#i feel so bad for my language arts teacher

[stellathyst]

"I have living breathing things in this classroom and they're not you."

"You guys are going to make me up my antidepressant dose."

[tonycries]

The Way You Kiss Me - G.S.

Synopsis. The four times Satoru tries really hard not to kiss you - his best friend’s pretty younger sister. And the one time he doesn’t.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! Suguru’s sister! reader, childhood enemies to lovers, PINING Satoru, like really really disgustingly down bad, creampíe, oral (fem receiving), pússytalking, needy JEALOUS! Satoru, running away from it, spítting, punching is Suguru’s love language, mentions of aIcohol, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 7.4k (That’s wild)

A/N. BOO! Surprise upload. This was so fun to write omg.

“You sure this is how the grown-ups get married?”

“Duh, I know everything.”

“Nuh uh, Toru.”

“Yuh uh!”

The first time Gojo Satoru kissed you was underneath that dingy playground slide that the two of you always raced to after elementary school. 

Usually, your older brother, Suguru, would walk home alongside you two - but this time, he’d just so happened to have been held back for throwing paper planes at the teacher that day.

A sign from the universe, Satoru internally celebrated, something he’d learned from those sappy romance novels his mother left lying around the house. No matter that he was the one that made those planes.

You were six back then, standing in front of a determined Satoru - reaching up on his tip-toes, face pink, smelling of those cheap strawberry lollipops he’d sneak into class and taunt you with. At the much older and wiser age of seven, he’d insisted on being the first one to lean in.

Just barely even grazing your dramatically puckered lips before-

Satoru learned two things that fateful afternoon:

Even as a seven-year-old, Suguru’s punches really hurt. 

Never mess with you. Anyone but you. 

Life only seemed to go downhill from there - because that last lesson was proving to be hard along the years. Really. Fucking. Hard.

Little did Satoru know that this would be the start of some strange, unpredictable little dance of push and pull. No, you definitely weren’t his wife. Nor were you exactly best friends - not really, that spot was reserved for your brother. But you didn’t think you could ever be just that either.

And the punch that’d knocked his wobbly tooth out onto the playground floor that day was a painful reminder that whatever that was - whatever weird thoughts he had later in middle school about how you’d tasted like candy - didn’t matter. No matter how part some tucked-away little part of him wanted it to.

Hell, eleven years later and Satoru still can’t walk around that familiar block without feeling slightly queasy. Which is why, after that failed first kiss, he knew there wouldn’t be a second. 

Instead, he settles back to teasing your pouty self, pushing all your buttons, tugging on those cute dresses you wore. Face burning so strangely with- humiliation? when you bickered right back, calling his haircut a “tragic attempt at modern art.”

“So you’re saying I look like art?” A gangly, now-seventeen Satoru blocks the bustling high school hallway, ignoring the bell. Grin only growing at your frustrated huff, he half-jokes, “Aww, if you’re that soft on me, sweetheart, maybe we should go to prom tog-”

You slam your locker, effectively shutting both it and Satoru at the same time. “I’d rather go with Yaga.”

“...you would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would- Sugu–!”

And all Suguru can do is wrap two hands around his neck, mock-choking himself, wondering if it was really too late to embrace a quiet life as a monk. “You’ll both be MLA cited in my farewell note.”

He was used to it, though, forced to watch all this chaos since quickly mending his friendship with Satoru over ice cream the day after the punch. Convinced that this was some punishment for a past life’s misdeed.

With a squawk of protest, Satoru’s turning back to you, eyes crinkling with a hint of mischief you knew too well, “Would not.”

Your face burns, “Would to, Toru.”

You didn’t go with Yaga. but Satoru didn’t exactly count that as a win in his books, either, because you did show up that night hanging off the arm of some jerk from the football team. 

And there you were, all dolled up - which he very objectively noted - way too prettily for some bastard like him. Stars in your eyes, and everything he couldn’t have in that smile. 

Everything. 

Way too gorgeous, even when he finds you sitting outside the gymnasium later on in the night. Too busy bawling your mascara off to even throw out your usual greeting insult his way. Murmuring out wetly about “that asshole” and how he humiliated you by stranding you in the middle of the dance floor for someone else. 

“Well, he was a jerk anyway. Even Yaga would’ve been better, hell, I-” Satoru stops short to his horror at the way you only cry harder.

Way too irresistible, especially as his body moves before his mind - holding out an open hand before he knows it. “I’m a much better dancer than him and you.” And oh Satoru will forever remember the way his heart lurches as you blink your teary eyes up in confusion, “Well, aren’t ya gonna take up the challenge?”

Weirdly, it wasn’t weird at all. 

If anything, you had to hold back your laughter the entire time at the way the great “campus sweetheart” Gojo Satoru was so on edge.

Just a friend comforting a friend, right?

So why was he avoiding your gaze with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, summer blue eyes pointedly trained right over your head. That pretty pink blush dusting his cheeks reflecting the hands hovering in midair over your waist. So close - and yet, fear in each and every turn and swirl.

Yours were searing into his broad shoulders as you tried to guide him to the muffled music from inside. And shit.

That night ended with a second kiss. 

You don’t know who leaned in first, just that Satoru’s soft lips were just fleeting on your glossy ones - barely even a touch. And that shit shit shit- this was Satoru. This was you. 

Everything. 

But it seems that every time Satoru was about to kiss you dangerously close to the way some tiny, forbidden part of his heart wanted to - the universe throws an obstacle at him. An obstacle that was six feet and named “Suguru”, currently running at break-neck speed out of the gym.

“MOVE YOUR ASSES!” he cackles, “THE FOOTBALL TEAM ISN’T TOO HAPPY ABOUT ME BREAKING THEIR STAR PLAYER’S NOSE.”

And not a word is uttered about the kiss as the three of you speed out of the school parking lot in Suguru’s busted-up black hellcat, the wind mussing up the hairstyle that took Satoru over two hours to perfect. Sneaking in glances at the sight of you singing along at the top of your lungs to some overplayed pop song on the radio. 

He learns another two things that night:

Apparently, Suguru’s right hook still really fucking hurt. And thank god for tonight’s casualties of noses, because it was a wonder that he didn’t look too hard at how close Satoru was with you. 

He didn’t…dislike the feeling of your lips on his. And judging by the way you meet his eyes in the rearview mirror - you didn’t either.

It’s mainly that last one that makes him gulp.

Neither of you remember the third kiss - though, Satoru’s sure that at least 80% of Shoko’s instagram followers did.

According to a very hungover Shoko, and the many, many forms of documentation, it had happened on the New Year’s eve during your third year in university. In which you were much more used to the raging parties that would be hosted at Suguru’s apartment, and only slightly less intimidated by them.

“And you’re a lightweight too, dumbass. You were gone.” Shoko sighs from across the café table, eye bags deeper than the last time he’d seen her. “Like gone gone.”

God, what a way to start the year.

Satoru bites back a remark about how “gone” Shoko herself had been. Sitting up straight in his seat, regret immediately hitting his senses faster than the guilty throbbing at his temples. He winces, managing out a semi-disbelieving groan of, “Gone gone?”

And she’s only nodding wearily, subconsciously tapping out the rest of her cigarette ashes onto his untouched plate of sweet pastries. 

“I’m talking dancing on expensive coffee tables and fighting to stop you from giving everyone there a strip show.” She cracks a smirk through a waft of smoke, “Though, she would’ve loved that I’m sure.”

“Har har har, you’d make even Nanami laugh with that one.”

“Eugh, gross.” Shoko taps through her phone briefly, swirling it around to show Satoru a few pictures that definitely gave him a mini-heart attack at 8:57 in the morning. “You look like you’re about to pen really bad poetry.”

And perhaps this was Shoko’s plan all along - to shock Satoru to the core hard enough that she can note it down as one of her sketchy psychological experiments. 

But he knew. Could feel it in the hazy fragments of memories - or, at the very least, in that entire highlight that Nanamin had oh-so-conveniently put up on Instagram titled, “Blackmail.”

You knew. 

You’d kissed him back. 

“I don’t have a-.” you slur, stumbling ever-so-slightly as you try to meet Satoru’s glassy eyes. Because shit the years have had him shooting up faster than you could look up. “-a New Year’s kiss, y’know.”

You were older - more gorgeous, if that was even possible now. That tight dress hugging your body so unfairly in a way that had him forgetting you were his best friend’s sister. 

The one person in this whole world that he couldn’t have.

But Satoru leans in closer, more because he wants to than anything - he could pick out your voice anywhere let alone over the thumping music currently filling his crowded living room. Lips loose as he tries to play up the cool-guy facade he’s been dubbed with since freshman year, “Hah, loser. Because I do.”

“Where?”

At this, Satoru is stumped - damn, you were good. 

“Not- uh here?” If he was in any clearer state of mind, he’d have been embarrassed at the way his voice cracks so traitorously as your unsteady hands pull him in closer by his overpriced button-up. 

Your body was flush against his now, so addictive. Gaze half-lidded and flickering between the sliver of milky skin exposed on his chest - from that impromptu striptease he’d almost started earlier - and the blue eyes that were currently locked you. You whisper a strained, “Liar.”

Close - too close. So dangerously close.

He breathes out against your lips, the smell of booze and you so heady in his mind. And the heavy words falling from his lips sound like lies, even to him. “Not.”

“Toru?” you hum, a sound that has him gasping. “Shut up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And there went your New Year’s kisses. At exactly 11:37PM, if the photos were anything to go by. 

And holy shit were there many. All of which showed your arms looped around Satoru’s neck, crashing his lips to yours. His own, resting against your waist, a scandalously red blush - whether from the alcohol or you - adorning his cheeks. Looking more blissed out than he ever remembers feeling. 

“I’m a dead man, Shoko.” 

There’s a lengthy silence, leaving Satoru stewing in thoughts of how Suguru would react once he finds out. And whether or not he’d be able to rise from the dead just to see how pretty you’d look at his funeral.

Morbid thoughts broken only by Shoko’s cough, “Hey, can I keep your eyes for experimentation if he actually catches you?”

Subtly, he sends himself those photos from last night.  

Luckily for Satoru’s eyes, they never ended up being donated towards Shoko’s questionable contributions to the world of medicine. 

And by some grace of the gods above, Suguru never mentioned a word about the kiss that would’ve inevitably made its way to him. Or maybe it was because Satoru stole his phone until he managed to pester Nanami just enough to take down that highlight. But, semantics. 

His heart, however, might as well have been part of some experiment.

Because it’s been working overdrive since that night - mind reliving that moment over and over and over and- shit, he’s fucked. So, so fucked. 

Fucked enough that it took Satoru months just to muster up to even look in your pretty eyes once more, unless he wanted to get lost in them forever. Fucked enough that he dared to wonder again and again when there might be a fourth kiss - if there would be a fourth kiss. 

He just never thought it would happen the way it did - with you, standing outside his front door. 

“I’m sorry, Toru.” you mumble, “It’s just- I think we both need to grow up.”

You’ve freshly graduated now, looking more and more irresistible each time he sees you - even when you’re looking at him like that. 

Rolling his eyes, “Ha, is this another way of saying you want my secret to getting taller? Because the first thing is to-”

“I’m serious, Satoru.”

And oh how he wished you’d say something - anything - else right now. Call him anything but that. Maybe even throw an insult his way, tell him those new sunglasses look ugly, or about how you got that internship he would’ve died for. 

Satoru manages to choke out a heavy, “I don’t understand.” But that uncomfortable coil of something curling at the pit of his stomach said otherwise. And it causes him to finally breathe out a hesitant, “Maybe you’re right.”

As if that was all the answer you needed, you’re stepping out of the front door. Slow, and deliberate like you were giving him another chance - a thousand more. Sighing out a defeated, “It’s been years.” It has. “And we’re just running in circles.” You have. “I’m starting to think this is just some game to you.” It wasn’t.

“Wait!” he grasps your hand - soft. The look in your eyes even softer as you turn around to face his desperate face. “Please, sweetheart.”

Satoru doesn’t even know what words he wants to say - let alone whether they’d come out of his heavy mouth. 

So, instead, he’s crashing them into yours. 

Brief. Fleeting. Like each one before this. Too addictive, too short, that he thinks he’s almost imagining it as you pull away gently, until he sees that look in your eyes. 

“Toru, I have a date.”

The fourth kiss.

Satoru’s letting go of you like it burned - and, truly, it felt like some deep, dark part of him was burning down right now. “Great.” That should be hm that should be him that should be- “I’m…happy for you.”

And the last.

He fucked up.

He really, really fucked up.

That first date turned into a second. The second into a third. And unfortunately for Gojo, eventually, you were nearing your one-year anniversary with that asshat you’d met during the early days of your internship. 

He’d seen the man himself once, briefly at another one of Suguru’s famous parties. Ducking out of sight before he could be introduced, yet long enough to know that he wasn’t as tall, or as handsome, or as absolutely fucking hilarious. 

What did he have that Satoru didn’t? 

The answer to that, Satoru’s reminded of every time he’s causing ruckus over at Suguru’s apartment, and sees you walking out of your room, tittering on the phone to none other than your boyfriend. So gorgeous. So not his. 

You, that loser had you.

“If you sigh again I swear I’m shoving this popcorn up your a-”

“It’s a sad movie, Suguru!” he defends, draped across your couch at another one of those movie nights you loved to organize. As usual, there was the popcorn, the god-awful movie (if Satoru picks it), and the arguments. The only thing missing, however, was you. Ugh, something about an “anniversary” and a “seafood date”. Seriously, it’s not like you even enjoyed that new seafood restaurant in town, and he’s sure that bastard didn’t know-

“Satoru.” his best friend’s deadpan voice cuts through his little reverie. “We’re watching Mean Girls.”

And he’s barely even opening his mouth to snark back before-

SLAM!

Suguru pauses the movie almost immediately, turning to the direction of the front door. “Uh oh.” 

And lo and behold - there was you in all your pissed off, beautiful glory. Throwing your keys on the table, your fiery glare passes over the two men as you stomp to your bedroom. 

“Seafood wasn’t that good, sweetheart?” Satoru calls out behind you, eyes sweeping down your figure. Heart stuttering in his chest when you turn around with your fists clenched, lower lip wobbling in a way that Satoru would both kill whoever made you feel this way and die to be on the other side of those daggers in your eye. 

Sniffing out an icy, “Fuck off, loser and loserette.”

Then in a whirlwind of rage, you’re gone - your bedroom door slamming only slightly more gently than you’d done with the front door. Leaving a deafening silence, and Satoru whining, “Why am I the loserette?”

“Deserved.” Suguru shrugs. Warily eyeing your door, as if it was about to pounce at any given second, “Let her cool down before you give her an aneurysm at least.” Unpausing the television, propping his feet back up, “S’enough having to deal with you on top of a boyfriend like that.”

And that has Satoru perking up in interest - both figuratively, and literally as he snatches the remote and pauses the movie. “Wait wait wait what-” Holding it way out of Suguru’s reach, “What do you mean a ‘boyfriend like that’?”

Scoffing, “Funny. Now give me back the remote.”

A beat of silence passes. One. Two.

Only then does it dawn on Suguru that this might just not be some strange prank to stroke Satoru’s ego, and he was actually  more serious than he’d ever seen him. Damn. 

“Bro, have you really never met the guy or something? He’s a complete tool. I don’t know what happened, but this breakup was a long time coming.”

Satoru blinks, feeling a red hot surge of anger. “What? Seriously? Why didn’t you do anything about it?”

“You think I didn’t try?” he sighs, running a hand through his hair at the other’s uncharacteristic silence. “Hah, and just imagine, the man was talking about marriage, too. As if.”

And suddenly, Satoru’s hit with an image of you walking down the aisle. Not something he was a stranger to, but it still takes him aback. The sway of the fabric beneath his fingers, your lips against his. Hell, in that split-second he even dreams up how Nanamin would be crying very reluctant tears of joy. 

Everything. Everything that wasn’t his.

His fist tightens around the remote, until he could hear the cracking of plastic. Mind whirling with the thought of you and him and you. How he wished it was him and you. “I would’ve been better.”

Oh. 

Shit. 

“I- fuck this. Suguru, since elementary school I…”

And, well, Satoru’s so busy putting that extra physics seminar he took in university to work - trying to calculate the odds of surviving a jump out of this seven-storey window - that he almost misses Suguru’s low hum, a distant, almost barely-audible little interruption, “Well duh.”

“Hold on.” he’s snatching away the remote that had somehow slithered its way into the other’s hands once again. Ignoring his best friend’s croak of protests to pause in the middle of Regina George being hit by the bus - which, he felt was strangely enviable right now. “That was- what? YOU KNOW?”

“Huh? Even my parents know, the only one that doesn’t is her.”

“...”

Satoru didn’t know how Suguru seemed so calm, but he felt like he was about to spontaneously combust. Heart stuttering in his chest as he sideglances at your firmly shut door - like he was just waiting for you to jump out and tell him this was some elaborate prank. 

Begging for you to come - it would’ve hurt less.

But you don’t.

Fuck. 

And the only response he gets is a low whistle, before a phone is being shoved in his face - flashlight illuminating that crimson blush. “Damn, the great Gojo Satoru speechless? The groupchat is gonna love this, might even send it to my sister, y’know.” 

He didn’t care - didn’t give a shit if this video made rounds to Gakuganji himself. Only one thought racing through his mind right now. 

“But why aren’t you punching me like in elementary school?” 

And Satoru knows he’s smart - intelligent even. Hell, he was the valedictorian, the youngest employee to claw their way up to being on the board of directors. But he’s never felt more stupid when Suguru breathes out a bewildered, “Dude. That was for blaming me for the paper planes.” 

“Oh.”

Then the movie is unpaused. 

---

The last time you kissed Gojo Satoru was at the doorstep to that overpriced penthouse of his, exactly a year ago today. 

The last time you saw Gojo Satoru was just a few hours ago, lounging around your living room like he owned it. Honestly, he might as well have been part of the furniture at this point - like some expensive, fluffy couch. One that prattled on about your “dumbass boyfriend” and god-knows-what else to rile you up just for the fun of it.

Which is why it was odd to step out of your bedroom - eyes just a bit puffy, throat still tight - to a suspiciously quiet hallway. 

The lights were turned off, nothing but the pouring rain sounding from outside, television paused on some rerun of The Princess Diaries. Damn, you told those idiots not to start that one without you.

“Sugu?” you call, finding his bedroom empty. “Thought tonight was movie night?” Padding across the empty apartment, contemplating whether or not to get your phone and call him when-

Ding!

Ah, there. 

You roll your eyes as you head towards the front door, ready to give Suguru a piece of his mind for going out at this ungodly hour and forgetting his key. Seriously, what if you opened the door and he was hurt, or worse, or…

Satoru. 

Speaking a mile a minute.

Satoru.

“-florist was closed and the store clerk looked at me like I was crazy but I got this for-” he pauses abruptly, as if realizing something with a jolt. “-you.”

“You- what-” you don’t know where to look - at the drenched, disheveled Satoru filling your doorframe - rain in his hair, curtaining his frantic eyes, drenching his snug t-shirt. Or at the obscenely large bouquet of cheap strawberry lollipops being placed gently into your arms. 

What follows was an electric silence - and you have half the mind to tease Satoru for finally shutting the fuck up for once in his life. 

But, no. Instead, you eye the way he stands stubbornly at the doorway, fists clenched, blue eyes locked so intensely on yours that it was like they burned. 

Face flushed a familiar pretty pink that makes you realize that shit, he might be taller, voice deeper, broad shoulders tight against his t-shirt - but this was still the same boy that cried when you stole his favorite Digimon card in middle school. The same one that kissed you underneath a dingy slide, smelling of strawberry lollipops.

