answering a question. Public service, really.”

“You were being a menace. You know what you were doing.”

He sets his bottle down with a smirk. “Oh come on, they loved it. Lightened the mood. And admit it, you missed having someone tease you like that.”

You roll your eyes so hard it nearly hurts. “This isn’t college anymore, Satoru. I’m not that girl with three essays due and a caffeine addiction you could flirt your way around.”

There’s a flicker in his eyes at that, something softer—quieter. “I never flirted my way around you,” he says, and for once, he’s not joking.

Silence hangs between you for a moment too long. The sound of sneakers squeaking on gym floors echoes from outside.

“Well, don’t try again,” you reply finally, your voice a little less certain now. “This is work. I have routines. Boundaries.”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk, gaze fixed on you. “And yet, here you are—at my desk.”

Your breath catches for a beat, but you don’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

“This is me setting one,” you say, sharp and steady. “Stay out of my classroom.” You turn to leave. His voice follows you, lower now.

“Even if I still remember everything about you?” You pause, your hand on the doorknob. Don’t turn around, you tell yourself. Don’t you dare.

“Especially then.” You walk out before he can see the way your fingers tremble as you leave to clock out for the day.

The door to your apartment clicked shut behind you with a soft finality. You dropped your bag by the entryway and slipped off your shoes, trying to shake the weight of the day with each step toward the kitchen. But it clung to you — like chalk dust in the air, like a voice you shouldn’t still hear in your head.

You boiled water. The kettle hissed. You stood there, fingers curled loosely around your mug, staring at nothing in particular while the steam rose in lazy swirls.

“Even if I still remember everything about you?”

You scoffed under your breath. Ridiculous. Typical. So very him.

You took your tea and settled by the window, legs curled up beneath you. The sky outside was fading from amber to navy, the last light slipping beneath the skyline like a secret.

He shouldn’t have said that.

And worse — you shouldn’t have reacted. But the words had landed. Deep.

The nerve of him. Acting like the past didn’t leave a scar. Acting like he could just saunter in, stir up every carefully folded memory, and smile while doing it. You built a new life here. Chose this job. This city.

On purpose.

And yet — there he was. At the corner of your thoughts. On your field. In your classroom doorway. At your desk. Everywhere, you could see him everywhere.

You took a sip of tea and winced — it had gone cold.

You sighed, setting the mug down, eyes drifting toward the stack of student essays on the table.

You reached for the top one, only to pause as a small, pressed bookmark fell out — something from years ago. One of those silly gifts you used to exchange during late-night library study sessions. It was his handwriting on the back.

“Finish your paper. I’ll bring the ramen, and if you want, some kisses too. ;) —S.”

You stared at it for a moment. Then tucked it back inside the essay, face unreadable. He remembers everything? Fine, so do you. But remembering doesn’t mean forgiveness.

And definitely not a second chance. Definitely. You picked up your red pen. Back to work

———

The next few days was like a fever dream to you. Not only that there’s suddenly four whole box of strawberry flavoured tea in the pantry, but your students kept asking if Satoru was your first love.

You kept dismissing them, saying it’s not true, and they should focus on their upcoming midterms. You were met with groans and complaints.

You plop down into your usual seat in the teachers’ lounge, rubbing your temples. The whispers. The strawberry tea. The never-ending, relentless “Was it Gojo-sensei??” every time you so much as blink at the field.

You’re halfway through pretending to enjoy your lukewarm lunch when you hear it — that unmistakable voice.

“Strawberry tea’s good for stress, you know.”

You don’t even look up. “Are you stalking my grocery list now?”

“Nope. Just your soul.” You glance up at him, deadpan. “Please leave my soul alone.”

He smirks, plopping down across from you with his usual unbothered ease, spinning a pen between his fingers like he’s got all the time in the world.

“So,” he starts, “what do I owe the honor of becoming a hot topic in your class?”

You glare at him. “You. Obviously. They’ve been interrogating me like I’m on trial for romantic war crimes.”

“And your defense?”

“That it’s not true.”

He leans in, eyebrow raised. “But is it?” You hold his gaze, your voice low and cool. “Does it matter?”

A pause. A flicker of something unreadable passes over his face, “To me?” he shrugs. “Maybe.”

You blink.

Before you can answer, a knock at the staffroom door interrupts the moment. A student pokes their head in. “Sensei! Sorry—um, the vice principal wants to see you both. Something about a complaint from a parent… related to your classes overlapping?”

You both rise—too fast. Too quiet.

On the way to the office, your shoulders accidentally brush in the narrow hallway. You don’t look at him, but he murmurs just loud enough: “You still like strawberry tea.”

You exhale sharply, trying to will your pulse back to normal. “You still talk too much.”

But neither of you slow down.

When you arrive at the vice principal’s office, the air felt colder somehow. Sterile. Sharp. The kind of place that always made you feel like you were about to be scolded, even when you hadn’t done anything wrong. You gave a polite nod, standing a little straighter than necessary.

The vice principal looked up with a firm expression, motioning for both of you to sit. You exchanged a glance with Satoru — he looked relaxed, borderline amused.

“We received a concern from one of the senior students’ parents,” the VP began, fingers laced together on the desk.

Your stomach tightened.

“A complaint?” you asked, blinking.

“More like a… strong opinion,” the VP clarified. “It seems there’s been some frustration regarding how often Class 3-2 has been asked to stay in during free periods or lose P.E. time for extra English tutorials.”

