#mr student body president

[kippsquared]

intro

hello hello there!

uhh- introductionary post... right, not sure what write here.

I just made this Tumblr to post about my progress when it comes to writing fanfic and make new friends. If you want to read my work, I post on ao3 (English) and Wattpad (only Dutch).

honestly, all you really need to know is that I have tons of drafts and ideas for new one-shot fanfics after I took a bit of break this summer. I didn't mean to, but my routine was just all over the place and I couldn't focus on writing one fic at the time.

fandoms I like to write about:

nachtwacht

de 3 biggetjes

julie and the phantoms

knight squad

mr student body president

I tend to write about Nachtwacht the most, but after binging Julie and the Phantoms several times this summer I have tons of ideas to write about that too.

[axorcia]

Mr. Student Body President my beloved i wish they kept going with the series

it was actually very funny imo interesting to watch

[jlheon]

𝓜𝐒. & 𝐌𝐑. 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓 ୨୧ 𝐏𝐒𝐇

(𝓹airing) — psh x fmr ꣑୧ 𝓯renemies to lovers ; fluff, profanity, & lots of kissing (𝔀ordcount) one-thousand five-hundred forty 𝓹eng's note. these pics. #iWantThat 𝓫ookshelf

𝓼ynopsis. seeing your ex in public leads to hiding in a small photobooth with your annoying student council vice president park sunghoon

“you’re late,” sunghoon says in the most agitating voice possible as you walk through the classroom door.

“i wouldn’t be late if you did your job,” you huff, walking right up to the desk he sat at and dropping the bags of decorations you had picked up from the party supplies store.

“hey! i said i would pick those up!” he says annoyed, sifting through everything you brought.

“mrs. kim said we needed them by today! why the fuck were you just sitting around?” 

“geez, loosen up,” the boy gets up from his seat, his tall body looming over yours. “let’s just go decorate the gym.”

the two of you split up the bags of party supplies and headed towards the gym where the rest of the council and student volunteers were waiting. 

setting up for the fundraiser was easy until you and sunghoon started yelling at each other over which color streamers should be used over the doorway. 

jake had to drag you away by the shoulders to come to help him with the balloons. sunghoon felt a bitter taste when he saw jake with his arm around your shoulder but decided to ignore it. 

“hoon,” jungwon calls out. “we’re out of balloons!”

“that’s why i should have bought the decorations…” sunghoon mutters under his breath before walking up to where you and jake were giggling. 

sunghoon walks up behind you and places a hand on your shoulder. “we have to go back to the store.” he whispers in your ear. 

you freeze at his touch but nod and say goodbye to jake. he lets go of you and the two of you walk out the exit leading to the parking lot.

the two of you get into sunghoon’s car and he drives off to the mall. 

there’s an awkward silence between the both of you, which you can’t decide if you like bantering with him over it. there’s so much tension due to sunghoon’s lingering touch from earlier.

once inside the mall, you quietly walked side by side into the automatic doors. 

only a few feet from the party supplies stores you halt. spotting your ex-boyfriend and old friend seemingly on a date.

“sunghoon,” you whisper, tapping on his shoulder. “do you see what i see?”

he rolls his eyes at you finally breaking the silence but then looks up to see for himself. once he does that the two seem to have had the same idea, making eye contact with the other.

“oh shit they saw us,” he panics, grabbing your hand and pulling you into the photo booth you were conveniently standing next to.   

the photo booth is small. way too small. sunghoon is already sitting as you uncomfortably sit on the ledge with your legs peeking out from the curtain. 

“get up,” he instructs. 

“what?” you raise an eyebrow. “i’m not letting them see me again! especially not with you!”

“i meant like come here,” sunghoon grabs you and settles you on his lap, so the both of you fit into the small space.

“oh my god, what if they come over here!” you panic resting your hands on his shoulders. “this is bad! especially since i’m with you of all people-”

“with me?” sunghoon questions. 

“well, like when we were dating, he always thought you had a crush on me, which isn’t impossible! i had to keep reassuring him but he never believed me! like me and you are barely even friends-” you ramble, balling sunghoon’s shirt in your fists as you freak out. 

“woah, calm down,” he tells you, prying your hands from his uniform so you don’t wrinkle it. “it’s not like they’ll come to talk to us.”

just as the words left his mouth the sound of two sets of footsteps were picked up by your ears. you started to become overwhelmingly nervous. it was the first time seeing your ex-boyfriend since the split and the fact your childhood best friend was on a date with him. 

even if you drifted, shouldn’t she have some sense of girl code?

“you’re shaking,” sunghoon stares at you. 

“no i’m not!” you shake your head, your heartbeat being undeniably fast. “but like i haven’t had a date since him and that’s kind of sad for me-”

“i swear i saw her,” the familiar voice of your old friend says, sounding so close. “it could have been anyone though.”

“no, i saw her and that motherfucker,” your ex hisses. 

“wow, i’m ‘motherfucker’,” sunghoon whispers, rolling his eyes.

“if he made a move on her i swear.”

“hey, i have an idea,” he says in your ear. 

sunghoon reaches for his phone out of his pocket, holding you close as he leans over slightly to pay the machine for a photo. the screen activates after processing his card and he selects a random frame. 

the camera starts going and you sit confused as sunghoon starts posing. you can’t help but watch him. he always looks pretty but you must admit he knows how to pose. 

you peek over to the curtain to see two pairs of legs standing outside the photo booth. you can only assume it’s them. 

“you weren’t looking in any of them,” sunghoon recalls, pressing print on the screen. 

“oh, sorry,” you turn your attention back to him. 

“it’s fine, let's do another one,” he says nonchalantly as he pays for another photo strip.

this time sunghoon shifts in his spot, making it so that your face can be seen on the screen without having to turn you around in his lap.

you awkwardly copy sunghoon’s poses until by the second to last picture you hear him again.

“that fucker is in the photo booth,” the male voice outside says, seeing as he drops the photo strip back into where it fell from. 

“come closer,” he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. 

“fine,” you lean onto him. “but don’t show my face too much. i’m not wearing concealer today.”

“you look just as pretty,” sunghoon leans closer so your lips barely brush the others. “maybe even prettier than usual.”

he brings his thumb to your bottom lip, gently stroking it before closing the gap. 

you hate to admit it but kissing sunghoon was everything you expected and more. you’ve caught yourself daydreaming about his lips on yours during one-on-one meetings in the conference room. when his hair is still damp from his after-shower practice and his face is still slightly flushed.

park sunghoon can make you mad, especially when he got secretary over you in freshman year. but you cannot deny that even when bitter about the council's choice you wanted to kiss that proud smile on his face. 

he made you mad when he stole your posters when you were running for secretary again the next year. but after he found you crying in the far stairwell he explained he only did that because he thinks you should run for president instead. sunghoon even pulled out another stack of flyers he made for you that he spent the whole night doing.

the sunghoon that got you both kicked out of a council meeting for arguing with each other is the same sunghoon with his lips molded perfectly against yours. 

the same boy that had you studying your ass off when class ranks came out, since he’s your only competition, is the same boy in front of you now with his lips locked on yours.

you start to feel dizzy by the decreased amount of air in your lungs by the minute but you can’t bring yourself to let go just yet. when you start seeing black specs dotting your vision you finally pull away to see a heavily panting sunghoon with a flushed face. 

“sorry,” sunghoon apologizes as he catches his breath.

your heart sinks. he only kissed you to distract you and probably so your ex will see the photos when they print.

“oh,” you fight the frown threatening to appear on your face. “it’s okay. he’s probably gone now.”

“i would have asked for your permission but you looked really stressed and i thought it would help you get your mind off your asshole ex.”

“thanks,” you say with a pout sunghoon finds adorable.

“you still seem sad,” he pokes at your sides, making you squirm in his hold. “maybe another kiss?”

“maybe,” you say shyly. 

sunghoon is out forty dollars by the time you and he are done kissing in the photo booth. he kept mindlessly swiping his card as his lips stayed on yours to prevent anyone from kicking you two out since you were there for a considerable amount of time.

you’re interrupted by sunghoon’s phone ringing profusely. 

“where are you two?” jungwon asks in a panic. “we need those balloons.”

“traffic,” sunghoon says as you plant a line of kisses down his neck, hands tangled in the hair at his nape.

“hurry up,” jungwon advises him.

you and sunghoon return to school an hour and a half after you originally left. with a bag of balloons and a stack of photo strips. most of them capturing purely just of you two making out.

when stepping foot in the gym and you go over to hand jungwon the balloons he so desperately needed. he quickly notices the matching hickeys forming on both your necks and how disheveled your uniforms and hair appear.

“traffic huh?” jungwon asks as his eyes flicker between both of you.

"lots," you nod as you walk away to help minjeong tie balloons.

[atyourmerci]

Gold wing, angel

meanloser!ellie X classpresident!r

CW: smut, MDNI, dom!ellie, sub!reader, v angsty, slight bondage, cunt slapping, fingering, cunnilingus, edging, orgasm denial, ruined orgasms, lite angel symbolism, no y/n, no pdor

A/N: actually surprised I finished a req (you all applaud me) this is inspired by “GOLDWING” by billie.

Ellie was a sick drug. Something not to be desired. She was the epitome of the allure of indulging in something you shouldn’t have, shouldn’t know, try at very least.

How did she get this way- who made her like this? Anger taken out through bodies of admission in an act of revenge. Taking back what was taken from her. Her pride regained by your submission.

You could have never fathomed the aggression the loser from AP American literature could obtain. You thought she’d beg on her knees for you. Worship your every move, starstruck by even getting the chance to touch you.

But she didn’t. She reveled in taking you off your high horse, got off on watching the student body president, proper and witty, utterly depraved by getting her cunt abused by a fucking moron.

-

98- A fucking 98, you did not deserve a 98 on the midterm paper. Your work was frankly sloppy, lacked comprehension. It made you ill knowing you were turning in something so lackluster with your name slapped across the front so proudly. The only thing that made you sicker was the thought of receiving special treatment- you had an image to uphold. You got to your position in this society from your own intellect, blood, sweat, tears and all. Kissing ass for a fucking 98 wasn’t in the cards.

The class began filing out as usual, like wild animals in a pack, shiny white teeth like daggers. Meshing together in their navy steam-pressed blazers, hair like defining fur, the only indication of individuality.

Except for her, sticking out like a sore thumb, the great big elephant in the room. Breaking many rulebook codes with her black nail polish, unkept hair to the standard policy, her white polo unbuttoned at the top two buttons that revealed her freckled chest. Despite her all around degenerate persona, she was irritatingly smart. Maybe if she had an ounce of charm she’d take your place.

With the rest of the class out of sight she stares at you. Not cutting off eye contact you both rise from your chairs you practically run to Mr. Stevens desk. The slap of two papers hit his desk, a 98 and a 90 shining in red sharpie ink on the white papers.

“I don’t deserve this,” comes out in unison, the sincerity in your voice cut open by the harshness in Ellies.

“Please one at a time, ladies.”

Before the words can even escape your lips Ellie rages, “I worked my ass off on this. I deserve better than a 90,” she spits out. “I know you can do better than this Ms.Williams, I expect more from you.” Ellie scoffs back at him, “this is bullshit,” she muffles but continues standing at his desk.

Mr.Stevens nods his head in your direction for your speech, you glance at Ellie with her arms now crossed, awaiting your protest. You brush off her insistence on staying and begin, “Mr.Stevens, I appreciate your grading and understanding my agenda for the midterm, but objectively this is sub-pare work. I think you may have given me someone else’s grade… maybe you mixed up my grade with Ms.Williams.”

He doesn’t skip a beat, “I don’t mix up grades, you earned it. Now if you two will excuse me,” Mr.Stevens directs you both to the now empty hallway.

Ellie storms out with rage, cheeks flushed and lips pressed closely, you follow behind. “‘ms Williams’? the fuck was that?” Ellie presses in a scowl, words echoed in a bare hallway.

“Look I read your paper, I think you deserved better,” you retort in an attempt to soothe her. You cant seem to keep your eyes off her cupids bow, the contrast of soft pink lips against her tired skin.

“Oh thats fucking rich coming from ‘ms I don’t deserve my grade’ you’re pathetic,” she points, eyes thinning.

“Maybe if you weren’t such a bitch more people would like you,” you attempt, heat rising in your own cheeks, heart thumping roughly in your chest.

Ellies cruel disposition contorts into a grin, inching closer to your body, “you’re fucking him aren’t you? Ms. perfect sucking off the teach so she can stay on top?”

A power so foreign comes before you, using force to push your wrist into her chest, though she doesn’t budge, “shut up.”

She returns your aggression, pushing your bodies flesh up against the brick wall behind you, ripping the breath from your lungs. Your hands instinctively grip into her shirt. Her eyes are wild, as if she was surprised she’d taken it this far, or rather puzzled by the fact you haven’t broken your grasp.

You both pant from the intrusion, glaring, waiting- waiting for someone to cave.

Like a dog on a leash you dragged her in, pulling her by her fabric until her lips met your own. A depraved act, met with open mouths and wandering tongues. Hatred in its finest form, digging into her as if you’d ever thought of it. A subconscious desire pulled from the depths of your cravings.