It’s the steady tap! tap! tap! of the water droplets from his hair that have you tearing your traitorous eyes from his see-through white t-shirt.

Guess you’ve both done some growing up since then.

“You loser.”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

The pink wrapping of the bouquet rustles as your grip tightens. “He proposed to me today, y’know.” and yet, your quiet, even voice was the only thing ringing in Satoru’s ears. He jolts, as if some visceral, primal part of himself had been poked awake. Breathing heavy, fists clenching until he could feel the neat indents of his fingernails on his palm. Of course. He’s late. He’s late he’s late he’s late-

That is, until you’re plowing on, “I said no.”

“Huh?”

You think back to the stuffy restaurant, the man sitting from across from you - how wrong it felt. And all it took were those four words for you to realize that. “I said no.” 

Satoru snaps his head up, stepping close - so close. Voice strained like he wasn’t asking - begging. Praying, “Why?”

“We…” you raise a brow at the way Satoru flinches as you trail off. So desperate. A smirk makes its way onto your face, “...we haven’t divorced yet, right?”

And then you’re kissing him - or maybe he’s kissing you. 

Fuck, you don’t know - nor do you really care right now. Not when Satoru’s got his lips crashing against yours for the fifth time in your life, kissing you like it would be the last. Big arms dipping down to your waist, pulling you so tight against his muscled frame that he had half the mind to wonder whether it hurt. 

“Love this. Love the way you kiss me- fuck-” he’s spitting against your lips, kicking the door shut behind him. “Oh- would ya get mad if I-” he tries to get out through kisses. Only to suck on your pretty lips with a pained grunt. “If I-” Again and again, like it killed him to part. “-hah- celebrated right now?”

“Yes.” You’re letting the bouquet fall to the foor, white-knuckling that useless, drenched excuse of a shirt. “Now kiss me properly, Toru.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Such a sloppy mix of teeth and hands and him. Shoving a knee between your legs, making up for years and years of late nights with nothing but his fist and the pretty thought of you. 

“Yeah, that’s it, sweetheart.” Satoru breathes out, as your urgent fingers that dispose of his shirt, feeling the gorgeous dips and curves of years of hard work to impress you. “Suck on m’tongue pretty- fuck-” His own fisting your shirt, pulling. Ripping.

“Toru!”

“I want you.” He’s letting the poor, tattered pieces drop in a pile on the floor, trailing a hand between your damp thighs before he can stop himself. “Oh how I’ve wanted you. And I don’t care if I have to buy fifty new outfits to make up for it.”

And it’s the feeling of his long index stroking up your sopping slit through your shorts that has you pulling away with a gasp. Delicate little strings of saliva snapping from Satoru’s kiss-bitten lips. “If we continue like this…” your voice wavers as he presses hot kisses along your collarbone. “-my brother’s gonna walk in.”

“...wouldn’t wanna relive that playground kiss, huh?”

It’s all he says before picking you up so easily, hands resting on your ass. Giving a playful spank ass you wrap your legs around his toned waist. 

And it’s sloppy.

Both his lips still hotly on yours and the way he’s stumbling urgently to your room through pure muscle memory. Pulling away only when you’re all splayed out so prettily for him on your mattress.

“Blue?” he breathes, pulling your shorts off. And it comes out strained - like the very sight of your panties - all soaked and flimsy with your slick - has whatever’s remaining of Satoru’s sanity flying out the window. “Blue? Oh, you’ve gotta have planned this, you little minx.” his hot breath hits your cunt as he shifts down the bed, tongue drawing languid, wet little circles on your inner thigh. “Because don’t tell me this was all for him?”

It was coincidence - or maybe fate - but that doesn’t stop you from giving Satoru a slow, teasing nod. Muttering out, “So what if it was?”

The only answer you get is thumb hooked around your shorts, pulling it just enough so that your brother’s best friend can spy your pretty pussy.

“Well then.” he chuckles at the way you jump when his fingertip just barely grazes your clit. “Guess I jus’ hafta prove m’better.”

A low groan is falling from his lips as soon as they meet your puffy ones, giving your pretty clit a chaste peck. Lingering long enough that he’s sure your sweet sweet juices cover his mouth.

And oh Satoru’s sure he’ll never forget the way your jaw falls slack, glassy eyes following his every move as he runs his tongue along his glossy lips. Savoring your candied taste, “Never kissed you like this before, huh?” 

Fuck, you’re sweeter than he’s imagined.

You whine desperately, something that has him smirking smugly, “Hah, what? Cat got your tongue?”

“You’re better when you shut up.” It’s all you can do to buck your hips into Satoru’s pretty face - not that you had to, because one taste of your dripping cunt and he was addicted. Surging forwards until he was nose-deep, locking your ankles around his head with a firm yank.

And you can’t lie - maybe you’ve imagined this exact scene a few times before on those lonely nights. But you just never expected Satoru to be so depraved. Desperate.

“Ngh- fuck, Toru-” you reach a hand down to thread your fingers through his hair, tugging his face up. But Satoru doesn’t stop - not even for a second. Tongue still dipping to spread your swollen folds with his tongue, looking you right in the eyes as he murmurs a strangled, “Mhm?” 

“Thought you were gonna prove you’re better, hm?”

So goading. So like you. 

At this, Satoru pulls back ever-so-slightly to laugh - laugh. His plump, glistening lips curling into a humorless little grin, “Oh I will.” Thumb circling your throbbing clit. Just dragging your twitching body across the silky sheets close to his, one hand pinning your hips down. Hard. “I will.”

Loving his new favorite place between your legs one hand toys with your clit, quick, messy little patterns. Tongue even more so. 

“Not just better.” he grunts, “Gonna make you cum so much harder, too.” Having your thighs shake with each word hissed out into your cunt, each turn of his deft fingers. “Till I’m the only thing on your mind. Me.”

And it’s all you can do to let out choked up groans of his name, back arching off the plush mattress to let him make out with your cunt deeper. Sloppier. So, so starved with the way he’s speeding up, tongue dragging across your walls. In and out in and out in and-

“Fuck! Hngh-” you angle his head - and he lets you. “There- Toru-”

Honestly, you didn’t even have to tell Satoru - he could feel it. Could feel it in the way your plushy walls are squeezing his hot tongue so harsh, until it was almost difficult to fuck your pussy so sloppily. In the way you’re letting out such delicious whines each time he grazes against those sweet spots. 

“There? Hah- I know.” he pulls away to muse, and your cute, disappointed whine goes straight to his already rock-hard cock. “Did he?”

He didn’t. And you’re shaking your head so pathetically - in a way you’d be embarrassed about usually. 

But that’s the last thing you’re thinking bout because you feel it - the cold, sinful feeling of Satoru spitting on your filthy cunt. Once. Twice. Blue eyes widening in delight at the way the mess of spit and slick drip down your slit. 

“Cute.” his tongue smoothes over the slutty pool, and the only thing your delirious brain can make out now is a low moan of, “So? Who’s better?”

It’s all you can do to choke out a broken little, “T-T-” Face burning at the way he was so clearly enjoying your struggle. And, well, no matter painfully hard it made his dick - he had to go just a bit easy on his girl, right?

“Shhhh, s’alright.” you flinch as he shoves two absolutely drenched fingers into your mouth, making so much more of a mess of it than necessary. Drinking in your cute gags, “I was asking her.” He’s making your head spin with the way he’s speeding up. “N’ she’s hah- very talkative.” Words muffled, and slurring together - like he was drunk off of you and your cunt. “Let’s hear what she has to ngh- say, huh?”

And with that, he’s alternating between lapping at your clit and squeezing into your sloppy entrance - like he couldn’t - didn’t - want to make up his mind. Oh, with your teary mewls strangled, the sound of Satoru making out with cunt is so loud. The squelches so obscene. 

“Fuuuuck.” he drawls. “Louder than I thought. I think she says I’m better, don’t you think?” 

You angle your head just right to catch the way his jaw grinds deeper into you, eating you out like his last meal. Your slick drooling down his chin so sinfully. 

“Ngh- fuck fuck fuck- ngh-” your yelps are dreamy, feeling like you were losing your mind with the way he was stretching you out. 

Like you were about to snap. Any second now. 

But Satoru’s only increasing his movements, drawing out your little moans. “And I think she’s saying…”  Getting sloppier. More erratic - and it didn’t matter if his fingers were cramping up now, cock aching with the need to be inside you. “-that she’s about to cum.”

You do - so hard and loud - both you and your cunt. 

You’re shaking, all but gushing all over Satoru’s mouth, tight pussy squeezing his tongue so hard. Barely even realizing the searing grip you’ve got on his hair as you drag your sloppy pussy all over his mouth.

But Satoru doesn’t mind - he gladly welcomes it, in fact. Tonguefucking your snug cunt senselessly, letting you chase your high as roughly as you wanted. Over and over.

Even when you’re vision isn’t as spotty as before, even when nothing’s coming out of your mouth but little whimpers. Your breathing dying down until all that rings in your barely-lucid mind were those obscene noises of Satoru’s lips all on yours. 

“T-Toru-” you whine, big fat tears pricking at your hazy eyes. “M’so sensitive.”

And of course this is Satoru, the same boy who’s been pushing your buttons for years just to giggle at your adorable reactions. Which is why he grins against your twitching cunt, “So?”

It takes everything in you to raise your head off the pillow that just seemed to be swallowing you whole, and even more to shoot Satoru a half-hearted glare. “So m’gonna ngh- assume you’re jus’ a pussy with a s-smaller dick than-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence - he doesn’t let you. Because Satoru’s fumbling with his belt, peeling off those still-drenched pants just enough for you to admire his clothed erection. 

And, shit, admittedly you expected him to have a big dick - having been subjected to way too much locker room talk with your brother - but this was ridiculous. 

“What? Too big?” He flashes you that infuriating grin. Palming his rock-hard cock through his boxers at the way your beautiful eyes trace the outline of his cock, all swollen and big. So intimidatingly big. “Damn, sweetheart, if I knew that this was how I’d get that feisty lil’ mouth of yours to shut up then I’d have done it a lot sooner.” 

And you don’t even know if you’re breathing, the pads of your fingers dancing along his bulge. Tracing those prominent veins. Thumbing that little damp spot at his fat head. “You wouldn’t have.” 

He hisses as your soft hands dip into the hem of his underwear. Voice cracking slightly, “I wouldn’t.”

Then you’re gasping - in sync with Satoru’s low moan - as you finally let him spring free. Thick cock hitting his sculpted abs, red tip smearing precum in a lewd little pool. Weeping and so so angry at the sight of you.

At the heavenly feeling of your thumb teasing under his sensitive slit, “Oh, shit.” 

He’s throwing his head back when you give an experimental pump, all the way from his pretty tip to the tufts fo white at his hilt. Fist gliding all over the thumping veins. Bucking his hips up like such a slut into your touch. 

“O-oh fuck.” he cracks an eye open at the way your hand looked so small compared to his dick, how well you were taking care of him. “Been ngh- dreaming of this since I learned what handjobs were, y’know? Hah- shit- ya gotta stop before I fuckin’ pass out.”

And Satoru thinks he could cum right then and there at the way you’re bringing your soaked index up to your mouth. Batting your lashes as you suck on them with a lewd pop! “From jus’ that?”

“You have no idea.”

That’s all it takes for Satoru to throw your still-quivering thighs over his shoulders, effectively shutting up whatever tease is on the tip of your sharp tongue by kissing your swollen folds with his fat head. Giving it one, long drag. 

Your mouth is sagging open at the slow, torturous teasing. The sheer anticipation that had your mouth running, “S-so much for ah- jus’ being ‘friends’, huh?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” And you’re flinching from Satoru’s deep, dark tone. The way he’s bracing his fingers so bruisingly on your hips, reeling all the way back till his tip was just kissing your hole. “We stopped being friends the day you married me on that playground.” 

And then he’s slamming in - pushing past that first, feeble ring of resistance, gummy walls stretching out so perfectly for him. As if he fit right in - and he tells you that. Pants it into your open mouth a little over fifteen times, in fact. 

“Shiiiit, look at you.” he can’t tear his eyes away from the side of your lips stretching so wide to try and milk him. Sloppy entrance stretching out like magic. “S’like you’re made for me, huh? This pussy is made f’me?”

“Ngh- fuck, Toru! S’too big-” you keen, feet flattening on the mattress. As if to escape. To maybe fucking breathe.  

Not even half-way in yet, but aleady torn between pushing away and sinking yourself down on his swollen cock for more more more-

“Don’t you dare run away.” he warns, looking up at you through his long lashes. “I’ve waited too long for this. N’ you’re not taking this pretty pussy away any time soon.” Inch by fucking inch. Grinding in short, sharps jabs - no rhythm of rhyme, like they were genuinely out of control. “Way too f-fuckin’-” All the way until your puffy folds was meeting his hilt. Finally. All the way in. “-long.”

And once Satoru had you split apart on his dick - had those tears rolling down your cheeks, cunt swallowing him so sluttily - it’s like something snaps. 

Because he doesn’t waste a second - he’s already wasted almost two decades, anyway - filling you up with his mean hips. Not fucking easing you into it because you always did bring out that part of him, the part that him looping two strong arms around your waist. Pulling. 

“Oh- f-fuck c’mere.” Satoru gasps, pressing your body so crushingly against his. Kissing your shaky shoulers, your sweaty forehead, the gentleness so contrasting to his hips.“God I’ve missed out- fuck fuck fuck-” 

You’ve never seen the great Gojo Satoru - campus sex symbol - so uncomposed. Eyes half-lidded, just boring into yours, mouth slack in a soft oh! as he drags his cock all over inside your gummy walls. And the sight is so heavenly that you make the mistake the mistake of cracking a minute smile.

Just barely curling your lips before - “Don’t smile at me like that.” He’s dipping down a hand to roll your ravaged clit between two bullying fingers. “Fuck, she’s gonna be the death of me. Right?”

You keen at the- stimulation? The strech? The sheer embarrassment as you realize that Satou’s still talking to your sloppy pussy? Nodding so mockingly up at you as he plows on, “Mhm, she says you needa be ngh- knocked down a god, you’re tight- peg or two. So- get- ready-” 

He’s using this as an excuse to sit up on his knees, dragging you onto his lap so easily like some ragdoll. 

“That’s more like it.”

You’re sliding deeper down his painfully hard cock - all the way till his heavy balls rest beneath your ass, clit rubbing against his pelvis every time he bounces you like some slut.  

Deep. Ruthless.

“Keep your eyes open, sweetheart.” He chuckles, and you’re screwing open your eyes that you don’t even remember shutting. Trying so hard to stop crying out at the feeling of the curve of his dick massaging your walls. “Ya gotta hngh- see the o-only one who’d fuckin’ you properly, right?”

You squeal when he’s taking your clit captive once more. Finger quick, deft. “Y-yes.”

But that wasn’t enough for Satoru - it might as well never be. Because he’s only ramming his hips up further. Like he’s pushing into your stomach, your lungs, all the way into your cockdrunk brain. Fat head alternating between kissing your poor, abused cervix and all those sweet spots he’d mapped out with his tongue.

“Sounded unsure to me.” he’s pouty against your hardened nipples bouncing enticingly in his face. Fingers quirking faster on your clit, “Maybe I should ngh- stop then?”

“No!” Your hips stutter against Satoru’s. Nails clawing down the sculpted panes of his shoulders, leaving red angry marks for him to take as a sign tomorrow morning that no, it wasn’t just one of his dreams this time. “No no no- m’sure. You’re the only one makin’ me feel this way.”

You can feel the way he’s twitching wildly at your words, dick thumping harder inside your sensitive cunt. 

He punctures each word with a heavy, calculated thrust. Hand stretching and squeezing open your cunt from behind to let him slide impossibly deeper. “Hmmm, I’m not convinced.” 

Your stupid mouth is only capable of letting out broken, choked-up little moans of his name, ankles locking around those dimples at the end of his spine. “S’you–”

“Still not convinced.”

But he’s still speeding up his movements, just dragging you up and down his cock. “Who else made you hah- feel this good?” Sure to claim you from the inside out - to leave marks everywhere. Heavy balls on your ass, weeping tip on your cervix, lips bruised as you whimper at his murmured, “That ex of yours?” Biting down your neck, “That barista that always flirts with you?” Pulling away only to breathe into your lips, “Who?”

“ I- fuck it’s only you, Toru.”

“Sound convincing to you?” Satoru hums down at your cunt, biting his lower lip at the way you were milking him so good. Your slick soaking him all the way down to his balls - so needy in a way he never thought he’d see. “Yeah-” be breathes, nosing at your neck. “She agrees- fuck does this tight lil’ pussy of yours agree.” A few tears, a few gorgeous marks down his back, and he was finally convinced. “You’re mine.”

You don’t even realize it when you’re cumming, and Satoru doesn’t either.

Both of you too caught up in each other to recognize that familiar, white-hot pleasure running down your spine - all the way down to where he was so mercilessly buried in your cunt.  

And you’re well into the blood roaring deafeningly in your ears, the sight of Satoru - all wrecked - blurring as he fucks his hips up. Harsh. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as he paints your quivering walls white. 

Cumming and cumming so hard that you can feel his seed dribbling down your thighs, making such a mess all over Satoru’s lap. Your poor, overfilled cunt soon bloated and unable to keep up with it.

“Toru–” you whine, like a prayer. Milking the fucking soul out of him while he gently paws at your messy hair.

“Shhh, I know I know, sweetheart.” Such a stark contrast to the way he was filling you up like his favorite sex toy. Not even bothering to move anymore, one hand on your hip, moving your limp body up and down his sensitive cock to fuck it deeper. The other still playing with your clit, “S’alright, my girl”

Satoru’s hands never leave you, and he prays that now that he got a taste - well, you better be alright with them not leaving you for as long as he lives.

“As long as you live, huh?” you chuckle groggily, a noise so dreamy that Satoru can’t even be mad that he said it out loud. “And all that riling me up these years. Do you have a degradation kink or something?”

“Well, only one way to find out~”

“Oh shut up you-”

SLAM!

“Yooo, I bought dinner from that- WHAT THE FUCK?”

There were only two more lessons to be learned:

Always lock the door. Always. And in case you don’t, a bouquet of lollipops will do the trick to a Suguru reeling from the newest addition to the family. 

Cheap takeout tastes better with an apologetic Suguru, and an ice pack to his cheek - and you to kiss it better.

A/N. Can you tell I kept listening to that one Artemas song while writing this?

Plagiarism not authorized.

[wannaeatramyeon]

Meeting Student!Gun Park for the First Time: Part 1

Part 2! G/N. 3.2k. Remember when Gun wanted to get his GED? Well. Stranger to~ Masterlists

"How old are you?"

"20."

Press X for doubt, you think, and that's the exact meme you send over on chat.

"20 like 20 or 20 like you're mid 30s and planning your mid life crisis 20?"

You know you're being rude and making a terrible first impression. It's the first day of a new school year, of a new school in fact, and for some reason the class is held on video call and you're all forced to pair off with a classmate for an icebreaker introduction.

It’s already cringe worthy and awkward enough, icebreakers must have been created as a form of torture. To add insult to injury, you're sure this guy is bullshitting you.

"I'm 20." He deadpans.

Momentarily, you’re stunned into silence. It stretches almost a tad too long before you manage to choke out, “My bad. Sorry."

Wow. You're torn between thinking that's a rough 20, this guy has easily got 40 years under his belt and oh no, when is your puberty and hormones gonna kick in like that.

And that's also the exact moment this 20 year old Gun Park takes a drag on a cigarette and you decide that it's definitely a rough 20.

"So what do you do for fun?" You probe, and you have the distinct feeling he might say something like alimony, planning his third marriage, investing in the stock market - whatever someone in their 50s might say but-

To your surprise and glee, his body language turns shifty. 

