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footballsportsinfo · 2 years ago

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64bitgamer · 2 years ago

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nerdytipsfree · 2 years ago

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Free Mathematical Football Prediction

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jlexbors107 · 2 years ago

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mycryptosuite · 4 years ago

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Today Free Soccer Tips - Surest Prediction Site

Today Free Soccer Tips – Surest Prediction Site

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land-under-wave · 3 years ago

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like a house on fire

For this fic’s first anniversary, let’s take it back to the beginning.

This was one of the first drabbles I started for the college roommates AU and was originally meant to be the second one posted, but I have mixed feelings about the format and it’s been a struggle getting it semi-coherent. I’m making the executive decision to just release it.

(Bonus: mini contest)

Gakushu doesn’t fully understand how they got into this arrangement.

Certainly, he knows the sequence of events, how he got from Point A to B, but he still can’t quite figure out what made him decide living with Akabane Karma would be a good idea. Worst of all, what makes him almost like it. Is he simply a masochist?

One minute, he was enjoying his Akabane-free existence and the next, he was kicking one last soccer ball at the chairman’s face as a vicious sort of goodbye and moving into the apartment of the devil himself. The in-between is slightly blurry — probably for his own self-preservation — but he distinctly remembers several members of the former Class E ganging up on him in an attempt to convince him that Akabane was actually very lonely, honest, and what he really needed to prevent him from taking over the world was someone to keep him company. He also faintly recalls that there was some kind of thesis proposed about Akabane being better than the chairman, which sounded right at the time but now, Gakushu would like to counter-argue. He’s collected enough evidence to tear down the supporting arguments.

Gakushu still thinks there was probably some kind of drug in his tea. Or maybe they hypnotized him. He wouldn’t put it past Class E at this point.

To be honest, when he first found out they would be attending the same university, the part of Gakushu that didn’t want to commit murder vaguely assumed that it would be a continuation of middle and high school. He and Akabane would both excel academically and prove themselves to be each other’s only worthy competitors among a sea of tadpoles and guppies. They would push each other to new heights of excellence even as Gakushu tried to prevent himself from grinding his teeth to a pulp. After graduating, Akabane would probably join a rival company just to annoy him, and the pattern would continue ad nauseum. His predictions were admittedly egocentric, but Akabane hadn’t exactly done anything to prove him wrong at that point, and it didn’t seem like he had anything better to do with his admittedly genius mind than to drive Gakushu insane. That seemed to have been the cause to which he’d dedicated high school.

But as it turned out, Gakushu couldn’t have been further off the mark. The two of them were in completely different departments and he never saw Akabane, not even in the general requirements. It was a little strange at first, but then it grew comfortable. When he heard the whispers of the demonic whiz kid terrorizing the mathematics department, he could think, they don’t know the half of it, with the relief of distance. It wasn’t his problem anymore. Occasionally, he would think about Akabane, but he didn’t miss him, and until Class E conned him into moving in, the only sign that he was in Gakushu’s life at all was the occasional glimpse of red hair across campus.

The downside of it all was that apparently, it’d made him too complacent. It still infuriates Gakushu beyond measure that Class E tried some ridiculous combination of sparkling, mocking, and Shiota being quietly effective in the background, and it worked. Though the period after he agreed to live with Akabane was also a little fuzzy, Gakushu does remember that part of the reason he’d gone through with it was that he never wanted to fall victim to them again, and he thought a few months with their number one nuisance would immunize him to any of their antics forever.

But whatever his reasoning, he did move in, and the world didn’t end. Actually, it’s almost the opposite. Gakushu was originally only supposed to be here for a semester, but while Karma has never stopped trying to yank on his strings, he’s a better roommate than you’d have expected from a college student cum demon. He doesn’t party or disturb the neighbors, he’s passably tidy, and he skips out on his share of the chores less often than you’d think. His oddly responsible streak became a lot less surprising once Gakushu recalled that Karma’s been living more or less on his own since he was in middle school, but even knowing that, it still takes Gakushu by surprise every so often when he remembers that there are things his roommate is good for besides keeping him sharp. It’s not so easy to recalibrate a relationship after almost a decade of antagonism, he muses, but whether they wanted it or not, it was going to change no matter what. You can’t just overhaul the terms of your relationship and expect things to stay the same.

There were a number of ways it could have gone, but fortunately (or unfortunately), it went for the better, and not just in terms of chores. There’s a slow-growing almost-trust between them, built from the fact that no one can have a mask up at all hours, and so they’ve seen each other at their strongest and their weakest. It’s a perilous and fragile thing, but neither of them has abused it, and when they’d hit the six month mark of living together and neither of them had made a serious attempt to kill the other, he’d finally been forced to admit that they were something close to friends. At that point, they gave up on the last name basis except for when they were being snotty with each other, which was still about ninety percent of the time for Karma, but that did leave a strange ten percent where someone was calling him Gakushu. His given name hasn’t gotten this much usage since elementary school, and another one of the things of which he isn’t quite certain is how he feels about this change.

It’s funny how they’re closer than they ever were now that they’re no longer spending eight hours a day doing the same work in the same room, but maybe it’s because they’re not classmates that things have improved. Maybe it’s the kind of bond they never could’ve had while they shared the same space, trying to make something of themselves and jostling for whatever they could seize. A step back one way, but a step forward in another direction.