You felt your cheeks warm, your throat tightening slightly.

“It’s just—” you started. “They’re behind. Severely. If they don’t improve, their national exams—”

“We understand your intentions,” the VP interrupted gently. “But even seniors need balance. We can’t rob them of every moment of breathing room.”

You nodded slowly, guilt creeping in. You hadn’t even realized how much you’d taken from them. Or rather—you had. You just didn’t care. Not when the grammar in their essays still made your red pen cry.

“Let’s not turn this into a disciplinary issue,” the VP added. “Just… scale back. Prioritize quality over quantity. Or just discuss something together”

You mumbled an apology and stood. Gojo followed behind you, silent until you were both out of the office and halfway down the hall.

“Stealing my students now? So much for boundaries.” he said, casually.

You shot him a glance. “I didn’t steal them,” He raised an eyebrow. “So who asked me to give up last period on Wednesday, again?”

You said nothing.

“Because it sure wasn’t you.” You stopped walking, biting your lip. “It was Megumi. He volunteered to ask.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “So you recruited a teenager to do your dirty work.”

“You wouldn’t have said yes if I asked,” you muttered under your breath.

Satoru tilted his head, amused. “That depends. On whether you said please.” You roll your eyes and kept walking, fast. “It was for their benefit. Not yours.”

“Sure,” he called after you. “But next time you want my time, sensei… maybe ask me yourself.”

You didn’t answer — didn’t even turn around. But your ears were red, and he definitely noticed.

After some serious discussion for days, Satoru agreed to let you take 45 minutes of his 1 hour and a half for PE with the class.

You pushed open the sliding classroom door just enough to peer in.

The sound of bouncing balls and low chatter echoed inside. Satoru stood at the front, spinning a whistle between his fingers while casually leaning against the whiteboard. His students lounged on mats or slouched against the wall, all dressed in their P.E. uniforms, clearly expecting an easy, slow afternoon.

Your presence immediately changed that.

A few heads turned. Then more. Then—

“Eh? Sensei?” one of them blinked. “Aren’t you… English?” You cleared your throat. “I’ll just be borrowing half of your period.”

Gojo didn’t move. But his smile was insufferably smug. “She’s stealing your free time, kids. Not me.” You narrowed your eyes at him. “You agreed to this.”

“Technically, I said nothing when Megumi asked,” he replied, shrugging. “Silence isn’t consent, sensei.” A few of the girls in the front row giggled.

You turned to the class, clearing your throat. “As you all know, your English midterms are around the corner. And given your last essay submissions…” you raised an eyebrow, “…let’s just say we need a little emergency CPR. Linguistically.”

Groans.

“But this is PE!” A boy said whining

Gojo stepped forward, clapping once, loud and sharp. “Hey, if she wants to fix your grammar before you crash and burn, let her. I’ll still be here to laugh when she reads out your metaphors.”

“You read our essays?” He nodded solemnly. “One of you described love as ‘a spicy chicken nugget of the soul.’ I haven’t recovered.” The room broke into laughter, and despite yourself, your lips twitched.

Gojo looked over at you and winked. “The floor’s yours.”

You tried to ignore the way that made your heart hiccup.

As you began setting up your lesson — whiteboard markers, printed handouts, and your usual teacher tone — a girl in the second row whispered just loud enough:

“Sensei… is Gojo-sensei your ex?”

You paused mid-sentence, marker hovering above the board. “Focus on your synonyms, Hana.” More giggles and behind you, Satoru coughed. Definitely to hide a laugh.

The last of the students trailed out of the gym after class, some still giggling about Satoru’s dramatic reading of their essay metaphors, others grumbling about verb tenses and lost free time.

You remained behind, collecting the worksheets and rubbing away the stray marker ink smudged on your fingers. The gym was quieter now, filled only with the fading orange light seeping through the high windows and the faint echo of your own footsteps.

Satoru hadn’t left.

He stood by the bleachers, stretching lazily, towel slung around his neck. Watching. You tried not to look at him. You really tried.

“Thanks,” you said finally, not looking up. “For what?” he asked, tossing the towel over his shoulder.

“For not making it more difficult than it needed to be.” He chuckled. “That was me being cooperative. Believe it or not.”

You turned, arms crossed, raising a brow. “Believe it or not, I think you like watching me squirm.” He smirked. “Only a little.” A pause. “Okay, maybe a lot.”

You exhaled, half amusement, half exhaustion. “This is weird, you know.”

“What? Us? Being in the same building? Breathing the same oxygen?” You gave him a look. “Yes.”

He walked toward you then — slowly, casually, but without the teasing edge he usually wore like a second skin. “It doesn’t have to be,” he said, his voice quieter now. More level. “I’m not here to pick fights. Or… haunt you.”

You met his eyes for a long beat. “Then what are you here for?”

His gaze didn’t waver. “Maybe I want to see if the door we closed was ever really locked.” You swallowed. The silence grew thick between you, like the space that used to live between study desks and half-written love letters.

Then you stepped back, clearing your throat and collecting the last stack of handouts. “Well, I’m here to teach English. Nothing else.” You walked past him without another word.

But as you reached the door, his voice followed:

“You still didn’t deny it.”

You paused, but you didn’t look back. You didn’t need to.

You spent the whole week after that avoiding him. With every fiber in your body swearing to hide yourself from him or..

You’ll cave.