Before true indulgence she pushes you off, taking a moment to look at your hazy disposition, drunk on delinquency, “don’t ever do that again,” she pants out. Taking her thumb she wipes the saliva from your bottom lip and takes off without your response.

-

Time after time you went back. You told yourself you’d stop, never talk to her again. Yet there the keys were in the ignition, a path that you knew like the back of your hand. Leading, controlling your own fate of defacement.

“Can you please just open the door,” you plead on her doorsteps, mind and body corrupted- to only be pleased by the mental games, the destruction in forms of submitting to her.

Strung up like an old doll long forgotten in the attic, bound wrist behind your back and ankles tied to the head of her bed, vulnerable and needy.

“What now? Use your fucking words,” Ellie remarks before spitting on your neglected cunt. Your body winces at the sensation of the hot liquid dripping down the pulsing flesh, “please I promise I’ll do whatever you ask.”

She hovers over your squirming body, carful to not give you the satisfaction. Gripping your jaw in her hand, “do you ever pay attention to what I tell you? You don’t deserve to come,” cocking her free hand back to lay a purposeful slap to your slick folds causing you to scream out from the blissful pain.

She lays another one into the already beat red skin, a cruel grin growing on her lips as she hears you enjoying it. “You’d let me do anything, wouldn’t you?” she asks glaring at your tucked in lip, eyes glossy. You nod back at her, signaling your approval for using your body as her personal vessel.

Somehow it was good enough for her, dropping down to your perked nipples and sucking it into her teeth as she uses her hand to cover your eyes. You’d learn very early on that you weren’t allowed to watch her use her mouth on you. In the odd occasion she’d let you have your cunt in her mouth shed have your face shoved in the sheets while she took you from behind. She never told you why- and you didn’t dare ask.

Your wrist wriggle behind your back as your chest arches into her mouth, hot and wet. You obsess over what it would feel like on your mouth again, most nights were spent only thinking of her mouth- foreign, an impenetrable fortress. You began to chase the chance of the feeling her again.

You feel as her mouth comes off of the swollen bud as she removes the hand on your eyes, “don’t look,” she says with no threat in her tone, but you don’t risk crossing her.

You shut your exhausted eyes, dropping your head back as you feel her wrap her arms around the meat of your thighs. She drags an antagonizing strip up your slit, jolting your body into the mouth.

She goes as slow as possible, providing as little pressure she can muster up to the swell of your clit, but from her slaps it wouldn’t take much. Your body akin to a fish gasping for air out of water, squirming under her touch. She digs her fingers deep into the flesh as a warning.

“If you ever want to come again Id advise you behave.”

“P-please,” you plead to her, legs shaking as you whimper her name over and over like a prayer.

“I said no, i swear to god I’ll ruin every fucking orgasm,” sliding her two fingers into your clenching hole she drives slow pumps as she returns her mouth to your clit.

Your face contorts in concentration, attempting to hold yourself back but you could only be held off for so long.

“Ellie- Ellie!” bursting at the seams, your body detesting her rules, letting the hot white cum coat her fingers. She only fucks you harder, faster through your orgasm. This is a game you weren’t to win, rather to allow herself to revel in your pain. She got off on destroying your mind, making it to where you can only be pleased by her punishment.

Ellie kept her word, working you up on the edge of finishing and stopping completely, laughing at your pathetic state, crying and begging to come.

Clipping your wings, she hung them on her walls as a trophy. Pleas echoing her room, come splattering her sheets, your lips chapped and neglected.

[rafeyscurtainbangs]

𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮𝔂𝓼𝓬𝓾𝓻𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓫𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓼

𝙽𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚢 𝙻𝚒𝚜𝚝 | 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬

𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝕋𝕨𝕖𝕝𝕧𝕖: ℍ𝕠𝕝𝕚𝔻𝕒𝕥𝕖

𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚝!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚛!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

warnings: dom!rafe, switch!reader, pet names, swearing, dirty talk, age gap (college senior rafe x young professor), icky rafe at the beginning, kissing, unprotected p in v, praise, rough sex, teasing, oral male receiving, orgasm denial, light bdsm

All of my asks got deleted 💕😭 so I'm not sure who requested this, but thank you! This is a combination of a few similar asks. The premise is that Rafe Cameron is nothing but trouble in class, and when his professor sees that the frat house is auctioning date nights for charity, she can’t help but place her bid.

Masterlist

Reader’s POV:

Your heels click down the aisle of the large lecture hall, surveying the crowd of students; a packed house, row upon row of upperclassman seated about. Turning on your heels, you look toward the back row, empty per usual, soon to be filled at 5 minutes past the hour was a horde of rowdy frat boys.

The door swings open right on cue, a line of them falling in, their president holding up the back. He smiles at you, giving you a lazy grin as he skims his fingers through his hair.

Rafe didn't just come into class late; he barely paid attention, wrote nothing in his notebook, cracked jokes with his brothers, and took a little naps when the night before had gotten too out of hand.

Then there was the way he looked at you on those specific days—the days when he was feeling rather bold and unashamed. He’d shoot his shot, talking to you like some girl he was hitting on at the bar.

“Can’t focus on shit when you look so pretty, professor y/n.”

“I’m tryin’ to raise my grade, professor y/n. Is participation based on how much I pay attention to you?”

“I get nervous when you say my name, professor y/n. The answer just slipped my mind. I'm sorry. M’paying attention… I swear.”

The smug smile never leaves his face as he speaks. And you’d be a liar if you said his little passes didn't make your heart flutter, but each advance was brushed aside or met with a cold, professional response that only made him more determined.

Students started to filter out, but he stayed back, wanting to “challenge a recent grade.” No one believed him, including his brothers. He pushed them toward the door as they snickered and gossiped about Rafe getting you alone.

Rafe walks toward the front, hands stuffed in his jeans, his t-shirt stretched across his chest and arms, his muscular body straining the fabric. He wipes his hand across his smirk when you look up at him, giving him the attention he was craving you would.

"Great lecture, Professor y/n," he smiles as he shuffles closer.

"Thanks, Mr. Cameron. If only you’d listened,” you quip, your eyes scanning over your attendance sheet, making notes for daily participation.

Rafe chuckles at the joke, moving within arm's reach. You look up toward the door, checking to see if you are alone, butterflies filling your stomach when you notice you are.

“Hey, I listen,” he scoffs, playing along with the game you shouldn't have played in the first place. “Sometimes I just get distracted,” Rafe smiles as his eyes fall to the hem of your pencil skirt, working their way back to your eyes far too slowly.

Your heart starts to race under the weight of his gaze. “Getting too distracted is gonna get you in trouble-”

“I hope so,” he smiles, cutting you off, twisting your words in the process.

You roll your eyes as you reach for your coat and book bag. “Mr. Cameron, I’m not just some girl, and I'm your professor-”

“Oh, I know,” he smiles, butting in again as he steps closer. His eyes fall to your tits as your back arches unintentionally while you slip your arm into your jacket.

“I don't know what game you're playing, but I need to get to my next class if you have nothing to ask me.”

"No games, sweetheart.” Your eyes shoot to him. “Sorry. Damn, m’sorry… Professor y/n,” he corrects himself, dragging out your title for emphasis. “No games,” he assures you as you step past him, walking toward the exit. You turn over your shoulder, Rafe’s blue eyes lifting from your ass to your sharpened gaze. “I am good at games, Professor y/n. If you wanna play sometime-”

“Goodbye, Rafe,” you dismiss him with a cold bite. You hear a few laughs from behind the door you're walking toward, making the heat of embarrassment pool in your cheeks.

You push into the hallway, moving quickly to your next class. The university’s bustling with students, the noise occupying what little space you have left, your mind consumed with thoughts of Rafe and what happened.

You turn the corner, weaving past the line in front of the coffee shop, slowing when you see the neon sign tapped against the wall.

HoliDate - Omega Beta Chi Fraternity Charity Auction

Win a Date with the men of ΩBX to support Charleston Children’s Hospital this Holiday Season

You sit in the back row of the theater, watching each of the frat boys strut out onto the stage one by one.

Rafe Cameron. He steps out onto the stage, dressed in a fitted black suit, making you swoon. He runs his fingers through his hair, his classic backward hat gone. He looks devilishly handsome—quickly flashing a cocky smile at the audience, making the catcalling and applause crescendo. You look around, watching phones glow as people rapidly scan their QR codes, prepping to place bids.

“And next, Senior and Omega Beta Chi President Rafe Cameron, everyone. HoliDate bidding starts at $100…”

The crowd blows past the opening bid in seconds. Your heart pounds as the offers climb: $200, $300, $400. You look down at your phone and type your own: $500.

"$600," the auctioneer calls, someone outbidding before you can even react.

$700. You punch in the number and hold your breath, waiting for someone to counter it again. The auctioneer looks down at his iPad, then to the crowd, counting down. "Sold! To our anonymous bidder!”

You stare at your phone, fingers hovering over the keys as you think of what to do next. You leave your name anonymous, providing your cell phone number instead.

Your phone buzzes in your purse as you walk out to your car. You rummage for it quickly, pulling it out of your bag; looking down at the message from Rafe.

Rafe: Hi, sweetheart

You: Hi!

Rafe: So, what do you want to do tonight? I'm all yours.

Rafe: I’m up for anything.

You: Meet me at eight at 5th and Main. Don't be late ♥️

"Professor y/n?" Rafe calls, a hint of disbelief in his voice as his head turns from left to right, scanning the street as he steps closer.

“Mr. Cameron,” you smile up at him.

“Umm… Are you, uh-”

“Waiting for a cab,” you cut him off. The excitement in his face falls fast. “And you.”

“And me?” Rafe asks. His blue eyes widen on yours as he fights back a sweeping smile. “Well, shit…”

“Is that okay?” You ask.

“You kiddin’ me?” He answers fast as his eyes fall lower, catching a hint of red satin peeking out of your peacoat. “This is perfect,” Rafe softens his tone as he steps closer. “So, where are we goin’?”

“Well, we can take the cab to The Rex,” you offer, mentioning the new restaurant downtown, “or you can come over for dinner and drinks at my house if you’d like.”

He smiles—a blush creeping across his cheek, enough so that he has to look away for a moment to collect himself. “We can go to your place, Miss…” He draws out the word, waiting for you to give him your name. You smile sweetly, stepping a little closer, and you swear you can hear his heartbeat in his chest.

“Y/n.” He echoes your name gently like it's the prettiest thing he’s heard. You look to your left, watching the cab slow-roll to a stop. Rafe rests his hand on your lower back, ushering you to the car before helping you inside.

The ride is short—only a few blocks. You make light conversation with him, surprised with how well it's going considering how he is in class—a very different man than when he’s in front of his brothers, charming even. You rest your hand on his thigh as he tells a joke, making his eyes flicker down. He smiles at the contact before looking back up at you.

“You look different,” he whispers.

“Different good or different bad?” You ask with a slight tip of the head and a breathy laugh that has him resting his hand on top of yours.

“Good," he smiles. “So fuckin’ good.”

“Different, though. How so?” You ask curiously, and he wets his lip, looking down at yours.

“You’re smilin’ at me. You don't usually do that…”

The cab rolls to a stop, and Rafe opens the door, helping you out before walking with you to your downtown apartment.

Rafe’s eyes float around the space as you guide him inside. The house’s decorated for the holidays; just a few things here and there. The table is set for two, with a bottle of champagne on ice.

“Holy shit,” he smiles as he rocks back on his heels slightly, coming to the conclusion that you wanted this more, your house set just in case he’d say ‘yes’. Rafe unbuttons his jacket, tugging it off his shoulders, leaving him in a fitted white button-down. He watches you closely, desperate to see what’s under your peacoat after getting a taste before. You untie the belt, taking your jacket off as well.

Rafe stands across from you—air filling his lungs as he tries to hold tight his usual confidence, failing miserably.

His blue eyes fix on you, wide and unblinking, tracing every line of your red dress, studying you, taking it all into memory. Rafe swallows hard, stumbling slightly as he kicks off one dress shoe, then the other.

You turn around, strolling toward the dining room, grabbing the champagne.

You over your shoulder just like you did this afternoon after class; Rafe’s eyes shift higher—the hunger in his eyes unmistakable.

“Champagne?” You ask, your voice smooth and teasing as you catch him in the act.

He opens his mouth to respond, but the words get caught on his tongue. Rafe laughs nervously, raking his hand through his hair, trying to recall your simple question.

“Champagne,” you smile, repeating the word.

“Yeah… Yes. Uhh—please,” he stammers, his voice wavering in a way it hasn’t before. You pour yourself a glass, then Rafe, the two of you, watching as the bubbles sparkle, tumbling over the side. “You look…” Rafe clears his voice, fluttering his lashes as he tries to compose himself.

“Yes?” You ask as you step a little closer, passing him the glass.

“You look stunning, y/n… I mean, you’re always beautiful-” He cut himself off, shaking his head, letting out a breathless laugh. “You’re makin’ me nervous.”

“You have a way of doing that to me, too,” you answer sweetly.

The doorbell rings; the food you ordered arrives just in time. The two of you sit together, discussing life and plans. Liquor flows, loosening the both of you up; Rafe pops a second bottle of bubbly for the two of you.