If there’s anything that this whole experience has taught him, it’s that no one can predict the future. No one can really say if they’ll keep heading this way. But Gakushu finds that for once, he doesn’t mind the concept of stasis. He thinks, strangely, that he might be able to live like this indefinitely.

#Fanfiction #Assassination Classroom #Karushuu #Karma Akabane #Gakushu Asano #Akabane Karma #Asano Gakushu #Drabble #Karushuu College Roommates AU #Your Soul Like Little Sparks #Title Subject to Change

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maggotmouth · 3 years ago

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hillo sexthy legends !! i’m nora and i’ll be writing margo colby n probs sm1 else bcos lets be real, i lack self-control. u can find her pinterest here n some info abt her sexy self below the cut. plot with me on discord ( hot girl midsommar#8664 ) or in my ims !! x o x

* CAMILA MORRONE, CIS WOMAN + SHE / HER | you know MARGO COLBY, right? they’re TWENTY-THREE, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, ELEVEN YEARS? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to SCRAWNY BY WALLOWS like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole BLEACH WHITE SNEAKERS POUNDING ON A GYMNASIUM FLOOR, USING THE SAME BLUNT SCISSORS TO HACK THE SLEEVES OFF AN EXES T-SHIRT THAT YOU USE TO CUT YOUR 3AM FRINGE, A WALNUT-SHAPED ACHE IN THE PIT OF YOUR STOMACH FOR THE PERSON YOU COULD HAVE BEEN thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is AUGUST 8TH, so they’re a LEO, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( nora, 25, gmt, she/her )

CLICK ANYWHERE ON THIS SENTENCE FOR SEXII GOOGLE DOC!!

bullet point summary of margo.

�� born margaret but NOBODY calls her that. its colby, coach or margo, and go to the privileged few. margo grew up in the creek commune n then dropped out of school cos of a teenage pregnancy so she was a bit of a cautionary tale back in’t’day (said tht in my yorkshire accent). she now works for summer camps coaching pee wee soccer and pee wee cheer, as well as helping out her beekeeper dad on his honey farm, which is jst north of abernathy creek, and working at scuba on the off seasons.

— its just her and her dad, and has been for as long as she can recall !! everything she knows about her mum could fit on the back of the weathered passport photo she keeps in her wallet of a stranger who shares her face - her name’s melody, or at least tht was name she used when working as a dancer, she’s from argentina and dropped mag’s dad as soon as someone w more money came along.

— margo’s father is a beekeeper with his own organic honey company. margo and her dad moved to irving in the early 00s, the summer between grade school and middle school, because her dad had heard about the communal living in abernathy creek and wanted to lend his skills there and live off the fatta the land in a very lenny from of mice and men kinda way.

— for a few years of middle school margo was bullied for living with the ‘freaks from the creek’, but when they realised how chill her dad was with underage drinking, margo ‘keg-bringer’ colby soon gained popularity among the more renegade students. every so often, the high school parties would happen at her end of town, occasionally with members of the commune even offering the high schoolers a spiritual experience they’d never forget (often in the form of mushrooms) which meant people tried to stay on her good side. to get an invite to a margo colby party handed you a free pass to make up the most ridiculous shit about the commune you liked and nobody else could say anything, because they’d never been to the creek.

— at school, margo had a lot of ‘behvioural issues’ bcos of undiagnosed adhd, she found it difficult to sit still for hours n write down huge chunks of information n her restlessness was seen as laziness. she was encouraged to do sports, as were most of the kids who weren’t that academically inclined, but she turned out to be pretty hot shit at sprinting, because she grew up surrounded by bee houses and he who runs slowest gets stung, baybeyy!! so yea, in school sports became her LIFE. she was gonna get a sports scholarship to college but ended up dropping out of school in senior year n becoming one of those kids who could have had it all but lost it.

— she had sex with sutter at a house party when she wasnt really ready because it felt like the right thing to do at the time and everybody else was doing it. she’d attended health class, she’d seen the corny videos. she knew about all the statistics, but she also knew that it had never happened to anyone she knew and the pull out method was basically safer than the morning after pill and way less expensive.

— a teenage pregnancy knocked her out of the runnings for prom queen and meant she had to leave school early. she didn’t go to college when her friends did, instead she spent the time interviewing potential foster candidates and eating her weight in lindt chocolate while marathoning love island in her room.

— she had a son, who she passed off to someone else a couple of towns away. it was a closed adoption which seemed like the best idea at the time, but she now wishes she had access to his life.

— after peaking in high school and jumping between jobs for a few years, she got a more permanent role at scuba which she loves with all of her heart and soul, but unfortunately a bar job doesn’t pay the rent.

— she works at summer camps coaching junior soccer and netball on the side. she’s extremely competitive and takes it very personally if her team lose. the kids all call her, coach colby n write her longwinded letters about how they’ll never forget this summer camp before they go back to their suburban picket fence houses n she keeps all the letters in a drawer n takes them out to read when she’s feelin depressed.