———

The next week before homeroom you were rearranging the desks — again — because somehow, every end-of-day configuration looked like your students had hosted a wrestling match. The morning sun filtered in through the blinds, golden and soft, casting long stripes across the chalkboard.

You were halfway through aligning the last row when someone cleared their throat at the doorway.

“Sensei?”

You turned. Hana. One of the brighter students in your class, and unfortunately, the one with a gossip radar sharper than a hawk.

“You’re early,” you said, grabbing your pen from behind your ear.

“Yeah, well… I wanted to finish my essay draft before you start collecting them and grading with your red pen of doom.” She gave a sheepish smile, holding up a notebook.

You chuckled. “At least you’re honest.”

She walked over to your desk and set her things down. Then, after a pause — just long enough to make you suspicious — she glanced at you sideways.

“So… Gojo-sensei.”

You gave her a look. “Hana.” She held up both hands. “No, no, I’m not prying. I’m just saying—ever since you borrowed his class, he’s been… different.”

“Different how?” you asked, suspicious but trying not to show it.

“I don’t know. He’s been smiling more. Staying after school. He even gave us extra water breaks. He never does that.” She leaned forward a little. “It’s like… when you’re around, he forgets he’s supposed to be cool and detached.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Hana, focus on your essay.”

She grinned. “Fine. But if the next student council event ends up being your wedding reception, I will take credit for predicting it first.” You didn’t dignify that with a response. But your ears were burning.

And Hana noticed.

The day went on normally. Maybe a little too normal. You don’t see Satoru anywhere. Did your efforts on avoiding him finally paid off? It was more of a… you could say peaceful day for you.

Despite the lingering anxiety deep within you,

Despite the voices in your head making you remember the sweet old times you spent with a certain somebody.

The sky was painted with shades of pale orange and lavender as the sun began its descent. You’re currently at the rooftop and it was quiet — most teachers had gone home, and the breeze carried only the distant sound of laughter from the fields below.

You leaned against the railing with a half-empty bottle of water in your hand, trying to cool your thoughts more than your body.

The door creaked open behind you.

“This the part where you pretend I don’t exist?”

You didn’t turn around. “I was enjoying the silence, actually.”

Gojo stepped beside you, keeping a respectful distance. “I figured you’d say that. But I’m still here.”

You exhaled slowly. “What do you want, Satoru?”

“To stop leaving things unsaid. And also figure out why the hell you’ve been avoiding me for a week now.”

That made you look at him.

He met your gaze, serious now — not cocky, not teasing. Just open.

“I didn’t break up with you because I stopped caring. I left because I thought I was the thing holding you back.” He started

You furrowed your brow. “That again?”

He nodded, eyes fixed on the horizon. “Yeah. You were going places. You had plans. You had ambition. I was still figuring things out. My whole life felt like a maybe. I thought… if I stepped away, you’d fly further.”

“You never gave me the choice.” Your voice cracked slightly, not from anger — from something more worn out than that.

Gojo’s jaw tightened. “I was scared. That if I stayed, you’d start resenting me. That you’d wake up one day and wonder why you stayed with someone who couldn’t match you.”

“And instead, you broke my heart trying to protect me from something that never existed.”

Silence.

Then, quieter, you added, “You should’ve trusted me.” He looked at you then — really looked.

“I know. And I’ve regretted it every damn day.”

The breeze picked up, brushing your hair past your cheek. You didn’t move it. “You don’t get to fix things with one conversation.”

“I know that too.” He paused. “But maybe we could… rebuild. From where we are now. Not what we used to be.”

You stared at him for a moment longer.

There was still a scar. But the wound wasn’t bleeding anymore. You finally gave a soft nod.

“Start slow.”

His lips curved upward, just barely.

“You like the strawberry tea in the lounge?”

You gave him a look. “Depends. Are you going to keep sneaking it into the pantry like a lovesick idiot?”

“No promises.”

———

The next few weeks went by with subtle changes. A look exchanged between you two during the staff meeting when the principal made an accidental pun and you barely held in a laugh. A light nudge from him as he passed you in the hallway. The way your mug in the lounge suddenly never ran out of strawberry tea.

In class, you caught yourself smiling more. A little softer. A little lighter.

And during breaks, Satoru would occasionally linger by your classroom door — pretending to be there by accident, making some dumb excuse about looking for the printer paper when both of you knew he just wanted to say hi.

“You’re still the worst liar,” you whispered once, handing him a fake printout.

“But I’m still your favorite liar, right?” he grinned.

You didn’t answer.

He didn’t need you to.

You ended the class that day and went to your desk at your faculty room to find a note under a small tumbler. His handwriting, slanted and familiar:

Let me drive you home?

Let’s stop by somewhere nice.

P.S I made you tea. Nice and warm ;)

You held back a smile, slipping the note into your book before anyone noticed.

And when you enter his car after school that day, you were met with soft lips on your cheek. Your eyes wrinkled in awe.

“Been holding myself back not to kiss you in front of the kids.” He softly whispered.

“Pretty sure half of them already suspect something. Don’t give them the confirmation they’re dying for.” I laughed but he was serious.

His eyes searched yours for just a second longer — a question, a plea, a thousand things left unsaid — before he closed the distance.

He kissed you.

Not gently. Not hesitantly. But like he’d been waiting years to. Like he remembered exactly how you tasted and hated every second spent without it. One hand cradled your cheek, the other slipping around your waist, drawing you closer until the space between you didn’t exist anymore.