“Cheers,” he lifts his glass, making you do the same.

“Cheers,” you smile as you click your glass against his, taking a small sip as he moves closer.

“So…”

”So,” you breathe as you look up at him.

“Why me?” He asks as he leans in a little more. Rafe’s warm cologne fills your nose— the heat of his body so close makes your pulse spike.

“Why do you think?” You question, throwing the query back to him. He hesitates and smirks, cheeks flushing again, wanting to say the right thing.

"’Cause you wanted to see me outside of class?" He asks, his voice cracking slightly under the pressure.

“Mhmm… I wanted to see if you were the Rafe Cameron everyone sees in class or if that was just some act you were putting on for everyone.”

His brows pinch together, confusion painted over his pretty face. “M’not that bad,” he mumbles against the rim of his glass as the corners of his lips curl into a slight smile.

“I beg to differ, Mr. Cameron.”

He cocks his eyebrow as you get back to the basics, using his last name instead of his first. “Why else am I here, Professor y/n?” He asks, his voice hoarse and hungry as he moves even closer.

“Well, I think you need to learn a lesson…”

Rafe swallows hard, his face mere inches from you as his rough hand trails up your bare thigh, disappearing slightly under the satin. "What kind of lesson?" He whispers needily as his eyes fall slightly, locking on your lips again.

You take your finger, hook it under his chin, guiding his gaze to yours. “The kind of lesson where you learn respect,” you smile as your hand rests on his upper thigh, moving higher and higher. He takes a little breath, letting out a soft groan. “Boundaries,” you whisper as your fingers trace around his rock-hard cock, strained against the zipper. “And discipline,” you pull your hand away with a smile. Rafe expels the breath he was holding, his eyes softening in desperation.

”Please,” he mumbles as you lean in, kissing the corner of his mouth and cheek, leaning into his ear as he wraps his arms around you, needing you closer.

Your teeth scratch against the shell of his ear as your hands roam his broad chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat and quick breathing under your palm. “What do you want, Mr. Cameron-”

“You,” he answers hastily. “I want you, Professor y/n.”

“Good boy.”

You step off the couch and walk toward your bedroom, smiling as he follows you close. Rafe steps toward you, chest pressed against your back, tucking himself into your neck as his hands grab your hips. You tilt your head to the side, giving him better access to your skin. He releases a shaky breath, not wanting to kiss you without permission, hoping to get what he needs and fast.

You can tell by his hold and how he carries himself that he isn’t used to giving over control. But, Rafe Cameron wants nothing but to get back in your good graces…

You wrap your fingers around the red satin bow around your waist, tugging it loose. Letting it slip through your fingers, as you turn around, looking up at him.

His gaze falls to your hands, seeing the ribbon. “You look nervous, Rafe,” you whisper, your voice a soft purr, pulling his focus back to your eyes as you toss it to the bed.

"No, Professor. I—” his words trail away as he hears the pull of your zipper, the satin material falling to a puddle at your feet, leaving you in nothing but red lace.

“You just what?” You ask as you step closer, fingering the buttons of his shirt, popping them open one by one.

"You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen,” he mumbles.

You smile as you pull his shirt off his broad shoulders, working on his pants next. “Flattery won't get you out of trouble, Mr. Cameron."

He shakes his head, eyes rolling back in his head as he watches you lower yourself to your knees, grabbing his dress slack and pulling them off. “I’m not tryin’ to get out of trouble. I swear—I,” he groans as you wrap your fingers around his hard cock through his boxers, making his abs flex. “I just can’t stop looking at you,” he breathes, lips parting as your mouth wraps around his thick tip, wetting the fabric. He cups the back of your head, his eyes shutting heavily. “I'll be good. I'll be whatever you want,” he pleads, his voice raw and hoarse.

You wrap your fingers around the band of his boxers, looking up at him with a smile. “You’ll be good for me, won’t you?”

“Yes. Shit—Yes, I’ll be so fuckin’ good. Alright? I promise. Just keep going.”

His breath hitches as you pull down his boxers. You let out a breathy sigh as you see his cock; long and thick, curved slightly, tip pulsing and wet with precum.

You wrap your fingers around the base of his length, making him bite his bottom lip. He watches your every movement, mesmerized as you lean in, tongue swirling and flicking across his tip, making goosebumps spread across his tanned, toned skin.

“Bed,” you smile. Rafe moves quickly, his breathing heavy as he shifts onto your bed. “Grab the rails.” Rafe lifts his arms above his head, gripping the metal tightly, giving you complete control. He continues to study you, the deliberate sway of your hips driving him mad. Grabbing the ribbon, you crawl on top of him, resting your warm, wet pussy on top of his dick, grinding nice and slow. You lean forward, wrapping the soft satin around his wrists, tying it into a pretty little bow.

"You're enjoying this a little too much, Professor," he huffs through a wide smile.

“I could say the same about you.” You lean down for a kiss, hovering just above his lips. Rafe chases your mouth as you pull away, denying him that.

"Look, I get it. You're trying to teach me somethin’, and I deserve it-”

”But what?" You ask in a taunting tone.

"But you're killin’ me," he blurts, tugging against the ribbon, making his big biceps flex. “I’m not used to this? I'm used to bein’ in control.”

Your lips quirk into a smirk. “Oh, I noticed,” you smile as you trace your finger down his chest, through his abs, cutting along his v-lines before teasing his cock, watching him twitch.

"You think you've got me all figured out. Don’t you?”

“I do…” You smile as your nails scratch down his muscular thighs.

"I've been good...”

“We just started,” you whisper against his tip before wrapping your lips around him. Rafe throws his head back into the pillow, pulling against the restraints as you let him slide into your mouth, taking him to the back of your throat.

“Yes, fuckkk…” He groans. “That’s it, baby.”

Rafe looks down at you with half-lidded eyes, watching his thick dick slide between your slick, swollen lips. You moan around his girth, watching the way his eyes roll back at the feeling of the vibrations.

You wrap your hand around the base of his cock again, licking a few fat stripes up the bottom of his shaft.

“So fuckin’ good,” he groans, fighting to keep his eyes open as you throat his cock again.

His big hands ball into fists as you start jerking his dick as well, sucking on his tip, making him gasp, his muscles coiling tight.

“Shit. Shit. Shittt,” he grumbles. “I’m gonna cum. Fuck. I’m gonna cum in that pretty mouth. Hey—” He huffs as you pull off his cock with a wet pop, looking down at him with a wicked smile. “What the fuck?” He pants, his face twisted in frustration.

“What?” You ask dumbly.

His cock pulses—incredibly hard, red and swollen; Rafe, just seconds away from cumming down your throat. "You want to teach me a lesson? Fuckin’ fine. But let's stop pretendin’ this is just about that. Aight? You need me,” he grunts. “$700 for a lesson, bullshit. You want me to take care of you. Let me fuckin’ go.”

“Or what?”

"What are you teachin’ me a lesson for anyways? It’s not my fuckin’ fault. Alright? It’s yours… It’s the only way I can get your attention. You’ve been drivin’ me crazy all fuckin’ semester," he huffs, his voice low and rough. "Every time I piss you off, I get your attention; every time I come in late, your eyes are on me. And when I don’t pay attention, you call me out by name—I can't stop thinkin’ about you. Ain’t that what you want, Professor y/n. Fuckin’ sue me for wanting your attention.”

“There are other ways to get my attention, Rafe,” you whisper through a soft smile.

“Well, it got me here, didn’t it,” he counters. “I think it's my time to take charge." Rafe looks up, seeing the end of the red bow, quickly catching it between his teeth, tugging at it fast, making your heart race as he yanks himself the rest of the way out. He rolls you to your back, lips crashing against yours for the first time in a deep, passionate kiss.

Rafe crushes you under his big body, taking complete control. Your hands reach around him, gripping his big shoulders. He deepens the kiss, fingers digging into your skin.

He pulls back slightly, licking his lips in anticipation, rubbing his cockfat head around your aching hole before pushing inside. You moan in pleasure— the both of you watching as your wet pussy pulls him in.

You throw your head back on the pillow, body reeling, pleasure coursing through your veins at how deliciously he fills you up. You grab his big biceps as he picks up the pace, nails driving into his skin.

“So fuckin’ tight…” He groans. “God, you’re wet.”

Rafe cups the back of your head, steering you to look at the space between the two of you, watching his thick cock pound into you fast—your arousal slicked and glistened between rough thrusts.

Your lips brush against his as you claw at his back, pulling him closer, making him fuck you even deeper than before as your body tightens around him.

“You gonna cum, baby?” He asks, raspy and thick.

“Yes. Fuck,” you whimper.

“You’re lucky I don’t fuckin stop, Professor y/n. Good news for you, I wanna fill up this pretty pussy.”

“Don’t stop. Please,” you cry.

He picks up the rhythm, thrusting into you faster and harder.

"Then you better come for me. Yeah? Show me what a good girl you can be,” he growls in your ear, taking back the power he lost. “Think we both know who’s really in charge here.”

His name leaves your lips in a broken sob as you cum around his cock; toes curling, back arching, tits pressing into his muscular chest. Rafe’s hips stutter, filling you to the brim as he continues to pound into your warm, wet cunt.

He nuzzles into you, kissing along your neck as you come down from your high together.

Rafe draws a deep breath as he pulls back, claiming your lips in a tender kiss. "Did you learn anything?" You giggle between breathless kisses, making him smile against your lip.

"No… Didn’t learn shit," he mutters. “Good thing we’re just gettin’ started.

tags: @rafesthroatbaby @kisses4angels @watchmerora @hippiegoth97 @buckybarnessweetheart @anamiad00msday @littlelamy @namelesslosers @cades-outsider @romaescapes @starkeysprincess @oxpogues4lifexo @unrealmirrorball @sleepiibunniiii @gri959 @rafesgiirl @daryldixon83 @akobx @hyperfixationgirl @lhhlver @rrafeswhore @slut-4-gojo @blair-bears-blog @loveesiren @cameronwillow @wtfdudesblog

[cupidhoons]

( 정원 ) ⎯⎯ 𝒹𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝒸𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴 𝓅𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵 ⊹ 𝗂𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 . . . 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗌 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗉 𝖺 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗈𝖼𝗄𝖾𝗋 ₍ ᐢ..ᐢ ₎

𐙚˙⋆.˚ 𝖿! 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 x 𝗒𝖺𝗇𝗀 𝗃𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗐𝗈𝗇 ─── 𝒢𝘦𝘯𝘳𝘦. 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗋𝖾𝗍 𝖺𝖽𝗆𝗂𝗋𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗌𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗅 ꒰ ✉️ ꒱ 𝓌𝘤 1k ⟡ ⌢ .    𝓌𝘢𝘳𝘯.  𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗌𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝗇 𝗇𝖾𝗋𝗏𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝗐𝗈𝗇𝗇𝗂𝖾 + 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗈𝖿𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽 ୨୧ 𝓇𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇 ／ 𝖫𝖨𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖱𝖸

𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘭𝘪𝘻 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗀𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗀𝗌 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖼𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 :0

JUNGWON WAS NEVER ONE TO CATCH FEELINGS.

For as long as he could remember, his days were neatly organized—study sessions, class president duties, and moments stolen for himself in the form of quiet reading or walks home from school. He’d see his classmates pair up, blush over handwritten notes, and giggle in the hallways, and it all seemed like an unnecessary distraction.  

That is, until the third week of English class.  

It started innocently enough. Mrs. Choi had announced a group activity, and he was partnered with you. He remembered the way you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear as you studied the prompt, your eyebrows knitting together in concentration. You’d tilted your head slightly, a small smile forming as an idea struck you.  

“Okay, what about this?” you asked, leaning toward him to share your thoughts.  

The warmth in your voice and the spark in your eyes caught him off guard. He wasn’t supposed to notice things like that—how the sunlight streaming through the window framed your face, or how you spoke with an ease that made him feel lighter somehow.  

And then, there was the way you laughed.  

He’d said something awkward, something he barely remembered, but you laughed—a soft, genuine sound that filled the space between you. It wasn’t loud or attention-seeking. It was the kind of laugh that stayed with him, lingering in his chest long after the bell rang.  

Jungwon couldn’t stop noticing you after that. The way you absentmindedly twirled your pen during lectures. How you always greeted the shyest students in class, making them feel included. How you chewed on your bottom lip when you were deep in thought. It all became part of the quiet melody that played in his mind whenever you were around.  

At first, he tried to ignore it. He didn’t have time for distractions, especially not ones as all-consuming as you. But every time he told himself to focus, his gaze drifted back to you.  

So here he was, months later, standing in the dimly lit hallway after school with a note clutched tightly in his hand.  

---

The hallway was nearly empty now, safe from the distant echoes of laughter and the shuffle of footsteps from students lingering in other parts of the building. Jungwon stood a few lockers away from yours, the small, folded square of paper in his hand feeling heavier than it should.  

Just slip it in and walk away, he told himself, his heart racing in defiance of the plan.  

He approached your locker, glancing down at the note in hand one last time. He hesitates a bit, taking a deep breath before sliding the note into the gap of your locker. Though, just as he turned to leave, a voice called out behind him.  

“Jungwon?”  