— enjoys surfing and worked for a number of years on resorts like mila kunis’ job in forgetting sarah marshall. she went on to work 18-hour days as a stewardess on luxury yachts which is a part of her backstory i added after watching season one of below deck because i guess i really am that fucking impressionable. met most of her surf friends doing tht but said she’d never in her life do it again bcos it was mostly just picking up after rich white ppl for shit pay. she came back to irving n thats when she started doing the summer camp jobs so she could move out of the creek n get her own apartment.

— she never actually finished senior year so she’s currently going to night school at the community college to get through her exams and is trying to save to go to college or open university. she wants to major in criminology. she’s super ambitious but also super adhd so she fluctuates between thinking she can achieve anything to just feeling like a failure n thinkin whats the point

— used to shoplift to feel joy and as an act of resistance to her hippy commune routes, but now sees herself as a reformed, bin-diving freegan (sims 4 eco living can i get a hell yaaaa). also she thinks it’s totally wrong to steal when you have enough money and clearly don’t need to steal to survive, ppl risk imprisonment for basic necessities, so for her to do it for a brief thrill and some new shades felt a bit derogatory

— was raised jewish. became a vegetarian as a child because it seemed, at the time, easier than having to explain which foods she was and wasn’t allowed to eat together, so she just cut out meat entirely. still a vegetarian now and dabbles in veganism, although its become less about not eating certain meats in the milk of their mother and more about her global impact / carbon footprint

— nurses little animals to health in her garden. has a hedgehog name OJ short for orange juice not the other one filthy pig. her and her dad have always been huge animal rights activists and existed on a vegetarian diet. the only one in their house who isn’t vegetarian is their cat, auggie. (short 4 augustus gloop)

— has a lot of stupid ass stick and poke tattoos. there was a phase during her years as a barmaid where she wanted to train as a tattoo artist n would mostly practice on herself or any friends who would let her

— she doesn’t form many long lasting friendships cos she tends to be super excited when she makes a new friend and just see them all the time but then it wears off and she can ghost a bit. she’ll always coming pinging back but she’s not the most predictable or loyal friend, sometimes she’ll sleep in your house every night for a week and then you won’t even get a text from her for a month. her best friends are elderly neighbours and houseless people she meets when volunteering at the foodbank. she thinks they’re more authentic than most of the ‘fake posers’ she meets down the vela pier

— calls herself a butch lesbian but still has sex with men when she wants validation. sexually attracted to some men, especially effeminate men, but only romantically attracted to women. very possessive of the gals in her life.

— stopped giving a shit about getting older or adhering to anyone elses bullshit standards, realised it was all fake p much as soon as she dropped out of school and one by one her friends just stopped texting her

— lives in one of the lofts in port apartments. it’s open plan with rugs and lava lamps everywhere. she has a palette bed. its all very ‘sustainable chic’. like, oh wow, a pallet bed that im supposed to think you made from scratch but i KNOW you got it off ebay because you thought it looked trendy

— constantly says shes poor but still buys clothes from urban outfitters. sus.

— frequently found at fannies flirting with the cute bisexual bartender with a choppy black bob.

general vibe / personality

vibrant, vulgar, self-absorbed, tenacious, veers bewteen apathetic and dogmatic, temperamental, flighty, unreliable, magnetic, charismatic, passive aggressive, likes to play devil’s advocate, takes the moral high ground. estp and a leo

likes: 70s music, john wayne movies, black mirror, philosophy, cowboy chic culture, dc comics, the smell of locker rooms,, deep red lipstick, lacrosse sticks, smoking weed from a bong, dogs, karaoke, pet rats, kate moss, late-night strolls, hawaaiian shirts worn open over a bralette, skinned knees, thai food, picking the apples at the very top of the trees, zip-lining, cigarettes, the idea of pegging but not the practical application of it, decorative lamps, LGBTQ+ pin badges, worn-out furniture, twangy electric guitars.

dislikes: girls who call other girls ‘pick me’ girls, woody allen movies, mental mathematics, wealthy children, quentin tarantino, ironing, institutionalised misogyny, the imaginary future, french literature, ‘dump him’ feminism, wes anderson films, spoken word poetry nights, college-educated bar staff who act like they’re better than you, indie softbois, the general mentality of cheerleading squads.

aesthetics

orange peel, the smell of bleach, skeleton drawings in the margins of a journal, thumb holes poked through the cuffs of your sleeves, bleach white sneakers pounding on a gymnasium floor, setting dumpsters on fire for the hell of it. a hit flask of vodka decorated with hello kitty stickers, split knuckles, alien conspiracy theories and sci-fi paperbacks, doc martens with fraying laces, a child in an oversize bee keepers suit, scabbed knees, not eating your greens, smiling with a mouthful of blood, and piercing your own ears with a safety pin when your dad wouldn’t take you, a tennis racket you punched through in a fit of temper, feet pounding the earth until your soles bleed crimson, sleeping in a cherry lip balm and scrunchies to keep the wild locks from your eyes.