You melted into him — like muscle memory, like gravity — your fingers bunching in the fabric of his shirt, grounding yourself because everything else was spinning.

It was messy with feeling. With memory. With the weight of everything you never said.

And when he finally pulled away — just barely — he rested his forehead against yours. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was full.Full of breath, of heat, of the beginning of something you both thought you’d lost for good.

“I love you. Never stopped.” He softly muttered.

fin.

———

𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐂𝐊 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

a/n: hey guys!! this is my first oneshot here, i’ve been in the jjk x reader community for sooo long and i wanted to give writing a shot. let me know how you guys like it!!

pic creds: annikin_ on twt

[anim-ttrpgs]

Eureka is an absolute masterpiece of a ttrpg with so much thought and care put into it. I really can't say enough good things about it. I do want to know if you have made/plan to make any other ttrpgs? I would love to see more genres besides supernatural urban mystery from you because of how quality your work is (but it's completely understandable if you have no plans to do other things).

Thank you! It’s taken us years to refine Eureka’s rules to this level of polish, and I do think it shows! A warning to all other aspiring TTRPG designers, though, don’t make your first project something this big! Keep it short! Not “one page rules” type of short, but don’t be like us and make your first real project a full-on trad TTRPG with this many different moving parts.

If you have aspirations to make something as crunchy and fleshed-out as Eureka, maybe try to execute the concept in a more simpler “OSR” style, and then after you’ve gotten more experience under your belt, maybe made some money and/or gotten a team together, then maybe try that concept again with more crunch. Call it “Advanced [Your Earlier Game Title]”

As for the future of A.N.I.M., we are planning to continually release adventure modules for Eureka, and probably also add-ons like extra Traits, Monster Traits, etc. I would love to include some playable monsters from cultures outside “the west” too, but I wouldn’t want to half-ass them, I’d want to give them as much research, attention detail and themes, etc. that I’ve given to all the other monsters. That’s just a lot harder when the best sources aren’t always in English.

Speaking of shorter games, I already wrote a little tiny game on the side called Edge Hedge Arena.

This is a game where you google “[Your Name] the Hedgehog”, choose one of the many Sonic OCs that are likely to come up, then give them stats and battle them against those of other players using the rules provided.

Since I basically have no more rules to write for Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy and I’m mostly just waiting for other members of the team to finish working on their parts, I’ve partially moved on to working on A.N.I.M.’s next big game, too!

We’ve learned our lesson, it’s not going to be anywhere near the page count or crunch level of Eureka, even though you know I love crunchy games. Well, actually, it’s probably only slightly less crunchy than Eureka, but it’s about much more specific scenarios, so it’ll still overall have less mechanics. The scope is much smaller.

This is a dark comedy/satire game that kind of takes the Forgotten Realms “evil sexy matriarchal bdsm slavery society ruled by warriors who fight in lingerie” dark elf concept and asks the question of “What kind of society and circumstances would actually produce this?” (Though it doesn’t actually take place in Forgotten Realms or any other D&D setting)

And then makes the comparison to 20th and 21st century American capitalism. “No, these aren’t slaves, they aren’t chained up and are allowed to leave any time they want. But they only get food so long as they keep working, and if they disobey then can get beaten.” It started out as a joke, but we are probably going to add "media literacy" to the list of requirements alongside dice and stuff hahaha, like, the ability to understand that the world of this game is not supposed to represent the author's idea of a perfect society. We might add that to Eureka too.

Silk&Dagger is about class, gender roles, different ways that forced labor can manifest in a society, and most importantly surviving all of those things.

Going forward to understand what I’m saying you have to know that in this setting, “Drow” is a title, referring to the ruling warrior caste. Most Drow are dark elves, but not all dark elves are Drow. This society is structured a bit like ancient Sparta, with a very small ruling caste of warriors, and a very large servant caste. Social mobility between these castes is possible, but rather than getting into it in detail and making this post super long, let’s just say that many servants consider themselves temporarily embarrassed Drow.

A typical “party” in Silk&Dagger is will consist of one Drow PC and any number of servant PCs working for her. There are regular chores that need to be done around the palace, which provide challenges, but scenarios will also throw major issues into the mix.

A Drow’s Reputation is everything, if the Drow PC’s Reputation stat reaches 0, that is the failure state for the entire party, because it basically means no more food. (Even the servants, for lore reasons that I also won’t get into)

So a typical scenario will be like “Somebody very important is coming to visit, but the lower floor of the palace is starting to flood for an unknown reason.” We’re going to have multi-part tables where you can randomly generate these, but we will also have more in-depth adventure modules for it in the future.

We ran a playtest the other day basically based on this scenario. The intended comedy of the game really came out as we kept switching perspectives, with the Drow upstairs having to constantly come up with new ways to impress her guests and explain away that splashing sound while the servant worked down below trying to find and plug the leak.

So, the PCs will have to deal with all that while also making sure that all the chores get done, and the kicker is, they can’t easily communicate with each other. The massive gulf between the two castes is the real enemy here, along with the behavioral expectations placed on each.

They could’ve gotten a head start on dealing with the flooding if the servant had had permission to speak earlier and could’ve told the Drow that the lower floor is flooding, but

There’s a big list of behaviors that a servant has to fulfill when interacting with a Drow, which are basically designed to be impossible to follow and just get them in trouble, and a Drow who doesn’t strictly enforce this etiquette risks losing Reputation for it.

On the other side, Drow also have to constantly embody a list of six features, which basically means acting as evil as possible, their Reputation depends on it.