His body stiffened, heat rising to his face as he turned to see Karina standing a few feet away. She tilted her head, her expression a mix of curiosity and mischief.  

“What are you doing here?” she asked, though the smirk on her lips suggested she already knew.  

“Uh, nothing,” Jungwon stammered, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Just… walking by.”  

Karina crossed her arms, clearly unconvinced. “Right. So you didn't just slip a love note into Y/N’s locker just now?”  

His jaw dropped, and for a moment, he could only gape at her. “I—no! It’s not like that!”  

“Sure, sure,” Karina said, her smirk widening. “Your secret’s safe with me… for now.”  

Before he could protest further, she turned on her heel and disappeared down the hallway, leaving him alone once more.  

---

The next day, you were sitting in homeroom, skimming through your notes for an upcoming quiz, when Karina slid into the seat beside you.  

“So,” she began, her voice brimming with excitement.  

You glanced at her warily. “What now?”  

“Guess who I caught slipping a love note into your locker yesterday.”  

You raised an eyebrow. “Please don’t say Mr. Kim from the cafeteria again.”  

“Nope,” she said, her grin growing wider. “It was Jungwon.”  

Your pen froze mid-sentence. “Jungwon? Like class president, everyone's favorite boy Jungwon?”

“Yup!” Karina confirmed. “I caught him red-handed putting a note in your locker yesterday.”

You blinked, trying to process her words. “I don't get it. Why would Jungwon, out of all people, leave a note for me?”

“Because he likes you!” Karina said.

You frowned, shaking your head. “That doesn’t make any sense. Jungwon barely talks to me.”  

“Maybe he’s shy,” Karina teased. “Or maybe you’re just blind to how much he stares at you during class.”  

You rolled your eyes. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”  

“Fine,” She said, leaning back in her chair. “Then catch him in the act.”  

---

That afternoon, you stayed behind after school, hiding just around the corner from your locker. The hallway was eerily quiet now, the chatter of students replaced by the faint hum of fluorescent lights. You held your breath as you waited, your pulse quickening with every passing second.  

And then, there he was.  

Jungwon walked toward your locker, glancing around nervously. His hand trembled slightly as he slipped a folded piece of paper through the slot.  

“Jungwon?”  

He froze, his head snapping up to meet your gaze. His eyes widened in panic, his face turning redder with each passing moment.  

“Y-Y/N,” he stammered, his voice barely audible.  

You stepped closer, holding up the note he’d left the day before. “You’re my secret admirer?”  

For a moment, he looked like he wanted to run. Then he sighed, shoulders slumping as he nodded. “Yeah. I am.”  

You studied him, your heart softening at the sight of his nervous expression. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”  

“I didn’t think you’d feel the same way.” he admitted, avoiding your gaze. 

A small smile tugged at your lips. “You know, you’re not as subtle as you think.”  

His head shot up, hope flickering in his eyes. “Does that mean…?”  

“It means,” you said, stepping closer, “you could’ve just talked to me. But I guess this works too.”  

Jungwon’s face lit up with a tentative smile. “So… lunch tomorrow? With me?”  

You nodded, warmth spreading through your chest. “I’d like that.”  

[yoru-no-seiiki]

tagging @onyanjune and @h0ly-l3mb for giving me the idea/motivation to do this lol

link to original post here

tw/cw: MDNI or you WILL be blocked, DDDNE, (skip for spoilers) yandere! reader, mentioned non/dub con, mentioned filming of said non/dubcon.

yan! cool kid has two siblings, your upperclassman and underclassman respectively. and it hella irritates him how close you are to the two.

ofc yan! reader’s intentions have and will always be depraved yearning. they only befriended the pair for the sake of “getting close to the in-laws.” after all you wouldn’t be a good future spouse if you weren’t somewhat involved in the family side of things.

but your tunnel vision sort of . . . backfired.

“quite a bunch of lunches you’re packing.” he mumbled, raising his head from his arms after a thorough nap through class. he had already studied everything that subject had to offer and thoroughly memorized it thanks to his notes that were covered in photos of you.

“oh these? these aren’t just for me, silly.” you answered. he already knew what you were planning, and you already knew that he knew, but keeping this façade of normalcy was a game you two liked to play, “you haven’t been bringing food to school recently i’ve noticed. so i made some more to share.”

“just one?”

you blinked at him, confused. laughing after you realize where his eyes were focused on. you explain that the rest will be going to his siblings, since you thought it may be a household / financial problem.

soon after that you took off, trying your best to hide the giddy feeling in your body threatening to spill unto your facial expressions.

yan! cool kid stares at his brand new lunch and wonders if you also cut out heart shaped potato for their curries, planning out ways to torture yan! loser later

yan! loser who’s yan! cool kid’s younger brother. they look so different, their demeanors even further apart. the only way you knew they were related was cause you stalked the latter on his way back home and almost killed the former before you found out.

you dropped by his class with a smile. his classmates staring at you with wide eyes as those in higher levels rarely ever go to this section of school.

“i hope you don’t mind, but i made lunch for you. is that okay?”

“is ThaT okAy?” he parroted back at you, his voice cracking, nerves on edge at all the people staring at the situation. he was going to eat lunch alone in the bathroom again like always but was occupied with erasing the marks left by his bullies on the table.

you laugh at his response, and set the lunch you prepared on his table.

you stare blankly at the brutal remarks written across. silently you walked outside before coming back with a spare table. you frown as the food you left remained untouched.

“you should eat first. lunch won’t last forever.”

you pat the poor boy’s back and left.

one last delivery til you were done.

you breathed in, knocking the door to the student council’s room. “mr. president, it’s me.”

“come in.”

yan! school president doesn’t even raise his head to look at you. his focus remaining on the papers in his hand and table. “leave the lunchbox there.” the bespectacled man points to your table in the room.

you set it down obediently and walked out. at least, you tried to until he stops you. “before you go, tell me why i shouldn’t report your actions to the faculty.”

you don’t turn around from the door, but still you answer, “hm, actions?”

“you, using school funds to pay for my youngest brother’s harassment.”

“…mmm…” you turned around, placing a hand on your chin in feigned deep thought “because . . . you love love love me?”

yan! president sighed. you hear paper shredding.

“you may go.”

you giggled. stepping outside of the stuffy room to go finally see your beloved again in class.

you put a hand in your pocket and fished out your phone. briefly smiling at the home screen wallpaper of yan! cool kid and quickly tapping out the password.

you then delete the video of yan! president tying you up as his unclothed hips slammed into yours. your skin covered in bites and slap marks all over. your eyes converging fear as tears fell and your mouth was gagged and unable to voice the feeling. the once prim and proper man man groaning in ecstasy and yelling words of degradation as he defiled you.

but you could only cringed at the words “i love you.” escaping his lips.

“a little reward for mercy i suppose.”

you stuff your phone back into your pocket. wondering if you should also warn him about the laxatives.

[summerclementine27]

Meet Me in The Hallway🌷pt. 1

summary: Mr. Styles has possibly interested Y/N more than his literature classes and she finds herself pining for him over the months.

pairings: professor!harry, student!reader

warnings: small age difference, mentions of smut

word count: 4.7k

note: i wanted to make this one part but it will be too long so there will have to be a part 2

part 2: https://www.tumblr.com/summerclementine27/757559698881986560/meet-me-in-the-hallway-pt2

Tender days of mid-October

As I took my seat in the large lecture hall, a sense of anticipation loomed over me. Today, Mr. Styles was giving us the results of the last literature and theory criticism coursework I had handed in the previous week. This was my third class with him, one of two this school year, the other being Contemporary Literature. Last year, he taught me Introduction to Literature, a mandatory class for my degree. Though I dreaded it at first due to his choice of reading list, I ended up falling in love with the course because of the way he taught it. Some works I initially criticized him for choosing, he ended up using as examples and critiqued them himself, like "The Awakening" by Kate Chopin. Plus, it helped that he was impossibly handsome with his tall frame, tousled brown hair, and piercing green eyes.

When my friends noticed how much I liked his class, they were unfazed. However, as I became somewhat of a teacher’s pet in a class rudimentary compared to the others I took this year—such as Feminism and Literature, Historical Narratives in Fiction, and Postcolonial Literary Criticism—they realized that maybe the tall, green-eyed man was what had really piqued my interest, not discussing "Middlemarch" for four classes.

On days when I had his class, I dressed extra nicely, sometimes even daring to pair a clean collared shirt with a shorter-than-usual skirt. One time, I even left my wool trench coat on during the first period and stood up from my auditorium seat to take it off. Sitting in the back, the rows of chairs likely covered the lower part of my body, but I was sure the space between my long boots and short skirt was visible from his vantage point. Surely, my abrupt standing would grab his attention. What I didn’t anticipate was him pausing in the middle of a long train of thought to stare, then quickly catching himself and stuttering before continuing seamlessly as I knew he would. My friend Anika, seated in one of the front rows, noticed and turned to see what had caught his attention. To her dismay, I was playing games with someone totally unattainable again. But she knew I thrived on academic validation, and this little crush of mine would only drive me to excel in more classes.

"Are you serious, Y/N? He's our professor." she exclaimed once.

"I know, but he's just... different."

"Different? Or is it the way he looks at you when you answer a question?"

"Maybe both. Besides, this crush is making me work harder. You can't argue with the results."

"Just be careful. I don't want you getting hurt."

In fact, it drove me to do more than that. One time, Mr. Styles noticed my passion for poetry after I shamelessly defended the works of Sylvia Plath with a controversial view that modern poetry should not shy away from the stark realities of mental health. He gave me a few poetry anthologies and compilations, including his annotated copies. I fawned over reading his notes and even emailed him once, pretending that I had "accidentally" annotated something, forgetting it wasn’t my own copy after losing myself in the literature. He replied kindly:

Mr. Styles: "Please, feel free to annotate as much as you like. I would be honored to have your opinions inked on my favorite copies."

By the next semester, after encouraging me to join the poetry society, Mr. Styles nominated me for president, and I was thrilled to win. He insisted on celebrating, gently grasping my upper arm and smiling warmly as he said he expected nothing less. I brought a bottle of wine to his office, where he had asked me to meet him, only to find the entire poetry society there, ready to congratulate me. The gathering lingered for a few delightful hours before everyone left, leaving just the two of us to clean up.

"You really impressed everyone tonight, Y/N. Not that I'm surprised." He began once we were truly all alone.

"Thank you, Mr. Styles. I couldn't have done it without your support."

"Well, you deserve it. By the way, outside of class and school hours, you can call me Harry." He said in his thick Manchester accent.

"Only if you stop calling me Ms. Y/L/N." I joked.

"Hey! I only do that sometimes. Plus, I can't call out to you in class like, 'Y/N, will you read the next slide?' People will think..."

"...think I’m the teacher’s favorite?" I finished his sentence with a teasing smile.

I couldn’t take the lingering stares and supposedly accidental touches we were both guilty of. But I knew that if I really wanted this, if I wanted to be more than just a student he regretted being tempted by when I graduated, then I had to play the long game.

And indeed I did. I kept up my habit of always showing up well-dressed in elegant coats and well-fitting clothing. I accentuated my features with a light coat of makeup, even if I had to apply it on a bumpy bus ride to campus. I even signed up for his office hours, despite really not needing them, just to exchange thoughts and opinions under the guise of “wanting to make sure I'm on the right track.” I wanted him to get to know me more, to realize that despite my youth, I was mature and thoughtful.

At the start of the second year, he emailed me to come to campus a few times in August, a month before the start of term, to discuss my responsibilities as the founder of the debate team. The idea sparked in his mind after I excelled in the heated debate he chose to hold as our first-year final assessment. He was so in awe that he went as far as saying I could compete at a national level on the English debate team, which neither of us was certain of, but I accepted the compliment.

Our earlier meetings were spent cooped up in his office, reviewing why the last debate team failed almost a decade ago and planning the structure for the new team. We discussed everything from team dynamics to potential debate topics, ensuring we were prepared for any challenge.

On one of the hotter days in August, we took our meeting to the university courtyard, having grown tired of experiencing the last bursts of England’s so-called summer from his office window. It was a beautiful window, and a big one at that, but it didn’t compare to actually being outside. That day, I realized the majority of planning for the next few months had already been accomplished in our first few meetings, and I got the hint that he didn’t actually need my help now that I had settled everything I could that wasn’t on an administrative level. So naturally, I decided to have a little fun.

I was wearing penny loafers with black tailored pants that I got fitted for when I visited my mum in London in July. I had paired them with a light knit sweater that fit slightly loosely over my shoulders, often falling down to reveal a collarbone. When I saw him take off his blazer and loosen his tie, I took that as my green light to take off something of my own, knowing I was wearing a neat white tank top underneath. As I slipped the sweater off, covering my face with the fabric, I could see his face through the thin material, making out his features and briefly noticing his eyes on my body. Sitting up straight, I managed to remove the sweater from over my head neatly. Once he saw my face, a soft blush made it to his own.

"Did I mess up my hair?" I asked, as if I hadn’t planned on brushing down the strands that had likely gone astray or as if I was oblivious to the fact that I had just taken off my sweater in front of him.

"Um, yeah, a bit at the top," he said, chuckling as if he wasn’t just clearing his throat in a flustered manner before my face was revealed from under the sweater.