hoo boy this is getting LONG AS FUCK but here are my wanted plots

wanted plots

ok margo’s been in irving since she was like 10. she’s quite a vivacious person?? she dresses completely instinctively without any sense of cohesion so she stands out. a guy once told her she was wearing the ugliest outfit he’d ever seen and he thought that was so cool and brave of her. but anyway where was i going.. she grew up in the abernathy creek so stuck out like a sore thumb,,,, maybe ppl who were super interested in the creek or maybe poked fun at her bcos of it idk.....

b4 she dropped out, margo used 2 b in with the cool kids at school bcos her dad would buy them booze and rarely ask for the money. maybe a fun plot cld b with some of the ‘it girls’ she used to hang around with b4 she got pregnant n dropped out and they all went off to college n stopped texting her.

frinds !! unlikely friends !! toxic friends !! some1 she feels like she knew before irving ???

since margo literally can’t differentiate between romantic and platonic love, she’s got off with so many of her mates, so i want awkward friendships where they nearly dated, or exes that have now just turned into weird friendships. fwbs. enemies with benefits. all the angst. all the slow burn mutual pining we hate each other narratives

locals who play sports. margo wld be all over community soccer n take it way too seriously. maybe ppl she plays hockey with. girls who she’s like, weirdly intimate with but its not a thing cos the other girls straight !!! what do u mean !! aha just fun !

she works part time at scuba. i want a mate that just goes and sits in there talking to her until her manager gets angry.

she's also a surf instructor and occasionally works as a lifeguard!! gal has like 7 jobs ik but regular swimmers hmu

ppl she coaches at the gym !! she wants to be a personal trainer

i reckon she might have recently started meditating to try and calm down her mind cos its always bustling with thoughts, n i think she’s p interested in buddhism so if anyone’s a buddhist hmu

someone she’s trying to make a zine with on female empowerment and women in film and art, etc. just a very feminist zine.

TLDR: angry sports gay, former high school track prodigy turned drop out, who likes feminist literature, wearing leather jackets over slip dresses, and smudged red lipstick.

this was so long !!! im sorry !! if you’ve read this far have a biscuit, love x

#aaaaaaa #we back boys #irvingintro #hmu for plots bayybeyyy

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freebestfootballtips · 3 years ago

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jlexbors107 · 2 years ago

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Football Predictor with Artificial intelligence

The algorithm is improving daily in order to deliver the best free football betting tips.

Think about a weekend with more than 400 matches. It is impossible for a human to analyze each match, so NerdyTips algorithm will help with choosing the safest Football Predictor Software.

The algorithm was developed in more than two years and released on 19 May 2021, analyzing more than 50.000 matches until now.

The artificial intelligence soccer prediction platform is 100% transparent with the clients, so the entire progress of the football predictor software is displayed on the website.

The mathematical Safe Football Predictions website offers both the Slip of the Day, a selection of the safest matches from a day which should be placed together on a slip, and the matches of the day, the events which have the highest trusts every day.

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mycryptosuite · 4 years ago

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Abc Naija Soccer Tips For Today 27/12/2020

Abc Naija Soccer Tips For Today 27/12/2020 Abc naija soccer tips – Free mathematical football/soccer predictions and tips. 1X2, Under/Over 2.5 goals, HT/FT tips, Both to score. (more…)

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freewithyourtempo · 5 years ago

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Highschool cherik au firsts? Like first date, kiss, first time, etc.

Thank you for the prompt, anon!

Let’s start with first kiss…

Charles hisses.

It isn’t as bad as it looks, he is sure. It is just that the sweat rolling down his temple and upper lip is dragging down the blood as well. The wound itself isn’t deep. Obviously.

That being said, did Alex have to aim so freaking high with his free-kick?

Charles shakes his head. He is being unjust: it wasn’t Alex’s fault, after all, but Charles’ own, who had been distracted by a very recognizable silhouette, shaped by the shadows under the bleachers.

Charles bites his lip and keeps on dabbing mercilessly at the cut at the angle of his mouth, which is now turning an ugly shade of purple. It stings like hell, the paper rough against his ruined skin, but he can’t bleed for the whole period. He has already missed half of it. He huffs.

He notices with a grimace that the piece of toilet paper in his hand is crimson-spotted and crumpled up. He throws it in the overflowing bin next to the door and tears another one from the roll he has wisely put on the sink.

The soaked, muddy, unsanitary sink of a high school gym toilet, as clean as the bottom of his soccer-shoes. He will consider himself lucky if he doesn’t catch tuberculosis by the end of the day.

In that moment, the door of the locker-room slams open, and Charles jumps.He stares dumbly at the newcomer, hand still mid-air, and blinks. He realizes with sinking horror that his reflection in the mirror is a mess, with smears of blood around his mouth and sweaty, messy hair stuck to his forehead and temples. He glances down at his soccer shorts, low on his hips and covered in brownish stains, and at his socks, rolled-up mid-calves.

It looks like he has been dragged across a cricket pitch by his shoelaces.

And, really, Charles isn’t attracted to bad guys. It would be predictable and so two-thousand and ten.

It isn’t the black leather jacket that does it for Charles, but the back that stretches it thin. It isn’t the cigarette, but the mouth enveloping it. It isn’t the piercing… Yeah, no. It definitely is the piercing. And the eye-liner.