One other unique feature of Silk&Dagger is that it is a two-GM game. One GM does most of the normal GM stuff, while the other GM represents the ever-present societal expectations weighing on all the characters, subtracting Reputation points and important things every time the PCs do something that makes them look bad in the eyes of this society.

There may come times where PCs will just have to take the hit to get things done, or find clever ways to make it look like they’re upholding the status quo while secretly treating each other like equals when nobody’s looking.

You can expect, like, an alpha or beta version of this game to come to the patreon in probably January or February, and maybe even itchio if it is far along enough by then. It was actually supposed to be out on the patreon in December, but some personal issues and illnesses really held it up. I am really going to try and make it less than 200 pages.

I'll end the post with one of my favorite little bits from the setting/lore. One of the reasons that Drow dress like that is because it helps them identify each other by thermal vision in the pitch black tunnels. Unique patterns of covered and uncovered skin serve as a sort of personal heraldry.

Elegantly designed and thoroughly playtested, Eureka represents the culmination of three years of near-daily work from our team, as well as a lot of our own money. If you’re just now reading this and learning about Eureka for the first time, you missed the crowdfunding window unfortunately, but you can still check out the public beta on itch.io to learn more about what Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy actually is, as that is where we have all the fancy art assets, the animated trailer, links to video reviews by podcasts and youtubers, etc.!

You can also follow updates on our Kickstarter page where we post regular updates on the status of our progress finishing the game and getting it ready for final release.

Beta Copies through the Patreon

If you want more, you can download regularly updated playable beta versions of Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy earlier, plus extra content such as adventure modules by subscribing to our Patreon at the $5 tier or higher. Subscribing to our patreon also grants you access to our patreon discord server where you can talk to us directly and offer valuable feedback on our progress and projects.

The A.N.I.M. TTRPG Book Club

If you would like to meet the A.N.I.M. team and even have a chance to play Eureka with us, you can join the A.N.I.M. TTRPG Book Club discord server. It’s also just a great place to talk and discuss TTRPGs, so there is no schedule obligation, but the main purpose of it is to nominate, vote on, then read, discuss, and play different indie TTRPGs. We put playgroups together based on scheduling compatibility, so it’s all extremely flexible. This is a free discord server, separate from our patreon exclusive one. https://discord.gg/7jdP8FBPes

Other Stuff

We also have a ko-fi and merchandise if you just wanna give us more money for any reason.

We hope to see you there, and that you will help our dreams come true and launch our careers as indie TTRPG developers with a bang by getting us to our base goal and blowing those stretch goals out of the water, and fight back against WotC's monopoly on the entire hobby. Wish us luck.

[what-even-is-thiss]

Free or Cheap German Learning Resources for all your Hochdeutsch Needs

I will update this list as I learn of any more useful ones. If you want general language learning resources check out this other post. This list is German specific. Find lists for other specific languages here.

For the purposes of this list "free" means something that is either totally free or has a useful free tier. "Cheap" is a subscription under $10USD a month, a software license or lifetime membership purchase under $100USD, or a book under $30USD. If you want to suggest something to add to this list, include things in this price range that are of good quality and not AI generated.

WEBSITES

DW - A public broadcasting service from Germany that also has a German learning section. They have videos, tv series, and lessons from beginner to advanced. The website is free to use with an account.

Gothe Institut - An organization affiliated with the German government that administers language level tests and promotes German culture abroad. They have a lot of free exercises and test questions. If you're willing to pay they may also have classes available in your region.

thegermanproject.com - A free website with explanations of beginner German concepts and stories to read for people at the beginner level.

germancorrector.com - A free website that will correct your spelling and grammar. You can also set the dialect to Switzerland or Austria.

Your Daily German - A blog in English by a native German speaker named Emanuel who makes posts about grammar, vocabulary, tips, and suggestions for reading.

YOUTUBE CHANNELS

Comprehensible Germani - A comprehensible input channel with German lessons in German using visual aids. Has content from beginner through upper intermediate.

Learn German - A channel that explains certain concepts and provides listening practice. The channel uses a mix of German and English.

Chill German - A channel that makes vlogs in slow German. They have videos from beginner to lower advanced levels.

Natürlich German - A comprehensible input channel that talks about different aspects of German culture and other topics as well. Has videos for complete beginner to lower advanced. This channel hasn't updated in a while but there's a large archive to watch through.

Easy German - A channel that has a combination of videos about basic German phrases for beginners and videos with interviews on the street in German speaking regions. The channel has dual language German/English subtitles on screen. The hosts of this channel also have a podcast for intermediate to advanced learners.

Expertly German - A channel about learning German with discussion of grammar, vocab, and business German. The channel is entirely in German.

Deutsch Mit Lari - A channel with a mix of German Lessons and vlogs in slow German. Content ranges from beginner to intermediate. All content and explanations are in German.

Learn German With Anja - A channel with a mix of lessons and videos on culture and living in Germany. Videos are in a mix of both English and German and often have dual language subtitles on screen.

READING PRACTICE

German graded readers by Olly Richards Short Stories in German, Intermediate Short Stories in German, Conversations in Simple German, Western Philosophy in Simple German, World War 2 in Simple German. Books tend to range from $4-$20 depending if you buy the digital or print versions. The books can also generally be found easily at used book stores or used on Amazon for cheaper.