To my surprise, he reached out, inching himself closer to where I was sitting on the bench we shared. With two fingers, his index and middle, he gently brushed down the messy hair on either side of the top of my head.

"Thank you, Harry," I said softly.

However, nothing could have prepared me for what would happen later this year.

As the class settled down to receive their marks on the literature and theory criticism coursework, Mr. Styles walked in, dressed in a well-fitted navy suit with a crisp white shirt. He took off his coat and placed it on the edge of his desk, a departure from his usual habit of draping it over the back of his chair. He wasted no time before pulling out the papers from his leather satchel and making his way down the aisles of the lecture hall, passing out the papers to everyone. When he read out my name, I watched as his eyes searched for me across the hall, darting from one side of the room to the other. It was unlike me to skip his class, so he knew all he had to do was find me. I hadn’t planned this specific event, but I enjoyed it, nonetheless. Once he found me, he smiled sheepishly, yet much more subtly than he did when we were alone and made his way to me.

"Excellent work, Y/L/N," he said as he gently placed the papers on my desk. "I especially appreciate the effort of handwriting this," he remarked, although everyone knew he didn’t care if papers were written by hand or typed on a computer.

I had deliberately written my paper by hand after he replied to an email of mine. I had thanked him for letting me borrow his books, and his response was a charming note saying he’d enjoyed reading my annotations and adored my handwriting. For once, I was glad that my all-girls school had emphasized cursive writing, as I used it to add a romantic touch to my work.

When I finally read his comments and feedback, I was met with admiration and praise. In one of the margins, he had written, “Your insights are so compelling, it’s impossible not to fall in love with your analysis.” On the final page, at the bottom, he had added, “It’s a privilege to be your professor. Your brilliance shines so brightly that it’s clear this paper is a testament to your exceptional talent.”

Often times I worried that there actually was something going on between us, and that his praise and charming were remarks were not that of a proud professor, but of an infatuated man instead. So that day, I decided to address it.

As the lecture drew to a close, I lingered in my seat, carefully packing up my belongings with deliberate slowness. The classroom slowly emptied, the murmur of students’ conversations fading into the background as they made their way out. I wanted to be alone with Mr. Styles, to discuss something that had been weighing on my mind. By the time I made my way down the row of seats to his desk, the room was empty except for the two of us.

“Mr. Styles,” I began hesitantly, catching his eye as he gathered his papers. “I was hoping to ask you something.”

He looked up, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Of course, go ahead. I’m actually glad you stayed behind. There’s something I’d like to ask you as well.”

A sudden rush of anxiety gripped me. The possibility of crossing a line—whether I had done so with my subtle flirtations or if he were about to make a move that could alter our dynamic—was almost too much to bear.

My fantasies of him flashed through my mind. I had dreamt of intimate moments with him like kissing him, waking up in his bed, or better yet, on the couch in his office after a late romantic night together. I had once pictured us sitting on the floor around his small coffee table as we did one time when they ordered takeout during one of our August meetings except this time I would slip my shoes off casually and find a way to stroke my foot, clothed thin leggings, against his leg, looking at him with doe eyes as I dare to not so innocently asks if he ever thought about me sexually.

Hell, I even pictured him going down on me after laying me on his desk and even touched myself to the idea of riding him while he sat on his office chair. I would sneak into the small space between him and his desk and shut off his laptop while he graded my papers, cockily saying “We already know I got an A” – despite my crippling self-doubt without tangible affirmation – as I sit on his lap. In this fantasy he would laugh at my remark and gladly embrace me with a hand on my ass, the other intertwined among thick locks of my long hair, messing it up as I teasingly kiss him, ever so aware of the friction I’m creating between our crotches.

But still, to think that he would propose something to me in that moment, sexual or romantic, casually after class as if I haven’t been pining for two Octobers made me incredibly nervous.

I cleared my throat, trying to steady my voice as I met his gaze. “Mr. Styles, well, first of all this has nothing to do with the actual course itself, maybe a bit but...” I trailed off “It’s... it’s been on my mind for a while.”

He raised an eyebrow, curiosity evident in his expression. “Sure, go ahead. I’m happy to answer anything.” He smiled shyly to comfort me.

I took a deep breath, my heart pounding as I prepared to voice my concerns. “Do you think that maybe my behavior in class, my enthusiasm, or even my approach to your feedback has influenced you to… um… maybe to favor me? Over other students I mean.” I began nervously, desperately searching for an expression on his blank face.

“Maybe sometimes I get a little excited and forget that you are my professor and not my friend or something, I think I may have overstepped my boundaries but… but you treat me as an equal which, by the way, I have always greatly appreciated. I mean, it has offered me an opportunity to grow as a student like no other, but I still worry…”I trailed off, now a stern look evident on his face and possibly even hurt.

He paused for a moment, his gaze thoughtful as he considered my words. “I appreciate your honesty and self-awareness,” he said finally, his voice steady but soft. “It’s clear that you’re passionate and dedicated, and I value that. But it’s important to remember that I strive to maintain fairness in all my interactions with students.”

I bit my lip, feeling a mix of relief and apprehension. “I understand, Mr. Styles. I just want to make sure that if I take pride in these academic accomplishments… if I want to revel in the fact that I always receive praise from you and rarely any criticism – like todays feedback for example, which included no criticism, I want to make sure it is because I am worthy of it. And not because I won you over by involving myself in your extracurriculars or because we are… uh.. friendly.”

He looked at me with a reassuring smile, his gaze steady and sincere. “First of all, let me assure you that you are never inappropriate. The friendship we’ve developed is separate from our academic interactions. Outside of school hours, I call you by your first name to maintain that distinction. In the classroom, I evaluate you purely on your merit.”

He leaned forward slightly, his tone earnest. “The reason your feedback today contained no criticism is that your paper was truly flawless. If there had been any weaknesses or areas for improvement, I would have pointed them out without hesitation. I hold you in very high regard academically, and that respect extends to all aspects of your work. If I ever notice any shortcomings, I will address them so you have the opportunity to refine and grow.”

His expression softened, a touch of concern in his eyes. “The only issue I see here is that you are doubting yourself. Your achievements and the praise you receive are well-deserved. You have a remarkable ability, and I believe in your potential. My only hope is that you start to see in yourself what I see in you – a brilliant, dedicated student who deserves every bit of recognition they receive.”

I nodded, feeling a sense of relief and a renewed confidence. When I looked down at my lap I heard him continue:

“And of course I value the relationship we have fostered outside of class. Would I be the man I am today if you hadn’t introduced me to the wonders of Moroccan cuisine?” He tried to joke to ease the tension and unsurprisingly it worked as it earned him a soft chuckle of honest amusement.

“Theres the y/n I know and love” he bantered though I cant say my heart didn’t skip a beat at the mention of the word “love”.

“You know, there are many other cuisines you’re yet to try,” I said with a playful glint in my eye. “For someone who’s so well-traveled and cultured, it’s surprising how much you’ve missed out on when it comes to food.” I teased.

“Well, perhaps you’ll tell me all about it when we’re in Amsterdam for the debate competition,” he said with a smile, his eyes twinkling with genuine excitement.

I blinked, momentarily stunned. “Wait, what? You secured that for us?” My voice wavered slightly as my heart leaped with joy. “I can’t believe it! I’m so excited. This is incredible news!”

He chuckled, clearly pleased with my reaction. “I thought you’d like that. It’s an excellent opportunity, and I know how much you’ve been looking forward to it.”

I couldn’t help but beam, my excitement bubbling over. “This is amazing, truly. Thank you so much!” I stepped closer, touched by his thoughtfulness and dedication.

As I reached out, our hands brushed briefly, a fleeting touch that sent a shiver through me. His gaze softened, and I could see the sincerity in his eyes. “I’m just glad we get to share this experience together,” he said softly.

The moment felt charged, filled with unspoken words and mutual appreciation. I nodded, my heart full of gratitude and warmth. “Me too,” I murmured, feeling the depth of our connection more than ever before.

Time jump – December is getting ready for Christmas.

As we stepped into the hotel lobby, the excitement was palpable among the debate team. Amsterdam was already charming me, even though I’d only glimpsed it through the bus window. The streets were lined with picturesque canals and quaint buildings, each one more enchanting than the last. I couldn’t help but talk animatedly about how I’d dreamed of visiting the Netherlands ever since my father told me stories about the blooming flower fields when I was a child.

Harry, who had been sitting beside me on the bus, watched with a fond smile. “You really seem to love the city,” he said. “Maybe we could find a couple of free days between the training and the competition to visit the flower fields.”

My eyes widened in delight. “Really? That would be incredible. But managing a whole field trip with the debate team might be a bit complicated.”

He grinned, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Well, we could go alone. Just you and me. A little escape from the team.” He added. “We could explore some other things too if we’d like.”

The thought of spending time alone with him, wandering through a sea of flowers, made my heart race. I felt a warm blush creep up my cheeks. “That sounds amazing. I’d love that.”

When we checked into the hotel and were given our room keys, Anika, my vice president, and I realized that Harry and I had rooms on a separate floor. In fact, they were deluxe rooms though him and I booked standard rooms for everyone when we went over the budget. Anika seemed particularly perplexed by this.

“Why did you get such a nice room and I didn’t?” Anika questioned, her tone tinged with curiosity as she approached me in the lobby.

I shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. “Maybe Mr. Styles thought I needed a little extra comfort. You know, as president” I joked, not really sure if that was the case. “Besides, he probably just had to make decisions based on what was available.” I found myself lying, knowing I was curious myself.”

Anika raised an eyebrow. “Or maybe he’s using the budget money to splurge on you. I’ve noticed you two have become quite friendly. Could it be that he has a thing for you?” she teased, knowing I have spent months pining and flirting.

I laughed, shaking my head. “I don’t think so, Anika. We’re friends, and that’s all it is. I don’t think he feels anything else.” I said, confidant of my words for the first time in this conversation. “Plus, you are the only person other than me and Harry that got her own room. Others are sharing and you likely have a king bed all to yourself.”

“Harry? Is that his name now?” she smirked. “I guess you forgot to tell me you are on a first name basis. Are you holding out on me Y/L/N?” she joked though she was never oblivious to the fact that you kept some encounters with Harry to yourself, as if it would fuel the fantasy somehow.

I raised an eyebrow and gave her a playful grin. “Oh, come on. You have to admit everyone in the poetry society calls him that when we are outside the university.” I said, knowing that it was only one guy who was a family friend of Harry’s who got the honor.

She chuckled, but there was a hint of curiosity in her gaze. “Right. But you can’t deny there’s something a bit… special about how you two interact. Just saying.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’m not holding my breath for anything more on this trip. We’re here for the debate, remember? That’s the focus. But if anything happens later…” I shrugged playfully as she returned my knowing smile.

“Fair enough. Just keep your eyes open anyway, okay? Sometimes things happen when you least expect them to.”

I heard Harry calling my name from the end of the hall. I turned around to see him walking towards me with a thoughtful expression.

“Hey, do you still want to gather the debate team for a brief practice session before the afternoon debate?” he asked, his tone carrying a hint of concern.

I shook my head, smiling. “No, no need. You were right; they need a break. Plus, everyone has their notecards and seems prepared.”

Harry nodded, his smile relaxing into a satisfied grin. “Alright then. Let’s head to the elevator; it’ll be a bit quieter now anyway.”

We walked to the elevator together, and once inside, he pressed the button for my floor. The confined space seemed to amplify the gentle hum of the elevator, making it feel intimate.

Harry glanced at me with a soft smile, his eyes lingering a moment longer than usual. “Your hair looks different today. Did you do something special with it?” he asked, his voice carrying a playful undertone.

I felt a tinge of embarrassment, my cheeks warming slightly. “I just blow-dried it differently since I was in a rush this morning,” I replied, trying to sound casual.

Harry’s smile grew, his eyes twinkling with a mix of admiration and something else I couldn’t quite place. “Well, it looks beautiful. I wouldn’t have guessed it was rushed.”

His compliment made my heart flutter, and I couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks, Harry. That makes me feel a lot better about this hectic morning” I tried to divert the conversation, feeling nervous at his focus on me.

“Yeah, well, at least you have matching socks,” he joked, and before I could ask him what the hell he was talking about, he lifted his foot, revealing his own mismatched socks with a playful grin.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “You and your accidental fashion choices,” I said, shaking my head with a smile, remembering that time I complimented his shoes only to find out he ordered the wrong ones online and couldn’t get them returned. He looked handsome in them anyway, I had told him.

He shrugged, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “What can I say? I like to keep things interesting. And besides, it’s a good thing someone’s got their fashion game on point around here.” He said, brushing off the fact that it was a rushed accident.

I playfully nudged him. “Well, I guess I’ll take that as a compliment. And for the record, I do have matching socks today, just in case you were wondering.”

Harry’s eyes softened as he looked at me, a warmth in his gaze that made my heart flutter. “Well, I must say, your socks are a lot less distracting than mine.”

I chuckled, feeling the tension between us ease into something more comfortable and light-hearted.