Erik Lehnsherr stops on the threshold of the locker-room and blinks at him, unsurprised to see him there, with the expression of perpetual boredom of an underpaid kindergarten teacher who has to explain to you for the third time why you shouldn’t shove mud in your mouth.

Charles doesn’t take it personally: he shares a few glorious classes with Lehnsherr’s unpredictable moods, and that seems to be the expression that inconveniences him the least to be seen wearing. That, and the smile he hides with a twist of his lips every time a professor mistakes his boredom for incapacity to follow their lesson.

Not taking his eyes off of him, Lehnsherr orientates the cigarette dangling from his lips towards the lighter in his left hand. A sparkle, and the tip turns instantly red-hot.

Lehnsherr’s cheeks are momentarily sucked into his mouth, and Charles finds himself as a guest in the control room of his vocal cords.“You can’t smoke in here,” he says. And pursues his lips for good measure, which means that a fat drop of blood happily slides down his chin. He slaps a piece of paper on the wound. Sexy. Lehnsherr predictably rolls his eyes - God, his silver piercing dances so prettily on his eyebrow - and leaves with no comment. A cloud of smoke signals his departure.

Charles clenches his jaw and decides that, once he will be tucked in his bed this night, banging his head into the mattress, he will blame his stupidity on the blood-loss.

Charles isn’t into bad boys, but who could resist a daily assault of one Erik Lehnsherr hitting the brakes of his big bike in the principal’s parking spot, then proceeding to take off his full-face helmet, neck bent backward and long throat bared under the sun. When his jeans-clad thighs release the saddle from their relentless grip, Charles can literally see the leather decompress.

There’s a limit to what a boy can endure. And Charles’ limit, specifically, is fingerless, leather gloves that squeak under Lehnsherr’s sharp teeth when he unfastens them right before getting to the blackboard and proving a mathematical theorem in three steps.

Charles feels sympathetic: he would squeak too.

It isn’t a “he doesn’t even know I exist” type of situation, as Charles would prefer. Lehnsherr, unfortunately, knows who Charles is, and on one particularly memorable occasion, they were even paired up for an Art project.

Charles had been more or less (he hoped less) evidently bursting out of his skin, but if his deep frown had been any indication, Lehnsherr hadn’t shared his excitement. The ring on his eyebrow had almost touched his cheekbone for the whole duration of their professor’s speech about how he would have to mark only half of the essays that way.

But the more Lehnsherr had glared at him - a sight that had given Charles goosebumps -, the more Mr. Howlett’s grin had grown satisfied.That particular staring contest was therefore won by the latter.

One afternoon in the library and the research had been completed, despite Charles’ attempt at miniating the bibliography and taking coffee breaks.Lehnsherr had been even more brooding than usual, content to just swing on two of his chair’s legs, play with his lighter and shoot Charles weird looks every other minute.

And Charles had done what he always does when the silence gets too heavy: he had talked. And talked. And waved his hands. He had only stopped blaring away when he had noticed Lehnsherr staring intently at him from the other side of the table.Damn.

The bleeding has thankfully stopped and he has just washed his face when something falls on the sink right next to him, and Charles jumps again. “Would you please stop doing that?”, he complains, and turns off the tap. Lehnsherr has come back undetected, and his hip is propped up against the sink. His cigarette, still impenitently fuming between his lips, is now noticeably shorter than before. He stares at him. Charles blinks.After a few moments of silence, Lehnsherr exhales an exasperated puff of smoke and nods pointedly at the first aid kit he has just dropped between them.Charles slowly reaches out and unzips it under Lehnsherr’s scrutiny, suspicious. He looks for the green lid of the hydrogen peroxide’s bottle and is about to open it.

He doesn’t have the chance to do that.

Lehnsherr curses under his breath, squashes his cigarette into the sink to put it out and pries the bottle out of Charles’ hands. Still mumbling what sounds like words of incredulity, he chooses another bottle from the first aid kit and brusquely wets some cotton wool red. Then he reaches for Charles’ face.

Charles steps back, hands up in a defensive stance. He’s not sure it would be a good idea to have him closer and actively touching him. Lehnsherr tilts his head and lifts an eyebrow. And steps forward.

He smells of smoke, and leather, and of something else rich and full that goes for Charles’ throat and squeezes.

Charles swallows and takes a deep breath to untie his back. He reaches out to grab the cotton wool, hand unsteady and slightly shaking, but Lehnsherr is faster. He bats Charles’ hand away and gently cups his chin in the same movement. Charles’ eyes widen, but his head obeys like putty and is turned to expose the injury.

Charles is very, very aware of every finger holding his face, but he’s especially wary of the thumb, hovering above his lower lip. He can almost feel its warmth projecting onto his skin. He goes still like a rabbit in the torchlight.

Lehnsherr shifts slowly, carefully, his eyes flickering for a moment to Charles’ face, and bows in half to inspect his mouth.

There’s warm breath tickling his cheek now, and this is a position Charles never would have thought he could find himself in, not in a million years, not in his wildest dreams. Maybe the ball has knocked him out.

Lehnsherr’s eyeliner is smudged and glues together two of his eye-lashes. If the hairs of his short beard were to brush his chin, Charles’ soul would spiritually leave his body.

He tightens his hold around the edge of the sink.