Dino Lernt Deutsch - A series of short stories for beginners about a man named Dino lost in various German speaking countries. The full series new in print costs about $25 but it can be bought used or as a digital edition. Each individual story can also be bought separately

Nachrichtenleight - A website with news articles in simple German. The website is entirely in German.

AlumniPortal - Website with articles about business, academics, and other related topics organized by difficulty level. Has articles from upper beginner to upper intermediate. The website is entirely in German.

Grimm Stories - A website with an archive of the original Grimm's fairy tales. Language may be a bit archaic. The website is available in multiple languages.

PODCASTS

Slow German Podcast - Advertises itself as being for beginner to lower intermediate. The host talks about everyday topics such as seasonal weather and describing your apartment.

Easy German Podcast - The hosts from the Easy German Youtube channel talk about different topics, news, and answer questions from listeners in clear and understandable German.

News in Slow German - It is a podcast with news in slow German, including international news and culture news. Only a small section of the program is available for free.

Top-Thema Mit Vokalbeln - A podcast from DW for lower intermediate learners that discusses news topics in simple German and provides vocabulary lists related to the episode topic.

German Stories - A podcast for beginners in a mix of English and German that gives lessons through dialogues and short stories.

Speaking of Berlin - A podcast by Babbel of Berliners telling personal stories in slow German.

SELF STUDY TEXTBOOKS AND DICTIONARIES

Complete German All-in-One from McGraw Hill - a textbook that also doubles as a workbook. It’s more expensive at about $30. It’s difficult to find intact used copies of this book because it’s also a workbook and people tend to write all over it and tear it up. However the sentence builder and grammar sections are sold separately for much cheaper if you just want one or the other.

German Made Easy - Individual books in this series tend to be about $10-$20. From what I’ve read it’s just fine but it’s cheap and has all the beginner concepts you need and used copies are fairly easy to find online.

Easy German Step By Step - This is McGraw Hill’s budget option at $12-$16 new. Though as this one isn’t a workbook, it’s easier to find used copies. It focuses hard on only the most frequently used vocabulary and grammar concepts to get someone started as quickly as possible. It’s also available in audiobook form.

German Grammar Complete - This book is a full comprehensive guide to all levels of grammar from absolute beginner to college level. However it’s on the more expensive side at $30 and the workbook is sold separately.

DK German to English illustrated dictionary - This dictionary is sorted by topic and includes pictures and English translations. This is a new edition and is slightly harder to find used as I’m writing this. The base price is about $20 but there are older editions of this dictionary that might be easier to find used.

Merriam-Webster’s German to English Dictionary - The OG. The legend. The menace. The classic bilingual dictionary. Simple. Many words. Decent explainations. Only $8 new. Easy to find used older editions.

SERIES FOR LEARNERS AND KIDS TV

Hallo Aus Berlin - A series infamous among German students everywhere. Made in the early 2000s for use in classrooms, it has ten episodes of kids talking about certain topics like numbers and going out to a restaurant. It also has a number of songs. It’s cringey but in a fun way in my opinion.

Löwenzahn - a kids tv series aimed at very young audiences that’s been on for several decades. Every episode discusses one topic like bridges or factories so you’ll hear certain words repeated a lot. Theres only been a couple of different hosts so the presentation style remains consistent and unlike some other shows for kindergarteners it’s not obnoxiously loud and can be enjoyable for adults.

Sesamstraße - Sesame Street in German and localized for the German market with different themes and characters. In their YouTube channel you can find clips from as far back as the 1970s.

[casscainmainly]

Hi

i wanted to ask, in canon, cass is able to speak normally and fluently but struggles with writing and reading and dyslexia right?

From what i've read that seems to be true, but i haven't read modern cass stuff besides bg 2024 where she seems to be able to read and write aswell

She does indeed have a language disability! From Batgirl (2000) #67:

Important part is that while she does struggle to read and write (more than speaking), Babs points out the she "can learn". We know from Gabrych's earlier issue (#58) that Cass has advanced significantly at this point in her reading skills:

It's still a struggle, but I think at this point her skills are speaking > reading > writing (and speaking is not completely fluent). Another thing we know from Batgirl (2008) is that Cass attended ESL lessons and got tutoring from Alfred. Beechen was trying to explain evil!Cass though, so whether you accept this explanation for her sudden fluent English is up to you. I think this is a copout since we didn't see this progression, and it's immediately followed by N52 anyway. But to answer your question about modern!Cass, honestly it's all over the place. We can start with Tynion's Detective Comics (2016), which remains the modern run that focuses most on her disability. Basil's Shakespeare lessons improve Cass' language ability, to the point where Babs says:

This is markedly different from pre-52, in that Cass seems to be a better reader than a speaker. So modern!Cass is reading > speaking > writing in terms of skill. This is supported by Batgirls (2022), where Cass is seen to be a huge bookworm and reads Steph's letter in #14. I think Batgirls overshoots this a bit because we don't see her struggle with reading at all, erasing her disability to an extent - this is my qualm with the current Birds of Prey run as well in regards to Cass' dialogue. Modern comics are hit or miss in terms of how they handle, or if they even address, Cass' disability.

Writing is the field least explored both pre- and post-52. We know from Batgirl (2000) #2 that Cass does practice writing, or at least she did at one point. As far as I recall we don't see her write again? Cass can type - as far back as Batgirl (2000) #30, we see that she can use a keyboard. We also know from TT's Nightwing that there's a family group chat, though Cass mostly sends emojis. Typing with a keyboard reduces the cognitive load of making sentences, so it's likely Cass is a more confident typer than she is a handwriter.