As the elevator chimed and the doors slid open to my floor, Harry didn’t make a move to exit. Instead, he turned to me with a charming grin, his eyes sparkling with warmth. “Let me walk you to your room. It’s the least I can do. After all, it’s not every day I get to be a gentleman,” he said, completely ignoring the fact that his room was directly across from the elevator.

I laughed softly, touched by his thoughtfulness. “You’re too kind, Harry. It’s just down the hall here,” I said, gesturing toward my door, which was a short distance away from his.

As we walked together down the hallway, the atmosphere felt lighter, filled with a quiet, pleasant tension. Harry’s presence beside me was comforting, and I found myself appreciating the little things—like how he occasionally glanced my way, as if trying to make the moment last just a bit longer.

When we reached my door, Harry reached out and brushed his hand lightly against mine as he opened the door for me. “Even so, a little extra time with you—well, when else can I talk about my accidental shenanigans and have someone listen intently?” His voice was low and warm, and his gaze lingered on me with an intensity that sent a thrill down my spine.

I felt a flutter in my chest at his words but remained blissfully unaware of the deeper implications behind his gaze. “Well,” I said, smiling as I unlocked the door and stepped inside. “Thanks for walking me. It’s always nice to have a bit of company, especially when the company is as pleasant as yours.”

Harry’s smile grew softer, and he took a step back, still holding my gaze. “Anytime, y/n. I’ll see you in a few hours. Get some rest.

“You too, Harry.” I said as he walked back to his own room.

——————————————————————

PART TWO IS NOW UP 🌷🌷

[jenn-ieverse]

୨ৎ. 🎧 𝇃𝄄ㅤ ઈㅤֵㅤN I K I ‹ ENHYPEN › ๋ ࣭ ⭑

AFTER HOURS

PAIRING ࿐࿔ badboy¡niki + femalereader

TROUPE ࿐࿔ badboy X class president

WARNINGS ࿐࿔ to be added

LIST ࿐࿔ PROLOGUE

A/N ࿐࿔ excited to share this with y'all !!

AFTER HOURS

“Yeah I know but—” you feel Niki nudging your feet with his, trying to distract you from your phone call. You pull the mobile away from your ear and cover the speaker with your other hand before speaking, “Just hold on a minute will you?” you glare at him hoping he would stop. “Cut the call would ya? I'm bored, come on.” a playful smirk linger on his lips as he leans in, towering over your height.

Let's go back a few hours to see how you ended up in this position.

When the homeroom teacher called to see you at lunch, you didn't think much of it. As a class president, you are ought to run a bunch of errands for the teacher so it's no surprise that you pay a visit to the staff room once every day like it's some holy temple. However today was different, you could sense it in the atmosphere the moment you stepped in through the sliding door, the uncomfortable tension.

“Sir, you asked to see me?” Mr. Choi, the homeroom teacher notices your presence and nods, “Y/N, yeah, right. Come on in.” a disturbed sigh leaves his mouth as he massages his forehead. “Is Niki present today?” and instantly you knew, today is going to be one of those days. The kind you always dreaded. “Uh— some students saw him on campus but he hasn't been in class since the morning.” you mention.

“This punk, I swear he his upto no good.” and cue a string of disappointing words targeted towards Niki Nishimura, born to a Japanese tycoon, is currently busy being a menace to the society here is Korea, here in Haelsam High School to be more precise. “Only if his father didn't have connections in the education board, I would have him thrown out!” Overtime you have developed selective hearing, you refuse to pay heed to anything that's related to a certain troublemaker.

“He needs to be taught a lesson, kids these days—” you apologetically cut the teacher's never-ending string of words, “Is there anything I can help you with?” as those words leave your mouth, you wait for him to say ‘no’ and dismiss you begrudgingly for interrupting him, not to mention the dontaksu on the lunch menu was calling your name, you could feel it in your stomach.

The moment he said ‘yes’‚ it was like sorcery, the appetite was gone. “Find Niki and have him fill out his career counseling form. I need it on my desk by tomorrow morning.” The career counseling was a mandatory process for all 12th grade students. After they fill the form, they are to have an one on one session with Mr. Choi (nightmare come true) and the homeroom teacher suggests them the universities they should aim for based on the career they want to pursue (basically another day, another way for Mr. Choi to tell you how absolutely worthless you are and if you keep these poor excuse of grades up, you'll never get into any college, forget about the good ones.)

“But sir, does he really need any? I doubt he's going to have a career set in the first place.” you know that you sound absolutely mean right now but it's something about him that brings out your worst side. “Do you think I want to sit here and even look at his face? let alone have a session? This is mandatory and the principal wants the forms by the end of this week.” Mr. Choi speaks as he shuffles through his stack of papers and finally pulls out an empty form.

“But sir, I apologize but I really don't want to be involved with him.” as you are saying those words, a cold shudder courses through your body, even imagining your past interactions with Niki. “Kang Areum want me to conduct a reelection for the place of class president.” Mr. Choi says suggestively, “Now, I am not sure about what to tell her.” he implies, fuck! “I'll do it!” you say out loud, catching the judging looks of the other teachers present in the room.

As you walk towards the secluded area behind the school building, a sense of uneasiness settles at the bottom of your stomach. A group of students smoking and laughing among themselves, suddenly go quiet. “Yo, ain't that the class pres.?” one of them says pointing the tip of his lit cigarette at you. “Have you guys seen Niki?” you try your best to maintain the firmness in your tone even though you feeling like the school outcast who is about to be bullied by the delinquents any minute now.

“Niki's got a girl? That too the class president?” another one says, blowing a drag of smoke right on your face. “Well that means she is one of us now.” the guy who was pointing the cigarette now walks up to you and puts his arm around your shoulder, pulling you towards the group of boys. “Okay, first of all, get your hands off me.” you jerk away his heavy arm from your shoulders. “Tell me where is Niki?” you ask again, this time with more authority, also where the hell is this boy?

“Thinking of me?” a voice whispers in your ear making you flinch, there he was. Hands pushed inside the pocket of his pants, chains dangling around his neck, toothpick pressed between his lips, bleeding forehead, wait- bleeding forehead? "Your forehead-" he doesn't let you complete. "Let's get out of here, come on." he picks up your bag from the ground and swings it around his shoulder.

“You can walk along with me, ya know?” you mention as you see Niki following you from few feet behind. “I'd much rather be behind you.” you could feel the smirk on his face without having to look back. As soon as you spot a convenience store you quickly rush inside to get couple of band-aids. By the time you come out, Niki was seated at one of the plastic chairs kept adjacent to the store.

“Here.” you slide the band-aids to him from across the plastic table while taking a seat on one of the other chairs. “So why were you looking for me? I am sure it isn't to buy me band-aids.” he struggles to put the band-aid over the cut as you hold up the selfie camera of his phone in front of his face, acting as a mirror. “Yeah well, there's something I need from you.” you think of how to bring up the situation.

“Like what?” he leans back in his chair, raising an eyebrow. “I need you to fill your career counseling form.” you wait for him to dismiss you without any regards, like he always does. But today for some reason, nothing was going as per your predictions because what Niki says next, isn't something you could've ever predicted. “What do I get in return?”

── END OF PROLOGUE

[merakiui]

delayed alchemy accident where, after the fog from the explosion settles and crewel scolds the pair of bad boys for fooling around with the ingredients near the cauldron, you and the affected twst guy seem fine. it's only until you fall asleep that the botched potion finally takes effect. when you and the twst guy wake up, you find you've switched bodies. naturally, as one does in this situation, chaos ensues.

✧ azul who knows you have a crush on jamil, so he takes this opportunity to carelessly (but smoothly) ruin your chances. the two of you meet up to discuss your predicament: "azul, whatever you do, please stay away from jamil while you're in my body." and of course he's grinning like a fool. "why, i would never do anything to jeopardize your relations!" and even if he does, it's not like you can do anything. you're in his body. do you really think jamil will believe that? azul can play a convincing (name). just you watch!

✧ floyd who uses the opportunity to check out certain assets he wouldn't be able to normally while in your body. you're so flustered, refusing to so much as peek while in his body because you're much too embarrassed. floyd just laughs. nudity means nothing to merfolk. shrimpy's welcome to check out what he has below the belt~ he won't mind. <3

✧ swapping bodies with riddle at the most inconvenient time: right before winter break. now you're in riddle's body, homebound and anticipating a meeting with mrs. rosehearts who has no idea you're a classmate in her son's body. ^^;;;;

✧ ace who makes it his mission to stop you from snooping through his things or else you might learn of his crush on you. >:D

✧ swapping bodies with idia, but both of you are so awkward. T_T promising one another not to do anything weird while in the other's body. you'll get through this strange trope! somehow...

✧ swapping bodies with rook and happening upon all of the secret collections he's started of you. photos, discarded items, HAIR. he's terrifying... meanwhile, rook is so happy to be in the sacred temple that is his beloved's body!

✧ jade who gives you the most unsettling smile while he's in your body. he won't do anything terrible. you can trust yourself (him). just what is he planning? (he's going to dress himself (you) in all of the outfits he's been dying to see you wear.)

✧ ROLLO BODY SWAP. being student council president for the day......... all while rollo is trying so hard not to be nosy or snoop while in your body. the temptation is so strong, but he must resist. he must!!!!! (he can't.)

[kippsquared]

Fandom: Mr. Student Body President (TV), Julie and The Phantoms (TV 2020) Relationships: Tyler Prendergast & Ray Molina

Description: Tyler is used to staying at school to work on student body president-related things. His parents never really cared when he came home anyway. But Ray does. Ray does care.

[taesanluv3r]

lost in love songs.

han taesan x reader

a short, three part, friends to lovers story.

ੈ✩‧₊ hidden love unfolds when taesan's ipod nano accidentally ends up in the hands of his best-friend, yn. a certain playlist catches her eyes, revealing the true feelings kept within the depths of the boy's heart.

part one: for, yn.

shy introvert! taesan, loud extrovert! reader. some cuss words, myung jaehyun as reader's older brother, yang jungwon as class president! lowercase intended, excuse any spelling mistakes / grammatical errors! enjoy <3

wc: 2,044

masterlist 𖦹 part two 𖦹 part three

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

"myung yn, han taesan. you guys are up for classroom duty today! don't forget to return the brooms to the closet when you're done, the keys go in mr. bang's office!"

yang jungwon, their class president, spoke from his seat at the very front of the class. his body turned towards the pair of best-friends who sat beside each other at the back corner of the room. "yup, got it" myung yn replies, shooting the dimple adorned boy two thumbs up and a sweet smile. jungwon tilts his head in the direction of the guy beside her, causing the girl to turn over to her left, eyes being met by han taesan. he seemed to be daydreaming, his nose pointed upwards as he stared at whatever was outside the window, his hearing blocked by the wired earphones that stuck into his ears. sighing, yn grabs at one side of the listening device, pulling him immediately out of his trance. "huh? did you say something?" taesan's voice is quiet as usual, his eyes widening slightly as he spoke. his friend chuckles, "we're on classroom duty today" she says, fidgeting with the silver heart-shaped charm on her bracelet. "maybe you should listen when class prezzy speaks" yn's statement makes him roll his eyes, "but that's what i have you for!" he shoots her an awkward smile, his teeth showing and his nose scrunched. "so what? i'm your only friend, and your messenger now?" her words sting a little, a glare taking over his previously smiley complexion.

the girl giggles as the bell rings, playfully pushing his shoulders as she gets up from her seat. "upwards, your majesty!" yn announces all too loudly in some sort of a terrible british accent, the shy introverted boy's face showing her a panicked expression as all eyes went onto them. she doesn't stop though, chest puffing out as she takes a deep breath, "we've got but the best of duties to fulfill! you must now-" her voice comes to a halt when he abruptly gets up, slapping his large hand over her mouth to shut her up before he got any more embarrassed than he already was. getting lightheaded, the girl taps at his arm, breathing heavily when she was released. "that was like…attempted murder…" she speaks between breaths, eyes growing big like her friend had just turned into some psycho killer. taesan just rolls his eyes, "maybe you should use your inside voice next time then" and he walks past her, heading to the closet at the very end of the classroom.

the pair of polar opposite friends begin their cleaning duties. i say polar opposites because that's exactly what they were. han taesan was only the biggest introvert in the world! that, and his rather cold demeanor meant that half the people that knew him were either intimidated or just flat out terrified of him. everyone except her, of course. myung yn, she might as well wear a massive E for extrovert on her head. yn was a star student, someone people were attracted to and wanted to be friends with. however, despite her sweet attitude and smile, the girl was rather picky about her acquaintances. so how did the han boy, who only wore long coats and ripped jeans when he wasn't wearing uniform, who prefers to read books over movies, who only listened to the curated playlists of music he pirated onto his dad's old ipod nano from 2005- that, and of course his own songs that he wrote in his free time- the guy who could barely keep up conversation with anyone without some help. how could he become friends with the myung girl? who wears short skirts even during the winter, enjoyed petting animals, watched home alone when it wasn't even close to christmas, the girl who's a hopeless romantic, always running her friend's ear off about that new rom-com she watched or her endless fantasies of her own longing for romance. how were these two antipodes, these two contradictory figures, how did they manage to be the best of friends?

well…to be honest with you, neither of them knew either. all they know is that one day, long ago in middle school, when the boy was too shy to make friends and had no one to talk to, some sort of an angel decided to sit him right beside the overly friendly girl. the one girl- no, scratch that- the one person, who willingly spoke to him when no one else would. and they've been inseparable since then. and despite their many differences, the pair got along just fine. if not, perfect.