His heartbeat is so fast his heart is vibrating under Lehnsherr’s delicate fingers, and he tries to focus on the cheap decoration of the tiles on the other side of the room. Don’t think about leather gloves.One orange triangle, breathe in, one blue triangle, breathe out, one orange triangle, breathe in, one blue triangle…Then his vision shifts.He lets out a sudden shout as he is lifted and dropped unceremoniously on the sink. It feels shockingly hard and cold through his flimsy shorts.

Lehnsherr nudges Charles’ knees open to make room for his own body between them, and Charles is ashamed of how easily they move under Lehnsherr’s guidance to welcome him. He spreads his legs as wide as possible to avoid any kind of contact between rough jeans and naked skin.

Charles stares into Lehnsherr’s electric eyes, frozen like a puppet waiting to be dropped. A hand slides unashamedly from his hips to his thigh, which is now cold below and hot on top. And bare, bare as it has never been before.

A rough palm starts to trace the outline of Charles’ knee in calming circles. At least, Charles thinks they are meant to be calming.

Charles isn’t calm. In fact, he can feel himself redden and fry under Lehnsherr’s amused stare, now right in his line of sight.He starts sputtering, and feels his wound stretch at every word. “Really, my friend, this is quite unnecessary. I’m sure, perfectly sure I can do it myself.”Lehnsherr huffs in disagreement. “No reason to do all of this. I thank you for your concern-”Lehnsherr growls in warning, probably because the wound has started bleeding again. “You’re probably missing out on your lessons and-” Lehnsherr kisses him.

It is quick, little more than a press of lips, hot, dry lips that embrace his mouth, and so very gentle. Charles is so astonished he doesn’t even close his eyes, simply gapes like a fish on a hook. His mouth starts fizzing and pulsing for a whole different reason, now, as if marked with fire.

When Lehnsherr steps back, Charles is so caught up he leans in and almost falls off the sink. He is saved by a very firm hand pressing a piece of cotton wool against his mouth and pushing him back.

Regained his balance, Charles lifts his eyes to look up at Lehnsherr’s face.

He’s not smirking, but his mouth is disclosed. His eyes are elsewhere and terribly intense at the same time. And he’s… Blushing?

Charles opens his mouth to say something, anything, but Lehnsherr steps back and flees the room before he can emit a sound.

***

Charles hasn’t told anyone yet.Firstly, because he is sure no one would believe him.Secondly, because he doesn’t believe it himself.It just doesn’t make any sense. Someone like Erik Lehnsherr shouldn’t even look twice in his direction, let alone kiss him.Charles is a blubbering mess with a knack for cardigans. Don’t get him wrong, he is proud of who he is. But who he is is most certainly not Erik Lehnsherr’s type. Type of victim, yes, maybe. Type of boyfriend, unlikely. Charles is more some nice girl’s type, with golden hair and a Bronte’s novel on her nightstand.

Maybe he did kiss him just to shut him up.

Sure, a “shut your mouth” could have been equally efficient, but Lehnsherr is not exactly known for his loquaciousness.

And what was he even doing in that locker room, anyway?

So, Charles hasn’t told anyone, and hasn’t planned to do so in the near future. Until English Literature on Friday.

He’s minding his own business when-

No, that’s a lie. He isn’t minding his own business, he is minding Erik Lehnsherr’s business. Specifically, the business that keeps him from being sat at his usual spot in the classroom.

Charles is staring at his desk like a middle-distance runner waiting for the gunshot to sprint. Sprint where, he doesn’t know. Maybe out of the window, because the mere thought of Erik Lehnsherr stir-fries his blood, and he doesn’t dare think what would happen if he actually saw him crossing that threshold.

That’s why, when Emma Frost leans against his desk that Friday morning, and asks, with her usual air of polite casualness, what happened to his mouth, he blurts out: “Lehnsherr kissed me.”

Emma stops scrolling through her phone and actually looks at him.

Now, Emma Frost is Lehnsherr’s type: tall, sharp-minded and silver-tongued enough to get away with anything. She’s the kind of girl one thinks about when in need to cast a new Charlie’s Angels movie.

Their prole would have a set of chromosomes to die for.

The thought inexplicably saddens him.

An excited, conspiratory smile spreads on Emma’s face, and she stretches on his desk to half-whisper. “You mean your first kiss with Lehnsherr has been so wild he broke your lip?"

"Wh-what? No! No, no, no. No. No!"

"Oh.” Emma pursues her lips in blatant disappointment. “A pity.”

Charles frowns. “Why aren’t you surprised? Erik Lehnsherr kissed me.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that. Congrats, he’s hot!"

"He’s not hot, he’s the hottest thing to ever set foot in the district since that Bunsen burner’s explosion in the chemistry laboratory three years ago!” Charles hisses. “Why me? It doesn’t make sense. Maybe he wanted to make fun of me.” His eyes widen in horror. “Maybe he wanted to humiliate me. You are his friend, what do you think?"

Emma slowly straightens and looks at him with an unreadable but serious expression. She opens her mouth under Charles’ feverish stare, then closes it. "You’ve got to be kidding me,” she murmurs to herself. Then raising her voice, “listen, Charles, I don’t know what makes you think he would-”

The arrival of the professor cuts her sentence in a half, and Charles never gets to know what Lehnsherr wouldn’t do, because at the end of the lesson Emma flees the classroom.