In general, modern comics have focused most on the speech aspect - Tynion's 'Tec, Batman and the Outsiders (2019), Batgirls '22, Batgirl '24, and Mariko Tamaki's story in Festival of Superheroes generally all focus on speaking over reading/writing (in contrast to Batgirl (2000) which touched on all three areas). The preview of Batgirl #7, though, has Cass listening to an audiobook as she reads, so Brombal is highlighting Cass' reading disability! Even if it's not all that visible in Cass' modern appearances, her disability is still a huge part of her character!!!

If you want a fairly in-depth look at the history of Cass' disability (until 2023), check out @dailycass-cain's post!

[silverflqmes]

໒⦂ 𝐃𝐈𝐒-𝐌𝐎𝐈 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐓.

synposis. you ask the fontainian boys and girlies for a lesson in the language of their nation — french, to better understand them and become closer.

genre. fluff + crack

ft. navia, lyney, furina, neuvillette

disclaimer. i had french for seven years in school, but my knowledge in the language is in no way perfect, so if i make mistakes, i apologize in advance! pointing out mistakes is okay, but don’t be an ass about it. furthermore, any terms of endearment that are written here will be used with their respective possessive pronoun to keep it gender neutral. for example, cherie is feminine, so i will put ma in front of it. cœur is masculine, so i will put mon. i hope this is lucid enough! lastly, if any qualities used ( fav color, macaron ) do not align with your preferences, feel free to change it in your head — i just used my own to make the sentence flow. OH and one more note i promise- some things can’t really be translated the same in english as they sound in french! mon cœur for example is not really a term of endearment you hear the same in english.. so if the translation sounds weird, it’s just because some things can’t sound the same unfortunately.. THATS WHY FOREIGN LANGUAGES ARE MORE ROMANTIC🗣️🗣️

gender neutral! reader

➫ 𝓝𝗔𝗩𝗜𝗔 ୨୧ ˎˊ˗

⌗ oh she was so excited when you showed interest in her native language, it was just so romantic and things couldn’t be expressed as deeply in english as they were in french.

⌗ very patient with teaching you! she prefers a more verbal approach with teaching you and despite her formal nature, she teaches you a casual and easy way of speaking that doesn’t make you sound robotic😭

⌗ “imparfait is used a lot when written, in speech however — between you and me.. you don’t hear it really often! so we’re just gonna focus on le passé composé~ <3”

⌗ if you feel insecure about your lack of accent, it’s okay ( bc me too. ), navia won’t judge you for it! she’s just happy that you’re willing to learn for her!

⌗ likes to set up a scenario for you to test your proficiency! this time around, she had invited clorinde to join you both for tea and macarons.

⌗ clorinde was as patient as a one came.. and was happy to be having navia’s macarons once more.

⌗ “ah~ y/n, voulez-vous un autre macaron? quelle saveur souhaitez-vous?” / “ah~ y/n, would you like another macaron? which flavor would you like?”

⌗ clorinde is just sipping away her tea as the gears are turning in your head to answer navia properly. “oui.. um, je voulais un de chocolat, s’il vous plaît..” / “yes.. um, i’d like a chocolate one, please.”

⌗ cue uncertainty in your words but navia just smiles brightly before clapping. “très bien, ma cherie~! voilà, un macaron de chocolat.” / “very good, my darling! here you go, one chocolate macaron.”

⌗ despite your embarrassment, the tea party went surprisingly well? you eventually got a little more comfortable despite your easy way of speaking, but navia couldn’t be prouder<3

➫ 𝓛𝗬𝗡𝗘𝗬 ୨୧ ˎˊ˗

⌗ he is a total tease with it and is the kind of tutor that would ask what you are referring to or press for more information just to mess around with you.

⌗ say he asks what your favorite color is, he’ll totally 100% ask WHY it’s your favorite color, and will await with this innocent smile for you to explain. like so.. “pourquoi le rouge est ta couleur préférée, hm? explique-moi s’il vous plaît, mon cœur~” / “why is red your favorite color, hm? please explain to me, my heart~”

⌗ “one of these days lyney, i swear..” you’d mutter and he’d just put a hand to his ear. “hm, qu’est ce-que vous avez dit? je ne comprends pas!” / “hm, what was that you said? i don’t understand!”

⌗ he is fr testing your patience, and now you are wondering whether or not it was a good idea to say you wanted to learn french. he is the most meddlesome teacher!

⌗ i feel like he’s one of those that refuses to answer you unless you respond in french. doesn’t have to be perfect, but he needs to hear you trying! thinks it’s the best way for you to pick up the language — an environment where you are inclined to speak it!

⌗ he probably makes lynette and freminet join in on this scheme of his.. fremmy is mouthing apologies in english to you while lynette is apologizing for her troublesome brother.

⌗ it’s needless to say, despite the extremities, lyney’s method kind of worked? i mean you’re in an environment where all you hear is french and you are forced to speak it in order to communicate with your lover and his family, sooo.. you’re bound to pick it up. sorta.

⌗ when arlecchino was in town again for a visit to check on her kids, you had this idea once you felt you knew enough of the language to ask for her approval on you dating lyney, since she hadn’t known yet.