He likes to game he says, like it's a dirty little secret. Amongst other things. Mentions something about training and martial arts and you fight to keep a straight face as it turns out you were also right about investing in shares and the stock market.

Gaming, however, is what you latch on to.

"Cute. I bet I could kick your ass."

"Oh yeah?"

"Oh yes."

And this is how you ended up at 4am on a school night, playing Tekken with your new classmate and getting your ass kicked.

"One more!" You screech down the mic, after the KO sign appears on screen, mumbling something about cheating and how if you can time this combo just right-

There's a huff of laughter coming through your tinny headphones and an amused "Fine."

.

.

Dark circles under your eyes grow. It's been a week of straight losses.

You blame the sleep deprivation on Gun Park, though really you have your own stubbornness to blame.

He never tends to say much during the gaming sessions apart from the odd expletive and you rant enough after each of your defeats for the both of you.

Sometimes this will earn you a chuckle and he will snidely add that you asked for this, you were the one who was supposed to kick his ass. This would piss you off enough for another game or three in the hopes of defeating him and getting to gloat.

Which unfortunately has not happened yet.

With a sigh, you hope your camera quality this morning is bad enough and pixelated enough that your poor sleep habits don't show.

You scan over your classmates, the few that have their camera turned on and find him.

Gun looks completely fine. He looks completely fine in what must be 4k and ugh, you scrunch your nose up in annoyance.

You keep an eye on him through the class. Observe how he's usually paying rapt attention, scribbling and typing up notes every now and then.

It's impressive how studious he is.

In comparison, you're daydreaming. Thinking about lunch, other combos or characters to play to counter his own when you catch on to the back end of a sentence as your teacher mentions ‘this’ is something to pay attention to as it will be on the pop quiz.

Huh? You blink a couple times. What is ‘this’? Unfortunately she swiftly moves onto another topic.

You type out a direct message to the only person you know.

You: I missed that, what did she just say?

Gun: You should have been paying attention.

You: Fuck you man!

You see his eyes dip to the bottom of the camera screen, briefly moving as he presumably reads your message.

He smirks.

That night he kicks your ass again.

Then as consolation, reveals what will be on the pop quiz.

.

.

If Gun looked like that in 4k, nothing could prepare you for how he looked in real life.

You're setting up your laptop and notepad in the classroom, the first actual in-person session, when someone takes a seat next to you.

Initially you feel a surge of irritation that they could have sat anywhere else and chose to sit next to you, then you look at the offender and-

Hold on.

You double, triple-take-

Is that?

It must be.

Shit.

It's fucking Gun Park.

You don't entirely regret your initial comments on his looks because this guy definitely does not look 20 but goddamn he looks-

He chooses that moment, when your jaw is on the floor, to turn to you and give you a nod of acknowledgement.

"Y/N."

"H-hi." You manage, and even to your ears it sounds like a simpering fool.

He must have thought so too if the quirk of his lips is anything to go by.

The cherry on top is that you expected this guy to smell like stale smoke, instead all you get is fresh laundry and something faintly dark and heady like leather and cedarwood.

Fuck.

Control yourself, a disapproving voice in your head says. Even that sounds vaguely like Gun.

It does nothing to stop your wandering gaze, peering at him in your periphery when you think he's not looking.

After you have taken your chance to not so discreetly run your eyes up and down his form, the only thing that makes you feel better is his hair. Because yeah he might be hot, but holy shit that must be a gallon of hair gel in there.

.

.

The other thing, as it turns out, that makes you feel a lot better is that he doodles.

It’s utterly charming.

Someone like Gun Park doesn't look like he doodles, but in between lines of his chicken scratch (seriously, who can even read that), there's little stick figures.

Maybe all the time you thought he was being studious he was just drawing-

Wait. You squint at the picture.

Is this guy for real?

"Are they fucking?" You whisper, using your pen to point at the page.

He doesn't answer straight away. There's a moment of surprise as he reacts like this is another secret of his he has unwittingly let you in on before his nostril flares and his eyes narrow and you grin in response.

Your grin grows when he grits out an answer. "No. Fighting."

He doesn't call you a dumbass but you can hear it loud and clear tacked on at the end.

"Whatever, pervert." You counter. You guess if you squint even harder then you suppose they could be fighting. Although the way one is lying on top of another is very suggestive. You don't hesitate to point that out to him.

Gun closes his eyes and counts to ten.

.

.

Even without a seating plan, one forms.

Places taken by chance on the first day becomes a regular arrangement.

You exchange a few words with your classmates, familiarise yourself somewhat with their names and faces. Pieces of their backstory, why they're here studying for a GED but take your spot next to Gun regardless.

No one really talks to him, you've heard them saying he's menacing and intimidating. Yet when your first encounter of him was mistaking him as someone about to hit mid life crisis, how intimidating can he really be.

Besides, he still doodles his lewd figures that he insists are not in any way shape or form comprising sexual positions. So no, you don't find him intimidating at all.

.

.

Gun, as you have come to know, is a man of few words. He is also unsurprisingly not great at literature.

What you don't yet know is he likes to say what he means and mean what he says. His patience only extends to The Art of War, so all the flowery prose and poetry only serves to irritate him.

If Gun glared at you the way he's currently glaring at the textbook, you think you may either burst into tears or burst into flames.

Luckily you do neither of those things but you do take pity on him. Leaning over, you ask him quietly if he needs help.

He doesn't respond but the pen he's clutching in his right hand snaps in half.

Alright then.

Half an hour later, when the class empties out you ask Gun to follow you to the library.

He hesitates, and you add "if you've got time" to give him an out. In the end he doesn't take it and trudges obediently after you.

You very quickly learn that he really doesn't like literature. You're explaining and working him through the analysis and also mildly offended at the bored look on his face.

"This is a waste of time," he interjects and there's a sullen undercurrent to his words.

"Just memorise the analysis then." Exasperation tinges your tone, "That's all you need to do to pass."

He arches a brow at your words.

"They're testing your memory. So just remember what our teacher says."

There's an angry air of resignation as Gun nods, and you slide your notes over for him to copy.

.

.

Not long after, you have your first minor evaluation on the literature material.

You notice during the test that while the vein in Gun’s temple is prominent and he’s clutching his (new) pen tighter, there’s barely any pause as he fills in the answers.

A few days later, the graded papers are handed back. There's a sigh of relief from Gun.

He gives you a smile, small and genuine, eyes crinkling at the corner.

"You owe me one," you tell him jokingly though he takes it to heart and gives you a stern nod.

.

.

Gun repays his debt, with a coffee.

He places the paper cup on the desk in front of you. Logo of the coffee house to the side but still visible. It's new, expensive, and there’s regular lines around the block.

Of course it would be from there.

The issue is, who repays a debt with an espresso. He didn’t even ask for your drink of choice!

"Thanks for this thimble of coffee," you remark as Gun sniffs in distaste at your comment, placing his own matching cup in front of him and saying something about how it's the best untainted way to drink it.

Of course he would also be a coffee snob.

You tell him you usually like it with a bit more cream and a lot more sugar and he mutters that you sound like Goo.

You think that's an insult.

"Well, at least Goo has good taste," you snipe back with a grin.

Gun closes his eyes and counts to ten.

.

.

You: Are you doodling or actually writing notes?

You: Cos on camera you look very studious but I’ve seen your notepad

Gun: None of your business

You: Still drawing your disgusting pornographic stick men then

Gun: They are not-

Gun: Whatever

.

.

You: Ok, maybe that espresso wasn’t terrible

Gun: I know

You: Who’s Goo anyway?

Gun: …

Gun: No-one

You: Suuuure

.

.

You: Tekken tonight?

Gun: Aren’t you tired of getting your ass kicked?

You: >:(

.

.

You: Do you wanna go over the new lit material in the library this week?

Gun: Ok

.

.

Gun: Thanks for your help

You: :) 

.

.

Gun: You’re tired. You should game less.

You: Spoken like a coward!

Gun: Dumbass

You: Hey!!

.

.

Gun: I’ll bring you an espresso tomorrow. You need it.

You: Does it have to be an espresso?

Gun: Yes

You: …Thanks

.

.

To anyone else, the figure standing in the doorway is just smoking. To you, it suspiciously looks like they’re waiting.

It's not a crime. Gun Park can wait for whatever or whoever he wants.

What really throws you off is his smoking. You've seen him casually take one single drag before throwing the whole cigarette away. Even to you, it seems like a waste.

However, this time he smokes one all the way to the filter before stubbing it out. Then does the same to a second, and third.

Strange, very strange.

You approach him. Taking gentle steps, in case he might get spooked and bolt which is really a ridiculous notion for someone like him. Nevertheless, you keep your footsteps light, yourself clearly in view and you wander over to him.

"Hey," you say, with a somewhat forced smile. He doesn't acknowledge your greeting apart from a brief nod.

"... Everything ok?"

It's a perfectly normal question to ask but a vastly bizarre one for Gun. He doesn't look like the type of person where people casually enquire about his well being.

He must have thought so too if the look he gives you is anything to go by.

In response, he stubs out his cigarette (his fourth!) then asks, stilted and stiffly, if you want to come back to his for a game of Tekken.

At least that's what you interpret as he seems to be crazy cryptic.

"Are you interested in Tekken?"

"...Yes." You wonder what on earth this question is because did you hallucinate all those games you played together?

"Then meet me. After class." 

"Where? Here?"

"No. At mine."

"Where's that?"

"..."

He gives you another look, as if you're the one trying to coax a secret out of him despite him offering.

Gun dips forward, murmurs quietly into your ear his address and some vague directions like it's highly confidential information.

You nod along, thinking what is with this guy. 

.

.

So firstly, what the fuck.

Then secondly, what the fuck.

Don't think you hadn't noticed the designer brands Gun wears. If they're fakes, they're very convincing fakes. But you're almost certain they have got to be counterfeit when he brought you over to a junkyard claiming this is where he lives.

You've seen films like this. Granted, it's less in a junkyard and more in the middle of nowhere in America where college kids meet their gruesome ends in fantastical ways.

You never thought this would happen to you. You have sorely miscalculated. 

Is this Gun Park (if that even is his real name) going to butcher you and leave your body on top of a pile of scrap metal in the corner?

Instead of a night of gaming where you’re the one KO-ing him, he’s actually the one that’s going to chase you around wearing a mask and wielding a knife or axe?

"You’re here. Come in," Gun says, opening his front door just as your inner monologue begins to truly spiral out of control and you're considering doing a runner.

"Eh?" You grunt like an idiot, not noticing when the shack appeared nor when you stepped onto his porch, or the side eyes Gun had been giving you.

He gives you another look, likely regretting inviting you at all, and leaves the door ajar for you to either enter or turn back and go home.

.

.

"This is... nice," you lie, through the skin of your teeth.

Gun sees cleanly through your white lie and exhales a huff of amusement.

It's sparse. Peeks of luxury here and there - the extensive PC gaming rig, the entertainment system and consoles, to name a few.

Apart from that, it's barely a home.

"Take a seat." He offers, and it sounds more like an order. Obediently you sit on his sofa, feeling very much a guest.

"You're not in danger," he says, bemused at how awkward you are in his domain, how tense you hold yourself.

'That's exactly what a killer would say,' you think and when you hear a low chuckle, you realise that you said it aloud.

"Don't worry," Gun reassures and it doesn’t really help before he strides off to somewhere in his house and leaves you sitting alone.

He returns back minutes later as you’re in the middle of admiring his entertainment set up and going through his vinyl collection (because obviously someone like Gun has vinyls) with a coffee for you that looks much more milky and to your taste than the usual ones he offers. 

“Thanks.” you take your drink and return back to your seat.

Taking the first sip, you finally manage to relax. Sinking into a sofa that is much more comfortable than at first glance and you take in your surroundings a bit more.

Sort of. You actually take in Gun Park more. 

He’s casual, in a way you have never seen or even considered. Dressed in a t-shirt and grey sweatpants, hair floppy and the only styling is done with his hands running through his hair now and then to keep it back.

Even during the online classes, he is usually dressed up in an open collared shirt.

If you thought he was hot before, it’s nothing compared to now. There’s an air of domesticity, the drink he made for you cradled in your hands, and the distinct feeling that not many people have had the luxury to see Gun in his natural habitat, so intimate and vulnerable.

You wonder if this is how he looks all those nights you’ve been gaming together.

You catch his eyes, having been caught checking him out and he raises his eyebrows at your blatant staring. 

Blood rushes to your cheeks as he chuckles into his own espresso and takes a sip.

.

.

"Holy shit, I won!"

You're familiar with the KO screen. What you're not familiar with is being on the side of victory. You're usually a hair trigger away from rage quitting, from throwing a tantrum down the mic.

Finally. All your hard work has paid off. Time spent thinking of combos, attacks and defences (which would have been better spent studying) is coming to fruition.

You peer over to Gun, expect the controller he is clutching to maybe have been crushed into pieces with his freakish strength. Expected nothing except for a vein throbbing on his temple.

What you do find is-

Gun looking at you, fondness in his eyes. He's taking in your grin, letting your gloating slide.

Doesn't do more than roll his eyes when you perform a victory dance of sorts around him.

And when you get in his face to tell him that you're the winner, you're the best-

(More words are on the tip of your tongue but your gaze drops to his lip, drawn to the small smile he wears.

It sinks in.

The patience he has, the attention he gives, the way he has opened his home to you.

From the very first meeting, the even-handed way he has dealt with your insults, entertained you to the early hours of the morning on Tekken.)

Gun reaches out, tugs your hand and pulls you into his lap and agrees.

"Yes. The best."

You think it's a lie, an embellishment.

But the way he holds you - tender and precious, and the way he leans forward to rest his forehead against yours - soft, like you might break - can't be anything else but the whole truth.

(Update! Part 2 here!)

[just-a-ghost00]

Your future spouse : Who? Where? When?

Group 1 - Van Gogh

Letters : E M D E R U O E P W T Y

Words/signs/names : deputy, Rudy, Emery, Roy, power, true, Morty, drum, poetry, proud, meet, WED, route, pure, Tower, remedy, dom, prom, word, rude, drop, rope, dye, eye, TUE, wet, pet, pouty, muted, dope, prude

Recommended songs : Fly me to the moon Frank Sinatra, Sweater weather The Neighborhood, Snooze AGUSTD, MIA Bad Bunny ft Drake

WHO? - White Numen / Ask body / Magnesite : get your mind right.

Oh this person is powerful and stubborn AF. The bull and the panther may be spirit animals of this person. If not, they like these animals or their personality matches those. In terms of astrological placements, we have Taurus and Aquarius, as well as Earth signs in general (Taurus Virgo Capricorn). They are a boss ass B. They are masculine. Like reaaaallyyyy masculine. They have BIG DADDY energy. Jupiter might be very well aspected in their chart or the sign in which Jupiter is in their chart matches well with the energy of Jupiter. That would be Sagittarius, Pisces and Cancer. This person is a creator and a good manifestor. They think a lot. They are cerebral. They may strugg with overthinking but their mind reminds their best asset. They are the epitome of brains are sexy. This person would know everything from ancient languages and art skills to the newest knowledge in technology and medicine. They can do anything and everything they set their mind to. In terms of their looks, they are definitely tall. They would tower over you and lift you up like you were a feather. They are strong in all aspects. Their torso is bigger than the lower part of their body. They have broad shoulders, big hands, big forehead and nose, prominent jawline, regardless of their gender. Maybe for the women identifying people the bum and chest would be bigger than other features of their body. And for the men identifying people, the pectorals would be juicy. With the ask body card, this tells me this person works out a lot. They are also very spiritual. They give off a lone wolf energy when really this person has a lot of love to give they just know what they want and they have strong boundaries. So they would never let themselves be walked over or let in people who would bring more BS than anything. This person would keep you on your toes for sure. I feel like they would have a bold fashion style. Something that stands out from current trends or that is unusual for people who are like them. For instance, let’s say this person is quite old, maybe you’d expect them to wear suits and fancy watches. But instead this person has a very casual look or dresses like the younger people. They could be your boss or at least someone who has a higher status than yours. It wouldn’t surprise me if they already had kids. They are well established.

WHEN? - Page of pentacles / Higher perspective / Bismuth : rewrite your code with rainbows.

In terms of timing, the page of pentacles represents several months. Now if we look at the meaning of the page of pentacles, it talks about education. The page is a learner, a student in matters of material aspects. Combined with the Higher perspective card, this definitely gives me the feeling of going back to college. Or getting a training in something very specific. Potentially something involving spirituality. Like taking reiki courses or tarot reading lessons. So I feel this person is a teacher or a mentor to you. With the Bismuth card, I feel like this person will be opening doors for you. And that could be litteral because the door of my room opened out of nowhere as I was trying to get more information from the card. Higher perspective is related to Ether. This means to me that you will meet at a point in your life when you wish to evolve, to embody a better version of yourself and seek to gain knowledge or power.

WHERE? - King of cups / The Explorer / Malachite : claim your success.

We already had kind of a hint with the previous section. And I feel like it’s further confirmed by these cards, especially the Malachite card. Now if we talk about geographical indicators, water seems to be relevant. Also on the Explorer card there’s a compass. So it tells me that where you meet them, there is either a plan or something related to navigation or orientation. Also when looking at this card I heard "you already know where to find them". So it gives me the strong feeling that many of you already know this person and already met them. It’s just that you didn’t consider them your FS. Also the malachite card mentions the workspace. So you could work together. Or you’re doing the same job and you go to them for advice. Also the king of cups card depicts a man sitting on a thrown spilling water in an ocean of sharks. So this also tells me there’s a lot of competition where you meet. And it’s like this person is trying to educate or heal the sharks somehow.

Group 2 - Monet

Disclaimer : I kept confusing you with group 1 and there were cards of group 1 that kept wanting to come into your reading so you might want to check group 1 as well. I think there are two people that have the potential of being your future spouse.

Letters : L I S G E S T M S I E K

Words / signs / names : Selim, time, lies, mess, Tess, seek, kisses, misses, meets, lists, sees, skies, ski, Mike, miles, gems, glee, mist, melt, GSM, kit, leek, miel (French for honey), TMI, MIT, Stiles, geek

Recommended songs : Easy Camilla Cabello, Life goes on AGUSTD , Hall of fame Stray Kids

WHO? - Ace of pentacles / The Seeker / Aragonite : find your center.

Earth signs are being shown here. On the ace of pentacles card there are 8 hands reaching for the pentacle. So your person is wanted by many. They feel younger than you. They are possibly a student or a young active. With the Seeker card I feel like this person hasn’t found their true calling yet. They feel lost and out of balance. Maybe they got a job that doesn’t make them happy or their studies aren’t as fulfilling as they thought. They are super shy and reserved. They may appear as cold when they are just a softy. They have trust issues. They feel really cute to be honest. But also they are lonely. It’s like they keep searching for the one, when they have so many prospects. I feel like they have a lot of high standards and they know that other people don’t match the vibe they’re going for. I feel like this person only has eyes for you but you don’t see them. Again, this group knows their FS already. In terms of physical traits, I feel like this person has good hands. But their body might look out of shape a little. They’re more on the chubby side. They look comforting. Like the type of person that would give the best hugs. Their gaze is really soft. Like a puppy. They feel pretty needy tbh. But not the suffocating type of needy. They just want to be loved and crave for connection. Someone that will share their interests and values. Who will match their crazy and feel safe in their presence. I feel like this person has faced a lot of rejection in the past and they kinda are stuck with this idea that no one wants them. They are an introvert. They like to isolate and be in their bubble. I feel like people have an idea of them that is completely false. Like maybe they think this person is a flirt and parties all night when in truth they’re a couch potato and a gym rat. They only go out of truly needed and they would rather be alone than surrounded by tons of people they barely know. This person wants a family of their own so bad. Like a big family with the white dog and pretty little house. They’re a hopeless romantic and an idealist.