***

“Erik Magnus Lehnsherr!"

Erik grimaces and shoves a cigarette into his mouth even before getting off his bike. This conversation is not going to be pleasant.

He looks to the left and sees Emma Frost stomping in his direction, stabbing the ground with her heels and throwing daggers with her eyes.

This conversation isn’t going to be pleasant at all.

She stops next to his bike, hands imperiously on her hips and demanding eyebrows up in the middle of her forehead. Erik lights up the cigarette and exhales a puff of smoke in her direction, just to rile her up. "What’s up, love?"

Emma glares. "Don’t you what’s up love me! I have just talked with Charles Xavier.”

Erik averts his eyes and fights down the blush that is threatening to crawl up his neck. He straightens the collar of his leather jacket.

Getting to know Charles Xavier has been like craving a black coffee and being pawned by the Starbucks’ employee a seasonal pumpkin-spice frappuccino instead, only to bring yourself to drink it and begrudgingly finding it delicious, soft on the tongue and addicting.

Erik drinks bitter, uncorrupted coffee, not sugary hybrids that never stop blubbering intelligent nonsense with cherry-red lips.

He fixes the mirrors of his motorcycle, which don’t need any fixing, and emits a carefully uncaring mmmh.

Because he doesn’t care.

At all.

Everyone fucking loves Charles Xavier, but Erik intends to resist. He will not yield to messy curls, disarming smiles and eyes that are blue and kind but sometimes flash with cunning humor and suck you into a parallel universe where Charles Xavier could really be looking at Erik Lehnsherr like that.

Emma smacks her lips and folds her arms, too satisfied with his reaction for Erik’s comfort. “Don’t try that bad-boy bullshit on me, Lehnsherr. I can see you blushing from here.”

Erik growls but doesn’t try to deny it. It would be useless.

“He says you’ve kissed him.”

Erik rubs the back of his cigarette on his lower lip. “I didn’t take him for one who kisses and tell.”

Emma acts like she hasn’t heard. “What I don’t understand is why he would think you did it to make fun of him.”

Before he can think better of it, Erik’s head snaps up. He must have inhaled abruptly, too, because there’s smoke in his throat and he starts coughing.

Emma smirks and Erik hates her a little bit. “Why would he-”

“Yeah,” Emma interjects forcefully. “That’s what I was about to ask him, too. Why would he ever think that?” She puts her perfectly manicured hand on her chin to mimic someone deep in thought. Then she just as unnervingly brights up as if she’s had a revelation. “Oh, yes! Because you’re an emotionally constipated punk who probably jumped on him in a dark alley and then ran away without a word. Am I right?”

Erik clenches his jaw and glares, but Emma doesn’t budge. She bats her eyelashes.

“It was the locker-room, actually.”

Emma springs towards him, and for a moment Erik is convinced she’s going to strangle him. She stops just as abruptly, instead, and looks at him with fire in her eyes. “You’re�� unbelievable! Why would you do something like that? I know you like him.”

Erik doesn’t answer, because he doesn’t know what to say. Or he knows, but it’s too much and he doesn’t want to. He falls back onto his bike and flicks away the remnant of his cigarette.

“You didn’t-,” she twists her hands, and looks actually hesitant for the first time in this conversation. “I know he’s nerdish, and clumsy, and talks. A lot. And he’s like… The furthest thing one would imagine from your type. But he’s so sweet, and bright… You didn’t do it to make fun of him, right?”

Erik stares at her for a few moments, chest heavy. He opens and closes his mouth a dozen times. And then.“To make- To make fun of him?” He jumps off the saddle of his bike and starts waving his arms around like a stressed-out windmill. “How could kissing the boy I’ve had a crush on for years ever qualify as making fun of him? It just happened, all right? He was so pretty, and so messy, all alone in that locker room and with a split lip. And he was about to use the freaking hydrogen peroxide to clean it. But I kissed him like an idiot and didn’t know what to say. So I ran away! And now I can’t even face him because I am the creeper who has assaulted him in the school locker-room!”

When he stops shouting, he realizes he’s panting. Emma is staring at him with wide eyes. Erik clears his throat and straightens his back. His face is hot; he’s not sure if it’s due to the anger or the embarrassment, but he feels twitchy all over. He tries to light up another cigarette, but his hand trembles and he has no control over his thumb. He throws everything on the ground and massages the root of his nose.

Emma takes a step towards him. “A split lip, mh?” she comments, and there’s gentle humor in her voice, so Erik lifts his head from his hand just as she says: “Kinky.”

He snorts. “It’s the librarian attire that turns me on, actually.”

Emma chuckles, then sighs. “You should tell him, you know? You’ve been astonishingly stupid, but the only thing that has bothered Charles about that kiss is the fact that it ended.”

Erik bites his lower lip, mainly to hide his erupting smile. He’s not successful. “You really think so?”