"ugh…why do people still stick gum under their desks like this? the trash can is literally right there…" yn groaned, suddenly thankful for the blue rubber gloves she had put on when they started cleaning just ten minutes ago. her eyes wandered upwards and over to the boy when she hears no answer, another sigh escaping her lips when she sees him completely lost in his head once again, those same wired earphones from before plugged into the silver ipod that sat on the table beside where he was sweeping the floor. "earth to taesan?" he's shaken out of his thoughts when the girl appears right in front of him. "huh?" he asks, that phrase coming out of his mouth much too often for her liking. "were you talking to me?" she rolls her eyes, as if it were obvious. "what are you even listening to that's got you all distracted like this?" she wonders, a curious arm reaching out to grab onto the tiny music device. however, before she could even process the white buttons, the ipod was stolen away from her by its now flustered owner. yn cocks an eyebrow up, shooting him a perplexed look. "it…it's nothing! just a new song i've been working on…it's not done yet, i haven't finished it" the boy stutters, he rarely stutters around her, it was so unlike him to be hiding something from her- especially one of his songs that he was always so proud of. "weirdo" she mutters before going back to picking off gum from under her classmates' desks, not catching the way the boy stared at her for a minute, somewhat of a relieved sigh leaving his lips as he did so.

sooner or later, the pair had finished their duties, stuffing the cleaning supplies back in their classroom's closet before leaving and locking the door behind them. on their way out of their school, which had fallen silent apart from the basketball team who had stayed back to practice down in the sports centre, they stopped by the teachers' office to hook the classroom key back onto it's designated spot on the wall. they were on their way home now, or at least, on the way to her home. he always walked with her. even if his house was a whole other thirty minutes away from her neighbourhood in the opposite direction, he insisted on accompanying her every single day.

yn exhales as they walked down the side-walk path towards her complex, a cool breath escaping her lips and the girl starts to regret the fact that she had forgotten her school blazer when she was running late this morning. taesan notices, walking on the side of the street towards the road, shielding her from the cars speeding past them. "cold?" he asks, looking down at her slightly smaller figure. the girl shakes her head, "no" but her voice comes out shaky. the boy laughs out loud, beginning to remove his own school blazer from off of his shoulders. "you're a terrible liar" he says, tossing the article of clothing atop her head, blocking away her sight for just a moment before she grabbed a hold of it. "hold this" she demands, lazily passing him her light-pink backpack before throwing his blazer over her own shoulders, the oversized fit of it making him chuckle lightly. the pair of friends shared mindless conversation as they resumed their journey home, the harsh winds blowing against their hair causing them to squint slightly as they walked. alas, they make it to the front of her gated neighbourhood. the boy smiled softly as she waved him off, disappearing into the distance. taesan crosses the street carefully, turning around before making his long journey back to his own place.

"i'm home!" yn announces, closing the door behind her and tossing her shoes onto the rack to her right. "did your boyfriend walk you home again?" the teasing voice of her brother emerges from up the stairs. the girl rolls her eyes, "mom! jaehyun is bothering me again" she pouts, to which he just scoffs, "that's not a no~" she slaps him on the arm, "mom!!" and then her frown turns into a menacing smirk. "jae, stop bothering your sister!" their mother's voice is stern, echoing from over in the kitchen. "snitch" jaehyun says, pushing his little sister's head lightly as he followed her up the stairs and into her room.

"who's blazer is that? i thought you forgot yours at home this morning? i would know cause i had to do your laundry today" he sneered, slumping himself onto the girl's bed. "oh shit, it's taesan's. he let me wear it on the way home, i completely forgot" yn cussed, slapping her palm against her head as she did so, beginning to take her friend's jacket off. she sighed, "i'll give it back to him tomorrow" jaehyun furrows his eyebrows, "tomorrows a weekend, you're not going to school…unless you have other plans with him...like a date~" her brother shoots her a suggestive grin, his face disappearing when the blazer in her hand is launched at him. "ow!" he yells, rubbing his forehead with a frown. "oh, don't be dramatic. it's a piece of cloth, it's not supposed to hurt" yn scoffs, walking into her closet to change into something more comfortable. "no, something hard in there hit me" the boy says, "what is it?" she asked, entering her bedroom again. "i don't know…" jae mumbles, shuffling slightly as he stuck a hand through the jacket in search of the mystery object.

"aha!" he exclaims, pulling out the infamous silver music player she had seen far too many times already. "an ipod nano? who the fuck uses an ipod these days? can't he listen to music on his phone like a normal person?" his sister glares, moving closer hit him upside his head. "leave him alone, and leave his ipod alone too! he prefers the sound of that thing, plus all his original songs are in there to save space…stop snooping around, he doesn't like that" jaehyun shrugs, seemingly ignoring his sister's words as he pushed the on button, watching as the tiny screen turned white. "anyways, he's probably panicking right now. i should text him and tell him his ipod is safe with me and-" she was cut off by her brother's voice, "yeah, you might want to take a look at this before you do that" she looked at him half-confused and half-pissed off that he had looked through her friend's belongings when she specifically said not to.

"what am i looking at? and i told you not to snoop around!" she exclaimed, a frustrated groan threatening to escape her mouth. "yn, shut up for once and just look at this!" the urgency in his voice fuels the curiosity she had in her heart, giving in as she sat down beside him on her bed. "what…" she trails off, eyes widening as she pulls the small gadget out of her sibling's hand.

"you sure you guys aren't a thing? cause..."

there on the screen, a little folder hidden under all his other ones. and in it, two songs, two original songs: 'about a girl' and 'can't help falling in love' yn snickers a little at the obvious inspiration from his favourite artists nirvana and elvis, her mind picturing a puzzled taesan who couldn't come up with his own song names. however the girl is still lost, and it's the title of the playlist that confuses her. the playlist addressed to her. two simple words in bold letters that said,

'for, yn'

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

eee!!! the first part of this short, three part series TT hope u guys enjoyed it 🤭 any guesses for what's going to happen next?? reblogs n feedback highly appreciated!! send me an ask, let's talk abt this 💭😽 excited for u guys to read the next part, featuring song lyrics i wrote myself!! love, kona.

[leonw4nter]

Hi! Imagine like pop star/extremely popular music artist gf or s/o and Leon met them by being their body gaurd? I think a drabble of this would be so cute, or even just headcannons!

The Theories Of My World Revolving Around You

Bodyguard!RE4R!Leon x F!Popstar!Reader || Read next: 2

Chapter 1: "Running Up That Hill"

“Agent Kennedy, may I repeat that  you are too unstable for another overseas mission–”

“Lab reports said that I am just fine! They cleared me and stated that I’m fit to go to Bosnia–”

“Agent Kennedy!” President Graham exclaimed, both his hands coming in contact with the oak of his desk and creating a loud pounding sound.

“The last mission to Spain nearly killed you! I appreciate the risks and near-death encounters you had just to get Ashley back home but you could’ve died! You made it back barely alive! What about your mental state, huh? I’m sure as hell that dealing with all that crap would do a number on your mind. Physically you claim that you’re doing well, but how are you doing mentally?”

Leon stayed silent, gaze drifting down; President Graham was right: he was physically fit but what about his mind? Is he stable there? He knew he needed a break from all of this but who is going to be in the front lines? What’s going to happen to Sherry and Claire? Who’s going to give up their life just so a hundred others can live? He needed to give himself a break but chaos never rests, it’s just waiting for him to get his guard down.

“Mr. President, I know that you’re looking out for me but USSTRATCOM needs me. A little girl needs me,” Leon softly explains even if he feels his patience wear thin.

“I understand your concerns, Agent Kennedy, but they have many other agents just as capable as you are. You need rest. As for the girl and Ms. Redfield… I can assure you that they will be alright.” was all the older man said. “You will be referred to another protective detail. We are not necessarily laying you off but I need to refer you to lower departments and other less… demanding organizations. You’re dismissed.”

Leon simply sighed and gave the President a small nod, head hung low as he headed for the door of the Oval Office. A part of him felt grateful for the break given to him– that is if you can call it a break. He’s not exactly totally resting, he’s still on duty– just a less demanding one. Another, bigger part of him felt as if he couldn’t just sit around and wait until they’ll call him back for another job. He was just about to worry about Claire’s college tuition, worrying if student loan debt will be an issue soon but he remembered that he gave her her monthly allowance just a while back, which means that she’ll be just fine. As for Sherry, he knows she’s in good hands with Claire as her legal guardian. With the millionth sigh for today, he runs a calloused hand through his hair and decides to head home, too tired to deal with more crap for today.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

Never would Leon have thought that he would be thankful for the loud ringing of his phone, the ringtone loud enough to help him snap out of a nightmare he’s been struggling to wake up from. Half asleep and slightly disoriented, he answers the call and brings the phone up to his ears.

“Is this Mister… Kennedy? Kennedy, Leon?,” an unfamiliar voice responds from the other end of the line.

“Yes,” Leon says, his voice hoarse from sleep. “Who is this?”

“I’m Agent Corey Morgan. Someone under the agency you’re currently in referred you under my team–”

“What team,” Leon interrupts, his mood already sour because of the nightmare and with work being the first thing he is bombarded with in the morning. The man on the other side of the line cleared his throat, obviously taken aback by Leon’s snappy attitude.

“My team under a celebrity protection detail company,” Morgan responds. “We are Citadel Group and we offer protective services to celebrities. I’m sure you are very much familiar with Ms. Ashley Graham.”

“Ashley must’ve put in a word with her father,” Leon thought to himself. “Citadel Group huh,” he mumbles.

“Yes. We request you to send in your resumé within the day for closer deliberation before we can let you start, even if the things we’ve heard about you are beyond exemplary. I’ll send in a follow-up email as soon as the screening process is finished.”

Leon hummed, already exhausted with all of this. The call ended and he tossed his phone to his bed, too tired to do anything but it’s not like he can get back to sleep again when he knows that only nightmares are there to wait for him. With a groan, he gets up and brews himself a cup of coffee to try and salvage the already worsening day.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

He sent in his resumé despite several fields being blacked out, receiving an email hours after stating that he’s been assigned to a singer, codenamed ‘Red String’  and will start duty a week from now. He arrives home from the additional interview, keys fumbling to unlock the door to his apartment. He stumbles in, kicking off his dress shoes and undoing one more button to his white button-up before he shrugs his navy blue blazer off, folding and placing it on the back of a dining chair. He rummages through his cabinets, looking for a heavy-bottomed glass to pour some Jack in. Claire chides him in his drinking but he can’t help but drink right now; he’s probably going to be babysitting some stuck-up diva or be at the receiving end of a tirade of screaming if a small drop of rain lands on their shoulder or something. Flashing lights, Leon remembers; there’s probably going to be paparazzi hounding his client with their obnoxious cameras. Leon catches himself worrying over flash photography, cursing himself; the president was right on the matter regarding his mental health.

“Fuck, Leon. You need help,” he silently mutters to himself as a bitter chuckle leaves his throat. This line of work caused Leon to be more thankful towards the mundane– thankful for the opportunity to even get in 3 hours of sleep in, the fact that the loud noise he heard was just a bus and not an Armadura, or that he simply stepped on a twig on the way home and no BOW is out for him for making such a small, seemingly harmless noise.

He takes another drink before the glass is empty again, refilling it with liquor. He has a week alone with his tortuous mind before he can finally do something, even if it’s less intense than what he’s been conditioned to endure.

NOTE - I srsly had to redo my post again bc my laptop died and whatever I did didn't save 😭 Neways, BIG thanks to the anon who requested this!!! I genuinely loved this idea so much, I had to make it a series :) First chapter is short, next chapters will be a little bit longer than this so just strap in and uh wait ig :3 Also, I don't know how protective detail shit works so this is inaccurate as hell so if you're looking for accuracy then this isn't for you :) That's it and thank you to whoever reads my fics, I <333333 UUUUUU !!!!!!!!!!!

The heart dividers were made by @fairytopea , the images are made by me (sourced from Pinterest).

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

He’s not a NRC student but…

Rollo: “What are YOU doing here?” (Assuming that pre Playful Land piece you wrote happened and Rollo just happened to be at NRC for whatever reason.)

[Referencing this fic!]

This interaction is fr the "wow, these people are so weird; thank god I'm the normal one" meme 🤡 Pretend Gidel's off chasing butterflies or something--

So tell me, do you wanna go?

“What are YOU doing here?!”

The words had been taken right out of his mouth. They were spoken simultaneously, two accusatory fingers pointing in the opposite directions. One away from him, one toward…

A young man with a silvery bowl cut, bangs short, dark circles under his even darker eyes shaded by a tricone hat. His robes were elaborate in their stitching, golden thread spinning into flowers that hugged his waist and circles his arms. The aura he radiated was quiet but intense, all the heat and power of a devastating wildfire contained in a single human being.

“I remember you!” Fellow cried, brusque with his declaration. “You’re that shitty brat with the awful personality! The one that brushed us off at the docks and threatened to set me on fire!"