WHEN? - 2 of pentacles / Reclaim / Scolecite : dive into your dreams.

On the 2nd of a month, two months from now. It feels like you may be going back and forth with this person before fully knowing them or being close to them. There’s a chase and run type of energy to this connection. You’ll meet them when you or they are reclaiming your/their power and changing something in your life. So moving houses, changing jobs or getting back to studying. When you start chasing your dreams. Also you could meet them in your dreams before meeting them in person. During any earth sign season.

WHERE? - Queen of pentacles / Power / Amethyst : get drunk on your highest self.

In a places of power or worship such as Cathedrals and Churches, Mosques, temples, town halls, or in a place of education. Also monuments came to mind. Like the Eiffel Tower, the leaning tower of Pisa. There were many stars on the Queen of pentacles’s dress so Europe came to mind. The US and the UK as well. Other places include : Siberia, the Far East, Brazil, Uruguay, Sri Lanka, South Africa, Mexico, Australia, South Korea, India, Austria, Germany, Italy, Canada.

Group 3 - Hokusai

Letters : C Q T E C S L I G A L I

Words/signs/names : Ali, Alice, Alicia, Cecilia, Scilla, Giles, Gael, Gaelic, sigil, sea, sail, Lisa, aigle (French for eagle), Elisa, Elias, Cali, cast, list, tails, IQ, Tesla, sage, Isac, Lila, lilac, cis, alt, ciel (French for sky), call, site, Lise, teal, lace, acts, sell

Recommended songs : Mon amour GEMINI , 3:00 AM Finding hope , Dark on me Starset

WHO? - 6 of pentacles / The Revolutionary / Honey calcite : break through your limits.

First of all, your person might have a white dog. Second of all, they have tanned skin. Thirdly, they could work in law enforcement or they are studying at Law school. They could be doing humanitarian work. They are balanced and grounded. Both in their attitude as well as their personality. They know when to give and when to take, when to talk and when to listen, when to act and when to observe. With the revolutionary card, this tells me that they are pretty determined and ambitious. This person likes to stand for greater causes. So you’d bet that they advocate for children and women rights, for the LGBTQIA+ community, for the respect of nature and animals as well as the end of wars. The signs of Taurus, Aries, Sagittarius and Leo are significant. This person is very sweet. Almost to the point where sometimes they put others needs before their own. Especially if it’s about being fair and giving retribution for wrongs caused by previous generations. This person feels like they have a debt they need to pay. Also they might have suffered abuse in the past so they want to have retribution for them but also for the people who were wronged like they were. In terms of physical traits, their body is harmonious. So for female presenting individuals, they would have kind of an hour glass body type. Same for male presenting individuals. This person feels gender fluid. They are a minimalist. They like to keep things simple when it comes to the way they look. Honestly if they could be naked on a daily basis they would be. They’re in touch with nature. Animals love them. They have a very comforting aura. This person really is as sweet as honey. They could be a creator, a designer, a public speaker. They like to use their voice and their status to raise awareness about things they care about and value. They could be a teacher as well or someone that works with kids.

WHEN ? Page of swords / Paradox / Hematite : align with your wholeness.

When stars align. When you finally let your guards down. When you align with your calling, your soul mission. During any air sign season. Within a few weeks from now. When you’re on your period. When you let go of your old beliefs on love or when you move on from a past love, an unrequited love or a crush that would never have evolved into anything more than friendship. When your spiritual beliefs change drastically (i.e. you decide to convert to a new faith, you no longer believe in God, you choose to follow a spiritual path).

WHERE? - Queen of swords / Get wild / Emerald : point your heart toward grace.

In terms of countries, we have : Colombia, Brazil, Zambia, Zimbabwe, USA, Afghanistan, Pakistan, Russia, Australia. Now, in terms of where you could meet, I'm not getting much from these cards. It's like your FS wants to play hide and seek. They're not really comfortable sharing where they are. The only thing I'm picking up on is somewhere where the law is involved. So it could be an administration, a police station, law school, a lawyer's office, a prison. With the get wild card, the only hint I can get is that it can get intense. I asked for a card to clarify the Queen of swords and I got the 9 of pentacles. So law and money are involved. So maybe a bank or an insurance company. Or somewhere businesses and entrepreneurs go to get advice on how to invest their money or know if something they intend to do is legal or not.

[bee-the-loser-recs]

☼My The8/Minghao One-shot Fic Recs☼

𖤓 The letter By @toruro 26k, Idol Minghao, Jun is reader's brother, fluff, angst, long term pining, slowburn, childhood friends to lovers

𖤓 Oh my By @toruro 13.6k, strangers to lovers, mutual crushes, fluff, reader is roommates with Vernon, Svt as one big friend group, smut

𖤓 Flight of the stars By @toruro 13.3k, race car driver Minghao, physical therapist reader, shoulder injury, fluff, angst, smut

𖤓 Red (k)nights By @toruro 6.7k, royalty au, princess reader, knight Minghao, established lovers, fluff, returning from scouting, slight secret relationship, smut

𖤓 This idiot of mine By @mirisss 3.7k, school au, bad boy Minghao, clumsy nerd reader, fluff, affectionate teasing, oblivious reader

𖤓 Fixer upper By @seungkwansphd 9.5k, blind date au, strangers to friends to lovers, ignoring feelings, fluff, slow burn, smut, cute, matchmaker & Minghao

𖤓 Avant-garde By @hoyoungy 4.1k, college student reader, painter Minghao, fluff, adoration, reader loves his painting, so cute, I have revisited this so many times :D

𖤓 Muses By @luvidzy 5.5k, small town au, summer holidays, falling in love, artist Minghao & reader, fluff, cuties

𖤓 Lowkey By @viastro 3.6k, dancer au, college au, pining, embarrassment, dance club, fluff, reader sobs after confession

𖤓 Since we were eighteen By @viastro 1.8k, best friends to lovers, drunk confessions, reader breaks up with their ex cause their in love with reader, fluff

𖤓 Better with you By @viastro 3.1k, friends to lovers, summer fair au, fluff, humour, nauseous reader, cute, love confessions

𖤓 Playing cupid By @sluttywonwoo 4.5k, college au, party, confessing feelings, valentines day party, fluff, smut, pining

𖤓 Once bitten By @sluttywonwoo 3.2k, vampire Minghao, college au, locked in a museum, project partners, aphrodisiac venom, smut, some fluff, slight enemies to lovers

𖤓 Light of my life By @escapewriter 2k, Minghao's birthday, celebration/cute date, painting and lighting lanterns, fluffy, so cute

𖤓 Hi (I love you) By @wheeboo 5.5k, college au, painter Minghao, photographer reader, falling in love, hidden feelings, fluff, really cute

𖤓 Academic infatuation By @berriesandjunnie 2.5k, teachers au, art teacher Minghao, Chinese language teacher reader, fluff, everyone is rooting for them

𖤓 Introverts By @berriesandjunnie 3k, highschool au, Chinese exchange student Minghao, introvert reader, bullying, fluff, fighting back, cute

𖤓 Felix felicis By @blue-jisungs 7k, Hogwarts au, Slytherin Minghao, Hufflepuff reader, project partners, cute dynamics, fluff, angst, mentions of social anxiety

𖤓 Apple of my eye By @rubyreduji 2.4k, Descendants au, Evil Queen's son Minghao, Snow white kid's reader, fluff, bullied reader, soft Minghao

𖤓 Glacial pace By @wonusite 5.3k, college au, fake dating, mutual pining, idiots in love, fluff, finally getting together, communicating, smut, meddling friends

𖤓 To love easily By @minghaoyoudoin 13.5k, college au, fake dating, photographer Minghao, ex Joshua, catching feelings, fluff, angst, smut

𖤓 Moonlight By @ilwonuu Brother's best friend trope, Jun is reader's brother, fluff, pining, oblivious lovers, Jun ships them, smut

𖤓 Minghao + historical au By @husbandhannie 6 one-shots, historical au, duke Minghao, duchess reader, marriage of convenience, falling in love, fluff, smut

𖤓 Love has no language By @renaiswriting Platonic Jun x reader x Minghao, college au, exchange student reader, learning Korean, exam stress, supportive behaviour

𖤓 Headliner By @horangboosadan SMAU one-shot, non-idol au, photographer Minghao, college student & cleaner reader, fluff, developing relationship

[ladamedusoif]

able

(Joel Miller x disabled F!Reader)

Pairing: Joel Miller x Disabled F!Reader

Summary: "I just don't think she'll be able for patrol". But then it's just you, Joel, and your trusty walking stick in the middle of nowhere...

Content/warnings: Reader is disabled (she has rheumatoid disease/arthritis in addition to panic attacks, she uses a walking stick as necessary); Reader had a sister; Reader is an art teacher; strong violence; blood; description of panic attack; references to impact of chronic illness and disability; references to medication; references to disease and death; non-canon compliant; Jackson!Joel; strong language; ableist language and abusive language

Rating: Mature; 18+ MDNI

Word Count: ~3.7k

A/N: After making a plea earlier in the week for people to actually write disabled Reader fic, as opposed to forcing writers to feel they have to tag literally everything in an able-bodied Reader story, I knew I had to put my money where my mouth was as a disabled, neurodivergent writer with various mental health things going on here and there. And this one-shot is the result.

This one is a little personal. I was diagnosed with rheumatoid disease about ten years ago, and Reader’s experiences are informed by my own (though, thankfully, I haven’t had to contend with an apocalypse that meant I couldn’t access the medication that has kept me going). She’s also inspired by @agentjackdaniels, who acted as consultant extraordinaire on walking sticks and panic attacks, and suggested the Joel picture for the moodboard. Thank you, Luce, for this, for fighting the good fight for representation in fic - and for beta-ing the story. 

(A note on terminology: rheumatoid disease/arthritis are sometimes used interchangeably. ‘Arthritis’ often sounds like it’s ‘just’ osteoarthritis to people who don’t know the difference. Rheumatoid, unlike osteoarthritis (which is shitty in its own ways), is a systemic, lifelong, chronic illness and an auto-immune disorder that affects the entire body, not just bones and/or joints. So personally I use ‘rheumatoid disease’ as it conveys more of the impact of the condition. It's also often seen as an 'old person' disease but this simply isn't true - not that this stops mobility aids being modelled by people in their 80s all the time...)

Please follow my writing blog @ladameecrit and turn on notifications to stay up to date with my work.

Dividers by @saradika - moodboard by me

You weren’t supposed to make it.

Twenty-odd years in the apocalypse with your fucked-up joints and no steady supply of the meds that kept you going, pushing through the cycles of fatigue, and fighting off your own goddamned immune system as much as you were fighting clickers and raiders. 

You really weren’t supposed to make it. But you had Annie.

You were sharing an apartment when the outbreak happened, a quirk of shitty personal circumstances - she’d just broken up with her long-term boyfriend - that probably helped save your life. Annie was the all-action sister - the kind of person who thinks there’s nothing weird about spending your weekends doing triathlons and “Tough Mudder” challenges, who had a perfect bill of health your entire lives, who bounced out of bed in the mornings while you cracked and creaked and stiffly manoeuvered yourself into being. 

The good days generally outweighed the bad in the years between your diagnosis with rheumatoid disease and the initial outbreak - or maybe you had just gotten used to the aches and pains and the occasional flare-ups of fatigue. You invested in a walking stick to help on those days when mobility was particularly bad: solid, heavy, and carved in a pale yellow wood. It felt like a comfort in your hand, more a sign of strength, to you, than of weakness. 

Annie helped you through the panic attack that consumed you on outbreak day, working with you to regulate your breathing and relax your tense muscles until you could finally say what was on your mind.

“My meds. What am I going to do without my meds?”

Nothing a quick smash and grab at the local pharmacy couldn’t fix. It was the first of many, stockpiling the little yellow tablets you relied on and taking as many packs of over-the-counter painkillers as you could carry. Useful currency in the apocalypse, as it turned out.

All-Action Annie was never going to cope with life in a QZ. She got the two of you out after months of planning, nights of whispered talk about a town out west that was normal - or something close to it, anyway. She hadn’t entertained your protestations about you slowing her down, holding her back.

“You think I’m leaving behind a girl who’s so handy with a weapon?” she’d teased, pointing to your walking stick. “Be real. We’re busting out together.”

The infection took hold in her about three days from Jackson. Fuckin’ barbed wire, tearing a jagged line through Annie’s hand and leaving behind an old-fashioned kind of threat to life, the kind penicillin had mostly dealt with. But that was then. This was now. 

She died in an abandoned farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, you holding her hand until the end, talking to her about your childhoods and trying to keep smiling until she closed her beautiful eyes. 

It took all your strength to dig her grave. And then, somehow, you found more.

You weren’t supposed to make it. But you did. 

Jackson stands before you. 

He sees you for the first time in the community dining hall, talking animatedly to Maria as you hungrily devour the food set in front of you. Eyes wide, face grubby, clothes ragged. Half-wild, he thinks, like most of the new arrivals. Like him and Ellie, once upon a time. He returns to his bowl of soup and his own thoughts - at least, until he’s interrupted by Maria.

“Joel? Want to introduce a new member of the community, just arrived.”

He doesn’t quite know why he’s surprised when he realises you’re leaning on a sturdy hand-carved walking stick in a solid, light yellow wood. Maybe it’s because he knows how physically hard it is to get here. Maybe he just assumed folks who needed a stick wouldn’t have been able to manage the journey. 

For a second he can hear Sarah’s voice in his head, chiding him for focusing on what a disabled person can’t do instead of what they can. 

“Joel?”

He snaps out of his reverie and looks from Maria to you. “Uh, hi. Sorry, just…sorry. Forgot my manners.”

“I was just saying how glad we are to have someone who can offer some art education in the town, isn’t that right, Joel?”

Your eyes are warm and mischievous as you meet his gaze, silently conveying your amusement at Maria’s rather brusque manner. It’s all Joel can do not to laugh.

“Sure is. You’re an artist, then?”

You shake your head. “Not a real one. I was an art teacher, before. Long time since I created anything, though, so I hope I remember how.”

He smiles softly, his gruff exterior receding a little. “Bet it’s just like riding a bike,” he says, before his face falls as he looks at your walking stick. “Oh, shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean… Shit. Hope I didn’t offend.”

“As it happens, I can ride a bike, Joel. The apocalypse just doesn’t give me much cause to.”

You leave him with a smile and a wink as Maria ushers you to meet other townsfolk. He watches you as you walk away, the tap-tap-tapping of your stick beating out a new rhythm in the heart of Jackson.

You think of Annie every morning when you wake up in the little house you’d been assigned. Sometimes, as you potter around the kitchen, still revelling in the novelty of making yourself morning coffee for the first time in two decades, you even talk to her. You tell her about the town, the townsfolk, your work in the community vegetable garden, your art classes. 

“Honestly, An, you wouldn’t believe how popular they are,” you tell the Annie who, in an alternate universe, is sitting at the kitchen table with her own mug of coffee. “I’m setting up extra sessions to cater for demand.”

There’s something uplifting in how hungry the people of Jackson are to make art, no matter their experience or existing skill level. They’ll draw stuff from memory, they’ll dutifully work on a still life, they’ll even traipse outside with you, wooden sketching boards in hand, and make rapid-fire sketches of the goings-on on Main Street. 

Joel doesn’t join a class - but the teenage girl Maria refers to as “Joel’s kid” does, all potty-mouthed and enthusiastic and pretty damned talented, to boot. Ellie tells you how she’s pinned up the drawings she’s proudest of in their home, “like our own fuckin’ art gallery or some shit.” 

You pull up a tall stool and sit beside her, resting your stick over your thighs. “Joel’s got his guitar and those dumbass model figures he paints,” she continues, leaning around her easel and squinting at the woman who’d volunteered to act as a life model for this week’s classes. “But this shit? This is real art.” She adds a little highlight to the woman’s sweater and leans back to assess the work.

“You probably got exempt from patrols, I’m guessing. On account of the stick, an’ all.”

“Maria asked, and I signed up happily. I got all the way here, didn’t I? I’m sure I can manage patrols. And it’s the least I can do - they’ve even found me some of the medications I need.”

Ellie nods, somewhat convinced, and returns to sketching out the contours around the model’s jaw.

The day of your first patrol arrives. You bundle up and set out early for the stables, allowing extra time to get there on account of the flare-up you’d been experiencing the day before. 

You arrive early - just in time, in fact, to overhear a heated conversation between Joel and Maria.

“She’s doing enough, ain’t she? I just don’t think she’ll be able for patrol.”

“You’ve seen her out and about, Joel. She’s mobile. She’s competent. She’s good with the horses. She got all the way here, the last stretch on her own. What more proof do you need?”

“You’re seriously gonna send a woman with a walking stick out on patrol?”

“I seriously am. Sent you and your bad back out, didn’t we?”

“That ain’t the same and you know it.”

“Just saddle the horses, Joel. And, in case you’re wondering - yes, I paired you together deliberately, just until she gets settled.” You hear her footsteps recede as she leaves him.

You had misjudged how much your already-limited grip would be further impeded by the gloves you’re wearing. The stick clatters to the ground.

“Who’s there?”

You emerge from the shadows. “Me. Sorry.”

Joel rolls his eyes and gruffly points out the tack and supplies.

The first patrol passes in silence. You wonder what happened to the softer man you’d caught a glimpse of the first day you arrived.

On the second patrol, you ask him questions about himself. On the third patrol, he asks (fewer) questions about you. By the fourth, you’re having something approximating normal conversation. 

“Sarah loved to make all kinds of stuff,” he ventures, leading the way on his chestnut horse. “Those beaded bracelets, that girly Lego in the pink and purple, all of that. My girl had enough Magic Markers to supply a whole elementary school. Maybe two.”

You can hear him smile, even without seeing his face. His shoulders relax a little as he recalls the memory.

“So she was a creative kid?”

“Creative, sporty… she could do anything. Made the school soccer team, she was so proud. Just a…” He pauses. “A great kid.”

There’s a few beats of silence, punctuated only by the sound of the horses snickering and the steady rhythm of their hooves on the ground. 

“What about your sister, was she arty like you?”

You’d told him about Annie on the last patrol. This was the first time he’d asked about her explicitly.

“She was the sporty one. I think that’s why I survived so long, truth be told. She was so strong and fast and tough as fuck.”

He chuckles, the burr of his voice resonating in the cold air. “Sounds like a good balance, though.”

“It is - it was. Was.” Your voice grows quieter as you repeat the word to yourself, chest starting to tighten. The horse slows, responding to the tension of your body, as Joel continues to trot on, not realising you’ve come to a halt behind him. 

And then the tell-tale snapping of a twig, the sound of footsteps, and the realisation there’s someone else there, emerging out of the woods. Two someones. 

Raiders. 

The panic attack that has been building inside you gives way. An innate fight or flight response kicks in as you roar his name. 

Joel turns and charges back towards you, just in time to see you take out one raider with a crack shot from your pistol. He slows the horse and readies his rifle, staring at the other man who is now trying to haul you off your mount.

“Get the fuck off me, motherfucker!” You flail against him, desperately shifting your weight to the other side of the saddle to try to shake him off. 

Joel takes aim. 

You think you’ve kicked the raider off. And that’s when you hit the ground.

He can’t take the shot now, not with her half-hidden from his view and audibly fighting off the man who’s dragged her to the ground. Joel is still a little distance away, slightly too far to see exactly what’s happening. 

Why didn’t he hear her slowing? Why didn’t he realise she was further behind than she ought to be? Why did she slow in the fuckin’ first place?