“Yes, stupid.” She rolls her eyes and amicably hits him on the shoulder. “I really think so. That kid is head over heels for you as much as you’re for him.“

Erik tries to be dignified even if his face is splitting at the height of his mouth."Head over heels is maybe a bit much…” “Oh,” says Emma delicately, eyebrow risen. “If you’re not that interested, maybe I could try my chances with-”

Erik’s throat tightens and he shows his teeth to hiss. Emma just laughs at him.

***

Emma knows three things for certain:

One, there’s nothing you can’t do in heels;

Two, white will never go out of style;

Three, power is a question of paying attention to the right things.

That’s why, that morning, she’s rocking high boots, wearing white cashmere and ignoring Azazel’s gross attempts at flirting in favor of keeping an eye on Charles Xavier on the other end of the corridor.

She can see his mop of chocolate hair fumbling tirelessly in his locker, until he freezes.

Emma smiles.

There’s an unmistakable roar of engines approaching the school. It lasts a few moments, then it is abruptly cut off.

Emma can see Charles’ nape redden, and knows that he, too, is counting the seconds.

Erik Lehnsherr, the asshole, makes his entrance as loud as possible. The door slams on the opposite wall and the sole of his combat boots scratches against the floor at each step.

Everyone in the hall turns and stares for a moment. When the students resume their buzzing, their eyes seem to keep sliding sideways.

Charles tries to not-so discreetly glance over his shoulder. Emma can pinpoint with millisecond accuracy the moment he notices Erik’s leather trousers, because his face flares up and his mouth swings open. He turns around again and stays very still, facing his locker, back rigid.

Emma chuckles behind her hand.

Erik is frowning, his eyes thunderous. He looks around for a bit, then he patently zeroes in on Charles’ figure and his frown deepens. He tightens his jaw and starts marching forward. The corridor is crowded, but no one dares to be on Lehnsherr’s path when he’s clearly in a foul mood.

Poor boy, Emma thinks. It’s not his fault if his sentimentally crashed face is also his angry face.

He stops right behind Charles, clenches and unclenches his fists, shifts from one foot to the other.

Charles turns around, slowly. He blinks his eyes open wide, and they are very big and very blue.He squeezes his books against his chest and forcibly removes his gaze from Erik’s thighs. “Yes?”

Emma bites down on her lower lip and almost squirms. Come on, come on, come on. She’s so patently distracted that Azazel takes his eyes off her cleavage long enough to focus on what has drawn her attention.

Erik takes a deep breath that puffs up his leather jacket. He opens his mouth and mumbles something that has Charles gaping. Then closes it. He shakes his head and withdraws it into his shoulder. When he steps back, Charles’ hand outlines a jerky movement.

Emma grabs Azazel’s arm and sinks her nails into his skin. He wails.

In that moment, the door of the classroom next to Erik flies open and bumps into his back, then gets stuck. Erik is forced to step forward to keep his balance, and glares dangerously over his shoulder.Mr. Howlett stumbles out of his classroom, almost invisible behind the gigantic toothpick-diorama of a half crumbled Eiffel Tower he’s carrying.

Emma notices with horror that he has a cigar in his mouth, and it is seeding red-hot ashes all over the floor. There’s an alarming smell of smoke coming from that class.

Mr. Howlett stops on the threshold, deliberates for a moment and decides there isn’t enough room to get through. He gains momentum and pushes the door wide open with a tremendous shove of his whole weight.

The door gets unstuck with a rattling sound, vibrates and goes flying against Erik. Again.

This time, the impact sends him crashing into Charles with a bottomless thud.

They stumble into one another in a mess of limbs, knock their foreheads together and almost deform the locker they fall into.

The show ends with a loud groan and the splat of Charles’ books on the ground.

Azazel, who has the social receptiveness of a sweaty sock, takes the opportunity and chants: “Fight fight fight!”

Half the students in the hall enthusiastically join him.

Emma downs her head into her palm.

Mr. Howlett patently ignores the mess he has caused, exhales two puffs of smoke in quick succession, smirks and turns away as if nothing happened.

Erik and Charles are frozen in place, Erik’s hands on either side of Charles’ head and flat against the locker. His leather jacket has ridden up his back, leaving a naked strip of skin exposed. Charles’ arms have flown forward and are now hanging between their chests, unsure of where they should rest. His fingers finally grab Erik’s waist to keep him steady, just to realise they are digging into soft skin and not into rough leather and squirt away as if burned.

Erik’s nape is red, Charles’ face is crimson and their chests are heavy.

If Azazel doesn’t stop the chorus of blood-thirsty imbeciles, Emma is going to crush his foot with her heel. She has just risen her boot, when silence dawns on the hall.

She snaps her head up and almost squeals.

Charles’ arms are locked behind Erik’s neck to drag him down into his reach, his eyes are squeezed shut and his mouth is pressed against Erik’s, lips tight. His blush hasn’t receded a bit, and seems to spread on his skin like wine on a white tablecloth.

Erik is unresponsive for a few moments, eyes gaping in place of his mouth. The he jolts awake.

He wraps his longs arms around Charles’ waist and holds him tight against his chest.

Azazel twists his lips, shrugs, and prompts another chorus. A moment later, the hall is chanting: “Kiss kiss kiss!"

#you asked #cherik #charles xavier #erik lehnsherr #highschool!au #my fic #cherik fic

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