⌗ so with lyney present, you shocked him completely by walking up to the fatui harbinger with a shaky confidence, holding your heart as you stared up at her. “madame arlecchino.. il m’a fallu beacoup de temps pour apprendre les mots.. mais,” you paused, sucking in a breath. “je voudrais avouer que je suis très amoureux de ton fils.. et je souhaite votre approbation!” / “miss arlecchino, it took me a lot of time to learn the words.. but, i wanted to confess that i am very much in love with your son, and i wish for your approval!”

⌗ lyney was in complete shock of what his ‘father’ might say, but when the smallest smile painted her lips, relief washed over him. “vous devez vraiment l’aimer beaucoup, si vous avez appris le français pour me dire ça.. vous avez mon approbation.” / “you must love him very much, then, if you learned french to tell me this.. you have my approval.”

➫ 𝓕𝗨𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗔 ୨୧ ˎˊ˗

⌗ oh, you thought lyney was bad? think again. furina is on another level of teaching french and just as troublesome, if not- worse, as he is with his methods of teaching you..

⌗ she’s got you writing, doing grammar and spelling, speaking, reading — everything you can imagine. all because you showed the tiniest bit of interest in the language since furina’s performances are often in french.

⌗ in hindsight, you just wanted to learn to understand her better whenever you attended her shows</3

⌗ when she realizes she’s overdoing things, she eases up and recoils a little, not wanting to overflow you with information. it was meant to be something fun for you both anyway to connect you more, not another year of education for you..

⌗ and so she switches to another method of teaching — which is practicing her scripts with you!

⌗ she helps you with your lines, and whatever you don’t understand, she will explain to you so that you guys can have your little performance together<3

⌗ she’ll summon her little animal friends with her vision to act as supporting cast while the two of you act out your lines. cue you being a flustered mess cuz you’re worried about your pronunciation and emotion since hers is so on point, but her eyes sparkle when she hears you trying. you can tell she’s glad you wanted to do this with her.

⌗ some scripts include her singing and it’s just the most beautiful thing. you had heard her once singing la vie en rose in the shower while reading a book and ever since, you’d wished to hear her again.

⌗ “et tu, mon ange..” she cupped your cheek, eyes filled with love for you. “mon étoile.. ma raison de vivre, de tout mon coeur, corps et âme, t’adore tendrement.” / “and you, my angel.. my star.. my reason for living, with all of my heart, body and soul, i adore you dearly.”

⌗ despite it being part of her lines, the script she was following, you had felt every word that was expressed and knew that furina had meant it all.

➫ 𝓝𝗘𝗨𝗩𝗜𝗟𝗟𝗘𝗧𝗧𝗘 ୨୧ ˎˊ˗

⌗ similar to navia, he’s very patient with you and not as strict as he looks like he would be. he’s very gentle and sweet about it.

⌗ when you told him you wanted to learn his native language, you could see the slightest hint of elation in his visage. if you were around water, it was bound to twinkle in response to his emotions.

⌗ it was decided that he would teach you as best as he could, and his methods were a little less verbal than the others though. he wanted to teach you the written part to help you with vocabulary and forming sentences. if you had that down, you would have a little more ability and inspiration to respond to him more easily.

⌗ although, he loved reading to you as well, even if it made you a little sleepy. his voice was just so soothing, you couldn’t help yourself when it came to monsieur neuvillette</3

⌗ however he made a point to do this after you guys practiced, since he realized it serenaded you more than it taught you.. but he didn’t mind, you looked so peaceful and adorable<3

⌗ still don’t have the pronunciation down for the very machine he used everyday for trials? he’s got you. “selon le jugement de l’oratrice de mécanique d’analyse cardinale..” yes. yes i did that. no translation needed.

⌗ it made you giggle a little when he said it, him obviously not phased by you asking him to pronounce it — little did he know you just wanted to hear him say it cuz it was silly..

⌗ one day you bring him a book series called ‘fables de fontaine’ — which are in essence, folktales of fontaine, with the intention of reading them with his assistance.

⌗ it made him smile to see you shyly hold up the stack of volumes, but he nodded and sat you down on his lap to read them together, as a means of testing your proficiency.. and maybe- just maybe.. cuz you wanted an excuse to be close with him.

⌗ regardless, he didn’t mind and rather valued the time you shared together since he was the ludex of fontaine — meaning he was often very busy and unavailable</3 so whatever time he got with you, was always and forever cherished by him<3 even if you kind of just maybe.. fell asleep midway while reading.. it just made him chuckle before pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. “beaux rêves, mon bijou.” / “sweet dreams, my jewel.”

notes. i had this in my drafts for ages, to any of my french speaking readers — please don’t butcher me :’))) anyway i hope this was okay, little different from what i normally do since i don’t really showcase me writing in other languages cuz it’s more work to add translations — and it’s difficult to stay gender neutral😵‍💫

↳ return to main masterlist . request rules . send an ask

[beforeliteracytherewasdeez]

No, you see, if I write something in English, Venezuelans are going to:

A) Read it, because they already know the language enough

B) Practice their English reading it. Keep in mind a lot of Venezuelans learned English in school, so you will find a variety of fluencies in the country. My parents have tried to learn it their whole lives, and they're both stuck in speaking A2. But they can read advanced medical literature in English.

C) If they didn't get English lessons, if they simply don't like the language or it never clicked for them, or if they don't want to bother translating themselves, they will use apps to translate (a Venezuelan guy in USA tried to rob a bank using Google Translate)

If I write something in Spanish, Americans will:

A) Insult me

B) Say they don't speak Spanish, apologise, and ask for a translation

C) Ignore me