Joel quickly dismounts, rifle in hand, moving closer so he can get a clearer shot at the guy who’s now standing over her. The horse’s elegant neck obscures the raider’s hands from Joel’s vision - he has no idea if he’s pointing a gun at her or not. 

He thinks he has a clear sight on the guy’s head, provided he stays in the same position. He readies the rifle. 

Suddenly, the raider disappears, letting out a primal roar before he hits the ground. 

“You fucking cunt!”

Joel can see she’s standing now, the man prone before her. As he rounds the horse he sees her lift her cane, hands securely gripping the pointed end of the stick. 

She brings the solid, weighty handle down on the raider’s leg with a sickening crunch. Even Joel recoils a little at the sight and the sound.

“F-f-fucking…c-c-cunt!”

Thwack. The other leg. 

Fuck. She knows exactly what she’s doing.

”Keep calling me that, and I’ll keep the blows coming.”

Holy fuck. Who is she?

”C-c-c-cripple.”

”Excuse me?”

The raider props himself up on his arms. “I said, cripple. Fucking crippled cunt.”

“You shut your fuckin’ mouth.” Joel cocks his rifle. 

The stranger sneers at Joel. “Awww, he’s actin’ the big man now. Weren’t too quick gettin’ back down here to save your cripple woman, were ya?”

Before Joel can react, she swings her stick over her head and brings it down on the man’s skull with a furious scream that seems to come from the very depths of her being. 

She screams and screams as she hits him, over and over, eyes wild in her blood-spattered face. Joel recognises this: in himself; hell, in Ellie. It’s the moment when the floodgates open and all those years of pain blend together and zone in on this convenient target, an avatar for everyone and everything who had forced loss and trauma upon you. 

He roars at her to stop, but knows she can’t hear him. It’s just her and the raider, now: her rage and fear and grief finding their expression through a walking stick turned cudgel.

A single shot ends it. She turns sharply, as if snapped out of a trance, and sees the smoke leaving Joel’s pistol. 

“Hey. Hey. You alright?” His broad hands grip your biceps as he looks into your eyes.

Yes, you tell him, yes. You’re fine. But Joel keeps asking. 

“Talk to me. Are you okay? I’m worried about you. Please, just talk to me.”

You are moving your mouth, but no sound is coming out. The familiar vice is tightening around your chest. You look down at your blood-stained hands and you struggle to breathe. 

“‘M dying, Joel. Can’t breathe. All the blood. So much. Why can’t I breathe?”

Oh, he realises with a pang. She gets these things too. And I know how to help.

“You’re okay, you hear?” He’s rubbing your arms gently, keeping his gaze on you. “You’re alright. Breathe along with me, okay?”

It’s difficult to find the rhythm, at first. Joel’s hands find yours and squeeze them in time with his breath.

”In through your nose, that’s it. Slow and steady. Now out through your mouth.”

He can see your muscles starting to visibly relax. A wave of relief courses over him.

”Yeah, that’s it - you got this. You got this, good girl, you’re just fine. Gonna be alright.”

When he’s confident your breathing has settled and the panic attack receded somewhat, he gently guides you away from the body of the dead raider, one hand holding your horse’s bridle and the other holding yours. 

“Why don’t you have a seat for a minute, huh?” Joel gestures to a long, low tree trunk lying near the forest’s edge and opens his saddlebags, rummaging until he finds a cloth, a battered hip flask and a bag of dried apple slices.

”Here.” He wipes the blood as best he can from your hands and proffers the flask, settling his substantial frame beside you on the log. “Have a sip or two, just to relax you a little bit more. Got a snack, here, too.”

You flinch at the taste of the liquor, but take a second sip regardless. The apple slices barely taste of anything in the afterburn of the moonshine. Joel nibbles on some jerky and stares into the middle distance. 

You take a break from patrol, agreed with Maria, and a few days off your art classes. It was tempting to keep going, to return to the light and airy studio and to your students. But you feared a relapse.

And your body needed to recover physically, too. You ached from head to toe, fingers and toes puffy and swollen and movement seriously restricted. You ration out the supply of medication you’ve secured since getting here, and use hot water bottles and plenty of rest to try to ride out the flare in your arthritis.

Three days after the incident, there’s a knock on the door. You hobble to answer it, leaning on your trusty stick for support.

”Came by to see how you were doing. Got you some things if you needed ‘em.”

Joel is standing on your front porch, holding a jute grocery bag. He pauses, as if waiting for you to give him permission to say more.

”That’s so very kind of you, Joel. Come in, won’t you? I was able to set a fire so it’s nice and cosy.”

He watches as you lead the way into the living room, noting how much slower you were today. Guilt laps at his conscience. He said she shouldn’t go on patrol. He knew.

”You want me to bring these into the kitchen for you?”

“That would be a great help. Thank you.” He’s glad to see you smile, after the trauma of the patrol. “If you want a drink, I’ve got some tea and coffee in the cupboard just to the left of the sink.”

He pops his head back into the living room. “What would you like?” 

“A tea would be perfect. Mugs are in the cupboard to the right.”

You wrap yourself back up in your blankets on the couch, making room for Joel when he returns with the drinks and a couple of cookies, sent over by Ellie as part of his care package for you. The mug feels like a comfort in your aching hands, its heat assuaging the inflammation ravaging your joints.

He sips his coffee and you sit in silence for a little bit, watching the flames dance over the firewood. 

“Have you, uh - you been okay, doing okay, since…”

Joel stares into his coffee cup and then looks at you, a little awkward. You smile, hoping to reassure him.

”I’ve been okay. Just the physical pain and exhaustion, mostly. And - well, you saw it. The panic. It can leave you drained.”

He nods and takes another swig of his drink. “I know. I - I’ve had times like that, too. Real fuckin’ scary, when you’ve never gone through it before.”

You study his face for a moment or two, noting the little scar on his temple, the lines on his face, the stern expression completely undermined by the warmth of his deep brown eyes. For an instant, he seems so vulnerable, this strong, tough man sitting on your little couch. 

“I haven’t had an attack like that in a while. But then, I hadn’t done anything like that in a while.”

This time Joel turns to look at you properly. “Not your first rodeo, huh?”

You giggle at the turn of phrase. “Not quite. Let’s just say my stick did a lot of work over the last twenty years. He wasn’t the first to feel the brunt of it.”

Joel nods, and you feel strangely relieved that he doesn’t seem surprised. “Doesn’t get easier, though, does it?”

“It does not. Which is why it’s better to avoid having to do it.”

”I agree. Gotta say, though, I - I was worried you wouldn’t be able for patrol, y’know?”

You arch an eyebrow at him. “I know. I overheard you, remember?”

He blushes. “Aw, shit. Yeah. I’m sorry about that. I just didn’t want anything happening to you, what with your - condition, and all.”

You sigh softly, not really noticing the affection in his voice. “Most of the time, I’m fine. Y’know? I’m slower, but I do okay. I get tired more easily, but I manage. I didn’t come here to be a drain on the community.”

”You aren’t.”

”I know, but I want to keep it that way. I want to pull my weight. I’m able, Joel.”

He huffs in agreement. “Not like I’m a perfect specimen these days, either. Knees, fuckin’ back, deaf in one ear…” 

You chuckle. “And you thought I wouldn’t manage patrol? Anyway, you’re not doing so bad, are you?”

He gives you a little smile, but that constant sadness still haunts his eyes. He stares at his coffee for a moment.

“You knew what you were doing, though.”

”I did. But I didn’t feel like I could stop.” You sip your tea, swallowing hard. “And I’m scared that makes me some kinda monster. You know?”

Oh, he knows. He knows it too well.

”You aren’t a monster.” Joel resists the urge to put an arm around you. “You just… something snapped, I guess. All that - well, all that hell you’ve gone through. It… it changes you. But it doesn’t make you a monster.”

He realises you’re crying before you do, spotting the fat tears that roll down your cheeks. He finds a clean handkerchief in his jeans and offers it to you. 

Fuck it. 

“Can I - can I put an arm round you? Just for some support?”

Your eyes light up, tears or no tears, and you nod enthusiastically. Joel is warm and comforting, his broad chest and strong arms a kind of anchor in the emotional storm. You nuzzle against him, and he gives you a little squeeze on the arm.

”You’re a really brave woman, you know that?”

His voice is quieter, more intentional. You look at him quizzically from under your lashes, unused to praise of this kind. For an instant you think about asking him what he means. But the safety you’ve found in the broad arm draped around you is all you need right now. 

You nuzzle a little against his chest, and watch the fire dancing for the rest of the night. 

[amethystwrytes]

Of Course, Professor (Drabble)

Pairing: Professor! Lee Know x Female Reader

Genre: Romantic. Smut. Fluff.

Summary: A spicy but sweet night at home.

Warnings: Explicit language and explicit depictions of sex.

WC: 950

A/N: I was originally going to end the main story with some 🌶️ but I changed my mind and never finished the scene. You all voted for spicy domestic fluff over raunchy, totally unethical office smut - which btw I'm proud af of you all lmaooo - so here it is.

“What are you working on?” Minho asks as he sits beside you on the couch with a pile of papers in his lap. 

You look up from your sketchbook and shrug, “I’m trying to sketch out some ideas, I’d like to put some original paintings in my classroom as decoration.” 

He looks over your shoulder onto the notebook in front of you, “I like all the different shapes in this one.” 

“I like it too,” you turn your head and peck his lips with yours, “I think I’m going to do it in really bright, bold colors. The kids will like it.” 

“They’ll love it,” he smiles, “Are you nervous for school to start?” 

“No,” you say sheepishly then chuckle, “but yes. It’s been a while since I was in a classroom, and when I was I was still a student, with a veteran teacher to correct my mistakes - being in a room alone, with no one there to fix it if I mess up is intimidating. Then again, it’s just art, how bad could I possibly fuck them up?” you laugh and Minho chuckles too. 

“It’s not just art,” he takes your sketchbook and starts flipping through, “To at least one of those children, it’s going to be the most important class they ever take. Years - decades - from now they’ll remember what they learned from the teacher who taught them that their art mattered, that it was important. They’ll think of you every time they pick up a brush, or pencil and I can’t think of a more perfect person for the job.” 

You stare at him, a soft smile playing at your lips.

���What?” he grins back, “Is there something on my face?” 

You shake your head and crawl over him, pushing his paperwork to the side, your legs straddling his lap and you take his face in your hands. 

“I just can’t believe there was a time when I didn’t know how sweet and soft you were,” you tell him, pressing your lips against his. 

“Mmm,” he moans into your mouth, “I am not.” 

“You are.” 

He tosses you over onto your back and you giggle, “And I can’t believe you ever thought you were going to be a lawyer,” he clicks his teeth and sorts his papers back in order, shaking them at you, “No discipline at all. Your classes don’t begin until August, but some of us are teaching Summer classes and Sunday is my day to grade…”

As he lectures you, you slide your shorts and underwear off. When he looks back his eyes go dark as you allow your knees to gently fall apart. 

He makes a raspy sound in his throat as his eyes narrow, “No fucking discipline…” he mutters, tossing the papers on the coffee table. 

“Then teach me some, Professor,” you bite your lip. 

He chuckles as he pulls his shirt over his head, “A pointless endeavor. I spoil you is what I do,” he grins, situating himself between your legs. He begins kissing the inside of your thighs, the cool air hitting your center tells you you’re already soaked. 

He dips a finger into your cunt and twists, your hips come off the couch and you sigh. He continues to pump you while his tongue paints swirls of pleasure over every centimeter of your pussy. He’s so fucking good. You find yourself burying your fingers in his hair, latching him onto you as you move your hips with his mouth as the pleasure builds. Every time he eats you out you try to hold it, to stop yourself from coming just to bask in how good his tongue feels on you, but maybe he’s right - you have no discipline. You spread your legs as far as they go and stiffen, your orgasm hitting you in rhythmic waves. 

“More,” you manage to squeak out. 

“Spoiled,” he whispers back, wiping his mouth with the back of his arm as he pulls the rest of his clothes off and resumes his place between your legs. 

He grabs your hands and holds them in place above your head, his lips come down on one of your nipples and he gently sucks and licks wide languid strokes over the sensitive bud. You squirm beneath him, needing to feel him inside you. Finally he relents, and removes his mouth from your breast, still stiffly holding your hands while he pushes into you. 

He pauses for a moment, even all these months later both of you still need a second to adapt to him deep inside you. It’s more than a physical connection of body parts, it feels incendiary, it feels right - it feels like love. 

You wrap your legs around his hips so he can go as deep as he needs to, his open mouth against your neck spilling rapid breaths and dirty, sexy secrets. You know he’s close, so you lift your hips slightly because you’re so in tune with him that you know it will hit just right, know it will push you over the edge too and he needs it. 

When the coil all wound up inside you springs, you spasm around him and he moans, freezing all movement except for the throbbing of his cock spilling inside you. He remains on top of you for several moments, letting his breath return to normal. He lets go of your fists and slides his palm over yours, lacing your fingers together as he plants kisses along your cheek and jawline, his cock softening inside your body. 

“I love you,” he whispers against your temple, eyes closed. 

You use your free hand to wipe his sweaty bangs from his face, you kiss his nose and lips, “I love you too Minho.” 

THE END

Endnotes:

Thank you for reading, and here's your virtual smooooooch 😘

My Sluts for Minho tag list / people who asked to be tagged in pt 2: @katieraven , @linocz , @screamobubbles , @hpnsfwaddict , @simpforleeknaur also @moni-logues (so she doesn’t send me threatening discord messages 😂) …If I missed you somehow I’m sorry, I’ve got zero organization methods when approaching tag lists and relied on re-reading the replies on the main fic to remember who asked, so if you asked a different way it probably got lost in my brain 🙃

[thetourturedwritersclub]

I've seen ppl do the marauders being teachers and the subjects they would teach. And hers are my 2 cents.

James he would teach PE. Argue with the wall. Also he'd be that one teacher everyone loves bc he cares for the students. All the students who have PE with him would be fit bc James cares so much abt the students health. He would organise basketball, football /soccer and volleyball games between the other classes.

Sirius On the popular belief of Sirius teaching French, I actually think he would teach art. That doesn't mean that I think that he isn't intelligent, I think he's creative and he would rather teaching a subject which requires u to be creative. He would take the kids to art galleries.

Remus to no one's surprise, I think he would teach English /Literature. And he would make it INTERESTING. They'd be studying Romeo and Juliet , the kids would feel like they are in Verona, Italy watching it happen. Also smth that's so precious for me is Remus having movie hrs, watching films that we are adapted into movie form and they would analyse the differences between the two.

Peter I think Peter would teach home Economics. Also he would be that teacher that u either love and appreciate or hate with a burning passion. He would be a shy introverted nature but also funny and tolerant.

Lily she would teach citizenship. Yes she would be that teacher that would make sure u were mindful, empathetic and grateful. She would make sure kids understood everything u need to know abt being a good citizen. She would also organise field trips which would be in parks, town halls etc etc.

Marlene Listen, I think she would be a history teacher. Her compassion loving nature and ability to tell a story give rlly much history teacher vibez. The kids would be hypnotised listening to every word Marlene was speaking abt a revolution or a glorious monarchy.

Mary Now Mary would teach theatre. Say what u want but I'm a Theatre teacher Mary believer. She would take it super seriously and she would teach all of the kids how to act. Also she would analyse the kids chemistry (basically how much chemistry they have with each other) and she would play match maker with that information. She'd be hitting the bullseye everytime.

Dorcas She would be teaching mathematics. Again argue with the wall. She would be that strict teacher with a heart of gold. Also she would check in with every kid to see if they need help and would be that teacher who wouldn't make u feel bad for not understanding something.

Pandora She would teach Chemistry. Why? Idk she just gives off chemist vibez. And she would always take her class to the lab. And instead of assigning projects, she and her class would conduct research on certain topics and try out formulas.

Barty :Barty would teach physics. He is super smart and in my eyes physics is smth that he would find interesting. He would be teaching the kids with practical examples, like dropping stuff when they have to learn abt gravity and ect.

Evan He would teach biology. Argue with the wall. He would love dissecting bodies and the students in his class would be horrified at his excitement. Also he would be such an inspirational and dedicated teacher. He wouldn't be that strict of a teacher but he would keep his class focused.

Regulus He would teach a foreign language like French. He would be so strict and his class would low-key fear him. He wouldn't have that high of expectations and his test wouldn't be that hard. Also he would explain the kids important facts abt French and he would be an incredible teacher. When he would assign classwork he'd go around the class asking if they needed help. Also he'd be that teacher who wouldn't mind answering questions after class.

So yeah that was soo fun! Lmk if u like it or want me to do stuff like this more often! Would you attend this school if you could?

[heartofthedragons]

Rotten Deal Pt. 2

Modern!Aegon x fem!reader

Summary: When your ex boyfriend cheats on you and spreads a vicious rumor about you, you want to make him suffer. So you make a deal with the man you can’t stand: Aegon, the most infamous fuckboy at KLU.

Chapter Summary: It’s day one of your deal and it starts off with a bang and a mix of emotions.

Warning(s): Cursing, Suggestive Language, Suggestive Situations, Making Out, Mentions of parental neglect

Word Count: 1779 words

It’s been about an hour and a half of sitting in the library teaching Aegon, and it’s already a huge undertaking. He keeps zoning out and goofing off, more interested in goofing off and cracking jokes than actually learning the content.

“You know. You need my help much more than I need yours,” you say in annoyance as you catch a glimpse of Aegon scrolling on his phone hidden beneath the table.

Aegon looks at you with a mild scowl before clicking off his phone and going to put it in his pocket. You grab his phone quickly and pry it from his hands. “Ah ah. I’ll be holding on to this for the remainder of this lesson,” you say before putting the phone aside and out of reach of the silver haired boy.

“C’mon Y/N. It’s really not a big deal. I get what you’re saying. I don’t even know why we need to learn this stuff. They’ve all been dead for thousands of years.”

You roll your eyes, turning your head back to the textbook and notes before you, “It’s important because we can learn from their mistakes. Their society collapsed, it’s important to see what contributed to their rise and subsequent fall.”

“Easy. Something something blood magic bad. Something something slavery also very bad,”

“And…?”

“And what?”

“What else was bad, Aegon?” You ask trying desperately to get him to remember at least one crucial thing from today.

“Experimentation?” He asks, clearly unsure of his answer.

A satisfied smile takes over your face. “That’s right. Unethical animal and human experimentation and torture.”

You look at him for a moment. He’s smiling to himself and you can see there’s a hint of pride in his eyes. “You know,” you begin casually, “I’m surprised you don’t know more about of this stuff. Isn’t your dad, like, obsessed with old Valyria?”

Aegon deflates. “Uh…yeah. He is,” he says insecurely, “But old fucker doesn’t know I exist, let alone talk to me about stuff. He’s too busy obsessing over my older sister to pay attention to any of his other kids.” The bitterness and hurt is evident on his face. You’ve seen that same look on his and his siblings' faces before. Dejected and hurt. You remember seeing that look on Helaena’s face when her father didn’t come to her art show in high school. And Aemond’s face when his father wasn’t there to support his win in debate. And even Aegon, back when you two used to be close, searching through the stands hoping his dad was there to cheer him on in softball.

You feel bad. You should’ve known better. But before you can say anything, Aegon is back to his usual confident self, “It doesn’t matter though. I’ve got myself a sexy little teacher to help me learn.”

He leans in close to you, throwing an arm around the back of your chair, “Speaking of. Let’s talk about your half of our little deal.”

“What about it?”

“Come on, sweetheart. You really think anyone is gonna believe we’re fucking when all they see is you annoyed with me in the library?” You sigh and begin to put away the books, you suppose that’s enough studying for day one.

“What do you propose we do?” You ask. Aegon shoots you his confident smile, “People need to see us out together. Talking, flirting, kissing.” You grunt at the last words. “We also need to spend some time together in my room if we want it to be believable.”