"And you are the incredibly shifty, invasive conman who sought to lure innocent children into the claws of magic." Rollo grimaced, pressing a handkerchief to his nose. "... It seems you've dropped the polite pretenses since our last encounter."

"Yeah, well, no point in puttin' on those airs anymore. I left my last job, so I'm not obligated to kiss ass."

"How... good for you."

Rollo’s reply, while curt, was phrased politely enough—but the pause stuck out. His eyes burned with disdain, as though he were regarding something offensive. A piece of trash, maybe. No, dirt. Perhaps something even lower than dirt.

Rollo averted his gaze, as if to end the conversation then and there. The dismissive motion grinded Fellow’s gears, sandpaper rubbing on his skin.

What, am I not worth his time to talk to? Who does he think he is?!

Fellow clenched his jaw and forced a smile. “So, my good man! What have you been up to since we last met, hmm?”

“… Official business.” Rollo glanced at the documents tucked under one of his arms. “As Student Council President of Noble Bell College, it falls to me to act as our representative and to engage with other magic schools.”

Fellow blew out air through his teeth. “You’re a real hotshot, huh?”

One of the lucky ones, polished and put on a pedestal. Envy tugged at Fellow’s heartstrings. What he would give to be a part of that glittering world, not a worry to his name.

“One could say that, yes.” Rollo seemed to be frowning with his entire body. His expression, his posture. “Hmph. It is a burden I did not ask for. How troublesome.”

Fellow straightened—irked. “What are you talking about? You have any idea how many people would kill to be where you are? Be a little more grateful, wouldja?”

“Excuse me?” Rollo’s brows twitched. “Who are you to judge others and determine how they ought to behave?”

“You don’t have to be a somebody with a fancy title to know when there’s a bad seed around.”

“You do not know me,” Rollo said icily. “Do not presume that you do.”

You could never understand what I’ve been through!!

He looked the beastman up and down, noting the patchwork in his attire, the holes in his façade. “… Pray forgive that I do not place much stock in your word. You do not present as a scholar, nor an upstanding adult of any sort.”

The comment cut deep, striking at his core. Fellow lashed out in defense.

“S-So what?! I don’t need a hoity toity kid like you labelling me. You’re bound to school and its rules. Me? I’m free to go wherever I like, whenever I please.”

Rollo sniffed, unimpressed. “So you claim—yet you linger at the feet of this institution of those who worship sin. It’s perfectly clear what your motive is, Mr. Honest. Like an parasite drawn to rotting fruit, you seek to be in the vicinity of that power, hoping to leech some of it for yourself. You too are one of the mindless sheep clamoring for a crumb of magic, not recognizing that pursuit will inevitably lead to your demise.”

Fellow blinked. His anger wavered, mixing with confusion. “Wh-What the hell, kid! You always gotta talk like a doomer?! Unclench your face for a second and take a breather, sheesh! I’m getting depressed just standing here listening to you mouth off.”

Rollo scoffed. “If you ask me, you do not take life seriously enough.”

“Life’s meant to be fun. Not all work, no play. You’ll become a dull and jaded grown-up if you keep going down this path.”

“I would rather be that than a fool who holds fast to his childish delusions.”

"Psssh. Least I'm not a hardass. All the privilege in the world and you still gotta act all sour."

Rollo stared at him, his gaze cold and steely. Fellow returned it. The same thought filled both of their heads.

He isn't satisfied with what he has now. He wants something more for himself than this. He's...

Deplorable, Rollo thought.

A greedy bastard, Fellow thought.

And when, at last, the staring became too much for either to bare, Rollo coughed into a fist. "If you will excuse me. I mustn't dawdle. These documents have to be delivered to Headmaster Crowley in a timely manner."

He paused deliberately.

"... I will pray for you," Rollo murmured as he walked off, his steps brisk and snappy.

Fellow gawked after him, appalled.

"Yeah, good riddance!" he hollered. "Hope the door hits ya on the way out!!"

[m1ndbrand]

"all it took was..." — The new President

WARNINGS: Coriolanus Snow is it's own warning(Snow after the 10thGames, 2 years after to be precise); Mentions of death and corpse(small description, nothing big).

SUMMARY: The 12th Hunger Games winner unfortunately fortunately gets the attention of President Snow.

WORDS: 1.384

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the franchise The Hunger Games characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them. I do claim what I wrote and only that.

A/N: If you know the tragedy of Coriolanus by William Shakespeare some names will be recognizable...Also I'm sorry but this chapter won't be the continuation of their little...encounter— but I promise, it's going to happen!

TAG-LIST: @sorry-mrs-jacobs; @phoward89;

MASTERLIST

He was never someone who believed in the stars and whatever they might mean to some people.

It seemed completely idiotic and beneath someone from the level of education, you would get from the Capitol to have this belief that in his humble opinion, of course — was archaic and beneath him.

Fate and stories written on the stars were all but a way of fairy tales being made, a topic on some and even a very important one at that "merging" some characters together like the universe itself deemed them a pair, one in two.

Star-crossed lovers.

How he hated that idea, he couldn't believe he even fed it to—

Let's not dwell on that topic, he had better things to do, like arrange a new Games Maker for the 12th Hunger Games.

Doctor Volumnia Gaul is no more, some freak accident with one or more than one mutt; it wasn't clear, the body was far too mutilated to be recognised by anyone at all if not for the DNA tests and well...the place of the accident, a place only a few people were able to enter and of course Doctor Gaul was one of those people, him included in the small pool.

It was slightly weird however how the mulls were able to break free, the reporters debated it for the first days the case broke daylight, but the theory was quickly suppressed.

After all, mulls were still in being tested and we're highly volatile, their behaviour unstable and unpredictable. And of course, accidents happen.

But the world continues to go around and so shall the Capitol, he needed to find someone and fast. 

He should have looked more into it, the selection that is. But he had more important things in his place, strength the security in the several points of entry on all distractions, the training of the peacekeepers and the change of the uniform like he so petitioned for just to name a few.

The new and young president had more important things to worry about than some person who would probably be soon replaced if so needed.

The theme he chose ,he didn't even try to remember the man's name, was an advanced-looking arena; a sign of the year the Capitol got a new President. Coriolanus liked the idea. It painted his future reign as one that would lead them into the future, lead them into a better time.

It painted him as a good leader.

The reaping ceremony passed without a problem. Some students clearly didn't like something— their tribute lack of attributes to make them win or the idea of having to participate in such 'twisted games' as the rebel-like-youth liked to name his games. He honestly couldn't care less, blue-ice-like eyes looking straight at the screens with a fake polite smile when the camera twists at him, showing his all too polished self composed with a deep red suit and thick coat that made his figure even more imposing than it normally is.

He would soon return to his manor and actually work, the two hours of the opening ceremony put his work ethic behind schedule more than he liked to admit.

There was much to be done to make the Capitol and the Districts into the way he saw fit and Coriolanus shouldn't waste more time than he already has.

Not even a day later he would have the files of everyone who chose to review. For some reason the late president did this— the threat of the Rebels was still very much a problem and he was of course scared shitless by them so all 'useful' information was of course turned into two paper pages that it was his duty to read through.

Coriolanus was just about to skim through them all but the very first file caught his attention, District One female tribute.

Not the girl's image he didn't even look at it properly, he already saw every tribute face on the reaping ceremony... all looked underfed and clearly not fit for an entertaining games in terms of pure brutal strength, the mentors would need to sell them well to the Capitol. No it was her name. Her last name rang a bell.

A big warning bell was inside his head and it made his eyebrows furrow, hand picked up the two-page long file and flipped through the description of her family. Something was amiss, he could feel it in his bones. Something was wrong. 

Coriolanus could almost feel the hunger tearing at his stomach, his small sweaty hand tightly gripping his equally moist cousin's hand as they received the news of his father's death.

His other small hand gripping the files of several names of supposed rebels that could be the reason behind his father's death. Blond hair falls against his sweaty forehead as at that time he didn't understand why he had to read the names of random men.

Brutus.

His hand grips the file on his hand, veins popping up as his eyes skim through the contents of the file, once and then twice. He didn't even sit down, reading in silence for 10 minutes over and over again to look out for another word, sentence, or anything more.

Only two people are still alive from her family— grandmother and little brother, Valeria Brutus and Menenius Brutus, then they got the last name from her grandfather. His hand moves the paper right and left, trying to see if her grandfather's first name was there. But it wasn't. It probably wasn't deemed to be useful information since he is dead. Putting the papers down he turns with a sigh to his window, chin rising as he looks to see all the perfectly arranged garden of pure white roses in the front of his mansion.

No this shouldn't matter. It didn't matter, not now. He got what he wanted he won, the victor. He was still standing with or without his father.

The nostalgic feeling of feeling hungry regrows once again and it makes him nauseous, sharp eyes turning to the face of the girl on the page. She looked like every other girl he reminds himself as he starts a little too long at her face. Eighteen, one more year and she should have been safe from the reaping.

A smile creeps on his lips. Amusement dancing in his eyes like he had just read a good enough joke.

He couldn't sleep.

Coriolanus hated to be in need of something even if it was just a simple pill to go to sleep. He was better than that, he could sleep alone thank you very much.

Couldn't he just get the information he wanted? He could, he had the resources, and he had the needs to if he so pleases, so why not?

No.

No, he wouldn't lose to this...whatever this is, curiosity, need— want to know. Closure.

Maybe that was it. Know the person or people that did this to him. To his family. The people that made him starve and struggle. Envy and step on people that he knew were living better than him, growing to bring them down so he could feel himself high above them all. Know the people that in a way, made him the way he is now.

Rising he presses the inside of his palms to his eyes.

For fucks sake— Shut the fuck up! 

His mouth was open. Eyes shot open and hands grabbing tightly the silk covers, knuckles turning white. Did he shout those words? Wasn't it all in his head? His hands were shaking, face was slightly flushed red from anger.

It's one of those episodes.

Rising he curses under his breath, feet carrying him to one of the small tables with some pills on them. Deep eyes thin as he tried to look into the colours of the various drugs that looked like they were thrown there and he picked a deep purple one in the midst of the rainbow and quickly gulped it down without water.

His attention is caught by the silver-like glow of the moonlight slipping through his windows, blue tired-looking eyes looking up at the sky, they find the stars instead of the moon that sings for attention. Wishing to catch a stray star amidst the ones that stay. Maybe he could catch it as it falls.

With those thoughts, sleep would soon catch him.

Previous

[deadpresidents]

"Sometimes lost amid all the shouting of a high-octane campaign heading into its final couple of weeks is that simple if mind-bending fact. America for the first time in its history may send a criminal to the Oval Office and entrust him with the nuclear codes. What would once have been automatically disqualifying barely seems to slow Mr. Trump down in his comeback for a second term that he says will be devoted to "retribution."

In all the different ways that Mr. Trump has upended the traditional rules of American politics, that may be one of the most striking. He has survived more scandals than any major party Presidential candidate, much less President, in the life of the republic. Not only survived but thrived. He has turned them on their head, making allegations against him into an argument for him by casting himself as a serial victim rather than a serial violator.

His persecution defense, the notion that he gets in so much trouble only because everyone is out to get him, resonates at his rallies where he says "they're not coming after me, they're coming after you, and I'm just standing in the way." But that of course belies a record of scandal stretching across his 78 years starting long before politics. Whether in his personal life or his public life, he has been accused of so many acts of wrongdoing, investigated by so many prosecutors and agencies, sued by so many plaintiffs and claimants that it requires a scorecard just to remember them all.

His businesses went bankrupt repeatedly and multiple others failed. He was taken to court for stiffing his vendors, stiffing his bankers and even stiffing his own family. He avoided the draft during the Vietnam War and avoiding paying any income taxes for years. He was forced to shell out tens of millions of dollars to students who accused him of scamming them, found liable for wide-scale business fraud and had his real estate firm convicted in criminal court of tax crimes.

He has boasted of grabbing women by their private parts, been reported to have cheated on all three of his wives and been accused of sexual misconduct by more than two dozen women, including one whose account was validated by a jury that found him liable for sexual abuse after a civil trial.

He is the only President in American history impeached twice for high crimes and misdemeanors, the only President ever indicted on criminal charges and the only President to be convicted of a felony (34, in fact). He used the authority of his office to punish his adversaries and tried to hold onto power on the basis of a brazen lie.

Mr. Trump beat some of the investigations and lawsuits against him and some proved unfounded, but the sheer volume is remarkable. Any one of those scandals by itself would typically have been enough to derail another politician...Not Mr. Trump. He has moved from one furor to the next without any of them sinking into the body politic enough to end his career. The unrelenting pace of scandals may in its own way help him by keeping any single one of them from dominating the national conversation and eroding his standing with his base of supporters...And victory next month may yet help him escape the biggest threat of all -- potentially prison."

-- Peter Baker, laying out very plainly how insane it is that America could very well elect Donald Trump as President once again, in the New York Times. I really hope you'll take the time to read the whole article, which I am sharing gift links to in order to bypass the paywall, and remember just what is on the line on November 5th.

(Please feel free to copy and share this gift link to anyone and everyone that you think needs to read this immensely important article in the next two weeks.)