You shoot him a glare and he playfully raises his arms in surrender. “I’m not saying we bang it out in there, though I can’t guarantee you won’t want to,” he says flirtingly. You have him with your elbow getting him to back off. “I’m just saying that any girl that I’d be having sex with more than once will be in my room once in a while. You wanna be believable? You gotta do it right.”

You nod. This is what you signed up for after all. “Ok. So where do we start?”

Aegon grins and stands up from his seat, hand outstretched to you. “Well. Today we can start by being seen around campus together. Talking. Flirting. That’ll get the rumors started.”

You accept his hand and ride from your seat slinging your bag over your shoulder and handing his phone back to him.

Aegon smiles as he slips his phone in his pocket and saddles up beside you. He snakes his arm around your waist and pulls you in close, leaning to whisper in your ear, “And make sure you look like you’re enjoying your time with me, beautiful.”

You roll your eyes before flashing him a flirty smile. He’s taken aback. It’s been a long time since he’s seen you smile at him. He likes how you look when you smile, if only you’d do it more around him.

“Let’s go, pretty lady. We have heads to turn.” You both make your way out of the library, and you’re all too aware of just how close Aegon is to you. His arm is gripping your waist tightly, his side pressed against yours, his face not too far from yours. You feel your chest squeeze, but you ignore the feeling.

As you walk together, you realize just what a presence Aegon really is on KLU’s campus. People are watching the two of you from everywhere. Many of them look on in confusion at the unequal match you and Aegon are.

Aegon feels you tense in discomfort and lightly squeezes you in reassurance. You look up at him with worry, and he smiles at you in return. “Relax. Just ignore them. Besides, you should be proud to be on my arm.”

You want to shove him or groan out at his cockiness, but you remember that this is part of the show, so you smile at him and giggle lightly.

You ease into his touch and try to act like you're comfortable with this. Like you’re not two people who avoid each other. Like you’re not two former friends who stopped being close. Like this isn’t awkward and scary and uncomfortable for you. And definitely not like your heart feels like it’ll thump right through your chest. ‘You hate him,’ you tell yourself, ‘Right?’

Aegon is completely contrary to you. He feels perfectly content in this moment, enjoying all the attention the two of you are getting.

“You know, love. I’ve been meaning to ask-,” he begins to say but he’s cut off when he hears you gasp and you stop in your tracks. He looks at you in worry, but follows your wide eyed gaze to the building ahead. And there he is. The golden haired bastard, Jason Lannister.

Jason looks at the two of you incredulously. His gaze is inspecting you both. Aegon smirks to himself before pulling you away towards the side of the building ahead of you. What better time to show off than now?

He spins you around so your back is against the wall and slides the bag off your shoulder to fall to the ground. Aegon leans over you against the wall, slightly caging you. You look at him with wide eyes and he smirks down at you. He leans down to whisper in your ear briefly. “Stop me if I go to far,” he says.

Before you can say anything, Aegon cups your cheek and leans in to kiss you. It’s gentler than you thought he would be, lips soft and plush against yours. You kiss him back trying to remind yourself that this is part of the deal. It’s all a show, and this means nothing. Nothing.

Things soon change when Aegon feels you kiss him back. His hands slides down from your cheek and begins running against your torso and brushing his hand against your chest. You gasp and Aegon pulls away for a second to let out a breathy laugh and smile. “Sorry,” he murmurs unconvincingly before leaning back in to kiss you.

This time his mouth is open testing to see if you’ll match his motions, and you do opening your mouth for each kiss. It’s inviting and Aegon tries to hold back his smirk and he slides his tongue into your mouth.

His arm settles on your hip and pulls you flush against him, continuing to kiss you and explore your mouth with his tongue. It feels so good. Gods be damned if he doesn’t know how to kiss with all the practice.

You’re putty in his hands. Completely melted into him. He pulls away and admired the way you search for him with closed eyes. He raises his hand again to push your hair back from the left side of your neck beginning to leave open mouthed kisses along it. He nips at the soft flesh and you let out a soft almost inaudible whine.

You can’t help but enjoy the feeling of the passionate kisses littering your neck, even if it’s Aegon doing it. Seven hells, maybe that’s why you like it. Not that you’d like to admit that to yourself.

Aegon is enjoying it too. He like seeing you drop your icy exterior, and even more so, he enjoys watching your blissed out face. And then his eyes drift to the side of you two.

Jason Lannister is watching your show with a grimace. Aegon can see how he’s seething at the display. He smirks at Jason and shoot him a wink before giving you one more passionate kiss. It’s messy and his tongue is brushing against yours and his hands are romancing all over you. And then it’s over.

Aegon pulls back with a satisfied look and you gaze at him in shock. Your heart is beating hard and though you’ve just been kissed, your mouth feels dry. You’re breathing hard as you search through your emotions, not understanding any of the complexities of your feelings.

Aegon seems to be completely at peace though. Smirking at you before grabbing your bag and pulling you off the wall. He leads you away from where Jason is standing.

“Not bad, hot stuff. You’ll be getting Jason jealous in no time,” he says with a laugh before slugging his arm over your shoulders.

He’s acting normally. Like he doesn’t care about what happened. Like he didn’t just kiss you passionately in front of so many people. ‘It’s all an act,’ you remind yourself, ‘This is just part of the deal.’

You try to shake away the thoughts and the sinking feeling in your chest. This is what you asked for. This is what you asked him to do. And it doesn’t matter anyways. You don’t like Aegon. You can’t stand him.

Right?

Part 1

Tag List: @fan-goddess @serving-targaryen-realness @gibbsgirl7 @f4ll-for-you @mybeautifuldelirium @introverbatim @mysingularitybts @shroomietrip

[thosegayoldmen]

Lokius Reverse Bang! 2024

It's finally here! My piece for the the @lokiusbang event! Thank you to all the organizers of the event, I've had an absolute blast!

I can't tell you how much fun I've had writing for this wonderful prompt from the amazingly talented @natendo-art! You can see their wonderful artwork for this piece here, go shower them with all the love!

I'm so proud of this, and I really hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it! 😘

WARNING: SPICE ALERT!

This piece is pure smut (with feelings) 😉 Enjoy! ~

One of the many things Loki admires about Mobius is his modesty - an unfaltering humility in the face of others, and a seemingly never ending supply of affirmations for those around him; especially Loki. No matter how badly something goes wrong, Mobius is always there to reassure and support his friends and coworkers, and make sure no one is being too hard on themselves.

But Mobius…is a hypocrite.

OR

Loki has caught Mobius saying one too many bad things about himself and needs to set the record straight.

Words: 11,428, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Rating: Explicit

Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category: M/M

Fandom: Loki (TV 2021)

Relationship: Loki & Mobius M. Mobius, Loki/Mobius M. Mobius

Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Self-Esteem Issues, Body Image, Insecurity, Light Bondage, Body Worship, Self-Worth Issues, Self-Acceptance, Self-Love, Praise Kink, Praise, aggressive affection, Bottom Mobius M. Mobius, Top Loki (Marvel), PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Mobius M. Mobius Learns To Love Himself, Loki Is An Excellent Teacher, Lokius Reverse Bang 2024, s2 AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Mirrors, Mirror Sex

[anastasiareyreed]

all russians are guilty and let me explain why.

make yourself comfortable, it's gonna be a long ride.

you might notice that every time, if russians appear in a movie, series or documentary, they have either done something criminal, are doing it or are planning to do it. because the entire history of russia's existence is built on crimes, wars, genocides and occupations — Ukraine, Syria, Georgia, Chechnia and many more.

russia unleashed the most frequent genocidal attacks against Ukraine. occupation of Ukrainian lands and enslavement of Ukrainians, constant persecution and murder of speakers of the Ukrainian language, Ukrainian poets, writers, teachers — the entire nation, any Ukrainian figures of culture or politics. And, of course, the awful Holodomor (if you more into visualization, watch the movie about the Holodomor — «Mr Jones».)

no matter who is in power, throughout its existence, russia has been trying to destroy Ukraine and everything related to Ukrainian culture and history.

first of all, I think the terms «guilty» and «bad» must be separated here. I'm not saying all russians are bad, because «bad» is quite subjective and vague term. just like term «good». a person can be good in relations with neighbors, good at their job or good meaning polite. but what happens to a «good» person who stands by when other people are killed, tortured and raped in front of this person's eyes and on this person's behalf? this person becomes guilty. and many can and DO have the right to call and consider this person bad.

what exactly you are doing when you write «not all russians support the war»? you tell Ukrainians that THIS TIME there are definitely good russians, good guys among the people who constantly repressed Ukrainian people. but let me tell you this. if ten people stand in front of me and tell me that only one of them probably is not a murderer, I WILL NOT trust that person. I won't risk my life, and I'm sure you won't either.

I, like many Ukrainians, had friends or relatives in russia. but all of us were betrayed by these people, because it is in their DNA to put themselves above Ukrainians. and it's quite unreasonable in the digital age to justify their position about war by the fact that they don't know anything and totally drowned in propaganda. do they not know how to search for information, use their phones, computers or brain?

when you say that right now not all russians are against Ukraine or Syria, you cannot be sure that a russian who writes «I don't support the war» is telling the truth. that this person is not trying to maintain their public image and avoid condemnation. how can we believe the word of the representatives of the nation that every decade wage a war? the presumption of innocence doesn't apply here, hundreds of thousands of victims of russia are proof of that.

my favorite topic that people like to manipulate is how can we blame russian children. sure, we are in our right mind, so we don't say that a russian child is as guilty as an adult russian man who raped Ukrainian children and tortured Ukrainian women and men. we say that the russian child must know and feel collective responsibility from an early age, so that in the future the child doesn't take the place of that adult russian man.

while other countries honor the memory of their heroes and victims of the WWII on the day of victory over the fascists, only the russians proudly and joyfully said every year that they could repeat and start another war. which they did. that's why russian children should see that the world associates russia only with death, crimes and wars. that the world doesn't tolerate russian products, art, culture or people. this is the only way children will be able to realize from an early age that this way of russia's lifestyle is condemned by the world and must be radically changed.

Ukrainian and Syrian children, who are currently suffering from russia's actions, grew up too early and lost their childhood, they know what war is, know that it's evil and russia is a terrorist state. russian children should know this as well, so that the changes in the russian mentality — that the world has been waiting for several centuries in a row​ — have come.

you say russian children are not guilty, sure, but they are taught that war is branded, powerful, cool and solid. Ukrainian and Syrian children are not guilty, but they are taught how to act if their parents are killed by a russian missile. you say russian youth are not guilty and shouldn't risk their future to protest against the war. Ukrainian and Syrian youth are not guilty, but every day they give their lives for the freedom that the russians are trying to take away.

russian soldiers who went to kill Ukrainians and Syrians. russians who are relatives, friends or colleagues of these soldiers. russians who openly support wars in Ukraine & Syria or show their passivity. russians who volunteer to support the russian army. russians, who for centuries raised their children with imperialist views and contempt for other nations and races. and, as history shows, will continue to raise in the same way, no matter how the war ends. if russia loses they will raise children ready for another revenge. if russia wins they will raise children with mindset that Ukrainians are an inferior nation. russians have hundreds of years of experience in it. ask how the peoples that russia once occupied live today.

imagine what those hundreds of thousands of russian soldiers would achieve not on peaceful Ukrainian streets, killing people, but somewhere in a square in moscow, protesting against the war. soldiers, their relatives, friends and neighbors. eight years ago, Ukrainians protested against the dictator, dying for their principles and freedom.

Iranians went against a real dictator, dying for their principles and freedom. because this is the only way to achieve change.

the only «protest» action of russians is to post a picture somewhere online or to stand peacefully for half an hour in a small group of people, passively holding «no war» piece of paper and leaving before dark, because tomorrow they have to go to work or universities. russians support the war or simply don't care, because it's easier to live that way. if they chose collective indifference, they must face collective responsibility.

your «not all russians are guilty» is based on your assumptions about the good faith of russians, a naive idea of what this nation really is. my «all russians are guilty» is based on hundreds of years of history of relations between russia and Ukraine. on the number of wars russia has waged in the past and is waging now, the number of nations it has destroyed and the number of evil actions the world has forgiven the russians, hoping that THIS TIME everything will definitely be different.

[flowerandblood]

Glass Cuts Deepest (11)

[ professor! • Aemond x student! • female ]

[ warnings: oral sex, fingering, smut, kissing, fluff, angst, trauma, mention of rape, indecent student-teacher relationship ]

[ description: A female painting student is finally able to choose the specialisation she has dreamt of - stained glass. She wants to become a student of the best specialist in this field, but he, for some reason, refuses to accept female students into his workshop. She finds out that he once slapped a female student of one of the other professors. Nevertheless, she makes an attempt to find out what happened then and to convince him to teach her. Slow burn, sexual tension, dark, agressive Aemond, great childhood traumas. ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

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She slept the whole way back to their town in the back seat of the car, exhausted after the all-night vigil and what had happened. Despite how frightening it had been and how much she had suffered seeing him like this, she had regained hope in the morning, seeing him cuddled up to her, sleeping peacefully at last.

He trusted her.

He sought refuge in her when he was most vulnerable.

They decided to exchange phone numbers to keep in touch, and the first day she spent back in her dormitory seemed strange to her. Sitting in her room in the evening, preparing for the exam in Renaissance art history that awaited her in a few days, she had the feeling that he was about to knock on her door.

However, nothing of that sort happened.

Neither of them wrote to each other that night, apparently afraid to impose on each other, recognising that they both needed to sort it all out in their heads.

She kept waking up and curling up in her bed, so in the morning she gave in, deciding that she would go to the workshop earlier and try to study there, hoping to meet him inside. She went into the bathroom to change before going in, then started down the corridor towards their classrooms and was surprised to find that the lights were already on in them.

When she looked inside she met his puzzled, horrified gaze − he was just leaning over a sheet of glass from which he was cutting out parts for his own project. They stared at each other for a moment in awkward silence, she felt like her heart was about to burst out of her chest.

She couldn't stop thinking about how good he looked in his black, tight t-shirt tucked into his trousers, accentuating his athletic figure perfectly.

She thought with tenderness that they were dressed alike.

"Good morning." She said softly, recognising that she should speak up, and felt her chest heat when she saw that his lips twitched in a smile, his gaze softening. He grunted quietly, scratching his cheek with his thumb, pretending he felt nothing at the sight of her.

"Good morning." He replied lowly, watching as she moved to the last table, where she always worked.

"− you don't have to − you know −" He said casually, clearly feeling bad about the fact that all this time he had been wordlessly forcing her to always stay back. Only now did she see that he was working at his table positioned so that he could see her.

"We were supposed to behave as we did before." She reminded him calmly, looking at him warmly from afar, slipping her backpack off and placing it on one of the wooden stools standing next to her. "Is it clear yet what new task our workshop will be handling?"

He nodded, trying not to look at her, but he was clearly at a loss with himself, glancing at her from time to time, his lips tightening.

"− yes − yes, you as students will be helping me with another big project, you'll do the side quarters and backgrounds. When everyone gathers, I will show you my design and divide up everyone's tasks." He said calmly, glancing at her again with some kind of desire and distress. She let the air out through her nose and held out her hand to him.

Their class was only starting in an hour.

"Come now, while no one else is here." She said softly, and he immediately moved towards her, as if he was just waiting for those words.

Without even touching her hand, he grasped her cheeks and pressed himself to her mouth, kissing her greedily, longingly and tenderly, teasing her lips with his, brushing the tip of his tongue against hers.

She slid her hand into his hair and heard him murmur softly as she drew him closer to her, reciprocating his kiss with devotion, delighting in the softness and moistness of his mouth, the taste of his saliva on her tongue, his hands roaming over her cheeks, her neck, her back, as if he wanted to touch her everywhere, to enjoy this momentary closeness.

They kissed like mad, like lovers who met in seclusion for a few minutes once in a couple of days, just to taste their closeness, hiding from the whole world. She sighed into his mouth as he pulled away from her and pressed her forehead to his, clamping his hand on her back, forcing her to cling to his body, to feel what was happening in his trousers.

He was completely hard.

"I've been suffering like this since the moment you walked into this room." He exhaled, rubbing his hips against her, his lips brushing hers teasingly, barely touching her fleshy structure. She shuddered all over at his words, feeling the delightful squeeze between her thighs, moisture running down her skin.

"I'm sorry, Professor." She whispered softly, innocently, running her lower lip over his mouth, and he bit her lightly, drawing a quiet moan of surprise from her.

"− I can't − come to my place tonight − I need you by my side −" He muttered in a voice trembling with arousal, she felt his manhood throbbing hard, the tip of his nose trailing along her cheek.

"− I have to study for an exam −" She mumbled out, combing her fingers through his hair, feeling her head spin from his scent, from the movement of his hips rubbing against her.

He kissed her cheek, leaving a wet, warm trail on her skin.

"− when we're done, I'll let you learn − I promise −" He whispered and she felt herself shudder at his words, his tongue invading between her lips again, as if he couldn't stand it, as if the very thought of her lying beside him at night made him lose his temper.

When we're done, I'll let you learn.

God.

How was she supposed to stand up to him.

"− okay −" Was all she was able to get out of herself between their loud, quick, impatient kisses, his arms holding her in a tight embrace. He finally pulled away from her, breathing hard, trailing his fingers along the skin of her neck.

"I'll pick you up." He muttered, but she shook her head.

"No, I'll order an Uber or a taxi." She said calmly, placing her hands on his chest and saw him furrow his brow. "Someone might see us. Like right now."

He swallowed loudly and nodded, reminding himself of the promise he'd made to her.

He had promised her that he would protect her.

He let her go and grunted, standing with his hands folded in front of him as if he wanted to cover up what was going on in his trousers. He looked away, licking his lips with his tongue on which he could certainly still taste her saliva and her flesh.

"I'll write you my address in a message. Okay?" He asked matter-of-factly, trying to get back to his role, and she smiled and nodded.

She wanted this.

She wanted to be there for him.

He went back to his work, and she sat on a stool at her table, sinking into her art history notes, trying to concentrate, hearing the swish and clink of glass being cut and broken in the background.

She smiled as one by one her colleagues began to come inside, Ned and Royce approached her curiously, wanting to draw out of her what the final result of their work looked like. They stood behind her as she opened the photo on her phone for them and zoomed in on the details so they could see the whole thing.

"Wow. Amazing. Will you send me that photo? I want to show it off to my mum." Ned grinned and she nodded, proud of how it all looked recognising that they all had done a great job.

She talked to them for a while longer, trying not to laugh seeing how her professor was trying not to glance in their direction with the last of his strong will − she could see that his lips were tightened, that he was jealous, that he was angry that he himself could not come up to her and talk to her so lightly when he wanted nothing else now.

When everyone had gathered, he ordered a meeting in the room with the big table where they had sat during their first classes, which was a kind of meeting room. The professor and Cregan always sat at the top of the table, having a erasable whiteboard next to them on which they wrote things down − their professor now did exactly the same, taking a dry erase marker and starting to write, speaking at the same time.

"The next project we will be tackling will be stained glass windows consisting of five large panels, where the middle one is the largest of all. The client has requested, given that it is a church named after St Michael the Archangel, that all the quatrefoils depict a huge Last Judgement with a representation of Michael the Archangel at the very centre, referring to Hans Memling's painterly depiction.

However, as you know, Memling's work is a triptych, and we have five windows. So I decided that we would simply expand the whole scene, in addition to people entering hell and heaven by introducing figures of saints and famous people considered condemned. It's going to be a very complicated, big project and I assume we'll be working on it for this, and all of next semester. Perhaps longer." He said, writing everything down on the board, and she took notes, knowing exactly the painting he was talking about, imagining with excitement how wonderful it will have to look when they are done.

"There will be plenty of work to do, as well as figures to make, so it will be a chance for everyone to test themselves in this type of painting, including the second year. In the next class, we will gather in the studio and together with Cregan show what painting techniques we use to create faces and bodies and how to avoid basic mistakes. This lecture will be compulsory for second year students only, if a third or fourth year feels like coming, they can do so too." He said in a calm, low voice, scratching his forehead thoughtfully as to whether he had said everything he wanted to talk about, then glanced at her and stammered, completely losing his thread.

"− yes − well, I think that's it, if I remember anything I'll let you know. The project is already prepared by me at 1:1 scale, you just need to cut it up, Cregan will distribute to you the tasks and figures you will work on. We are both available to you if you have any questions." He muttered, embarrassed that he wasn't able to concentrate around her, but she felt nothing but admiration towards him, seeing how committed he was, how much of his time and effort he was putting into making them good specialists and artists, to really educate them.

She thought with sadness that he really was a good teacher.

That if it wasn't for the trauma that was destroying him from the inside, he would have been adored by everyone.

She spent the whole day with the others cutting out and numbering stencils for the glass − Cregan had assigned her as many as four small celestial figures and part of a background, which pleased her a lot, because she felt that she wanted to try more already, to paint more complicated things.

She noted with satisfaction that she and her colleagues had tasks of similar difficulty and felt relieved that what she thought was working.

He didn't single her out or make anything easier for her.

She worked exactly as others did.

When she finished her work she packed up, hurried along with her colleagues to other classes and threw everyone only a quick goodbye, meeting his gaze on the way, smiling involuntarily at him and leaving.

She thought hopefully that this could work.

That if they focused on their job and left the tenderness for the time when they were just alone with each other, then maybe no one would ever know about it.

As soon as she left she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket and saw that she had received a message from him. She typed him in as Adam, so that no one looking over her shoulder would catch on to who she was texting.

She smiled under her breath as she looked at her phone, Ned poked her with his elbow, looking at her amused.

"A date?" He asked provocatively, and she giggled, pushing him away from her with a hooked, collegiate gesture.

"None of your business."

When she returned to her dorm room she immediately ran to take a shower, changed her clothes and packed all the things she needed in her backpack.

She figured that since she wasn't coming to his class she could dress normally, so she put on her light cream dress, white high socks and trainers and quickly found some free Uber on her app. She felt the vibrations again, and after a while she saw his message in her notifications.

She smiled, walking out in front of the building, all warm with emotion, writing him off quickly.

After a while her driver pulled up, she greeted him politely and they set off. He lived fifteen minutes away from her dorm, so it wasn't a long journey. She approached the right entrance staircase and dialled the correct number with a trembling hand.

A moment later, she heard the sound of confirmation and the vibration of the door lock indicating that she could get inside. She literally ran up to his floor and knocked quietly, standing outside his door excitedly.

She heard footsteps and the sound of the lock being turned, then a moment later the door opened and she saw her professor, at once pale and excited, looking at her as if she were some kind of ghost.

He invited her in by simply stepping back and allowing her to enter, closing the door behind her, not saying a word to her. She bent down to untie her trainers and pulled them off, clutching her backpack in her hands, looking at him questioningly, not knowing what to do with herself.

She saw that he was looking at her dress with big eyes and realised that, apart from the evenings during which she was only in her pyjamas, he hadn't seen her in the clothes she usually wore every day. She blinked, frightened that perhaps that woman was wearing dresses, that perhaps it reminded him of something from that event.

"If there's something wrong, I'll change. I took my things." She said quickly, concernedly pointing to her backpack. He furrowed his eyebrows, lifting his gaze to her, looking at her as if he didn't understand her question.

"What? No, no. Come in. Are you hungry? I'm just heating up dinner." He said, scratching his temple with his finger, stepping around her, not even looking at her.

She followed him inside, heading down the corridor to a sizable living room with a kitchenette on the right, the room's windows overlooking a nice panoramic view of the city. She saw that he had the oven on and was just baking duck legs in some sort of sauce.

She felt a burbling in her stomach; she hadn't eaten anything since the morning, and had only popped into her room for a moment. She put her backpack next to his couch, not knowing what to do with it.

"Yeah, I'd love to." She said softly, following him into the kitchen, folding her arms in front of her, embarrassed, looking around, feeling her heart pounding hard.

His flat was full of old furniture and antiques, and she noticed three bookcases standing between the windows filled to the brim with books she was going to look at later. She heard the clatter of plates and saw that he had placed them on the kitchen counter, which also had the function of a two-sided table and bar.

He scratched his chin with his thumb as if he didn't know if he should ask the question.

"Would you like wine with dinner? Or orange juice?" He asked, and she swallowed loudly, recognising that alcohol could only harm her now and tangle her tongue. She sat down opposite him in a high chair, adjusting her dress.

"I'll have a juice, please." She said warmly, smiling, and he nodded, tense, pulling a carton of orange juice from the cupboard.

She wondered if he had ever invited a woman here.

Had he invited anyone here.

She was invading his space at his request but he clearly didn't know how he felt about it himself.

She decided to broach the subject that seemed safest to her and thought it would loosen him up.

"I'm looking forward to the workshop tomorrow. I really want to finally be able to paint figures, I've been waiting for it a lot." She said sincerely, looking at his reaction. He glanced at her curiously and hummed under his breath, pouring her juice into a glass.

"Well, it can be frustrating at first and the results can be unsatisfactory, but it's a matter of practice and using the tools properly." He said calmly, looking at her again, and she nodded.

He lowered his gaze, looking away from her again, acknowledging that the meat was ready. When he opened the oven hot steam flew out of it, so she walked over to help him.

They put food on each other's plates and started to eat in silence.

She tried not to smile or laugh seeing how tense he was, how much he was going through this knowing that he didn't find it funny, but she couldn't help thinking that they really were acting like embarrassed teenagers.

"Where am I going to sleep?" She asked suddenly between one bite and the other, and he almost choked, looking at her in shock, tightening his lips, thinking hard about what he should answer.

"…it's up to you. I can sleep on the couch." He said cautiously after a moment's thought, as if he was afraid to say what he'd been thinking about all along, and what was surely in both of their minds.

"What if I don't want you to sleep on the couch?" She asked quietly, putting down her fork − he reached involuntarily for his wine glass to take a loud sip from it, trying to give himself more time to react.

He didn't answer but just stared at her and it was the most intense gaze she had ever seen in her life. He was biting his lower lip, breathing anxiously, as if he realised that they were both pretending to play a game of politeness by feigning a simple casual meeting.

She thought for sure he had contrived that afterwards they would act like they were watching something or talking about anything, and by complete coincidence his mouth would suddenly be on hers and his hand in her underwear, and then he would accidentally bring her to fulfilment without listening to what the characters in the show he had turned on were saying.

She saw it in the look in his eyes and decided to take pity on him.

Over him and over herself.

"Will you show me your bedroom?" She asked softly, lightly, as if asking him to show her his living room or office, nothing obliging. His pupil dilated and he took a deep breath, his hand outstretched on the tabletop clenched into a fist.

"Are you sure you want this?" He asked lowly, looking at her all the time − she felt a powerful shudder and pulsation between her thighs at his question, dark, ambiguous, final.

She nodded, and he swallowed loudly, glancing at the whole of her silhouette which he could see over the table before he hummed and stood up, waiting for her to follow him.

She moved with him through the corridor to one of the closed rooms. He stepped inside and switched on a lamp − the warm light illuminated a large double bed with dark, fresh linen, a night table and a huge black wardrobe with a mirror in one of the sliding doors, standing on the opposite side against the wall.

She swallowed quietly, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, meeting his gaze. He stood a few steps away from her, watching her every move.

He watched her as, with a quiet, unhurried step, she approached his bed and lay down on his bedding, smelling the pleasant scent of washing powder. She lay on her stomach, not looking at him, cuddling her cheek into one of his pillows, looking at the lamp standing on the small table beside him.

She heard him move and came closer, felt the mattress bend soundlessly under his weight. She shuddered and drew in a loud breath as she felt him lift the material of her dress, exposing her buttocks. She squeezed her eyes shut and sighed quietly as his large hand carefully touched one of them, tracing his fingers over her warm skin.

She felt him move further away after a moment, placing his hands on either side of her head, one of them gently taking her hair, and after a moment his warm lips were on her neck, placing a soft, wet kiss on her skin.

She clasped her hands together on the bedclothes when she felt one of his hands slip under her stomach, then he pressed her with his body from above so that she could not move − she felt his hard manhood hidden in his trousers impatiently pulsate as he felt her naked buttocks beneath him.

Involuntarily her breathing quickened, the space between her thighs clenched desperately as his fingers slid lower under her belly, pulling up the material of her dress, finally finding what he wanted under her underwear.

He shushed her when she moaned softly, his fingers with sure, steady movements spreading her wetness around her puffy clit, barely teasing it, his lips rising to her cheek, his breathing shuddering and uneven.

"− have you been this wet since you came in here? − or maybe since this morning? −" He hummed, trailing his lips over her soft skin − she involuntarily rubbed her buttocks against his manhood, licking her lips.

"− it's your fault, Professor −" She mumbled out with difficulty, feeling arousal and a shudder at the use of his academic title in such a situation, in such a context. She heard him groan in surprise, his length rubbing against her buttocks, impatient and swollen.

"− mine? − because I take care of my student's needs like any good Professor in my position? −" He asked tauntingly, enveloping her ear with his warm breath, his words resounding like a murmur.

She squeezed her eyes shut, hearing with shame that what he was saying was making his movements of his fingers accompanied by an increasingly loud click of her moisture, involuntarily she began to quietly moan and pant, clasping her hands on his pillow.

They both sighed quietly as she opened her legs slightly, making it easier for his fingers to move wider, the tips of his fingers digging into her sensitive, slick folds.

"− I need this − please −" She mumbled out, moaning along with him, his hips moving with her, pressing his manhood between her buttocks − she could feel how hard he was, that his control over what was happening had completely relaxed him.

"− I know −" He breathed out and she gasped in surprise, feeling a powerful shiver of pleasure as the tip of his finger slid between her fleshy, throbbing walls.

"− shhh −" He hushed her, not letting her move even though she needed it so badly, needed to feel him deeper, harder.

"− please − ah − please − please −" She mewled, no longer able to form any meaningful sentences, feeling like she was going mad with arousal, her core throbbing all over in painful tension and anticipation.

"− please, what? − don't be disrespectful, title me properly −" He grunted warningly, biting her skin lightly, his finger barely teasing her entrance, sliding in and out, massaging her around her clit again, driving her insane.

"− please, Professor − please, I've been waiting for this all day −" She confessed with shame, and he chuckled at her words, finally sliding his finger all the way inside her hot core, panting along with her. She cried out loudly, pressing her face against the pillow, feeling that she was on the verge of orgasm.

"− soaking wet for her Professor − fuck − you're a very dedicated student, aren't you? −" He whispered into her ear, with a quick, sure movement sliding his finger in and out of her, the loud click of her sticky moisture accompanied his every move, he deliberately pressed the top wall above her entrance, searching for her hidden spot.

"− yes − God − yes, yes, please! −" She cried out when he finally found what he was looking for − he groaned loudly when he felt her come all over his hand after squeezing this spot a few times, panting all over, squeezing him from all sides, her moisture beginning to run down over his fingers.

"− fuck − what a little mess you are −" He purred, kissing her cheek tenderly, fucking her with his fingers through her peak, ignoring her moans from overstimulation.

"− don't move − okay? −" He asked, panting loudly, himself on the brink of orgasm, and she nodded, seeing or hearing very little, stunned by the pleasure her fulfilment gave her.

She heard him rise up on his knees, unbuttoning his trousers, jerking himself off with quick, sure strokes, moaning helplessly. She swallowed loudly, ashamed of what she was thinking about, what she wanted.

She wanted to give him the opportunity to break through, to experience her closeness.

"Can I kiss you there?" She asked quietly, in a trembling uncertain voice, and heard him freeze suddenly, breathing unevenly, not believing what he was hearing.

"What?"

"You could lie on your back and massage yourself, and I would kiss you there. I wouldn't touch you with my hands, just my lips and tongue. I've never done that before, so it would be our first time." She whispered, not daring to look at him, fiddling with the fabric of the pillow on which her head just lay.

She heard him swallow loudly, shocked.

"− I − God − I don't know − I wouldn't want to hurt you − force you to do things like that, humiliate you −" He muttered obviously horrified by this vision, and she shook her head quickly feeling her heart pounding hard.

"− I want to try it − I'll tell you if it feels uncomfortable and you can do exactly the same − you don't feel bad when I kiss you, just when I touch you with my hands − I thought maybe this is our way to your fulfilment together −" She explained and a long silence full of tension answered her.

"−… will you tell me if there is something wrong? −" He asked in a trembling voice and she nodded quickly.

He swallowed loudly and laid down on his back beside her, looking at her terrified, his trousers unbuttoned but he hid his manhood in his boxers, ashamed. He stared at her frozen, seeing her rise slowly and shift on her knees, laying on her stomach between his thighs, not even touching him.

She lifted her feet, wiggling her calves in a light gesture of anticipation, resting on her elbows, looking at him with warm, understanding eyes.

"So?" She asked softly, seeing that he was terrified because of many things at once − she watched him carefully and saw no sign of a panic attack so far.

He licked his lips in a nervous gesture, looking at her helplessly, wanting this and fearing another disappointment.

"If it goes wrong − what do I say?" He asked in a weak, trembling voice, breathing unevenly. She looked at him with understanding, knowing that she would have to be very careful and very slow with any movements or gestures.

"− say slower if you feel it's right but things are happening too fast, or faster if it's too slow. If you feel bad say stop and I'll pull away immediately −" She said what she thought made the most sense, wanting him to still have a total sense of control.

"− and if I − you know −" He muttered, and she pressed her lips together at the thought that he was afraid he'd cum inside her mouth.

"− well − Eve was the first to taste the forbidden fruit, wasn't she? −" She asked softly and he swallowed loudly, looking down at her with big eyes − she saw his manhood pulsed hard under the black material of his boxers. She lifted her gaze to him, seeing that he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

"− touch yourself as you always do and just say if what I'm going to do makes you uncomfortable − remember this is time for you and your pleasure −" She assured him with warmth in her voice, something in her words calmed him because he let out a loud breath.

He tilted his head back, closing his eyes, his trembling hand went under the material of his boxers, pushing them back a little, squeezing firmly on what was under them.

She pressed her lips together seeing that God did not skimp on his size, his length pulsed all over, swollen and hard − she could see veins showing through from under his skin, the tip of it pink and sticky from his own moisture.

She heard him sigh as he began to stroke himself, clearly like her waiting all day to relieve himself. He groaned and gasped as she leaned towards him and merely brushed his long manhood with her lips.

She lifted her gaze to his face and saw that he was looking at her aroused and surprised, not stopping to massage himself, apparently amazed that it was pleasant after all.

Encouraged by the lack of expression of discomfort or pain on his face, she leaned in again, this time adding the tip of her tongue to her lips and ran it upwards, teasing him − he smelled fresh and soapy, she thought he had showered before she came.

"− fuck −" He muttered, tilting his head back, panting heavily, jerking himself with increasing speed.

She kissed him more and more confidently, wanting to prepare him for what she was about to do, rising higher and higher until she reached the very tip of him.

As she parted her mouth and slid the fat head of his cock between her lips, teasing him with the tip of her tongue, she heard him gasp loudly, an involuntary movement of her hips sliding it deeper into her throat.

"− oh, God − please −" He mumbled out with increasingly ragged, loud breaths, his free hand went to her hair, holding her close. She felt her walls clench around nothing from his reaction, her heart pounding like mad.

He was enjoying this.

Encouraged by his reactions and the fact that she herself felt no discomfort, she slipped it deep into her mouth and began to suck his cock with a loud click of her saliva as, at the same time, his hand massaged it with quick, sure movements at the base.

"− faster − ah, fuck, squeeze me here −" He exhaled, gripping her hand in his, clenching it with his fingers where her mouth couldn't reach. She began to stroke him, squeezing him with firm, light movements − he sobbed loudly, pulsing hard in her mouth, the thrusts of his hips pushing his cock deep into her throat, making her gag.

"− forgive me − fuck, 'm gonna cum −" He mumbled out with difficulty and groaned loudly in relief. She felt something salty, viscous and sticky spill into her mouth and swallowed it with difficulty, breathing loudly through her nose as she felt his manhood pulsing hard and quivering between her lips, delicate and hypersensitive.

"− fuck − fuck, baby − oh my God −" He panted quietly, lying with his head tilted back, his lips parted, his eyes closed in blissful relief from pleasure.

His hand let go of hers so she immediately took it from his manhood and slid him out of her mouth, not wanting to overdo it, knowing that what had happened was groundbreaking for both of them.

He opened his eyes lazily, looking down at her at last, licking his lips dried from exertion.

"− you are indeed my revelation −" He whispered and smiled shyly, boyishly, happy.

It had worked.

He grasped the material of her dress with his hand and drew her to him, embracing her on with his arms − she snuggled into his chest, placing her hands where he let her.

"Are you okay?" He whispered and she nodded quickly, snuggling closer to him, listening to the rapid beat of his heart as he played with her hair between his fingers, stroking her head.

"− move in with me −" He whispered, and she froze, not believing he had said it.

They had been together, if she could even call it that, for three days, and he was propositioning her to move in with him.

"− I know it's too soon, I know, but − yesterday when I was lying here without you − I don't know − I'm not sure I'll ever be able to sleep peacefully without you by my side again − I have one room that is my gym, but it could be yours −" He spoke quickly, clearly embarrassed by his own proposal, afraid of what she would respond to it.

She swallowed loudly, thinking strenuously.

"− I think I wouldn't want to give up my room for now − however, if you want, I can keep some of my things at your place and come to you for the night −" She said warmly, glancing at his reaction. He pressed his lips together and nodded, disappointed and ashamed at his desperation.

"− I'm yours −" She whispered, kissing his jaw softly, and he hummed under his breath, stroking her head and back tenderly.

"− so − will you come tomorrow too? −" He asked uncertainly, and she smiled under her breath.

"Yes."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess

[tarotwithdanise]

10 reasons why you should love yourself

༉ ‧ ₊ ˚ how to choose a pile? ✧ . ˚

꒰⠀from left to right ; intuitively choose the pile your mind, heart and soul desire for. if you are having trouble choosing the right pile for you, here’s some tips you can do ; (1) take a deep breath (2) close your eyes (3) ask guidance from your guides (4) finally open your eyes and you can choose the right pile for you by the guidance you ask from your guides. if you are still having trouble by choosing the right pile for you let me know because i am willing to help and guide you.

1 - 2 - 3

4 - 5 - 6

rules, disclaimer and notes ☆

1. Just a quick disclaimer : This reading was made for entertainment purposes only. this is obviously a general reading so takes what resonates and leave when it doesn’t, you don’t need to force your energy to read this and leave such a bad comment just to say it doesn’t resonates with you at all because the answer is very obvious! i don’t own any these pictures i collected them from pinterest so credits to the rightful owners.

2. Please ignore any grammatical errors on my reading since english is not my first language, thank you for understanding!

3. Third to the last one, if you are not an avid fan of this kind of readings and not totally 100% agree about the outcome of this pac please just ignore this post and don’t engaged anymore, this pac can contains harsh, hurtful comments about you or the other person that can trigger you if possible, so kindly read at your own risk and take how it’ll resonates.

4. Lastly, be happy and enjoy reading my works — feedbacks, comments, likes, reblogs and follows are really appreciated by the reader. (that’s me, lol :3)

for tips, donation, masterlist and paid readings ☆

TIPS JAR DONATION BOX

MASTERLIST PAID READING SERVICES

[ ♡ ] check out my second account @danisetarot.

SOURCE AND CREDITABLE : All of the pictures are collected and downloaded from pinterest , I don’t own any of them but credits goes to the rightful owners however edits and reading itself goes and belong to yours truly. I use the editor tools canva and ibispaint for the header and divider.

Pile one

You don't take bullsh*t from others.

Your opinion is way more matters for you rather than other people opinion of you now.

You are good at dancing.

You are highly connected to divine and spiritual realm.

You have a strong fighting spirit.

Cutting people off for you is like as if you were cutting a paper pad. Too easy.

You've got a brightest smile and pretty hands.

You prefer few friends rather than a bunch of friends who are just fake and plastic. Quality over quantity.

You always want to grow and learn from your mistakes.

You are brutally honest person.

Thank you so much for reading, let me know your thoughts, feedbacks as well tipping and reblogs is well appreciated !! ♡

࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚ 𝓞 ops you already reached the end. ࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚

Pile two

You are good with arts, crafting, sewing, music or painting.

You are unique, feels like a weirdo from everyone else. (aquarius?)

You prefer old fashion rather than to keep up with the trends.

You have a peaceful and positive mindset.

You have a nice thighs.

You are passionate and hardworking about your work.

You always stay focus at your project, seems like you are perfectionist individual.

You are a great listener and advisor, probably someone who is there for everyone. A friend that can rely on with.

You are good at reading and observing people.

You are quite person but d*adly scary.

Thank you so much for reading, let me know your thoughts, feedbacks as well tipping and reblogs is well appreciated !! ♡

࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚ 𝓞 ops you already reached the end. ࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚

Pile three

You love taking care of yourself, you prepare for your daily healthy foods and keep yourself hydrated everytime.

You are good at guiding other's, someone who can be a teacher, tarot reader or a leader itself.

You have a high respect for people especially for your parents.

Many people love you online or in real life.

You are grateful that God give and provide your everyday life. You are thankful that God has given you another chance to live again, to prove and improve yourself.

You love the sound of rain while reading your favorite book.

You like reading newspapers even though through online sites and watching documentaries.

The fears you are fearing before, you can deal with them now.

You are creative human, there's something new up and something incredible happening to your mind 24/7.

You finally learn how to say ‘no’ with those things and someone that you think won't serve you. You rather be hated for who you truly are rather than to be someone else who faked everything.

Thank you so much for reading, let me know your thoughts, feedbacks as well tipping and reblogs is well appreciated !! ♡

࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚ 𝓞 ops you already reached the end. ࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚

Pile four

You are soft-hearted individual.

You have a sexy body.

You have this mindset - it's okay to cry then start to fight again for tomorrow and for your future.

You are determined and doesn't give up easily.

You know how to pampered yourself when you have money.

Even though you doesn't seems see yourself as a good leader atleast you always perceived yourself as great team player.

You know how to handle and organize your own time and things.

You think your ship doesn't yet come to the shore and so, you knew there's a lot of lessons for you to uncover in this lifetime.

You are someone who know themselves well, someone who knew that they have strengths, weakness, positive and negative traits about themselves. In short, you accept your own flaws.

You have a strong faith.

Thank you so much for reading, let me know your thoughts, feedbacks as well tipping and reblogs is well appreciated !! ♡

࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚ 𝓞 ops you already reached the end. ࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚

Pile five

You are lucky and grateful about your life and about yourself.

You are kind to yourself and to others.

You are lovable individual, partner, son/daughter and best friend.

Type of person is not easy to get fooled and scammed.

You know how to discipline yourself about something or someone.

You can deal with your personal issues alone without the help of others. Maybe sometimes when you badly needed it.

You have this quote ‘loving yourself first before loving others’.

You know how to have fun and you know how to joke around with other people. You have a jolly and positive energy.

You have a perfect eyebrows?like even though you don't casually wear brows pencil.

You only have you in this world and you have your family.

Thank you so much for reading, let me know your thoughts, feedbacks as well tipping and reblogs is well appreciated !! ♡

࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚ 𝓞 ops you already reached the end. ࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚

Pile six

You have unpredictable nature, that may lots of people wonder what were you thinking.

You are very secretive and mysterious individual.

You look good in every outfits and styles you wear.

You know how to forgive and forget others. But you don't give chances.

You have a great story and will, to share with people.

You have a beautiful and graceful ; soul, body and mind.

You know how to celebrate your own victory. You are happy in small things.

You are generous individual.

You usually have a good music and artist taste.

You know how to defend yourself in a bad situation.

Thank you so much for reading, let me know your thoughts, feedbacks as well tipping and reblogs is well appreciated !! ♡

࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚ 𝓞 ops you already reached the end. ࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚

© daninixx ── all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, alter, or repost my work.

[evans23]

The first time you were enough

Pairing : Snape x Reader OC

Summary : Like him you were there to serve the purpose of others. Like him you were distraught over by your past and your aimless future. Like him you needed to be loved. And finally you found each other.

Tag(s)/Warning(s) : Angst. Depression. Not an easy past. A beacon of love in the darkness.

A/N : Hello dear 😁 this his my very first fanfiction. I’ve already written stories but always original stories with originals characters so please be indulgent. Also, English is not my mother tongue so feel free to correct my grammar or my misspelling, I swear I won’t hold grudges as I wish to improve my skills language (but please still be kind, I have a soft little heart 😂).

It was a stormy night. The thunder reasoned all around the house, you could see the flashlight hitting the floor across the window.

You hated that kind of weather. That reminded you of the war. And also of your childhood when you were afraid and no one was there to comfort you. Your mother told you to not be a coward and go to sleep. Your father just didn't care. Eventually, you grew up by shutting yourself up, by bottling up your feelings, by thinking you were unworthy and your sensitiveness a shortage you have to conceal.

After your years at Beauxbatons, you fled away to a not-so-secret school in Denmark to learn to master your potion skills but above all to learn the art of dark magic. The Art of Demonic Cultivation wasn't forbidden there and you find a master in Elijah, a powerful wizard and a Master of the Demonic Cultivation. He saw through your soul that you were a fragile little thing with a lot of insecurities. You were leaving with the need to make your parents and your teacher proud, to be loved by everybody because since you were a child, everybody let you believe that you could only be valid if you were enough. Except you were never enough. Never enough smart, never having enough good grades, never enough pretty, never enough…

And so, the wizard took you under his wing but as a matter of course, it wasn't disinterested. He quickly realized you were a skillful legilimens. This compensated for your mediocrity in occlumency. Anyway, whoever would have tried to read your mind would have lost himself in a maze of uninterrupted thinking. Your brain never took a break, making it difficult for even the more experienced occlumens to read your open mind. On the other hand, you have no trouble reading the mind of anybody just by one glance. You didn't even need your wand for that.

This is how you met him the first time. If Elijah wanted to mold you to meet his expectations, it's finally another wizard who took advantage of your talents.

Dumbledore. He came during a stormy night like this one in the lugubrious castle that was serving as a school in the middle of nowhere in the Scandinavian country that you learned to like. He needed a favor. It was not a request. Elijah and his relatives owed him this favor. And without a blink, he gets rid of you for the profit of another wizard.

You can't really remember if you were hurt in the first place. In fact, you were used to never gain the favor of anybody. Although Dumbledore was kind to you, you didn't buy his kindness. You knew he wanted something from you. You were fine with that. After all, you had nowhere to go except for your parents' house. In reality, they weren't bad people. They were muggles, both of them and if they were absolutely fascinated by your magic, they never understood you and who you really were. Anyhow, you weren't enough.

You will never forget the first time Dumbledore introduced you to him. Severus. It was a Thursday. You had occupied yourself in the library, helping Mrs Pince around even if you had the feeling that you were annoying her more than anything but you couldn’t help. You were aimless and you couldn’t bear another day of wandering around, enduring the not discreet glances of the students even less the ones who stared at you unabashedly.

Dumbledore had arrived, followed by a tall, dark and absolutely grumpy man all dressed in black. By definition, he wasn’t really handsome. Pale, a sallow complexion and crouched teeth. Not that yours were perfect, the teeth of your lower jaw were crouched too. Yes, he wasn’t an Apollo and yet, you were instantly captivated by him. He wasn’t handsome, nevertheless he was alluring. In one stare, you were bewitched. Fortunately, all these years of keeping you shut from the world around you permitted you to stay totally stoic, while he seemed totally unfazed by you. By everything. Probably he was able to conceal his feelings as easily as you, you thought.

You knew you were right when Dumbledore explained to you that he wanted Severus to read your mind. Of course, he did it easily but he wasn’t able to see one of your memories in his entirety. Only some scraps here and there, nothing enough to really comprehend who you were. He couldn’t even say if you were happy or depressed, if you have had a happy childhood, who were your friends or if you had some. For the first time, Severus was destabilised by another human being.

“I would like you to try,” asked you Dumbledore.

You wanted to pass on this game but you knew you were there for a purpose even if you didn’t know which one. At this time, you were totally oblivious of the war coming. Harry Potter was still a young child and if you had heard about Voldemort, it was just a souvenir now.

But no matter your reluctance, you obliged the Headmaster but not before asking Severus if he agreed to you intruding his mind.

Taken off guard, he nodded once and just due to that brief gesture, by that short moment where his eyes flickered at your questions, you had understood how much the both were more similar than once could think.

You met his eyes and in one moment, as easily as it was for one to lace up its shoes, you were in his mind. He tried very hard to repel your invasion and for the first time, you found it challenging but you were able to push back his walls. You had to admit that he was the best occlumens you had ever met, but despite his talent, and even if it wasn’t without difficulties, you finally passed over his fences.

Out of kindness and also because you hated intruding on the only privacy a human could have, you didn’t really try to catch any of his memories. You just proved that you were able to read his mind.

It never occurred to you that Severus would have been impressed by your bestowal but he was. It was the first time someone defeated him in one of his most impressive talents. He was also grateful that you didn’t intrude him as far as watching his souvenirs. He was afraid of you snicking around his worst moments but you didn’t. You just had seen his house, his almost empty and filthy room when he was just a kid, a werewolf, Lucius Malfoy and a Lily. Not enough to grasp who he was. Nothing really compromising.

And this is how your friendship began. Dumbledore didn’t expect that. Not that you were arm in arm and all smiling but during his free time, Severus could be indulging himself with your company. You weren’t one to talk about the sun and the rain. You could stay silent for hours, watching him brew some potions or experiment a spell of his own. Because you had learnt a lot about the Demonic Culture and the Dark Art, you were capable of helping him to improve a spell or even a brew. And this is how your agreeable kindness and your desire to be, if not loved at least appreciated, enforce itself. And Severus, who for the first time had someone he considered as his equal was content to have what was the closer to him of a friend.

The more time passes, the more you confided to him. Your insecurities, how people have always taken advantage of you before throwing you away like Elijah and how you weren’t duped by the intentions of Dumbledore towards you. Snape softened more and more, igniting in him a feeling he had not feel for a very long time. But he couldn’t think of you like that because contrary to you, he knew what was to happen.

He kept his resolve to not show you anything more than a little kindness to not give you any hope until one Halloween night. He was drunk and he was crying. You caught him in the forbidden section of the library, tears shredding freely on his cheeks. At first, you didn’t know what to do. You never ever witnessed anything else than stoicism and temperance from the man who was now on his knees, not really himself.

You helped him up and brought him back to his quarter. As you were about to leave, he grabs your hand.

“Stay,” he whispered.

You agreed without even thinking and you let him cry on your shoulder without exchanging a word, prying that he would not shut you out the next morning or worse, put an end to that kind of friendship of yours just because he had let you see him in his most vulnerable state.

Your fears were wiped out the next morning. He was ashamed of course, but eventually, he told you everything. You didn’t ask, never you would have done that, but despite your attempt to stay discreet about last night, he felt as if he owed you an explanation. After all, you told him everything about anything each time the two of you felt talkative. He knew so much about you and conversely, you knew so little of him. And then, you passed the night watching over him. So he told you about the marauders, about Lily, the “mudblood” incident and the mark on his arm. He told you not too much about his sad childhood but enough to you understand why he once felt the need to join a powerful congregation or at least it was what he thought back at this time. He told you about the death of Lily as well as why you were there. He didn’t hide anything about the price he was paying to have wanted to save the only woman he ever loved.

“At least before…” he interrupted himself just in time.

But of course, you had to hear it.

“Before what ?” you asked in a whisper.

Severus stated intensively at you and you find yourself sinking into his onyx sight.

“Before you.” he blurted out not louder than was your question.

It was at this precise moment that you realised that you felt something stronger than a simple friendship for him. You were totally and irremediably in love with Severus. However, because of your lack of confidence and because you weren’t enough, you weren't really sure that it was what he was meaning.

“[Y/N] ?” he asked precautionary as if afraid to make you flee away as the shy and fragile little dove that you were.

In one stride he was in front of you. Putting his hand on your cheek, he forced you to look at him.

“I am not an easy man. And I don’t know how to love someone. I will hurt you, it’s a certainty.”

“I am not really gifted in the matters of the heart.”

“We could figure it out together,” he suggested with and hopeful look.

You agreed by nodding, eyes closed as your anxiety and the little voice that accompanied it invaded your whole being.

“[Y/N], I needn’t use the legilimency to know what is in your mind right now.

You opened your watery eyes, fearful to see the rejection but Severus wasn’t keen to the deceit. Not with you. Never.

“I never thought I was worth being loved.,” you said while holding back your tears.

“You are. You complete me. And to me, you are more than enough. You are everything.”

You fell into his embrace and for the first time, you felt that you were enough.

[shixhiro]

Tokito Muichiro x FEM reader !!

Series !!?!

Querencia

(n.) a place from which one's strength is drawn, where one feels at home; the place where you are your most authentic self

• Querencia is a metaphysical concept in the Spanish language. The term comes from the Spanish verb "querer," which means to want, to desire, and to love.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ in which two teenagers who hate one another and one's who suffer with problems will slowly fall for one another

Warnings? !:

This book will have mentions of the following below:

Abuse

Alcohol

Drugs

Smoking

Suicide

Self loathing

SA

And maybe other sensitive topics

If you are not comfortable with any of that this book might not be your cup of tea.

Before you go on, yes I am aware that tokito muichiro is a 14 year old boy so in this fic he will be aged up to the age of 17-16 but keep in mind they will not be any smut because I will not be comfortable of writing anything like that. There will be kissing, cuddling, flirting, dirty jokes and sexual tension but it will not escalate any further. Tokito Muichiro is a canon minor character so I will not be comfortable writing it obviously.

I planned this book with a friend @pasteriies so I will not be taking all credits for this fan fiction. I got inspired to do this fic by an author who I don't remember their tag but I was inspired by their book heartache. It's another tokito muichiro fan fiction I recommend to read but I assure you, my story will not have anything similar to theirs, at least I don't think so, maybe the similar in the dark theme but nothing else.

Female reader unfortunately, sorry to the male readers or nonbinary's and obviously modern au !!

Introducing our characters !!

L/N Y/N

The main female lead !!

Main love interest !!

Tokito Muichiro

The main male lead !!

Main love interest !!

My Original Characters !

(Mainly those who play a main role in the story. My friend helped me out so cr. m1zyuu)

Himari

One of Y/n's closest friends

Is known to be the sunshine of the group

Ichimura Haruka

One of Y/n's closest friends

The mother of the whole friend group

Aoyama Yuya

One of Y/n's closest friends

Known to be the star and cheerful one in the group

Lady Koshimizu

An old woman who sits at the park everyday for who knows what

People call her crazy for the things she says

Other Characters !!

Tokito Yuichiro

Twin brother of Tokito Muichiro

Kocho Shinobu

Homeroom teacher

Teaches art and math and other subjects

Kamado Tanjiro

A friend to Tokito Muichiro

Kamado Nezuko

A friend to L/n Y/n

Kocho Kanae

School guidance counselor!

Kanroji Mitsuri

English Language teacher

Kyojuro Rengoku

Japanese Language teacher

Iguro Obanai

Chemistry, Physics and AP Math teacher

Uzui Tengen

Physical Education teacher !!

Tomioka Giyu

Discipline teacher

Shinazugawa Sanemi

Engineering or Design and Technology teacher

And so on !!

I do not own any of the characters here, they all belong to Koyoharu Gotouge except for my original characters above and soon to come and y/n's personality trait.

I am still trying to improve my english so my use of vocabulary and grammar will not be advanced nor perfect as english is not my native tongue and it isn't my first language so please bare with me here. I promise you my English isn't bad it just needs a little reshaping

I do not tolerate plagiarism, this fic will be written in my tumblr account _shixhiro_ and my Wattpad account. If I see any of my fics being used in other platforms or other users you will be blocked but I don't mind taking inspirations just like I did with mine. I hope the author of the book I was inspired by doesn't mind that I was inspired to write a book of muichiro because of them. I assure you once more I was merely inspired and I will not be taking any of what you've written in your book !!

Reblogs appreciated !!

If you prefer to read it on Wattpad here is the link :

Taglist: (none yet)

[stripedstarsblueflags]

i feel so high school (au) pt 2. charlos

anyway here are some high school aus for my fav f1 rpf ships and an exploration of who knows how to ball, and who knows aristotle

(based on american high school setups cause of the song)

theatre kid!charles/stage crew!carlos: probably goes without saying but carlos knows how to ball, charles knows aristotle (though maybe not in the traditional sense). so here we’ll have carlos as the stereotypical jock, plays like four sports and is the team captain in all of them, lowkey giving frat boy energy and is honestly the only reason the school has won a game in the last four years. he’s probably known for being the only guy who’s both like a jacked up gym-is-life bro and also an utter gentleman, he’s always the one holding open doors and giving up his seat. and he’s usually pretty quiet/disengaged but if anyone disrespects a female teacher you know for a fact he’s death staring them into a puddle until it stops. the only fight he’s ever gotten into was with a guy who was harassing a girl at a dance and wouldn’t let her go when she tried to pull away.

charles is like the school heartbreaker, because he can never seem to make a relationship work no matter how many times he tries… and it seems like he’s a player and he’s got a different girl every week which isn’t entirely false but he also just doesn’t know how to say no to anyone which is the root of the problem. anyway so yeah i’m making charles a theatre kid, like one who can fit pretty much any role but he prefers the classics (he’s the kind of guy who knows a shakespeare quote for pretty much any situation). he usually gets cast as the love interest whether he wants the role or not but he does get a lot of stage time which he’s happy with. he’s way more comfortable on stage than when he’s actually with people, and his looks get him pretty far but in reality he’s just really awkward and kind of shy and gets flustered so easily.

carlos is on stage crew because he needed to fill the “arts/language” requirement to graduate and stage crew counted as performing arts even though it’s all behind the scenes. so he’s there almost every day, spending more and more time as the shows approach helping build sets and man the ropes and (insert lots of other cool and technical stage crew activities here). so even they know of each other this is the first time their paths really cross and they meet.

this is going to be the most cliche romance ever. charles having breathless pearl-clutching moments of gay panic when carlos gets paint all over his shirt and stops to take it off, or lifts giant sandbags or ladders or planks around like they don’t weigh anything. except ofc charles is way too shy to say anything or make any kind of initiative move so he just finds excuses to stay longer after rehearsals, maybe he starts helping paint the sets/designs cause he’s not bad at visual arts (emphasis on alternate in this alternative universe). bonus if he makes friends with one of the stage crew girls and all of the sudden he’s got a new handler (“look around twink! everything in this office is either dead or dying even the therapy dog killed itself”) who is constantly rolling her eyes at BOTH of their inability to take a hint

this would be the kind of hc that involves dressing rooms and unexpected moments behind curtains etc.